The Idiom: Fly by the Seat of Your Pants
Anyone observing the spectacle taking place on the usually calm and quiet Washington, D.C. neighborhood street would no doubt be genuinely confused as to why two grown adults were struggling violently with each other like two uncontrollable children.
Special Agent Anthony DiNozzo fervently hoped no one was watching him get his ass kicked by a smaller and much more petite girl, because there was no way anyone could possibly know said girl was a very spooky, very powerful Mossad agent.
"Tony! Stop it!" Ziva David ordered forcefully, as she planted her feet firmly on the sidewalk outside of the nice, clean-kept house on the street they were currently battling on.
Tony fiercely struggled, trying to get away, already terrified of her and of what would happen if they were discovered in front of this particular house on a Sunday afternoon. He tugged at her grip weakly, his feet scuffling.
She was freakin' strong!
"Ziva let me go. Please. I didn't ask for this!" he whined childishly, his struggle stopping slightly and his shoulders slumping as he tried to re-stock his strength.
Ziva pinched his arm to shut-him up and succeeded in dragging him up the driveway a little more. He yelped as if he was being strenuously tortured and tried to pull away in fear again, shaking his head.
"Why must you always act so infantile, DiNozzo?" Ziva asked, rolling her eyes as she again attempted to stop his futile struggles and drag him towards the front porch of the house that seemed to frighten him so much.
"Infantile? Let me go, you madwoman!" Tony howled, breaking free for a split second before Ziva pounced forward and recaptured him, the surprise of almost escaping catching him so off guard that she managed to get him all the way to the stoop.
Tony jerked his arm violently and glared at her as if channeling their favorite boss, his shoulders rigid.
"Infantile?" he repeated angrily. "Ziva! We are at Gibbs' house! On a Sunday! We are invading the sanctuary, trespassing into Bourbon-Land, waking the sleeping beast! Who knows what we could be interrupting, who knows what dark secrets we could uncover. This is a terrible idea. I AM NOT BEING INFANTILE!"
Ziva rolled her eyes at him and placed a hand on her hip in a very amusing, cocky cheerleader-ish way that briefly fascinated Tony.
"Yes you are," she informed him. "Sunday is the Sabbath in your country. He could not possibly be doing anything 'dark'," she informed her partner, rolling her dark eyes again.
Tony laughed, loudly and mockingly at her statement, amused at the irony.
"Ah, my crazy ninja, you know nothing of the way Americans treat their Sabbath!" he cackled, shaking his head mournfully.
Ziva just shook her head and gave him an annoyed look, tugging him stumbling up the steps. Tony moaned dreadfully again and tried to pull away, desperate to escape back to her car and drive away to leave her alone.
This was insane. She'd finally lost it. He didn't even know what this was about, or why she needed what she did! She just demanded his help!
"Tony! Come on," Ziva ordered forcefully, pulling him up onto Gibbs' front porch with her. Tony swallowed hard and gave the door a terrified look, only imagining the wrath that was going to come of them showing up here on a day of peace for the boss man.
Ziva raised her hand to knock and Tony grabbed it in a panic.
"Wait! Ziva! How do you plan to do this?" he demanded, his eyes darting back and forth. Ziva jerked her hand from his grasp and knocked loudly once, as if it mattered, and then opened Gibbs' door, standing on the threshold with an annoyed look on her face.
"Fly by the seat of my skirt," she informed him.
Tony groaned.
"Fly by the seat of your pants, Ziva—why can't you get it right once, at least before we die? Because you know Gibbs is going to kill us!" he finished with a hiss, somehow hoping Gibbs hadn't alerted to their presence yet.
Ziva had paused and was looking at him in utter confusion, ignoring everything else he'd said.
"But I am wearing a skirt," she said, her dark brow furrowing quizzically as she stumbled over his correction in her head.
"What does that have to do with anything?" Tony asked desperately, having already noticed she was wearing a skirt and, being Tony, already appreciated her very nice, very bare legs.
"You said 'fly by the seat of my pants'. I do not understand; I am wearing a skirt."
Tony slapped himself in the forehead, very frustrated and uncomfortable. They should not be standing in Gibbs' foyer having this conversation; especially not when he heard a loud crash and footsteps. The bear had awoken.
"Zee-vah!" he hissed, throwing a wary glance towards the living room. "This is no time for a grammatical…idioms…vocabulary—whatever lesson! Forget about this—you don't even have a plan!"
Ziva gave him a steely look and turned on her heel, stomping determinedly down the hall. Tony squeaked and scuttled after her, mentally kicking himself for being drawn into this.
"Flying by the seat of my skirt has previously worked for me," Ziva answered stubbornly, turning a corner.
"Pants!" Tony hissed, right as Ziva stopped abruptly and managed to avoid running into a very annoyed looking Gibbs. Tony smacked into the Israeli and squealed girlishly again, quailing under the hard, steely gaze in Leroy Jethro Gibbs' eyes.
He silently prayed Ziva would not do what she had told him she was going to do.
But the Gods disappointed him.
"Gibbs. We need to borrow your boat."
