"Order the pizzas," Ziva said, following Tony into his apartment and shrugging off her jacket. "And do not touch mine while I am in the shower."
He stopped with one arm in his coat and one out and stared at her. "What?"
"I am serious, Tony. If you touch my pizza, I will break your fingers."
"That's not what I was 'what'ing. I was 'what'ing the concept of you taking a shower. Where, exactly, will you be taking this shower?"
"In your bathroom." She bent down to untie one sneaker, then the other, and kicked them off. "Is this a foreign concept to you? You are many things, but I did not think 'unclean' was one of them."
"I am perfectly clean, thank you. I am just very confused as to why you plan on climbing into my shower, in particular, now, in particular."
"Oh. Did I not tell you? I have blood in my hair. I do not like it. I want it gone."
That made a surprising amount of sense to Tony. He'd seen her near-covered in blood and not flinching, but the covering had never included her hair. In fact, this aversion explained a lot, and -
"Tony." She waved a hand in front of his face. "May I use your shower, or not?"
"Yeah, sure. Just let me, uh -" he began, trying to head her off as she turned to walk deeper into the apartment. "I haven't had a lot of time to clean lately -"
"It is fine," she interrupted, reaching for the hem of her shirt and heading toward what she assumed was his bathroom. "I have showered in places that are far worse than this."
"I -" he tried again, making his best effort to not watch her hands. Before he could get out anything else, she had disappeared into the bathroom. "What do you want on your pizza?" he called weakly after her.
Her head popped back out past the doorframe. "Just cheese. And..." She held her shirt out to him. "Find me something to replace this. It is blood-stained."
Before he could come up with a reply to that, she was back in the bathroom with the door closed.
Tony took a step into the hallway, tweezed up her shirt with two fingers, and retreated to the kitchen.
Ziva joined him in the kitchen twenty minutes later, wearing the oversized Ohio State shirt he had left outside the bathroom door for her. "You could not have brought me pants?" she asked, scowling.
"You didn't ask for pants," he pointed out defensively through a mouthful of pizza.
"I suppose I should consider myself lucky that you had both shampoo and soap in your shower." She leaned past him to open the second pizza box and pulled out a slice. "You did not touch my pizza. I am impressed."
Tony swallowed, eying where the t-shirt ended high on her thighs. "You, uh, want me to get you some pants now?"
"It can wait until after I've eaten." She took a large bite of the slice. "You will behave yourself until then, I presume?"
"What, me?" He gave her his most angelic look. "When have I ever misbehaved?"
"I have allotted you thirty seconds in which to stare at me before I retaliate, Tony. You have already used up nineteen-point-five of them. I recommend you conserve the rest."
Eyes wide, he shoved three-quarters of a slice into his mouth at once and stepped back. Then, changing his mind, he leaned forward again. " 'Retaliate', like how?" he asked in fascination.
His words were muffled by the pizza, but the look on his face told her exactly what he'd said. She smiled and mirrored his posture. "Would you like to find out?"
Tony's mouth dropped open, displaying half-chewed pizza in a most unattractive manner, as he stared at her.
There was silence for a long moment, and then Ziva drew back. "Do not even think about it," she managed unconvincingly. "I was, of course, making a joke."
He closed his mouth and finished chewing. "Of course."
More silence. Ziva picked up her pizza box, turned away, and carried it to the other side of the kitchen. "So," she said quietly into the box as she reopened it, "you said that you needed to talk to me."
"Um, yeah." He reached for another slice, then reconsidered and closed the box. "About today."
Crossing her arms, she turned to face him and leaned back against the counter. "Yes?"
"You said you weren't going to cover for me."
"Yes."
"So...why did you?"
She pursed her lips thoughtfully and shrugged. "I do not know, exactly. Perhaps I wanted to protect you."
"Protect me? From what?"
"From yourself. From Gibbs." She shrugged helplessly. "I do not know! It was an impulsive decision."
He considered that for a moment. "Ok, 'from Gibbs' is a definite possibility, but you and I both know I don't need to be protected from myself. I," he went on, chuckling smugly, "know exactly what I'm doing. At all times."
"Oh?" She cocked her head to the side. "And what, 'exactly,' were you doing with that woman this morning?"
"Talking."
"For over an hour?" she retorted incredulously.
"Yes!"
"Very well. If you were simply 'talking,' then you will not mind telling me what you were talking about."
To her surprise, he blushed. "Nothing I'm gonna tell you about."
"Has she moved back to the area?" she shot back.
"Yes."
"Does she require assistance with something related to criminal activity by or against a Marine or member of the United States Navy?"
"No." He narrowed his eyes. "I'm not going to discuss this with you, Ziva."
"You do not need to." She smirked. "I am perfectly able to draw the indicated conclusion: if she does not require your professional...expertise...then she came looking for you for personal reasons." Scoffing when he opened his mouth to defend himself, she turned back to her pizza box. "For a time, I almost believed that you were too intelligent to drop for that, but I see that I was wrong."
"Hey!" Tony barked, for once too busy with other considerations to correct her misused idiom. "Just because a woman comes to see me doesn't mean I'm dying to get in her pants."
Ziva directed an incredulous look at him over her shoulder.
"...Usually," he qualified reluctantly.
"You have already been in this particular woman's pants," she pointed out.
"Doesn't mean I want back in."
Bending forward to rest her elbows on the counter, she ran annoyed hands through her wet hair. "So I am to believe that you are, what, simply secretly meeting with an old friend?"
"What do you care, anyway?" Taking advantage of her turned back, he eyed her legs. Nice legs. Much more attractive unclothed than covered in pants, and that was saying something considering how she looked in pants.
"I do not care. I am simply concerned for you." She frowned. "So you are saying that you are not interested in this woman?"
"I..." Discomfited, he rubbed the back of his head. "I don't know."
"You don't know? This is something you should know, Tony!" she said emphatically, beginning to pace the kitchen. "You need to know things like whether you are interested in your old girlfriend who has come back after deserting you! You cannot just...go through life not knowing!"
"I didn't say I was going to go through life not knowing! I just said I don't know right now."
"Unacceptable."
"It's not up to you to accept it!"
Ziva pulled to a sudden stop mid-pace, inches away from him. "Isn't it?" she asked quietly before resuming her pacing.
"I -" His mouth worked for a second before he came up with more words to fill it. "Don't start this now, Ziva."
"Then when?" she demanded, throwing up her hands as she turned on her heel to face him again. "The next time one of us is almost killed? The next time one of your girlfriends appears in the middle of my squad room?"
"Oh, now it's your squad room?" he shot back, closing the gap between them.
"It is more mine than hers!"
One moment they were facing off, nose-to-nose, in the center of his kitchen; the next, the edge of the kitchen counter was cutting into her back as his mouth slammed down on hers. Her arms twined around his neck; his hands slipped down to cup her behind as he smoothly lifted her to sit on the counter.
Tony's doorbell rang.