Half an hour and another beer later, Tony excused himself to go to the bathroom, leaving a thoughtful Jeanne behind at their table. She had spent the last thirty minutes prying what she could out of him about his life since she left, and he needed a break to recover his wits before she made any more forays into his head.

The bathroom was a unisex single-toilet-and-sink job, and as he closed and locked the door behind him, an image of Ziva appearing beside him flashed through his brain. Chuckling at the absurdity of that - she wasn't speaking to him, let alone tracking him into bathrooms, after all - he unzipped his fly, leaned one forearm against the wall above the toilet, and closed his eyes in relief as the beers he had drunk flowed out of him.

"You are well-hydrated, I see."

Somehow still unsurprised, he didn't bother to lift his head off where he had been leaning it on his free arm. "Can I help you, Ziva?"

"No."

"Ok." He finished his business with a purposely-coarse grunt of relief, zipped his fly, and flushed the toilet. "Unisex bathrooms aren't generally intended to be used by both sexes at the same time, you know."

She shrugged and unbuttoned the waistband of her pants, sidestepping him as he moved toward the sink. "Why stay outside for modesty's sake? There is very little of me that you haven't already seen, Tony. And...what is the saying? 'When you have to go...'"

"What - aw, Ziva!" Hastily, he turned his back on her as she made it clear she was not going to wait for him to leave the room before using the toilet. "I locked the door for a reason."

"And I picked the lock for a reason. Ahh."

"You carried your picks to the bar with you?" he asked, doing his best not to look at her in the mirror as he carefully scrubbed each of his fingers, for lack of anything better to occupy himself with.

Ziva's pants rustled as she pulled them back up, but it wasn't until he heard the sound of her zipper and then a flush that he dared face her again. She was smirking at him. "I carry my picks everywhere. I never know when they might be needed."

"Like now?" he asked with a dubious look, moving aside as she reached for the sink taps.

Still smirking, she met his eyes in the mirror. "Exactly like now. So," she added, dropping her eyes to the sink as she started soaping her hands, "are you enjoying your date?"

"It's not a date, Ziva." He pulled a paper towel out of the dispenser, wiped his hands, and crumpled it into his fist.

"You are drinking in a bar with a woman for a reason other than work. This generally qualifies as a date in the United States, yes? Or have all those men been lying to me for the past four years?"

Scowling, he tossed his paper towel in the general direction of the already-overflowing trash can and yanked another one out of the dispenser as she reached to turn off the water. "I told you it wasn't a date, and it's not. It's a...meeting."

"With your ex-" She broke off there as his jaw tightened in warning. "...ex-whatever," she finished finally. "I do not care if it is a date," she went on with forced lightness. "Why should I? I simply find it interesting that you feel you need to lie to me about something such as -"

"Who's lying now, Ziva?" he asked softly, leaning forward as she reached for the towel he was holding.

She scoffed and pulled it out of his hand. "Certainly not me."

Sensing Ziva's retreat in their ongoing battle, he pushed his advantage. "Why are you here tonight? Hmm? You and McGee happened to want to go out alone, for the first time ever, and just happened to show up at the same place he knew I was coming?"

Obviously taken aback by his words, Ziva stiffened, clutching the paper towel in her one dry hand as the other one continued to drip on the tile floor. "He knew you would be here?"

Oh yeah, he was winning this skirmish. Tony chuckled smugly. "He'd have had to be a saint to not eavesdrop on my call to Jeanne. Yeah, he knew." Then something occurred to him, and he looked down at her, the smug smile melting off his face. "You didn't?"

"Certainly not!"

"Then..." Now he was confused. "How did he get you here?"

She snorted derisively. "He suggested we come out, away from you, and unwind." She snorted again. "Do I look 'unwound' to you, Tony?"

He considered her, from her mussed hair to the way she was standing with one hip popped aggressively out. "Nope."

Ziva sighed and shook her head. "I believe I shall go have another drink. Elsewhere," she added when he started to open his mouth. "I would not want you to think I was intruding on your date any further."

"It's not a date! If you must know, all she's wanted to talk about all night is -"

"Hey!" an unfamiliar male voice called, accompanied by a fist pounding on the door from the outside. "Some of us gotta go, folks! Have your fight somewhere else!"

They froze, mouths open, and in unison turned to look at the door.

"Now!" the man hollered, and pounded again.

Ziva lunged for the door, snapped open the lock, and had slithered out of the room before Tony could even move to catch her. She gave the angry man in the hallway a wide smile, causing him to pause mid-knock to stare at her, and rounded the hallway corner a good five seconds ahead of Tony, who wasted precious time trying to ignore the other man's incredulous look.