A/N: Warning for the squeamish: this chapter contains a whole lot of vomit.
Disclaimer: Disclaimed.

Part 14: The Bachelor Party

As far as bachelor parties went, it wasn't the worst Tony had been to. That honor went to Matt Bower, whose 1997 party in Chicago attempted to go ahead in the midst of one of the city's worst snowstorms in 40 years. They'd met at a buddy's house with plans to bar-hop around the city before retiring to strip club. By the time they were ready to start the night, the streets were buried under four feet of snow, and they couldn't go anywhere. That left 20 guys sitting in a one-bedroom apartment with no alcohol, no girls, and nothing to do after the power went out 30 minutes into the night.

Jimmy Palmer's crew had at least managed to make it outside. To be fair, they were now in their fourth bar of the evening—a cozy, sweaty place with an Irish flair—and most of the 15 guys crawling the streets of D.C. in celebration (make that mourning) of Jimmy's impending betrothal were having a ball. Tony was frankly surprised that a) Jimmy had 15 friends to round up, and b) at least 10 of them were carbon copies of the guys Tony hung out with in college. It didn't gel with the impression he had of the nerdy, socially awkward medical student Tony knew, but that didn't mean much of anything. People tended to tweak their personalities to fill whatever role was needed to round out a group. The guy Tony was with Josh and Celeste was slightly different to the guy he was around his colleagues, and was different again to the guy he was when he visited his family. There was nothing crooked about it. It was just human nature.

Tonight, Tony was filling the role of agony aunt again. Not for Jimmy or Abby, but for McGee. The probie had been throwing back brews like he was stocking up for the winter, and he had turned from chipper and chatty at bar number one, to hyper emotional and rambling at bar number four. From what Tony could gather, Abby had been so inspired by all the love in the air that she'd asked out a guy she met at the bowling alley. With six beers and a few shots under his belt, McGee was keen to tell Tony exactly how he felt about that.

"I mean, who the hell just walks up to some person they've just met and asks them out?" McGee wanted to know.

Tony discreetly wiped a drop of McGee's spittle off his wrist, and answered his friend honestly. "A lot of people do. I don't know about the bowling alley scenario. I've never done that one. But generally, if you meet someone and you're interested, you ask them out."

McGee huffed and glared at his glass of beer. "But a bowling alley?"

"Abby likes bowling," Tony pointed out.

"I like bowling," McGee argued.

Tony made a face. "Really? I don't get it."

McGee took a big gulp of beer, and Tony watched with dread as determination filled his eyes. "I've gotta do something about this."

Tony took a deep breath and looked him in the eye. "No, Tim. You don't," he said, trying to strike the balance between being firm and being a friend.

But McGee didn't want to hear it. "Everyone else is working it out!" he said, stabbing a finger into the table as if it would help him make his point. "Jimmy's getting married, you and Ziva are workin' it out, Gibbs is in the middle of his longest relationship since the nineties, and Ducky's getting it on with Aunt Molly. And now Abby's probably going to marry this guy…"

Tony allowed himself to roll his eyes at the drama. "Okay, so why don't you date?"

McGee looked at him like he was stupid. "I want to date Abby."

Tony shook his head. He'd already had a conversation with Abby about how she felt about McGee, so he knew that she had moved on. But it wasn't his place to tell McGee that. He could only try to be the voice of sober reason. "I don't think that's a good idea."

McGee stared at him, and for a moment Tony thought the normally mild-mannered probie was going to lose his temper and start yelling. But then McGee slumped against the table and looked up at with a pitiful expression. "Did she tell you that?"

"No, I just—"

"You think I should give up," McGee guessed.

Tony took a moment to gather his thoughts (and retrieve a few things Ziva had said from his memory), and then trod as carefully as he could. "I think that a lot of time has passed, and that it might be good for you to think about moving on."

McGee wiped his mouth, and then displayed a lucidity that Tony wasn't expecting. "You didn't."

Tony blinked and frowned. "What?"

"You didn't move on," McGee said. "You were stuck on Ziva for ages, and even though you both dated you never really moved away from each other. Even when it looked like you'd never get there." He shook his head and hiccupped. "You didn't move on."

It had never occurred to Tony that anyone aside from him and Ziva were paying that much attention to them. Yeah, everyone had made fun of them at one point or another over the years, but no one had ever said anything that made him think that they knew there was actual love involved. Hell, even McGee's stupid book had been pasted together on the idea that they only had the hots for each other. To find out now that McGee was clear on the fact that Tony had been waiting for the right time with Ziva was kind of…unnerving. Especially since Tony had only worked that out himself a couple of months ago.

But all of that was beside the point. They were supposed to be talking about McGee, not Tony. "We're different," he said dismissively."

But McGee wouldn't drop it. "It's not."

"Is too."

"How?"

McGee seemed to be responsive to honestly tonight, so Tony continued down that path. "Because we were never together before now."

"So?"

Tony sighed. "So we were waiting for our first chance, not hoping for a second that would be better than the first."

McGee stared at him, and for a second Tony thought he might be getting it. But then McGee shrugged. "You might still break up," he said. "If you break up, will you hope for a second chance?"

Tony's jaw tightened as he wondered why all the people who knew them best seemed to think it was so plausible that he and Ziva would break up. "Thanks for the vote of confidence," he muttered.

"No, I'm just sayin'," McGee said, waving his hand through the air like it was no big deal.

Tony went along with it only because McGee was so drunk, and arguing over it wouldn't get them anywhere but into a fistfight. "I don't know, McGee," he sighed. "If we break up, you and I will have this conversation again and I'll be the drunk one."

McGee went quiet, and fixed his eyes on the table in front of him. Tony let him sit there with his own drunk thoughts and looked around the room. Jimmy was at the bar with three of his groomsmen, two of whom were engaged in some kind of competitive shot-drinking game. Tony smirked to himself. Once upon a time, he'd been one of those guys. Not too long ago, he'd thought he still wanted to be one of those guys. But these days? Not so much. He had better things to do with his Sunday mornings than vomit until he passed out on the bathroom floor.

"Cassie Martin asked me out."

McGee was still staring at the table, so he didn't catch Tony's small, triumphant smile. He couldn't believe Cass had taken his advice. He didn't actually think the two of them had much hope of lasting in the long run, but he was sure they'd enjoy a couple of fun months together if they gave each other a chance. And maybe a couple of months with Cass would help McGee move on from Abby.

"Yeah?" he said, trying to sound encouraging.

McGee glanced up at him and shrugged. "We're probably going out on Thursday."

"That's great, Tim."

McGee squinted at him. "You know her well?"

Tony shook his head. "Not really. But she was friends with Kate, so she's probably a pretty decent person."

McGee thought that over. "She's hot," he stated.

Tony chuckled. "Yeah, she is."

"Conventional hot," McGee elaborated, and narrowed his eyes with suspicion. "Conventional hot doesn't usually go for me."

Tony picked up his Coke and shrugged. "I wouldn't think too hard about it," he advised. "Just be happy with your good fortune."

McGee nodded—and nodded and nodded—as he considered Tony's advice. Then he threw back the rest of his drink and slammed his hands down on the table, hard enough to make his glass jump. "I need another drink. You need another drink? I'm gonna buy you a drink."

Tony shook his head as McGee got to his feet. "I'm good. And you might want to slow it down there, McLindsayLohan. It's barely midnight and I'm thinking of eighty-sixing you."

McGee braced his hands on the table and leaned into Tony's face. "You think I'm too drunk?" he challenged.

Tony almost got drunk off the fumes coming out of McGee's mouth. "You're getting there."

McGee waved his hand through the air dismissively and then wandered off towards the bar. It was clear that the probie wasn't close to calling it a night.

Two hours later, the group had made it to their fifth bar of the night. Tony had almost carried McGee to the filled-to-the-brim, almost-trendy establishment that he hoped would be their last stop of the evening. In return for the gesture, McGee had started getting uncomfortably argumentative with strangers in the bar, and was receiving back up for his behavior from one of Jimmy's groomsmen. Tony kept trying to calm both men down and keep the peace, but there was a prickling sensation at the back of his neck that told him it was only a matter of time until things got ugly. Although McGee was generally a pacifist, his new BFF Charlie was not. He carried a tension in his frame that Tony had seen a thousand times before, and he knew what it meant. He was fixing for a fight.

Tony kept one eye on McGee as he pulled out his cell phone and texted Ziva. He decided not to acknowledge the voice in his head that said he was just looking for reasons to talk to her. Just because it was the first night they hadn't spent together in about two weeks didn't mean he missed her. Nope, it didn't mean that at all. Tony was the master of his independence.

McGee's getting ready to rumble. Might need a lift to the hospital soon.

As soon as he sent the message, Tony swore aloud at himself. It was after 0100. Ziva would probably be asleep, and the beeping of her cell phone would only make her snap awake at the possibility of a new case. He should have checked the time first.

But her response came back so quickly that he wondered if she'd already had her phone in her hand when it beeped. What's going on? He okay?

Tony glanced up at McGee. Right now he was talking to Jimmy and another guy, and Charlie was nowhere to be seen. Extremely drunk and being difficult to love. Sorry if I woke you.

He jumped when McGee literally fell into the seat across from him, and caught his beer bottle before McGee's clumsy hands sent it spinning off the tabletop. "Whoa there, little buddy," he said. "Take it easy."

"I'm so easy," McGee slurred as Tony's cell rang.

Tony shook his head and answered without checking caller ID. "Hey."

"You've got to cut him off," Ziva said in his ear.

"Yeah, I tried that," he told her. "But there's no keeping an Irishman from his ale."

Whatever Ziva said in reply was lost to him when, out of nowhere, McGee lunged for the phone.

"Is that Abby?" he cried, and grabbed the phone out of the shocked Tony's hand.

"No, McGee," Tony started, and tried to grab the phone back, but McGee literally smacked his hand away and started pouring his heart out down the line.

"Abby, Abby!" he almost yelled. "I know you think we've missed our chance, but I just don't accept that. You're always saying that I have to follow my heart and trust my gut, and my gut's telling me that we're not over yet. We can't be. I'm not ready to concede defeat!"

Tony's mouth hung open as he watched on in complete horror. "Tim, it's Ziva," he tried to cut in, but McGee was totally in the zone now, and Tony could only drop his face into his hands in empathetic embarrassment.

"I love you, Abby," McGee told Ziva. "And I can't keep pretending that I don't hope that you'll realize how good we are together. All I want is—"

Tony looked up at the abrupt end to McGee's drunken soliloquy, and watched the color drain out of his face. Tony assumed that Ziva had been able to get a word in edge ways, and that McGee was now contemplating what the fastest way to kill himself would be.

"Oh, my God," McGee murmured. "I'm gonna throw up." He dropped the phone onto the table and lurched out of his seat before he started pushing his way through the dense crowd.

Tony grabbed his phone and went after him as he talked to Ziva. "I'm going to have to call you back," he told her, and then hung up.

His progress through the bar was slowed down by the shoulder-to-shoulder crowd, but he managed to keep an eye on McGee until he staggered through the door to the bathrooms. Tony shoved his way past two guys who were yelling at each other in a not-so-pleasant way, and then pushed the bathroom door open. Two empty stalls, two guys lined up, and no McGee in sight. Tony cursed and looked around. Jesus, he really hoped McGee hadn't wandered into the ladies' room instead, although he supposed if he had, he would have heard screaming by now. Another possibility presented itself when Tony spied the back door down the end of the hall. Lucky door number three.

He knew he'd found his wayward friend as soon as he opened the door and heard the retching. McGee was bracing himself against the wall by the dumpster halfway down the alley. Amber-colored vomit poured out of his mouth and splashed onto his shoes, and Tony took a moment to control his gag reflex before moving down the alley towards him. He stopped six feet away. It was as close as he dared to get.

"Wow, Tim," he said, genuine awe in his voice. "That's the most impressive chuck I've seen for a long time."

McGee took a deep breath, and then sent a glare at Tony that should have flattened him. "Shut up," he muttered, and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand.

Tony scratched his temple. "You got any more left..." he started, but was interrupted when a second wave streamed out of McGee's mouth. Tony raised his eyebrows to himself and answered his own question. "Yep, looks like a whole lot."

As McGee worked on bringing up every piece of food and drink he'd consumed in the last week, Tony stuck his hands in his pockets and tried not to watch. He let his eyes drift skyward, as if that would give McGee the privacy he needed, and thought about the conversation he might soon have to have with Abby. You're going to have to come clean with him, kiddo.

A minute later the retching stopped, and Tony chanced a look at the stunning puddle at McGee's feet. There was a very large and twisted part of him that wanted to take photographic evidence, but his empathy won out. McGee was not going to need a physical reminder of this night.

"Okay. I'm done," McGee announced, and then stepped away from the puddle.

Tony gave him what he hoped was a vaguely sympathetic look as he approached. "I guess you're an emotional vomiter too, huh?" he said, thinking of his own turned stomach on the day of Ziva's INS interview.

But McGee wasn't in the mood for sympathy. With an expression as serious as Tony had ever seen, McGee stepped right up into Tony's space and pointed a finger in his face. "I'm warning you, DiNozzo. Don't you dare breathe a word of this to Abby."

Tony's nose crinkled at the acidic, fermented stench rolling off his friend. "Tim, I wouldn't do that to you."

"Promise," McGee demanded.

Tony pushed McGee's finger away and turned his head. "I will promise you anything so long as you get your vomit breath out of my face."

McGee ran his hands through his hair. "Ziva's gonna say something, isn't she?"

"To who? To Abby?" Tony shook his head. "No, I don't think she'll be keen to get involved in this."

McGee turned and pointed another finger. "I kept your secret!" he pointed out, arguing despite Tony's attempts to agree and placate. "I never told Ziva about all that wedding vows stuff you gave to Jimmy that was really about her, so you guys have to keep your mouths shut about this!"

Tony's heart beat momentarily spiked at the mention of the vows, and he felt a few seconds of panic over how he was going to deal with that at the wedding. He was leaning towards flat out denial at the moment. "Tim, don't worry about it," he said. "We've got your back."

For a moment, Tony was sure McGee was going to throw up again. But then he swallowed, wiped his mouth, and stomped off towards the door to the bar. "I need another drink."

Tony quickened his step to catch up. "No, I think what you need is a few glasses of water and a ride home."

McGee shook his head as he dug in his heels. "No, I'm fine."

Tony's eyes rolled heavenward. A drunk McGee was a stubborn, messy and emotional pain in the butt.

It was almost 0200 when Ziva's cell phone beeped again. She reached over to the coffee table for it without taking her eyes off the book in her hand, and finished the paragraph she was reading before checking Tony's text message.

You still awake?

She hit the call button instead of texting him back, and he answered on the second ring.

"What are you doing at this time of night?" he asked suspiciously.

Ziva could still hear music and talking in the background, but not as loud as before. She figured he was outside. "Cleaning my weapons chest," she lied. "So...wow."

Tony didn't need her to elaborate. "Uh, yeah," Tony chuckled. "He's experiencing some confessional regret right now, so keep that epic declaration of love on the down low."

"Of course," she said. "How is he now?"

She could hear the rueful smile in Tony's voice as he repeated her question. "How is he now? He's asleep. Passed out, actually. The two of us are just going to sit here until he's a little more sober and we can get a cab to pick us up."

"Do you want me to come get you?" she asked. Leaving the house at this time of night wasn't really what she wanted to do, but she was still awake and still dressed. And it would be a nice gesture, for Tony and McGee.

"Hmm, that depends," Tony replied. "Do you want vomit and blood in your car?"

Ziva's eyebrow went up with her level of interest. "Blood? Is he all right?"

"It's not his blood," Tony told her. "Him and one of Jimmy's groomsmen just picked a fight with some computer game developers." He paused the story to assure her, "I'm not making this up. The four of them came to soft, nerdy blows."

Ziva frowned. Tim McGee was not the type of guy to get involved in a bar fight. That sounded more like something that happened to her and Tony. In the middle of the day. "And he made them bleed?"

Tony cleared his throat. "Uh, not exactly," he said, sounding a bit sheepish. "The blood's mine. I tried to break it up, he thought I was someone else and he slugged me."

Ziva's mouth fell open. Tim McGee was getting really drunk, picking fights in bars and punching his friends?

"Ziva, you there?" Tony asked after a few too many beats of silence.

"I honestly do not know what to say," she told him. "Are you okay?"

"Yeah," he sighed. "I'll have a massive headache and probably an impressive bruise, but I've had much worse."

She knew he wasn't referring to the beat down he got in Philadelphia, but the comment still made her shiver and anger rise in her throat. She swallowed it down and got off the couch as the protective streak in her woke up and pushed her to act. "I will pick you up. Help you get him to bed."

"Not really the threesome I was after," Tony cracked.

Ziva smirked but otherwise ignored him. "I will see you soon."

When Ziva pulled up at the curb and looked at her partner and friend, she could barely believe her eyes. Sweet, placid Tim McGee was slumped against the park bench he shared with Tony, seemingly passed out. His shirt was rumpled and stained with blood, beer and what Ziva assumed was vomit. He looked pale and sweaty, and Ziva thought that if the back of the seat wasn't holding him up, he'd be lying on the ground. Tony, on the other hand, looked more or less as put together as always, aside from the red mark blossoming on the side of his jaw. As Ziva got out of the car, he appeared almost amused, and she wondered if he'd decided to have a drink or two after the fight to try to numb the ache in his face.

"Hi," he called out as she walked around the front of the car.

Ziva shook her head in wonder. "I wasn't sure I believed you."

Tony shrugged. "Ta-da!"

She stood in front of him and squinted at the mark on his chin. "Do you still have all your teeth?"

Tony's eyes went to the sky as he ran his tongue around his mouth. "Yep." He nodded at the car she'd just gotten out of. His Mustang, instead of her Mini. "You didn't hotwire that, did you, you little criminal?"

Ziva shook her head. "No, of course not," she said. "I just broke into your house and stole your spare keys."

Tony nodded at her joke, but his expression was pained. "You treated her right on the way over, right?" he said. "I mean, you slowed down for corners and didn't ride the clutch and drove in the correct gear, right? Right?"

"I drove like I always do," she shrugged. It was a lie—she'd actually taken care to drive his first love like a model citizen. But if he was going to make fun of her for her driving, then she would make fun of him right back.

Tony didn't seem to pick up on the lie, but he just closed his eyes, took a breath and nodded. "Where's Jason Bourne's ride of choice?"

"At your place," she said. "It doesn't have room for three."

"If he throws up on my upholstery—"

"Then he will have it detailed," Ziva cut in. "Have you had anything to drink?"

Tony winced. "Not much, but I'm probably over the limit." He caught her hand and looked up at her pleadingly. "Please drive like McGee's Miss Daisy."

She had a moment of pity, and stroked her free hand through his hair. "Trust me."

Tony twisted his lips, like he wasn't sure whether asking for a better assurance than that would be worth annoying her. In the end, he let it go and nodded. "Okay. Can you just help me get him upright and I'll drag him over to the car."

Ziva stuffed Tony's keys in her pocket and went to the other side of McGee as Tony took his arm and hooked it around his shoulders. Ziva grabbed him around his waist, and made a sound of disgust when her face almost came into contact with something vile-smelling on his shirt.

"How much did he drink?" she asked Tony as they wrestled McGee to his feet.

"Not enough to numb a broken heart," Tony replied.

Ziva raised an eyebrow at the vaguely poetic comment, but didn't get to comment before McGee lifted his head and burped in her face.

"Oh my God!" Ziva exclaimed, and covered her nose.

"Where we goin'?" McGee slurred, oblivious.

"Home," Tony told him. "Watch out you don't throw up on Ziva. Or my car. I'll probably be more annoyed about the car."

"Ziva?" McGee echoed. "Where she?"

"Under your left armpit," Tony said.

"Are you all right, McGee?' Ziva asked.

McGee swung his head around to look at her. "Have you been with us all night?"

"No."

"Where'd you come from?"

"Home," Ziva said, as she and Tony started dragging him across the street.

"Whose home?" McGee wanted to know.

Ziva didn't bother replying. She didn't have much patience for drunken blathering. She broke away from Tony and McGee when they got within two steps of the car and opened the rear door. Tony dragged McGee over and then started pushing him in.

"Sit down, McGee."

"On it," McGee replied, but then stood still as he stared at the back seat.

"You're not on it yet," Tony pointed out.

"I'm waiting for my butt to listen to my brain."

Tony sighed and looked to Ziva for help. Ziva shrugged, and then stood behind McGee and shoved. McGee fell onto the back seat with an 'oof!' and Ziva bent to wrestle his feet into the car. Once he was all tucked in, she slammed the door and looked at Tony with a self-satisfied smirk.

"He is not going to feel any pain right now," she explained. "I doubt he will even remember it."

Tony stared at her impassively. "Thank you."

She leant in and pecked his lips. "No problem. Get in."

McGee was slightly more cooperative when the time came to move from Tony's car to his apartment. Tony still held him up, but McGee's feet had heard the message from his brain to walk, so Tony didn't have to drag 170 pounds of drunk guy up six flights of stairs and down the hallway. Ziva had the apartment door open, the lights on and a path to the couch cleared by the time they made it to Tony's door.

"Okay, Timmy," Tony said, his voice straining as he helped McGee the last few feet to the couch. "Home, safe and sound for the night."

McGee dropped onto the couch like a sack of cement and his head bounced off the seat cushions. "This isn't my house."

"Good eye, McSherlockHolmes," Tony said, as he rotated his shoulder to try to work out a twinge. "You can't be left to your own devices in case you pull a Hendrix on us, and I am not spending the night in Nerdsville."

"Some people like Nerdsville," McGee murmured sleepily, before his eyes snapped open and he sat up. "Like Abby. Oh my God. Where's Ziva?"

Tony recognized the fresh panic in McGee's eyes, and felt dismay that the freak out portion of McGee's evening was still not over. He sat on the coffee table in front of him with a sigh. "McGee, Ziva's not going to—"

"Ziva!" McGee yelled as Ziva reappeared, carrying a plastic bucket from Tony's bathroom.

Ziva frowned at him as she put the bucket in front of the couch. "What?"

"I spoke to you on the phone tonight," McGee said, as if she might have forgotten.

Ziva's eyes flicked to Tony to share a brief, knowing look before returning to McGee. "Yes. I remember that."

"Please don't tell Abby," McGee begged. "Please. If you're any friend at all, you'll put it in your vault."

"Vault means—" Tony started, but Ziva cut him off.

"I know what it means. McGee, of course I will not say anything to her," she said. "But you should."

Tony's gaze snapped up to her, and he gave her a fierce frown. He mouthed a curt 'no' to her as he shook his head, and Ziva cocked her head to the side while she tried to work out why he was objecting.

"Of course, I don't mean that you should spill your heart to her," Ziva went on, heading in the direction she thought Tony was pointing her to. "I just mean that things need to be put to bed." She raised a questioning eyebrow at her partner, and his expression softened when he nodded.

"I think what Ziva's getting at," Tony took over, "is that you'll feel better when there's closure."

McGee's face slid into something south of glum. "Closure," he repeated.

Tony clapped him on the shoulder. "Closure is healthy."

As McGee considered that, Ziva gestured towards the kitchen. "I will get you some water," she said, but before she could step away, McGee reached out and grabbed her wrist. Ziva stumbled a step with the unexpected strength of the touch, and she braced her other hand on Tony's shoulder to stop herself from falling into McGee's lap. "Whoa!"

Tony steadied her, and with thoughts of how suddenly violent McGee had been in the bar filling his head, he put a firm hand over McGee's wrist. "Hey. Tim, let go," he warned.

McGee didn't hear the tone in his voice, and kept holding on to Ziva in what he thought was a friendly touch. "No, hey. Look, I jus' wanna say to you guys that you're so annoying," he slurred. "But I think that Tony was right not to give up. Cuz, like, you really love each other, an' you deserve each other." He paused and frowned in offence at his own words. "That sounds mean. I don't mean it like...Actually, I do mean it like that." He looked between them. "You both totally deserve each other. But I mean it nice, too. And I think..." He paused and seemed to be looking for more words of blessing and encouragement, until he let go of Ziva, pitched forward and took a deep breath. "I'm gonna be sick."

Tony grabbed the bucket Ziva had brought over and held it under McGee's mouth two seconds before McGee once again opened the gates to his stomach and purged.

"Oh my God!" Ziva cried, and dashed out of the room.

Tony couldn't wait to follow her. "Man alive," he muttered with wonder, and then shoved the bucket into McGee's hands. "Hold on to that, okay? Because if you soil anything in here with your bodily fluids I'm going to make you scrub it out with a toothbrush."

"Okay," McGee said weakly, and hung his head over the bucket as his stomach tried to bring up even more.

Tony stood up and backed away. "I'll get you some water," he said, and then left the remorseful drinker to his own devices.

He found Ziva in the kitchen, one hand over her mouth and the other resting over her stomach. He found himself chuckling at the situation instead of venting his annoyance. "Good thing we've got tomorrow off, huh?"

Ziva dropped the hand from her mouth. "I hate vomit."

"I know," he said, and crossed to the freezer to grab an ice pack for his chin. He sat at the kitchen island, and Ziva leaned against his side.

"Is it sore?" she asked, gesturing it his face.

Tony's eyebrows quickly rose and fell again. "He's got a pretty good left hook."

Ziva slid her hand into his hair and kissed his head. "Why did he get so upset tonight?"

Tony pressed the ice pack against his jaw. "Abby had a date tonight," he told her, lowering his voice even though the likelihood of McGee overhearing the conversation was non-existent.

"Do you think he is really heartbroken?" Ziva asked. "Or just drunk and emotional?"

"Both," Tony replied, not even having to think about it. He looked up at her. "Aren't you two BFFs? You should know this."

Ziva shrugged. "He left me with the impression that he had mostly moved on." She poked his arm gently. "Why don't you want him to talk to her?"

"Because she's just going to shoot him down," Tony said. "It's better if she talks to him, so that he knows from the beginning that there's not a chance of them getting back together. It'll stop him from pouring his heart out like he did to you tonight, and humiliating himself."

Ziva's frown turned into an expression of understanding. "Oh. Yes, that makes sense." She eyed him with suspicion to hide her fondness for him. "You are behaving like a very good friend, Tony."

"I get mushy when I drink," he threw back with a smile.

Ziva winked at him. "Was it a good party before the vomiting and the fighting?"

"It was weird," he said, but couldn't find the energy to explain how he'd seen his younger self in Jimmy's friends.

"It was nice of you both to go." Tony nodded, and then winced as the throbbing in his jaw flared up. "Are you going to be okay with McGee?"

"As long as he doesn't try to climb into bed with me, or hit me, or throw up on me."

Her hand went to his hair again. "Resist the urge to hit him back if he does."

"Are you going?"

Ziva nodded. "I would stay, but...I don't want to," she finished honestly. "Not with McGee here."

He chuckled because he couldn't blame her, and then put his arm around her waist to pull her closer. Ziva leaned down to kiss him, but she jumped back with a cry a moment later and grabbed the ice pack out of his hand.

"Keep this off my butt for a minute," she instructed, and dropped it on the table before leaning down to kiss him again. They indulged in each other for a minute or two, no longer feeling the need to rush and soak in as much of each other as they could as they had just weeks ago. They had time now. They could relax.

Ziva pulled back first and stroked his non-throbbing cheekbone with her thumb. "Try to sleep well," she told him.

Tony nodded. "Thanks for picking us up. And for not driving like you usually do."

"You're welcome," she said, and gave him another quick kiss before stepping away.

Tony got up to follow her to the door. "I'll call you tomorrow," he promised. Ziva nodded, and they shared another quick kiss before she left.

Tony went back to the kitchen to fill a glass with water and then took it back to the living room. McGee was lying on the couch now, snoring with the abandon that only the drunk possessed, and so Tony left the glass on the coffee table and went over to the window. He watched Ziva walk down the sidewalk to where she'd left her Mini, and his thoughts turned again to those guys tonight who had reminded him so much of the guys he hung around in college. Those guys, so full of confidence, arrogance, brashness and pride, were a pretty good double for how he and Josh had been. And by God, they lived three lifetimes in those seven or eight years during and after college. Looking back, Tony wouldn't give them up for anything, but these days he was happy to be the calmer, more stable, slightly wiser guy who got to be with the woman he was pretty sure loved him.

God help him, Tony DiNozzo had finally grown up.

Not exactly a Tiva chapter to soothe the unsettled masses. It was really a chapter about vomit. But I'm not real good at writing entire stories in a day. Sorry.
That's my last chapter for a few weeks-yay for holidays!-but the storey's not over. Promise. I think we've got about four chapters to go.