Rifiuto: Non Miriena

The next two days passed in quiet calm; Tim worked cold cases while Gibbs and the rest of the team tracked leads on the McGee case. Tim avoided Ziva's gaze, and Ziva didn't say a word to him. Their game of 'Silent treatment' was getting to Gibbs, who was tired of seeing the longing glances Ziva would shoot McGee's way and Tim's blatant refusals to acknowledge her. So it was the evening of the second day when Gibbs ordered the team home early. As they all left, he relished the quiet, knowing that come the next morning, it wouldn't last.

Ziva curled up on the bed, wrapped in Tim's shirt; she had yet to wash it, for fear of losing his scent, and since he currently wasn't talking to her and wasn't coming over, she couldn't risk it. Seeing him at work was physically painful, and knowing that he wouldn't talk to her- or anyone else on the team, for that matter- made her heart ache all the more. She buried her face in the sleeve, letting his scent envelope her, and after a moment, looked up, studying the doll sitting on her nightstand. Nicholas watched her, a sadness in his eyes that reflected her own. She sighed, hearing something coming from the front of the apartment.

After a moment, she climbed out of bed, tossing the strands that had come loose from her low ponytail out of her eyes. For a moment, she considered getting dressed in case it was one of her neighbors, but decided against it. She didn't feel like putting anything else on, and so made her way into the living room of her apartment in just Tim's shirt and her underwear. She took a deep breath, unlocking and pulling open the door, not ready to face anyone at that moment, and only wanting to wallow in her own self-pity.

Tim stood in the doorway, hands behind his back.

"What are you doing here?" She asked, leaning against the doorframe, her body blocking the partially open entrance. A part of her was relieved that he'd come, and yet... there was that small part of her that wanted to tell him to go to hell and sob herself to sleep. But she didn't. He sighed, pulling whatever he had out from behind his back. She watched as he pulled out a bottle of wine. A moment passed, before she took it.

Chardonnay.

A small smile tugged at her lips, and she held the bottle to her chest. "Thank you." He nodded, and she couldn't resist leaning close to see what else he had in the bag. Satisfied, she pushed the door open the rest of the way and allowed him to come inside. As she shut the door behind them, he went to the kitchen, and Ziva watched as he pulled the cakes out of the bag- one a Boston Cream, the other a Sachertorte, a dish native to Austria, but that had traveled to Israel with Austrian Jews after the Holocaust.

She joined him, setting the bottle on the counter and grabbing two wine glasses. As she set them on the counter and uncorked the wine, she asked,

"How did you know?" He glanced at her. "That I like Sachertorte?" He shrugged as he removed the cakes from their containers and set them on plates.

"I listen." She stopped, glancing at him, but he didn't look up. Once she'd finished filling the glasses, she put the rest of the wine in the fridge and then sidled up beside him. Unable to resist, she reached out to steal a taste, when he slapped her hand away. She turned to him, eyes wide in shock. "Don't look at me like that. You get your own piece." And he set a plate with a slice of each on it in front of her.

"Aren't you going to try it?" He shrugged, wrinkling his nose.

"I've never had Saka-"

"Sachertorte." He nodded, meeting her gaze for the first time since entering her apartment. She gave him a soft smile, glancing at the fork he held out, but instead, she reached out and tore off a piece of the chocolate cake, taking a bite. His green eyes sparked as her lips gently enveloped her fingers, and before he could stop himself, he leaned down, capturing her lips in a deep kiss. When they slowly broke the kiss, she looked up at him, taking a deep breath. Gently, she reached up, trailing her fingers along his bottom lip. He caught her hand, kissing the frosting off her fingers, his green eyes meeting hers. Her heart skipped a beat as his tongue gently trailed over the sensitive skin of her fingertips. When he pulled away, he gave her a soft smile. She returned it, and tore off another piece, holding it out to him. He pulled back, unsure. She just nodded, and bit her lip to keep the moan from escaping her throat as he gently sucked on her fingers. "Well?"

"Pretty good. But there's something else I like better."

"Boston Cream?" She asked, raising an eyebrow. He shook his head.

"No. You." He pulled her closer, capturing her mouth with his. She wrapped her arms tight around his neck, drinking him in, before slowly pulling away to ask,

"What should we do with the cake? And the wine?" He glanced at it, before turning back to her.

"I have a pretty good idea." She soon found herself on the sofa, lost within his kiss, his touch. After a moment, he pulled away to slowly unbutton the shirt she wore. One hand ran up the length of her thigh, caressing the firm muscle as he pulled her close. Minutes passed, with only the sound of kisses breaking and skin touching, before he reached over for the slice of Boston Cream. Instead of the cake though, he came back with fingers dipped in whipped cream, and after a moment, he swiped a finger across the tip of her nose. She pulled away.

"Hey!" He chuckled, licking the cream off her nose. But she pulled away, swiping some of the cream from his fingers and over his own nose. A giggle escaped her throat as she leaned over and did the same to him, before accepting the bite of cake he held out to her. A moment passed, as they locked gazes. He raised an eyebrow, and she accepted the bite, sucking gently on his fingers. When she pulled away, she took his face in her hands, studying his features, before kissing him deeply. "I was lonely without you." He nudged his nose against hers, sighing.

"I know. I shouldn't have lost my temper, I just..." He closed his eyes, and she kissed him softly.

"I know, Tim. I know." They shared deep kisses, hands roaming and caressing, familiarizing once more with the nooks and crannies they knew so well, even after days apart. She gently cradled his chin, guiding him down to her throat. He sucked gently on her skin, nipping occasionally, before moving down to repeat the process on her collarbones. After several minutes, she pulled away, looking up at him. "How is it fair that you're still dressed?" Without a word, he removed the shirt he wore, and reached for his belt, but she grabbed his wrist. "No. Let me."

By the time they were both completely undressed and joined together, both slices of cake had been used in ways most people wouldn't dream of. As Tim kissed the glaze from the strawberry topping off her fingers, she let a tiny part of her pray that there were no more hard feelings between them. She couldn't bear another night like the last.