The Idiom: Drop of a Hat

Ziva David, Mossad Liaison Officer, glared at Anthony DiNozzo's apartment door as she willed it to open.

Gibbs had gifted her with the task of retrieving Tony after he failed to answer two home-phone calls and three cell-phone calls. She had not asked for the task, nor did she want it. Gibbs had simply ordered her, mainly because she would be more successfully in dragging him to the early morning crime scene than McGee.

For the fourth time, she banged loudly on his door, this time adding a shout of 'TONY' that could be heard probably all the way to Tel-Aviv itself. She wasn't going to wait much longer. If he didn't open his door in five seconds, she would kick it down.

Five. Four. Three. Two. One.

Nonchalantly, Ziva David aimed her foot expertly just below the apartment's doorknob and kicked hard; shaking the door and watching it bounce open with minimal shattering of the wood. With a satisfied smirk, she entered his pizza-ridden apartment, giving only a fleeting thought to the idea that she could have simply picked the lock with a hairpin.

That wouldn't be any fun.

Ziva marched through the apartment and into the bedroom, quietly pausing in the doorway. Typical. He was simply asleep in his bed, sprawled out over all of the space, the sheets all tangled and wrapped around him.

Smiling wickedly, Ziva crept up to his bed and leaned down to eye level, watching him twitch peacefully in his sleep and smiling indulgently. She lifted an eyebrow…

…and licked his ear.

"GAH!" Tony shrieked girlishly, rocketing upwards and then promptly tumbling backwards off of his bed.

He landed with a crash on the other side of it and groaned in pain. Ziva hopped on his bed and crawled across it, tilting her head with interest as she peeked down at him. He rubbed his head tenderly and looked up at her, scowling.

"ZIVA!"

"Tony," she responded nicely.

He glared.

"What is wrong with you? You can't just break into my—you did break in didn't you?" he broke off, looking suddenly sheepish and nervous, "I mean, you came over this morning? You weren't here last night? We didn't…you know…"

Ziva lifted a dark eyebrow at him with a smirk.

"You do not remember what happened last night?" she asked lightly, trying to make him uncomfortable.

"Er," he responded "Well…I had a lot of…alcohol."

"Oh," Ziva said. "I did break in this morning," she said matter-of-factly, switching to an upright position and glaring down at him. "And we did not 'you-know', though I am not sure I know what 'you know' is."

"It's—"

"I do not care," Ziva interrupted, holding up a hand. "Gibbs is going to kick your ass when you get to the crime scene."

"Crime scene?"

"The one you were supposed to be at an hour ago. The one we attempted to call you five times about. The one—"

"I get it," Tony grumbled slowly sitting up and looking glum. "How pissed is Gibbs?"

"Very pissed," Ziva answered brightly, smiling. "Considering you are his senior agent and you are always bragging that you are able to be at a crime scene and ready to rumble at the throw of a cap—"

"I've never said that," Tony said, furrowing his eyebrows, looking confused. "Throw of a cap? What?"

Ziva looked confused now.

"That is it, yes? Throw of a cap? You can be ready like…" she paused and snapped her fingers, "like that?"

"Ohhhhhh," Tony sighed, realization dawning on his face. "You mean 'drop of a hat'."

Ziva stared at him silently, and then scowled.

"I mean throw of a cap!" she insisted, chucking a pillow at him. "Now get your hairy butt up and face the wrath of Gibbs!"