A/N: Are songfics still a thing? They were when this dinosaur of an author started writing fics more than a decade ago but I think I'm behind on the trends. Anyway, though this obviously isn't a songfic, I came across a song in my music library that would be perfect for Tiva if anyone was ever in the mood to write a corresponding fic. Next time you have a few minutes, go listen to "You Matter to Me" from the musical Waitress. (It's not very theater-y sounding, if that helps, because I know not everyone is as into musicals as I am, lol.)
Now for some more on-topic comments. Y'all enjoy this chapter, because it's the calm before the storm! Things are about to get a little darker for our beans here… but first, enjoy the fluffiest chapter we've had so far. Also, the part of this chapter that's in italics is borrowed from the episode "Twisted Sister".
Several weeks later, Tony is starting to gain confidence in his ability to both pull off the Benoit assignment and to get Ziva back when he's finished with it. For once, everything is going really well—in fact, it's going shockingly well.
He's been able to get enough out of Jeanne that they're narrowing down their search for her father, and she's been a surprisingly good friend to him besides that. Tony thinks it won't be long before they've got La Grenouille; he looks forward to coming clean to Jeanne once he's allowed to tell her who he actually is. If he's right, it won't be more than a few weeks at the most. He's worried about how angry and betrayed Jeanne will feel, but he's definitely sick of lying to her.
As for Ziva, he can't be completely certain that she heard both conversations he tried to share with her, but one way or another, her behavior toward him has changed subtly. She's being more patient about his antics than she used to be, and if there's any bitterness left in her after the way he ended things, it seems to be dissipating rapidly. Virtually no days have passed recently without him either being in the company of her or Jeanne. It's been smooth sailing, and Tony's glad for it.
Best of all, though, Ziva hasn't objected to a single thing he's proposed to her.
This part of his plan is giving him great joy—he's decided to romance her without explicitly acting outside of normal, platonic behavior. This leaves him free to deny, if necessary, the possibility that anything is happening between them. It's a fine line to walk, but in his personal opinion, he's doing an excellent job. They've been on a number of non-date "dates", and Tony is genuinely having the time of his life. He's really been stepping it up in the planning department; he's surprised at how much he enjoys dating Ziva just to spend time with her. There's no conquest involved, which is a first for him.
He even finds that he likes date-like activities that he'd always considered too sappy or beneath him. When he and Ziva attend a bring-your-own-bottle painting class, they get totally competitive over who can paint the best winter forest scene. They both suck at it, but by the time the class is over, they've pissed off the instructors by splattering paint on each other and they've dissolved into helpless laughter. Ziva's messy painting is hanging proudly in Tony's apartment, and his equally awful snowy forest is on a prominent wall in her living room.
He challenges himself to outdo his previous dates. If she isn't yet certain of his feelings from what he tried to get her to overhear, he intends for her to figure it out by herself.
Fall is quickly marching toward winter for the D.C. residents, and this weekend, Tony plans to take Ziva apple picking. He's got it all planned out.
He starts dropping hints on Wednesday by leaving a hot mug of apple cider on her desk. She doesn't question it, merely thanking him and getting back to work. It does earn him a smile, though.
Thursday, he gift-wraps a fluffy scarf that he thinks she'll like and leaves it on her desk with no note. Though he hasn't signed his name to it, the look Ziva gives him tells him that she knows exactly who it's from. Hopefully it'll keep her warm in the chill that's promised to settle in on Saturday.
Friday, when he's sure she's not paying attention to him, he tosses her an apple.
He's vaguely disappointed but unsurprised when she catches it. "How do you do that?" he demands. "You weren't even looking up!"
She does look up then, grinning. "It is a ninja secret," she answers smugly, leaning on the nickname he's assigned to her.
"Yeah, well, ninja, someday I'm going to catch you off guard."
"Whatever childish belief gets you through the day, Tony," she teases, and tosses the apple back.
He catches it (unfortunately knowing that he couldn't have if he didn't plainly see it coming) and lobs it up in the air above his head a couple of times. "You don't want it?" he asks, amused.
"Was it actually intended for me, or was it merely the object you used to make an attempt on my life?"
"Well, it was for you, but since you're ungrateful…" Tony suddenly throws the apple at McGee, who does not see it in time to stop it.
"Hey!" Tim cries as it bounces lightly off his shoulder, making Tony laugh.
"You're welcome! Have a healthy snack there, McFruit."
Tim snatches it off the floor and throws it back harder than Tony threw it in the first place, forcing him to dodge it with a yelp.
"Why doesn't anyone want my presents today?" Tony pouts.
"Because your presence is more than enough trouble," McGee replies, snorting.
"Hey, boss! Want an apple?" Tony prepares to make a third throw across the bullpen, but he stops at the look on Gibbs' face.
"Don't you have work to do, DiNozzo?" Gibbs says shortly.
"Right. On it, boss," he quickly amends.
He does throw the apple back to Ziva one more time, though, and this time, she accepts it and puts an end to the throwing by taking a bite out of the fruit.
At the end of the day, Tony tosses her another one. "What is it with the apples?" Ziva asks, incredulous.
"Don't you get it?" he replies, grinning.
"Get what?"
"I'm dropping hints!"
Before they were so close, that would have annoyed her to no end, his penchant for deliberately holding out, but now, it just amuses her. "Hints that you are losing your dice?" she suggests, eyebrows raised.
"Marbles, Ziva, and no, that's not what I'm getting at."
"What, then?"
He picks up a third apple and takes a bite out of it. "We, Ziva David," he says, gesturing pointedly toward her with his own snack, "are going—wait for it!—apple picking!"
"Apple picking?" she parrots, looking confused. "What is that?"
"What do you mean, what is that?" he asks, surprised. "It's just what it sounds like. You go pick apples."
"How is that different from the way that you normally shop for food?" she wants to know. "Are you not picking the items you purchase?"
It takes him a minute to understand her puzzlement, and when he does, he laughs out loud. "Not picking like picking out, picking like pulling off of trees!"
Ziva looks like she still doesn't see the appeal. "But why?"
"Because it's fun!" Tony's a little exasperated.
Ziva can't keep it up anymore and snorts with laughter. "I know what apple picking is. We do it in Israel, too. You are just fun to wind up."
In retaliation, he throws yet another apple in her direction. Unfortunately, his aim is off and it sails over her head, narrowly missing a worker from HR who is innocently walking toward the elevator. "Sorry!" Tony calls awkwardly, ducking down so he can't be seen over the half-walls of the bullpen.
Ziva's laughter has doubled now and she saunters over to his desk. "How many apples do you have?"
Mildly sheepish, Tony opens his bottom right desk drawer; it's full of the fruit.
"I understand dropping hints, but why do you have so many?"
"I wasn't sure how many I'd have to throw before you figured it out," he says, finally laughing at himself, too.
"You could have thrown all of them and I still would not have made that connection," she replies, still snorting.
"Hey, I thought I was being creative!"
"I believe there was a slight flaw in your logic," she informs him. "You purchased a large number of apples in order to tell me that we were going apple picking. When we do, we will leave with another large quantity. What are you going to do with so many?"
That is something Tony hasn't considered. "Hmm. Good point. Maybe I'll leave these in the breakroom and hope people will eat them."
"I never thought I would see the day where you would be the one supplying the office with healthy foods, Tony DiNozzo." She pats his cheek in a condescending manner, so he sticks his tongue out at her. She lets out his favorite giggle and his stupid in-love heart just soars.
"People change and evolve all the time," he reminds her haughtily, but he grins right after. "Anyway, I already have a plan for the apples we pick."
"And what is that?"
"We're going to bake a pie!" The way he's beaming leaves no doubt as to his enthusiasm for this plan, and Ziva's happy to see it.
"When have you planned for all of this to happen?"
"Tomorrow."
She raises her eyebrows. "You are assuming that I have no plans?"
He looks stricken for a moment, but she takes pity on him almost immediately. "I do not, but next time you have big plans, you can still surprise me by asking me to set aside that day in advance. I would hate to disappoint you."
Tony nods. "Noted. So you'll go?"
"I would love to," she assures him with a smile, and they make plans to meet at her apartment before driving together the following afternoon.
The next day, Tony shows up exactly on time, knocking on Ziva's door and bouncing on his heels. She opens the door almost immediately—he hopes that means he's not the only one excited to spend time together today.
"That's a nice scarf," he comments with a grin.
She glances down at it dispassionately. "Oh, you mean this silly old thing I found in the back of my closet?"
"Now that you mention it, it does look a little raggedy. For a second, I confused it with a scarf that a really handsome coworker gave you this week…"
"You are right! I have mixed it up. McGee gives excellent gifts, does he not?"
She laughs at his put-out expression and he immediately drops it to laugh with her. He's in such a great mood that he can't imagine anything going wrong today.
They head out to his car, chatting about the most recent case they closed, and soon, they're on the road to Maryland. The last of the fall foliage is beautiful as it slowly dies away, and eventually, they lapse into a comfortable silence, Tony focusing on the road and Ziva focusing on the leaves. The seasons in Israel are not so distinct, and while consistently warmer temperatures are sometimes nice, the drawback is missing things like this.
Tony lets his thoughts drift to this non-relationship he has with his best friend right now—his thoughts have drifted to little else lately. He thinks about the fact that he hasn't slept with Ziva (or anyone) in roughly six weeks; that's a dry spell longer than any in recent memory. For once, though, it doesn't bother him at all. Sex is important to him, for sure, but for the first time, the person he's with matters more. He doesn't want to ruin this thing he's building with his partner, even if circumstances were different. Though Ziva hopefully knows about his assignment now and might be amenable to the idea of picking their friendship-with-benefits up again, that's not what he wants…
…and the fact that it isn't nearly gave him an identity crisis last week, the first time he thought about it.
At the time, he'd desperately wanted to talk to someone about it, but his options were limited. There were few who knew about his assignment, and that was the biggest barrier to his relationship.
Then it had hit him—he could talk to Jenny Shepard. There would be no reason for her to know that Tony was talking about Ziva, right? In fact, he could make her think he was talking about Jeanne. He thinks back on the conversation.
He hesitantly enters Director Shepard's office when Cynthia waves him back.
"Come on in," Shepard invites, giving him a small smile.
He walks in and leans against her conference table, crossing his arms and debating what to say.
"I take it this isn't a social call," she surmises.
"I need some advice."
"And you came to me?" she replies with something close to amusement, a smile playing at her lips.
"Well, it was either you or Gibbs, and his track record with women sucks, so…"
Jenny's definitely amused now, and she settles against her desk for the conversation. Clearing her throat, she motions that he should proceed.
Tony lets out a single laugh, uncertain of whether he can really talk about this sort of thing with his boss' boss, regardless of his motivation. "I'm finding, um…" Feeling awkward, he cracks his neck before continuing. "...myself in a particularly odd situation with… someone… special."
"Odd?" the director asks.
Tony uncrosses his arms, laughs again, and looks away. "Huh, odd, yeah, odd. Because, uh… we've been going out for, uh… over a month, and we… we haven't done something that I usually do… you know, a lot earlier than that."
"And may I ask what it is that's holding you back from doing what you usually do?"
Tony hasn't nervously chuckled so much for a while, but he's doing a lot of it in Shepard's office today. "Yeah," he breathes, almost to himself, before getting louder again. "Um… because of the particular importance of this person, I thought it would be a good idea to take things slowly—which is kind of a new concept for me. But at a certain point, things have to speed up, righ— right?" The last bit is said with a slight stutter. This is surprisingly difficult to talk about; he's rarely so uncertain.
"Are you attracted to her?" Jenny replies, giving him a look that's a little smug.
"Oh, yeah. Yeah," he says again. Another laugh. "I could make a meal." He's not sure he's ever been more attracted to someone, actually.
"Is she attracted to you?"
He tilts his head, smiling slightly, and nods.
"So what's the problem?" Jenny raises her eyebrows.
Tony's phone rings before he can answer, which is excellent because he doesn't really have an answer for the director. "DiNozzo," he says into the phone as he picks it up.
It's Ziva, calling about McGee's sister. Back to work he goes.
Looking at Ziva now, he can't believe he was ever worried about it. As long as he's not getting in his own way, overthinking and clinging to his old chauvinistic habits, everything with Ziva just feels… natural. Easy.
He's still thinking about it when he pulls into the orchard's parking lot, and he and Ziva step out into the chill.
"Glad you wore your scarf?" he asks her smugly, seeing her shiver.
She makes a face at him. "You do not have to be so… self-congratulatory about it."
He laughs at her. "Of course I do. I'm—"
"You're Tony DiNozzo, yes," she finishes wryly. She picks up a loose end of the scarf and runs it down his nose, which tickles and then makes him sneeze. "It was a good gift," she adds sincerely, half-smiling at his involuntary reaction to the fuzzy fabric. "Thank you for it."
"My pleasure, Ziva," he answers happily, and after only a second of hesitation, he lightly places his arm around her shoulders.
They grab baskets and head into the trees. Despite the cold, it's a beautiful day, and the apples are fresh and crisp. It doesn't take long to fill their baskets, and their picking gets progressively lazier until they're just walking.
Soon, they've wandered away from the other visitors and it feels like they're the only two for miles. Neither keeps track of time as they go; they don't notice the time passing, caught up in each other as they are, until it starts to get dark.
Ziva mostly stopped shivering once they began walking, but she starts back in earnest once the temperature begins to drop. "Silver bullets are for werewolves," Tony says conversationally, apropos of nothing. "Stakes through the heart are for vampires."
"So go the legends, yes," Ziva agrees, bemused.
"Ghostbusters are for ghosts." He gives her a side eye and she can smell a Tony tease coming from a mile away. "All you need to defeat a ninja, though, is cold, apparently."
She whacks him in the chest, less than amused, but it doesn't matter because he's already laughing at his own silly joke. "I come from a warmer climate," she reminds him.
"That you do, my little desert assassin." He wraps her up in a sudden hug, and, feelings aside, she's glad for it because he's delightfully warm. "Oh, you really are cold! I kind of thought you were being dramatic." This revelation comes from her chilly cheek pressing against his neck, making him shiver, too.
He pulls out of the hug and rubs his hands together vigorously until they're warm from friction. Then he places them on her cheeks. "How's that?" he asks with a smile.
For once, words have failed Ziva, because not only is Tony cradling her face, but because he's very close, as well.
When she doesn't answer, he falters and starts to pull away, but she grabs his forearms, stopping him. "It is better," she tells him. Her voice sounds weirdly croaky, so she clears her throat. "It feels nice. And warm."
"Oh, yeah?" He strokes her cheeks slowly and softly with his thumbs; his eyes study her face. Ziva feels… loved. She's felt it several times in the past few weeks and she's tried to convince herself that she's only interpreting things that way because of what she overheard, but it still feels real right now.
"Yes" is all she can think to say in reply, wishing he'd continue caressing her face indefinitely. It feels so intimate and so comfortable, not to mention warm.
After a minute, though, he pulls his hands away and Ziva tries not to feel disappointed. She doesn't have to for long, because he almost immediately joins one of his hands with hers. "We should head back," he says, seeming perfectly cheerful and annoyingly unaffected. Maybe it is just her… but the way he squeezes her hand as he catches her eye tells her that she's not completely imagining it.
They pay and leave the orchard, each clutching a big bag of apples, and head back to Ziva's apartment to turn the fruit into delicious, unhealthy pastry.
Tony's never actually baked a pie before, so he's excited to try. He's eaten a lot of them and feels like an expert, but Ziva still has to correct him on the proper way to execute several of the steps. She's a surprisingly gentle teacher, and things go smoothly until Tony decides that he's been way too adult today and needs to let his inner child out. "Hey, Ziva?" he says.
She looks up at him to answer and he throws a handful of flower at her, smiling evilly. She gives an un-Ziva-like squeak and immediately retaliates. Of course, he can't let that slide, so he sends more back in her direction. That provokes a full-out flour war, ending with a truce only when they both look like ghosts, dusted with powder from head to toe.
"You are such a child," Ziva informs Tony, as if she didn't fully participate in the fight herself. She pokes him in the chest with one finger.
"See, you look mad, but I can't take you seriously when every time you move to scold me, it looks like a little snowstorm," he says, chuckling. He likes bringing out her childish side, too, because he feels that growing up the way she did robbed her of a normal childhood. He considers it one of his personal missions to help bring it back to her, a little at a time.
"Ah, a snowstorm? That must mean I have overcome my weakness for cold, yes? Now I am an unstoppable ninja."
"Color me terrified!"
"I would say color me invincible, but it seems I have already been colored… white."
"Heh, oops!" Tony says with an innocent shrug.
Ziva shakes her head, laughing softly at him. He's impossible but she doesn't mind right now. "I should go clean this off before it gets everywhere. I will be right back." She heads off for the bathroom, leaving Tony to his own devices. He observes the pies, which are ready to go in the oven as soon as it's hot enough. To his unpracticed eye, something about them looks unfinished. What is it?
He isn't a huge baker, but once he has started a project, he likes to finish it as close to perfectly as possible—that's what's wrong with these! They're good but not perfect, functional but not decorated.
With that in mind, he starts carefully fluting the edges of their first pie, pretty sure that Ziva's going to be very impressed when she sees it. He's interrupted almost immediately by a knock on the door, though.
He sighs, annoyed, and goes to answer it. It's not his apartment, of course, but he's pretty sure that if Ziva was expecting someone, she would have told him. She hasn't, so he's assuming it's not someone important.
Of course, he's wrong in the worst way.
He swings the door open and finds himself staring into the barrel of a Glock. He freezes while the man wielding the gun cocks it and gives him a nasty smile. "Mr. DiNozzo?" he says smoothly in what seems to be a French accent. "I think you and I should take a walk."
Tony's life has really been coming together these last few weeks, and he isn't eager to have it end abruptly in Ziva's entryway… so, seeing few other options, he lets the gunman direct him out of the apartment.
Shit. There goes his lucky streak.