Today's prompt: power outage

Tiva, fluff. They get stuck in an elevator. Again. I know, I'm soooo original.

Thank you all for still reading! Three more to go.


The lights went out as the elevator came to a stop. A moment later the emergency light flashed on. Closing his eyes he heaved a sigh—not again—then looked at Ziva standing next to him.

She checked her phone and shook her head. He removed his jacket and loosened his tie while checking his own phone—nothing. He jabbed at the emergency buttons fruitlessly. They were going to be there for a while.

"Could be a power outage from the heat wave," she said.

He leaned his back against the wall, then slid down to the floor. "Didn't you get stuck in an elevator with McGee last time that happened?"

She looked down at him with a frown, then sat down next to him.

He undid the top buttons of his shirt and rolled up his sleeves. "Which one of us is worst to get trapped with?"

She snickered. "I am not answering that."

"Come on," he whined, "we're gonna be stuck here for hours, entertain me."

Her brows raised and she fixed him with a stare that made his mouth dry. When she glanced away with a look of concentration, he relaxed his head against the wall knowing she would play along.

"Well," she said and tapped her index finger against her lips.

It was his turn to glance away. He undid another button, blaming the lack of AC for the beads of sweat forming on his brow, instead of his partner sitting less than a foot from him, already looking slightly disheveled.

"McGee stopped droning on about a video game after I threatened him." She mock-glared at him. "You always seem to double down when I threaten you."

He chortled. "That's because I know your threats are as empty as my stomach."

She tilted her head and smirked, sending a tingle down his spine. "You had a cookie during the interview five minutes ago."

A bead of sweat rolled down his forehead, and he decided to do what she had just accused him of; double down. "I have a very fast metabolism."

Her gaze slid down his body. When she met his eyes, she patted his stomach and said, "Sure."

He huffed at her calling him out like that. So he wasn't at peak fitness, he thought, then realized her hand was still burning through two layers of fabric. The desire to call her out was surpassed by his desire to tuck the few wisps of hair that had escaped from her ponytail behind her ears, to kiss that smirk off of her lips.

His gaze drifted to her mouth, her lips parted and her tongue darted out to wet them and, my god, why was it so hot in this small metal box. He bit his lip, and her hand retracted, leaving a truly empty feeling in his stomach.

She anchored her attention on the elevator door, and he knew he had to diffuse the situation or it would be an awkward couple of hours.

"I'm beginning to see a pattern here," he said, puzzling over their tendency to get stuck in confined spaces.

She rolled her eyes at him and crossed her arms, and he realized her thoughts were still firmly elsewhere. He gave her a fixed stare, wiped his brow with the back of his hand, and removed his dress shirt, relishing the way her gaze darted everywhere but at him.

They had played this game before and it had never fazed her like this. He frowned and wiped the back of his neck with the shirt, then dropped it on the limited free floor space.

He looked around, this really was a tiny elevator, and the smallest space they had gotten stuck in so far. "How many times have we been locked up in a confined space?"

Her posture relaxed and brow lowered, and his mouth twitched in relief; antsy Ziva in a small box was no fun.

"The elevator at work, the shipping container, oh, and the time Gibbs destroyed that computer."

He frowned. "You're gonna have to be more specific on that last one."

Her eyes lit up, and she grabbed for his discarded shirt. "At that power storage facility, with the sliding walls." She fumbled with the shirt, found a dry part, and wiped her face, neck, and chest with it.

He forced himself to sit still and feign disinterest. "It's always your fault we get stuck," he said, holding a grin in check.

She turned to him, mouth agape, brows drawn, then scrunched her face when she saw his sly smile, and slapped the shirt at him.

They argued back and forth for half an hour, the temperature in the elevator steadily rising. He ran out of steam, the heat finally getting the better of him, and decided to continue the discussion some other time. Maybe during a stake out or something.

He glanced her way and couldn't help but smile; he'd never seen her this hot and bothered before, fanning herself with his shirt. Despite the heat he wanted nothing more than to close what little distance was between them and lick every drop of sweat from her heated skin.

He blinked slowly and plucked at the undershirt sticking to his own skin. Maybe I'm dehydrated, he thought, feeling light-headed.

"I'm so hot," she complained beside him.

His head lolled in her direction, his gaze drifted up and down her body. "Smoking hot," he said with a lopsided grin.

She dropped the shirt in her lap, and met his gaze slowly. Her gaze clouded momentarily, then dropped to his mouth.

He licked his lips, puzzled over how they always kept going around in circles. It made him feel dizzy, nauseated…they had to stop.

Dropping his hand to the floor, he let it rest against her thigh. She could pretend it was harmless, nothing more than a lack of space to rest a tired limb. Or she could stop pretending. He hoped for the latter.

She dragged her confused gaze from his hand up to his face.

He smiled softly. "You're astonishingly beautiful, Ziva."

"Are you flirting with me now?"

He looked around pointedly, feeling his stomach drop, but smiling regardless "Well, you can't exactly run away."

She tilted her head and searched his eyes. "You think I would run?"

"One of us always does," he said without blame.

Glancing away briefly, a smile spread on her lips, and every fibre of his being wanted to feel that mouth on his.

"I have noticed a pattern, too," she said with a honeyed voice. "Every time we get locked up together, we end up closer than before."

A jolt ran through his body, kick-starting his brain. With an unrelenting gaze, he asked, "How much closer do you think we can get?"

Her eyes searched his. "Depends on how serious you are."

He smiled widely, and ran his hand over her thigh. "Serious as a heart attack."

She licked her lips, her eyes impossibly dark as she straddled him, face inches from his. "Is this close enough?"

"Not even close," he murmured, before crushing his mouth to hers and pulling her tightly to him, intent on never letting go.