handmade
Ziva marches towards Gibbs's front door, quietly easing it open, and places herself at the top of the basement stairs in seconds—all in complete silence. Was it necessary to be this stealthy all the time? Probably not. Was it excellent practice and just fun to make her American coworkers nervous? Oh, yes.
Ziva is making weapons for plane travel because although LEOs could carry guns onto a flight with proper clearance, Ziva wants fewer strings attached. Making a ceramic knife, or say, a wooden dagger to hide on your person offers the opportunity to be armed even as a civilian on a flight. Handmade weapons are the best, most reliable, anyway.
This is why Ziva needs to borrow some of Gibbs's tools, and perhaps the right type of wood—and fine, she needs his expertise on the subject. Ziva isn't too proud that she couldn't see when someone excelled at something—she just usually didn't verbally acknowledge it.
Standing at the steps however, Ziva could clearly make out that she was about to interrupt a conversation. She caught the tail end of a sentence.
"…let me do this? It isn't a big deal." Tony, she thinks. Rather frustrated Tony, too.
"It's weird, DiNozzo. Really fucking weird, I just want to know why you keep doing it." Gibbs, equally exasperated. So much so that he cursed in a way Ziva hadn't heard before.
"You know why." Tony speaks quietly, sounding embarrassed if Ziva could analyze correctly (and she could).
"No! I damn well don't. Why do you keep telling every person who waits on us at every restaurant, every hotel clerk, every person who we interact with that I'm your father?"
"Because…I can't exactly say 'boss' in some of those situations, you know. How many bosses take their employees out to fancy restaurants or weekend getaways, right?"
"But why do you need to say anything at all?!? People don't care, people aren't interested, and it isn't people's business."
"I…I just don't want someone getting the wrong idea, Gibbs." Ziva thinks he sounds embarrassed again. Nervous, too.
"The wrong idea?" Gibbs sounds deadly.
"…that you know, we're…Gibbs, come on—don't make me say it."
Ziva hears a scraping on the floor and the unmistakable sound of a human body slammed into a wall. Tony's gasping makes clear who was against the wall.
"Say it." Gibbs is growling.
"Gibbs…jeez, look I'm fine with all of this—this relationship, but I don't like people knowing about…"
"About what? Dating a guy? An older guy?" Ziva struggles to process that comment as truth…
"No, the age doesn't matter; I wish you'd drop that. Just…I hate holding up this big sign that we're faggots, alright?"
Ziva knew the word obviously, it was crucial to understand offensive epithets of all languages in the event you were called one or needed to call someone else one. Ziva also knows Tony's use of the word wasn't at all justified.
"Get out."
"Gibbs…"
"No, you want to be secretive and ashamed and you want to lie about it? I don't. So get your shit together and come back then."
"But…you know how bad it is, right? Like how many people wouldn't think twice at rolling their eyes or keying your car or doing anything awful to you just because you're gay. Beating you up, I mean, come on Gibbs…I don't want to deal with that again!"
"Again?...Tony?"
"You know I hate playing the 'abused child' card, but that really makes me paranoid, you know? All my friends, dad and his friends, just…I want to avoid that déjà vuand stay with you. Couldn't we please…just try that?"
"Yeah."
"Wait—what?"
"I said, 'sure', DiNozzo—get your hearing checked." Ziva can hear the smirk.
"But, you were kicking me out a minute ago."
"Now I'm not."
"But, I'm still…I still want to tell people it's a father/son thing when we do stuff."
"Yeah, but you've explained your reasoning and background like an adult so I'm accepting it—like an adult." Ziva thinks she hears a kiss. Between her boss and her coworker…both male…
"Really…that works?"
"Yes, DiNozzo. Maturity can get you everywhere."
"Even out of the basement…to say, the bedroom?"
"Shouldn't you get out of the closet before getting out of the basement?"
"Okay, I'm trying to subtly move this little grab-fest into the bedroom and you're cracking jokes about my insecurities. Nice, way to kill the libido, boss…Boss!" A rustle of hand on fabric, if Ziva hears it right.
"Nope, the libido is still going strong."
"Yes, are you going to do something about it?"
"Are you going to calm down about our cover as father/son?"
"Meaning?"
"Meaning don't offer that information to hotel staff anywhere because last time I got some very concerned looks from the concierge when we left the next morning. Very accusatory looks. You were any younger and they'd have called Child Services."
"Oh…didn't see that."
"Trained investigator, my ass."
"Look at you: moving your hands all over me, mentioning your ass—such a tease."
"It isn't teasing if there's follow-thru."
Ziva hears several groans and quickly concludes that the move to the bedroom isn't happening, but that didn't matter—she isn't going to be sticking around. For one, Gibbs will kill her when he finds out and there was no doubt he'd know. For two, she needs time to reevaluate how a semi-decent agent like Tony tricked her into believing he lived the way he said, because she really has believed him. For three, Ziva doesn't want to upset Tony by letting him know she knows—that would make him unhappy and paranoid. Ziva rapidly concludes that Tony didn't deserve to be unhappy or paranoid, he needs a 'special someone', if she's gotten the phrasing right. Tony deserves someone, and Ziva is shocked, curious, craving details, and letting her mind run wild on the visuals—but she isn't going to do anything to get in the way. As she makes her way back to the car, Ziva decides that, for the first time, weaponry can wait.
