A/N: Well, this is it! I really hope I didn't disappoint with this chapter! I have so many more Tiva ideas that I cannot wait to expand upon -I'm hoping to write a companion piece to 'What Is Missing' and I have several little oneshots sitting half-finished on my laptop. Unfortunately, I probably won't post anything until the end of this week because I am going to have a ton of make-up work for school because, and here's something incredibly ironic, I had a headcold this past week that rivaled Ziva's -I kid you not! So anyway, on to the final chapter! Let me know what you think? Kit.
DISCLAIMER: And . . . . . Nothing. Shocker, I know.
V.
Gertrude Peters was watching a captivating rerun of the Wheel-of-Fortune when a faint knock sounded from her front door. With a sigh she reluctantly got up, joints popping in protest, her slippered feet shuffling across the carpet as she made her way slowly to the door. Perhaps, she mused, if she was lucky, that handsome stranger with the funny mannerisms would be on the other side. . . . However, if that was the case, then her neighbor wouldn't be too far behind and Miss Ziva had a bad head cold, poor thing.
However when the front swung open it did not reveal Miss Ziva's fetching counterpart, but what could very possibly be a vampire.
The younger woman was nearly a head taller than the small, elderly lady, shroud in a long, onyx trench coat with skeletal designs decorating the lapels. Two ebony pigtails peeked out from under a black scarf, the gauzy material mimicking spider webs. Her pale face lit up in warm greeting as her crimson lips tugged upward.
"Hi!" the stranger chirped brightly, cocking her head to the side.
Unfortunately, Mrs. Peters was stunned into speechlessness so to fill the void of awkward silence, the Vampire Woman continued speaking, her words running together in a seemingly endless tangle.
"Um, I really hate to bother you but I'm looking for Ziva David's apartment? I work with her, at NCIS. And she's sick and then Tony's hurt and, you know, I'm supposed to generally make sure Ziva hasn't, that is, it's just, you know, she's, well, he's Tony-"
And all Mrs. Peters could do was point mutely to the door down the hall and watch in fascination as the Vampire Woman skipped merrily to the next address. Gurdy, she thought shaking her head and returning to Pat Sajak, the girls at Bunco are never gonna believe this.
...
"Ziva? Tony? It's Abby," Abby called, stepping over the threshold and into Ziva's warm apartment. She looked around in awe, absorbing every detail of the tenement, the warm golden light from the floor lamp illuminating the quiet beige walls, gentle blue curtains, soft cream carpet of the living room. She wandered over to the shelving unit that held the dark television where several books and personal objects also rested.
Abby quickly scanned the books' spines: Pride and Prejudice, Moby Dick, A People's History of the United States, several manuals on naturalization. A few DVDs were stacked neatly near the television, Shawshank Redemption, Finding Nemo, the Holiday, Slumdog Millionaire, the Sound of Music. It was the personal effects, however, that really captured her attention.
An old battered ballet slipper, a porcelain frog, an oriental tea set. An antique perfume bottle and a geode the size of a fist, the center an eruption of cobalt blue. . . . .
There was a cough from another room and Abby was reluctantly brought back to the present, her momentary distraction to her friend's personal life filed away. It had been so quiet in the little apartment that Abby had actually wondered if Tony and Ziva were there at all, but as she made her down the hall to where she supposed was the bedroom, she saw evidence that contradicted her previous notion.
Ziva's jogging sneakers were placed neatly against the wall, the heels she wore to work between them and Tony's own shoes. . . . Draped over a kitchen chair was a woolen coat, the emerald fabric bright in the spotless kitchen . . . . Two bowls and three spoons rested in the sink, a pot with a little broth waiting idly on the cool stovetop. . . . Nyquil, ibuprofen, and an orange bottle of percocet prescribed to Anthony D. DiNozzo were lined up neatly on the counter. . . . Yes, Abby concluded, somebody was definitely home.
…
She held the handle down as she pushed the door open slowly, not wanting to disturb Tony or Ziva if they were sleeping.
The faint light cast from the television washed over the two dozing figures in the darkened bedroom.
Tony was on his back, face relaxed, chest rising and falling in steady breaths. The white bandages on his shoulder were thrown into stark relief in the ghostly glow of the TV, but he didn't seem to be in much pain. In fact, Abby realized with quirk of her lips, he seemed very comfortable with Ziva coiled against his side, a fan of raven curls falling across both her pillow and his. She had her lips slightly parted, faint rattle-like snores mingling with the low volume of the TV.
Both partners were clearly alive, breathing, and in no worse shape than Gibbs had initially left them hours earlier.
Very quietly, or as quietly as platform boots could be, Abby backed out of the bedroom, the door clicking shut softly.
…
One week later. . . . .
"Any idea why the boss keeps giving me the evil eye?" Tony wondered, half risen out of his chair in an attempt to get a better view as to where Gibbs had gone.
Ziva glanced up from her computer screen, nimble fingers still typing rapidly. She shrugged silently, chocolate eyes vaguely amused, before returning to her report.
"Probie?" Tony demanded, unfazed, turning his inquiry to McGee, the younger man also intently typing away.
However, whereas the pretty Israeli had brushed off the vital question as what Gibbs was so irritated about, continuing with her previous task, the constant tap of McGee's keyboard paused as he looked up, failing miserably at containing his smirk. A smirk that did not go unnoticed by Tony's keen eye.
"What's that smirk?" he asked.
"What smirk?" McGee replied innocently.
Tony narrowed his eyes, pointing his finger in McGee's direction, "That smirk. Right there. What's that smirk, McSmirk?"
McGee shrugged, the clacking of his keyboard resumed. "No idea."
Tony, though, remained skeptical: "You have no idea what I did to piss Gibbs off?"
"Rule 12, DiNozzo."
"Rule 12, Boss? Never date a coworker."
"Then why the hell you telling Agent David you love her?" Gibbs demanded gruffly, settling in behind his desk with a fresh cup of coffee. He couldn't help but grin as his Senior Agent's eyes grew as round as saucers.
"I-I-I w-what, Boss?" Tony spluttered, bewildered gaze flickering from Gibbs to McGee (still smirking) to Ziva (now extremely entertained).
Gibbs leaned back in his chair, idly sipping his coffee, "Told Ziva you loved her."
"Twice," McGee added helpfully.
Tony, now completely mortified, a crimson blush staining his face, creeping around his ears, and coloring his neck, turned utterly terrified eyes to the apparent object of his affections.
But Ziva only returned his stare, not entirely stricken as he, but a pinkish tinge had ghosted across her cheeks.
"Well," Tony said weakly, a grin tugging at his lips despite the potentially fate situation his uncensored ramblings had found him in. "You know what they say, in sickness and in health, for better or worse."
"DiNozzo," Gibbs growled in warning, "shut up before you make it much, much worse."
"Right, Boss."
FIN
…
A/N: Hey, if anybody's interested I need some Tiva quotes! An example would be "Nothing is inevitable." And it doesn't really have to be Tiva, it just needs to have depth, you know? So if anyone would like to drop me a line, it was be extremely appreciated! You guys are the best! Kit.