You do something to me, something that simply mystifies me
Tell me, why should it be? You have the power to hypnotize me
Cole Porter [You Do Something To Me]
Tony had been tetchy all day and it was now late afternoon. McGee was puzzled since Tony had a new girlfriend – one who had survived past the two weekend mark. McGee couldn't remember the last time that had happened. The team was working a joint operation with the FBI. Officially, it was the Feds' party – weapons trafficking. A civil contractor had taken advantage of contacts and opportunities. Fornell requested Gibbs' help and NCIS involvement because some of the names on the pay-roll were dishonorably discharged Navy and Marine personnel. In addition there was the suspicion of an inside accessory.
"Last time we were tracking arms dealers, my father went to an exclusive, Black Tie, affair." Tony was complaining about the details. "I get the third-rate strip joint where I'll have to shower in bleach afterwards 'cause who the fuck knows what's in the place."
McGee had been listening to the rant for the past half hour.
"Must be a case of horses for courses, Tony," he smirked – enjoying the rare chance of a put-down. "Anyway, how do you know it's third-rate?" The naïve question did slightly mar the effect of his previous score.
"'Cause it's something you either know or you don't, McVirginal." Tony wasn't going to let McGee get away with the last jibe. "You obviously don't and I do. That's why you're destined to spend your career in the van and I….Sweet Jesus….."
McGee looked up to see what had arrested Tony's thought process so spectacularly. For once Tony sounded like he really was thanking god. And McGee instantly understood why. Ziva was assigned to go undercover in the club as a cocktail waitress. She appeared in the bull-pen in her 'work' clothes; wearing a basque - all oyster silk & black lace – and an exceptionally short skirt. She was carrying ice-pick heeled sandals, walking in stockinged feet. Recovering more quickly than McGee, Tony grinned lasciviously.
"Someone lost a contact by your desk Zee-vah, wanna bend over and see if you can find it? It'll be more effective if you put the shoes on."
Ziva ignored the comment. She was expecting this from him. In a way, she had dreaded it. The reactions from others didn't bother her. For most of her life, she'd acted different rôles for different people in different situations. Sometimes it seemed as if her whole existence had been one long series of manufactured characters. Trained to use anything at her disposal, even sex, as a mechanism to complete her task or lure a mark. The personal cost should be no more than making the choice of an alternative weapon from her extensive arsenal. At times, she had adopted the persona of a self-possessed Mata Hari: exploiting herself, if necessary, to obtain the goal. The ends absolutely justified any means for her father, for the mission, for her duty. She could dispassionately assume the shell and no matter the consequences, she never permitted it to touch her internally.
She kept her back to him, placing a foot up on her chair as she buckled straps. Tony slid sideways to improve his view.
"I am armed." She warned.
"Wrong response, Zee-vah," he was charmingly unperturbed at being caught. "Flip the switch. Channel that inner Geisha not the Ninja."
Tony was different. For a start, frequently when he looked at her – like now - he provoked a reflexive response. Honest, uncomplicated desire drew something from within and caused the unsettling feeling of self-consciousness. And pleasure. Despite seeking detachment, she couldn't help liking the way he looked at her. He seemed to want Ziva, just Ziva; no qualification, requirement, or reservation involved. She wasn't obligated to succeed, nor conform to expectations, to earn his approval of her being. Tony effortlessly accessed that portion of herself which Ziva so meticulously isolated from the rest of the word. The notion frightened her; perceiving it as a risky betrayal of her discipline. Most significantly, Tony never just looked at her with pure lust. There was always an unquantifiable communication beneath it. Almost as if he was making an unspoken offer which came with a cast-iron guarantee. And Ziva was affected by it – she longed to accept the invitation. The intangible nature of this interaction disoriented her. Counter-intuitively, Ziva would have been less disconcerted if he did, merely, objectify her.
McGee was juggling whether it was appropriate to tell a co-worker the undercover get-up was perfect. Even if that meant telling her she looked like a very hot hooker. And if it was ever appropriate to tell a woman she looked like a very hot hooker. Gibbs was the only one not distracted. He was on the 'phone with Fornell. Abby came rushing out of the elevator and almost collided with him – he was surprised to see her.
"What'd ya got, Abbs?" pausing in his conversation.
"What? Oh nothing yet. The tests aren't done."
Gibbs raised an eyebrow, not needing to voice the question.
"Sorry Gibbs. Had to see 'Sleazy-Ziva'." Abby shook her head, as she surveyed her. "No, you still don't look cheap. You need more make-up and the other one was better."
Tony nearly drowned on his drink.
"You two picked it out? Together?" He spluttered. "Please tell me you helped her undress. Be graphic."
Ziva walked over to his desk and picked up a letter-opener; weighing the balance, as if considering throwing it.
"I will get even, Tony." The threat was only half teasing.
He leaned back in his chair, hands behind his head; ratcheting up the appraising look and irrepressible grin.
"You're not gonna go all Santanico Pandemonium on me are you?"
The reference was lost on her.
"Oh come on, Zee-vah. 'From Dusk Till Dawn', vampires, Tarantino?" Tony prompted.
McGee had failed miserably in his struggle to formulate a tactful, yet accurate assessment of Ziva's outfit. And, though he'd never admit it, Tony's image of Abby selecting what was, basically, underwear had diverted his own thoughts. He may be a geek but he was, nevertheless, a red-blooded male geek.
"The snake stripper," he chimed in, nodding his appreciation, "before she turns into a blood-sucking monster."
"I am a blood-sucking monster?" She pointed the letter-opener at McGee – who quickly grasped for an explanation.
"No, the stripper is."
Tony noticed Ziva's continued lack of comprehension and he looked at her reflectively.
"You were fourteen in '96." His voice briefly lost the playful quality and she turned back toward him. The green eyes clouded; an odd expression crossed his face.
"What was it that year; Camp Construct-a-Claymore? Or Throat Slitting 101?"
Smoothly covering whatever thought had caused the fleeting change in mood.
"Are we done with the Victoria's Secret show?"
Gibbs was finished with his 'phone call. Angry to discover his crack unit had regressed into a teenage MCRT. The tone of his voice and rare allusion to pop culture succeeded in gaining their attention.
"Ziva; Tobias is sending someone over to take you to their briefing. DiNozzo; they've two agents inside. They'll connect with you once Harris or his guys show." He barked the summary as reminder they were supposed to be preparing for an op. "McGee; where are we on surveillance?"
"It's not good, Boss. No useful system for us in a third-rate place like this." McGee was a very quick study. "We'll link up with the FBI feed and comms."
The elevator delivered FBI Agent Ron Sacks.
"Christ. That's all we need." Tony muttered under his breath. "Agent Sacks, I'd say it's been too long 'cept know what? I doubt it'll ever be long enough." The broad smile was at odds with the sarcastic words.
"Piss off, DiNozzo." Sacks' pithy reply underlined the mutual antipathy between them. As did his dramatically altered tone and look of endorsement when he saw Ziva. "Officer David…."
"She's Agent David, now." Tony made a point of dropping the 'Probationary' tag from her title in his snarky interjection.
"Officer, Agent." Sacks shrugged. "We certainly appreciate you assisting us like this, Ziva."
She wasn't, necessarily, his type. However, he believed an attractive woman always deserved full recognition. As an extra benefit, his admiration seemed to be aggravating Tony; always a favorable outcome.
"I am happy to be of assistance to you, Agent Sacks." Tony grimaced at Sacks' ingratiating manner and the tilt of Ziva's head as she smiled in return.
"Still arresting the wrong people, Sacks?"
"Still bitching like an old lady on that one, DiNozzo?"
Sacks didn't even bother to glance in Tony's direction as he made the snide retort. Ziva was much easier on the eyes – he hadn't released the hand taken when he greeted her.
"Doesn't FBI stand for 'famous but incompetent'?"
Tony taunted again – territorial rights involuntarily asserting control of his behavior, though the threat was unfounded. This time, Sacks swung round to face Tony and a hint of aggression charged the squad-room.
"Oooooh, Eau de Testosterone." Abby exaggeratedly sniffed the air.
"Abby."
She decoded the message in the look Gibbs cast in her direction.
"I'm going, I'm going." Abby reluctantly headed back to her kingdom – sometimes it felt like she missed out on all the really good stuff - stunning McGee with her parting aside to him; "let me know if Tony pees on Ziva's desk."
"Ziva." Gibbs called her over for final instructions. The one-sharp-command style of leadership, raised professional conduct above personal enmities; effectively removing the latest source of tension from the vicinity of the two men.
'Hey Sacks," Tony sat upright in his chair and beckoned for him to come nearer. "You should let Zee-vah drive. She finds it helps her focus before going undercover."
He was completely straight-faced and convincingly sincere as he made the quiet suggestion. The FBI man was suspicious, though it made sense for Tony to be looking out for his partner. As Ziva picked up her coat and started to leave, Tony followed. Agent Sacks was impatient; relishing the twin prospects of ditching DiNozzo and a little inconsequential flirting with Ziva during the drive.
"Zee-vah, wait up. Necklace."
Turkish call-girls were unlikely to be wearing a Star of David. She unclasped the chain and handed it to him. Aware that within a remarkably short space of time, he had vexed, charmed and taken care of her - yet again. Stirring emotions and disrupting the regimented order which supplied security.
Tony noted with smug satisfaction Sacks had given her the car keys. He stood contemplating the fine silver talisman dangling from his fingers – warm from her skin - as the elevator doors closed.
"You seriously believe Ziva's less sexual now than she was five years ago?" McGee's incredulous question broke into his reverie.
"I take it back." Adding with a triumphant grin, "Think Sacks'll vomit?"