It was on a night like this
You left me and didn't leave a kiss
Dubin & Warren
"What the fuck are you doing here?" Ziva was taken aback by the greeting.
She didn't answer. He let the front door swing open and walked back to his completed packing and preparations. Tony wasn't happy to see Ziva. His tolerance threshold for pretty much everything had crossed into negative territory sometime around the middle of last week. And he knew his mood hadn't improved. Ziva quietly followed him. She had wasted several, unusually indecisive, hours mulling over whether to be guided by McGee's advice. Eventually, screwing up her courage – itself an unaccustomed task – on the basis Tony needn't see her if he didn't want to; if he weren't alone.
"Well?" Normally, Tony would have made some attempt at conciliation; taken the first step – not tonight.
Moreover, his brusque manner increased Ziva's discomfort. Initiating this sort of communication, without his reciprocation, was not something at which she excelled. She remained silent – cautiously watching him.
"Look, Ziva, I'm on a flight at zero stupid hours. If you're here for a reason, can we cut to the chase?" He sighed impatiently.
Tony knew his behavior was freaking her out; they functioned on the principle that he did grounded to her flaky. She did grave to his fun. And each curbed and absorbed the excesses of the other's idiosyncrasies, creating balance. Truth be told, his behavior was freaking him out. Whilst Tony knew it was a stretch to categorize the mute, over-strung Ziva, in front of him, as stable, the set-up was peculiar. Currently, he was doing unbalanced to her, albeit temporarily frozen, unbalanced-er. If they kept going down this road, blood would be drawn - in all likelihood literally, if re-animation of Ziva's temper had anything to do with it.
"I wanted to see you….I was worried about you." Both precise statements were honest.
She was concerned about him; he had been so irascible, miserable really, of late. And he looked exhausted. McGee, at one point, had jokingly suggested the consequence of too many late nights with a new woman. Ziva identified it as a different, more psychological, tiredness. Although the codicil of concern was added lest her voice betrayed how much she wanted to see him; how much she wanted to be with him.
"And you just had to wait until nearly midnight because why?" He ignored her expression of care, as though he was resentful of the intrusion.
Inexplicably, for the past couple of weeks, job-related frustrations and individual demons had combined to disrupt his self-view. He wondered if he were having a mid-life crisis. And, if he was, why couldn't it be of the taking up BASE jumping or buying a Ferrari variety. Not this nebulous insurgency within himself. A powder-keg of uncertainty and dissatisfaction and confused feelings; which he struggled to keep a lid on.
"I did not know if your girlfriend, if Alice….?" Ziva completely disguised her awkwardness at mentioning the name, at trying to ask the question.
"EX-girlfriend." The snapped interruption was self-explanatory.
Lunch with Alice was one reason for his present touchiness. Tony had learnt how to treat women from his father – both the good and the bad. Though certainly not always a perfect gentleman, he was enough of one to know stringing Alice along was unkind and wrong. Rather than let her think they would carry on when he returned, Tony had finished it. Without acrimony; she had, of course, been equable. The usual excuses of 'it was him, not her; his failing, not hers' - a gallant, though misleading, simplification.
"Oh." Here deception failed her; hesitating a fraction too long, fiddling with an earring. "I am sorry." Tony shot her a quizzical look.
There was a schizophrenic aspect to hearing the news. Ziva was sorry for what she presumed was his sadness over the split. Even a little sorry for Alice since pity is always easier to muster if there is no threat. She squashed the irrational glimmer of her own emotions.
"Well that makes at least three of us then, doesn't it?" Anger crept into his voice because her tiny delay fuelled a faint shift in the atmosphere.
He wasn't angry about the end of his relationship. His overriding reaction was one of relief. He was angry over the symbolic loss of a girlfriend. He was angry because the end of the relationship brought into sharp relief a disturbing possibility. One he steadfastly refused to acknowledge, or analyze. Sometimes, a mid-life crisis can be a euphemism for falling in love with a much younger woman. And angry because there she was; nervously standing in his apartment, poised for flight - fidgety and irresolute.
"You are troubled by the Director's decision?" Ziva shied away from the risky territory surrounding matters of the heart.
She tried for steadiness in the prima facie source of Tony's unhappiness, treading lightly on the topic. Aware he was suspicious, with good reason, of the agency administration. Aware Tony suffered from professional doubts and personal insecurities – which didn't need aggravating.
"Yes." Aggression and tension were still evident.
The assignment appeared straightforward enough. But then, it always had. Tony had been burned twice by directors and their plots; Shepard and The Frog, Vance and Agent Lee. Not to mention Vance had, essentially, thrown him to the wolves over Rivkin. Although Tony admitted, maybe, he deserved that one a little. Protecting Ziva and wrestling jealousy hidden behind doing his job was never going to be the smartest career move. And Vance had seemed disinterested in the idea of avenging Ziva; obstructive even. Finally, there was the most recent episode involving shady plans, hidden motives and Eli. Vance was Eli's friend; a less than glowing recommendation in Tony's book. He viewed it as more akin to a Mephistophelean pact; with top billing for the part of Devil up for grabs.
"Because he chose you?" She attempted to introduce the raw nerve, without pricking it.
Ziva's aim was sympathy; to reach him in the neutral zone of work. She would remind Tony he had already proven himself an excellent, talented leader when Gibbs 'retired'. Her intention was to let him know she was proud of him. That Vance's faith in him was totally justified. She wanted to find some way of relaxing the uptight, harried man pacing the floor. She wanted - but wouldn't - to tell Tony she would miss him terribly. That she wished he didn't have to go.
"Is that so fucking hard to believe?" He furiously faced her.
She opened her mouth as if to say something, changed her mind and left. Tony realized his error; he was bothered by Vance yet he hadn't had to explain. Ziva knew instinctively. She had come to offer comfort, to commiserate. On an inner level, he had responded - because she understood him. He went after her. Ziva had just opened his front door when Tony caught up; standing behind her, pushing the door closed as she tried to pull it open. She twisted round, striving for anger to hide hurt, trapped between him and the door.
"Zee-vah, I'm sorry." He gave her a rueful smile. "I am….really sorry." Cupping her face and gently running his thumb over the bruise on her cheekbone. "It's lousy timing, I guess. I'm tired….pissed off."
Wedged into a corner was always going to be a hazardous situation in which to find themselves. Pent-up emotions and proximity collided; the impact instantly electrified the mood. Tony's customary failsafe bypassed by the look in her eyes - he kissed her. It was a long, hard, very thorough kiss – the strength of desire behind it unmistakable. And Ziva kissed back, demanding, her hands grasping at his shirt. Breaking apart when oxygen became an essential rather than a luxury, they stared at one another in a nanosecond of charged, stunned silence. Before cooler judgment could prevail, his lips were on hers again. Holding her head and moving to her face, her throat, and back to her lips. His heart was thumping; though he was sure kissing didn't cause deafness, it felt like it from the blood pounding in his ears. 'Next year in Jerusalem' Malachi had quipped on the ancient hope of the Diaspora; Tony settled for right here in D.C., right now.
Her mind was in free fall. She wanted this so badly - needed him so badly - any chance of rationalizing against the barrage of chaotic feelings evaporated. Ziva's hands wound around his neck as she explored his mouth, nipping his lower lip. Slowly, he walked backwards, leading her down the hall. They tracked toward his bed like a weird version of pinball; resting against walls or furniture. Frantically reacting to the compelling craving to be closer, kiss deeper, assuage arousal and take it further. They peeled layers of clothing off each other, strewing the hallway and bedroom floor.
Ziva lay back on the bed and Tony dropped to his knees. Her breath caught as she felt his tongue make contact. He was an unselfish lover who had considerably more than passing familiarity with a woman's body. He truly wanted to discover what she liked, what she didn't - what drove her crazy. He was kissing her, licking and sucking her; blowing on her. Tony took Ziva to the brink and then paused. She gave a little disappointed sigh then sucked in a breath. The sensual, provoking pleasure restarted. He could have got off on just doing this to her; she was so responsive. And Tony was overdosing on the experience of the warm, wet softness. Caressing and tasting her; holding her hips as she squirmed. Winding Ziva tantalizingly closer each time and then waiting. He received a crash course in Hebrew. Puzzled by it at first until he understood; the mini-Babelfish in her brain was offline- she had reverted to her native language.
When he slipped fingers in, she twitched with a low moan. nails scrabbling at the sheet. Sitting up slightly, Ziva combed a hand through his hair to move his head away. Tony shook free and continued with his maddeningly blissful attention. She slithered up the bed. He followed; slowly kissing a random pattern all the way up along her, working on nipples. She tugged at the hair on the back of his head, murmuring a phrase. Dimly Tony recognized a couple of words - 'please…please….now' - and translated the blanks of the acute appeal. He knelt between her legs and she reached down to stroke his erection. Tony intercepted her hand.
"Nuh-uh; 'cause that'll end this real quick." He grinned elatedly. "And I'm not done with you yet."
Ziva's laugh was husky and indulgent – sharing that giddy high unique to two people having great sex. He slid Ziva toward him, angling her pelvis and leaning over. As Tony entered her, she wrapped her legs around him, pushing up with a slight rocking motion. Controlled, focused rhythm; pressure and counter-pressure gradually building the intensity – their eyes fixed on each other. Ziva was breathing in short, rapid gasps and making soft noises in the back of her throat. The dual sensations of his cock rubbing her clit, as he fucked her, sent an intoxicating rush of endorphins coursing through her system. He had pinned her hands either side of Ziva. Her fingers clenched down, entwined in his; lost within the delicious dichotomy of reaching for the peak, yet wanting to extend the anticipation for just a moment longer.
Her whole body was tensing and shuddering. Tony toppled forward onto her, shifting his position. The effects of her orgasm undermined command. His movement became harder, faster; more insistent. Restraint spiraling away from him; he couldn't get enough of being inside her; possessing her. The fevered, fragmented dreams dispelled – this was real. Tony snarled fingers through her hair bunching and almost pulling it, as he came.
"Oh Christ, Zee-vah"
Tony was kissing her again; sweet, tender kisses – breaths panting into to each other's mouths, skin sweaty and sticky. He rolled off her and Ziva curled into him – unconsciously seeking to preserve the intimacy. He found it surprising, endearing. Shit-hot sex goddess, absolutely; cuddly, maybe; Tony would never have placed a bet on Ziva being the cuddly type. She was tingly, trembling and Tony held her more tightly, playing with strands of hair where they tumbled down her back. The implications of their actions had yet to sink in; dizzying delight still echoed through nerve-endings. She fell asleep. Tony wished he could too. It was the first night - in what he would swear was forever – the battle was to stay awake. He had sufficient time to get cleaned up. Whilst showering, Tony did reflect. It had been different this time; all-consuming, definitely way more fun. And they were sober. Which meant not guilty by reason of diminished responsibility wouldn't fly as his internal escape clause.
The first thing he noticed was her clothes missing from the hallway. And he didn't really need to look in the bedroom to know she was gone. Tony leaned his head against the door – payback for nearly three years ago. Ziva liked to even the score.
Gibbs' preference for words spoken if strictly necessary - and then only the bare minimum essential for productive discourse - was a welcome break for Tony. He stretched out in the passenger seat, weariness enveloping him like a heavy blanket. Not just weariness from not having slept; weariness from the nonsensical sequence he and Ziva seemed fated to repeat. Something had happened – again. They hadn't talked about it – again. And one of them had bolted before they could address it – again.
Gibbs was irritated at the prospect of losing one of his agents – even temporarily. The reason made sense; better to be short-staffed in D.C. where there were others to fill the gap. He had no doubt Tony could and would handle the task at Pearl. Still it was an inconvenience and Tony chose that moment to remind his boss of why he was the senior field agent.
"Faulkner spent a few months at Barking Sands last year. Want me to do a little digging?"
"If you getta chance." Gibbs growled assent. "Straighten things out with Ziva?"
It wasn't such an unusual inquiry. Gibbs maintained vigilance where his people were concerned; ensuring the finely constructed engine was kept running smoothly. Intervening if minor problems looked like becoming major issues. There was also the fact Gibbs viewed the team as his surrogate family.
"Yeah, Boss, we're good"- a careful mix of true and false - "same as ever."
He noticed the deflated, uncharacteristic acidity in Tony's reply. Cupid he was not. Gibbs was a son of Athena; warfare, heroism and what was called for here - wisdom. Obviously they were still quarreling. The vision of Shannon floated through his memory; standing at the back door, hands on hips, yelling at him. She was a redhead and lived up to the reputation. No longer able to remember what she had called him, what he had done. None of that mattered. Gibbs smiled. He could remember making up.
"She'll cool down. They always do."
If Tony were more wide-awake, he might have picked up on the ambiguous remark. It could have been a generic reference to temperamental personalities. Or it could have been a reassuring expression of male solidarity. The 'Women: Can't live with 'em, Can't live without 'em' approach.
Tony collected his bags from the rear seat. Gibbs shook his hand.
"Jackson's reliable. Abbott'll resent you bein' parachuted in. Stay frosty."
The Gibbs Pep Talk; terse and practical. Yet Tony was touched by his boss' offer of a ride to Andrews; grateful for the unfussy support and insightful advice on 'his' team.