AN: Thanks to Jen for her awesome beta skills (as per usual) and thanks to everyone who reviewed.
It was the soft rapping of knuckles against her front door that startled her out of her slumber.
It was only after a long run through the park, a quick salad for dinner, and parking herself in front of the History Channel that she had finally succumbed to the emotional stress of the day by falling asleep on the sofa.
She swiped sleepily at her eyes with the back of her hand before pushing the hair off her face. She shifted over the balls of her feet, feeling the trusty weight of the hidden knife she kept strapped at her hip. She felt no need to arm herself with her sig; anyone at her door at this hour knew the risk of waking a sleepy assassin. Or former assassin.
Ziva pulled the door open, blinking in surprise at the figure before her.
"I smell like a street market," he said, looking down at his bedraggled appearance.
She couldn't help the slight curve that hit her lips. "You do," she agreed.
"And I haven't slept in almost two days."
"Am I supposed to feel sorry for you?" she quipped, pulling the door open and leaning against the edge, her arms crossing in front of her chest.
"I was hoping for a little sympathy, yeah."
"Perhaps you would have gotten it if you didn't smell like a street market."
He arched a brow at her. "Next time you become a citizen and I'm out of the country on a mission, I'll remember to stop home for a shower and a nap before coming to see you."
She shook her head, moving slightly and inviting him inside with her body language. "You came straight from the base?"
"Yep." He stepped inside and out of the way so she could close the door behind them.
"Did I not tell you about McGee's Cook-in tomorrow? We could have just caught up there," she said, moving into the kitchen and feeling him follow behind.
"Cookout," he corrected automatically. "And yes, you did and we could have."
She pulled a pitcher of tea from the fridge, setting it on the counter. She felt herself involuntarily stiffen as she heard him step into her personal space; he trailed his fingers down the side of her arm.
Ziva turned, her back against the counter. When she looked up and allowed her eyes to meet his, she saw the hesitancy there, despite the confident set to his shoulders.
He stepped towards her and wrapped his arms around her shoulders, pulling her into a hug.
He kept the pressure light enough that if she chose to step away, she could; the last thing she needed after recent events was feeling trapped or pressured. Tony had seen the flighty look in her eyes since returning from Somalia and he never wanted to be the one to cause it.
She took a deep breath and chuckled as she wrapped her arms around him in return.
"Ya know, David, it could be a blow to a guy's ego when a beautiful woman laughs at a hug."
"I am laughing because you really do smell like a street market," she said, chuckling again against his neck.
He squeezed her tightly and placed a quick peck to the crown of her head. "Well, now my mission is complete. I can go home and shower."
"What mission is that?" She asked, keeping her arms looped around his waist, but pulling back enough to meet his gaze.
"I'm a few hours late to be your first American hug. But I still wanted to hug you on the day you became a citizen."
Ziva's face softened and she took a breath to steady herself before speaking. "You are not the same playboy I met all those years ago, you know that?"
"I would hope not. DiNozzo men only become more cunning with age," he teased.
"I have met your father, Tony," she reminded. "And you are nothing like him- and I doubt you ever will be."
"Why, Agent David, that's possibly the nicest thing you've ever said to me."
"Good," she said. "Now you will not be offended when I tell you to go take a shower."
He rolled his eyes and reluctantly unwound his arms from around her. She trailed him out of the kitchen but grabbed his wrist gently when he turned towards the door. "You are too tired to drive," she said firmly, having seen the bags under his eyes. "You will shower here."
He arched a brow at her and followed behind her down the hall towards her bedroom. "You know I've driven on less sleep before."
"Yes. But that doesn't mean it is wise. Especially if there is a better solution," she turned him towards the master bath. "I believe that some of your laundry made it home with me after Paris," she said.
He stood in the open door and began unbuttoning his white shirt. "And you never returned it?"
"Would you really have liked for me to have brought your boxers into the bullpen and returned them?" She questioned, handing the green plaid boxers to him as he pulled his shirt off.
"Uh, yeah," he said with a saucy grin. "Why wouldn't I have wanted to start that rumor mill?"
She half-glared at his backhanded compliment. "One word: Gibbs."
Tony flinched at the head-slap he could imagine hurting for weeks. "Ow. Good point."
She said, taking the white shirt from his hands. "Leave everything else outside the door and I will start the laundry."
"Seriously, you're going to do my laundry?"
Ziva pinned him with a glare that was strong enough to shut him up, but not strong enough to keep the teasing twinkle from his eye. She shook her head, placed a firm hand on his chest and pushed backwards before pulling the bathroom door shut.
She was always grateful that the condo they had found for her came with its own washer and dryer. Doing laundry in the basement or at a Laundromat was never as nice or convenient as it was when you could do it at home.
The water filled the basin of the washer and she dumped a capful of detergent into the water, watching the bubbles rise. She heard the bathroom door open and quickly shut and the sounds of the shower running trickled down the hallway. Knowing he had 'followed orders' and left his soiled and sweaty clothes outside the bathroom, Ziva quickly retrieved the items and dumped them in the wash. Never one to waste energy or resources, she filled up the remaining space with her own laundry before closing the lid.
The cozy spot on the sofa where she had fallen asleep earlier looked equally as comfortable now and she was soon tucked into the sofa cushions again, an afghan pulled across her lap and the History Channel's "History's Mysteries" flickering shades of blue light across her living room.
She heard the water stop and, after a few minutes, the door to the bath creak open.
He was quiet –obviously he had learned something from her – as he padded down the hall. He leaned over the back of the sofa, resting his forearms against the upholstered fabric.
She tilted her head to look up at him. She inhaled deeply and grinned. "Ah, Eu d' Street Market is gone."
"It's been replaced with the smell of your girly shampoo and soap."
"You would prefer I shower with Old Spice?" she teased.
"I like the way you smell," he leaned closer and took his own deep breath, inhaling her scent.
"Just not on you?"
"You know, I could make an entirely impolite comment about the smell of you on me, but I won't. Today is a day not to be defiled with raunchy jokes."
Wide-eyed, she blinked in shock, not expecting him to take the high road on the wide-open comment she set up for him. Their charged banter was usually entertaining and really provided some stability in their relationship. The banter, however, had been lacking lately and though she was troubled to admit it, she missed their witty flirting.
"I can be a gentleman when the situation demands, you know," he said, noticing her surprise.
"I know you can," she said. "It is just not a trait I usually see unless you are aiming it at a perky young blonde," she teased.
"I'm kinda over blondes," he said quickly.
"Oh, really?"
He nodded and was shocked when he felt her fingers touch his arm quickly.
"Sit down before you fall over," she said firmly and he was forced to acknowledge that he had been slightly dizzy during their banter. "You are exhausted," she said, rising from her burrow in the sofa as he slumped into the cushions.
Tony scrubbed his hands over his face. "Yeah. This all-night stuff was easier when I was twenty."
Ziva grimaced in sympathy. "Everything was easier when we were twenty," she replied, pulling the afghan across his legs and chest, tucking it around his quickly relaxing form. "And this isn't an 'all nighter,' Tony. This is two very intense days without sleep."
"I'm getting' old, Ziva," he said, his voice heavy with exhaustion.
"Perhaps," she replied, her hand resting on his chest, feeling his heart thrum beneath her palm. "But some things get better with age."
He cast a grateful grin her way.
"Rest. I am going to go switch the laundry," she said softly.
She doused the television, leaving him bathed only in the soft glow from the end-table lamp and she silently exited the room.