AN: No. I didn't fall off the face of the earth. My muse just ran away. :-/ Sorry.
The next morning did, in fact, suck.
His bed was cold. And when he rolled over, his arm reaching out for the Ziva that had kept him company in his dreams, he awoke to a horrible sense of disappointment when his fingers fell on cold sheets.
He rolled back onto his back, his hands covering his face as he groaned. The worst part, he thought, was that the three-day weekend made it just too easy to spend all his time with her.
It was completely impractical. And unrealistic.
She did have other things to do than sit around and banter with him.
Right? Groceries? Laundry? Gym?
Oh. Ziva in shorts and a sports bra. Bad mental image, DiNozzo. Not bad- but…he groaned and shifted; the memories of kissing Ziva still fresh on his mind combined with his fresh mental image of her in skimpy work-out gear made for a renewed sense of frustration in the morning.
Won't be the first morning a cold shower helps clear your head from those images of her, he thought to himself, pulling himself out of bed into the shower.
When he had finished his morning routine – with the addition of a few extra moments in the shower and some icy water - and stepped out of the bathroom, the blinking light from his cell phone caught his eye. He flipped it open, unable to keep the smile off his face when he saw the text message from her.
I have been reminded why I do not typically let men stay the night. Waking up the next day to a cold bed does suck. You were right.
His fingers flew over the keys. You normally kick them out?
Her reply was so quick, she must have had the phone in her hands when his message went through. No. I normally do not invite them over at all.
So the fact that I know where you live *and* got to stay the night makes me special?"
You are just hunting for compliments – you already believe yourself to be special!
Fishing. Fishing for compliments. He couldn't refrain from correcting her even in text message. And in this case, it doesn't matter what I think!
If you are waiting for me to tell you that you are special, you will be waiting a while.
He smirked and flipped his phone shut.
Neither one had wanted to be the first to call. Neither had wanted to seem eager. Nor to open the door to potential rejection.
He could read an unsaid "I miss you" in her words- and hoped that his reply went through loud and clear.
Laundry had been done. The kitchen had been cleaned; he had managed to brave his refrigerator, cleaning out the pizza box that was so old he couldn't recall when he had ordered pizza last. The floors had been vacuumed – yes, Anthony DiNozzo knew how to vacuum and even owned a vacuum. He had even contemplated dusting the shelves, though his ambition ran out just shy of that chore.
And now, despite the large plasma TV on his wall, the bookcase holding his extensive collection of DVDs, the laptop that sat on his coffee table, he was truly bored.
He fingered the cell phone in his hand, finally flipping it open and firing off a rapid text message.
Again, he only had to wait seconds to receive a reply: I am sorry you are bored.
He sighed. Ziva, entertain me!The whine was audible even through the typed message.
What would you have me do, Tony, dance on the table just for your entertainment?
He swallowed and paused before typing a reply. Uh. YEAH!
When his phone didn't buzz with a reply from her, he instantly swallowed, feeling the bitter taste of regret in his mouth.
Sorry. He sent, not realizing that he rarely apologized for his abhorrent remarks.
Her reply clearly ignored both of his previous messages. What do you normally do on Sundays when we do not work?
Head to a bar with some buddies. Drink. Hit on girls.
So go do that.
Tony frowned, not sure how they went from necking against his car last night and talking about addictive snuggling, to her telling him that he was supposed to go hit on other women.
When the phone buzzed again, he looked down almost reluctantly. If that is what you want to do, go do it.
He sighed. Well that was a bit more clear, thank god. It is not what I want to do. It is what I normally do.
Then what do you want to do?
He jumped, startled slightly when the phone did not buzz, instead ringing. Her caller ID photo filled the screen.
"Hi."
"What do you want to do, Tony?" she asked, not bothering with the pleasantries.
Tony swallowed audibly, not sure if the honest answer was worth the fall-out. "I don't know. What are you doing today?"
"I am cleaning," she replied. "It is long over-due." The last three weekends the team had been called in for various cases and everyone's time had home had become slim-to-none. No doubt all house hold chores had fallen to the wayside.
"Then I think I want to clean."
She paused mid-scrub, her dish-glove covered hand relaxing and the scrub-brush falling from her fingers and into the tub. Ziva sighed. "Tony-"
He cut her off quickly. "Sorry."
"Do not be sorry," she said, her voice relaxing. "If … if you want to come over, that is fine."
"You deserve some alone time."
She chuckled. "I have had 30 years, almost, of alone-time. Pleasant company is not a bad thing. If you would like to come over, then come over. But I will put you to work – you know I do not enjoy taking out the trash. That will be your job. "
"Deal," he replied, already standing and stepping into his shoes. He could hear her chuckling as she hung up.