Disclaimer in the first chapter, but for the record, all I own is my ever expanding list of summer work. And my deadline is forever looming closer.

I apologize for the time it took me to update—my grandmother died recently, and writing hasn't really been on the top of my mind. Plus, hours upon hours of school work will discourage anyone.

Oh--I asked in the previous chapter about smut, and here is my attempt at writing Tony and Ziva in all their glorious possibilities. If you are offended by the smut, it is only between the two lines (in the middle). The beginning and end is PG-ish.

Her Mission, His Mistake

Ziva met Tony's eyes for a moment, recognizing the similar expression of fear reflected back at her. Her peripheral vision caught Jamal's slight movements as he began to shift his own eyes towards the sound, his hand instinctively reaching for the Glock tucked in his waistband.

As soon as she recognized the all too familiar form of the weapon, she didn't even think. She just acted. Tony needed her to be an agent now, a professional, to follow the instincts drummed into her from birth instead of the welling of emotion in her throat. A professional, proactive solution for a possible problem. It was her partner stuck there, not Tony. A fellow agent, not the man she had almost kissed merely fifteen minutes ago.

With the speed of a woman desperately under a deadline, Ziva slid forward on the couch so her body blocked Jamal's view of the door. His eyes flickered to her cleavage for a second, lingering obviously, but he craned his neck to see around her into the shadows. Right at Tony.

"I think we've had enough business for now, Jamal." Ziva murmured against his throat as she kissed the pressure point under his ear, her lips slowly gliding up towards his mouth. She could still see the hand he was not-so-casually resting on his Glock. And her Mossad senses could still hear the slight creaking of old wood as Tony shifted his weight by the door. The danger wasn't over.

"Wait." Jamal's body leaned into her kiss, but his mind was still preoccupied with the threat he accurately perceived. His paranoia was stronger than his libido, at this point. Ziva had to make a conscious effort to keep from rolling her eyes. If she wanted to give Tony a chance to make it out of this room, she'd better kick it up a notch. Just dandy.

"I'm tired of waiting." Ziva slipped her hand into the waistband of his pants, her touch causing him to release his hold on his Glock and press his hand on top of hers instead. She carefully unclipped the weapon from his belt, moving it out of his reach as she unbuckled the belt and slowly slipped it out of his pants. The immediate danger was over. But yet, she could still hear Tony by the door, still smell the hint of Colgate that seemed to be coating his pores. What was he waiting for?

Ziva had hoped he would be gone by now, which would then leave her free to abort her current situation with Jamal before it spiraled out of her control. She could only tease so much before Jamal took action, and she could only take certain precautionary measures before her cover was at risk. The seesaw was teetering deeper and deeper every second Tony stayed inside the room, and she was helpless to stop herself.

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Tony knew what Ziva was planning to do the second her eyes met his. There was a hidden apology mirrored back at him, her silent way of acknowledging that watching Ziva with Jamal was the emotional equivalent of pouring molten iron down his throat. Tony knew that Ziva was trying to save his life, and he should be grateful she was taking the risk to her own emotional health instead of saving her own ass and letting him figure it out on his own. But he didn't feel grateful. He felt angry.

Anger froze him in place as he watched Ziva's lips caress Jamal's face, as he watched Jamal's hands fist themselves in her hair, as he watched Jamal's eyes darken with desire. Anger stole his breath and paralyzed him in place—every glance was searing his soul, but he couldn't move. He just…couldn't. Anger bubbled under his skin as Ziva's hand slipped lower and lower, as Jamal groaned in response, as Ziva's silken hair came to fall in a shimmering wave against Jamal's bare chest.

He was angry with Jenny for allowing Ziva to be used this way. He was angry with himself for putting her in a place where Ziva felt such actions were necessary. He was angry with Jamal for touching her, for kissing her, for putting his hands in places he had only lusted after. But most of all, he was angry with Ziva. Because she was kissing Jamal back. Because those were her hands, untying the top of her dress. Because she thought saving Tony's life was worth this. The truth was, Tony would rather have died than watch Ziva and Jamal in the way he had always wanted to see Ziva and him. And he was furious that Ziva didn't know that.

Whether it was the culmination of his swelling anger, or the sudden realization that he wasn't in any physical danger, Tony wasn't sure. But, either way, he found himself slipping out of the room in much the same way he had entered it. Alone. Undetected.

He slammed open the door to their room and kicked it shut, satisfied at the loud noise and the sizable dent. His anger had risen to overcompensate for the sickening nausea sweeping his body, and Tony found himself clenching his fists again and again. Every time he closed his eyes, he saw Ziva with Jamal. He heard them. The overwhelming urge to cram his gun barrel down Jamal's throat was getting harder and harder to ignore.

Tony barely registered the door to the room opening and shutting until he felt Ziva Gibbs smack him. He turned around, anger smoldering in his gaze, masking the pain effectively. Perhaps that was the intent after all—to numb.

"What the hell is the matter with you?" Ziva cried out, her face as set in anger as Tony's. Her hair was mussed, and her dress slightly off kilter, but she looked just as serious as ever. Somehow, that angered Tony more. Because this was a mission to her, a requirement of her job, and to him she was so much more. "You could have gotten yourself killed. Get in, get out, remember? That was a completely idiotic, ridiculous, asinine—"

"Oh, you're one to talk." Tony responded harshly. It was only then Ziva noticed the expression on his face, and human instinct made her take a step backwards. Ziva David then made herself take one forwards. This was Tony. He wasn't someone to be feared, someone to expect danger from. Tony.

"Excuse me?"

"You think fucking Jamal is going to keep him from killing you? From killing both of us? You think throwing yourself at him is what, just good business?"

"This is what I came here to do." Ziva hissed, baring her teeth as she laced her words with acid. "You knew that from the beginning, so do not come here now and question my methods. It is my job."

"Your job." Tony laughed harshly, running a hand through his hair. "Exactly."

"What the hell is that supposed to mean?"

"Nothing. Just nevermind. I'm going to take a shower." Tony stalked towards the bathroom and flung the door so hard it bounced off the wall and came rocketing back towards him. Ziva, following on his heels, stopped it effortlessly with her hand.

"Do not turn your back on me. Fixing this could mean life or death for us. We do not have the luxury of anger out here." Ziva reached a hand out tentatively, placing it softly on his shoulder. Tony gritted his teeth but didn't shrug her off. "Why are you so mad?"

"You shouldn't have done that. You shouldn't have let Jamal…you just shouldn't have done that."

"What was I supposed to do, sit there and watch him put a bullet in your skull?" Ziva stared at him incredulously. He was angry because she saved his life? Because she put his own safety ahead of her own, a fact that scared her to her very core? It had taken a good dosing of barbiturates to suddenly slip Jamal into a deep slumber, and she had barely managed to slip him the drugs undetected. Ziva's actions had saved his life—so why was Tony so mad?

"You could have died!" Tony exploded, his anger radiating in waves as he gripped Ziva's shoulders roughly. "You could have died." He said it again, softer this time, and Ziva could see the anguish beneath his anger. The air crackled between them, anger and pain and confusion making a heady mix. They stood like that for a second, Tony's hands clenching her shoulders, his eyes furious and frightened, hers mystified and defensive.

Tony leaned forward, no longer hesitant, his anger providing the proper fueling his libido needed to move past the rules. He was too far gone to think about anything but her lips on his, her body moving beneath him.

(here)

He kissed her, hard, his mouth a tight line of anger and desire, and she responded in kind. The tentative tiptoeing was stripped away, replaced by passion and tight fury. They moaned together, tongues battling for control, eager teeth nipping at tender flesh along the neck.

Ziva's hands curled up around his back, clutching at his hair, pressing her body even closer to him. The thrumming in her veins was in control of her now, the desire strong and domineering, and her skin set itself on fire wherever he touched her. She slipped her hands down and under his shirt, clawing at the sleek muscle beneath her touch. Ziva felt the buttons give way beneath her frantic fingers, and her palms zeroed in on his flushed chest. Her body ached for touch, for contact, her hands literally trembling in their desire to touch him. To be touched by him.

Tony pressed her hard against the wall, sliding her down slightly so she straddled his thigh. He thrust upward once, and once more, harder, as he felt her moan resonate deep in his throat. Tony couldn't help but smile against her lips as he felt her hips buck against his touch. She was as ready for him as he was for her.

"If we go any further, Ziva, I'm not stopping. Now is the time to tell me." Tony pulled back for a second, his eyes searching hers. He wanted Ziva as much now as he had two weeks ago, and two weeks before that, but he wanted her to wake up in the morning with no regrets.

"Tony, I could not stop now if I tried." Ziva trailed her hand from the dusting of hair on his chest down his abs, and down further still, until her fingers rested atop the zipper of his jeans. "Could you?"

"I-I'd rather not." His voice caught as Ziva's fingers slowly un-did the zipper, and his eyes nearly rolled back in his head as she slipped her hand inside. Her touch licked at him like a flame, and he knew it wouldn't take long for his knees to buckle and the two of them to collapse on the floor.

Tony knew he didn't have long to wait. The urge to savor this moment, memorize the feel and the taste of her, just wasn't feasible after waiting such a long time. His body ached for culmination, to bury himself deep within her and meet her thrust for thrust, to feel her body quivering around his as they climaxed together.

His hands made quick work of his jeans. Tony heard a soft noise from Ziva, something between a moan and a chuckle, and he tried to smile when he saw the dominant gleam in her eyes. She thought she was in control. It would take him one delicious minute to prove otherwise.

Tony placed delicate kisses along her collarbone as his hands untied her sundress, letting the skimpy material shimmy down her body and pool around her knees. Tony lifted her up, allowing the dress to fall to the floor, as his lips caught her breast and his thigh rose hard against her again.

Ziva felt a moan rip through her throat as Tony slammed her back against the wall. Her hand gripped the back of his head as he teasingly flicked his tongue against her nipple, his hips continuously thrusting against hers. Ziva felt her head roll back and her breath falter, her desire so strong and potent it almost frightened her.

"Tony…" It was all she needed to say before he suddenly thrust deep into her. She cried out, not from pain, but from pure completion. Their bodies met, thrust for thrust, need for need, understanding without explanation.

Ziva came first, crying out against his shoulder to muffle her screams, and her shuddering movements against him sent Tony over the edge as well. They reached the zenith together, pant for pant, white hot fervor exploding in a burst of unmatched fulfillment, and the feeling was something neither had ever felt before. Sex had never been something either one of them was shy about, and they had both had their fair share of partners. But the strength of their desire, the ease with which they understood and matched each other, was new to both of them.

(done)

They collapsed together, sliding down the wall. Ziva rested her head against Tony's chest, her legs tucked beneath him, their arms still entangled. Neither felt like saying anything. Nothing truly needed to be said.

Ziva ran her thumb across Tony's chest, right above the steady beat of his heart. How many times had she pictured herself in his arms? How many times had she turned away for reasons that, at the time, seemed too good to ignore? The truth was, in the end, she would have traded anything for this moment right now. Ziva would have given anything to be able to see the look in Tony's eyes as he gazed at her, a mix between awe and total satisfaction, his arms so causally holding her tight against him.

Who would have thought the calculated and logical Mossad agent would have allowed herself to put such a crimp in their under cover plans? Certainly not Ziva herself. But Tony was different. He always had been. Which is why, perhaps, Ziva felt her heart constrict as she realized her lack of control might cost Tony his life.

"What now?" Tony sounded hesitant, scared, almost, to even ask. Ziva sighed deeply, kissing his lips softly before rising. She pulled her sundress over her head and tried not to look at a very confused Tony sitting on the floor.

"We do what we came here to do. If we let this come between our mission, it will destroy us. We have to continue as if nothing happened."

"You really need to work on your pillow talk."

Ziva chuckled as Tony stood up and shrugged into his jeans. "It is not my first choice, Tony. But after we finish this mission, we can focus on what we are going to do next. Together."

"Together?" Tony asked, stepped closer so her face was inches away from his again. She certainly didn't look as if she was regretting anything, but Ziva's words seemed to be indicating otherwise.

"Together." Ziva kissed him softly, and then patted the side of his face with the palm of her hand. "That is, if you want. I understand battle fever, and if that is what this was, I understand—"

Tony silenced Ziva with an equally light kiss, his smile too wide and bright to even try to hide. Tony felt his grin widen as Ziva began to smile with him, too.

"Together sounds…ah, fine."

So0o...how was that? Too smutty?

I am thinking the undercover portion is coming to a close; there are a few things I need to wrap up, but I wanna tackle the after effects--the case was mainly my catalyst to bring TIVA into reality. While ending the case, should I aim for Ziva and Tony to basically save themselves super hero style, or some direct hands on help from our NCIS agents not truly forgotten back in D.C?