This chapter is the type of chapter that I affectionately refer to as "semi smut". It's actually not that, uh, mature, but there are a few details thrown in there that make me want to let you know ahead of time, haha.
Enjoy!
"Tony, what are we doing?"
He turns away from the lasagna he's preparing and looks at her. She sits at the kitchen table, staring down at her hands- a pretty clear indication that she isn't talking about dinner. "What do you mean?"
"With this." Ziva gestures between the two of them. "How much longer can we be miserable half the time? How long before the misery takes over?"
Honestly, Tony has been wondering the exact same thing. Nothing at work is improving. Somebody- no, he has to act.
Abandoning his limp noodles and ricotta cheese, he sits down beside Ziva. "We won't let it get out of hand."
"Tony, it is out of hand. These are the choices I was talking about. Remember?"
"Yes, I remember," he says, touching her cheek. "You remember what I said?"
Ziva meets his eyes, and he knows that she does. He holds her gaze even as she whispers, "That you would choose me."
"And that I already have." Tony dares to lean forward and press his forehead against hers; her eyes slide shut. Both of them breathe heavier as their lips touch briefly. There is a pause, and then Ziva wraps her good arm around his neck, and their kiss is deep and powerful.
"Tony," she says huskily when she pulls away. "Remove my sling."
It takes a moment for his oxygen-deprived brain to catch up with her words, but the moment it does, he grasps her full meaning. "Ziva, no. I don't want to hurt you."
"My shoulder barely hurts anymore. It's mostly healed. Tony, you take it off for me when I shower and get dressed-"
"That's different. That's only for a few minutes and as soon as you're done, it goes back on." Tony stares her down. "I am not taking it off so we can have sex."
Breaking free of his grasp, Ziva does a crude imitation of crossing her arms over her chest. It's actually impressive, considering that, against her wishes, one arm is still bound. She returns his stubborn gaze, and of course it is he who looks away first. He's weak.
Especially when it comes to her.
"I will not beg," she says calmly. "All I will tell you is that I choose you, too… and that I'd like to show it."
Tony is hit with a wave of emotion that he doubts he could fight even if he wanted to. He ducks his head and whispers, "Okay," against Ziva's neck, then proceeds to unhook her sling, slide it off carefully, support her arm with his hand until he knows that it's fine on its own.
He lifts her from the chair, steadying her while she settles her legs around his waist. They rediscover each other's mouths during the journey from the kitchen to the bedroom, and the frenzied, wild nature of that kiss directly contradicts the gentle care with which he lies her down on the bed.
Crawling on top of her and bracing his hands by her head, he redirects his kisses to her collarbone. She begins fiddling with his belt and zipper- using both hands. Of course she would be able to use an arm that's been out of commission for months to make him crazy. It doesn't take long for her to start pushing his pants down off his hips and for their feet to get tangled as they then kick the pants to the floor.
Ziva threads her fingers in his hair and forcibly bring his lips back up to hers. His head stings where she pulls on the strands, but his adrenaline masks most of that, and anyway, he's busy sliding his hand under her shirt. Quickly he finds her breast; when he curls his fingertips around the edge of her bra cup, her body jerks.
"What?" he asks, afraid he's done something wrong.
"Nothing," she whispers, and presses her hips into his. "You… startled me."
"Oh, really?" Tony is smug, because honestly, there is good reason to be smug when you take Ziva David by surprise.
And then she flips them over and he's the one on his back, leaving no question about who has the upper hand here. Thick locks of dark hair form a curtain on the sides of her face and his, creating the impression that they are completely closed off from the rest of the world.
"Hi," he murmurs.
"Hello," she replies, and those are the last words they speak aloud.
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Afterward, she rolls away from him for only a couple of minutes, during which they both pant and attempt to get a grip on their heart rates, and then she rolls back over and settles against him with a contented sigh and a kiss to his chest.
Wary of breaking the serene quiet, he asks in a whisper how she is, if her shoulder hurts at all, and she replies that no, it does not. And then, as he runs his hand up her bare back and buries it in her hair, as she squeezes one of his knees with both of hers, he finds the words slipping out before he can think them through.
"I love you, Ziva," he says; half of a second later, he is worrying that she'll think this is just pillow talk, that in the morning light, he won't feel this way.
Another half second, and it's clear that she not only believes him, but that she felt the exact same thing he did when they made love, and so she understands. Craning her neck a little, she giggles into his, tickling his skin. "I love you too."
Soon, she goes to sleep, but he feels that he can't yet. His heart feels overly inflated, as if it is about to burst inside his chest. He keeps grinning without realizing it. Eventually, he remembers that there is a half-prepared pan of lasagna abandoned on the kitchen counter and figures that he should put it away, so he carefully slips out from beneath Ziva. After pulling on some boxers and sticking the pan in the fridge, he catches sight of the clock. It's a little after nine; it feels like yesterday that he was making dinner, but in reality, it has only been a couple of hours.
And Tony is wide awake.
What he wants is to go back to bed, to wrap Ziva back in his embrace, but there is a fire smoldering in his gut, and it's only growing. This, right now, right this second, is the time for him to act.
He goes back into the bedroom and pulls on pants, a shirt, a belt. He grabs his gun and badge. He leans over Ziva, who is still sound asleep, and kisses her on the forehead. "I'll be right back," he says. "I gotta go do something."
As she subconsciously shifts closer to him, he knows, without a doubt, that this is what he needs, wants, and has to do.
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Someday, Anthony DiNozzo will no longer be a special agent with the Naval Criminal Investigative Service. He will no longer be under the direction of Leroy Jethro Gibbs. Someday, his life choices are going to stare him right in the face, and the reasons for making them won't matter all that much. All that will matter is the consequences.
His fear tonight is that, if he continues on the path he is on, his consequences are going to be very lonely ones. He fears waking up alone, pouring one bowl of Honey Nut Cheerios, not having anybody to celebrate his birthday with.
He fears screwing up, because that's all he has done in the past. He has a chance, a real chance at a life with Ziva, and he physically hurts at the idea of looking back someday and wondering what could have been.
The second-to-last thing in the world that he wants is to lose his patchwork family… but the last thing he wants is to lose her.
With all that in his mind, it's not a hard decision. Not at all. There is no hesitation, in his head or his heart or his gait, as he pushes open Gibbs' front door and makes a beeline for the basement. Not while he descends the stairs, clomping down them, unafraid to announce his presence. And certainly not when he looks right into Gibbs' slightly bemused face and says, "You win. I'll play your game."
The gun and badge are slid onto the table.
Tony gives a curt nod. Turns to leave.
Goes all the way back upstairs.
His former boss never says a word.