Hello again all. (: Another update here, and I can assure you it's much less angsty than the last one. I've also cleared things up regarding the Emily-situation, and also, obviously, Tiva. I hope you'll like this one; it was nice to write some vaguely fluffy stuff. Let me know what you think, you lovelies.
Disclaimer: You know you're obsessed with NCIS when you love the name 'Francis' because it has 'NCIS' in it.
Listening to: Dirty Little Secret by The All-American Rejects
The piece of paper lies on his desk when he returns from a trip to the break room, and his thoughts immediately drift to Ziva, who is staring at her computer just like she was fifteen minutes earlier.
Maybe it's a note.
All dreams are dismissed, however, when he flips open the sheet and finds a letter of resignation printed before his eyes. He skims over the words hurriedly, praying it isn't from Ziva- though he's not entirely sure why it would be on his desk-, and doesn't feel a single bit guilty at the joy that fills him upon seeing the signature 'Emily Finch' stamped out at the bottom of the page.
Sitting down slowly, a little confused, he re-reads the document and gulps a little sadly. On top of the words diminishing, uncooperative, and plain old annoying, he picks up on replaced, unwelcoming, and one section in particular that, really, makes him sorry.
"Upon the placement of a Mossad liaison officer to our team, I discovered that my co-workers could, in fact, be kind to new arrivals and could make them feel welcomed. Despite my every effort to try and fit in still being unsuccessful many months after I arrived, I found Officer David was immediately greeted warmly by the team and settled in easily. Particularly, I found that she interacted very well with my partner, Agent DiNozzo, and seemed to be doing a much better job of working with him than I ever had done. It is with these observations that I recommend Officer David becomes Agent DiNozzo's partner upon my leaving."
He folds the paper up again, slightly speechless, and drops it into his trashcan, sending a look in Gibbs' direction. The older man only nods once before returning his attention to his phone, cradled on his shoulder just as it was minutes earlier.
Picking up a pen, Tony starts cutting down the words in his report to give him something, anything, to do, when he feels eyes resting heavily on him yet again. Glancing up, he sees Ziva staring at him, and he can't say he's surprised. What does catch him unawares, however, is the fact that she doesn't look away, like she has done before. She just quirks her lips up the tiniest bit and tilts her head to the side, and he smiles in return.
It's getting better.
.
.
The crime scene that day is a messy one. Several victims, mangled together and dumped in a clearing in the woods- the type of massacre that would make anyone look away.
Her instructions are simple; take pictures and collect any evidence she finds along the way. Tony's instructions are also simple; crime scene sketches. She's not quite sure why he's following her, though.
She's on the outskirts of the woods when she decides enough is enough. He's shadowed her all the way round the scene, switching from sketch to sketch to suit where she has been at the time. Even when she had gone back to a place she had collected from before, he had simply checked the sketch and gone over a few lines.
When she reaches a particularly large tree with some suspicious-looking powder round it, she stops abruptly and waits for him to realize. He doesn't, though, and walks right into the back of her.
The ground is a little damp beneath her- rained-on leaves and waterlogged moss coats the forest floor- but she doesn't focus on that, or the fact that she very nearly landed on that white powder. She concentrates on Tony instead, and the fact that he's lying right on top of her.
His weight is a little crushing against her, but she doesn't dare mention it for fear he'll move. One of his arms has somehow ended up behind her shoulders, supporting her head, and the other one is lying on the ground. His head is nestled in the crook of her neck, his breath tickling her skin as he breathes out harshly. Eventually, he looks up, his face just inches from hers, and he smiles warily.
"Sorry about that."
She smiles back brightly, trying not to laugh and attract attention to them.
"It is okay."
He moves forward and closes the gap before she's even had a chance to blink, and she kisses him back without thought. It may be shallow and quick and very gentle, but it repairs barriers that would have otherwise remained knocked-down, and it tethers them together in unimaginable ways. When he pulls back, he brushes his knuckles against her cheek and stands slowly, helping her up as well.
"Movie tonight, my place? I've got chips and dip."
"I would like that, Tony. Is nine-" his lips on hers once more stop her words, but she assumes nine o'clock must be fine.
He saunters away afterward with a satisfied grin, throwing a lighthearted "Might wanna bag that powder, David," over his shoulder. She sends him a glare and picks up her camera regardless.
.
.
They don't solve the case that night, but Gibbs can clearly see nothing else will happen until Abby's finished with the evidence, and tells them to head home at eight.
"You doing anything nice, Ziva?" McGee asks her as the two of them head to the elevator.
"Yes, I think I am McGee," she responds cryptically, smiling at Tony- still sitting at his desk- before pressing the button to close the doors. "I am going to visit a very good friend of mine. And you?"
"Eh, same old, same old. Nothing special, like usual."
"That is too bad, yes?"
The doors open and McGee hums in acknowledgement of her answer before saying a curt goodnight and heading to his car. Ziva does the same, but is barely behind the wheel of her Mini Cooper before her cell phone rings. Smiling at the name on the screen, she flips it open and answers.
"I said goodbye to you five minutes ago, Tony. Could you not wait an hour?" her voice is teasing and light, and she really rather loves this… banter.
"So what if I couldn't?" he says, and her stomach flips over and over. "Actually, I forgot to ask you earlier- do you want wine or beer? Just, the drink really affects the movie and the whole effect it has, so-"
"Beer is fine, Tony."
"I'm so glad you said that, we don't have to change the movie now."
She grins, even though he can't see her, and she can hear him breathing on the other end of the call. It's a noise that makes her rather content.
"…Tony." she says softly after a minute or two.
"Yeah?"
"I really need to get home and change."
"Oh, sure."
They say their goodbyes and he hangs up, and even as she drives home she feels just a little bit empty without his presence.
.
.
She supposes he must have seen this movie at least twenty times before- he's paying absolutely no attention to it. Whilst she stays focused on the plot, he keeps twirling a lock of her hair in his fingers, or just looks at her face whilst the TV presumably reflects off it. She doesn't find it unnerving, more… flattering. The whole way through it- as posh actors strut around and say odd things, and women fling themselves into the hero's arms desperately, and kisses are exchanged that look so very false-, he focuses entirely on her. And she lets him, not because she's vain or self-centered, but because it seems like he's genuinely intrigued by whatever he can see. She merely watches the scenes play out and tries to keep a blush from staining her cheeks.
As the credits roll and he reaches forward to pause the film, she feels the rush of cold air sweep through his apartment and lodge itself between the two of them, and she's rather grateful when he sits back down just a little bit closer to her than before. His knuckles brush against her cheek like they did earlier, in the woods, and she slowly turns her head, eyes softening unknowingly.
There's a heaviness to his gaze that she's never seen before, and a lovely feeling settles itself in the pit of her stomach- twisting and confusing, but wonderfully so. When his palm cups her cheek, her eyes flutter shut, and he presses his lips against hers with an intimate kind of tenderness that makes her shudder. He pulls away suddenly, and she wonders if something was wrong. But the heaviness remains in his eyes, and it's she who breaks the silence.
"Tony, I…" she clears her throat and starts again. "Before we do this, aren't there… rules? Things that state that we simply cannot be together?"
"Yeah. Yeah, there are."
"And… you do not care, about these rules?"
He laughs, his throat sounding thick and laden with something that isn't tears but might be rather close, shrugging slightly and shaking his head. "No. No, Ziva, I really don't."
She smiles, because that's enough, but more words escape before she can stop them.
"Then what do you care about?"
He doesn't even hesitate as he replies "You."