"Are we still on for this evening?"

Tim nearly groaned in pain in answer to the question.

"Trent, it has been a long week. Can we reschedule?" she moaned roughly into the phone, slouching forward in her chair and over her table. She just managed to avoid banging her head off her keyboard.

She was telling the truth, it had been an excruciatingly long week. To such a degree she had actually forgotten that she had a date – of sorts – with the CIA man. She had remembered at the beginning of the week, after all, she had even remembered to send her chosen dress for the evening to the dry cleaners. She just hadn't had the time to pick it up yet.

She glanced at the clock in the corner of her computer screen.

Even if she did manage this evening she wouldn't make it in time to the shop to pick up her clothes before they closed. She could find something else to wear, she supposed… But she was so tired.

"I'll be out of the country for the next couple of months," he told her.

Tim sighed.

That was code for 'I may not be alive for a 'reschedule''.

"I'm still at work. I am smelly and dirty," running after murders would do that to you, "I haven't been home in two days," sometimes she really hated Gibbs, "I can still taste yesterday's coffee in my mouth," maybe that was a little too much information – but thankfully easily fixed now that she had the time to brush her teeth and Gibb's wasn't breathing over her shoulders constantly, "And my clothes are still at the dry cleaners," she finished, sounding lame even to her own ears.

"Are you laughing at me?" she demanded.

The chuckle that had started somewhere around the coffee comment continued for some time.

"Of course not,"

"You're lying," she grumbled, but she couldn't stop the small smile from coming to her own lips.

"What dry cleaners? I can pick up your clothes. Our reservation is in an hour and a half. You can get a shower at the Navy Yard and I'll bring you your clothes,"

She glanced around. Tony and Ziva both appeared to be busy with their own work at the moment but she had no doubts that their ears were fixed firmly towards her and straining to catch ever word.

Had they heard who she was talking to?

Would they connect the name 'Trent' with 'Kort' the hated CIA agent?

So what if they did? She was entitled to a private life – no matter how embarrassingly slight it was.

She glance down at her feet, encased in sturdy work boots. Hardly suitable for a dinner date. She'd raid her trunk. She was sure to have something a bit better in her car.

"Fine, you win," she finally agreed.

"Wonderful, now, what dry cleaners?"

Tim rattled of the address all the while hoping that the team would be gone by the time her 'date' arrived.

LLL

Tim slipped into the knee length black dress that Kort had delivered to her and after some interesting twisting and straining got it zipped up the back.

She looked in one of the mirrors that lined the changing room.

The shower had done her the world of good and although her face looked a bit splotchy from the heat it was nothing that the fifteen minutes to the restaurant wouldn't cure.

She slipped into the battered pair of ballet flats she had found under the passenger seat of her car – thanking her little sister for being such a forgetful slob at times – and studied the effect.

Better than the work boots.

Tim felt relief that the team had left almost as soon as she had hung up the phone, Ziva and Tony pushing and shoving each other into the elevator. Gibbs had remained and when she finally couldn't stand it anymore she had stood. He had mirrored her.

Seeing no other way around it she had grabbed her gear as though she was leaving – Gibbs doing the same – and made for the elevator herself. Gibbs was on her heals the whole time.

The few minutes in the box had been torturous until she had finally broken and asked him if he had any plans.

"Working on the boat,"

"Oh,"

"And you?"

That had surprised her. After all, Gibbs wasn't exactly a very talkative kind of guy. Small talk was probably in the same category as serial killers in the man's mind.

She had looked up at him a little wary.

"Um, not really, no. Just catching up on some stuff,"

Silence had reigned for the remainder of the downward journey – only a blessed few seconds more thankfully and they had parted ways in the parking lot.

That had been when Tim had found the shoes, returned to the building with everything she had left with, informed security of her impending visitor and made a beeline for the showers.

One good thing about it being evening was that they were empty.

Kort had appeared as she had her head upside down drying her hair.

He had stood, leaning against the wall with one shoulder and the dry cleaning bag slung over the other.

Smiling.

She had frowned at him for sneaking up on her and he had reproved her for being such a spoiled sport by dressing in her gym clothes after her shower.

Tim was still blushing from the raised eyebrow and suggestive eye lift.

She nodded at her reflection.

"That's as good as it is going to get, Tim," she told herself.

At least she made a habit out of making sure she shaved – she had found herself in way to many embarrassing situations through her years on Team Gibbs to leave herself open for Tony's comments with something so simple - and the lack of tights didn't really matter.

Placing the hairdryer back in the locker with the broken door where it was habitually kept for anyone to use, she swept up the towel she had flung over the bench and shoved it into her bag before zipping it up and slinging it over her shoulder.

Time to go on a not-date.

I just loved the idea of them becoming friends (in a way) and making as regular a thing as was possible of dinner and a 'will you join the CIA, please, please, please' speech.

Another Gibbs/Ziva/Tony spying sessions coming up. But this time it makes a lot more sense than with Langer. After all, they REALLY don't like Kort.

Take care everyone :)