A/N: This chapter did not come easily, and it's been 'tweaked' to death. But at a certain point you have to just put it out there and say, enough already.

Rating: T for language.

Disclaimer: The Usual.

Tuesday, June 1, 2010 2:14 p.m.

McGee made it down to Abby's lab in record time, taking the stairs (two at a time), because the elevator seemed to be stuck up on the 6th floor. She was just packing up the evidence from the Halden case so it could be delivered to the evidence locker as Tim arrived, breathless and over-excited.

"Abby! You were right!" He grabbed the box from her hands and deposited it on the counter.

"Of course I was – the evidence never lies, McGee." She grinned triumphantly, waiting for him to elaborate; when he didn't, she punched him in the arm. "What was I right about?"

"Tony and that Petty Officer – he's taking her home, as we speak."

She licked her index finger and traced a 'one' in the air. "Do I have great instincts, or what? Tell me everything," she pleaded.

McGee proceeded to describe the warm reunion between Tony and Louisa in the hallway outside interrogation, and their departure, hand in hand. Abby was underwhelmed.

"That's it? No kiss? C'mon McGee, please tell me you have more than that."

"Well, Captain Penachetti didn't seem too thrilled about it. He obviously thought there was something going on," Tim retorted defensively.

She sighed. "Well, I guess it's better than nothing. Keep me posted." She picked up the box of evidence from the counter and handed it to him. "Do me a favour, and take this down to the evidence locker? Thanks, McGee!" She smiled sweetly at him, then spun on her heels and went right back to work, ignoring his continued presence.

"I'll...just...take this... down... to the evidence locker, then," he mumbled, retreating to the elevator and mentally reviewing their exchange to see where he'd gone wrong. He figured it for the scoop of the week, if not the month, but Abby didn't seem the least bit impressed. "I guess you had to be there," he called back to her as the doors glided shut.

2:45 p.m.

Ziva returned to the Navy Yard with several evidence bags containing items one would not normally expect to find in a Jewish bachelor's apartment: a box of tampons, a silver crucifix pendant, two lipsticks, a small plush toy panda, a dainty pillbox containing Tylenol and Motrin tablets, and a hairbrush – brown, with black bristles. She showed the items to Gibbs, who grunted approvingly. She then proceeded down to the lab to have the items processed. She assumed they all belonged to Louisa Penachetti.

She contemplated once again the suggestion that Louisa was Tony's girlfriend. Ludicrous, for several reasons. They'd known each other for a mere 48 hours. She was short. She was a bit heavy. She was plain. Tony always went for the tall, willowy beauty. The cover girl. He was all about appearances... including his own. Designer suit. Impeccable grooming. And the ambiance had to be just right on every date – often pulled right out of a film setting. He went to great lengths to ensure everything was perfect. One thing was certain: Louisa Penachetti was far from perfect.

Ziva considered the body of evidence to support Abby's theory. Yes, his behaviour had been out of character where the Petty Officer was concerned. But all of those signals could simply be the result of his friendship with her brother. It would be only natural for him to be concerned about Louisa, and look out for her welfare, convinced that she was being framed. And having experienced very similar circumstances himself several years ago, it would make sense that he'd have a particular understanding and empathy for what she was going through.

But there was one thing that blew that theory out of the water: he'd quite suddenly become more distant, less familiar; he wasn't teasing her, wasn't rubbing up against her, wasn't undressing her with his eyes in that particular way that told her he'd love to get her in the elevator, press the STOP button and go nuts for 20 minutes or so. Even though she'd always thought the behaviour juvenile, part of her had been titillated by it.

So...was it over? Was Anthony DiNozzo finally growing up? Falling in love? With a real, ordinary woman?

True, it wasn't the first time she'd seen him this way. But with Jeanne, it hadn't been real – well, not at the start, anyway. He'd been under cover. And the transformation had been much more gradual. There was something different this time, Ziva decided. And she was determined to get some answers.

3:32 p.m.

Tony felt a bit like the high school kid who's been smoking in the washroom and comes sneaking back into class hoping the teacher won't notice the cigarette smell on his clothes. Parking his car, he moved quickly through the garage to the elevator, and when the doors opened on the 2nd floor, he glided stealthily to the men's room, so he could check himself over for incriminating evidence... lipstick on the collar... anything at all that might possibly tip one of them off (especially Gibbs, who never missed a thing).

He ran his hands under the tap and slid his fingers through his hair to smooth it out. She'd mussed it up quite a bit; he grinned – she couldn't possibly have known, but that was one of his biggest turn-ons. As he glanced back up in the mirror, he caught the dark shadow of a figure standing behind him. He hadn't heard anyone come in. The figure stepped forward into the light. Ziva. She had locked the door.

"You are in love, yes?" It was a purely factual statement. Not an accusation, not a confrontation, barely even a question.

He tried to read her face in the mirrored reflection, but there was nothing. No emotion. Was she upset? Angry? Jealous? He couldn't tell. He steeled himself, matching her neutral expression. "Why do you ask?"

"I always like to separate fact from rumour. And, rumour has it, that you and the Petty Officer are an 'item'. I thought it would be wise to find out... from the horse's mouth... did I say that right?"

He nodded, but didn't respond immediately. How best to handle this? Ziva had terrific instincts; there seemed little point in trying to hide the truth, because she'd figure it out anyway. But he desperately wanted to keep this relationship private, at least for now. Best to get more information first. "What are they saying?"

"Abby is referring to Louisa as your 'girlfriend'. McGee is certain that you will be spending the night with her tonight. And Gibbs believes you will break her heart, as you have all the others, and that your friendship with Captain Penachetti will end as a result."

"Sounds like they've got all the bases covered... and what about you? What are you thinking, Ziva?"

He turned to face her, leaning back against the counter. She stepped up close to him, her leg brushing against his, and stared thoughtfully into his green eyes. "I am thinking... that it is perhaps too soon to call it 'love', but that you are obviously infatuated by her. Although... I fail to understand why."

Damn. She had him nailed. As usual. He licked his lips, and struggled to find the right words with which to respond. He decided he might as well play along. "Why not?"

"She is not attractive." She had tossed out the observation in such a matter-of-fact way. The gauntlet had been thrown down.

"Your opinion. Not mine." His jaw was set, his eyes had narrowed, and Ziva felt the air chilling around her. But she was not one to back down when challenged. Obviously, she'd hit a nerve. Obviously, there was something more here than concern for a friend's sister.

"Your taste has changed, then."

At this, he became defensive. "You may think you know me, Ziva, but you don't. I don't tell you about all my relationships. I'm entitled to some privacy in my personal life."

"But no-one else is, are they? You are always trying to eke out every little detail about everyone else's dates. Your curiosity is insatiable. I've seen you going through McGee's desk drawer, scanning his computer while he's down in the lab, going through his coat pockets..."

"Yeah, kinda like you, reading my e-mails, which is how you figured out that Pete was my best friend." Her face fell. "You know what they say about people in glass houses, don't you Ziva?"

"They should not throw rocks," she responded, slightly chastened.

"Stones. But yeah, that's the general idea." He glared at her. "The difference is, I snoop for fun, and if I found anything, I would never use it against McGee, except to tease him. And you know that. But you don't have boundaries like that, do you Ziva? You'll use anything against anyone, like you ratted to Gibbs to get me off this case."

"I did not 'rat' to Gibbs!" she seethed defiantly. "I told no-one. Gibbs has ways of finding out about things, he does not need me to feed him information... you have so little trust in me, that you think I would do such a thing?" She turned away from him, and instantly he regretted his words. A painful silence hung in the air, until Tony could stand it no longer.

"I'm sorry." He reached out and gently tugged at her arm. But she resisted the pull of his hand. "I do trust you." Still, she didn't move. "With my life." At this, finally she turned to face him. "Ziva... does it bother you that I might have feelings for someone else?"

She hadn't expected him to lay it out so plainly, and Ziva found herself struggling for the right words. "You are my partner. It's my job to watch your back, just as it is yours to watch mine. But... I have no claim over your heart." She cupped his cheek with her hand. "Rule # 12 exists for a good reason. We might compromise a situation if we let personal feelings cloud our judgement." She gently kissed his cheek. "Be happy, Tony."

She pulled away, and quickly vacated the men's room, leaving DiNozzo standing by the bank of sinks, alone and confused.

Wednesday, June 2, 2010 8:33 p.m.

"I don't believe it! How the hell did that one get past him?"

"Briere was in the crease – that should've been a penalty, not a goal!"

"Shit." In his over-excited state, Tony had spilled beer all over his t-shirt.

"Language!" Julia was halfway down the basement stairs, carrying a bowl of cheese doodles in one hand and a bag of salt & vinegar potato chips in the other. Like two overgrown teenagers, Pete and Tony were getting their regular fix of Stanley Cup Playoff action in the Penachetti basement, drinking Bud Light and munching on various unhealthy snacks. The basement rec room was home base at this time of year, with its 58-inch TV, surround sound system, and wet bar.

"Sorry, Jules," DiNozzo responded sheepishly.

"Commercial. Time to hit the head." Pete jumped up and trotted towards the stairs, leaving Tony to mop himself up. He gave Julia a quick peck on the cheek as he breezed past her. "Thanks, Hon." He plunged his hand into the bowl of cheese doodles, knocking a few onto the floor in the process. She set the bowl down on the coffee table, and sighed as she picked up the offending morsels.

"Here." Julia handed Tony a wad of paper towels from the bar. "You'd better hope you don't get stopped by the cops on the way home – you're doing a great imitation of an alchie tonight."

"Ooohh, I can feel the love in this room," Tony quipped. Julia scowled at him.

"Just don't get any of that on my new carpet." And with that, she marched back upstairs. She wasn't a sports fan at the best of times, and hockey season seemed to go on forever. It brought out the worst in those two, she thought to herself, shaking her head in resignation.

Tony's buddy returned a few minutes later, and they settled back down to watch the last five minutes of the first period. Pete took a long draw on his beer, then remarked casually, "So... I hear you asked my sister out on a date."

Tony almost choked on the handful of potato chips he'd just shoved in his mouth. He gave Pete a sideways glance, defences ready. He knew without asking that his friend didn't really approve. "How'd you hear that?"

"She called to ask me for advice."

"Advice?" Tony set down his beer on the coffee table and stared at his friend incredulously.

"Yeah, you know... topics of conversation, that sort of thing."

"Okay..." Tony wasn't certain how to interpret this.

"You gotta understand, Tony. My sister's not exactly... experienced... when it comes to the world of dating. In fact, I don't think she's even been on a date since high school."

Tony chuckled at the thought, reflecting on the passionate kiss they'd shared the day before. "Aw, c'mon Pete, she's thirty years old! How would you know, anyway? She could have a secret life you know nothing about."

"I doubt it. She had a... bad experience... in eleventh grade."

Tony was all ears – this could be the explanation he'd been searching for to account for the missing years in the high school website photos. "What happened?"

"Uh-uh. Not my place to share. If she wants you to know about it, she'll tell you. Suffice it to say, she's always been kinda nervous about being alone with a man, ever since I can remember. I can't believe she actually agreed to go out with you... you must've made quite an impression on her."

Tony took a sip of his beer. "It's mutual."

"Just do me one favour, would ya?"

"Sure..."

"Don't break her heart."