Title: The DiNozzo Diaries 3: Never On Sunday
Author: rekkidbraka
Rating: T
Pairings: Tony D. and Ziva D.
Category: Romance; humor; angst
Disclaimer: No infringement intended.
Spoilers: From final two eps. of Season 6
Summary: Sequel to "The DiNozzo Diaries 1 & 2." Special Agent Tony DiNozzo's most private thoughts and desires revealed, chapter by chapter. TIVA. Warning: Intense sexual content in some chapters. No slash.

-------------------- The DiNozzo Diaries 3: Never On Sunday ---------------------

Guess I'm not such a special agent after all.

Ziva says Eli wants me "in shape" for the mission. What? I'm not in shape now? C'mon... Look at these GUNS! No, I mean my arms...

Speaking of muscles, that reminds me -- Abs... I gotta call her tonight. See how things are going back home in ProbieLand. You talk about a guy who needs to tone up, there's your poster boy for pudge-o-rama. McGoo never met a burrito he didn't like. Just look at his McGut! Ha HAH!

"You are insulting McGee again, Tony?"

"Is it Sunday?"

"It is."

"Then, yeah."

"Are you not the one who regularly rips up the vending machine back at NCIS headquarters to secure your coveted afternoon snacks?"

"It's rip OFF the vending machine, Sweet Cheeks. And my snack time is sacred. Not unlike your trips to the Navy Yard gym for your 'kickboxing' workouts -- where you sweat off the day's stress with a roomful of shirtless young sailors."

"The difference, my little Furry Mutt, is that my... indulgence does not add inches to my waistline."

"No. But it adds inches to those guys. Below the waistline."

"Are we fighting?"

"Of course not. We're bantering."

"Well, let us banter after we have gotten in your first workout."

"Wait... we talking American-type workout or Mossad-type workout?"

"Your mission is for Mossad. You must meet our standards."

"Those standards... they include actually LIVING to carry out the mission, right?"

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God... please... no... more....

Can't... move...

Can't... breathe...

Need... doctor... now...

"Tony, that is 30 push-ups."

Ziva... trying... to... BREAK... me...

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After this afternoon's workout, I've been in bed all evening. And not in the way I like.

I'm just lying here, trying not to die. Or move. Or blink. Or breathe. Or do anything, really. Not that I could.

I can't feel my face.

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Oh... Ziva told me that one part of Mossad's "mission training" is self-denial. Not eating stuff you enjoy, not drinking, not hitting those hot Tel Aviv nightspots, not...

... yeah, you get the idea. We'll be doing that -- NOT -- for a while.

I would've asked her how long we're gonna NOT but when she gave me the happy news, I couldn't speak seeing as how she had me twisted up like a pretzel in what she called some "yoga" stretching exercise and all that would've come out anyway? Would've been a scream. Because I was in agony.

Well, I'm real stretched now. I'm so limber I haven't moved in at least five hours.

And I really need to pee.

At least I think I still do.

Welcome to Mossad, Anthony.