"But I have a receipt!" Tony brandished the paper in Ziva's face in spite of the fact that she was navigating the Navy Yard much faster than was advisable. He justified his action with the thought that she was probably still paying about as much attention to the road as she always did. "I can return her! Tell Cindy that some other relative beat us to the punch and…and…"
She shoved his hand out of her space. "If I have to bind you hand and foot, gag you with my bra and drag you upstairs by the hairs on your ass, you are delivering that doll to Delores Bromstead twenty minutes from now."
In spite of the disturbingly vivid image, he was able to say only, "You're not wearing a bra." He was then so focused on that specific idea that the receipt for Knee-High Cherry Pie that had seemed so important just moments ago fluttered to the floormat as he hand did some unconscious wandering. The car lurched into the other lane when he gave the elastic a little snap. "Huh. Guess you will be able to gag me."
She swatted his hand away. "The temptation has often been present."
"So why're you just giving in now?"
"It has been a long drive back."
If he had any complaints about his butt being tired from the usual traffic jam on 395, he wasn't about to say anything to that effect now. She would probably have no problem extracting him from the car when they got back to… damn. "Let's do another lap around the Yard, look at the decorations."
"We can stay out here until it is time for your meeting if that will make you feel better."
He glanced at the red and white striped box, still belted safely in the back seat. "Just the three of us." He could feel the doll staring at him through the lid. "Look, we've got twenty minutes. How 'bout a drink? The place right outside the gate should be open. A little liquid courage may be just what the doctor ordered."
She eyed him suspiciously. "One drink?"
"That's what I said."
"And then you will give Delores her gift?"
"I'll even pay for your drink. Something good, top shelf."
"This is not an excuse for you not to deliver the gift. We will have one drink, then we will return."
"Yes. One. Then we'll come back and…" Not even the memory of Agnes Bromstead was enough to stop Delores' permascowl from popping unbidden into his head as decreasing intervals at this point. "Let's go get that drink."
A few minutes later, after ensuring that the car was locked to prevent a dollnapping, they took their seats on two stools in the deserted bar. The bartender didn't seem pleased to see them. "We're closing early. Gotta go see my kid in some Christmas pageant." He slapped a pair of cocktail napkins on the bar in front of them, grumbling, "Better be as cute dressed up as a sheep as my ex says."
"Uh, yeah, I'm sure she'll be great," Tony replied, earning a glare.
"He. What'll you have?"
"Yeah. Couple of," he glanced at the taps, "Stellas, please."
Ziva raised an eyebrow. "I thought you said top shelf cocktails."
"Hey, it's imported beer." He lowered his voice to a whisper, "And the guy wants to get out of here. Make it easy on him."
"Hm." She clinked her glass against his when he offered. "And is this real Christmas spirit or are you putting on a show for my benefit?"
"Look, I," he paused as he glanced at the bartender, who had moved to the window where he was turning off the series of neon signs hanging there, "I was just asking for something he had to pour in front of us because he looked like he was gonna spit in our drinks, okay?"
"So you are faking, then."
He took a long drink of his beer. "You used to have a better handle on when I was faking it."
She dedicated the next five minutes to quickly finishing her drink in silence, leaving him to contemplate his impending doom. Ziva tapped her watch when he had one sip left. "It is time."
He slapped a twenty on the bar and walked toward the exit, hazarding a 'Merry Christmas' to the surly bartender. The sign was flipped from 'open' to 'closed' before the door had closed behind them. Tony called out to the nearly empty street, "Dead man walking!"
Ziva's hand in the small of his back directed him gently toward her car. "It will be fine."
As they turned back into the Navy Yard, he started to feel panicky. "I can't tell her I went to see her mom. She'll shoot me before she even opens the box! And that's assuming she doesn't shoot me once she does open the box!"
"I do not think Human Resources employees are issued sidearms."
"Well maybe her local gun shop owner is the only one who sees her smile." He noted that she was driving in a more controlled manner now. NCIS was just around the corner. "Are you going slow because you agree that these could be our last moments together? Will you promise to lay me out in a dignified position? And to make sure Ducky doesn't cover me with a sheet in Autopsy so the whole agency can truly appreciate what they've lost?"
"First of all, rigor mortis will not result in that much stiffness and second…everything is going to be fine." She grasped his hand for a moment. "I will go up with you."
He wished the box weren't so big; he could have used some more hand-holding as they walked into the building. He did manage to angle his watch enough to check the time as they stepped into the elevator. "Hey, still two minutes to live. Let's hit the bullpen first. I can take off my coat so I can die comfortable."
"For the last time, it will be fine."
He looked around the bullpen, feeling nostalgic. "I should leave a little note for McGee, he'll like having the memento. Gibbs won't care, but just tell him thanks for everything because I…"
He felt his coat being pulled off his shoulders. "The drama is really getting old."
"Watch out! I almost dropped Cherry!"
Ziva shook her head and tugged him toward the stairs. "Time to go."
"Ziva, I really can't thank you enough for spending these last hours with me, it's…"
She interrupted as they stepped into the stairwell, "If you do not tell her you spoke with her mother, how do you intend to explain how you knew to get this specific doll?"
"I'll, uh…" He realized they were in front of Delores Bromstead's office door. "Ziva…"
"I am here."
A/n: Turns out I lied about this being three parts. Or, not lied so much as made it the Arthur three instead of actual three.