A loud voice cut through the crowded restaurant surprisingly clearly. "Seventy!"

Ziva hadn't been concerned about the pain in her left hand until it began to swell. Even then it was hardly a surprise; she had caught a flying piece of wood in it a few hours ago. It was sitting on the table, in fact, because she hadn't convinced Tony to put it in the car before dinner. She would have threatened to hit him if she'd been able to make a fist. She carefully wrapped her hand around her paper cup of very cold Diet Coke and stared at the bat.

Tony had already told the staff at behind the register and the people at the adjoining tables all about it. At least she had convinced him to eat at a place without anyone to wait on them. She could only imagine how bad he would be with someone forced to stop by their table every so often. Of course, she'd had to concede talking him out of Five Guys, in spite of her excellent argument that he'd thrown enough peanut shells on the ground today. Hopefully they would get their food soon so he would stop. She sighed loudly. "I really do not understand this strange American custom of throwing peanut shells anywhere you feel like throwing them."

"Sixty-nine!"

"Aw, man, they're going backwards now." He threw a glance over his shoulder then pointedly cracked a shell and brushed it off the table. She tilted her head to get a better view of the pile on the floor; it had a ways to go to catch up to the one left by the large family who had been leaving just as she and Tony had sat down. Another shell hit the floor and bounced. She turned her attention back to Tony, who flicked a shell in her direction. "It's your custom now, too, so get used to it." He picked at the remaining peanuts in the paper tray on the table. "I hope we get our stuff soon. I know it's only a five minute walk back to NCIS, but…"

"Seventy-one!"

"Oh, so close. You need a refill on soda or anything?"

She tightened her grip on the cup, not wanting to let go of her single source of relief. "Not at the moment."

"'Kay, but I think we could definitely use a peanut refill."

"Do not get more pea…"

"Seventy-two!"

"That's us!" He grabbed the bat and jumped out of his seat. "I'll go get it."

"Leave the…" she trailed off as he was already halfway to the counter. She focused on trying to unclasp her hand from her cup. She needed her other hand to accomplish the feat. This would have to be a one-handed meal. She settled her left hand in her lap, palm up. Was that bruising or just shadows?

She was still trying to decide if her hand warranted a visit to the doctor when Tony plopped back into seat, dropping the bat on the unfinished peanuts, scattering them across the table. "The fry guy was impressed. Said he saw it on TV and the announcers were complimenting your reflexes. Also, the fact that you didn't spill your beer." He abruptly buried his face in the paper bag he'd brought back with him.

She furrowed her brows. "What are you not telling me?"

"What? Nothing? Uh…y'know, just that you've obviously sobered up. Your little bench-nap did wonders for you." He lifted the top bun off the burger he'd just unwrapped. "Ugh, jalapeños. That's you." He set the second foil-wrapped burger in front of himself before tearing the paper bag in half and pouring in the fries that hadn't already spilled from their cup. The last crumbs from the bottom went directly into his mouth. "Oh, hot, hot, hot."

"Animal." Collecting it carefully in her right hand, she took a bite of her cheeseburger and decided if Tony dragged her to another Nationals' game, she would insist they eat here first. It wouldn't be a hard sell; he was clearly enjoying his bacon double cheeseburger.

"Mmmmmm." For some reason, he was taking large bites and making a show of chewing them. "This is so good. I'd offer you a bite, but I know you're all about the kosher thing, sooo…" He took another large bite and grinned.

She grinned right back, wondering if he thought pork products were the only thing that made food non-kosher. The cheeseburger was really too good for her to enlighten him. Swallowing before she spoke, she said, "You really have an unhealthy obsession with bacon. What time do the fireworks start?"

"Not for another hour or so. We could sit here and eat peanuts 'til go time if you want."

She took another look at the pile on the floor beside their table, grimacing as she jarred her hand.

"Okay, so we won't do that. But…eat some fries! I got the large so we could share!"

She reached for her cup with her left hand. The cold really did help.

When they arrived back at NCIS on foot, the parking lot was surprisingly full. Ziva suddenly hoped all these people were here for some emergency that didn't involve the Major Case Team.

Tony used his ID to open the front door of the building. "Guess we weren't the only ones with the clever idea to come up here to watch the fireworks."

They took the elevator to the top floor. She let him lead the way to the stairs with roof access. She had been on the roof several times, mainly to assess the accessibility of the bullpen through the skylight, but it had been for her own piece of mind rather than any official assignment. If anyone asked, she could state with some confidence that anyone coming in via that route would need lots and lots of stitches. She pushed the thought of medical attention out of her mind and followed Tony out onto the roof.

The view was better than she remembered, probably because she had only been here in daylight before. The brightly lit buildings really added something to the experience. Tony hadn't seemed to notice. "Why don't I know most of these people? Maybe it's the casual attire. Tough to spot some people when they aren't in suits or… Oh, hey, there's Palmer with the future Bride of Frankenstein. And the Director is here with his Vancelings." He stepped abruptly to the left, grabbing her arm low enough to draw a repressed cry that she managed to turn into a sound like a hiccough. "Let's go say hi to Palmer."

She gave a quick nod to Director Vance, who had just turned in their direction. "Tony, you do not have to…"

He ignored her, as he was shouting across the roof, brandishing his bat, "Hey, Palmer! Check it out! Broken bat! You can see Zimmerman's name right on it!"

"Wow, Ziva, that must have hurt."

Tony's face fell at Jimmy's reaction. "Wait, how do you know that Ziva caught it?"

"She's the number one Top Play on SportsCenter. Brina, you remember Ziva and Tony, right?"

"Of course!" Jimmy's surprisingly bubbly fiancée reached out to shake hands enthusiastically. "Yeah, we saw you on TV. That was so cool! And you made the funniest face!" She pointed at Tony while producing a twisted expression of terror and possible constipation. "We rewound it a bunch of times on the DVR!"

"Oh, that's…uh…"

Another voice unexpectedly joined the conversation. "Impressive play, David."

She turned and smiled. "Thank you, Director."

"Is that the bat?"

Tony reluctantly held it out.

"I thought they usually sent security to collect these from fans, but maybe they decided it was best not to mess with you. The reflexes make me glad you're on our side." He passed the bat back to Tony and folded his arms over his chest. "I'm torn between disappointment that you weren't identified with NCIS and gratitude that DiNozzo wasn't either."

"Because he did this?" Brina made the face again.

Vance chuckled. "I can see why Palmer is so eager to marry you. Well, enjoy the fireworks. Try not to fall off the roof when the booms start, DiNozzo."

"I…I'm fine with explosions! Gunshots…"

Vance waved his hand dismissively without turning back.

"Great. Now I look like a jerk on national television."

Ziva looped her arm through Tony's. "Well, now…"

"Yeah, yeah, don't even say it."

"I was not…"

"Sure you weren't." He turned and smiled. "Any plans for after the fireworks?"

"The ER?"

"What? Why? Are you gonna hurt me?"

"Not at all. It is just that I think my hand is broken."

"Ziva, you can't be serious."

"Ssh. The fireworks are starting."

He leaned over to whisper in her ear as the first booms echoed across the Potomac. "For the record, it's fireworks, not the opera. You don't have to be quiet. And you should have said something earlier about your hand."

She allowed her gaze to drift from his eyes to the fireworks and back. "I did not want to miss this."