Jan 3
A waist is a terrible thing to mind.
Jane Caminos
Anthony DiNozzo stared into the restroom mirror. His shirt and undershirt lay to one side, discarded as he sucked his stomach in and glared at his reflection.
As always, it was all Ziva's fault. His aggravating Mossad assassin had agreed with a suspect's wisecrack a week ago that he was a little large around the middle. His partner had gone one step further and noted with a wicked grin that he was putting on weight.
But he couldn't gain weight. He took good care of himself, was God's gift to women. Who would fall in love with his smile if he had a spare tire around his waist like the Probie?
He wondered if the mirror was perhaps broken. Maybe his sneaky ninja had replaced it with one of those fairground ones that added weight. Though, when he thought about it, she could have a point. Ducky pointed out time and time again that his diet was appalling and he had always been told his metabolism would slow as he aged.
The restroom door opened and he whirled around in shock. He wasn't sure whether to be worried or relieved as Ziva slipped in and locked the door behind her. She looked him up and down, her expression unreadable.
"Is a woman hiding in here?" she asked him bluntly, leaving her spot by the door to start kicking in the cubicle doors.
"What?" He stared at her. "No. Why would you think that?" As he spoke, he reached for his clothes and began to pull them back on.
"You have been in here for half an hour," she pointed out, apparently satisfied that they were alone as she settled back into her usual slouch against the door, blocking his escape route. "And I have not put laxatives in your coffee today."
He glared at her, making a mental note to search her desk at the earliest opportunity to find those laxatives. "It doesn't matter." He did the last button and moved towards her. "Let's not keep Gibbs waiting any longer."
She didn't move. "Is this about what I said a week ago?" she queried. "Because you have the wrong end of the wood."
"Stick," he corrected automatically, hoping she would never use that particular phrase again.
It was her turn to glare at him. "My point was that you have not been exercising enough recently," she continued. "A few sessions in the gym with me and I am sure your muscles will be back in no time."
He grinned widely as she unlocked the door and held it open for him to leave. She was right; he didn't need to worry. Only that her gym sessions might kill him.