Making Rules

This series began with Jet Lag, which aired in January, so let's just all agree that at this point in the story it's mid-February, okay?

So, if you haven't noticed, this is rated M! Just making sure you knew. I have written very little that warranted such a rating, so I hope it works.

Also, for the record, credit for this rule goes to macadoodle3. If the rest of you have any other suggestions, too, I'm still open to inspiration!

Tony glanced at his watch, then at Ziva. He grimaced.

"It was only dinner, Tony," she said lightly, gazing through the window into the interrogation room where Gibbs was working on their suspect.

"It's Valentine's Day!" he protested. "Plus it's Sunday. And dinner time. And I'm hungry."

She reached over to squeeze his arm for a moment. "We can celebrate tomorrow."

Tony sighed melodramatically. "I guess."

Ziva arched an eyebrow. "I thought we agreed that it was just a day and our relationship is too new to do anything elaborate."

He glanced away. "I was looking forward to having dinner with you."

She smiled up at him, but just then Gibbs slammed his fist down on the table and they both whirled back toward the window in time to hear the beginning of the confession.

*

Two hours later, Tony dropped the case file unceremoniously on Gibbs' vacant desk and turned to Ziva. "Ready to get out of here? I could call the restaurant and see if they have any late tables left."

Ziva hesitated, then shook her head. "If you do not mind, Tony, it has been a long day." She added a coy smile. "If we're going to go somewhere fancy I'd like to have the energy to enjoy and it and some time to dress up."

"Yeah," Tony managed, suddenly remembering the times in the past when she'd dressed up. He had them all committed to memory.

"Tony?"

"Sure thing." He reached for his coat. "Well, we could stop by the bar, at least. Toast to St. Valentine." He pulled it on.

"To whom?" She frowned in confusion.

"You weren't kidding when you said they don't have Valentine's Day in Israel, were you?"

"I have lived here for many years," Ziva pointed out, "and no one has ever mentioned there were saints involved in this holiday."

Together they headed for the elevator.

"Well," Tony began, then paused. "Actually, I have no idea what that's about, either. But I'm pretty sure he was a saint."

*

They made it to the bar just after ten, but even the usual Sunday crowd of locals seemed to be home celebrating by then. Tony and Ziva slid onto stools at the counter, and he quickly ordered their drinks. Tony turned back to Ziva in time to catch a yawn.

"Ah," Tony sighed, "that's incredibly romantic."

Ziva started to glare, then yawned again.

Tony laughed, then yawned himself. "Did you know yawning is contagious?" he asked, his mouth still gaping. "I heard somewhere--"

"There you go," the bartender said, setting the glasses down in front of them.

"Thank you," Ziva smiled.

The bartender nodded back, then froze, staring into her face in startlement.

Ziva drew back, nervous. "What is it?"

His eyes flickered to the wall at the end of the bar, full of photos and names of fallen agents.

Tony followed his glance and realization flooded over him like a punch to the gut. "Thanks," he said quickly, before the man could explain. He nodded shortly to Tony and headed off to the other end of the bar to help some people who'd just come in.

"Tony?" Ziva asked worriedly. "What was that?"

He took a deep breath as he met her eyes. "I think he recognized you."

She shrugged. "Well certainly, I have been in here a number of times in the past few years."

Tony took a long swallow of his drink, trying to wash away the memory with alcohol even though he'd already spent months that summer proving he couldn't. "Come here." Taking Ziva's hand, he led her to the wall.

Ziva looked up at the photographs, beginning to understand. She stretched her hand up to gently touch Paula Cassidy's face in recognition, then Michelle Lee's.

"This one is Kate," Tony said softly, his fingers grazing the picture.

She looked up at him, waiting.

Tony's fingers found a bare spot at shoulder level and rested there. "A few days after we heard that you died, Abby and McGee and I came here. Abby hadn't stopped crying, I hadn't stopped drinking...McGee was trying to keep us from totally losing it but he was falling apart, too." He closed his eyes, clenched his jaw as the despair he'd felt suddenly returned. "Abby brought a picture I'd snapped of you once at a crime scene. She keeps the photos we're in somewhere on one of her computers and...anyway, she brought it." He opened his eyes again, focusing on his outstretched fingertips. "We put it up right here." Ziva was holding his other hand so hard it hurt, but he'd never been gladder of any sensation in his life. Tony turned to look at her. "Do you remember that case, right before you left? You climbed a tree, and you were perched up in the branches, laughing. I took a picture with my phone."

Ziva nodded, her eyes shining. "I remember, Tony."

He pulled her against him. "That's why he recognized you. But this is what matters." He hugged her hard.

She leaned back just enough to kiss him, and Tony kissed her back fiercely. They stayed there together, lips locked, for several minutes until Tony stepped back, panting, fighting to remember that he couldn't sweep her home and into his bed.

Ziva smiled up at him, her lips faintly bruised, then tugged him with her back toward the bar.

*

Two more rounds and some bar food later, they headed back to Tony's; they'd been alternating nights at each others' apartments, one or the other on the couch. As they stepped inside, Tony kicked the door closed and kissed Ziva again, pressing her back against it.

She moaned into his mouth and Tony felt his body respond. She was alive and willing and moaning, and after the night's reminders of what else could have been, he couldn't help himself. Tony wanted nothing more than to keep going, but instead he stepped back, his eyes dilated with desire.

"Tony?" Ziva asked, her voice husky.

He closed his eyes against the hunger storming through him. Tony shook his head. "I can't start this with you right now and then stop. I'm sorry." He opened his eyes in time to see her wince.

"It might be alright. We could try--" she began.

He shook his head again, grimacing in frustration. "Have you ever heard the expression 'do it right or not at all'?"

Ziva sighed. "I can guess what it means."

Tony nodded ruefully. "When we do this Ziva, you're going to be sure." He kissed her once more, chastely. "Time to change for bed."

*

"Ziva."

The cry woke her from a sound sleep. Ziva opened her eyes and laid still, sure someone was calling her. But as a silent minute passed, she decided it had been something she'd dreamed and closed her eyes again.

"Ziva."

This time she knew what it was: Tony was moaning her name in his sleep. Heat flooded through her as Ziva imagined what he must be dreaming about. She'd had similar dreams herself in the past few years.

"Ahhhh."

The wordless groan drew her upright, all thought of sleep forgotten. She slid off the couch and tiptoed to Tony's door. He had kicked off his comforter and was twisting in the sheets, his breath coming hard and fast as he dreamt of her.

Ziva watched him, desire winding her tighter and tighter. She closed her eyes, trying to tell herself she shouldn't. Do it right or not at all...but at that moment, she could hardly believe this was wrong. She wasn't afraid of him, wasn't the least bit nervous about touching him or him touching her.

She crossed to the edge of the bed and slipped under the sheet. Ziva watched him for another hungry moment before sliding half on top of Tony and kissing him.

The moment he woke was never quite clear to Tony later. His surroundings shifted from dimness to dark, from her bed to his, and suddenly as he rolled over Ziva was there beneath him with more solidity than she'd had a moment ago, and her fingers slipping into his boxers were squeezing him in ways his brain didn't have the experience to dream up. He groaned as she touched him. Her free hand slid into his hair, pulling him in for a kiss which he returned fervently.

Gradually reality settled in at the back of his mind and Tony pulled back. "Ziva?" he asked in sudden confusion.

She shook her head, her eyes gleaming in the darkness. "Don't stop," she breathed, sliding her hand faster on him to make her point.

Tony thrust instinctively and kissed her again, his own hand slipping between her legs. He could feel the heat of Ziva's arousal through the thin cotton of her pajama bottoms. She arched, moaning, as he touched her. Her reaction wiped out his concerns and Tony let himself give into the demanding way she touched him, into the release that had seemed imminent even before he woke and was now seconds away. He heard himself cry her name out as he came.

Ziva shivered deliciously as the vibrations of his cry resonated through her. She didn't release him until his breathing finally began to slow. But then Tony's fingers flickered against her in turn and pleasure suddenly washed over her.

"Can I?" Tony whispered in the darkness.

"Yes," she murmured back, licking suddenly dry lips.

His fingers eased beneath the waistband of her pants as he leaned in to kiss her again. Tony could tell at once how ready she was and didn't tease. He'd save that for later. Instead he found where she wanted him to touch her, fondled and pressed and stroked his fingers into her until Ziva came in turn, her hips jerking against his hand, his name on her lips.

Ziva rested her head on Tony's shoulder as she came down from her orgasm, her arm wrapped tightly around his waist. He rubbed a hand up and down her back.

"Did that right," Tony murmured.

"Mmm," Ziva sighed, yawning again.

He chuckled as her breath blew across his chest, and turned to hold her close against him.

*

Waking the next morning, her body still languid, Ziva smiled against Tony's chest.

"We should add that to the list of rules," Tony said softly against her hair.

She nodded, gladder than ever to have survived.