Consequences of Love and War: Chapter 24
A/N: Happy Labor Day to all my fellow Americans! I hope you get a chance to enjoy the holiday (ie, you're having better weather than DC currently is...)
Tony DiNozzo studied his reflection in the mirror of the tastefully-yet-impersonally-decorated guestroom, the room he still remembered as his bedroom for the first fourteen years of his life, as he secured the knot of his tie at his neck. His eyebrows rose appreciatively as the bathroom door opened, and he slowly turned to take in the sight of the woman who appeared there. Dark curls cascading down her back and over a dark brown dress that clung and hung in all the right places, ending in well-shaped legs and strappy heels that couldn't be comfortable to walk in. "You look beautiful," he finally said after he found his voice.
"Wipe your mouth, Tony, you are drooling," she said with a smile, making him grin in return as he remembered a conversation two years before. He knew the next line.
"I was just thinking about how great that dress would look—"
"On the floor," she finished, taking a step closer to him.
"I thought the exact same thing the last time I saw you in that dress," he said, referring to their first 'date' as Major Ziva Kenig and Dr. Tony Dinallo in the case that brought them together. "Never did get to see how it would look the floor, though."
"Maybe tonight you will get lucky and find out," she teased, reaching up to adjust his tie.
"Why wait until tonight?" he asked, his voice low as he brushed a lock of hair off her shoulder.
"We will be late for dinner," she said, her voice again brusque as she took a step back from him.
"Forget dinner," he said. "We can just stay in and—"
"Have wine and crab with your father and future step-mother?" she asked. He made a face.
"Not quite what I was thinking," he grumbled. She smiled slightly at him.
"Then maybe we should get going for dinner," she said. He didn't move.
"You really do look amazing," he said honestly. "I thought the same thing when I saw you in that dress two years ago."
"I know," she said simply.
"I just wish I hadn't been too much of a coward to do this two years ago," he said, leaning down to kiss her gently, careful not to muss her hair or the light make-up that she wore.
"Mmm. I wish you had," she replied as they separated, her eyes still closed. She opened them to see him studying her with an amused look on his face.
"As I recall, it was you who told me not to," he reminded her. She smiled again at that.
"And you who eventually ignored that," she shot back.
"Do you regret it?"
She leaned forward and kissed him again, her hands resting lightly at his elbows. "Never," she replied as they separated. "Shall we go?"
He nodded, still watching her closely as she retrieved a small brown designer clutch from her suitcase. "Since when did you carry around a purse?" he asked lightly.
"This dress does not have pockets, Tony," she replied, her tone almost mocking.
"Well, I know," he admitted. "But when you don't have pockets, you usually just have me carry around your stuff." Not that it was much stuff; she didn't have a tendency to carry much. Usually it was just her ID and her credentials, as she didn't wear much make-up and always somehow kept a weapon on her body. His eyes swept her body again, trying to figure out where it was that day. He finally decided that it must be a knife strapped to her thigh before his eyes returned to hers, seeing her watching him with an amused expression on her face.
"My knife," she said. "Right thigh."
"That was my first guess," he said with a grin. "Although you just ruined the fun in finding out for sure."
She smiled seductively and slightly teasingly at that. "Are you saying that that was the only reason to undress me later?"
"Not what I meant, and you know it," he replied. "Now we really should get going to dinner, because any more talk like that and I really am cancelling our reservation so we can stay in." She laughed and leaned forward to give him another small kiss before turning and heading toward the door of the guestroom.
They had almost descended the stairs into the foyer when Alessandro DiNozzo appeared from a downstairs hallway, a new glass in hand. He seemed to take a long minute studying their manner of dress as he slowly sipped the amber liquid. "Off to dinner?" he finally asked.
Tony bit back the first thing that came to mind—No, we decided to get dressed up for an off-season swim in the ocean—and just nodded. "Yeah," he replied. "We have reservations at Amanna." Alessandro nodded slowly, taking another sip of his beverage before reaching into his back pocket. Tony bristled as he watched his father pull out his wallet and open it to reach for his credit card. "I can pay for my own dinner," he snapped. "Ziva's, too."
His father paused, the credit card halfway out of its slot, before looking up and studying his son. His eyes swept the NCIS agent's frame, a slight frown on his face, and again, Tony had to restrain himself from lashing out. It's Armani, you bastard, he thought angrily. He knew that his resentment must have been showing on his face when he felt Ziva's hand gently rest on his arm, but he didn't turn to acknowledge her. "Very well," Alessandro finally said. "That's your choice."
"Yeah," Tony snapped. "It is."
"Tony," Ziva said in a low, almost warning, voice. Again, he didn't turn to face her, his eyes still on his father as his jaw clenched.
"Let's go," he said abruptly, turning quickly to head toward the door closest to the garage, the clicking of her heels on the marble floor telling him without having to look that Ziva was following barely a step behind him.
His key was out and ready to unlock the passenger side door of the Mustang when he was unexpectedly turned and slammed against the door. He barely had time to process the move before Ziva's lips were on his in a bruising kiss. Just as abruptly as it began, Ziva pulled away. He couldn't even think to form a question about what that was when she said, "That is what you should be thinking about during dinner tonight. Not your father."
A smile began to form as he processed her words. "You're too good for me," he said, only partially joking.
"I know," she said lightly. "Now are we going to dinner?" He grinned and opened her door before making his way to the driver's side. A glance at the Lamborghini parked next to his car caused another surge of anger at his father and his disapproval, but he quickly pressed that down, determined that he was going to enjoy this evening with Ziva.
---
Amanna was a newer restaurant in East Hampton, and was one of those places where one would be more likely to run into a Hollywood star in the Hamptons on vacation than teenagers with their dates—unless said teenagers were actually Hollywood stars. Unfortunately for Tony, it was also one of those places where you did not park your own car. Ever. Ziva rolled her eyes slightly at his hesitation before handing over the key to the Mustang, and almost laughed at his mournful expression watching it drive off for some unseen parking lot. "They're going to be pulling a Ferris Bueller's Day Off, I can just feel it." She frowned slightly, which he took as an invitation to launch into yet another involved oration about a movie. "John Hughes, 1986, starring Matthew Broderick. Three high school students play hooky for the day—"
"Tony," she interrupted, "you have made me watch the movie. I was just going to point out that that car was a Ferrari, not a Mustang." He stared at her in disbelief for a moment before grinning.
A blond woman in all black—black shirt, black skirt that was a little too short for the weather, black stiletto heels—held the door open for them, a disinterested expression on her face. "Welcome to Amanna," she muttered.
"Thanks," Tony replied, his sarcasm probably a little bit too subtle for the woman to notice. He turned his attention to the maître d', a middle-aged man in a tuxedo and an expression of disinterest to rival that of the woman at the door. "Reservation for DiNozzo," he said.
That got the man's attention; he instantly frowned, studying DiNozzo carefully. "DiNozzo?" he repeated, sounding suspicious and distrustful, and Tony was sure that he was about to be reported for identity theft.
"Anthony DiNozzo," Tony emphasized. The maitre d' relaxed slightly, seeming to accept that as he appeared to do the mental math to decide that the man standing before him was most likely the son of the man he obviously knew from previous encounters.
"Right this way," he said, retrieving menus and directing them into the restaurant. Judging by the table he led them to, whoever took his reservation had also thought that it was Alessandro DiNozzo who would be there; it was a very good table, a quiet booth away from the restrooms and kitchen, and in a location where they wouldn't be ignored by their waiter. "Our wine list," he continued, handing DiNozzo the good-sized wine menu. Tony smirked slightly; he already knew exactly what bottle he'd be ordering. "And your waiter will be here shortly."
"Thanks," Tony said. Ziva smiled up at him as well before he nodded and walked away.
Just as the maitre d' promised, the waiter was there after a few minutes. "We'll have a bottle of Cristal," Tony said right away. Ziva's eyebrows rose, and then lowered as her eyes narrowed.
"You did not take the NCIS credit card before we left DC, did you?" she asked, her voice low. He chuckled and shook his head, knowing what the question was referring to; NCIS was footing the bill the last time he had ordered that particular champagne, which was also the last time she had worn that dress.
The food was delicious and the conversation only laced with a few movie quotes, but since it didn't contain any angst about his father, Ziva tolerated them with a smile on her face. They were halfway through dessert when Ziva pulled a small wrapped package out of her purse. "Happy anniversary," she said as she handed it over. His eyebrows rose as he studied it.
"Well, it's too small to be another car," he joked.
"Just open it," she said in exasperation. He grinned as he did what she commanded, revealing a brown leather wallet. His old one had been falling apart, which apparently hadn't escaped her notice; considering how often he opened it to find his credit cards in different slots than where he had put them last, he suspected that her noticing had a lot to do with her taking it from his pocket without him realizing it. "That is not all," she said, nodding toward it. "Inside." With a questioning expression on his face, he unfolded the wallet and checked the money slot to find two tickets to the Ohio State vs. University of Miami football game in Miami, Florida in September.
"How did you get these?" he asked in wonder. "Tickets aren't available to anyone for another couple of weeks." He saw the knowing look on her face. "How do you have contacts in the athletic department at OSU? The Russian mafia, sure, but Ohio State?"
She didn't answer his question, changing the subject by giving him a very seductive look. "The rest of your present is back at the house."
He grinned, accepting that he probably wouldn't ever get an answer to his question as he reached into the inner pocket of his suit jacket to remove a jewelry box. "Not that I have anything against your usual necklace, but I figured this one would go better with the dress you brought for the party." The circular charm on the gold necklace was larger and more bulky than her usual Star of David, the chain thicker, but Ziva agreed that it would look much better with the dress she got for the party.
"Thank you," she said, "but I do not think that this is the large present that Abby said that you said you were getting."
He considered that for a moment and was about to make a joke about not being satisfied with the present she got, but before he said anything, decided that he might as well tell her what she was going to get. He reached into his inner pocket again, this time pulling out a plain white envelope. He studied it for a moment before lifting his eyes to hers. "Sorry," was all he said as he handed it over.
She opened the envelope and pulled out a print-out of an itinerary from an online travel site. The first-class tickets from Dulles to San Juan, Puerto Rico were for the next day. "I already submitted the leave paperwork and found your passport—your real passport, that is. I was going to pack our bags, come up with some reason that you had to leave with me from work, and go straight to the airport," he admitted. "I know you hate surprises, but—"
"I would have forgiven you eventually," she interrupted. She leaned over to kiss him. "I am sorry that we had to miss it."
"Well, it's work, and—"
"Work does not come first, Tony," she said emphatically. "It is just—"
"I know," he interrupted. He gave her a tight smile. "I can't really blame Dr. Aachen for getting kidnapped and messing up our vacation plans."
"There will be other vacations," she said.
"Yeah. I know," he replied, trying for a light tone and failing. There would be other vacations, but there would also be other kidnapped physicians, and murdered Marines, and Navy SEALs committing suicide by changing out their D-links. He really couldn't see any of that getting any better when he got his own team, and was starting to understand why all of Gibbs' relationships ended so poorly.