Hi friends! So, I recently had a message from FF about this fic, telling me to remove the lyrics from it or delete the entire thing… and of course, I'm too proud of this to do the latter, so I'm taking the option that is the lesser of two evils.
This is supposed to be a songfic, inspired by "Friends Don't" by Maddie & Tae, so if you haven't heard it, I highly recommend listening to it before reading for maximum impact. If you want to know the lyrics each section relates to I have included the specific lines in brackets above the section :)
To save you the trouble of searching for it, here is a long to my "What a Song Can Do" playlist, whereby I include all of the songs that have inspired songfics!
[[ playlist/1edcUnIvSvmkf8abWdGsDj?si=c13bf1a546054be4 ]]
I'm praying that this story still holds its own, and that you enjoy it all the same :)
XO
[Verse 1, Line 1]
It should have been a coincidence – that both of their dates had cancelled on them at the last moment. It should have been a coincidence that they had nothing better to do on their Friday night than spend it with each other; slurping sodas and stuffing their faces full of popcorn while watching The Black Pirate, alone, in the middle of the bullpen. But the one thing they both believed in – after all, it was one of Gibbs' main rules (number 39) – was that there was no such thing as coincidences.
Though they would never admit it, the thought of them spending un-work-related time together shot bolts of electricity through their spines, awakening the butterflies in their stomachs. They were no strangers to spending time alone together, especially when the two of them often inadvertently found themselves stuck in a confined spaces when chasing down suspects or leads, usually through no fault of their own (note: the shipping container they found themselves boxed in four years earlier.) But they could not deny it was different when it came to being together without the adrenaline pumping through their veins and lightning-fast lead projectiles threatening to execute them.
Which is why neither of them would ever confess (especially not to each other) that they were the ones who cancelled their dates, when the opportunity came up for them to spend time together. They were perfectly happy to feign ignorance at the fact that a part of them knew (or at least, hoped) the other was lying. They were perfectly happy to continue their charade of having 'friendly get togethers', just the two of them when their plans 'just so happened to go awry'… get togethers that seemed to teeter on the line of actual date-dates, just without the kissing and the sex.
They would never confess that the two of them spending time together was inherently better than the two of them spending one-on-one time with anybody else. After all, they were just friends… right?
[Verse 1, Line 2]
They rarely spoke words out loud to one another when in the field because they were so in tune, like two wheels spinning in perfect synchronicity, that often they could tell so much from the look in each other's eyes – from their feelings to every thought rushing through their heads.
"I think he's guilty," his eyes would scream at her.
"I do too," hers would silently reply.
"What do we do now? Go all good cop, bad cop on his ass?" His would silently ask with a grin and a raised eyebrow as he looked at her.
"My sentiments exactly," hers would confirm with a mischievous smirk on her face.
But, of course, this was not even the tip of the iceberg. Their knowing looks across the bullpen, or their prolonged eye-contact did nothing to help their case when they tried to disparage rumours (usually from suspects and witnesses that were overly interested in their partnership) that they were a couple. When witnesses would make comments about how the victim was in love with their co-worker, but too much of a coward to confess their feelings to them; or how Tony and Ziva made a cute couple. What should be a quick glance (that would happen with anybody else), would turn into lingering looks for eight, nine, or sometimes ten Mississippi's.
Perhaps the biggest conversation with their eyes occurred when Ziva returned from Somalia, when she had been called in to the Navy Yard to have her psych evaluation. She had overheard Tony and McGee talking about their case, to which she had offered some (unsolicited) advice as to how they could find their suspect. Though the three of them stood in the bullpen, for Tony and Ziva it was as if the squad room was empty; the rest of the world fading away. Their eyes locked on one another, and they could not look away. It was enough to know that they were crossing some line between what they were before and what they were going to become.
"You're here," his eyes spoke to her.
"I am," hers replied.
"How are you doing?"
"Fine, I suppose."
"Hmm… why am I not inclined to believe you?"
"It is what it is."
"Really?"
"Yes."
"Are we ever going to talk about what happened?"
"In Somalia… or in Israel?"
"Both."
"I do not know."
"Are you sticking around?"
"That depends."
"On?"
"On you. I realise you must hate me for everything I did."
"No, Ziva. I don't hate you. I'm just angry and hurt that you didn't trust me."
They continued to share unbroken eye-contact for a solid minute, meanwhile McGee excused himself to get a Nutter Butter because he couldn't handle being the third wheel in the room during whatever was happening between the two of them. (To this day, he would claim that if they hadn't been in the bullpen, they probably would have been playing tonsil hockey the moment he left.)
"Taking the tour?" he eventually said, disconnecting their silent conversation.
[Verse 1, Lines 3 and 4]
She couldn't help it. She didn't know exactly what it meant (though she had her suspicions), but when it came to him it was as if her body had a mind of its own. The moment his name rolled off somebody's tongue, she had supersonic hearing; the fire in her stomach ignited, the strings pulled on her heart, and her mind grew foggy, unable to think of anything (or anyone) else. Yet, it hadn't gone unnoticed by her co-workers. It was to the point where they had surmised that perhaps he meant more to her than simply being 'her partner' in the field; that there was something stirring just below the surface that she had yet to realise or act on. They observed that any time they two of them were apart and his name entered the conversation, she would grow distracted. If it was bad (in the sense that he was possibly hurt), she was unable to do her job until she knew for certain that he was okay. He consumed most of her waking moments – both physically and mentally. Even Ducky once stated that her concern perhaps exceeded that of normal limits when it came to partners and 'checking up on them', likening her to a woman with a wayward lover.
And the same rang true for him. All it took was one mention of her name, or a situation he knew her to be involved in, to get his attention. His heart would start to race, his pulse pounding in his ears. He didn't like it when she was partnered with somebody other than him; when a male suspect, agent, or cop would get too flirty or close to her. He tried to curb his jealousy as best he could, but he knew that people noticed – Abby, McGee… hell, he thought that maybe even Gibbs had clocked on to it. He attempted to play it off as him being an 'overprotective' partner after all she had been through, but even he and everybody else knew that it was more than that. He hadn't said it out loud, but she consumed more of his waking moments than he would care to admit. He thought about her constantly when she was not around. He would even go as far to say that he had cancelled a few dates simply because he wanted to spend time with her rather than anybody else, even if it was just for a drink or two. He didn't care. He just wanted to be with her. He had yet to say those words to himself, but he knew that what he was feeling was… more than what he should be feeling for someone who was just his co-worker and friend… right?
[Chorus, Lines 1-3]
"Ziva David," she answered, not bothering to look at the caller ID as she tucked herself into bed with her book.
"You're up late, or should I say early?" came the voice from the phone, instantly recognisable. Her heart fluttered as she heard his gentle breathing down the speaker.
"I could say the same about you. Is everything alright? Does Gibbs want us in?"
"No, no," Tony replied. She couldn't see his face, but she could hear the smile in his voice.
"Oh… then what can I do for you?"
"Honestly, I… I don't know."
"You do not know?"
"No… I… I guess I just felt like saying hello."
"You – Tony DiNozzo, called me at two o'clock in the morning to simply say hello?"
"Yes."
"I am surprised. I thought that you would be engaging in… other activities with a lady."
"Sex, Ziva. Just say sex. But, if you happen to know, I was dateless tonight."
"She sat you up?"
"Stood… and no, she did not. I… uh… I actually didn't have a date tonight."
"But you told McGee that you did."
"I lied."
"May I ask why?"
"Well, I have a particular reputation to uphold…"
"Which is code for you did not want him to utterly mock you tomorrow."
"Ah, she's smart as well as beautiful," he chuckled.
Her breath caught in her throat as the silence down the phone enveloped them both, the two of them taking in what he had just said. On the other end of the phone, Tony was biting his lip. Had he just made a stupid mistake? He didn't even realise he was going to say those words until they came out of his mouth in his half-asleep stupor. What were they going to do now? Pretend as if he had never said it? Of course they were. It was what they did.
Ziva cleared her throat before speaking. "So, I finally watched Casablanca!" she said excitedly.
"Of all the gin joints in all the towns in all the world and she walks into mine," he quoted down the phone.
"I think this is the beginning of a beautiful friendship," she quoted back. A smile played on her face, and she knew he was smiling too.
"What did you think of it?" he asked like a little child, questioning their friend on their favourite candy.
"It was good. But, perhaps not my favourite. I still prefer The Wizard of Oz."
"Ah, there's no place like home."
Another silence filled the space between them, as they sat in their respective residences with smiles on their faces.
"Well… it is very late, and I should probably head to bed."
"Let me guess, you sleep in nothing but a thong?"
"Tony!"
"What?!" he asked with mock outrage, "a man can fantasise."
"Oh, I know. Women do it too… with handsome men," she said, repeating the conversation they'd had when they had first met many years ago.
"And the occasional woman, right?"
She couldn't help but crack a smile.
"I am dangling up now, Tony."
"Hanging. But okay. Thank you for taking my call."
"I would not ignore it."
"You sure about that?
"Absolutely. You are my partner and I… care about you."
"Hmm," he mumbled in agreement. Yet again the two of them were dancing around the metaphorical elephant in the room. "Well… goodnight, Dorothy. Sleep tight."
"Goodnight, Tony."
[Chorus, Lines 4-6]
"You did not have to walk me to my apartment, Tony. I am a big girl and can take care of myself," Ziva said as they reached her door.
"Oh, I know. But my mother raised a gentleman. And besides, you were almost assassinated by that gang this afternoon, so I wouldn't be able to rest until I knew you were home safe."
"Well, thank you for driving me home."
"Your car was totalled, what else was I going to do? Let you walk?"
"Once upon a time you would have done, would you not?" she asked, raising an eyebrow at him.
"Maybe… but things are different now."
"You mean, because we have been working together for years?"
"That… among other things."
"Such as?"
"Just… things. You know…"
Ziva nodded. They always did this and it seemed to be their downfall. They always tried to say something without actually saying it. After all, if they didn't say it, then they could go on feigning ignorance to their growing feelings towards one another, couldn't they?
She looked up at him, surprised to find that he hadn't taken his eyes off of her the entire time. He twiddled his keys in his fingers, something which she had never seen him do before. Was Tony DiNozzo nervous?
"I uh, I know it is late and you probably want to head home, but you are more than welcome to… join me for a drink?"
"A drink?"
"Yes, you know... whiskey… wine… the alcoholic beverages people usually frequent bars for?"
"I'm driving," he said, dangling his keys in front of her.
"Right," she exhaled, her voice laced with disappointment.
"It's not that I don't want to, Ziva, but you know, a federal agent with a DUI on their record does not a successful career make."
Ziva nodded.
"But-" he continued, "just because I can't drink doesn't mean I can't stay for a while… you know… if you want me to?"
"Well, I have been working my way through the films you let me borrow, and Top Gun is next up on the list… if you would like to watch it with me?"
"Take me to bed or lose me forever." Her eyes snapped to his, as she gave him a look that he returned almost instantly – the same thought rushing through both their heads. He coughed, clearing his throat. "It's uh-it's a quote… from the movie… Meg Ryan… well, you'll see…" he rambled.
Ziva nodded, a smirk playing on her face. She didn't know if he could feel it too (he could), but the air between them sizzled with electricity. She bit her lip, smiling, as she opened the door to her apartment, leaving it ajar – the invitation very clear.
[Chorus, Line 7]
"This is not the way to my apartment, Tony," she said, looking at the line of trees floating past the passenger window.
"I-uh-yeah, I know. There was an accident of some kind, so we're having to go the long way round."
"The trip that is a forty-five-minute journey?"
"That's the one."
"But could we not just cut through Main Street? Surely it would shorten it?"
"Uh-there's an accident there too. A lot of accidents tonight for some reason."
"But McGee got home okay, and he only lives five minutes from me."
"Right, yeah, well, he uh- he must have just missed them or something," Tony replied, his attention fixed solely out the windscreen as he drove with one hand on the steering wheel. She would never admit it to him but watching him drive like that stirred up something deep inside her, her attraction to him growing by the second.
"Tony?"
"Yeah?" he responded as he saw the light from her phone from the corner of his eye.
"There are no accidents anywhere within a good few miles from my place. Certainly, none that would require us to venture all the way out and back in again."
"Oh," he replied, a little unconvincingly. He could rarely lie to her these days. She could practically read him like a book.
Why did we really take the long way, she wanted to ask him, even though she knew what his answer would be. After all, hers would have been the same. I just wanted to spend a little more time with you.
[Chorus, Lines 8 and 9]
It had become a habit of theirs – the invasion of personal space. They would be standing in the bullpen briefing Gibbs on their findings, and their hands would ever so slightly brush against one another. He would stand behind her closely, to the point where she could feel his breath on her neck. She would do her best to hide it, but there was no denying that it sent shivers through her entire body. She would save him from possible bombs, her entire body landing on top of his, their lips perfect distance for kissing, but never daring to venture there.
"This is nice. I missed the old Ziva," he would say.
"I can tell."
"Don't flatter yourself… that's just my knee."
They would re-enact a scene in the evidence garage to get a better understanding of what happened to their suspect, witness, and victim. She would be about to play the part of Azarri when he would stop her – gently but firmly grabbing hold of her arm. Her eyes would trail from his face to his hand, as he spoke, before looking him in the eyes.
"Whoa, my ninja. I'm Azarri."
"Why you?"
"Azarri's got swagger, flair, panache."
"But I'm the assassin."
"Style over substance."
"Hmm…"
Her lips would not-so-subtly flicker between his eyes and his lips as he kept his gaze on her; the sizzling air of sexual chemistry enveloping them both (much to the displeasure of poor Special Agent Timothy McGee who often ended up being a forgotten soul during most of their interactions).
They would also find themselves locked in confined spaces together more often than they would care to admit. Metal shipping containers. Elevators. It had become somewhat of a running joke with them and the people they worked with – to the point where the entirety of the Navy Yard knew about their… different relationship with one another. 'Tony and Ziva got stuck again,' they would hear people say. 'I'm surprised they didn't kill each other,' another would reply. And of course, there was speculation of the other kind.
'Do you think they're knocking boots in there?' one of the junior agents asked.
"Who, Tony and Ziva?"
"Well, yeah…"
"No… no… I don't think…"
"They just seem awfully close to one another, don't they?"
"He just rescued her from Africa… and they're partners."
"Oh, come on, Ruben, they're more than that."
"Are you sure?"
"Have you seen the way the two of them look at one another? Agent Welles and I don't look at each other that way."
"Yeah, well, you two annoy the crap out of each other on a daily basis."
"So do DiNozzo and David, but both always look like they're thinking about each other… you know… as more than friends. I was once taking a whizz in the men's room when Ziva walked in. She gave me that look that told me to get lost so she could talk to him alone and I'll admit I'm utterly terrified of her, so I ran out of the bathroom without washing my hands because I thought she might do something to me if I didn't. That's not normal friendly behaviour, is it?"
"I think you're thinking too much into this, Alden."
"Am I?" he asked, as they watched Tony exit the men's room in a hurry, uttering "she's a genius" under his breath, Ziva following behind mere moments later.
[Verse 1, Lines 1 and 2]
"I'm very glad you agreed to have this drink with me," he said, getting the bartender to concoct another mojito for her. She noisily slurped the remaining liquid in her glass, before gently pushing it to one side.
It was unusual for him to see her this… loose. He knew that she had to let her hair down at some point, because he didn't imagine her being a steely ninja 24/7, but something stirred inside him seeing her this free – without her weapons, her hard exterior, her outstanding assassin skills. He wouldn't tell her, but seeing her bathed in the amber glow from the mood lighting inside the bar, with her usually-tied-up-in-a-ponytail hair flowing freely around her shoulders, and the glimmer in her eyes… to him, in this moment, she couldn't be more beautiful.
"Well, it has been an interesting week and I thought we could both use… a friend."
"A friend," he muttered, taking a swig of his whiskey.
The bartender presented her another drink, which she took with a beaming smile on her face. Tony could tell that she was venturing past the limit of sober, as she acted less like Agent Ziva David and more like… well, just Ziva. He knew that with only one or two more drinks her inhibitions would be so low that he could probably convince her to do almost anything… sing karaoke on top of the bar Coyote Ugly style… get her to agree to do his and McGee's paperwork for an entire month… convince her to show him the tattoo on the inside of her thigh…
Of course, he was a gentleman and he never asked her to do any of these. But it was tempting.
"This mojito is so good, I could want to take it home with me," she muttered in her drunken stupor.
"Speaking of home, I think you've had enough, ninja."
"I… haven't… one more sssssiiip."
"Nope. I'm cutting you off otherwise you'll end up with a banging headache tomorrow, and we all know a sick Ziva is a grumpy Ziva."
"I'm not grrrumpy. You're grrrumpy." He chuckled, gently taking the cocktail from her hands, and placing it down on the bar. He signalled for the bartender, slipping him a crisp note, before attempting unsuccessfully to get Ziva into her leather jacket.
"Noooooo," she whined as he turned her around. "J-Just lemme take it with me?"
"The mojito? You love it that much, huh?"
"I do… but not as much as I love y-" she paused, looking at him. His eyes narrowed at her. No. They weren't going to talk about what she was just about to say. He cleared his throat, still looking at her.
"Alright, lets get you home," he said, gently ushering her into the backseat of the cab he had called for them both, secretly hiding a smile as replayed her words over and over in his head. She was about to tell him she loved him. And, if he had been a little drunker, he would have said it back.
[Verse 2, Lines 3 and 4]
"Where do you see yourself in ten years, Tony?" Jimmy asked, sipping his third beer of the night. "Married, kids?"
"Uh…I.. don't know," he stated, taking a sip of his drink. His eyes travelled from the autopsy gremlin sitting opposite him, to the beautiful Israeli at the bar, who was currently engrossed in deep conversation with Abby and Ducky.
His mind flickered with images of the two of them in bed on a Sunday morning, her brunette hair draping over the pillow beside him as she snored like a drunken sailor with emphysema. He would wait for her stir, before bringing her a cup of coffee while she read her book and he did the morning crossword. He would watch her Star of David necklace glisten in the morning light as she dragged herself from the covers at the sound of the crying toddler coming from the next room. "Ima!" the toddler would yell, before being scooped up in her mothers arms and gently carried into her parents bedroom. She would be carefully plonked down on the bed which would elicit a giggle, climbing in the space between her Abba and Ima for a cuddle puddle. He would smile at both of his girls, drunk on love.
"Yeah," Tony replied, turning his attention back to Palmer. "I could see that happening, with the right woman."
"So, Ziva," Abby started as Ducky placed a twenty-dollar bill down the counter, "how did your date go the other day?"
"It was… fine, Abby."
"Fine? As in fine good, or fine bad?"
"Fine as in… fine. He was perfectly lovely."
"But?"
"But we did not connect. Do not get me wrong, he was handsome and mature, but a little… dull. He asked me what I did for a living and when I told him he simply said, 'oh, that's cool,' and that was that. No questions. I mean, I would have even taken him making a joke about handcuffs but he was just not interested. Well, not in me, anyway. In fact, I think I caught him looking at the waitress for most of our date. And when his attention was in my direction it was a little lower than my eyes."
"That bad," Abby stated, raising her eyebrows with a smirk. She took a sip of her drink, looking at Ducky who simply smiled back.
"Well, my dear, there are plenty of fish in the sea, as we say," Ducky said, lifting the glass of whiskey to his lips.
"I am not very good at fishing, Ducky." There was an awkward silence, before the lightbulb in her head clicked. "Oh! It is an expression?" Abby and Ducky nodded.
"It means there are more opportunities out there," Ducky said.
"Perhaps I have missed all of them."
"You can't believe that?" Abby asked, looking at Ziva.
"I do not have the best back record with men, Abby."
"Track record, Ziva," corrected Ducky.
"That too."
"Out of interest, what would your perfect man look like?" Abby said, slurping her cocktail like it was her daily dose of Caf-Pow.
"Perfection is not attainable."
"Alright… but say you were settling down with a man. What would he be like?"
Ziva bit her lip, taking a sip of her drink. "Hmm… handsome. Tall."
"Older?"
"Definitely," she paused. "I would like somebody who could make me laugh, constantly, even on my bad days. Who understands the ins and outs of this job – the risks and the sacrifices we make and does not resent me for it. Somebody who is not intimidated by me and my skills or terrified of the training I have had, and who might perhaps even challenge them. Somebody who is perhaps the class clown, but who can also be serious when it matters. Somebody who is protective, but also understands I do not need protection and can take care of myself. Just a man who understands… me."
"What about other traits – kind, generous, trustworthy?"
"Absolutely."
"Honest? Compassionate? Brave?" Ziva nodded.
"And what about your weekends? What would they look like with this future dream man?"
Ziva's brows furrowed. "Hmmm… just a normal weekend, I suppose. Provided we haven't been called in to the office, we would drink our morning coffee together while I read a book and he does a crossword. If it was raining, I would make lunch and he would gently play the piano before we would sit and watch some old movie together. Maybe we would for a walk in the park, or just do… normal things."
"Back to that first point about being called into the office… when you say we?"
"I feel like I would have to be with someone who works in law enforcement, would I not? Nobody else would be able to understand this kind of life."
"Hmm…," Abby nodded, looking at Ducky. Of course, they were both thinking the same thing.
Ducky was about to ask Ziva another question, when their conversation was interrupted by the very special agent sauntering up to them.
"What are we chit-chatting about in a mini campfire over here, then?" asked Tony, gesturing for another round of drinks.
"We were just discussing Ziva's date last night."
"Oh? How was it?" he asked, looking at her with a smirk on his face. "Was he intimidated by you? Do I need to beat him up? Not that you need any help with that as you can handle yourself, but if you would like me to, just say the word."
"That will not be necessary, Tony." Ziva smiled. "He was perfectly lovely."
"Then what happened? Did he make it past the threshold of the apartment, or did he run away the moment you showed him your Chinese throwing stars hidden in your purse or the knife concealed in the waistband of your thong?"
"Neither." Ziva chuckled, with a small smile on her face. "He was not very interested in me."
"What?" Tony asked, surprised.
"He spent most of the night looking at the waitress," Abby stated, as she slurped the dregs of her cocktail before picking up her fresh one.
"And when I told him what I did for a living he did not ask questions. In fact, he could not care less."
"Excuse me? He was on a date with a hot Israeli ninja, and he didn't ask any questions about who you are and what you do? He didn't even crack a joke about you using your handcuffs on him?" he teased, a smirk playing on his face. His gaze was fixed on Ziva, who was staring back at him, as if the entire world had faded away leaving just the two them. Abby and Ducky caught each other's eyes, sharing a knowing look.
"No, he did not. I think the only thing he was interested in was the dress I was wearing, considering he did not make eye contact with me for most of the night."
"Oh…" Tony replied, biting his lip, a smile playing on his mouth. "You did look great."
A blush crept over her cheeks. "Thank you."
"It's his loss, Ziva," he said, gently resting a hand on her shoulder. "Don't worry. You'll find somebody, someday. Someone who understands you."
But not the way you do, she thought.
[Bridge, Lines 1 and 2]
She spent years trying to piece it all together – the world's hardest puzzle. Tony and Ziva. Ziva and Tony... Tiva as McAbby once referred to them. The looks, the smirks, the smiles, the flirting, the banter, the jealousy, the possibly more-then-friends gestures. He jeopardised his entire career for her. He travelled half way across the world to rescue her, despite the way she treated him in Israel. He brought the opera to her when the tickets were sold out so she could honour Tali like she did every year. He shamelessly flirted with her, calling her 'sexy' in the field, right in front of McGee and Gibbs. He brought Shmeil to see her when her father died because he thought she would like to see him. He purposefully made a journey to the airport with a bag of gum and magazines because he knew she would forget them. He told her she was not alone – in Hebrew. He learnt Hebrew for her.
"Then I should find her before she leaves, and thank her," he said, interlacing their fingers together in the most intimate gesture of their entire lives. Her breath caught in her throat as he looked at her. Her gave him a small smile as her stomach whirled and her pulse quickened, his eyes not leaving her for a few solid seconds until the light turned green, to which his attention turned back to the road.
"Tony, I-"
[Bridge, Lines 3 and 4]
He hadn't told her outright, but truthfully he knew he didn't have to. She could feel it. And she knew he could too. Their night of intense passion (and several more that followed) in the farmhouse after he found her, and the kiss on the tarmac at Tel Aviv airport was proof enough for both of them. The way he leant in, their lips colliding; how his fingers found her hair and tugged gently... how he pulled away and proceeded to give her another slow, gentle kiss before looking deeply in her eyes. How he said that turning around and leaving her was the hardest 180 of his life. He hadn't needed to tell him either. Her Star of David necklace that he discovered in the top pocket of his shirt on the plane ride home, told him everything he needed to know.
"Tony, you are so..."
"Handsome... funny... what?"
"Loved."