fic: "what happens in paris"
Title: What Happens in Paris, Stays in Paris.
Characters: Tony, Ziva.
Word Count: 1,604
Rating: PG (suggestive, but not explicit)
Summary: One day, one night. A lot more can happen than you think.
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"Smile!"
Ziva turned, bemused, newspaper still in hand only to be met with the sight of Tony positioning a camera directly at her. She pointedly looked away as he took the shot.
Tony resurfaced from behind his camera with a wounded look. "You did that on purpose," he accused.
She rolled her eyes before setting them back on her paper. "You do not need photos of me, Tony. You see me every day."
Tony turned back to his camera, reviewing the picture. It actually didn't look that bad. Sort of enigmatic. He looked up at her. " Come on. You don't want any souvenirs of our big Paris trip?" he asked with enthusiasm.
Ziva placed her newspaper back on the stand and walked in the opposite direction towards a small cafe. "You want souvenirs? Take some pictures of the buildings."
&
She made no noise as her top fell to the ground, idly walking to the chair where her suitcase rested. Tony looked over with the intention of asking if she wanted to order some dinner and promptly did a double take at his achingly topless partner taking her sweet time walking to the other side of the room.
"You uh, wanna change in the bathroom, Ziva?" He suggested, sarcasm oozing from his voice. "'Cause, you know, that's what we Americans do."
Ziva responded by promptly unbuttoning her jeans. "We are not in America Tony," she said, "and it is nothing you have not seen before."
Tony scowled. Oh yes, he had seen it. He had seen all of it. But he'd never gotten to have any of it.
Then her pants came off.
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"We're lost," she said finally.
"We're not lost," Tony countered, repositioning the map on its side to reveal some sort of hidden message. Ziva sighed and snatched the map away from him with an inhuman quickness. Before Tony could even register that the paper was gone from his hands, Ziva was already berating him for not realizing that the map he was looking at was from a different city, and from now on let her do all the work since her French was clearly better than his.
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"Rule number twelve," he muttered into her forehead, hands still caught in her damp and tangled hair.
"Number twelve," she echoed against his neck, reaching up to undo the first button of his shirt.
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"Ziva, look!" Tony shouted suddenly, gesturing towards the street beside them where a blonde woman flew by them on a motor scooter.
Ziva glanced up from her tea. "Not bad," she said. "If you run fast, you might be able to catch her."
Tony glared back at her. "I meant the bike," he said disparagingly.
She rolled her eyes. "We are not buying you a Vespa, Tony."
Like a child, his face fell. "Well, what about,"
"We are not renting one, either."
&
An onslaught of hot steam escaped from the bathroom as Ziva got out of the shower, running a towel through her wet tresses and already dressed in her sleep clothes.
"Think you spent enough time in the shower?" Tony asked mockingly. Ziva glared at him.
"Give me a break Tony, I was stuck in an airplane for eight hours. A hot, sweaty, crowded, flying metal tube. I needed to get clean."
Tony simply flipped through the tourists guide he was absolutely incapable of reading. "So was I. And now since you've used up all the hot water in Paris, I can't get clean."
Ziva threw her wet towel at him. "You are getting the bed. Is that not enough?"
&
"I'm sorry sir, I cannot find your reservation," the clerk said in very forced English, "I only have the one room."
"This is ridiculous!" Ziva shouted, attracting the attention of guests who had little idea of what she was saying. "How can you lose a room? It is either there, or it is not!"
"I apologize ma'am," the man replied, "but as I have said, we are very full. We only have one vacancy."
Tony sighed and dropped his head to the counter, drumming his fingers against the marble. "Look pal," he said, "I know you're just doing your job. I get that. But if you can't make an extra room appear I can't guarantee that you'll wake up with all your teeth tomorrow morning." He jerked his head discreetly to where Ziva was fuming somewhere to his right.
The clerk looked worriedly between the two of them, trying to come up with something to say that would appease them both. "I'm afraid I cannot make you another room. But the suite does have a couch."
&
"If you had just driven over that divider like I said, we would have gotten here half an hour sooner. Now we are going to miss our plane."
Tony grimaced at her, trying to keep with his Ziva's incredibly fast pace as they raced to their gate. "And if I had let you drive, like you said, we'd be dead. And then we'd definitely miss our plane."
Ziva scowled and turned a sharp corner into the next terminal. "I do not see why I even have to go on this stupid trip. It is not as if I volunteered," she said.
Her partner sighed. "You're the only one who speaks French, Ziva."
&
The wind screaming around them made it hard for her to hear what Tony was saying. All she knew was that his lips were moving.
"What?" Ziva asked loudly.
"I said you gotta admit, this is pretty cool!" Tony shouted back at her. He reveled in the feeling of her arms around his chest, suddenly inspiring him.
"I'm gonna pop a wheelie!" he exclaimed gleefully, toying with one of the handle gears in preparation. He could not tell, but he was fairly certain Ziva was horrified.
"Tony, don't!" she commanded, staring terrifiedly at his hand on the brake. "I swear to God Tony, I will slit your throat with that Mona Lisa postcard-" She heard the engine roar and shouted one final threat to his life that went unheard as Tony was suddenly hovering magnificently above her, blissfully unaware of her screams.
&
"Maybe we should come back sometime," Tony mused to the window. Ziva was behind him, preparing her couch for the night. "You know, when we're not on an assignment."
Ziva glanced up at him, her freshly washed hair still curtaining her face and her eyes clouded with confusion. "To Paris?" She asked, unsure of what he was saying.
"Sure," he said brightly, turning back to her with an amiable smile. "Come on. Just you and me. It'll be fun!"
Ziva slowly returned herself to full height. "To Paris," she repeated more slowly.
"Yeah," he began walking towards her, his face confident but his steps tentative. He picked her pillow up off the couch and pushed it gently towards her. "You. Me. Paris. Whaddya say?"
She took the pillow, but her gaze was confined to his face, searching it for the telltale signs of Tony joking. She found none. All she saw was sincerity. Sincerity so intense it scared her, forcing her eyes away.
"I- do not think that is appropriate, Tony," she said. She returned her pillow back to the head of the couch, where she took more time arranging it than the factory did making it.
Tony laughed sardonically under his breath. "Yeah, because you're the reigning queen of appropriate," he grumbled.
Ziva's bat like hearing whipped her head towards him and caused her to confront him, abandoning her pillow.
"Really," she said quietly, flecks of smoldering gold in her voice. "And I assume your intentions are nothing but pure? Inviting me to Paris with you, I mean."
He smiled again as she looked up at him, capturing her completely this time.
"Hardly," he murmured against her lips.
&
The coin fell to the ground with a dull clink, a shiny silver eagle facing up towards them.
Tony frowned at the ground as if it had wronged him. "Tails," Ziva said triumphantly, smiling at him. "I win."
He snapped back up at her, his face completely stoic. "I demand a recount," he said.
Ziva bent over to retrieve the coin, giving Tony a rather nice view. "Do not bother, Tony," she almost sang, "I won, fair and..." she trailed off, rummaging through her mind for words.
"Square," Tony finished for her, "Fair and square. But you fail to take into account that you cheated."
Ziva stared at him, mystified. "Tony, the coin toss was your idea." She shook her head, placing the quarter on the finished oak table. "You are such a child," she said.
Tony opened his mouth to speak. "I am not giving up the bed, Tony," she said quickly, prevented him from some irrelevant tirade. She opened her suitcase and began rooting through its contents for her pajamas.
"Fine," Tony retorted sharply. "But just know that you are condemning me to severe pain in the morning, and you know how I get aches and all sorts of knots in my back when I'm hunched over for long periods of time..."
Ziva slammed her bag shut and gave him a piercing glare. "Fine," she hissed venomously, "But I get to take the first shower."
&
The housekeeper swiped her card promptly through the lock on the door and pushed her cart through, hurrying to prepare the room for the next guests that were to check in this afternoon. As she went to make the extremely unkempt bed, she realized that strangely the couch had been made up with sheets, blankets and pillows, yet had not been slept in.
&
Characters: Tony, Ziva.
Word Count: 1,604
Rating: PG (suggestive, but not explicit)
Summary: One day, one night. A lot more can happen than you think.
&
"Smile!"
Ziva turned, bemused, newspaper still in hand only to be met with the sight of Tony positioning a camera directly at her. She pointedly looked away as he took the shot.
Tony resurfaced from behind his camera with a wounded look. "You did that on purpose," he accused.
She rolled her eyes before setting them back on her paper. "You do not need photos of me, Tony. You see me every day."
Tony turned back to his camera, reviewing the picture. It actually didn't look that bad. Sort of enigmatic. He looked up at her. " Come on. You don't want any souvenirs of our big Paris trip?" he asked with enthusiasm.
Ziva placed her newspaper back on the stand and walked in the opposite direction towards a small cafe. "You want souvenirs? Take some pictures of the buildings."
&
She made no noise as her top fell to the ground, idly walking to the chair where her suitcase rested. Tony looked over with the intention of asking if she wanted to order some dinner and promptly did a double take at his achingly topless partner taking her sweet time walking to the other side of the room.
"You uh, wanna change in the bathroom, Ziva?" He suggested, sarcasm oozing from his voice. "'Cause, you know, that's what we Americans do."
Ziva responded by promptly unbuttoning her jeans. "We are not in America Tony," she said, "and it is nothing you have not seen before."
Tony scowled. Oh yes, he had seen it. He had seen all of it. But he'd never gotten to have any of it.
Then her pants came off.
&
"We're lost," she said finally.
"We're not lost," Tony countered, repositioning the map on its side to reveal some sort of hidden message. Ziva sighed and snatched the map away from him with an inhuman quickness. Before Tony could even register that the paper was gone from his hands, Ziva was already berating him for not realizing that the map he was looking at was from a different city, and from now on let her do all the work since her French was clearly better than his.
&
"Rule number twelve," he muttered into her forehead, hands still caught in her damp and tangled hair.
"Number twelve," she echoed against his neck, reaching up to undo the first button of his shirt.
&
"Ziva, look!" Tony shouted suddenly, gesturing towards the street beside them where a blonde woman flew by them on a motor scooter.
Ziva glanced up from her tea. "Not bad," she said. "If you run fast, you might be able to catch her."
Tony glared back at her. "I meant the bike," he said disparagingly.
She rolled her eyes. "We are not buying you a Vespa, Tony."
Like a child, his face fell. "Well, what about,"
"We are not renting one, either."
&
An onslaught of hot steam escaped from the bathroom as Ziva got out of the shower, running a towel through her wet tresses and already dressed in her sleep clothes.
"Think you spent enough time in the shower?" Tony asked mockingly. Ziva glared at him.
"Give me a break Tony, I was stuck in an airplane for eight hours. A hot, sweaty, crowded, flying metal tube. I needed to get clean."
Tony simply flipped through the tourists guide he was absolutely incapable of reading. "So was I. And now since you've used up all the hot water in Paris, I can't get clean."
Ziva threw her wet towel at him. "You are getting the bed. Is that not enough?"
&
"I'm sorry sir, I cannot find your reservation," the clerk said in very forced English, "I only have the one room."
"This is ridiculous!" Ziva shouted, attracting the attention of guests who had little idea of what she was saying. "How can you lose a room? It is either there, or it is not!"
"I apologize ma'am," the man replied, "but as I have said, we are very full. We only have one vacancy."
Tony sighed and dropped his head to the counter, drumming his fingers against the marble. "Look pal," he said, "I know you're just doing your job. I get that. But if you can't make an extra room appear I can't guarantee that you'll wake up with all your teeth tomorrow morning." He jerked his head discreetly to where Ziva was fuming somewhere to his right.
The clerk looked worriedly between the two of them, trying to come up with something to say that would appease them both. "I'm afraid I cannot make you another room. But the suite does have a couch."
&
"If you had just driven over that divider like I said, we would have gotten here half an hour sooner. Now we are going to miss our plane."
Tony grimaced at her, trying to keep with his Ziva's incredibly fast pace as they raced to their gate. "And if I had let you drive, like you said, we'd be dead. And then we'd definitely miss our plane."
Ziva scowled and turned a sharp corner into the next terminal. "I do not see why I even have to go on this stupid trip. It is not as if I volunteered," she said.
Her partner sighed. "You're the only one who speaks French, Ziva."
&
The wind screaming around them made it hard for her to hear what Tony was saying. All she knew was that his lips were moving.
"What?" Ziva asked loudly.
"I said you gotta admit, this is pretty cool!" Tony shouted back at her. He reveled in the feeling of her arms around his chest, suddenly inspiring him.
"I'm gonna pop a wheelie!" he exclaimed gleefully, toying with one of the handle gears in preparation. He could not tell, but he was fairly certain Ziva was horrified.
"Tony, don't!" she commanded, staring terrifiedly at his hand on the brake. "I swear to God Tony, I will slit your throat with that Mona Lisa postcard-" She heard the engine roar and shouted one final threat to his life that went unheard as Tony was suddenly hovering magnificently above her, blissfully unaware of her screams.
&
"Maybe we should come back sometime," Tony mused to the window. Ziva was behind him, preparing her couch for the night. "You know, when we're not on an assignment."
Ziva glanced up at him, her freshly washed hair still curtaining her face and her eyes clouded with confusion. "To Paris?" She asked, unsure of what he was saying.
"Sure," he said brightly, turning back to her with an amiable smile. "Come on. Just you and me. It'll be fun!"
Ziva slowly returned herself to full height. "To Paris," she repeated more slowly.
"Yeah," he began walking towards her, his face confident but his steps tentative. He picked her pillow up off the couch and pushed it gently towards her. "You. Me. Paris. Whaddya say?"
She took the pillow, but her gaze was confined to his face, searching it for the telltale signs of Tony joking. She found none. All she saw was sincerity. Sincerity so intense it scared her, forcing her eyes away.
"I- do not think that is appropriate, Tony," she said. She returned her pillow back to the head of the couch, where she took more time arranging it than the factory did making it.
Tony laughed sardonically under his breath. "Yeah, because you're the reigning queen of appropriate," he grumbled.
Ziva's bat like hearing whipped her head towards him and caused her to confront him, abandoning her pillow.
"Really," she said quietly, flecks of smoldering gold in her voice. "And I assume your intentions are nothing but pure? Inviting me to Paris with you, I mean."
He smiled again as she looked up at him, capturing her completely this time.
"Hardly," he murmured against her lips.
&
The coin fell to the ground with a dull clink, a shiny silver eagle facing up towards them.
Tony frowned at the ground as if it had wronged him. "Tails," Ziva said triumphantly, smiling at him. "I win."
He snapped back up at her, his face completely stoic. "I demand a recount," he said.
Ziva bent over to retrieve the coin, giving Tony a rather nice view. "Do not bother, Tony," she almost sang, "I won, fair and..." she trailed off, rummaging through her mind for words.
"Square," Tony finished for her, "Fair and square. But you fail to take into account that you cheated."
Ziva stared at him, mystified. "Tony, the coin toss was your idea." She shook her head, placing the quarter on the finished oak table. "You are such a child," she said.
Tony opened his mouth to speak. "I am not giving up the bed, Tony," she said quickly, prevented him from some irrelevant tirade. She opened her suitcase and began rooting through its contents for her pajamas.
"Fine," Tony retorted sharply. "But just know that you are condemning me to severe pain in the morning, and you know how I get aches and all sorts of knots in my back when I'm hunched over for long periods of time..."
Ziva slammed her bag shut and gave him a piercing glare. "Fine," she hissed venomously, "But I get to take the first shower."
&
The housekeeper swiped her card promptly through the lock on the door and pushed her cart through, hurrying to prepare the room for the next guests that were to check in this afternoon. As she went to make the extremely unkempt bed, she realized that strangely the couch had been made up with sheets, blankets and pillows, yet had not been slept in.
&