Doesn't-Aren't-Isn't(Is) (1/1)
Title: Doesn't-Aren't-Isn't(Is)
Author: somehowunbroken
Fandom: NCIS
Characters: Tony/Ziva
Word Count: 1,175
Rating: G
Prompt: Tony and Ziva, not too fluffy..
Notes: For purple_cube, who bought me in the help_pakistan auction and asked for a Tony/Ziva fic without too much fluffiness. I hope you enjoy it!
There’s an instant attraction between them that’s obvious to everyone around them, almost palpable in its intensity, but they both ignore it. After all, they’re professionals and they have to work together. If (when?) something were to go wrong, life would be hell. It isn’t worth it, they decide by mutual, unspoken agreement, and they go about their lives as usual.
It lasts for less than two months. Tony shows up at her apartment after being released from jail, framed for a murder and dismemberment that he didn’t commit, and it’s fast and desperate and pleading, over before either of them thinks to stop it. He leaves afterwards, and when Monday rolls around, they play it off like nothing happened.
That’s how it goes for a long time. They get stuck in a shipping container together, and while they’re in there, they joke about alternative ways to stay warm without acting on it; later that night, they barely make it inside Ziva’s apartment before Tony has her pressed up against the wall, murmuring about warming you up and keeping you close. McGee’s sister is involved in a case and they’re not even careful about hiding it that time, but everyone is too wrapped up in themselves and their own issues to notice them sneaking off together. Abby is almost killed by an insane ex-boyfriend, and after making sure she’s safe, Tony and Ziva spend the night together for the first time.
It’s the last time, too, or so they think soon after; Gibbs retires, leaves, goes to Mexico, whatever you want to call it, and Tony’s left in charge. He shows up at her place later that week, and she already knows what he’s going to say, beats him to it.
“We cannot continue,” she says simply as she opens the door.
Tony’s shoulders slump. “I’m sorry,” he tries, but she’s already shaking her head.
“It is nothing,” and Ziva is trying to smile, she really is, but she’s certain that it doesn’t fool him.
And so it goes, with Tony leading the team. He’s doing a good job, and Ziva tries to tell him so one night, after a particularly rough case.
“Don’t,” is all he says. He looks more tired than she can ever remember seeing him before. “Please.”
“I mean it,” she says, confused, because Tony loves getting complimented, always has. “You are doing a good job, Tony.”
“Ziva,” and his voice is pleading now. “Please.” But he’s not asking for her to stop this time, and so she goes to him, because they’re friends and he needs her.
And they pick up as they had let off, with an extra addition of this-is-not-allowed. It’s stress relief and it’s friendship and it’s solace, and it’s a whole host of other things that neither one of them wants to think about, so they don’t. The one thing it isn’t is dating, because even if Gibbs isn’t there he’s still there, and they all remember Rule Twelve.
But then Gibbs is there. He’s back and everything goes back to the quasi-normality that is their lives, except that Tony and Ziva are still not-together, still just that stress relief and casual not-dating. And it doesn’t matter, then, when Tony starts dating Jeanne Benoit, and it doesn’t matter when Ziva falls a little in love with Roy Sanders. It doesn’t matter, except it does, because they aren’t anything, except when they are. This isn’t anything, except when it is, and as Sanders dies and Tony’s relationship falls apart, it is something, it’s everything, it’s the only thing.
Neither of them comments when Tony starts staying nights again, or when Ziva makes him an extra key. Nobody else says anything when they start driving to work together in the mornings and leaving together when their cases are finished. Gibbs doesn’t drop any reminders about Rule Twelve, and though the others must have noticed, or at least suspected - they’re all trained investigators, after all - they don’t say anything. Tony and Ziva are mostly thankful for it. No explanations are required if no questions are asked.
It’s still something they maybe don’t want to think about, but it’s no longer something they’re actively avoiding. One day, when Tony’s trying to charm the waitress into giving him an extra dish of sprinkles with an easy smile, she swats him with her dishcloth and tells him that she doesn’t think his girlfriend would appreciate it. Ziva just laughs and lays a hand on his forearm. He grins at her and leans over to place a loud, obnoxious kiss on her cheek, and the waitress sighs and brings him his sprinkles, trying to hide her smile. Somehow, it’s easier after that, now that it’s been put out in the open for someone to see and comment upon and nothing disastrous has happened.
They’ve still kept their separate places through everything, and this doesn’t change until Ziva’s third year at NCIS. It’s only then, when Tony’s lease is about to expire and they’re looking for a place for him that it finally comes up. It’s a lot less awkward than either of them had thought it could be.
It was a long day off, started earlier than Tony liked to be out of bed when he didn’t have to work. Ziva had dragged him from apartment to apartment, each one worse than the last, so by the time they’re flopping onto her couch that night, he’s ready to agree to the first one they looked at today just so they don’t have to go again tomorrow.
“Please tell me we’re done,” he says pathetically, throwing his arm across his face and sinking into the couch cushions. “I don’t want to look any more.”
Ziva snorts from beside him, flipping through the menu for the Chinese place down the street. “You have not chosen a place to live,” she reminds him. “In fact, I seem to recall you saying that you hated every apartment we visited today.”
“Can’t I just live here?” he wheedles innocently, and raises his arm from his face when she doesn’t reply. She’s giving him a thoughtful look.
“Of course you can,” she replies after a long moment, just when he’s beginning to backtrack, trying to figure out what he can say to take it back without offending her or digging himself in any deeper.
“I can?” he repeats intelligently, and she rolls her eyes and smacks him with the menu.
“Do not make me repeat myself,” she warns him, and he’s clutching at the Chinese menu as she’s reaching for the phone, and he realizes that it just makes sense, that this is real, that this is still everything.
It surprises him for a second, because the tables have turned so completely from where they’d been when they started this. It’s suddenly so clear: this matters, it’s important, it’s everything.
It should scare him. It’s scared him in the past. For some reason, though, it doesn’t this time. Instead of freaking out, he just smiles and orders his dinner.
Author: somehowunbroken
Fandom: NCIS
Characters: Tony/Ziva
Word Count: 1,175
Rating: G
Prompt: Tony and Ziva, not too fluffy..
Notes: For purple_cube, who bought me in the help_pakistan auction and asked for a Tony/Ziva fic without too much fluffiness. I hope you enjoy it!
There’s an instant attraction between them that’s obvious to everyone around them, almost palpable in its intensity, but they both ignore it. After all, they’re professionals and they have to work together. If (when?) something were to go wrong, life would be hell. It isn’t worth it, they decide by mutual, unspoken agreement, and they go about their lives as usual.
It lasts for less than two months. Tony shows up at her apartment after being released from jail, framed for a murder and dismemberment that he didn’t commit, and it’s fast and desperate and pleading, over before either of them thinks to stop it. He leaves afterwards, and when Monday rolls around, they play it off like nothing happened.
That’s how it goes for a long time. They get stuck in a shipping container together, and while they’re in there, they joke about alternative ways to stay warm without acting on it; later that night, they barely make it inside Ziva’s apartment before Tony has her pressed up against the wall, murmuring about warming you up and keeping you close. McGee’s sister is involved in a case and they’re not even careful about hiding it that time, but everyone is too wrapped up in themselves and their own issues to notice them sneaking off together. Abby is almost killed by an insane ex-boyfriend, and after making sure she’s safe, Tony and Ziva spend the night together for the first time.
It’s the last time, too, or so they think soon after; Gibbs retires, leaves, goes to Mexico, whatever you want to call it, and Tony’s left in charge. He shows up at her place later that week, and she already knows what he’s going to say, beats him to it.
“We cannot continue,” she says simply as she opens the door.
Tony’s shoulders slump. “I’m sorry,” he tries, but she’s already shaking her head.
“It is nothing,” and Ziva is trying to smile, she really is, but she’s certain that it doesn’t fool him.
And so it goes, with Tony leading the team. He’s doing a good job, and Ziva tries to tell him so one night, after a particularly rough case.
“Don’t,” is all he says. He looks more tired than she can ever remember seeing him before. “Please.”
“I mean it,” she says, confused, because Tony loves getting complimented, always has. “You are doing a good job, Tony.”
“Ziva,” and his voice is pleading now. “Please.” But he’s not asking for her to stop this time, and so she goes to him, because they’re friends and he needs her.
And they pick up as they had let off, with an extra addition of this-is-not-allowed. It’s stress relief and it’s friendship and it’s solace, and it’s a whole host of other things that neither one of them wants to think about, so they don’t. The one thing it isn’t is dating, because even if Gibbs isn’t there he’s still there, and they all remember Rule Twelve.
But then Gibbs is there. He’s back and everything goes back to the quasi-normality that is their lives, except that Tony and Ziva are still not-together, still just that stress relief and casual not-dating. And it doesn’t matter, then, when Tony starts dating Jeanne Benoit, and it doesn’t matter when Ziva falls a little in love with Roy Sanders. It doesn’t matter, except it does, because they aren’t anything, except when they are. This isn’t anything, except when it is, and as Sanders dies and Tony’s relationship falls apart, it is something, it’s everything, it’s the only thing.
Neither of them comments when Tony starts staying nights again, or when Ziva makes him an extra key. Nobody else says anything when they start driving to work together in the mornings and leaving together when their cases are finished. Gibbs doesn’t drop any reminders about Rule Twelve, and though the others must have noticed, or at least suspected - they’re all trained investigators, after all - they don’t say anything. Tony and Ziva are mostly thankful for it. No explanations are required if no questions are asked.
It’s still something they maybe don’t want to think about, but it’s no longer something they’re actively avoiding. One day, when Tony’s trying to charm the waitress into giving him an extra dish of sprinkles with an easy smile, she swats him with her dishcloth and tells him that she doesn’t think his girlfriend would appreciate it. Ziva just laughs and lays a hand on his forearm. He grins at her and leans over to place a loud, obnoxious kiss on her cheek, and the waitress sighs and brings him his sprinkles, trying to hide her smile. Somehow, it’s easier after that, now that it’s been put out in the open for someone to see and comment upon and nothing disastrous has happened.
They’ve still kept their separate places through everything, and this doesn’t change until Ziva’s third year at NCIS. It’s only then, when Tony’s lease is about to expire and they’re looking for a place for him that it finally comes up. It’s a lot less awkward than either of them had thought it could be.
It was a long day off, started earlier than Tony liked to be out of bed when he didn’t have to work. Ziva had dragged him from apartment to apartment, each one worse than the last, so by the time they’re flopping onto her couch that night, he’s ready to agree to the first one they looked at today just so they don’t have to go again tomorrow.
“Please tell me we’re done,” he says pathetically, throwing his arm across his face and sinking into the couch cushions. “I don’t want to look any more.”
Ziva snorts from beside him, flipping through the menu for the Chinese place down the street. “You have not chosen a place to live,” she reminds him. “In fact, I seem to recall you saying that you hated every apartment we visited today.”
“Can’t I just live here?” he wheedles innocently, and raises his arm from his face when she doesn’t reply. She’s giving him a thoughtful look.
“Of course you can,” she replies after a long moment, just when he’s beginning to backtrack, trying to figure out what he can say to take it back without offending her or digging himself in any deeper.
“I can?” he repeats intelligently, and she rolls her eyes and smacks him with the menu.
“Do not make me repeat myself,” she warns him, and he’s clutching at the Chinese menu as she’s reaching for the phone, and he realizes that it just makes sense, that this is real, that this is still everything.
It surprises him for a second, because the tables have turned so completely from where they’d been when they started this. It’s suddenly so clear: this matters, it’s important, it’s everything.
It should scare him. It’s scared him in the past. For some reason, though, it doesn’t this time. Instead of freaking out, he just smiles and orders his dinner.