Cold As Ice

He was uncertain if he was should be doing it. His hand paused before he knocked on the door to her apartment. He knew for one thing that he should definitely not have looked in her file to find her address. He knew that he probably shouldn't have picked the lock on her gym locker to find out what size shoe she wore. His hesitation gave him the chance to think about what he was about to do. It was Christmas. She didn't celebrate Christmas. Maybe she wouldn't be in. Maybe she has company. Maybe she would be alone and not doing anything for the day. He would never know if he didn't knock. His fist tapped the door three times. Nothing. Tapped again. Nothing. Once more for luck. Nothing. He shrugged and turned, walking slowly down the hall as a door creaked open behind him and a sleepy head poked out and smiled softly before the confusion set in.

His lips were warm as they moved gently with hers. He smelt like him, which might be thought of as an odd statement, but she had no better way of explaining it. There was a knock on the door, and they both groaned. "Leave it." He whispered in her ear as she unbuttoned his shirt.

"That was the plan." She ran her fingers down his smooth chest, something nagging at the back of her mind. She shook her head and ignored it, going back to press kisses lightly along his jawbone. The knocking came again and she sighed, moving back and walking towards the door, unable to find the handle. She was certain it was there earlier. There was definitely a door handle there earlier. She tried to picture it in her mind but couldn't. Her gaze flickered across the rest of the apartment, shocked when she realised she was alone and back in her parent's house.

She gasped awake, her bedroom dimly lit by the light seeping through the curtains. Someone had been knocking on her door, or was that just the dream. No, there it was again. Yanking a blouse on over the white camisole vest and blue cotton shorts, she hurried to the door, opening it and smiling at the man who had just featured very prominently in her dream. She shook her head. That was never going to happen. Although, it felt very good. She blinked and wiped the smile off her face. She hadn't set her alarm, which meant she didn't have to be at work, so what was he doing there? More to the point, how did he know where there was? "What are you doing here?"

"Well, it's Christmas and I wasn't sure if you were alone, and it's not right to spend Christmas alone."

"For me it is not Christmas." She shrugged. "Should you not be with your family?"

He snorted and shook his head. "What family?"

"Well, I do not know, I just thought you might be with your parents…" She trailed off, remembering his dossier. Mother. Dead. Father. Absent. "Or a girl, maybe?"

"No, it's my day off from dating." He shrugged and walked closer. "Never spend Christmas with a girl. Never have, never will."

"Why not?"

"Christmas should be spent with the people you love."

"So what are you doing here?" She laughed, trying not to take his words seriously.

Now that's the question, isn't it? What was he doing there? Obvious answer – he loved her. He couldn't reply with that. She didn't love him, and an office romance would not be good. Let alone, breaking one of Gibbs' biggest rules. "Because I don't have anyone I love and I wasn't sure if you were doing anything." He shrugged again. They must have spent half the conversation adding shrugs to the end of their sentences.

"Because you do not think I can make love?" The accidental slip of the tongue added on purpose.

"Oh, I have no doubt about that." He laughed. They were close now, and he was only just realising the meagre clothing that covered, or didn't cover, her olive skin.

"I meant, did you not think I can love?"

"That I'm not to sure about. I would need evidence."

"And how do you suppose to gather your evidence?"

"Well, doing this for starters." He grinned and walked into her apartment, trying hard not to imagine what was under the little vest and shorts. "Do you have plans?"

"Sleep, housework. I have nothing else to do."

"Good. Get dressed."

"What?"

"Tight jeans would be good. Oh and wear something warm." He smiled, plunking himself on the sofa.

"What are you doing?"

"Hoping those snow clouds will hold off long enough. Go get dressed."

"Can I at least have a shower?"

"No time. Please." He looked at her, realising that it might just be harder than he thought to get her to agree. She sighed and stormed into her bedroom, slamming the door. He started to stand up, thinking she had gone back to bed, before hearing the bang of a wardrobe and smiling. He sat back down and let his mind wander back to his mother's old Christmas tradition. The one day she wouldn't insist on dressing him up ridiculously and drinking copiously. He didn't know how long he was off in his memory before she had appeared in front of him, a lot more of her skin covered.

"So, where are we going?"

"Come on." He stood up and walked out, grinning as she protested. "It's an old DiNozzo tradition."

"Oh, that is not a comfort." She yelled. "Although I guess I can be grateful you have not told me specifically what to wear." She muttered as she locked her door and he turned.

"What?"

"Oh, nothing. Just talking to myself."

"First sign of madness." He winked at her. "I have the men in white coats on speed-dial if you need them?" He offered, pulling his mobile from his pocket.

"What men in white coats?"

"The ones from the psychiatric ward."

"Why would you have their number? Do need to call them a lot?" She asked seriously, moving closer to him.

"No, I keep them around to advise."

"On what?" She frowned as they started descending the stairs of her apartment building.

"You." He said deadpan as he unlocked his car and sat in it. They drove mostly in silence, the oppressive lack of noise occasionally broken by short bursts of speech, questions asked to develop a longer conversation but didn't really get off the ground. He pulled off onto a dirt track and they drove another mile before he stopped at a field entrance. He turned to her, knowing she was watching their reflection in the window. "Stay in here whilst I get something." He smiled and climbed out of his mustang, opening the boot and removing a duffle bag. He walked to the passenger door and opened it, indicating for her to step out of the car. She looked over at the flooded field, the water frozen over. Mist still hung around the tops of the trees and across the fields further in the distance. He climbed over the gate and held his hand out to help her, smiling when she ignored it. That's what he loved – liked – liked about her, her independence.

"Tony, what are we doing here?" He grinned and shook his head.

"Can't you guess?"

"No, I cannot." She pouted as he unzipped the navy blue bag and handed her a pair of old, white leather boots with a heel and metal blade attached to each sole. She frowned, holding them up and looking at them from different angles.

"Please tell me that you know what ice skates are." He looked worriedly at her. Her frown told him everything. "Ok, I know Israel don't have much snow, but you must have been to somewhere on your travels that have icy ponds!?"

"Yes, but I am generally working. What are these for?" She held her boots up as he took a pair of hockey skates from the bag.

"We skate. On that." He pointed to the ice.

"Is that safe? What if it melts?"

"I checked it out yesterday. It's perfectly fine." He started pulling the old hockey skates on and nodded to the figure skates in her hands. "You gonna put those on?" She looked down at the worn leather and frowned, but started removing her shoes and lacing up the boots anyway.

"Are we allowed? Is this not private land?"

"Is miss Ziva David scared?" He grinned up at her from where he was lacing his skates up.

"No, I just…"

"I solved the murder of the farmers son a couple of years ago. Guy says I can use it when it freezes over whenever I want."

"Oh." She nodded and let the questions drop as she stood up unsteadily. He grinned and took her hand as she wobbled. He led her towards the ice and stepped on, taking her other as she pitched forwards and lost her footing. He wrapped his arms around her as she fell again and he eased her up to stand.

"Come on, just move carefully. And lean forwards." He took her hands again and started gently easing her towards him as he glided slowly backwards, the distance between them neither increasing nor decreasing. "Look up."

"Look up, lean forwards, move carefully. This is difficult."

"Admitting defeat, Zee-vah?" He grinned and she grit her teeth before trying again to move, slipping again.

"No." She glared at him and pulled her hands away. Her breath wavered as she tried to move further than two foot. He laughed as she refused help to stand and skated further out, adding a flourish as he turned and stopped. Determined not to embarrass herself any more than she already had, she mimicked the movement of his feet, slowly picking up the way to keep upright. Clumsily, she made her way over to him, realising he had moved the last two yards to save her the trouble. He took her hand left hand in his and wrapped his right arm around her waist, noticing her breathing hitch and, although considering other causes, put it down to her inability to skate. "Tony?" She asked as he helped her glide across the ice towards the centre.

"Zee-vah?"

"Whose ice skates am I wearing?" She twisted her foot to stop and he looked down, smiling slightly at the sight of them, like he hadn't seen her put them on. They stood in the middle of the ice. "They're old. And they are my size."

"Ah, yeah, about that. I only touched your shoes, nothing more, and I shut your locker as soon as I had checked their size."

"You broke into my locker?" She raised her eyebrows, not forgetting that he hadn't answered her original question.

"Yeah. I didn't think you'd mind when you knew why I did it."

"So whose are they?" She asked quietly.

"No-ones. I just…brought them."

"They seem to be expensive. You did not buy a pair of ice skates just for me to use once."

"They were in my attic."

"You do not have an attic."

"Oh, yeah…" He sighed, remembering his mothers face. Remembering the last time the skates had been worn. "I honestly didn't think they'd fit you, not until I checked your shoe size at least…"

"They are lovely." She smiled. "Who used to wear these?"

"My mother." He whispered quietly, his gaze fixed on something, or nothing, in the distance. "They were my mother's."

"The old DiNozzo tradition?" She moved slightly closer and stroked his cheek, their clothes too thick for her to be able to feel his elevated heart rate.

"My dad, he used to be away a lot." Tony looked down at her and she snapped back to where she had been. He slipped his hand into hers and started pulling her in circles around the natural rink. "One Christmas when he was away, my mum, she brought me a pair of skates and we went out and found a frozen lake. I was four. We did the same the next year and the next. It became tradition, when my father was out of the country, at some hotel celebrating Christmas without us, we went ice-skating. She taught me to skate. She wanted to skate professionally once upon a time." He smiled at the memory. "We would leave at the crack of dawn and wouldn't go home until it got dark. It was the only day she didn't drink. She told me it was to keep me safe, but I think it was because she had a way to remember…"

"Remember what?" Ziva asked quietly, looking up.

"I found a picture of her skating when she was younger. It was after she had died, I was going through a box of old photos. There was a man in it too. The photo, not the box." He added, making Ziva smile slightly. "I didn't recognise him, but she looked happy. Carefree. I never got to see her like that, not even on Christmas." He paused for longer, making his companion think he had forgotten that he was talking, or that she was even there, holding his hand and listening. She opened her mouth to speak, just as he began again. "I kept the photo in my wallet, hidden from my father, until I became a cop. And then I did everything I could to find out who he was. It wasn't hard; I just looked into my mother's history, her friends and family. They were childhood sweethearts, grew up two streets apart. They went skating together three times a week, every week."

"What happened to him?" She asked, so enthralled in the story that she didn't know she was talking until the words had left her mouth.

"He died in an aeroplane crash when he was on his way to a skating competition in Russia." He looked at her and smiled. "You're getting better."

"I have a good teacher." She let go of his hand uncertainly and managed to stay vertical.

"You remind me of her in a way."

"Your mother?" She stared at him.

"In a good way. And only on Christmas." He said. "She had a way of being able to listen, to understand." He moved closer to her, placing his hands on her hips. Hesitation made him pause, giving her adequate time to pull away if she wanted to as he leaned down and gently brushed his lips against hers. She wrapped her arms around his neck, leaning up slightly and misjudging as they both slipped, landing on the cold ice. "You ok?" He whispered as both their breathing slowed down, neither sure whether it was the shock of the fall or the kiss that had made their breathing increase.

"You pillowed my fall." She whispered in his ear, their position reminding her of their day spent in the shipping container.

"Cushioned." He grinned back, staring directly into her eyes, allowing herself to get lost in their hypnotic depths.

"Are you?"

"Yeah. Not the first time I've fallen on the ice."

"The first time you have fallen whilst kissing a girl?"

"No." He shrugged, looking at her frown and smiling at the almost hurt look that she was trying to cover. "You're no girl, Ziva David."

"I am most definitely a girl and you know that as well as I do!" She yelled at him, trying to stand up, not realising the true meaning behind his words.

"You're a woman, Ziva David." He whispered in her ear, restraining her so she could not continue her struggle to move away from him. "And I have never fallen over kissing a woman on ice."

"So you have never fallen over kissing anybody on ice." She caught on, a grin doing all it could to break out on her face, as she kept stony.

"Hallelujah!" His smile widened even more. "She understands." He brushed the hair that was tumbling around her face and onto his cheeks back before kissing her gently.

"You are sure you did not hit your head?" She asked, pulling back to catch her breath.

"Why? The kiss no good?" He frowned.

"The kiss was very good. That is the problem."

"I'm confused. You didn't think I would be any good?"

"No, I thought you would be very good. My point is that you were kissing me."

"I know that. It would be hard not for me to know that." He frowned at her confusing labyrinth of questions and statements.

"Me, Tony. Ziva."

"I know I was kissing you. How could I not?"

"Well, you are you. If you had not bonged your head then you would not be kissing me."

"Ah, well, your logic would make sense had I actually banged my head and were it not me kissing you in the first place that made us fall." He watched as she went through this. "Though you might want to let me check you for head injuries, seeing as you weren't arguing a moment ago."

"I am not arguing. I just do not want to make a mistake. Or for you to make a mistake."

"You are definitely no mistake." He shook his head and ran a finger down her cheek. "And to be honest I don't think I am either. Nor do you."

"No? What makes you so confident?" She asked, trying to control her response to his proximity. She had disarmed bombs, but she could not disarm Tony DiNozzo and his charm.

"The look in your eyes." He smiled as she closed them reflexively. "Don't close them. They're beautiful." They fluttered open, her brown eyes meeting his green ones, crinkling in the corners as she smiled.

"I like your smile." She ran her thumb along his lips before pressing hers to them again.

"Yes, and as much as I like laying here with your body pressed to me, and although it could be improved greatly with fewer layers of clothing between us, I'm getting cold and it's starting to get dark." He grinned as she looked up, flakes of snow landing in her hair. "Come on." He whispered in her ear as she rolled off of him and stood up, leaning on his head as he sat up to keep herself upright. They skated back, hand-in-hand as the snow started to fall, a light dusting covering the ice as they changed into the shoes they had left by the gate. "You ever had a snowball fight?"

"I never saw the point in throwing frozen projectiles into one-another's faces." She looked at him, his stare.

"At least we can be grateful that you know what a snowball fight is." He sighed. "Tomorrow, I am calling Abby and the Probie, and we are going to have a snowball fight." He stated before climbing into the mustang, not giving her time to argue. She shook her head and laughed, looking up to the heavy dark clouds as the white flakes melted on her flushed pink cheeks.

A/N: I am unsure of where this came from, except maybe a morning spent ice-skating with my brother and father, but none of this actually happened, because that would have been beyond weird. I do not know if America gets flooded lakes that freeze over in winter, but we do in England, or at least we used to before it got so damn warm. I do so greatly dislike global warming. Anyway, what I was going to say was that I cannot remember much about Tony's mother, but since this is a little AU (Or a lot, depending on your universe compared to mine.) I am going to put any mistakes down to artistic licence, much like I usually do. Oh, and I do know that it is not Christmas, I just knew that I would have forgotten about this by next year.

For my reference: 9th NCIS fic.