Rating: M for language and content

Disclaimer: No copyright infringement is intended; these characters belong to NCIS, I own nothing.

Pairing: Ziva D./ Tony D.

Okay, so I stole the title from a song, but I love the idea behind it.

This story takes place immediately after "Agent Afloat", and I am intending for this to be a multiple chapter project.

Thank you everybody for reading, I hope you enjoy it immensely. x

WS

"Thanks for the ride," Tony said and released a breath he didn't know he was holding.

White knuckles relaxed, he opened and closed his fists a few times.

God, he'd missed her. Her driving...not so much. After all those months at sea he might have come close, but he still didn't have that death wish.

She switched off the engine and smiled. Not at him. At the road. At the street light. At something ahead. At nothing.

"Wow. Deja vu all over again," he laughed and it sounded forced. Uncomfortable. Nervous.

Instead of throwing him a lifeline, she left him hanging; alone in the awkward silence.

"Don't worry, Ziv-ah, we don't have to talk about it," he told her. "It's okay."

It wasn't.

"I mean, it's been four months. A lot of water has flown under the bridge...or the ship in my case."

She didn't respond, and he wanted to shake her.

"I guess after California we just got caught up in...exceptional circumstances," he continued. "These things happen..."

She was still holding on to the steering wheel, still looking ahead, her dark eyes heavy with the night. God, she was beautiful.

"Anyway. I'll see you tomorrow?"

She hadn't moved, hadn't shifted her focus from the empty road ahead, he couldn't even tell if she was still breathing.

He opened the door quickly. Get out, DiNozzo, get out and walk away before you say something stupid. But he couldn't help himself. "Just one thing. I couldn't help noticing...in Cartagena, and on the flight...Ziva, you couldn't stop looking at me. And now we're alone you've got nothing to say to me? How?"

"Tony...I..." she trailed off, crossing her arms in front of her chest.

"Wow, Ziva. Really? He must be one hell of a guy," he laughed a laugh that didn't suit him, and she finally found her voice.

"Tony...I...I missed you," she told him, and he wanted so much to believe her.

"You see, Ziva, that's funny, because that's what I thought when I saw you standing there with Gibbs. But then I looked a little too deep into your pretty eyes, and what do I find find? You didn't miss me at all. You have been busy...moving on." His tone sounded rehearsed, light-hearted, like it didn't matter, but his venom was potent.

"That is not what happened. Tony," she said.

"Oh? Enlighten me then, Officer David. And don't go easy on me, because, trust me, after four moths of the assignment from hell, I am ready for just about anything."

"Tony." She took a deep breath. "After California...I did not think..."

"What? Ziva?"

"I did not think I was going to see you again, and ...you know..."

"I know what? Ziva? After California what? We slept together and Bon Voyage?" his voice was too loud for the car, and they listened to the silence that followed.

"You've got to be kidding me," he whispered.

"Tony. That night was about a lot of things, but it was not about us," she told him.

"That night, Ziva, was about nothing but us. And you know it."

He could feel the distance between them grow, and he filled it with as much hurt as he could conjure up.

"Well, I suppose, c'est la vie, but just for the record. Do you know how many women have ever...EVER...spend the night at my place?"

She looked into his eyes and shook her head.

"One, Ziva. You. God, I'm even more tragic than McGee," he said and hit the dashboard hard.

His head was pounding with longing and anger and disappointment, he couldn't tell which one was the predominant sensation, but he guessed it was anger, and so he opened the door and got out, and he wasn't going to turn back.

Only by the time he got to his door did he realize, he had neither his keys nor his bag.

"Damn," he punched the wall so hard that he saw stars. "Ouch, damn."

"Tony. Your bag," she said, her voice gentle yet stern. She caught up with him and threw his duffel down by his feet. He exhaled audibly, and he thought for a moment, that he watched her relax, too.

"Maybe, Tony, let us try again?" she suggested.

"Look, Ziva, I'm sorry. I didn't mean to bombard you with all this shit. It's just that I haven't spoken to a friend in months. And I missed you."

The faintest of smiles crept across her face. He wasn't imagining it.

"I missed you, too," she told him, and he took her into his arms.

He had thought about this moment over and over again, and now that it had arrived he couldn't help but feel completely stunned; like he was outside his body watching himself and her melting into the most tender of embraces.

His body remembered her entirely and completely, and she, too, held him with that aching notion that it had been too long without.

"Let's go inside," he suggested much later. "I'm not in the mood for any of my neighbours right now," he whispered in her ear, and he swore that he felt her shiver.

He found the keys and unlocked the door. "I wonder what they made of Abby coming and going at all hours..."

"Abby fed the fish? Yes?" Ziva asked, and her tone amused him.

"Yes, Abby fed the fish. And you know that the fish is called Kate, Ziva. Kate," he pronounced it carefully, and opened the door for her.

Ziva went straight to the fish bowl. "Hmmmmm," he remarked, and Tony wondered what was going on in that pretty little head of hers.

"It's cold in here," he noticed and started playing with the thermostat.

"Are you missing Cartagena already?"

"Not in a million years. Cartagena is a hell-hole. I'll die a happy man if I never have set foot in it again. But anyway, how's your life? Done anything interesting lately? Or anyone?" he asked and she shook her head.

"Tony..."

He looked at her.

"Why, Ziva? Why? Just explain it to me."

She started pacing, and he watched her with intent, wondering what she would come out with. In the end she stood leaning against his table, bathed in semi darkness, and for a moment he wanted to never see her again.

"That night, Tony, it did something to me that scared me."

"Go on."

"It made me...realize that I...care about you too much, and that I do not want to hurt you."

"Funny how that didn't work out. Come on, cut the crap, Ziva. You're only scared of yourself. Leave me out of it."

"Tony..." she started, but he stepped into her, his hand gently tracing her face, her hair.

"I haven't stopped thinking about you, and yes, admittedly, I've had a lot of time on my hands, but this," he whispered and traced her bottom lip with his thumb, "I'm not making it up. And you know it."

Her eyes couldn't settle and danced nervously between his lips and his eyes, and he could tell how this irritated her.

"What do you want, Tony? What do you need?"

"I want to have the longest, hottest shower of my life," he said, laughing for a split second, but then he took her face between his hands and made her look into his eyes.

"What I want, Ziva, is for the world to stop just for a minute so I can catch my breath. And I want everybody and everything to go away so that it is just us, and that I can look at you and only you without any distractions and lose myself in your eyes. I want to wrap myself around you, get in you and disappear completely."

"Oh my God," she whispered.