A/N: Here's a new case fic, but because it's one of my stories it includes some Tony and Ziva rrrrromance! It also includes a lot of Borin, because I love her. It's set at the end of season 10, but without all the quitting and without the events of Shabbat Shalom, etc. So I guess out of canon.

It started out as a sequel to my story Rapture. I will make references to things that happened in Rapture, and that fic sort of sets up the closeness between Tony and Ziva in this story. But you don't really need to read it to understand what's happening here.

Also, longtime readers of my stories know that I try to weave little bits and pieces from my stories into each other. So if something seems familiar, that's why.

Disclaimer: Disclaimed.

"Tonight it's very clear."

"As we're both lying here."

McGee grinned as he listened to Tony and Abby's trip back to their teen years, and couldn't resist joining in himself. "There's so many things I want to say."

The three of them looked across the bullpen at Ziva who was typing quickly at her computer. For a moment it seemed as though she hadn't been paying attention to their game, but after the silence dragged on for just a little too long, she paused her typing, looked up and shrugged at them.

"I have no idea what song this is," she said. "I am out."

Tony sighed with regret on her behalf. What kind of childhood did she have that she couldn't even find the time to watch The Karate Kid II? He took the line for her. "I will always love you."

Abby, perched on the corner of McGee's desk, clasped her hands together and sang the next line. "I would never leave you alone."

Tony held up his finger. "Isn't it 'I would never make it alone'?" he asked. The line triggered something in his memory and his eyes were pulled in Ziva's direction. He had said something to her once with a similar sentiment, and he wondered if Ziva heard it too. But she just looked back at him blankly. The trigger was his alone.

"It's 'leave you'," Abby said confidently, cutting into his thoughts. She was backed up by another, huskier voice.

"Definitely 'leave you'," Abigail Borin said, appearing at the mouth of the bullpen. "I slow-danced to that song with Michael Mendez at one of my junior high dances." She pointed to her temple. "It's burned into my memory."

Abby took Borin's appearance in stride and gave her a salacious grin. "Was he cute?"

Borin smirked at the girl talk, but played it up with a girl, please eye roll. "The cutest. He dressed like Blaine from Pretty in Pink."

Abby laughed out loud. "So did Tony," she said, pointing at her friend. "He totally had Andrew McCarthy hair. I think I've got a photo," she said, and pulled her phone out of her pocket to start searching her folders.

"It was 1986 and I looked awesome," Tony argued.

"Did you still have the big glasses?" McGee asked.

Tony ignored his attempt to make fun of him. "No, I had contacts by then."

Ziva frowned at him with interest. "Weren't you in military school in 1986? How did you get away with long hair in military school?"

He flashed a smile at her. "I was a rebel."

Ziva smiled back with something bordering on affection and then looked up at Borin. "Are you visiting or working?"

Borin leaned against the partition beside Ziva's desk. "Working. I had a meeting with Agent O'Malley."

The team gave a collective wince. O'Malley was old, sexist, pretty racist and generally disagreeable. Borin nodded back knowingly and then looked at Ziva.

"You free for a drink tonight?"

Ziva perked up immediately at the prospect of spending some time with her newest friend and bar buddy, and smiled. "Yes."

Borin eyeballed Abby and McGee. "How about you two?"

Abby paused from her exploration of her phone for a photo of 15-year-old Tony to look up and shake her head with regret. "No, we can't. Me and McGee have plans to hide a sausage."

Three sets of eyes turned to McGee, whose cheeks immediately turned red.

"Are you two dating?" Borin asked, point blank.

Abby looked genuinely confused, and it was left to McGee to explain.

He cleared his throat. "Uh, no. She's talking about a literal sausage. It's this thing we're doing for a soup kitchen downtown."

Abby bounced to her feet and spread her arms towards the other three. "You guys should come along! It'll be fun!"

Tony caught Ziva's eye, and she returned his discreet grimace. It wasn't that he was against helping the less fortunate. He did it a lot by way of his work. But he kind of wanted to go out for a drink with Ziva and Borin instead. Was that too hard to accept?

Fortunately Borin was on the same wavelength. "Yeah, that sounds great. But I had my heart set on getting drunk tonight, so maybe another time."

Abby shrugged it off, accepting it better than she would have if it had been Tony or Ziva rejecting her plan. Tony made a mental note to keep Borin on standby whenever he had to deliver bad news to his emotional friend, and then looked up at Borin with an expectant smile. Where was his official invite for a few drinks?

Borin stared back at him with a playful smirk, and it looked like she was going to have some fun stringing him along for a bit. She ended up having pity before he expected it.

"Are you soup kitchening too?"

"No, I'm not."

Borin shared a look with Ziva, who was wearing her patented Mona Lisa smile. He knew he was in. "You want to join me and David for a drink?" she asked him.

"Oh, yes please," he said politely. "That sounds nice."

Borin nodded and pushed herself upright off the partition. "Okay, good. We'll need a designated driver," she said, and then left the bullpen with a wink. "See you later on," she called over her shoulder.

"She really is a lot like Gibbs at times," Tony mused aloud to no one in particular.

"It's why they'd never work out," Abby said with a sigh. "No one wants to date themselves."

"Except narcissists," Tony said.

"Or masochists," McGee added.

"I guess," Abby allowed, and then gasped as she found what she was looking for on her phone. "Oh! I found McCarthy-era Tony!" she exclaimed, and then caught herself and frowned. "I mean Andrew McCarthy-era. Not, like, Joe McCarthy, because you weren't alive in the fifties, and I don't think you've ever come out against communism."

Tony absorbed that and then focused on the important part. "Why do you carry around a photo of me at 15?" He knew Ziva had a childhood photo of him at her desk. But Ziva was…different.

Abby shrugged as she passed the photo to McGee. "You sent it to me. What am I supposed to do with it? Delete it?"

Tony shrugged a yes.

"It's cute," Abby went on. "And anyway, why does Ziva have an even younger photo of you taped to her computer?"

Tony looked over at his partner, who took a moment to smile fondly at the photo in question. "Because it is also cute," she replied, before looking at Tony with feigned suspicion. "And why do you have those photos of me in a bikini that I have explicitly asked you to remove several times still in your drawer?"

"Because they're hot," Tony said obviously.

"Anyone getting any work done amongst all the cute and hot?" Gibbs asked as he strode into the bullpen and made a beeline for his desk.

Abby quickly took her phone back from McGee and the others quickly returned to the tasks they'd been engrossed in before they'd been distracted by The Glory of Love.

"Lots of work, boss," Tony assured him, and threw a quick smile at Ziva.

Abby landed in front of Gibbs' desk and saluted him. "Returning to the salt mines, boss," she said, putting on her gruffest voice. "Just came up for fresh air."

"You're always welcome, Abby," he told her.

Abby melted into a smile. "Aww!"

"But you're distracting the monkeys."

Abby nodded ruefully. "I hear that a lot." She waved to her teammates. "Enjoy your weekends!"

…

Tony led Ziva into their regular bar near the Navy Yard just after 1900. At this time on a Friday night the place was full of agents attempting to clear their heads for the weekend and have some fun. Over the far side of the bar there seemed to be an impromptu pool tournament going on, while tall tables near the bar were holding up dozens of special agent elbows and drinks. History told them that there would still be a couple of booths down the back of the room free at this time of night, so they headed for the bar first to grab some drinks and a packet of pretzels before going in search of a free table. They found one in the back corner where they wouldn't be deafened by the pool tournament or the music blaring from the speakers above the bar, and then settled in to wait for Borin.

Despite the AC that was blasting cool air over the entrance, the rest of the bar was humid and sweaty. Ziva leaned forward to shed her blazer, but as she struggled to free one arm she knocked her beer bottle with her shoulder. Tony caught it before it fell and made a mess of both of them.

"Thank you," she said, and finally freed her arm.

"I'm here to help," he replied easily.

Ziva shoved her pile of clothes in the corner of the booth on top of Tony's discarded suit jacket, and then reached for her beer with a sigh. "Okay," she said to herself as she finally settled.

Tony watched her with a bemused smile. "You good now?"

"Yes."

"You sure? You don't want to take anything else off?"

She winked at him. "Not at least until Borin arrives."

He gave her a single nod. "Then okay." He tilted his beer bottle towards her and Ziva clinked it with hers. "Here's to the weekend," he said.

"On-call weekend," she amended.

Tony made a face. Technically, that was true. But the last four times they'd been on call over a weekend nothing had happened. He was looking forward to the streak continuing. He took a long draw from his beer, briefly closed his eyes as he felt the alcohol slowly work its way through his body, and then sat back against the booth seat with a contended smile.

"This is nice," he said.

Ziva eyed him as she crunched down on a pretzel. "We have been here three minutes," she pointed out.

He lifted a heavy shoulder at her. "I'm easy to please."

She lifted her eyebrows casually and looked out over the crowd. "I will remember that."

He tossed a smile at the side of her face. "It's true, you know. All I need is a beer, my couch and a Bond marathon and I'm a very happy very special agent."

Ziva's eyes drifted back to scrutinize him. "I do not believe that."

He lifted his eyebrows as his face grew warm. "No?"

She shook her head. "No. Perhaps in a casual, day-to-day way such simplicity leaves you content. But long term, that will not be enough to make you happy."

He held her gaze as he weighed up how to handle this. He hadn't been expecting the conversation to get so deep quite so quickly. And frankly, the idea of Ziva analyzing what she thought his Zen place would be was terrifying. But on the other hand…well, he was kind of curious about what Ziva thought his Zen place would be. Because he did know what it was, and he thought he'd been telling her for a while now, and as recently as a few weeks ago when he had kissed her the night that the world was supposed to end. If she told him what she thought now, and she was right, did that move them another step closer to each other? He was almost ready for that to happen, and on a good day like today, he was ready for it. Finally, he was ready. So he swallowed down the nerves and encouraged her to share her thoughts.

"So what will be enough, Zee-vah?" he asked, throwing in some levity to cushion them in case she was about to deliver a blow.

The know-it-all smile on Ziva's face dissolved into something much more intimate and honest. "You will need someone else to sit next to you on the couch," she said. "And I do not mean Gibbs."

She held his gaze for a few more seconds until they were both clear on what she was saying. Then, when the tension reached an uncomfortable level, she broke into a wider smile. Tony followed her lead and went for the easy joke.

"I don't think I'd ever get Gibbs to sit through a Bond marathon," he told her. "And I don't think I'd like to sit through one with him."

It seemed that they were both on the same page, and Ziva reached for her beer as the tension ebbed away. "You might get him to sit still during a John Wayne movie, but that would probably be his limit."

"Then I'll keep the other end of the couch free for someone else," Tony said.

Ziva winked at him. "Good plan," she said, and then looked up to throw a smile at Borin who was making her way to the table.

"I forgot how crowded this place gets," Borin said when she reached them. She put down her own bottle of beer, stripped off her jacket and threw it into the opposite corner of the booth. "I got so close to those guys at the bar that I might just walk out of here pregnant."

"And that, kids, is how I met your mother," Tony said.

Borin chuckled and slid into the booth. "So what are we talking about here?"

Ziva gestured at Tony with her bottle. "Tony has conceded that Gibbs will not be an ideal life partner for him."

Borin turned an arched eyebrow on Tony. "Was that a serious option up until now?"

Tony nodded slowly, allowing the pity. "Sadly."

"Well, I'm sorry for your loss," Borin drawled. "What killed such a romantic idea?"

"I'm Bond, he's John Wayne," Tony said with a rueful smile.

Borin looked like she didn't buy either comparison, but let it go without bruising Tony's ego. "Damn shame," she decided, and then changed the subject. "Tell me, does Abby think I'm evil now for not wanting to get involved in her soup kitchen thing?"

Tony and Ziva shook their heads in unison.

"She'd love it if you did, but she's used to our rejection," Tony said, pointing between himself and Ziva. "We've spent a decade softening her up for you."

"Thanks," Borin replied. "Have you all really known each other for a decade?"

Ziva shook her head. "I have only been around them for eight years. But Tony and Abby go back, what, twelve?" she said, looking to Tony for confirmation.

Tony scrunched his face up as he tried to work it out. "I joined in '91. Abby was here before me."

Borin paused with her beer halfway to her mouth and shot Tony a look of disbelief. "Have you been on Gibbs' team that whole time?"

Tony felt a stab of defensiveness over his choices, but covered it with the response that was expected of him. "I'm as loyal as a Saint Bernard."

"So you and Gibbs really have been life partners for a while," Borin said.

"We've never been exclusive," Tony quipped.

"So, have there just not been team leader positions come up in that time, or what?" Borin asked.

Tony set his jaw and cast his eyes down momentarily. He knew why Borin was asking. People with his history and experience didn't stay second banana for 12 years. And honestly, sometimes there was a voice inside him that screamed it out and demanded to be heard. But that was only sometimes. Most of the time, he truly was happy where he was. He glanced at Ziva and found her watching him with understanding instead of curiosity. She had his back on this, and he relaxed again.

"Sure," he told Borin. "And I've been offered them. But I'm happy where I am."

Borin looked between them as she weighed that up, and then shrugged and let it go. "Fair enough." She looked at Ziva. "Eight years? What's your excuse?"

"No one else will have me," Ziva replied smoothly.

It was a joke, and Tony smiled at her delivery. But he played along for Borin's benefit. "It's true. There's a note on her personnel file. Never to be released from Team Gibbs."

"I have a reputation," Ziva added.

"Dangerous," Tony elaborated. "Do not hand feed. In the event of attack, seek medical attention immediately."

Borin grinned and pointed at Ziva with her beer. "You can come work for me any time."

Ziva winked at her but Tony spoke up to put an end to that idea immediately. "Hey, back off, Coast Guard. This ninja's Navy. And as her senior field agent, I won't sign off on releasing her." He knew he'd gone over the top, but Ziva and Borin both just assumed that he was kidding around.

"Tony," Ziva said with a quick roll of her eyes. "You seem to have forgotten how dangerous I get when you pull rank."

He shot her a charming smile. "I like it when you're dangerous," he told her. "It's a hell of a lot of fun to watch."

She narrowed her eyes in warning, but he just smiled it away. Ziva tipped back the rest of her beer and sighed. "You do like to watch, Tony," she said. Tony waggled his eyebrows at her suggestively, and Ziva didn't quite succeed in keeping the smirk off her face. She dropped his gaze and started inching her way out of the booth. "I will be back in a moment."

Tony held up his near-empty bottle and shook it gently. "You getting another?" he asked, requesting a refill.

It didn't seem to be the reason she was leaving, but she went along with the suggestion. "This is number two?" At Tony's nod she continued, "I should definitely get this round."

Standing in front of the booth, she planted her knee on the seat and leaned across it to find her purse amongst the pile of clothes. Tony's eyes made the journey down her top on instinct, but he caught himself before anyone else caught him.

"Same again?" Ziva asked him when she straightened again.

Tony nodded in thanks, and Ziva cocked an eyebrow in question at Borin. Borin shook her head no, and Ziva left the table.

"She always gets the early rounds," Tony told Borin. "She can't be trusted to take the later ones. Ziva drunkenness escalates quickly at times and she gets conveniently forgetful."

Borin nodded at this piece of unnecessary information as she reached for a pretzel. "Uh-huh. You know, I never hear anyone else say your name like that."

Tony looked at her blankly, not quite understanding what she was saying. "She's Israeli," he told her obviously, taking a punt that Borin was talking about Ziva's accent.

But Borin rolled her eyes and chuckled. "I know that, dumbass," she said gently, but didn't elaborate further. Instead, she went some place scarier. "How long has it been going on between you two?"

Tony swallowed a mouthful of beer without choking. "What?"

Borin waved her hand in the direction Ziva had gone. "This state of flirtatious purgatory."

It was the first time Tony had ever heard it put like that, and he had to smirk at her creativity. "Flirtatious purgatory?"

Borin lifted her eyebrows in comment and sipped her beer. He shook his head at her and fed her the standard (and technically true) line.

"Nothing's going on."

Borin nodded, but she clearly wasn't convinced. "Sure. You're just friends and co-workers."

"Right," he said. "She's my partner. The relationship breeds a sense of familiarity that's often mistaken for something else. You know how it is."

Borin nodded again. "I do," she said agreeably. "But I don't think anyone's ever accused me of staring at any of my partners like I can't wait to screw them." She held her thumb and forefinger apart as Tony's mouth dropped open at her bluntness. "Slight difference."

He stared at her for a moment before he collected himself and answered her. "I don't think anyone's accused me of that before either," he lied.

"I am," Borin said with a challenging smile. "Right now."

The two of them had a staring competition as Borin dared him to deny it and Tony dared her to back down. But Borin's spine had been fused with the same metal as Gibbs', and Tony didn't stand a chance. He cast his eyes down to the table, sipped his beer slowly, and searched for the charm that would conceal how much she'd rattled him.

"Agent Borin," he said slowly and with a smile. "I am at a loss for words."

But his charm had about as much effect on Borin as it did on Gibbs. "Bet that doesn't happen often," she returned quickly, and then placed her hand on the table near his. "Don't worry. I'm sure it's just a one-time thing." She winked at him and reached for another pretzel.

Tony stared at her again. The woman had a quick wit and he was finding it hard to keep up. Despite the hard time she was giving him (which he knew was all in good fun—sort of), he found himself liking her more than he had that morning. And this morning he liked her more than he had the last time he'd met her. He thought it was a good thing he wasn't interested in her or else he'd be in trouble.

He cleared his throat and forced himself to meet her toe-to-toe and word-for-word. "Did you just accuse me of wanting to screw my partner, but being ill-equipped to do so, within two sentences?"

Borin snorted as she seemingly got the reaction she was looking for, and then took pity. "Look, forget about that, DiNozzo. You know what you should be focusing on? Making a damn move. One of you needs to," she said firmly, and stabbed the table with her finger for emphasis. "It doesn't matter which one because the outcome'll be the same. So you gotta think about which role you want to have in this movie. The one who waits? Or the one who makes it happen?"

For the third time in five minutes, Borin left him speechless. She was like Gibbs on steroids. No, Gibbs on estrogen, which was worse because she had all the guts of Gibbs, but was completely comfortable with discussing things like feelings. It had to be a bad idea to keep answering her questions. It had to bite him in the ass in the end. But damn it, she had to be at least as good as Gibbs when it came to interrogations because despite his concerns, Tony found himself talking.

He leaned over the table and, after checking the immediate vicinity for Ziva, he brought up something that had been weighing on his mind for a while. "Last year you told me that I had better people to ask out than you."

Borin nodded. "Yep. And in response to what you want to ask right now, yes, I was talking about Ziva. I don't know what she'll say, but I think it's clear she at least wants to say yes. But hey, you know her a lot better than I do. What do you think, DiNozzo?"

Nothing. He couldn't think anything. The Ziva part of his mind was mush. He leaned right back again and shook his head at her in awe. "I think you're an even tougher version of Gibbs."

Borin looked pleased by the information. She leaned over to smack his cheek gently. "Tough love, DiNozzo."

"Less tough, more love," he whined.

Borin snorted again and chewed on another pretzel. "Love? But I barely even know you."

Tony arched an eyebrow. "Oh, really? Because it feels like you know me well."

Borin shrugged and grabbed another pretzel. "God, I'm starving. How long do you reckon it'll take these guys to make me a steak?"

As she craned her neck to try to see what the food ordering line was like, Tony took a moment to think over what she'd said. That one of them—him or Ziva—just had to make a move. That the outcome would be the same, no matter who made it. That they were clearly more than friends and partners. It wasn't the first time someone had assumed something about their relationship, but it probably was the first time that anyone had blatantly refused to take him at his word that there was nothing going on. And Tony supposed that her timing was impeccable. Because he had made a move, and Ziva had been very receptive to it. So while technically it was still the truth that there was nothing going on, these days his denials felt more like a lie. As far as he could tell, the two of them had a tacit agreement that they would move things forward when they were both ready. A couple of weeks ago he had thought they weren't quite there yet. But he wondered if that wasn't just their fear talking.

Maybe they were ready after all.

Movement to his right caught his eye, and Tony looked up to see Ziva approaching with two more bottles of beer and her wallet tucked under her arm. She was still a few steps away when he leaned over the table towards Borin again to get her attention.

"Hey," he said, drawing Borin's eyes from the laminated burger and steak menu. "It's not about screwing, as you so eloquently put it."

He didn't know why it was so important to make sure that Borin knew it. But Borin did. She watched him quietly for a few moments as Ziva approached from behind her, and then gave him a warm smile.

"Yeah, Tony. I know."

…

More agents and their associated civilian friends were still arriving at the bar when Borin decided that she had to be responsible and head home. It was still early—only 2200—and Ziva argued loudly that Borin should stay out for a while longer and have another drink. But Borin was due back at the office early the next morning and had convinced herself that sleep was more important to her than more beer and pretzels. Tony, who had turned a lot more introspective after his chat with Borin and had subsequently stopped drinking after his second beer, offered to drive her home. But Borin had waved the suggestion off as unnecessary, hailed the next taxi to come down the street, and then disappeared into the night with a smile and a knowing wink. Ziva wasn't paying attention, but Tony knew what Borin was getting at. And although it held a certain appeal, he also knew tonight wasn't the right night. Ziva was just a little too loud and tipsy for a serious conversation.

They headed back to the Navy Yard on foot to retrieve Tony's car. The temperature had dropped in the three hours they'd been in the sauna posing as a bar, but the humidity still clung to Tony's skin. Ziva, however, didn't seem to notice.

"I like it when she comes for a drink," she was telling him at double-Ziva-speed.

"Yeah," Tony said, slower than normal to counter Ziva's haste. "I like her more and more every time I see her. As a friend, I mean."

Ziva gave no indication that she has thought he'd liked her in any other way. Instead she nudged him with the whole right side of her body and looked up at him with curiosity. "You have turned into an ostrich."

Tony frowned deeply at what he assumed was a regular Ziva-mangled idiom before he chuckled. "I can't even begin to imagine where you're trying to go with that."

Ziva 'tsk'ed to herself and waved her hand around in front of her in a random pattern. "No, no. What are the animals with the tails? Possum! You are a possum!" she declared, pointing her finger accusingly.

Tony shook his head slowly. "Still not following you. Drunk Ziva is even harder to translate than Normal Ziva."

"I am not drunk," she countered. "I am just a little bit frothy."

He understood where she'd intended to go with that, and couldn't help laughing. "Bubbly, Ziva."

Ziva smiled at her mistake. "Oh. That sounds like more fun."

"I think people froth when they have rabies," he told her.

She shook her head firmly. "I do not have rabies. I am positive."

"I believe you," he said, and cut a sideways look at her. "Explain the possum thing?"

Ziva surprised him by linking her arm through his, and for a moment he was taken back to when Schmiel had visited and she'd done the same thing. She'd held on to him like this all the way down in the elevator and didn't let go until they had reached her car. It was a new thing she was doing, but he wouldn't say that he didn't like it.

"You are quiet," Ziva explained to him.

Now he understood what she was saying. While she and Borin had gotten louder and louder, she had nevertheless noticed him turning inwards. But he argued the point, if only because she was in the kind of mood where it was fun to argue with her.

"I'm not quiet. I'm chatty. A regular Chatty Cathy."

"I do not know anyone named Cathy," Ziva told him without a trace of humor. "And you were chatty. Then you turned quiet and reflective and Gibbs-ish. What happened?"

He felt that the moment needed a joke to prevent them from heading in a serious direction. But he couldn't think of one. Borin had put him off his game. So he tried to deflect her concern instead. "Nothing. I was just thinking. It happens sometimes."

Ziva tugged on his arm, and the added weight to his left side turned his head in her direction. Her face was tilted up towards his and he could see the faintest flush of pink staining her cheeks. Whether that was from the heat or the beer, Tony wasn't sure. But it sure was cute either way.

Not that he would share that thought with her right now.

"What did Borin say to you?" she asked him.

He played dumb. "About what?"

"About whatever made you quiet and reflective and Gibbs-ish."

They stopped at a corner to wait for a break in traffic, and Tony took a few moments to just look at her and try to decide whether he should go ahead and tell her after all. Then she tilted her head back to rest the point of her chin on his arm as she looked up at him, and he decided that she definitely wasn't in the right frame of mind. Although they were closer now than ever before, it still wasn't a move that a sober Ziva would make. He gave her a knowing smile that would tease her instead of tell her.

"Oh, about that?" he replied playfully. "Well, she said some things. You know?"

Ziva narrowed her eyes at him for a moment and then lifted her chin from him. "Now I cannot translate Sober Tony," she muttered.

He smiled and led her across the intersection a block down from the Navy Yard. "Well, let me get home and drink a bottle of wine, and then we should be speaking the same language."

She pulled away from him suddenly as a thought occurred to her, although she still held on to the crook of his elbow. "Are you coming to my place?" she asked. "I feel like watching a movie."

Technically it was a school night (even if only an on call one), so Tony thought he probably shouldn't. Especially not when he was carrying this relationship bomb so carefully in his head. But he doubted that Ziva would remain focused enough to continue to question him about anything, and he was always a sucker for a movie night where he could teach her a thing or two.

"Okay. What do you want to watch?"

"I do not care," she said, waving her hand dismissively, before proceeding to rattle off a list of things she did not care to watch. "Nothing sad. Or sappy. Or too deep. Or historical. Or that will require me to concentrate. But nothing that is too dumb or shallow, either."

Tony nodded along as he tried to think of a suitable title. "Okay," he said at length. "Have I introduced you to Marilyn yet?"

"Monroe?" Ziva asked. "I know who she is."

"Gentlemen Prefer Blondes, Ziva."

She misunderstood. "I thought you mostly dated brunettes."

"No, it's—" He started to explain himself, but then decided that it didn't matter. She'd understand soon enough. "Yeah, Ziva. I usually date brunettes. But Marilyn was one hell of a blonde."

Ziva looked up at him with a playful smirk. "Then let's spend some time with her on my couch."

It was an offer he couldn't refuse.

...

When Ziva opened the second bottle of wine and poured him his fourth glass, Tony started wondering how she might feel about him staying the night. He'd stayed over before—a couple of times while Gibbs had gone through his retirement phase, and then a smattering of occasions in the years since when he'd either been too drunk to drive or they were catching a very early flight in the morning. But he hadn't for a while now, and certainly not since The Kiss. That shouldn't have changed anything. They were friends, and sometimes friends crashed on each others' couches. But The Kiss somehow made the idea of staying the night feel a little more risky, even if he'd spend the night on the couch. Or maybe he was over thinking it. Maybe Ziva wouldn't bat an eye when he asked for a pillow. Maybe she already assumed he'd stay, and that was why she was drowning him with red wine.

Ziva half filled her own glass and then settled back on the couch beside him. It had taken him a while to find a version of Gentlemen Prefer Blondes to stream through Ziva's TV, but now Marilyn was trying on Lady Beekman's tiara. It didn't surprise him that Ziva wasn't really watching the movie, but she seemed to be enjoying herself anyway.

"I am not drunk," she informed him out of the blue, even if she kind of slurred it. "My face just feels…" She trailed off but lifted her hands to make a squeezing motion in front of her face."

"Painful?" he tried to translate.

Ziva closed her eyes and shook her head. "No, no. Like…like a latex pillow."

Tony pursed his lips. He had no idea what that was supposed to mean. "And you're not drunk?" he asked pointedly.

"No."

He thought that the likelihood of her admitting it was small, and so he decided to just go along with it. "Okay."

She looked at him out of the corner of her eye. "You do not believe me," she stated.

"Of course I do."

Ziva wagged her finger in his vague direction. "I know you are lying, but I cannot bring myself to care."

"I just think it's a good thing that tomorrow is technically not a work day."

Ziva smiled, and then let her head drop to rest against his arm. "Yes. Very good."

"It'll let you sleep off the hangover," he added.

"I am not drunk!" she insisted again, then took a moment to think. "But in case I am, it would make me feel less self-conscious about the fact if you were to suffer from the same alcohol-related Latex pillow face affliction as me."

Tony raised his eyebrows, impressed. "Wow. Maybe you are sober. Drunk Ziva would never be able to get those words out."

She tilted her head back to look up at him. "The language center of Drunk Ziva's brain gets confused between the eight that it knows."

He rolled his eyes. "Show off," he accused. "Even when your face feels like a Latex pillow."

She hummed and got a little more comfortable against him. "Don't you like the wine, Tony?"

"I've had four glasses," he protested, and took another long sip as evidence. "Latex pillow face right around the corner."

"That's comfortable," she murmured, and then barely paused before telling him, "I like Borin."

Tony smiled, eager to share his revelation. "I had the thought that she's exactly what Gibbs would be like on estrogen."

Ziva snorted in a very drunken and unladylike way. "You are probably close," she said. "But Borin is far more social."

"It doesn't take much to be more social than Gibbs," he pointed out, and finished his glass of wine. When he turned his head he felt his brain struggle to keep up with the move and felt momentarily dizzy. Yeah, Latex pillow face wasn't far off.

"He has his things," Ziva said, stretching one leg out onto the coffee table. "His boat. Fornell."

Tony nodded, but felt suddenly sad. "I worry about him sometimes," he told her.

"So do I."

He tilted his head down so that his cheek pressed against the top of her head. "And I'm worried I'll turn into him," he admitted. "But with movies instead of a boat."

Ziva put her hand on his thigh in comfort. "I will not let you."

It was a throwaway comment, he knew. But he thought it was likely that he'd hold onto the comment later. "Good."

Ziva nodded against him and left her hand where it lay on his thigh. Tony was completely fine with that. "Who is the other woman?" she asked.

"Huh?" What was she accusing him of?

"With Marilyn," she said, and pointed at the television with her foot.

"Oh. Jane Russell."

"I like her," Ziva said approvingly. "She is…" she paused to grunt, "I know I am going to get this wrong."

Tony grinned in anticipation. "Try."

Ziva squeezed her eyes shut as she ran through the options in her head. "Not crass. Not classy. Not Lassie. Tassy?"

He had to think for a moment. "Sassy?" he tried.

Ziva clicked her fingers. "Yes! I like that. Or doll."

"Droll."

"Yes," she nodded, and paused. "I understand the visual appeal of Marilyn. I suppose I understand why her breathless dizzy—"

"Ditzy."

"…young girl act appeals."

"I'm sensing you are not a fan."

Ziva sniffed. "I do not dislike her."

"You want to watch something else?"

"No. I am just saying I do not relate to her."

"Okay."

"She is very American," she said, and it sounded like an accusation.

"That's why you don't relate to her?"

"I do not relate to her because I have never aspired to be a pin up. I do not have the chest for it. Or the hair. Or the face. Or the interest in objectification."

Tony thought about how to respond to that. Was Ziva Marilyn-like? God, no. But that wasn't a bad thing. "There is no single comment I can make right now that is appropriate."

She blinked up at him. "You should probably drink more wine, then."

"Ms David, are you trying to get me drunk?" he asked with a smile.

Ziva failed to hide her smirk behind her glass. "Perhaps."

Tony refilled his glass. That didn't sound so bad.

There really will be a case, I promise. Just bringing in some T/Z closeness.