Title: Pirates' Treasure

Author: Devylish

Category: Het/Romance

Fandom: NCIS

Pairing: I'd kinda rather not say

Rating: PG13 language and sexual reference

Spoilers: None.

Summary: ncisflashfic Original Character Challenge.

Disclaimer: I WISH I owned either any of the characters in NCIS, but I only own the computer I'm typing on. So, please don't sue me, cuz it would only earn you a half-a lap-top!

Note: Unbeta'd cuz… uh… I donts gots one… volunterz:D

Note2: Reviews are love and love makes the world go round and if the world doesn't go round we will all die, so do your part to keep us all alive by reviewing my writing…!

Question about the definition of Booty prompted from a recent ep. of Beauty and The Geek which I also don't own.

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It's been about six or seven months that I've been dealing with the two of them coming in. And let me tell you, it hasn't always been pleasant. I mean, they treat me pretty respectfully, but, I haven't always gotten their relationship, particularly, not in the beginning. I do now. Now I know, that all of that banter, that silence, even the threats, those were a kind of, well, foreplay. Not the kind I normally see, but foreplay nonetheless.

Well, anyway, as I was saying, I have my regular spot at Elsas, the local upscale/downscale pub around the corner from everywhere. 6-7 months ago, on a Friday night I think it was, the two of them wandered in, looking kind of weary, and headed in my direction. They didn't say much, just sat down at the small booth and ordered their drinks… their silence disturbed me, and I found myself wondering who they were to one another.

I was thwarted on that first night… I didn't find out much, they were just that silent. Leaving a tip, they got up and left after just under an hour, and I figured they were just one of the many mysteries that I would just never be able to solve… in my line of business, you get use to meeting people who only enter your life for a second, then disappear for a lifetime. You take what they give you, and let the rest go.

But when I saw the two of them come in the next weekend at around the same time on another Friday night, I began to have hope that I might get to know more about them. Hell, I have long days, and long nights on my job, people come in, and people go out; I take my pleasure where I can, even if it's from my small interactions from the odd groups, individuals, couples that come in. And it turns out, that's exactly what these two were, an odd couple. Actual, I found out on this second visit that they were only a couple in the most technical sense of the word. To this day, I still don't know where they work, but I've collected from various conversations that they are co-workers.

Now, if you had asked me when they walked in the door six months ago if they would ever be anything more than co-workers or maybe friends, I would have barked with laughter at you, but, well, now… hmmm, as things stand, it's a good thing I didn't place any bets with anyone…. Cuz they woulda' won.

After their third Friday in the bar, I figured they were just a couple of co-workers, unwinding after a hectic week and that Fridays would be when I would be seeing them. Then they threw a wrench in to the works and came in on a Wednesday night.

Wednesday night! I watched them walk toward me, each bearing an armful of books and papers. Ordering sodas and appetizers they sat at the booth and arranged their documents and tomes into piles.

Although the delivery of their drinks and appetizers only took a few minutes, the mood around us had already changed. She was biting her lip as she read a magazine and he was looking at her surreptitiously through his eyelashes as he scribbled in a note book. I, of course, watched them both; not quite understanding what had brought about this change in routine, but as involved in their conversations as I could be.

We were together for perhaps three hours that night; me – confused, her – confused, him – frustrated. Then they gathered all of their belongings, and left a good tip – good tippers are good people.

That Friday night brought a repeat of them and their pile of books. And it also brought me a clarification of why they were bringing in the unwieldy heaps of books and papers. Apparently, they'd made a deal. He would help her pick up/understand the nuances of American culture and she would give him information for his next novel on what it was like to a part of the Mustard, or Mustache, or Muscle, or… I'm sorry, but it's noisy in Elsa's I haven't been able to clarify exactly what group she's a part of.

Anyway, that's the deal. And in my opinion it wasn't a particularly good deal. Excuse my French, but, how the hell do you teach 'nuance'? And in particular, how do you teach nuance to her!? Oh, okay, I admit it. I think I developed a little bit of a crush on him for a while there. I mean he's cute, and sweet, and one of the kindest souls I've ever met, not to mention smart. But, fortunately, I've gotten over my crush….

What?!

Well, I have!!!!

I really do think they make a lovely couple… NOW…. But, it was a bit of touch and go there for a while. She's smart, very smart, but she's impatient; she hates to take things slowly, and he is all about going slowly, covering all of the bases. That irritates the heck out of her; but so does not having a clear cut answer to a question. Take for instance, one of the questions she had about three months into their deal.

"McGee, I don't get it. Booty is pirates' treasure. Why are all of these women described as having pirates' treasure?"

I watched him shift uncomfortably in his seat, before 'manning up' and giving his co-worker the bad news that booty had at least 2 other meanings.

"Ziva, uh. B.o.o.t.i.e. is a little sock or foot covering placed normally on a child or baby's foot to keep it warm. The B.o.o.t.y. spelling has three meanings, um, one of which is –"

"Pirates treasure, no?"

See what I mean about impatient?

"Yes, pirates' treasure, you're right, but…"

"Why in the world would all of these women be in possession of pirates' treasures? It makes no sense!"

I looked at him to see how he would handle this situation… blush I assumed…. Ah… yes, there it was… cute. But he was braver than he looked, he would forge through and try and give her the other definitions of booty.

"Ziva, the other definitions of Booty are, uh, physical and sexual."

I watched him lift his hand to the back of his neck as if to relieve a build up of stress there.

"Sexual pirates' treasure?"

"No Ziva, the other definitions don't have anything to do with pirates' treasure. Booty can mean ummm, bottoms, or, buttocks."

"Ass?"

He and I both sighed with relief.

"Yes, 'Ass""

"So Booty means ass… and men want women's asses… okay. That makes much more sense."

McGee then became more technical and clarified for her, "of course if someone mentions that someone has a nice, uh, booty, he is not necessarily in that instance being sexual, he is in that case using it as a noun and describing her physical uh…"

Ziva looked at him "… ass!"

"Yes. Exactly!"

And then she asked the question that I think actually changed their relationship – I don't know if you've ever been around when a world, a microcosm changes, but I see it happen, well, more often than you'd think, and it still awes me every time – she asked McGee to use the word booty in a sexual way.

And he blushed again. Honestly, if you ever get a chance to meet him — to meet McGee – do something to make him blush, it's adorable!

"Ziva, I don't think that it would be appropriate for me to –"

"McGee, the deal was, I learn, you learn… If you stop teaching me, I'll stop teaching you; your choice."

Lovely shade of red… really.

"Okay. Okay. Ummm…: 'I haven't had any booty recently.' There. Satisfied?"

"That's still a noun."

"Well, yes…"

"And, couldn't it technically mean you haven't seen any 'ass' recently?"

"Well, yes…"

"So how is the physical definition different from the sexual definition?"

"Ziva, it just is. It's the nuance, the context in which it is used. The assumption is that I wouldn't be telling you about the fact that I haven't seen any asses recently, but rather that I would be talking about not having had any sex recently."

Both she and I looked at him. Even his ears turn red.

She slid in closer to him in the booth, "So, McGee, have you really not had any booty recently?" She paused for just a beat and then added, "Did I say that appropriately?"

"I'm not answering that, and, uh, yes you did."

Well, that's how it started. Ziva was kind of hooked after that. I swear, she found every sexually explicit, innuendo filled American slang word she could after that – and we Americans are apparently a very verbal lot. She found the words and she brought them to his attention just to see him squirm; she found a topic that might have innuendo in it, and she brought it to his attention just to see him blush; it was, at this point, I think, a kind of harmless game for her, she saw him as innocent -- no danger for her more experienced heart.

Apparently, she was unaware of the whole opposites attract theory. You know, the thing that based itself off of Yin and Yang. I see it happen all the time, not normally in as extreme a case as in Ziva and Timothy's, but, often enough that I know I wouldn't play the game she was playing.

Well anyway, Ziva finally pushed one too many of McGee's buttons about one month ago… I'd seen it coming… I just hadn't known which series of button pushing would be the 'one' to set him off.

Throughout the past couple of months she had gradually been sitting closer and closer to him in the booth, teasing him with her presence. She didn't do it in an attempt to be mean, but more because 'it was something to do', and because 'he was teaseable'… i.e. he was 'just McGee'. (I had a funny feeling, everyone picked on him to a degree, and he was good natured enough to handle it in small doses.) But a man can only take so much, and Ziva, well, she's not a mild woman. When she sets something in her sights, even if it's just for a game, she seems to go after it full throttle.

On this particular night she had leaned across him in the booth -- ostensibly to reach for one of the books he had brought with him -- her breast brushed against his arm, and as she pulled back she looked at him and asked, "so McGee, have you had a chance to get any booty recently?"

I saw something flicker in his eyes briefly before he responded. "No." And the he turned and looked her in the eyes "Are you offering Ziva?"

I don't know that I've ever seen Ziva not have an answer for a question. She always has an answer… it might not be the right answer, but it was answer none the less. Well to this question, McGee's question, she had no answer. Her jaw dropped open as if she was going to say something . . . . . and I waited . . . . and he waited . . . . and . . . . nope… nothing.

Finally, he leaned in toward her and with the finger of his left hand, gently lifted her lower jaw up. He smiled, still a sweet McGee smile, but this time, there was a sleepy kind of, well, seduction in his eyes. He leaned in a little closer and said softly "I didn't hear you say 'No'." And I could see her draw in a small breath – not to speak, merely to survive.

Well, I don't know about y'all, but when my friends start getting all hot and bothered like that around me, it can be a little, disconcerting. And, yes, at this point, I would call Tim and Ziva my friends. I don't everything about them, but I feel that I know them. They feel comfortable around me, and I feel comfortable around them… well except for when they're seducing one another… which happened more and more after 'the offer'.

That weekend when Friday rolled around, I waited expectantly for the pair to wander in and I was somewhat surprised to see Ziva arrive by herself. She came and sat at my booth immediately, sitting first at the edge, then, seemingly rethinking her spot and positioning herself directly in the center of the booth. She, of course, didn't say anything to me about her strategic repositioning of herself, but I could read that movement to the center of the booth easily. She was telling McGee, in not so many words, that she wasn't afraid to be in his proximity. It's funny how she can be both so smart and so dumb at the same time.

Any whooohaaa, McGee arrived, not even 2 minutes later, scanning the crowd quickly before checking our regular booth to find both Ziva and I both comfortably ensconced. As he headed to our table, I couldn't decide whether I wanted to watch Ziva or him more. She had decided to look at him head on – pure Ziva style – bull by the horns and all that crap. He too was making direct eye contact -- less classic McGee style – more man with mission style.

Watching the two of them, I remember thinking: "This will either be extremely interesting, or extremely embarrassing."

Ordering drinks for the table, McGee slid into the booth until he was seated directly beside Ziva, their thighs touching beneath the table.

"You didn't bring your notebooks McGee." Ziva noted.

"Nope."

"No?"

"No."

She wanted him to explain, to babble, to distract her from the fact that it was just the three of us together in this little booth, and the fact that their thighs were pressed firmly against one another.

"Why didn't you bring your notebooks McGee? Are we not studying tonight?"

McGee made his move then. "I thought we'd do something different tonight Ziva." He turned in the booth so that he was facing her and he reached for her hands pulling both of her delicate wrists into one of his hands.

She and I were both somewhat enthralled by this action. Men didn't often take the initiative with Ziva, they, well, they were often intimidated by her and she was use to being the one who led the dance versus being the one who was led. But here was McGee -- McGee of all people! --using his thumb to gently massage the back of her hand, and his unhurried, deliberate ministrations seemed to be working. Ziva's eyes drifted from his hand, to his face, to hairline, to his lips. And as a woman, I can tell you exactly what she was thinking. She was wondering what it would feel like to have his unhurried, deliberate touch on the rest of her skin; what it would be like to trace the lines of his face, to run her hands through his hair, to touch his lips.

Eventually, McGee pulled her wrists a little closer to his body, and brought his lips to her neck to gently nuzzle it. When she tugged her wrists half-heartedly away from his hand he held them just a little tighter.

"McGee" she murmured.

"Yes Ziva?"

"You know, I could break out of your grip if I wanted to don't you?"

"Yes, I know," he responded and licked what appeared to be a particularly sensitive spot on her neck.

"That whole Vulcan Death grip thing you're so fond of…"

Her breath caught and then she continued. "That you're so fond of, well, in the M--" someone broke a glass in the bar at just this moment dammnit!, "--d, they teach us something very similar to that that actually works."

"Mmmmm Hmmmmmmm."

"So, ohhhh, okay, yes, ummm, basically, I could break several bones in your body quite easily."

"Mmmm, Hmmmmm, gotcha."

People totally underestimate McGee's bravery!

"You're not afraid?"

He stopped his devoted assault of her neck and looked her in the eyes, "Of someone as amazing as you? No. My only fear is of not being given a chance."

'Good answer McGee' I rooted!

She blinked quickly two, three times and then they just stared at one another.

"Ziva?" He bent his head in a few inches, glancing at her lips.

"McGee?" the tip of her tongue parted her lips in semi-anticipation.

"Have you gotten any booty recently?" he asked with a smile before dipping his lips to meet hers.

And that's how it happened.

That's how McGee and David became an item.

As I said, I still don't know everything there is to know about them, but I still love having them come in. They're an adorable couple. Smart, and tough, fast, and methodical. Yin and Yang. They're one of my favorite visitors. I think one of the things I have learned from them is that there is someone for everyone. And that that 'Someone' isn't always who you think he/she will be.

Their love story gives this old wooden table, located at booth number 3, in the corner of Elsas' pub, hope that some day there will still be a love for her…. Be it a chair, or a barstool, or even a human man.