Disclaimer: ... I don't own NCIS, okay! Geez, you don't have to stare at me like that :(

Spoilers: Major spoilers to 10x01 "Extreme Prejudice" and 10x02 "Recovery." Minor 9x12 "Housekeeping"—it's slight. So slight, you won't even have to blink to miss it :P because there's no proper reference; it's just all in my head that I sorta used a theme from it. And that was a major waste of your time. Never mind.

Dedications: To Anne, who's been bugging me about a tag forever; and to Mikey, who's been asking me about the tag Anne's been bugging me about forever. I love you both. I tried to work fluff, but it's just not coming, so I hope you'll settle for not-angst.

Enjoy, everyone! And please review!

-Soph

Today

He twirls his pen with his fingers, noting how quiet his surroundings are. It's seven-thirty in the evening, and the entire floor is empty save for Ziva, himself, and another two agents—the as-yet-unpainted walls are a reminder to everyone of how things are not yet back to normal, he thinks, and most agents are at home spending as much time with their families as possible. Huh. Maybe with another bombing, he'd be the only one left on the floor at this time of the night.

His partner rises and turns off her desk light just as he chastises himself for the thought, and he feels a pang of disappointment run through him. There's a strange sort of comfort he feels in seeing her there, even if they aren't talking. Somehow, merely being around her makes him feel less alone.

"Heading home?" he asks, faking a bright smile.

"Yes," she answers, but instead stepping around her desk with a goodnight like he expects her to, she hesitates and then approaches his desk instead. His heart skips a beat. Someday, he reminds himself as she studies him. Someday, he's going tell her how he really feels about her. "Do you want to get some drinks?" she asks him.

"Can't." He grimaces at his desk. "Paperwork."

"Hmm," she murmurs. He watches as she stares contemplatively at the piles of paper on his desk. "Okay."

She retreats, and he feels disappointment flood him again—but then, she surprises him once more by retrieving her chair and wheeling it over to his side. "Give me half," she commands as she sits down, beckoning with her fingers, and he raises his eyebrows. "Come on, Tony. You want to get drinks and … mope, yes?"

"Mope?"

"Judy, our fragrant-smelling killer."

"Ah. I haven't been thinking about her."

"Liar." Ziva chuckles. "You have had her smell on your mind all day."

"God, that sounds awful." He wrinkles his nose. "But yeah, she did smell real good."

His partner scrunches up her nose in return, pulling her bottom lip in between her teeth as she reaches over to take half of the pile. "Y'know, you smell real good too," he adds, cocking his head to observe her, and she almost drops the paperwork.

She clears her throat and sits back carefully—almost too carefully, he thinks. And then, her lips start to twitch. "I believe your word was 'ripe,' yes?" she asks, amusement dancing in her eyes.

"That was after a few hours of sweating. Besides, better than 'pungent,'" he retorts, and she laughs heartily.

"You would find yourself in so much pain if you had to be trapped in the elevator with Miguel from Human Resources, as sensitive to smells as you are."

"Hey, I'll have you know that Miguel and I get along very well, okay. How is he, anyway?"

"He returned to work yesterday," she replies, the laughter fading a little in her eyes. Miguel had been severely injured in the blast. She shakes her head, as if trying to clear her head of the bad memories. "Anyway, about Judy—you should not worry. You are not 'off your game.' You have just yet to meet the right woman, hmm?"

He blinks.

Yet to meet the right woman?

The right woman is currently sitting next to him, filling out his paperwork with his pen and interspersing it with puzzled glances at him, as if completely oblivious as to the reason for his incredulity. He feels sheer panic start to run through him at that. He's been trying to tell her all along. He's been trying to hint all along that he might find the guts to tell her someday, and that he isn't quite there yet but hopes she can wait for him. Does she really not know, he wonders, or is she trying to shoot me down, too?

His fear must've shown in his eyes, because she drops the pen. "This is not like you," she begins quietly. "I am sure Judy is a very charming woman, but she is no different from the other women whom you have had short-term relationships with, yes? Apart from being a killer, of course. Why are you hurting more this time?"

"It's not her," he admits.

"It's not?" Ziva's eyes widen. "Who, then?"

"It's just…" He ignores her question and rubs his face with his hand, hoping he does not look as despairing as he feels. "Makes me wonder how much I'm reading things right, if I can be so off my game with something like flirting. I mean, it's my forte. Like investigating. How could I have gotten it so wrong?"

"We all make mistakes sometimes."

"I don't want to be mistaken about this, Ziva. The stakes are too high."

She gives him a confused look, as if he's just said something incredibly strange, and then shakes her head again. "Tony, one woman does not make you bad at flirting. Judy is … crazy, yes? First, she kills her boyfriend's boss, and then she keeps the truth from him and flirts with you, and then she tells you that she is spoken for. She is crazy. She is a terrible measure of your skills."

He can't help but to burst into laughter at that. "My skills?"

"Yes," Ziva says firmly, picking up the pen again. "Now, I suggest that you continue doing that paperwork if you want to get out in time for drinks, because I am not doing your half."

Her free hand squeezes his own, and he smiles. Not alone, he tells himself, because she offers him the comfort he needs.

xoxo

They end up going to his apartment after they finish his paperwork, because he's not really in the mood for drinks and she's really in the mood for pizza.

A large pepperoni now sits in front of them, between his feet and hers on the coffee table; it's sweet and domestic and gives him a crazy rush even though the movie playing on television is just some boring old chick flick that he isn't paying attention to. Ziva has stolen one of his cushions and is burrowed into it, one foot propped up onto the coffee table and both hands holding onto an ignored pizza slice.

"That is ridiculous. No decent woman would fall for that," she mutters in disgust just then, and he chuckles at the way she's lost herself in the movie. It makes her turn to him. "What? It is true!"

"I know, I know," he pacifies her, and she makes a face at him.

"You are not even watching."

"It's a chick flick, Ziva! They're for chicks. Even you, apparently."

She shrugs indifferently. "I like making fun of them. What were you thinking about?"

He pauses at the suddenness of the question. "Um, I uh, was just wondering whether I ever read things right with you."

She freezes a little, her eyes widening, and his heart starts to race. He's told the truth and gone too far. Said too much; ruined his chanc—

"Yes," she answers, her voice breaking the tiniest bit. And just like that, the room falls perfectly still. "You are my best friend, Tony. You have been so for a very, very long time. And I would like to think that out of everyone I know, you are the one who understands me the most."

He lets his breath out in a whoosh, fighting the insanely huge grin that threatens to make an appearance."Wow. Honest answer much?"

She chuckles and returns his beam. "I figured that you could use some honesty after the day you've had."

"Huh. I appreciate that." And he does, he realizes as he turns away, because she understands him just as well as she says he understands her.

Her sticky fingers on the back of his hand capture his attention. "I hope you know," she begins hesitantly, "that you could never make mistakes with me, Tony. Not now. Not after all this time."

She squeezes his hand, and he smiles gratefully, his heart beating impossibly quickly as he dares to turn his palm over so that he can entwine his fingers with hers. His ever-impeccable partner takes a bite out of her pizza using her other hand and laughs alongside him when she drops a slice of pepperoni down the front of her blouse.

Someday, he tells himself. Maybe even today.