note: This is... well, angst. I'm not sure where it came from, I just woke up with a few lines from a completely random song on repeat in my head (see below), and I wrote down whatever came to mind. This is it. I don't love it, but hey. This isn't a tag, exactly, but as a note it does take place sometime after the whole season-opener explosion thing, purely for plot.

disclaimer: You know you're obsessed with NCIS when you're up late and you think "Ziva'd be up and running by now, and I'm not even asleep."

listening to: Come away with me, by Norah Jones

was I invading in on your secrets?
was I too close for comfort, you're pushing you out when I wanted in?
what was I just about to discover?
when I got too close for comfort, driving you home,
I guess I'll never know.

-McFly, Too Close for Comfort.

"You sure you're okay?"
His voice is quieter and far more rough than he'd intended, but it does not distract his partner, nor drag her out of the reverie she's been in for most of the day.

"I am fine." she says sharply; her token response when anyone enquires as to how she is. Suddenly she heaves a deep sigh, and in his peripheral vision he sees her raise a hand and press her fingers into her forehead, seemingly wishing to drown out whatever is bothering her. "Sorry. I, um... I have been feeling off all day, I do not mean to shout at you."

His eyebrows raise at the fact that she actually apologizes, but he says nothing about it. Typically, he would come out with some kind of sarcastic remark in an attempt to ease the tension, and they'd be back at square one. Or wherever this whole thing started. But he doesn't, because square one just isn't good enough anymore.
"All of today... you've been worrying me, Ziva. And I know it's not my place, and sure you don't have to tell me, but... God, I don't know."

Her head has shot up, probably at his usage of me and I, rather than their typical we. The latter means you can disguise your feelings by pretending everyone is having them. The former, makes it so much more personal.

"I didn't mean to... worry you, Tony, that was never my intention. I'm sorry."

He brakes slightly too abruptly at the red light; her second apology in half a minute has startled him somewhat. She's definitely not okay.
Knowing that they are mere minutes from her apartment, he leans over and grabs her hand in his, interlinking their fingers as he moves to rest it on the gear stick. He can't quite bring himself to meet her eyes but he expects she'll be looking at him rather in shock.

"You're not okay." he states, his voice implying that he knows he is right. A smug smile on his face, in fact, would just complete the look, but he knows now really isn't the time.

Her hand tenses beneath his but he does not release his tight grasp. If he does, she'll shut down completely. Here, he may be forcing her somewhat to open up, but it's all he can think of right now.

"I am perfect. Just... peachy."
The words sound weird coming from her mouth, but he opts to swallow the remark that dances on his tongue and instead shoot her a look that suggests he thinks differently to her.

Pulling up outside her apartment complex, he's about to ask when he should pick her up in the morning when she announces that her car will be returned to her the next day.
"Oh. You no longer require my services, I see how it is." He fakes a shunned sniff and angles his head to the window defiantly, and she chuckles in her seat. Her hand turns over from its still-existing prison, and he turns to see her looking at him, eyes wide and filled with some thus far unknown emotion- when aimed in his direction, anyway-, and something stirs deep within him as she laces her fingers with his once more.

"I got a phone call this morning, from Tel Aviv," she begins, and he instantly blurts out a hasty theory that Eli David is dead. She laughs genuinely at his tone and tells him of course not. "No, my father has not been killed; it's nothing like that. He just wanted to speak with me. To me, I should say. He called, to... check up on me. And..." she trails off.

"And you don't know how to feel about that?"

"Frequently in my past, I have questioned my father's motives for such actions as this. I used to fear that he would recall me back to Mossad and I would have to leave you."
He briefly wonders whether they're being honest tonight, and you implies him rather than the whole team, but he does not ponder on it.
"I've spent all day wondering why he called."

"To say hello? He checked up on us in the elevator." He somehow feels the need to remind her of this fact, though he suspects she has been remembering that all day, too.

"I do not know. Either way, that is why I have been so... distant, all day. And I apologize for that."

"Why?" the word comes out before he can stop it and god, he really wishes he could sensor everything he says.

"...why what, exactly?"

"Why are you apologizing? You've been saying sorry ever since we got in this car."

"S- oh, perhaps you are right." she says, laughing loudly, and he grins suddenly because yeah, maybe it feels good that she's told him what was bugging her.

Without really thinking, he releases his hand from hers and raises it to her face, brushing away some of her hair before ruffling it affectionately. He does not intend to make her smile, exactly, even if that is what used to happen. Instead, her smile falls and her eyes widen, darting from his hand to his face and to his lips and back again.
"Tony, I..."
He barely says her name in an attempt to stop her speaking, before his hand cups her cheek and he leans over, sliding his hand into her hair as he kisses her over the seat.

She certainly does not seem opposed to the action- quite the opposite, in fact. She shifts closer on her seat and reaches over to touch his face, fingers flitting over his skin and his hair as if she doesn't quite know what to do. Her lips move against his and his heartbeat spikes along with a burning desire that rises through him until suddenly it explodes.
It's as his hand grasps at her waist and glides under her shirt that she pulls back suddenly.

His eyes are delayed from the rest of him and they peel open only to see her pick up her bag and exit the car hurriedly, running to her apartment complex door without looking back.
He knows what floor she's on and what number it is- he's got a key, in fact-, but he does not chase after her. She wouldn't have run if she had wanted him to. Instead, he turns the key in the ignition, sighs, and drives back to his apartment, his brain running a mile a minute with thoughts.

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