Today I am posting my six final stories as a part of the NCIS fan fiction community. Thank you so much for reading, reviewing, favoriting and alerting my stories- you all have made my time here worthwhile.

On the way to crime scenes, she twists her thick hair into a bun at the base of her head. She holds it there with one hand while the other wraps an elastic around it once, twice, thrice. He is usually sitting on her right; more often than not, her elbow comes terribly close to hitting him in the face. By now, he's pretty sure she does it on purpose. That doesn't stop him from whining, "Ziva," and lightly smacking her arm.

The tradition they've created dictates that this is followed by her dazzling, innocent smile.

And, of course, he melts.

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"Do you see anything?"

His muscles are ready to go slack, but Tony clenches his teeth and locates another ounce of energy. When Ziva calls, "No. Lift me higher," he manages to. Barely.

She, suspended above him, supported only by his fingers curled over her hips, cranes her neck to better see the flat roof of the house's detached garage. "What about now?" he pants.

"I think…" Maneuvering herself in midair, she plants the heel of her boot on his chest and pushes down. He yelps. "Sorry, Tony."

The pain becomes too much. "I'm dropping you in three… two…"

Ziva gracefully hops to the ground before he is done counting. Her eyes widen when she sees the dirt on his windbreaker. "Sorry," she says again, rubbing the spot over his heart. He feels himself flush and glances away. "I was trying to get a better look at something."

"What was it?"

"Shell casing. I do not know how it got up there, but that's what it was." She removes her baseball cap, and a loose strand of hair covers her eye. He brushes it back without a second thought. "It's too hot out to be climbing on roofs," she gripes before wandering off to find Gibbs. He chuckles under his breath and follows her, as he always does.

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The unraveling of the bun is a fascinating sight to see.

She usually waits until she is standing behind her desk before tugging the elastic out; in one smooth motion, she lets her hair fall onto her shoulders and frame her face (which, frankly, is how he prefers it). That's the extent of her routine; she doesn't need to do anything else.

She already looks perfect.

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"Marcus Waters," Ziva announces, coming to stand beside Tony in front of the plasma as they brief Gibbs. "Thirty-two year old lance corporal. Never married, no children. Parents are in their eighties; they are retired and reside in Florida. He just returned from Afghanistan three weeks ago."

"A couple of old ladies down the street- wanted us to keep them updated on the case, by the way; they were very Angela Lansbury in The Mirror Crack'd- saw a woman entering the house about nine p.m. last night," Tony supplies. "They didn't see her come out."

"Get a name." Gibbs shakes his coffee cup. "Empty," he growls, and walks off.

Once he is gone, Tony turns to his teammates and says, "Who wants to go through the call logs looking for the lady friend, and who wants to go get lunch, because I'm starving and somebody needs to."

Ziva and McGee glance at each other. "I will get the food," she says, as Tony knew she would. She walks back to her desk and pulls out her gun. "Are sandwiches okay?"

"Fine with me," McGee says.

"Me too." Tony watches her shrug on her jacket. "Hey, McGoo, you mind if I go with her? Help carry everything?"

The junior agent shakes his head without taking his eyes off of his computer screen. Tony scrambles after Ziva, catching up with her at the elevator.

"You do not want to help me. You just don't want to do any work," she accuses as they step inside.

He grins, unashamed. "You caught me."

Ziva rolls her eyes, but the corners of her mouth quirk up. She pushes the button for the lobby, then lightly bumps his hip with hers.

"It is okay," she says. "I like your company."

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When a case keeps them at the office late, Ziva goes down to the agents' locker room for a shower around eight or nine o'clock. She seems to be in a better mood by the time she returns in yoga pants and a t-shirt. Usually, she skips brushing her hair. The resulting wet, curly mess never fails to distract him from whatever it is that he should be doing.

He spends the rest of these nights sneaking glances at her over the top of his computer monitor. He's never sure whether she catches on or not.

If she does, she doesn't say a thing.

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It takes McGee hours to locate the woman who visited their victim last night, because she has, apparently, been living under multiple aliases (which makes her even more suspicious, of course). When he finally gets her original name and a current address, Gibbs orders Tony to bring her in.

"This late, Boss?" Tony asks, glancing at the clock, which reads half-past eight. "I mean, I can go in the mor-"

"Now, DiNozzo. Take Ziva."

Without any further argument, Tony leaves. He goes to the locker room, figuring that Ziva should be almost done- she's been down there for fifteen minutes now. As he pulls open the door to the women's showers with the intention of sticking his head in and calling for her to finish up, she comes out in nothing but a towel. She barrels right into him. He stumbles backwards, hands reflexively seizing her waist, until he is squished between her and the wall.

Ziva is staring up at him with wide eyes, but doesn't appear to be in any hurry to move away. "What are you doing here?"

He gulps as he notices the droplets of water trailing down her neck, over her collarbone, and disappearing under the hem of the towel. "Came to get you. We found the chick Waters was seeing; Gibbs wants us to pick her up."

Ziva groans and detaches herself from him, and he sees that she has left a big wet spot in the middle of his shirt. "Fine. Let me get dressed." She watches him expectantly; when he doesn't do anything, she snaps, "Turn around!"

"Oh." Blushing, Tony faces the wall that he was just pressed up against. "Sorry."

He hears the towel hit the floor and makes a valiant effort not to think about the fact that she is four feet behind him and naked. There is some more shuffling. "Where does she live?"

"Alexandria."

"We'll be back here by nine or a little after, then." Zip. "Okay, I am decent." She comes to stand at his side and impatiently runs her hands through her hair. "I will just have to leave this."

"I like it that way," he says without thinking. He quickly bites his tongue, but it's too late.

She raises her eyebrows. "What way?"

"You know. All… wild." Tony shrugs sheepishly. "It's always straight now. Which looks nice, too, but, um… you know. I just-"

"You talk too much," Ziva interrupts, but she is smiling.

"So I've been told."

She steps forward until she is completely invading his personal space for the second time in five minutes. Their chests brush. Her warm breath washes over his mouth, igniting chills all over his body. "I did not know you had preferences when it came to my hair, Tony."

"Well. I do spend a lot of time with you."

"That is true." Ziva tugs on one of his belt loops.

He gulps. What is she doing? What am I doing?

Then, when her other arm snakes around his back, he releases his inhibitions and allows himself to fall into her embrace.

"I will keep your opinion in mind," she says.

Tony lifts his hands and digs them into those enticing curls. He drags her head up to his and he doesn't really mean to, but he does kiss her, filling the air with sparks and heat until their mouths all but mold together.

After so many years of avoidance- of not discussing what needs to be discussed- of leaving things unresolved between them- it strikes Tony as ironic that this kiss comes on the heels of mere flirtation. Desire, he thinks, is a funny thing.

Sometimes, there is simply no stopping it.

Sometimes, like her hair, it just cascades.