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It starts as any other exchange, a pointed question and an equally pointed retort, but then she makes a comment too sharp, and Ziva can feel the shift in pressure in the tiny metal box that is the main elevator.
It is one accidental toe over the line into their own personal demilitarized zone of all the things they never talk about directly -- cursory references only, thank you -- and when they do, the words are spoken in hushed tones in restrooms or by vending machines -- safe places where they can be interrupted at any time.
But the elevator, the elevator is ground zero. The words spoken here are not as easily forgotten, and with one wrong move they are trapped, the air supply dwindling.
Ziva waits for Tony's reaction, steps back in defense for a verbal attack that does not come.
Instead, Tony steps forward, shoulders slack, and with a moment of hesitation, presses the much-abused button to stop the elevator.
Their world jerks to a halt.
"Did you know that my parents made me take dance lessons when I was a kid?" Tony turns, a smile fixed on his face that she has seen too often before. The one that is wistful and tinged with regret and bitterness. It has always made her sad and angry.
"I was the best in the class." He takes a step closer, his head lowered so she cannot see his eyes. In response, she takes a corresponding step back, posture straight, ready. "Not because I was the best dancer, but because I could charm anyone."
Her back is against the wall now, and she doesn't feel trapped. Against all her training, her hands are behind her, cool against the metal, a grounding presence for what is coming.
Instinctively, she has always known, but to hear the words is something entirely different.
"That's why Jenny picked me. To get close to Jeanne."
The admission is not sudden, in a way. They have been having this conversation for years.
"To seduce her."
It is telling that enough time is passed, that saying these words causes pain, but it is an older would, with scar tissue -- faint, but not forgotten.
Tony raises his head then for the first time since they started to discuss this.
"I could charm her, and play her, and do my job." The words are soft, but cutting.
But before she has time to say anything, he has switched topics, and it takes a moment for her to readjust. Ziva has been trained to expect the unexpected, but there is something about Tony that utterly decimates all of her pre-established rules. It's what makes him dangerous. She has learned to make it an asset.
Ziva moves away from the wall, starts circling the elevator. They have already been here too long, but everyone has left for the night; they are the last two. No one will notice if the doors remain shut, if the elevator does not move.
Tony follows suit. It is a casual pace, but both of them are armed, and though they appear relaxed, they are anything but.
Lions in a cage; the thought brings a hint of a smile to her face. But there is a prize at stake, and Ziva will not be distracted.
"You were worried about me."
"You were worried about me."
It was such a confusing time, those months. Concern, envy, the realization that she could have something more -- only to have it snatched out of her hands before she could even try to make it real.
"I fell in love with a mark, and you fell in love with the dead man walking."
Her eyes narrow, but she does not say anything. They don't stop moving.
And then Tony smiles, sharp and predatory, and internally, Ziva braces.
"You were jealous."
"I don't think I was Jeanne's type," Ziva bites back.
"That's not what I meant," he says, stepping towards her. "And you know it."
Again, she takes a step back toward the wall. There is nowhere left to go. This is against all the rules, and she knows that. So does Tony.
"I was not jealous. I was concerned, concerned for my partner."
"Partners. Right. Funny how we only bring that card out when we we're backed into a wall."
And she is, both figuratively and literally.
"And if I remember correctly, I had a right to be concerned."
"I took care of myself!"
"We spent months putting you back together like a broken doll!" Now she has lost her temper. "Gibbs, Abby, Ducky, even McGee!"
He has the decency to look mildly chastised at this, and lowers his voice. "You were the worst. You suck at subtlety, Ziva."
"I have never had such an imbecile as a partner before," and the laughter wells up inside her, unbidden.
"But you were jealous."
"In a way."
"Why?" He stops at her hesitation, leaning closer. "No, I really want to know. Secret confessional of the elevator, remember?"
"You are fabricating that, but I will answer your question. Because you were happy. I have forgotten what that feels like."
"What about Lieutenant What's-His-Name?"
"Lt. Sanders," and even now she has to say his name more softly, with care. "As you so delicately said, he was a dead man walking." Her last words are louder, with more of a bite. "There was no time for happiness --"
"Just what might have been."
"Exactly."
It is a moment of camaraderie, and Ziva smiles at Tony, a something small and tight that lasts only second, and the moment is gone.
"So if you weren't -- aren't -- jealous, then what's been going on since we came back?"
"I don't know what you are talking about."
"The standing too close, the looks that last a little too long, everything we always talk around!"
"Like the pictures of me tacked up on the wall in your room? Were those there just because you missed me, Tony?"
Tony's hand slams against the space by her head, body kept a careful distance from her head. His body stands vulnerable, but not completely so.
In instant response, Ziva raises her chin, bares her neck.
"You fought for me."
"I will always fight for you, any of you."
"But not like that night, that night we were trapped in the wargame. You took down half a dozen armed guards, Ziva, and only after I'd been taken out. You fought like --"
"Like what?" daring him to say it.
"Like you were fighting for someone you loved."
There is no pregnant pause where Ziva knows that something significant is about to happen. But Tony's words hang in the air, and then his face his close to hers, so close that his nose brushes her own.
It is a silly thing, a child's game, and yet she reaches up on her toes, hands balancing against the strength of his chest, her fingers curling in his shirt. Ziva closes her eyes and drinks in the feel of Tony's face brushing hers.
Then it is only a matter of proximity, timing, before their lips meet. Ziva has always expected that kissing Tony would be powerful, overwhelming, even violent, but this is something completely different.
He is taking his time.
She follows his lead.
So when Tony pulls her close, both his hands locking at her hips, Ziva curls her hands in his shirt a little tighter, possessively happy in knowing that the resulting wrinkles will mark Tony as hers, if only for a few hours.
But he does not trail his fingers down her face, and she does not make a production of breathing him in, locking his scent away. Ziva knows what Tony smells like, through the best and the worst, and this is not one of Tony's classic movies and sentiment will not last.
She focuses on what his body feels like against hers, solid and warm, a stark contradiction to the cold metal at her back, once again pressed to the wall. She concentrates on what Tony's mouth feels like, wicked and playful and it makes her smile against his lips.
He seems almost surprised at that.
Now she kisses him, just like she has thought of while at her desk a thousand times or in the back of the car when she has not been allowed to drive. And whereas Tony kissed her with patience, Ziva kisses Tony without pretense, guiding his hands over her hips, under the hem of her sweater.
Tony does not shy away from the touch, just like she knew he would not, and when Ziva gasps quickly, body bowing involuntarily, Tony's answering swear, whispered against her ear is the most satisfying sound in the world.
"You've thought about this, haven't you?"
"Haven't you?" she parrots back.
"I would be stupid not to."
She kisses him again, quick and dirty, and catching him off balance, Ziva uses the momentum and spins them across the elevator; Tony's back colliding with half the buttons on the control panel.
"Let me guess, it's lit up like Abby's Christmas tree," Tony deadpans.
Ziva nods. "But you did not press the Emergency button."
"And this is Gibbs' elevator, and they're used to it stopping."
"Though not for this long," she tries very hard to look guilty while laughing.
Tony, fortunately, is just as amused by the situation. "Let's hope not. He spends a lot of time in here with Fornell."
Rolling her eyes, Ziva makes a face.
"Hey." And even though every sense screams at her that the moment is broken, Tony cradles her chin in his hand and kisses her deeply, while all she can do is stand there, passive.
And in an instant, like the pressure has changed, though only for her, everything really is as broken as it was before.
"Hey," he asks, only sensing the surface anxiety. "What's wrong? We already broke Rule 12. What else could we do wrong?"
Ziva cuts him off, already moving toward a defensive position, if only verbally. "And what did it solve? Nothing."
And just as quickly, Tony's walls are up as well. "If that's what you think, then you're probably right."
She takes a step back as Tony half turns, finding the button to release the elevator and to open the doors.
"Would you look at that," he tells her in a mocking tone, the false grin plastered firmly on his face. Such an ugly look, and she helped to put it there. "The ground floor. It's exactly where we're supposed to be."
All Ziva wants to do is drop her head, avoid Tony's gaze, the quirk of his mouth that reminds her too much of his Jack Nicholson impersonation. But she's too proud for that, so instead she crosses her arms over her chest, and places her weight on one foot. She keeps her head up, and averts her eyes to the left, over his shoulder.
"Right," followed by a heavy sigh. And with that, Tony walks out, hands in the pockets of his slacks. But as he walks away, Tony calls back to her. "I don't want to regret things anymore," and when he turns, the smile is real. "I won't regret it."
She answers, but Tony's already too far away to hear. "Neither will I."