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She doesn't mind working Christmas. Really, she doesn't. She doesn't celebrate, after all, and many of her colleagues do. Priority goes to those with children, which she does not have, and then those who celebrate, and so each year she's happy to put her name down first for the ER shift.
The first time, she thought it would be nice. The lights and trees and feeling of goodwill that Christmas brings out are ones she can get behind. She thought it could be a calm shift, enjoying the lighter workload, maybe helping herself to one of the Christmas cookies someone left in the break room.
In reality, it's brutal.
Family arguments gone wrong; someone threw a punch, someone flipped a table, someone broke Aunt Glenda's vintage ornament so she wanted revenge. Bruises and cuts and broken limbs.
So. Many. Cooking. Accidents. Knives and forks in places they should never be, someone got overzealous with the ham, someone forgot to wear gloves getting the cookies out of the oven, someone put a spoon in with the microwave dinner.
Car wrecks on icy patches, or car wrecks from people driving after one too many. Sometimes, they can't be saved.
And then just their regular old stuff: broken limbs, illnesses, children swallowing stuff they shouldn't. Those don't stop when the holiday is in swing.
But despite her tenure on the shift and all it can bring, she is a little surprised when she reads the chart for her next patient.
"A gunshot wound?" she asks Lorraine, the nurse on duty. Really? Someone decided Christmas Day was the perfect time to shoot someone? The older woman just shrugs.
"I think he's a cop."
Still, she thinks. Even cops shouldn't get shot on Christmas.
With a shrug, she heads toward the patient, pulling back the curtain that's been dragged across.
The man sitting on the bed, clutching an arm he's currently bleeding out of, jumps a little.
"Mr... DiNozzo?" she checks, and he nods.
"Yeah. Look, I told the other guy I saw, it's really not that bad."
She suppresses the urge to roll her eyes as she closes the curtain behind her and steps inside. Cops, they're all the same.
She eyes him. Sandy hair, nice eyes. A leather jacket with a hole through it sits by his side on the bed.
"Are you able to remove your hand right now?" she asks him.
He blinks, a little slow.
"I could, but..."
But he's not confident it won't bleed all over the place, she surmises.
"Okay, so it is bad."
She looks through his file, seeing his x-ray done by one of her colleagues earlier. He actually got lucky with the shot. She won't have to operate or repair anything, just get the bullet out and stitch him up. But still, a gunshot is a gunshot.
"Trust me, I've had worse," he says as she pulls on some gloves. "Sometimes our ME just stitches me up for this sorta thing, but he's out because it's Christmas and the cover ME is too busy so my boss made me come here. Which is hilarious because he'd just wrap it up and keep going."
She pauses just a little at the spiel. Ordinarily she'd put that sort of thing down to nerves, but he seems quite composed. She thinks he just talks a lot. He eyes her, simmering.
"I do not know what part of that disturbs me more," she mutters honestly, gesturing to his arm. "Let me look."
With a huff, he narrows his eyes a little as he peels his hand away. His palm is covered in blood, some congealing, as is the wound itself. Another good sign.
"See? Not bad."
She can't help the withering look she sends his rather proud face. He's right, but he knows it.
"I'm going to have to pry the bullet from the hole in your arm, Mr. DiNozzo. I'd say that is bad enough for anyone's Christmas."
"Agent."
"What?" she asks, as she pages for the supplies she'll need. It won't warrant full surgery-- he should be fine to just sit here while she stitches him up.
"It's Agent DiNozzo," he clarifies.
She nods in understanding. Titles, she gets.
"Agent. I'm Dr. David." He smiles, just a little, his eyes crinkling, and she realizes that when he's not trying to hold back the pain he's quite handsome. "I'll numb the area locally, but do you want the painkillers now or after I get it out?"
He shakes his head suddenly, insistent.
"I don't want painkillers."
This time, she does roll her eyes. Regardless of how often this might have happened to him, a bullet wound never gets easier. The scar on her stomach that ended her previous life reminds her of that often. It was just chance that her brother was going to Edinburgh and, recuperating, she followed him and found her passion in medicine too.
She's seen this before in this job: this guy is a federal agent, he thinks he's tough, and she's also here as a woman trying to help him.
"Agent DiNozzo, trust me, you're not going to impress me with a show of strength by refusing them. Agony is not attractive."
He raises an eyebrow.
"Why would I be trying to impress you?" She tilts her head, just eyes him, and he smirks a little. "I'll take 'em after if I need to, but I don't want them."
The curtain pulls back and Lorraine walks in with a tray, equipment laid out. Thanking her, Ziva carries it to the stand next to the bed, reaching for a wipe.
"Tell me how it happened," she begins as she offers DiNozzo the wipe to clean up his hand before she starts.
"Got stuck with the Christmas shift," he grouses. "My boss always volunteers us."
She smirks.
"I'm sure your family appreciate that."
"Eh, I wouldn't be celebrating much anyway. I'm not exactly a family Christmas guy, I'm happy to work it." She raises an eyebrow, and he looks up at her. His eyes dart to her neck, the pendant there, widening a little in realization. "Guess you're here because you're not celebrating, either."
She nods, not saying more, waiting until he tosses the wipe aside before simply cutting off the arm of his shirt until the wound is clear enough, and beginning to clean it up.
"So, the case?" she prompts to distract him as she numbs the area, since he seems to like talking.
Sighing, he lifts his good shoulder.
"Usual shit. Mistaken identity, a murdered petty officer on Christmas Eve. Guy left the knife at the scene so we knew who did it. He was doing Christmas morning and presents with his wife and kids, who had no idea. He ran when we went to arrest him, shot me before we tackled him."
She tuts.
"It's always the way with cops."
"I'm a federal agent," he repeats, and she smirks, catching his eye briefly.
"Same difference. People just always seem to get the drop on you, or shoot you right before you can stop them. It's never that they are just stronger or faster or have a weapon."
"He was all three," he says simply. It impresses her, a little. "But literally, my boss tackled him as I was getting up."
Chuckling, she tests the area around his wound. When he doesn't flinch, she reaches for the forceps.
"You should brace yourself," she warns, and she sees his eyebrows bounce a little.
"Got anything I could bite down on?"
Despite herself, it makes her laugh-- her loud, rare kind of laugh.
"That is a new one."
He just beams at her, and she sees the warmth in his eyes even clearer, the dimple on his cheek. Correction-- when he's not hiding the pain he's very attractive.
And then she reaches for the bullet.
He fares well, thanks to the anesthetic, keeping up conversation and even making her laugh a few more times. But the wound bleeds a little more than she'd like as she extracts it, and by the time she's patched him up she can see he's flagging, paler than he was, sweating a little.
"I'd like you to stay here for an hour so we can monitor you," she says as she snaps off her gloves. "You lost a bit of blood, so you should rest before we let you go."
"I'm fine," he insists, pushing off the bed, but she sees his eyes roll before she thinks he's aware of it. She rushes forward, catching him just in time. "Whoa."
He seems surprised.
"Fine, hm?" she repeats, looking up at him. He's very close, so close she can feel his breath on her skin. And his eyes-- she can see they're green from here. It's a nice green. He looks at her a moment and she sees the fog clear from his gaze, the moment he realizes just the same: they're close. And for a second she thinks he's about to speak, but she shakes herself, pushing him back until he's sitting on the bed again. "One hour."
With a begrudging nod, he agrees.
"Alright, doc."
"No problem." She steps back as he shifts to lie down. "I will get you some painkillers, they can kick in while you're resting."
His good arm reaches out suddenly, hand grabbing her elbow.
"No painkillers. I'm good."
"I thought we had this conversation already," she teases.
"I'm fine, really. It doesn't hurt."
But she only numbed the area, and when that wears off she knows it's going to hurt.
"If I poked it, you--"
"No one's gonna come around poking it!" he scoffs, voice shrill. "What, do you think there's just someone walking round the hospital poking everyone-- who's gonna poke it?!"
She laughs again, shaking her head.
"Agent DiNozzo. I'm getting you some mild painkillers, you will be fine."
He squeezes her arm briefly before letting go. She didn't realize he'd still been holding it.
"Seriously, if I say something weird, know you brought this on me."
Grinning, she finds herself teasing him again.
"Weirder than strange people poking patients?"
She amuses herself with his grumpy smile as she heads back out and writes up the script.
Another holiday injury distracts her for the next hour, and she's almost forgotten her federal agent until she walks past his space again and peeks behind the curtain, realizing he's still dozing on the bed.
"Lorraine? I think Agent DiNozzo can go, if you can sort his papers."
The nurse nods, and Ziva replaces her at the station, looking over the chart for her next patient. It's a simple sprain, nothing too urgent, so she allows herself a two minute break, stretching out her neck and ankles as she waits.
While she does, though, she hears an almost-slurred voice.
"Where's the doctor? The pretty one?"
"I don't-- Sir, have you been drinking?" Lorraine asks.
"No! No, it's her fault."
She frowns, heading over to DiNozzo's bed. He's sitting up, alert, but a little manic. Lorraine looks unimpressed.
"Is something wrong here?"
His eyes dart to her, narrowing.
"It's you!" he says, accusingly. But then before her eyes he softens, smiling. "It's you." His repetition is so much more wistful, gentle, it stirs something in her.
"Agent DiNozzo."
"Tony," he corrects, still smiling.
That shouldn't warm her as much as it does.
"Tony," she starts again. "What is wrong?"
His smile falls as if he just remembered his issue.
"You gave me painkillers! I told you not to give me painkillers!"
Oh. Okay, so, yes, he's sensitive to painkillers.
"You had just been shot," she justifies. "You were in pain."
"But now I'm like this!" He tries to point to himself but gets distracted by his hands, suddenly flexing his fingers over and over.
Okay, so he's extremely sensitive to painkillers.
He did warn her.
She smiles a little, heading over to him and waving Lorraine away. With the symptoms he's exhibiting, she has to check.
"Alright, Tony, remind me of a few things. Why are you here?"
"Got shot, Christmas morning."
"Where do you work?"
"NCIS."
She presumes he's telling the truth.
"What is my name?"
"Dr David. I don't know your first name. It starts with a Z." She sees him squinting at her chest before she realizes he's looking at the embroidered name on her coat. Amused more than she should admit, she reaches to his chin and pulls out her flashlight.
"Look left." He does. "My name is Ziva."
"Ziva," he repeats. "Zeee-vaah." He grins. "That's nice."
She chuckles.
"Thank you. Look right." He does, and she lets go, satisfied. He's fine, but one thing's for sure-- she can't let him go home like this. "You have no head trauma," she reassures him, and he pulls a face.
"That's a surprise."
"Did you hit your head when you fell?" She asks, concerned, but he snorts.
"No. My boss hits me. Sign of affection."
He says it in a mumble, like he's recited it before, and she smirks, making to step back.
"I will call your emergency contact and they can pick you up."
"No!" Tony rushes, grabbing her shoulders, beseeching. "No, I don't want him to slap me on the head. I'm fine, I'm cool, I can get a cab."
"I have an obligation of care to you now, Tony," she murmurs, and he softens.
"Oh." He grins a little, letting go. "That sounds nice."
She wonders if he has any idea how charming he's being.
"It means I am not going to let you leave in a cab when I can't even trust you'll give your apartment address."
"Do you wanna know it?" he asks, and she grins. Grabbing his file, she finds his emergency contact.
"I am fine. This Gibbs will make sure you get there."
Tony groans, and she can't help but pat his head in sympathy. And really she should make someone else do this. But he's like this because of her, she supposes, and she does understand what's happening to him best... So she pulls out her work cell and stays close as she dials the number.
"Gibbs," says a gruff voice.
"Agent Gibbs, this is Dr David at George Washington."
"She's called Ziva!" Tony interjects, and she can't help the laugh that bubbles up.
"Ah, dammit, you gave him painkillers," Gibbs surmises, and she hums.
"He did warn me," she feels inclined to defend.
"I did!" Tony calls.
"But I removed the bullet locally and he lost some blood while I was stitching the wound."
"He alright?" Gibbs asks, a hint of concern in his tone, and she nods.
"He is fine, but I would like you to accompany him home."
Gibbs grunts.
"Alright. Be there in twenty."
"You can ask at the desk and someone will take you to him, or to me."
"You'll see her, boss! She's the pretty one!"
Gibbs pauses as if processing that, hums, then hangs up.
"He is a man of few words," she tells Tony, and he shrugs.
"Functional mute."
"And yet he cares about you."
Tony sighs, not answering that, instead looking at his fingers again, flexing them.
"Sorry I said you were pretty."
She jolts a little. He's said it twice, now.
"It's... okay."
"I mean-- you are, that's not why I'm sorry. I know it was weird."
She chuckles, again so strangely warmed.
"It is fine, Tony," she reassures him, before catching his eye. "Thank you."
"Have you ever had someone who walked on a bunch of broken glass?" he asks, and she finds herself bemused at the segue. "I was gonna watch Die Hard tonight."
"Is that a Christmas movie?" She's taking a guess-- movies aren't her expertise.
"Some people say it's not, but it is, it definitely is."
Sensing he's a bit of a fan, she winces.
"I have not seen it."
He gasps.
"What? Oh, Ziva, we have to fix that."
She laughs both at his shock and his presumption.
"I do not even have a TV, Tony," she admits, and he pauses, aghast.
"What the..." He reaches up to her, feels her forehead.
"What are you doing?"
"You have to be sick, if you don't have a TV."
With another laugh she pulls his hand away, squeezing it briefly before she lets it go.
"I am not sick. I just prefer reading."
He pulls a face.
"I'm only okay with that because you're so pretty."
That's a third time, now.
Softening, she steps back.
"I have other patients I have to look at, okay? If I don't see you before, I hope the rest of your Christmas goes well."
He looks at her in confusion, but nods.
"Okay."
And with a surprised laugh, she leaves and goes to her other patients.
It's a little later that she hears a grumpy voice followed by a loud "Hey!", and she chuckles. Tony's boss must have arrived.
Someone mumbles "let's get out of here" as she rounds the corner to the station, but then she suddenly hears scurrying feet.
"Ziva!" he calls, and she looks to see Tony standing at the desk, almost panting.
"What?"
"I didn't say thank you!"
Oh.
Dipping her head, she nods. It's her job, of course. It needed to be done. But she doesn't think she's ever been thanked quite so sweetly.
"You're welcome."
"DiNozzo!"
"Coming, boss!"
He runs away, and she's left oddly touched by the whole thing.
So by the end of the night, after security have broken up another family argument, after she's fixed a few accidental carving fork stabbings, although she's drained and a little desolate about the state of the world... she can't help but think it's been the nicest Christmas shift in years.
"Hi, I'm looking for Dr. David?"
She frowns as she overhears it while she's discharging a broken leg. The voice sounds familiar, but she's sure it's not...
And yet as she turns around and sees the back of his head, she's sure it is him.
"Tony?"
He spins around, eyes wide.
He's in casual clothes-- jeans and a button-down, his injury covered. His hair is styled today, a little messy but on purpose, she thinks. He looks good.
"Hi."
She can't help but smile, almost annoyed at how quickly it blooms, but she raises her hand.
"Just give me five minutes." He nods with his hands in his pockets, and she turns back to her patient. While she finishes her work, her mind runs with the possibilities.
Why is he here? The sweet guy from days ago that she's thought of an almost embarrassing amount of times since Christmas Day. A thrill runs through her, excited. Even a little eager. It's been a long time since a guy got to her like this.
She thinks she likes it.
Once she's done, she heads back to him, still waiting by the desk.
"What's wrong? Is your arm okay?"
"Oh, no, it's great. Ducky was very impressed."
"Ducky?"
"Our ME who usually patches me up," he explains. Ordinarily the name would surprise her, but with his headslapping boss and Tony's painkiller ride she thinks he's just going to keep surprising her.
"How often do you get shot at, what was it, NC..."
"NCIS. More than I should." She chuckles, but he pauses, and she knows he's here for something else. "I, um, I actually just wanted to apologize, for the other day. I don't always remember most of it on the meds but Gibbs made it seem like I made an ass of myself, so..."
Oh. Oh, that's sweet.
"You did not," she reassures him. "Actually, you mostly just called me pretty. And you couldn't believe I don't have a TV."
"Oh." He pauses, and then shrugs. "Well, I was right about both of those, at least."
She goes to laugh, but then she realizes what he said and she freezes, mouth half open.
So it wasn't a one-off, when she was patching him up. He is so charming.
"I..."
"Anyway, if I didn't say anything weird, then I guess I didn't need to come all the way here."
He's a little bashful, which just adds to the sweetness, and she realizes something.
"How did you know I'd be on shift?"
Using his good arm, he scratches the back of his head.
"I called ahead."
She grins. So he really wanted to see her.
"Well, it was actually one of the most entertaining Christmas shifts I've ever worked."
He chuckles.
"Glad I could amuse."
"You were very sweet," she reassures him.
"With or without the painkillers?"
Smirking, she bounces a shoulder.
"Both."
"Really?" he drawls, and she laughs, swatting his arm. "Look, I, um... I know you don't do Christmas. But are you working New Years?"
She should ask why, probably. But she finds herself shaking her head.
"I finish at 3. And I'm off January 1st."
"My coworker, Abby, she's hosting this new year's party at her friend's bar. Music, dancing, countdown to midnight. I... was wondering if you wanted to come. With me."
She arches an eyebrow.
"Seriously?"
"You are very pretty," he says, and she can't help but laugh. "I promise I'm better company without the painkillers."
She can't help it, she looks him up and down just to tease, before she shrugs a shoulder.
It's impulsive. She barely knows him.
But she likes him. And the idea of spending more time with him, not at work... The thrill runs through her again. She likes that, too.
So she says,
"Okay."
And then he grins.
"Alright. It's a date."
He's waiting outside the bar when she arrives, which she's grateful for. Arriving into a room full of strangers without the one she knows just a little would be awkward.
She's not entirely sure why she's here. Accepting a date with a patient is never a good idea, but she feels strangely confident that Tony is not, as Lorraine would say, a weirdo or a creep, and she has found herself strangely endeared and attracted to him in equal measure. Still, being here is a little crazy and impulsive. New Years surrounded by people she doesn't know.
Apart from Tony.
"Hey," he greets as she gets out of the cab. She sees his eyes flit over her, quick. "Wow. You look great."
She'd opted for just jeans and a nice, shiny shirt-- Tony had told her it wouldn't be a fancy affair. He's dressed similarly, his dress shirt sleeves rolled up to his elbows. His jeans are a little less tight than hers, though, since she went with skinny jeans with her heels. She knows the combination makes her ass look great, and the guy's only seen her in scrubs so far.
"Thank you. So do you. How's the shoulder?"
"Better," he gives. "Listen, um, before we go in there, I should probably warn you about Abby and her friends."
She frowns as they start to the door.
"What about them?"
"Abby dresses like a goth. She is a goth, she loves heavy metal. But, she's also like a kid high on sugar all the time. So she'll look scary but she'll give you a hug. Her friends are pretty much the same."
She has a sudden vision of a bar adorned with skulls, or blood, or bats, or all of the above.
But thankfully when Tony opens the door the venue beyond seems normal, if bustling. There are a few more people wearing metal than she's used to but nothing outrageous.
"Tony!" calls a voice from across the room, and Ziva watches as a tall woman in almost taller platforms totters over to them. "You made it!"
She throws her arms around Tony so enthusiastically Ziva watches as they both stagger back a little.
"Wouldn't miss it, Abs." Tony chokes. He winces a little and she thinks Abby is pressing on his injury.
Thankfully the goth pulls away.
"You must be Ziva! Tony told me you were coming," she says, cheery, and Ziva is relieved the woman doesn't go for a hug. Tony's description seems apt; she's warm and welcoming, with a giant web tattoo on her neck and more ink over her arms.
"Yes-- well, the party looks great, thank you for letting me... crash," she greets, and Abby waves a hand at the idea of her crashing anything.
"The more the merrier-- c'mon, I can get you drinks."
There's no hug but Abby does suddenly grab her wrist, and Ziva balks in alarm as she finds herself being walked through the bar, Tony following. She sends him a look for help and he just grins.
Cute idiot.
Abby waves someone down and they order, before the goth spins back.
"So how do you know Tony?"
Gaping a little, amused, she looks at Tony.
"You didn't tell her?"
"I..." He trails off, and Abby glares at him, clearly sensing she's missing something.
"Tony!"
"I stitched up his gunshot on Christmas Day," Ziva explains, and Abby gasps.
"You're a doctor? Tony!" She repeats, punching his good arm before turning to Ziva. "I can't believe he didn't tell me! I'm a forensic scientist. I love science!" She pouts at Tony, who chuckles lightly as his beer arrives.
"It wasn't my finest moment, Abs. Painkillers were involved."
Abby mellows a little, smirking Ziva's way.
"He went loopy, right?"
"Beyond loopy," she admits, but again, she feels the need to defend her date. "But he showed up to apologize after."
"Sober," Tony adds, and Abby fully melts.
"Aww, Tony. You're so sweet when you want to be." Tony smiles, but his face falls as he realizes that implies sometimes he's not sweet, and Ziva chuckles as she gets her drink. "Oh! Jimmy just got here, I gotta go. I'll see you later, Ziva!"
She scurries away, and Tony smirks.
"And what am I?" he remarks at Abby's absence of a parting promise for him, and Ziva smiles, sipping her wine.
"She's sweet. Do you two work together a lot?"
"She's the forensic scientist for our team," he nods. "Best in the business."
While Abby may be overestimating Ziva's passion for science connecting them, she does appreciate the woman's career.
"And you made me think she was just a goth," she teases.
"A goth I worked with. She'd kill in interrogation." He smiles, but nods. "It wasn't on purpose, I swear. And me not telling Abby-- she likes to interrogate, I'm not kidding about that. So I just told her I was bringing a friend." She raises an eyebrow, and he shrugs. "Maybe taking a liberty with that."
She smiles at him. Have his eyes always been so warm?
"I'll allow it."
Two hours to midnight, she's on her third glass of wine, and finds herself sitting at a table with Tony, a young, eager guy called Jimmy who cannot stop gushing about his girlfriend, and a red-cheeked guy called Tim that Tony keeps calling probie.
"What does that mean?" she asks after the third time Tony says it, and he pauses mid-sentence to turn to her.
"What, probie?"
"Yeah."
"Probationary agent."
"Oh!" She turns to Tim. "So you are new to the job?"
"No, not anymore, Tony just calls me that to be annoying," he snarks, and Tony scoffs.
"I do not."
"Do too."
She chuckles to herself. Brothers.
"So Abby was telling me you stitched up Tony's arm," Jimmy interrupts, and McGee grins too.
"Yes. I was working the Christmas Day shift."
"Was it the craziest thing you saw?" McGee asks.
Shaking her head, she sips her drink.
"Not at all. Worst was probably between the second degree burn and someone who tripped over their dog and broke their jaw."
McGee winces, but Jimmy chuckles.
"We had a John Doe Christmas Eve, he was strangled by tinsel."
She pauses, absolutely no idea what to say to that, and Tony clears his throat loudly.
"So. Medicine. How'd you get into that?" he asks, exaggerated. She meets his eyes with a thankful look, and he widens his in return, funny.
"My brother. I visited him in Edinburgh when he was studying. I had to sit in on a lecture while I was waiting for him, I was fascinated."
"Lucky for me," Tony muses, and she grins at him.
"Wait, your brother studied in Edinburgh?" Jimmy asks, and she nods. "You have to meet Ducky some time."
"Oh! He's your ME, yes?"
"He's Scottish," Tony fills in. "He also studied in Edinburgh."
She turns to him, surprised.
"Oh."
"Small world, huh?" he says softly, smiling at her, warm again. She smiles back in return, letting that warmth fill her up. A small world indeed.
"So Tony went loopy on the pain meds, huh?" Tim segues back, and she laughs, turning back to him, amusement bolstered by the wine and amused that his question is just the same as Abby's was.
"He was fine. He was very sweet." Jimmy's brow furrows. "He just kept saying I was pretty, and apologizing."
McGee snorts.
"And I'm the one with no game?" he bites, and Tony glares.
"Knock if off, McGoo. I'd lost a lot of blood."
"With nothing to bite down on," Ziva adds. "As I dug the bullet out of his shoulder. He did fine."
She pats Tony's hand, and he smirks a little McGee's way.
"Is he blackmailing you?" McGee asks, faux-serious. "You seem very smart."
"To be here?" she gapes and laughs at the same time. "No. He asked very nicely."
McGee pushes back, annoyed.
"Damn. I thought I had you there."
Tony sits back, amused.
"I told you, McGee. I'm charming."
McGee rolls his eyes.
"Yeah, charming as a--" He eyes Ziva, catches himself, and shuts up, before turning to Jimmy and discussing a recent case.
Tony touches her leg, quick.
"You doing okay?" he asks low. Just for them.
She feels a little like she's met his family on a first date, somehow. But she's enjoying herself. With him. With them, with him.
"I'm good." McGee and Jimmy leave to head to the bar, and she chews her lip, broaches it. "Why do I get the feeling McGee is surprised you brought me?"
Tony shifts a little, clearing his throat.
"I... Midnight's in a couple hours and I don't want to make things weird. How much do you wanna know?"
Emboldened by his company and probably the wine, too, she shifts closer.
"I've repaired ruptured arteries, I can handle it."
He grins a little.
"It's nothing, really. You're just not my usual... date. Type. That McGee knows of, anyway."
There's something deeper in the note about McGee, but she lets it go, tilting her head instead.
"How so?"
"McGee said it. You're smart, you're a doctor. You can hold your own with Abby talking science. You weren't freaked out by Palmer totally forgetting he's in public, god, the tinsel."
Okay, so his dates usually aren't quite so unfazed by people being strange, or passionate. Maybe they're not even that smart from what he's suggesting.
"Okay. But that's..."
"And I don't usually bring anyone to meet my coworkers," he adds, and she pauses at that. The real reason, probably. "We're tight-- sorry, it's a little like meeting family."
She leans into him, reassured he's admitted it and she wasn't misinterpreting it.
"I'd felt that."
He grimaces.
"They're intense," he apologizes. "And weird."
"And you love them."
Sighing, he nods.
"I do. Even McGee, but don't tell him. Sorry about the blackmail comment, I think he got here before us, he's had a couple more drinks."
She chuckles.
"It's fine, I found it funny." She eyes him, though. "Why did you, invite me?"
He tilts his head.
"Ruptured arteries, huh?" She nods. He looks over her shoulder to the dance floor. "How 'bout we dance a little? Then I'll tell you."
As far as she's concerned, she only has something to gain.
About an hour and a half before midnight, she finds herself hot, and sweaty, in the middle of a dancefloor with Tony's hands on her hips.
It's loud. She tells herself that's why he presses his face against the side of hers as he says,
"You're too good at this."
She smirks as she pulls back to look at him.
"I danced as a child."
His eyes widen.
"Now she tells me," he hams up, and she grins. The music changes-- stays loud, but sultry.
"I'll teach you," she calls.
"I don't need teaching!"
She imagines he's done a lot of dancing in his time. So she just grins at him, sees his eyes flash in return, and grabs his hand, spinning and stepping back until her back is resting snug against his chest. She pulls his hand across her until it's pressed against her stomach.
She feels him gasp behind her. It's bold, probably. But he invited her for a reason she's not quite sure yet. And she feels like his coworkers might get a kick out of it.
"Like this," she says, and he hums. She sways her hips in time, and he does the same. Her knees bend a little, leaning against him.
"Like that?" he asks in her ear. His lips brush her skin, and she feels the spark from their touch. Which is funny, because they're touching in all other sorts of ways.
Shit. If she didn't already know it from the way he looks at her, how he makes her feel... now she knows, this is trouble.
"Mmhm," she answers, coy.
"Now what?"
His fingers flex on her stomach. They're so warm, even through her shirt.
She looks to her left, sees the spot is free.
"Go with it."
She pushes off and spins, her hand holding his tight, then spins back into him. He laughs as she pushes off again, this time lifting up their hands so she can turn on the spot, and by the time she turns back in he's ready. He tugs her hand and spins her one more time, and before she knows it his other hand is on her back, pulling her flush against his chest now.
It's surprising. And she likes it.
She laughs, and he grins down at her, all wide and charming. God, he really is attractive. And not just in a hot way-- attracting, to her. She feels herself pulled in.
"Not bad," she murmurs, and she sees his eyes drop to her lips.
"I got some moves," he says in reply, and she swallows. They sway a little.
"I see that."
She feels a little like she's under a spell.
But then someone bumps into them while, Ziva thinks, attempting to moonwalk, and it shatters.
She smiles at Tony, the heat suddenly dawning.
"I think I need another drink."
"Me too."
A half hour to midnight, she's suitably buzzed and also, for the first time since the dance floor, after which Abby grabbed them again, now alone with Tony.
McGee and Abby are dancing, Jimmy lost somewhere. They've spoken to others from Abby's friends but Ziva senses that the people Tony actually knows well are just his coworkers. His little family.
So they manage to perch on high stools at the edge of the bar. A sheltered spot.
Tony returns, drinks in hand.
"I heard the bartender say Abby wanted caffeinated vodka shots at midnight but they managed to talk her down to champagne."
She chuckles.
"I like her. She's... out there, but I like her." The woman had gone on a ramble about the wonders of medicine. Ziva thinks she's more enthusiastic about her job than Ziva is herself about it.
"Yeah, that's Abby," he agrees, slipping in next to her. She takes a sip of her drink and eyes him, getting right to it.
"You said I could ask you if we danced together." He raises an eyebrow, knowing, but waiting. "Why did you invite me? And don't blame the painkillers."
He sighs, shaking his head.
"Those damn things. Honestly... McGoo is right, you are... I mean, this sort of thing doesn't normally happen to me. And I had this feeling like I'd just been so stupid when I was out of it, and I wanted to... to spend time with you not, out of it." He takes a deep breath, and she thinks he's pulling himself together a bit. "Is it weird to say I couldn't stop thinking about you?"
She smiles.
"No," she murmurs. And she finds herself oddly nervous to return the sentiment, so she tilts her head. "Why won't you believe that you were sweet?" she asks, and he chuckles.
"I think Gibbs would call it a miracle."
Telling herself it's because it's loud, she leans in.
"You did not make an ass of yourself," she reassures. "And besides, I'd liked talking to you before you got high, too."
"Really?" he asks with a slight frown.
Nodding, she, too, pulls herself together.
"I was... very glad, to see you again."
She never thought she would, of course. But he brightened her day. With that smile of his, those eyes. His jokes. When he'd stood and almost fallen over and she'd had to catch him...
It takes a lot to knock her off balance, figuratively. But he did it.
Tony leans in, too, his eyes darting to her mouth again.
"Yeah?"
She nods, truthful. Once he left, she brushed off meeting him as a fun moment in a rough day, and an attractive guy crossing her path. But he'd stuck in her head. She'd wondered how he was. She'd thought fondly, even, about how he made her laugh, that rare, loud laugh of hers. And when he came back... She liked what it could mean. That's why she said yes, after all.
And tonight, laughing with him still, getting to know him, dancing with him...
She still likes what it could mean.
So she looks at him, sighs out.
"Are you always this slow to kiss a girl?" she murmurs after another moment, and he laughs.
"Jesus, Ziva," he says, and then his mouth is on hers.
She can feel him smile against her mouth, and she lets that warm her through, as his lips move against hers, as she loses herself in the feel of it. He shifts closer, a hand on her jaw, guiding her, and she smiles as she feels him angle her just so.
Damn, the man is too good at this.
When she pulls away she realizes he's slipped off his chair, and is standing in front of her. He's still taller than her, looking down, despite the high stool. She adds that to the list of things she's coming to like about the guy.
"I, um." He clears his throat. Blushes. "I didn't really plan on doing that until midnight."
She grins. This is the man whose coworkers were surprised he brought her? The man who dates women not quite like her? Surely not.
"Well, we had to practice," she says with a smirk, and he sends her this knowing look. Like she's trouble and he knows it.
"Practice." He looks at her lips again. "You wanna dance again?"
She grins and hops down, tugging him onto the dance floor.
At fifteen minutes to midnight, she leans into his side, breathless from the dancing and the kissing in equal measure. She's aware this isn't a club-- these are Tony and Abby's friends surrounding them. She really has tried to not just makeout on the dance floor. But that is sort of what they've been doing.
"I need another drink," she gasps, and he grins, following along behind her. The bartender catches her eye easy and she orders a soda solely so she can down half of it. Tony, comfortable, leans his head on her shoulder. She half expects him to kiss her neck, her cheek.
But a familiar figure shuffles up to them again.
"You guys!" Abby says, drunk and with the tone of someone knowing something exclusive. But Ziva is pretty sure the whole bar knows the same thing. She expects Tony to pull back, away, but he stays close. His arm snakes round her waist, hand low on her hip.
"Hey, Abs."
"You guys having fun?"
Tony laughs at her again obvious tone.
"Are you?"
"Yes!" she emphasizes, reaching out and holding Ziva's arm suddenly. "You're really nice."
She chuckles.
"Thank you, Abby."
"I mean it's nice to meet any of Tony's dates finally, but you're super nice. I didn't even meet his ex but I know she was a bitch."
"Abs," he says, a slight warning tone.
"What? It's true." She pokes his good arm. "And it's nice to see you happy!"
"Abs." He pushes. Ziva slips her hand into his, weaves her fingers between his against her hip. He relaxes just a bit.
Abby pauses, evidently seeing his expression, whatever it is, and she seems to realize something.
"Oh." But rather than be annoyed at his caution, the scientist smiles, then, softer. "I'll leave you to it."
And then she shuffles away again.
"Sorry," Tony says after a moment or so.
Ziva leans back, shifts so she can look up at him. He looks uncomfortable.
"It's fine," she reassures, because it is. Something just happened she's not totally privy to, obviously. But it's fine.
"You wanna get out of here?" he suddenly asks, and despite herself her eyes widen, she gapes a little.
She did intend on going home with him. The minute she asked why he hadn't kissed her, really.
But she did think he'd wait to midnight. Practice and all.
She raises an eyebrow.
"Now?"
He smiles.
"We'll beat the rush for cabs."
She leans in.
"Is this about what Abby said?"
"Maybe," he admits, which surprises her. "But I think Abs... And everyone else... They're not gonna miss us, right? We can get out of here." He clears his throat, eyes shifting. "If you want."
And dammit.
She does.
So it's crazy, but she nods.
"Okay."
At midnight, she's in a cab, smiling at Tony. It feels right.
With the dance floor, she expected them to stumble through the doorway and go straight to bed.
But Tony opens the door for her, a gentleman.
"Welcome in. Sorry, it's a little messy."
She wonders if she really wasn't expecting her to come home with him tonight. In fairness an all but blind date with a patient wasn't a sure-fire win. But she had a feeling. From the way he made her feel when he called her pretty.
From his words she expects a scattered bachelor pad. But from what she can see, his definition of "messy" is a blanket and a DVD case tossed on the couch, and a magazine on the coffee table.
What surprises her most is the baby grand. Pristine and in pride of place.
He eyes her.
"What?"
"You keep surprising me," she finds herself murmuring, and he grins.
"What'll you drink?"
She shrugs, grinning back. Didn't she just say?
"Surprise me."
She ends up in his kitchen (a gorgeous, huge thing that looks hardly-used), with a vodka tonic as she watches Tony pour a tequila shot for them each.
He holds hers out and she takes it, smiling.
"It's not champagne, and we're a little late, but happy new year, Ziva."
He smiles at her so warmly she feels something inside her swell, fit to burst.
She takes the shot, and he does his, and as he slams his glass back down she throws her arm around his neck and pulls him in for a kiss.
He tastes like tequila, the burn, and she grins against his mouth as his hands map her back, already familiar. She pulls away a while later, gasping, smiling.
"Better late than never," she murmurs, and he chuckles, leaning back against the counter and keeping his arm around her comfortably. It's strange, but his touch is easy already. It has been all night. She reaches for her other drink, sipping it and eyeing him. Ordinarily she'd leave it, she really would. But something feels... different, here, with Tony, and it's the good sort of different that makes her raise something she'd usually avoid prying into. "Can I ask you something?"
He nods.
"Sure."
"What Abby said. Or-- why it upset you."
He makes a face, as if he expected that.
"I love Abby. But she has no filter."
She raises an eyebrow.
"I picked that up, yes."
Tony smirks quickly, but it soon fades as he scratches his jaw, thinking.
"I already told you about not usually bringing my dates to anything with my coworkers," he begins, and she nods. But then he frowns a little. "Look, I don't wanna bum things out--"
"It's fine, I asked."
"Abby just knows, it's been a... weird, couple years. My partner, on the job, died last year. Drug bust went bad, we couldn't save her."
She eyes him, saddened.
"You were close?"
He nods.
"Yeah. We were. Not-- we weren't together, but..." She nods, understanding. "Losing someone, so suddenly, too... Abby knows, it's been hard since then, for all of us. It's been a while since I did something for fun. Since I..."
"Brought a date to a party?"
He chuckles.
"More like had a date I'd even tell people about. That's why McGee was surprised by you, too... I haven't exactly had anyone interested in anything that..."
"Wasn't just sex?" she broaches, and his eyes flash a little. She knows this is what he was hinting at earlier. But she's fine with it. "I know the feeling," she admits, and he looks at her a strange way, again.
"I can't imagine anyone not wanting to know everything about you," he says quietly, and she almost literally feels herself melt just looking at him. Snapping out of it, he clears his throat. "Anyway, Abs is well-meaning. She's looked out for me ever since a break-up a couple years ago."
She hums.
"Bad breakup?" she suggests. He shrugs, and she wonders if he's uncomfortable at this sort of talk, several drinks in, at whatever time in the morning it is. "It's okay if you don't want to..."
"We were engaged. And--" He makes a face. "This is way too much to tell you, talking about other women, I'm sorry--"
She kisses him again, soft.
"Tony." He takes a deep breath, runs his hand up her back. "I asked."
He nods, and looks down at her.
"That okay?" he asks, and she knows, her answer is important.
But she's still wrapped around him, in his apartment, in the early hours of a new year. She may have just met him, but she feels like she knows him.
"You're not going to freak me out," she reassures.
So Abby is intense. So he's been through it. Ziva can, and maybe will, tell him similar stories. Losing her sister. Cutting off her father. Not even counting shitty relationships and break ups. She knows why Tony wanted Abby to stop, and why he's danced around talking about it here, apologizing. Neither of them want to make things weird, add a sense of significance to a first date with someone they just met last week. This night has been strange, the little family Tony has, the quips from McGee. It could feel overwhelming. Weird.
But instead she and Tony danced like they fit together. His touch sends the same thrill through her that it did when he first fell into her at the hospital. His smile is even better than when he was covering up his pain. And she likes it. Him. Something is happening, here. And for both of them it might be different, and strange. But it feels right. To get to know each other, to open up.
He nods at her answer, looking at her a moment more, and she finds herself drawn yet again to the look in his eyes. She's never had anyone look at her this way before. Like he actually sees her. And then he kisses her, pulling her in flush against him, his hands firm and warm against her, as he angles her head again, as his tongue finds hers, as he kisses her so thoroughly.
Pulling away just briefly, she smiles up at him.
"But just to be clear, I am interested in sex, here, too." She'd just like to keep getting to know all of him. In all sorts of ways.
He growls, low in his throat.
"God, same."
And then his lips are crashing against hers again, and his hand is slipping under her shirt, and then she's loosening his buttons.
Now this is more how she thought the night would go.
She scrapes her nails against his stomach, light, and he groans into her mouth.
He starts walking them back to his bedroom, and she grins as she gets the rest of his shirt unbuttoned. When she catches a glimpse of the bed she pushes him back, and he laughs as he falls against the mattress.
But she sees the wound on his shoulder, a large band-aid now covering it, and she stops.
She almost forgot.
"What?" he asks, before seeing where she's looking and chuckling. "Oh, yeah. Just don't go poking it and it'll be fine."
She smiles at the memory, but runs her thumb, feather-light, over the corner of the bandage.
"Is it healing?"
"You tell me, Doctor," he says, voice low, and she feels it low in her core. He pushes himself up to his elbows to catch her mouth with his again, and she sighs out, content, as he reaches for the hem of her shirt and pulls it off, as he holds her, skin against hers, as he kisses her over and over and over.
A while after midnight, she's in bed, sated and bare and curled up with him, and happy to confirm that he's healing quite nicely, after all.