So, I've been going through my computer in an effort to reorganize my files, and I found about 65 pages of fanfic, mostly unfinished, from last fall. I'd forgotten it was there. This one was finished, so I figured I might as well post it before I forgot about it again. There's remarkably little plot here. There's remarkably little anything except unadulterated fluff.

It's set sometime in the fall of Season 10—Octoberish, I'd say.

Disclaimer is disclaimed.

Abby's reunion with her biological brother had one unexpected consequence, and that was a sudden increase in the number of people she knew. Kyle, McGee had estimated earlier that week, by virtue of being excessively friendly himself, had increased Abby's friend group by about five percent. And considering that Abby already had the maximum number of Facebook friends, such an increase was a remarkable feat.

Ziva kept up with an extensive network of contacts from all around the globe, yet even to her Abby's connections seemed exhausting.

Today, Abby's Kyle-related friends had managed to exhaust Ziva literally, because they were the ones who had managed to get Abby four tickets to her new favorite band, and as a result, Ziva, Tony, and McGee had spent the last several hours standing in a park trying very hard to enjoy Abby's taste in music.

But now the concert was over, and although Ziva's ears were ringing, it wasn't enough to keep her from smiling as Abby suddenly jogged across the parking lot, cape flapping, to meet with a group of people who practically jangled with piercings. Without her, Ziva, Tony, and McGee slowed and eventually came to a stop beneath a lamppost.

McGee's whole body seemed to sigh. He turned a long-suffering expression to his coworkers. "Is my head still attached?"

Tony surveyed him carefully. "Looks that way."

"And are my ears still on it?"

"Your ears are fine," said Ziva, patting his elbow.

He didn't look completely convinced.

"You all right to get home?" Tony asked.

"Yeah, yeah. I'm just waiting for Abby…I rode in with her."

Tony winced. "You sure you don't want to make alternate plans?"

"No…I'm just going to…" he gestured towards Abby and then began drifting in her direction.

"Bye!" Ziva called after him. He raised a hand in acknowledgment, and she chuckled. "I think it's past McGee's bedtime."

"Yeah," Tony said. Ziva watched Abby grab McGee's hand and pull him into her circle as she waited for another comment from Tony. When none came, she looked up to find him frowning and snapping his fingers near his ears.

"Your ears are still attached, too, Tony."

"You sure? I mean, I can feel them on my head, but I don't think they're working right."

"You seem to be able to hear me."

His mouth quirked up at the edges and he glanced across the parking lot at their friends.

"It's a little selfish, you know. She already knows sign language; she's prepared to be deaf."

Ziva shook her head at him, but had to admit that he had a point. The noise generated by Abby's concerts was unbelievable. She'd never been bothered by high volumes before. Heavy artillery? Sure. Alarms and sirens? No problem.

But every time Abby dragged them to one of these concerts, she had to admit was unequipped to handle three hours of excruciatingly loud industrial rock. It made Abby happy, though, and so Ziva knew they'd continue to suck it up every few months and repeat the process.

She pressed her fingers to her temples. "It will fade soon."

"Do you figure McGee will make it home okay? 'Cause he really wasn't looking so fantastic."

"Of course. Abby won't let anything happen to him." Ziva smiled. "And if he's really unwell, she might even play nurse."

That idea made Tony's eyebrows shoot up. "Hmmm. Maybe I should've played sick—just kidding! Just kidding. Everybody knows that those two are besties. They should give in and start wearing BFF necklaces, shout it to the world."

"What's a BFF necklace?" Ziva asked, leaning back against a lamppost and watching Abby hug a newcomer to the growing circle across the parking lot.

Tony looked surprised. "You know. They have half a heart on them, so the heart's only complete when you're together. Don't they have those in Israel?"

"Probably. I think I've seen those in bubblegum machines."

"Sometimes. Or there's the kind you wear as a bracelet, that's braided together and knotted. Those're pretty much the main output of little girls at slumber parties everywhere."

Across the parking lot, Abby gesticulated wildly, obviously explaining something—a car accident, maybe? An explosion?—and then turned to McGee and gave him a high-five. Ziva looked sideways at Tony and a sly grin spread over her face. "You seem to know a lot about this."

"Well," he sighed, "I hate to brag, but I've been adorned in many a piece of Best Friends jewelry in my time."

She laughed. "Why do I not believe that?" He grinned, unoffended.

"Well, when I say 'adorned'…did you know that if you steal a chick's friendship bracelet, she only goes to the teacher about forty percent of the time? The rest of the time she just runs after you and tackles you."

"Ah, I see." She bumped him with her hip and tried not to notice that he moved closer when she did, until she could feel the heat from his side all the way down her own. She glanced at him sideways again. "Did you know that Abby gave me the braided kind of bracelet the other day?"

She was a little surprised when Tony grabbed her wrist and peeled back her jacket cuff, pulling her arm close to his face.

"Are you doubting me?" she asked, amused, as he dropped the first wrist and moved to the other.

"Well, where is it?"

"It's in my jewelry box. At home."

He sighed dramatically. "I think you misunderstand the point of a friendship bracelet, Ziva."

She rolled her eyes as Tony let go of her wrist. Across the parking lot, McGee threw back his head and laughed.

"Well, look at that," Tony said, his voice affectionate, aligning his side with Ziva's once more. "Our little princess and our little probie are having a good time without us."

She looked at him as he watched their friends, and maybe it was just because it was late, but she felt a surge of fondness for the way his neck curved into his chin and the way his eyes smiled as he looked across the asphalt. He was happy in this moment, she sensed—would rather stand here in the dark against this cold lamppost and spy on their coworkers and talk about nothing in particular with her than go home.

Truth be told, she wasn't particularly looking forward to ending the night, either. But she was also getting cold, and it was late.

"I should go," she said finally.

"Yeah, me too," he said, not moving.

She pushed off the lamppost and immediately missed his warmth on her side. And there she stopped, waiting for him to walk with her—their cars were in the same direction, after all. He didn't move.

"I'm hungry," he said, staring up at the light above his head.

"McDonald's is open."

He groaned. "I'm hungry for real food, Ziva. And everything's closed."

She bit the inside of her cheek and looked at the light herself, trying to think of places that Tony liked that were open late and nearby. Nothing came to mind. Except—

"I made soup earlier in the week. There are leftovers in my refrigerator," she said. "Want to stop at my place and have some before you head home?"

Tony had sprung to her side before she even finished the question.

"Lead the way."

She didn't bother with pleasantries about shoes and jackets as she dispensed with her own and headed straight for the kitchen. He'd been to her place enough times to know where the lights were, and it made her smile to catch glimpses of him sliding through her living room on socked feet, clicking the lamps on. Snatches of tuneless humming drifted into the kitchen and mixed in a strangely pleasant way with the scrapes and clangs of rummaging for a pot, and she found herself humming along with her partner. Perhaps the tune was something they heard at the show, she thought. Or not. She was not completely sure the band they'd heard tonight was familiar with the concept of a tune.

The sound of Tony's humming headed down the hall as she added a little chicken broth to the soup and set it on the stove. Maybe he was headed for the bathroom. It wouldn't have surprised her if he were to turn around at the end of the hallway and come back to lean against the countertop and pepper her with food-related questions. It could be a toss-up with Tony; sometimes he hovered. Other times he wandered. She had always gotten the impression this was his version of manners.

Upon hearing a soft clinking noise emanating from her bedroom, however, Ziva thought perhaps she should reconsider using the word "manners" to describe Tony's brand of behavior. Time for some fun. She left the soup to heat and was through her bedroom door and standing directly behind him before he had a chance to realize she'd left the kitchen.

"What are you doing?" she asked the back of his neck.

He jumped, and a pair of earrings clattered to the top of Ziva's dresser.

She leaned an elbow on it and put her other hand on her hip. "Hmm?"

He had the grace to look the slightest bit guilty. He didn't usually venture into her bedroom. Nevertheless, he gave her a tiny smirk. "Investigating," he said. As if to prove his point, he turned to survey the room before facing her.

"And you think it's okay for you to just barge in and go through my things?"

"Yes."

She huffed. He seemed to grasp that she didn't mean it, though, because he continued unperturbed. "And I'm glad you're here, because you can shed some light on a puzzling subject."

"If this is a comment on my laundry—" she started, gesturing at the mound of fresh-smelling clothes atop the unmade bed.

"Nah. Although it is strange that you apparently get up early enough to do laundry before work, I can accept that as a Ziva David quirk and move on to my real question, which is this: Why does a woman who wears the same watch, necklace, and earrings every single day need an entire treasure chest of shiny stuff?"

She felt her lips begin to slide into a pout, and hastily pulled them back into a stern expression. She gave him the best glare she could muster. "Now they're all out of order."

He brushed that off. "You know, next time it's your birthday I'm going to remember that you have a thing for earrings," he told her, continuing to rake his fingers through the jewelry box until she slapped his hand away.

She sorted nimbly through earring hooks and necklace chains, finally pulling out a multicolored plaited bracelet. Abby had told Ziva that although the nightmares she'd had over the summer had stopped, she still slept better if she kept her hands busy right before bed. The result was bright strips of woven embroidery floss like the one Ziva now handed Tony.

"Was that what you were looking for?"

Tony held it up so it dangled in front of his eyes. "That's from Abby?"

"Mhm."

"So, when did you become Abby's BFF? I've known her longer."

She rolled her eyes. "Perhaps she thought you wouldn't wear it."

"You don't wear it."

"I might one day," she defended herself.

He leaned in very close to her face, twinkling eyes locked on hers. She set her chin and tried not to laugh.

"Liar."

"Am not."

"Are too. And you're a liar with poor reasoning. Why do you get one and I don't?"

She gave in and let herself chuckle. "I wouldn't worry. Jimmy has one, and she gave one to Ducky yesterday." Ziva coiled the bracelet around her fingers and tucked it back into the box. "She probably just hasn't gotten to yours yet."

"Hm. Well, my complexion does call for a very special color scheme."

She dragged him out of her room, deposited him on her couch, and went to check on the soup, shaking her head in faux exasperation.

"Movie?" Tony called.

"Sure."

He was silent for a moment, and barely glanced up when she entered the room. "I forgot how much your selection sucks."

She rolled her eyes. "And at your place there's a great selection but no food. Which is the greater evil, Tony?"

"Iron Man!"

She blinked, and he held up a DVD. "I lent you this!"

"Yes."

"And I bet you didn't even watch it."

She turned back to the kitchen and busied herself getting out bowls and spoons.

"We're watching it!" he called after her. "This is a great movie. There's fighting and technology and badassery—it's a movie even you can enjoy."

Ziva set a bowl on the coffee table in front of him and settled onto the other end of the couch with her own bowl. "You just like it because the main character is named Tony."

"Maybe I like the triumph of good over evil for the sake of America," he said, wagging his spoon at her as though he were an old-fashioned school marm wagging his finger. "You ever think of that?"

She blew on a spoonful of soup. "I think you just want to drive the suit."

He glanced at her and then smiled at the remote as he pressed PLAY. "You did watch it, didn't you?"

"Why would you think that?"

"Oh, you did. Don't even bother with the straight face, Miss David. I can tell."

Really, Ziva quite liked Iron Man, and Tony quite liked Ziva's cooking, and they both quite liked her couch and the ludicrously soft blanket she kept spread over the back. By the time the credits rolled, Ziva was pressed into his side and feeling quite settled and sleepy, so she pretended not to notice the vaguely confused, vaguely pleased looks he snuck at her whenever her eyes closed and her head lolled against the back of the couch. It's just because I don't want to go get another blanket, she reasoned with herself. Yes, that sounded quite logical.

Tony raised his arm to rub at his eyes, and Ziva caught a glimpse of his watch. 4:40am.

"I should get home."

"Don't be ridiculous," she mumbled. "You can just stay here. On the couch."

He didn't bother putting up an argument for the sake of appearances, just flopped down on his side, and when her body flopped with his, he craned his neck up in surprise.

"Shoo. Go on to bed. You look exhausted."

She groaned into his shoulder. "There's laundry all over my bed."

"So?"

She cracked a grouchy eye. "I'm not going to sleep on my clean clothes!"

"Okay, okay. But you already said I could stay, so I'm not moving." He kicked his feet up on the rest of the couch and hugged a throw pillow to his chest as if to emphasize the point.

"That's fine. Just...hold still…" she rolled and shifted, but the couch was too narrow to sleep the same way without a ridiculously inappropriate amount of body contact. Serious spooning, Tony would say, if he weren't quite so busy trying to fall asleep. So, ignoring his puzzled expression and pained grunts whenever her elbows or bare feet caught him in a soft spot, she managed to turn herself around and rest her head on the other armrest, his feet in her face and hers on his chest, peeking out from beneath the blanket.

And that is how she awoke less than three hours later, vaguely sore and with strangely warm toes, to her phone vibrating madly on the coffee table. Ziva groped for it without opening her eyes, and Tony mumbled something when she hit his ankle and then knocked a spoon out of one of the empty soup bowls.

At that point she decided sight was a necessity after all, and sighed internally before opening her eyes to see Tony squinting confusedly at her from the other end of the couch. Both of his big hands were covering her feet, which explained the strange toastiness, and he muttered something about phones that sounded like it was trying hard to be coherent. On the coffee table her phone kept buzzing, nestled between two bowls with crusty rims.

"David."

"Hey, Ziver, you know where the paperwork for the Atkins case went?"

"Um," she said, raising her hand to rub the sleep from her eyes, "Is it not where it's supposed to be?"

"Would I call if it were where it's supposed to be?"

Ziva knew the answer to this hypothetical question was no, but previous experience told her that sometimes Gibbs did call on the weekends for no reason other than to be ornery. She took a deep breath and tried to remember who had last held the files. Tony murmured something unintelligible and sighed loudly, apparently in sympathy. She just couldn't quite remember if she had been the last one with the paperwork or if McGee had taken it…couldn't quite remember because Abby had been upstairs at that point, jabbering away and working hard to pull them all out the door—

"There a reason I can hear DiNozzo with you?" Gibbs asked suddenly.

That seemed rather obvious. She glanced at Tony, who seemed to decide that her conversation was more interesting than going back to sleep, opening his eyes all the way and lifting an eyebrow.

"Well…he's here."

Gibbs was silent. She suddenly caught the implication.

"Oh! Just as—nothing's wrong, Gibbs. We were just tired. Nothing—I mean, we're both still wearing all our clothes from yesterday. Well," she amended, "technically not all, I suppose, because I'm barefoot. But Tony left his socks on." Gibbs was still silent. She kept trying. "I only know that because his feet were in my face all night—"

Was it possible to hear somebody blink over the phone? Because she swore she could hear Gibbs blinking at her rambling explanation.

"I know I'm going to regret asking this," he said slowly, "but why were his feet in your face?"

All right, so maybe that hadn't been the most effective way of reassuring Gibbs that they'd been good kids. Focusing on the conversation when she was all cozy and warm and still tired was hard enough, and it didn't help that Tony was shaking the whole couch with stifled laughter. She glared at him and tried to start from the beginning. "Well, after we went out last night he was hungry, so I took him home…"

Tony removed a hand from her feet and stretched it out to take the phone, and she relinquished it to him with a sigh. Then she shuffled about on the couch so that she'd be able to hear Gibbs's side of the conversation. Tony looked at her, bemused, as she sprawled over his chest and cocked an ear at the cell phone.

Go on, she gestured. This was much more comfortable than the feet-in-the-face arrangement, and she was still sleepy enough to not put much thought into whether the level of contact was appropriate.

Tony cleared his throat. "Hey, boss. Let me see if I can clear this up for you—went to a concert, grabbed something to eat, watched a movie, accidentally fell asleep on the couch, you called. Nothing untoward." He smiled brightly. "No worries."

"Really, DiNozzo? You think?"

The smile faltered a little. "Well…we didn't do anything wrong, Gibbs."

"There's a rule about this."

"Okay…but we didn't break rule number twelve or anything, and we haven't been unreachable, and I have my knife, so I'm not sure—"

"Really? You think you didn't break rule number twelve?"

Ziva wondered if her own face was as confused as Tony's looked.

"Yeah," he said. "I mean, no, we didn't break your rule. Didn't even think about it, actually."

Gibbs's voice was unexpectedly loud when it next traveled through the speaker. "So, you didn't break my rule about dating by going out on a date?"

Ziva's mouth opened in surprise, and Tony actually took the phone away from his head for a second and looked at it, gobsmacked.

"Wait, what? It wasn't a date. Right Ziva?" Ziva nodded, chin digging into his chest. "It was just Abby's concert, and then it was a late snack and a movie at Ziva's place. That's not a date, that's—"

"Sounds like a date to me," said Gibbs.

"Abby and McGee were there."

"They went back to Ziva's place with you?"

"No. Abby was gonna give McGee a ride—you know, you should probably be calling them right now, 'cause Abby was looking cute last night and McGee had on his bedroom eyes—"

Ziva chuckled.

"But we were just watching Iron Man and eating soup, for Christ's sake."

Gibbs made a noise that was not encouraging.

"Boss? See what I mean?"

"Oh, yeah. Not a date." Gibbs sounded sarcastic, and Tony hesitated.

"…was that sarcasm?"

"You think, DiNozzo?"

Tony looked frustrated. Ziva realized that she should probably be feeling irritated herself, but somehow she was just too comfortable and in far too good of a mood to feel anything other than amused. It was very warm tucked between the back of the couch and Tony's body—the nicest kind of warm. The kind that made her think about going back to sleep and maybe making pancakes later. She wondered vaguely if she had eggs left in the fridge. The milk was still good, and she had butter and syrup, but without eggs—

"Hey," Tony said, gently elbowing her out of contemplation of her grocery list. "Did you know that, according to Gibbs's standards, we've been dating for years?"

She looked up with interest. "I did not know that. If I'd known that, you could have slept in my bed."

"Really?"

She looked at him through her lashes with a coy smile. "I would've made you help with the laundry, though."

He grinned.

"Hey!" Gibbs snapped.

"Geez, Gibbs, you should've told me sooner. Dating for, what, seven years? I probably oughta be popping the question by now, I mean—"

"You through?"

Tony dropped the humor from his tone. "I don't know. Are you through assuming the worst even though we haven't done anything wrong?

Ziva was tempted to pinch his armpit for bringing such negativity and cynicism to her couch. She settled for frowning at him.

"What?" he mouthed.

She fixed her eyes on the phone again. Gibbs was being very quiet.

The moment stretched. Tony yawned. They waited.

"Ziva," Gibbs finally said. Tony held the phone to her ear. "Where'd you say that file was?"

Now she remembered. "There were two. One's in my second drawer. The other should be on McGee's desk, unless he took it home with him."

"And you said you wrote down the number for Atkins' second cell?"

"That was me," said Tony, pulling the phone back. "It's on the back of a sticky note on my monitor. Third one down. I think the front says 'Melissa.' Or 'Melanie,' maybe. I was trying to recycle."

"Got it."

There was another small silence, and Ziva mused that she had never before encountered hesitant, awkward Gibbs and didn't think she liked him very much.

Gibbs eventually cleared his throat. "See you Monday. Don't be late." And with that, the connection cut off.

"Well, that was incredibly strange." Tony tossed Ziva's cell to the carpet and settled back against the armrest. She got the feeling he expected her to get up. And she didn't feel like it. Appropriate or not, cuddling against Tony early on a Saturday morning with rays of sunlight just beginning to lick at her feet—it was simply too nice to end so soon.

"I don't think weekends put Gibbs in a very pleasant mood," she said, making no effort to move away.

Tony snorted. "Make him assume the worst, that's for sure."

She thought for a minute. "Do you really think that?"

"That he was out-of-line? Well, yeah."

"No, that a date with me would be the worst."

His eyes were full of surprise when she propped her chin on one hand and met them.

"No," he said. "No, of course not."

Ziva studied his face. He looked a little confused, and a little wary, and intrigued. Definitely intrigued. For whatever reason, she felt satisfied, and let her cheek fall to his chest. His heartbeat was faster than usual, his body very still.

"I should probably go, huh?"

"Tony."

"Hm?"

"Shut up and go back to sleep."

He shifted uncomfortably. "You sure?"

"I'll make you pancakes later if you're good," she murmured into his chest.

He pondered that for a minute, then, unexpectedly, his whole body went soft and relaxed and he pulled an arm from behind his head and draped it over her back. She could feel his breath in her hair when he spoke. "How about I take you out for waffles? You know, to say thanks for the soup. And the couch."

She smiled.

"Would that be okay?"

"It's a date," she said, and let his heartbeat lull her back to sleep.

Fun Fact: I initially was going to name the band, and I tried to use an online band name generator for that. Interesting suggestions it gave me included "Voodoo Serpent of the Trendy Genesis" and "Slimy Voodoo of the Spilled Ire." But I couldn't use those because they make me giggle too much.