Disclaimer: Fish in the kettle.

Spoilers: None. There are Tiva references, but those are so vague that if you haven't seen the episodes, you wouldn't know which ones the references are.

Notes: Every once in a while, I get this mood where I really want to see Ziva doubt her romantic relational capacity and Tony's there for her. I'm not entirely sure why these moods strike me, but this fic is a result of that. It's quite pointless :P also, I've been up for nearly 19 hours now and I'm really quite tired, so if anything's hinky about the fic ... I'm sorry, but I'm mentally incapable of noticing right now. I hope nothing's hinky, though.

Have some chocolate ... *dozes off*. Blurph.

-Soph

The Truth of the Matter

Nine o'clock on a Friday night was not the standard time for NCIS agents to still be in the office.

That much Tony knew, even as he bent his head diligently over the paperwork he had been procrastinating on for a week. Fed up with the absence of the necessary reports on his desk, Gibbs had finally provided the senior field agent with an ultimatum of paperwork or being jobless; Tony had very naturally chosen the former, but couldn't regret it more now that it was nine o'clock on a Friday night and every other agent in the building was either home or out on dates.

Like Ziva—Ziva was out on a date. In a smokin' hot number.

Dark red and full-length, the dress was actually conservative in comparison to a number of things she had worn before, but he'd be damned if she didn't look incredible in it.

So absorbed was he in contemplating the wonder that was his partner that he failed to notice her entrance into dimly lit bullpen. It wasn't until he heard a thud and then the sound of her clearing her throat that he looked up and saw her settled in her chair, already rolling its wheels towards her desk.

"Oh, hey," he greeted her, surprised. The briefest smile of acknowledgement flickered across her lips as she turned on her computer. "What are you doing here? I thought you had a date."

"It is over," she merely said.

He gaped. "In an hour?" he asked incredulously. "What happened?"

She shrugged. "He did not seem interested in me."

"So, you ditched him?"

"No…" Ziva murmured slowly. "He ditched me."

Tony paused. "Oh."

"Mmhmm," she murmured shortly, clicking furiously away at something on her newly started machine. Tony watched her, feeling awkwardly at a loss for words.

"I'm sorry," he finally offered, and she didn't reply. He picked up his pen to continue writing—and yet, found that he couldn't, because her furious clicking had stopped and he could sense the tension in her from all the way across the bullpen.

Sighing, he pushed away from his own desk and sauntered over to her with his hands in his pockets.

"It was just a date," he told her, putting his hands on her shoulders and kneading gently. She sank into his touch as if a marionette on strings.

"I know," she replied solemnly. "I feel humiliated, but that is to be expected. Everyone whose plans didn't pan out would feel in the same manner."

"Are you telling that to me or yourself?"

"Both, I guess."

"I already know that; you don't need to tell me that. But I get the impression it's more than humiliation going through you."

She was quiet for a moment. "Maybe sadness." She lowered her head. "Dejectedness."

"'Dejectedness'?" he repeated. "Why?"

"It seems all my dates work out that way, yes?"

"That's because you haven't been on a date with the One yet."

She laughed, a short, rough bark. "That one person is a myth, Tony. It is something people invented to make themselves feel better."

"The Old You didn't use to think that." She hummed questioningly, so he explained, "The Old You asked me about soul mates."

"And you didn't answer," she pointed out. "I have grown up, DiNozzo. The Old Me was … young and idealistic, and had a crush on you. The New Me is merely the Old You. Jaded. Tired. Given up on looking. I have accepted—"

"The Old You changed the Old Me," he interrupted.

"This is a confusing conversation."

"No, it's not," he retorted. "You changed who I was because of what you believed in. How could you possibly stop believing in it now?"

"A person can't change their thoughts?"

"Sure they can, but…" He licked his lips. "But you can take it on good authority that it wasn't all that fun being the Old Me."

"I never said it was." Her shoulders moved as she lifted her hands to rub her face. "But could you imagine how messed up a person would have to be to be my soul mate?"

"Ziva," he breathed out. "You're not messed up."

"I just want a good date; a proper one." She threw her hands up, seemingly ignoring his words. "One where I wasn't too weird or too foreign or too distant or too anything. I want to know that I am not incapable of mattering."

"You matter to me."

His admission seemed to calm, if not reassure, her. "I know I do, as your friend," she answered softly, "But I need more than that."

"So, go on a date with me." He froze with his mouth open, not entirely aware of where the words came from, but became annoyed when she laughed as if it were a joke. "I'm serious, Ziva."

And then, she froze beneath his palms. A splutter that sounded like the first syllable of his name escaped her lips before she regained her ability to talk. "Tony, I do not think that is the best idea."

"Why not?"

"Because you-… I-… I mean, I'm not able to go on successful date even with a stranger; what makes you think a date between us would work out?"

"Because I know you," he reasoned, "I know you're not too weird or too distant or too foreign. That pretty much covers all the bases."

"Tony, I do not want a pity date."

"It won't be a pity date. It'll be a best-friends-get-along-in-more-than-one-way date." It made her chuckle, so he took the opportunity to drop his wrists and lean in closer. "So, what do you say?"

She took a deep breath. "I say … that some best friends do get along in more than one way, yes. But that I am being rejected, romantically, for a reason. And whatever that reason is, I would not want my best friend to be the one to figure it out."

"Why not?"

"What kind of question is that?" She brushed fleetingly at her cheek. "If there was even the remotest chance that he looked at me differently from pure friendship, do you think I would do anything to disillusion him?"

"Well, he couldn't do anything about it either way if you won't even give him the opportunity."

"Maybe I'm holding on to that," she admitted. "Maybe I'm holding on to the idea that illusion begets hope and hope begets attachment. Maybe I'm holding on to the idea that illusions will keep him around and things just the way I want them."

"You don't need illusions to keep me around, Ziva."

"But what if I do?"

Frowning, he stepped back and turned the chair around to face him. Squatting and placing his hands on her knees to look up at her, he noticed her glittering eyelashes for the first time.

"Are things really just the way you want them right now?" he asked, searching her face. She looked away from him and then back, once, twice, thrice, before pinning her gaze on the floor.

"No," she confessed, shame colouring her voice. "But they are the best I can get them to be."

"I'm saying we could change things."

"And I'm saying that I could lose you," she returned, and her face crumbled just a little.

"You will never, ever lose me."

"Are you kidding me?" she asked instead, her face flushed. "The idea that you couldn't do better than me is preposterous—"

"And soul mates are soul mates no matter how far you separate them," he replied firmly. She stared at him. "I don't know 'better,' Ziva. I don't know 'worse.' I know you."

She sniffled. Opened her mouth, shut it, and then finally nodded. "Okay."

Beaming, he pressed a swift kiss to her lips, making her gasp. "I'll show you, Ziva," he promised her. "I'll show you that we're just about dysfunctional enough for each other."

There were tears in her laughter for the second time that night. "I do believe you," she told him, the corners of her lips quirking up.

Yes, the New Them were going to be just kickass.