Title: Goodnite

Author: Cath

Disclaimer: Characters, etc, still not mine

Summary: "What does this mean?" Tony asks. He stands in front of her bed in his underwear and Ziva can't help but think that they're both underdressed for this conversation. Tiva.

Notes: Reverse order of scenes because I like to try different things every now and then. Please note: mature themes. Nothing graphic, though.

Title comes from the song Goodnite by Melody Gardot. No – it's not that I can't spell.

Hope you enjoy :) Reviews are always greatly appreciated.

Goodnite

close your eyes and just sleep tight

i'll lie awake and watch you dream

Goodnite, Melody Gardot

"What does this mean?" Tony asks. The room is cold from the breeze blowing through the open window. And so, as he stands in front of her bed in his underwear, Ziva can't help but think that they're both underdressed for this conversation.

He winces because this is not what he meant to say. But it's out there now.

Their eyes don't leave each other; a silent stand off.

She is not going to be the one to define this. She's more interested to see what he thinks this is.

She moves her hands slowly down the sheets that cover her legs. She leans forward to grab her earlier discarded top, giving him an intentional view of her cleavage as she does. Her lips creep up into a slight smile as she notices him looking.

The familiar gesture gives her some indication of his thoughts.

The smile leaves her face as she gives an answer. "I don't know," she replies.

A cold breeze brushes against her face and upper body, waking her up. It is still dark out and lights from the street illuminate the room in a hazy orange glow.

She has slept little.

Her head hurts slightly. A reminder of an evening of too much alcohol and too little food. It's a tell-tale sign that she's getting older. She never used to get hangovers.

He lies on his back beside her. His eyes are closed, but small movements indicate that he is near waking.

He groans as he opens his eyes. "Water?" he asks.

It's not the morning greeting that she would have hoped for, but then, this night was never supposed to happen at all, despite any hoping.

She points in the direction of the kitchen.

"Want some?" he queries, rubbing his face with his hand in an obvious attempt to wake himself up.

She wonders if last night has fully registered with him yet. She suspects not. Or maybe he's just this nonchalant whenever he sleeps with someone. Maybe. He's had enough practice.

He manoeuvres himself to sit on the side of the bed. She gets full view of his naked ass. She lets her eyes linger; as this is likely to be a one-time occurrence, she might as well take this opportunity while she can. He locates and pulls on his underpants. He stands, surveys the wreckage of her room. Discarded clothes litter the floor haphazardly. She can see that he's awake enough now to take it all in.

"Last night was… different," he says. She finds it interesting that he's almost unsure about the situation. He hides it well but she knows him better than that.

She's out of practice with the morning after part, but she's never been one to gush embarrassedly or give reassurance.

"We had sex," she responds with an amused eyebrow raise.

He gives an awkward chuckle, "yes, we did". Pause. And then, "what does this mean?"

She lies beside him, unable to sleep. She doesn't know why. It is unusual.

Maybe it's because she has been thinking about this moment for a long time. Fantasising, even. Certainly she's considered this more than he has.

She can't help but think about the consequences. Which is definitely unusual for her. Mostly, sex is just sex. Sometimes with men she likes. Sometimes just for physical pleasure. Recently, however, either has been less frequent to the extent of never.

But this is different. She doesn't develop emotional attachments easily. And she came to accept long ago that this is more than she has felt for anyone before. A weakness, certainly.

He is asleep. He snores lightly, probably partly influenced by the alcohol consumption. He looks peaceful.

She watches him a while and wonders what will happen in the morning. But for now, she has this moment and that's enough.

Eventually, her eyes start to close. She shifts further down into the comfort of the covers.

And then she sleeps.

It is less than three hours later when a cold breeze brushes against her face and upper body, waking her up.

His hand creeps up her shirt and she feels the warmth of it against her skin. The other hand tangles and twists through her hair.

Their kisses increase in intensity. She is hungry for him and doesn't hide it. Tongues duel, each fighting for control. Feet shuffle in the direction of her bedroom.

Her hands grab at the bottom of his shirt, pulling it slowly up. They momentarily break contact as he pulls it the rest of the way over his head. And then, brief kisses before her own shirt goes the same way.

Both items of clothing discarded without further thought.

She laughs against his mouth as he struggles with the fastening on her bra. "I can usually do this, no problem," he mumbles. She doesn't doubt it. In the end, she moves her hands behind her back to meet his, assisting him with the awkward item.

He takes his own jeans off before tackling hers. And then, underwear thrown to one side, they both stand there naked.

He takes a moment to drink in the sight of her. "Ah, just as I remember," he sighs appreciatively, his comments in reference to time spent undercover an age ago. "It's been a while."

She raises one eyebrow as she takes a look at his ass. "Not quite as I remember," she smirks.

"I aim to please," he comments.

"We will see about that," she replies with amusement.

She places a hand behind his head; pulls him towards her. Their mouths meet again.

Slowly, they fall to her bed.

The sex is heated, physical, satisfying. Moments between kisses filled with banter. It matches well to her fantasies.

After, they lie in her bed, exhausted and sated.

He lies on his back, fighting sleep, unable to maintain conversation. The combination of alcohol and physical exertion are too much for him. "G'night," he says after too many words are punctuated with yawns.

"Goodnight," she replies.

He falls asleep almost immediately.

She lies beside him, unable to sleep.

And then everything in the room seems to stop.

"I didn't mean…" she interrupts the silence. "I meant… you can…." But for once she cannot seem to find any excuses. And instead, she moves closer to him, her actions contradicting her words.

It's the wine, she thinks. She pays little heed to the fact that alcohol rarely affects her judgement.

He doesn't back away, she notes with interest. Instead, he looks at her, obviously trying to read the situation.

Pause. "Tonight…. Why did you come?" she asks. She turns the focus on him.

He cocks his head to one side and grins. "I already told you. Raiders of the Lost Ark."

She shakes her head. "Why did you come?" she repeats. She is serious.

There is a moment of silence. He can't just laugh this off. "I was… bored." She doesn't buy this for a moment.

"And Thursday?" she continues the interrogation. She takes another step forward.

"I was amazed that you'd never seen Alien."

"Last week?" Another step forward. They are maybe a metre apart and still he doesn't back away.

He smiles, cocky, "you said you'd cook."

"That was two weeks ago," she replies. Another step forward until there is mere inches between them.

This throws him slightly off balance. "I…" For once he is without a retort.

"Well, this is one for the recording books," she comments with an amused smile. But the smile is slightly forced, hiding her nervousness. He watches her lips as she speaks.

"Record books, Zee-vah," he replies quietly.

And then, all she can hear is their heavy breathing.

She doesn't know who moves first.

Lips connect; tongues entwine hungrily, eagerly. A hand placed behind her head, holding her close.

His hand creeps up her shirt and she feels the warmth of it against her skin.

It has been a long and mentally exhausting day. She doesn't particularly savour the thought of another evening spent alone, but socialising requires effort she doesn't have at this moment. And giving in to feelings of loneliness is a weakness she cannot allow.

She is surprised to hear a knock on her door.

"Tony?" she asks as she opens it to find him standing there. "What are you doing here? It is late."

He holds a take out pizza, bottle of wine and a DVD. "I figured you wouldn't have eaten yet. And besides, no one can resist the wonder that is… Raiders of the Lost Ark." She senses something unsaid, too. Loneliness, maybe?

She rolls her eyes at his words and invites him in. She hasn't eaten yet and the pizza smells delicious.

She's glad that he's here. She wouldn't ever admit it but she's glad whenever he comes round. Lately, it seems to be happening more and more frequently.

She gets glasses from the kitchen, opens the bottle, and pours the wine.

The pizza is devoured within minutes. The wine lasts a little longer, but it is not too long before she supplements it with a bottle of her own. Raiders of the Lost Ark plays on the TV but she does not pay much attention to it. Instead, she is distracted by her thoughts.

She doesn't expect him to watch her and notice.

"Ziva?" he asks. "Are…" he starts, but does not finish. She looks over at him and is surprised to see hints of worry on his features. "Not a fan of Raiders?" he asks instead.

She suspects that he was going to ask if she was okay. She didn't realise she was that obvious.

"Don't tell me you're not a Harrison Ford fan," he questions.

"He is okay," she responds, pushing away her thoughts and going along with the game. "I have problems knowing that he is the same age as my father," she manages a sly grin.

"He's a Hollywood legend! You're not trying to get a date with him!" He moves his arms dramatically to make his point. His hand accidentally brushes against her knee, lingers there a moment.

"But the point of a leading man is that he is sexually attractive, yes?" she asks, enjoying goading him on. She tries not to think about where his hand is.

He sighs, throwing his hands up melodramatically. She thinks she can hear him quietly utter the word: "women."

She finds it difficult not to laugh.

He looks at his wristwatch. "It's late. I should get going," he says.

Her disappointment is immense; she works hard at not letting it show on her features. "Right," she responds. A brief nod and fake smile.

He stands, gets the DVD out of the player, puts it back in the box. "Night, Ziva. See you Monday," he says as he starts towards the door.

The word is out before she's even realised that she's said it. "Stay." Quiet. Desperate?

And then everything in the room seems to stop.

"What does this mean?" he asks.

The smile leaves her face as she gives an answer. "I don't know," she replies.

But she's lying. She knows exactly what she wants this whole thing to mean. She's thought about it enough, regardless of whether she'd ever admit it.

She puts the top on and looks around the floor for her underwear. He locates it, hands it to her. She puts them on.

And then, feeling less cold and less exposed, she asks: "what do you want it to mean?"

It's not a fair question; he's cold, thirsty, half-asleep, and standing in her bedroom in his underwear. Now is not the time he wants to analyse the situation.

"I think…," he begins. "I think I need some water first."

He returns shortly afterwards, hands her a glass of water and downs his own. He sits on the side of the bed.

"I've been thinking about this a while," he says. His frankness surprises her. She eyes him warily. "I don't want this to be a one-time only thing," he continues slowly, avoiding her eyes. There's a pause and a sly smile creeps up on his face. She infers that he is trying to diffuse the awkwardness of the situation. "Mostly since I've not yet shown you the true DiNozzo magic." He winks at her, mock alluring.

She finds it difficult not to smile. "Last night wasn't the true DiNozzo magic?" she asks. "It does get better then?" she bites her lip in an attempt not to laugh. But he knows her better than to be offended by the remark.

"Damn right it does. Last night was under the influence of alcohol. This morning will be something else," he continues cockily. She knows as well as he does that it's an act.

"This morning, eh?" she queries, smirking. She only hopes that her amused tone of voice hides her anticipation.

And suddenly, he looks at her and there is nothing amusing at all.

And then he leans in, kissing her solidly and she is powerless to resist.

Fini