Title: American Dream
Pairing: McGee/Ziva
Rating: K+
Genre: Het
Cat: Drama, Episode Tag, UST
Spoilers: Tag to Dead Air
Warnings: None.
Summary: An innocent question leads to a startling revelation for both McGee and Ziva.
Author's Note: So I finished this a couple weeks ago and was just too lazy to post it, haha. Sorry. I'm alive.

McGee slowed his typing, eventually stopping and lifting his head, his gaze shifting to where he'd felt someone watching him. Ziva returned his gaze and smiled, a teasing glint in her eyes. He raised an eyebrow at her. "What?"

She rested her chin on her hand and continued to watch him. "American dream," she said, and watched as he groaned. She laughed. "It is nothing to be ashamed of, McGee. I think it is . . . cute." She wrinkled her nose a bit as she said the word, causing McGee to smile himself and think about how cute he thought that was.

She watched his expression change and pushed herself away from her desk, standing and walking over to his desk and around it, sliding his keyboard to the side and sitting on the middle of his desk. He'd pushed himself back a bit to give himself extra room, and Ziva took advantage of his positioning to rest a foot against the seat of his chair. "So, tell me more about your American dream."

He shrugged, not looking away from her face. "I'd like to get married, have the requisite 2.5 kids, have a nice house in a nice neighborhood with a big yard," he grinned, "with a white picket fence."

Ziva cocked her head to the side. "How can someone have half a child?"

"Maybe that means a dog?" McGee suggested, and Ziva leaned back, smiling.

"Well, you have that part taken care of, at least," she teased, and he rolled his eyes, then sat up, crossing his arms over his chest.

"How about you?"

"How about me what? What is my American dream?" McGee nodded and she shrugged. "I try not to think about that too much. I don't want to get ahead of myself, or end up disappointed."

McGee's expression turned thoughtful. "You're allowed to have dreams, Ziva. It gives you something to aspire to. Don't you want to get married, have a family?"

Ziva's face fell slightly and she pushed herself off his desk, walking back to her own and tossing an apology over her shoulder. "I should not have brought it up. It is not important."

McGee looked concerned as he watched her sit back down and he glanced around before standing and following her. "Hey, I'm sorry if I upset you," he said, keeping his voice low.

She glanced up at him, giving him a wan smile. "You did not upset me. I do want to have a family, but sometimes I feel like that is not, what is the saying, on the deck?"

He returned her soft smile. "In the cards. And don't think like that, Ziva. You never know what the future will bring. I mean, did you ever see yourself living here for longer than a few months?"

She sat back in her chair, contemplating his words. After a few moments, she said, "You know, you are right. But I am not asking for much. I just want to be happy."

McGee gazed at her, until she shifted uncomfortably, then tipped his head toward the hallway leading out of the squad room. "Come on."

Ziva narrowed her eyes at him, but stood, following him as he walked away. She didn't ask him what he was doing; he'd tell her when they got where they were going. He stopped after a few minutes and Ziva spoke from behind him.

"Trying to get me alone, McGee?"

He turned to face her, rolling his eyes slightly. "I didn't want to say anything in the middle of the bullpen, but . . . you looked like you could use a hug."

It was Ziva's turn to gaze at him until he grew uneasy, then she gave him a crooked smile. "Was it that obvious?"

He held out an arm, drawing her to him, and waited for her to initiate the hug before enclosing her in his arms. Ziva let out a soft breath against his chest, relishing in the contact.

"Don't give up, Ziva," McGee muttered into her hair. "You never know when you'll meet the person you realize you can't live without, who feels the same way about you, and if you find you both want the same things out of the future, then you'll really be set."

Ziva thought about his words for a minute, then froze, before pulling away from him. She looked up and met his eyes, knowing the expression she saw there was likely the same she wore. How could she have been so blind?

"We should get back to work," she said, her voice coming out barely above a whisper. McGee nodded his agreement and Ziva took that as her cue to leave, walking quickly back to her desk without waiting to see if McGee was following. She hoped he wasn't. Something like this . . . she couldn't talk about it right now. It was far too momentous a realization, and she needed time to herself to process it. She pulled out her keyboard to return to her work, to get her mind off what had just happened, but she couldn't ignore how much her hands shook as she did so.

Luckily for Ziva, McGee hadn't followed her. He hadn't moved at all from his spot in the deserted hallway, and stood staring at the wall. He certainly hadn't anticipated any of this happening. Not today, not at all. It really was like he said – you never know when it'll happen. He backed up a few inches to lean his back against the wall, knowing he should get back to work before Gibbs came back and found him not at his desk, but also feeling like the room might explode from the tension if he returned right then.

Ziva. And she felt it, too? That was . . . that was . . . wow.

McGee risked a glance back at the bullpen, finding Ziva sitting at her desk, working. He knew she wouldn't want to talk about it with him, at least not right away, and he wouldn't push her, but if this was it?

Out of nowhere, it seemed his future was falling into place, yet things had never been so confusing. He let his head thunk against the wall. What were they going to do?

THE END