Title: How Did We Get Here?
Author:
CSIGeekFan
Rating: M
Spoilers: Through "Cloak" (6x08)
Author's Note: This is only my 2nd NCIS fic, so please be gentle. It's intended as a one-shot.
Disclaimer: NCIS belongs to CBS and other people. Not me. I'm just playing with the characters.

N C I S

Some days Tony DiNozzo wondered what the hell they were doing.

Pacing the foyer might be considered out of character for those who knew him, but he couldn't help it anymore. She would be knocking on his door any second and the anticipation hummed at every nerve ending from his fingertips down his spine.

He damn near jumped at the sound of the buzzer and frowned in reaction. Yanking open the door, though, everything in him softened a fraction. Even the jolting shock at seeing her again mellowed into a sigh.

"Hello, Tony," Ziva David murmured, not waiting for an invitation to enter.

As she passed him, she rubbed her body against his, and he could have sworn he heard her quick intake of breath; but when he glanced, she looked calm.

Closing the front door with exaggerated care, Tony could control the tremors in his hands. Turning to face her, he was surprised by her… assault.

Ziva's mouth latched onto his and awareness shot through him. Everything about her felt hard and rigid, even as her lips worked over his, but he understood. It had taken him a few months to figure out her moods and how cases changed those moods. Her demeanor might appear serene, but the need to be reminded that she was alive would drive her at the worst of times. Today had been one of those times.

Using his hands to push away from the kiss, Tony leaned his cheek against hers, feeling her harsh breaths on his neck.

"I know, sweetheart," he murmured. A dead little girl led her to this particular mood.

"Did you see the child?" she asked, not hiding the small sob as he gathered her close. "Did you see?"

His little ninja could scare the crap out of him at times and infuriate him at others. Most didn't see the depth of emotion of her core or the passion within. Standing over a child – finding the guilty – she'd looked so lost earlier that day, hitting him in the gut like a sucker punch. Small, unrevealing comments added up over time outlining in dark gray the lines of her fears. How anyone could have grown up in a country constantly under attack and still come out as sane as she surprised him. They'd built up her miseries, though –standing over the corpse of a five year old girl brought those miseries alive.

It had taken everything in his power to keep his arms at his side and resist the temptation to pull her toward him in interrogation's observation room. To everyone else, she would have looked so detached; but he'd felt the waves of pain and rage pouring off her like a waterfall.

When the threatening tears suddenly spilled over, Ziva averted her eyes to stare at the ground.

"Don't," Tony said, lifting her chin. "Look at me."

Cupping her cheeks with his palms, he wiped away the moisture with his thumbs. Then it struck him just how deeply he'd dug himself into this affair. That he couldn't stand to see her in pain said more than words.

Staring into her eyes, it stunned Tony to realize just how much she meant to him.

"Christ, Ziva," he murmured, leaning in to lay a whisper soft kiss on her forehead; then her cheeks and finally her lips. Leaning his brow against hers, he whispered, "How did we get here?"

The confused, wobbly grin she gave him made him smile… as did her reply.

"I drove here, Tony," she said, with a 'well duh' inflection to her voice.

Chuckling, he lightly shook his head.

"What I mean is... how did we get here? When did this become more than just working each other out of our system?" Smiling, he ran the fingers of his right hand down her cheek and quietly asked, "When did you and I become so thoroughly 'us'?"

He'd watched the skin under his fingers quiver at each touch and was enthralled as they ran down over her chin and neck. She was so damn beautiful – the way she tilted her head just a little; how she so willingly exposed that vulnerable part of her neck to taste at will; mewling just enough to drive him crazy.

Pulling her into a kiss, his smile was wiped away by the feel of her hands on the flesh of his abdomen, running idly under his t-shirt. The taste of her – honey sweet – made him moan into her mouth and he went hard with anticipation. Every muscle came to life, although every time she ran her fingers across flesh, that very sinew quivered for her.

"I want you," he panted into her mouth. Sweeping his tongue along her lower lip, he gladly captured her gasp when he yanked up on her lacy sleeveless top.

"Then I am yours," she rasped, gripping his hand and leading him to the bedroom – one with which she'd become very familiar over the last eight months.

As he followed, Tony wondered if maybe he hadn't gotten in too deep, because he was pretty damn sure he loved her. He just had no idea if she'd kick him in the balls or drive him over the edge with sex if he said the words. She could be pretty unpredictable.

He was so lost in thought that he hadn't realized Ziva had pulled her top over her head, leaving her standing in low rider jeans that hugged her hips and a scrape of black lace over her breasts.

"If you're trying to kill me, then I'll die happy," Tony said. He'd bet anything his eyes looked glazed.

"I am not trying to kill you. Although, I believe the French refer to an orgasm as La Petite Mort. The little death," she replied, raising an eyebrow at him. Turning away, she made a show of unhooking her bra and letting it slide to the floor. Looking over her shoulder, she asked, "Would you like a little death tonight?"

As she turned, it struck Tony hard in the chest how beautiful she was – and that she was with him. Not some other guy. Him.

Sitting on the edge of the bed, he watched her approach, hungry for those peaks that had already tightened into pebbles. He must have surprised her when he reached out, grabbed, and yanked, because she squeaked just a second before he suckled. Hard at first, softer after she gasped. Alternating between nibbling and sucking, he felt her writhe, unable to stand still between his legs.

When his hand wound through her hair and pulled insistently back, he looked down into her eyes and said, "I love you."

Ziva remained silent, and Tony began to get nervous – his heart thudding hard in his chest.

When she smiled wide, Tony breathed out in relief. Maybe she wouldn't beat him to death for saying the words after all. He'd been scared for awhile that he would tell her what he felt and she'd simply laugh it off or end what they'd built.

As she broke her gaze, he felt the warmth disappear, leaving him cold without her heated eyes touching him. He splayed his hands across her abdomen, reaching behind to wrap his arms around her waist, and held her close. With his cheek resting against her breastbone, he pulled her tighter. If he could have, Tony would have wrapped her with himself from head to toe.

Inhaling, he let himself drift in the dusting of perfume she wore, along with the heady, earthy scent of her arousal.

It nearly sent him over the edge when she said, "I love you too."

After that, everything moved in slow motion. Each touch sent jolts through him in a way never before. As she climaxed, he nearly got drunk on the smell of her pouring over him. Moving within her, he let her shuddering body drag him over the crest; gladly, he fell. Together, they panted, their harsh breaths echoing through the room. The feel of her lips running across his neck had contentment settling over him.

When he finally left her body, the cold poured over, drawing him back to hold onto her so tight, she softly said, "Tony. You are compacting me."

His mind reacted slowly, and it took a few seconds before he frowned and replied, "I think you mean crushing. I'm crushing you."

"Yes. You are," she said after he loosed his grasp only a fraction. Holding her in a little less of a death grip, he began to drift to sleep. The feeling of satisfaction made him sigh as Ziva wiggled her backside against his groin. He felt her breath even out and had to swallow a chuckle. She could sleep so easily, drifting into unconsciousness on a dime. Within minutes, she'd be snoring.

"I really do love you," he murmured, feeling her wiggle even closer in response.

Smiling he thought back over all the time they'd been spending together. Sure, it started off as something primal. It felt good, though. Somewhere along the line, shethis… had become a necessity to his sanity, and he couldn't think of life without it.