A/N: Tag to Loyals and Royals.

DISCLAIMER: Thanks, management.

Reflection

Dark eyes flicker up to meet the steady gaze of green and he waggles his eyebrows at her, grinning around his toothbrush and a mouth full of mint toothpaste. She steps to the side, pressing the warm washcloth to her face, biting back a satisfied hum as the heat soothes her tired face. He reclaims the prime space she's vacated, spitting into the sink and flicking on the faucet to rinse his mouth and brush. Wordlessly, she passes him a towel when he emerges from the sink basin with water droplets clinging to his face, having apparently decided that needed washing as well. His grunt is gracious as he accepts the towel and she smirks in response, reaching for her moisturizer.

He finishes before her as she's still applying and moisturizing and rejuvenating and he lingers in the doorway, appraising her quietly with that expression of his that she's been catching more and more frequently. The one that seems to hold too much significance for her to comprehend, too many feelings and emotions and . . . .

"What are you doing, DiNozzo?" she wonders idly, glancing at his reflection in the mirror in time to see him blink away whatever he was thinking before.

"We can't go to bed angry, Ziva," he tells her and her eyebrows quirk up at this and she turns around to face him, leaning back against the vanity, the countertop biting into her lower back.

"I was not aware we were fighting, Tony," she informs him with her head cocked to the side and amusement entering her eyes.

"The email thing-" he shuts up when she shoves off the counter and saunters over to him, coming to stand within a breadth of touching him without actually making physical contact.

"I was not mad at you."

"I shouldn't be so-"

"Nosy?"

"Jealous." And he can tell he surprised her with that answer.

She bites her lower lip and leans back out of his personal space and he immediately misses the closeness. She takes a step over the threshold and her eyes flicker back up to meet his. "Coming to bed?" And it is a question he will willingly oblige.

She draws back the comforter, slipping between the sheets and sinking into the mattress with a satisfied sigh. And he shucks his pants to the floor, following her under the blankets, his foot brushing hers and a yelp escaping his throat. "Your feet are freezing."

"If that's a problem," she says softly, rolling over so she's resting against his side, her lips at his ear, "then perhaps you can help me warm up?"

"Gladly," he murmurs, slightly surprised, but wholly amused, at her sudden change in demeanor. She presses a kiss to his throat, smirking when his voice says huskily, "Kiss and make-up?"

She leans back, dark eyes pressing into green, regarding him briefly before repeating his earlier analogy: "The Israeli love machine, yes?"

And his agreement is implicit as she steals the words off his tongue with another kiss from his lips.

A few minutes later and she's lounging against his chest, the cotton of his t-shirt soft against her cheek as his fingers trail lazily beneath her shirt, tracing images up her back.

"Did you mean it, earlier? What you said?"

He shifts beneath her, stifles a yawn. The question is apparent in his voice when he asks, "That you were a love machine?"

"No," and she hesitates and he waits, curious, for her to continue. Eventually, she says, softly, "That I was priceless."

"Of course," he says, chuckling because he cannot believe she'd even think he wouldn't mean it. Then, "What's he like?"

"What is who like?"

"This guy you're so crazy about."

She twists so she can see his face, so she can discern what he's thinking, but his eyes are closed, and his face inscrutable. "I am not crazy about a guy, Tony."

"Do you love him?"

"I can see where the idea would cast doubt on my sanity," she answers drily.

"You care for him," he amends.

"Yes," she allows, cautiously.

"Ziva, I'm not asking for his address and social security number –I just want to know what he's like."

"He is a good man . . . . Extremely funny; intelligent; quick. He's hard working and devoted, loyal to a fault-"

"He sounds like a border collie," he interjects petulantly, but she ignores him, continuing with her list of attributes and he's all the more aware of the sharp pang of something twisting in his ribcage, this uncomfortable tightening in his chest at the wistful quality her voice has taken. And it isn't until she's quiet that he realizes he had accidently tuned her out.

"Come on," he says, lightly, attempting to catch up in the conversation while still trying to shake off the growing feeling of I just shouldn't have asked. "That's just the deep stuff –I want to hear the more superficial details."

"Like if he's better than you?" she suggests innocently, internally pleased at the sound of his heart picking up an indignant speed.

"Is he?"

And she snorts, awkwardly patting his hip in reassurance, "I wouldn't know, Tony."

"Yeah right . . . . So, what does he look like?"

She suppresses the urge to ask him if he intends to put out a BOLO or run the description through available channels and instead answers, "Tall. Nice eyes –a very pretty color and very expressive."

"His eyes."

"Yes. His body language is hard to read, but all his emotion is in his eyes," she explains before asking softly, "I suppose now you would like to know if he's better looking than you? Perhaps if he's younger, yes?" And he feels foolish at how easily she called him out. Foolish and impressed at the accuracy in her guesswork.

He banishes the insecurity away, replying with mock offense, "No, that was not what I was gonna ask."

"Then what were you?" And, yeah, she's that good.

"So when can I meet him?"

She sighs and her breath is warm through his t-shirt as she nuzzles her face into his chest. "Anytime you want."

He perks up at this. "Really? Skype? Live Chat? Facebook?"

She yawns, closing her eyes, listening to the effect her words have on his blood pressure. "Not necessary . . . . You honestly want to meet him?"

"Ziva."

" . . . . Then go look in the mirror, Tony."

A/N: So during this entire conversation, Ziva is referring to loving Tony and Tony is referring to her loving the mystery Miami man (until the end when she clues him in). And I do believe he exists -I just don't think he and Ziva have a thing. Because I am in denial. . . . I would like to post something else this weekend, but I doubt it. Exams are next week and, well, I'm up to my eyeballs in study-guides. BUT as soon as the last test question has been answered, you better believe there will be more stuff ready for you to read :^) Much love and keep the peace, Kit.