A/N: I am not even kidding this is just blatant tomfoolery.
It's Mateja's, because I had to make up for killing her (sort of) in that other fic. And I promised her hot sex with DiNozzo-which I'm (again, sort of) leaving to her imagination...because I absolutely cannot write smut that involves a real individual. I also teased her with an end-twist that came to mind. Oy vey, and I'm up much too late.
They all knew The Pose.
The patented, familiar, signature, oh-so-smug, hands-behind-the-head, leaning back in the office chair, arrogant, I-got-laid-last-night pose of Anthony DiNozzo, junior.
And upon seeing it when they walked in Monday morning, both Ziva David and Timothy McGee groaned inwardly and adopted their own brand of scowls, waiting—just waiting—for Tony to start lording it over them all.
After a moment of silence in which Tony looked betwixt them in a pompous manner, McGee took a sip of sugar coffee and broke the ice.
"No idea," Tony answered loudly, swiveling towards McGee slowly. "How was your weekend, Tim?"
"Fine," McGee answered suspiciously, glaring.
Tony was still posing. He was not to be trusted until the posing stopped.
The senior field agent swiveled towards Ziva.
"And yours, my little snoring ninja? Your weekend?" he asked loftily.
"It was satisfactory, my little hairy butt," she answered. "Though not," she pointed a pen at him absently, "as satisfactory as yours, I see."
"No," he agreed, smirking. "No, no, no—hey," Tony broke off, glaring. "How do you know?"
Ziva and McGee looked at each other.
"The pose," the answered simultaneously.
Tony glared at them silently, lowering his hands very slowly. He looked at them.
"What pose?" he asked, examining his palms.
"That pose," said Ziva, turning to her papers.
"The pose you do when you sleep with a hot babe," McGee mocked, rolling his eyes.
Tony leaned forward. He folded his hands almost biblically on his desk and looked at them seriously, narrowing his eyes. He waited patiently. Then he held out his hands, his eyebrows going up.
"Are any of you underling agents going to ask how your superior's weekend was?" he asked loudly.
"I assume Gibbs enjoyed working on his boat again," Ziva said blandly. She looked up at Tony. He glared at her and she narrowed her eyes, throwing her own hands out. "You are going to tell us either way."
"That's right, Zee-vah," he said, standing up from his desk and straightening his shirt. He made to stroke his hair back vainly. "It's quite a tale," he said, standing tall. He smirked and shot a superior look at McGee.
"I met a very saucy senorita—wait," he changed tune, and turned to Ziva, snapping. "Ziva, how do you say…uh, how do you address a woman in Croatian."
The Mossad Officer looked at him as if he'd lost his mind.
"Gospođica," she answered slowly, narrowing her eyes suspiciously.
"Yes," Tony agreed, clapping his hands together. "Yes. That," he said.
"You need to know this why?" asked Ziva.
"Well, Zee-vah," Tony drawled. "I met a Croatian woman in Georgetown Friday night. Young, feisty student. Visiting America. Studying here," he wiggled his eyes lasciviously.
"Tony," McGee spoke up, shocked. "You slept with a student?"
"Was she legal?" Ziva asked.
Tony looked offended.
"Yes," he said, glaring at them. "And you are getting ahead of yourself, McSkippingParts," he said to Tim. "First I drank with her. Then I slept with her. All. Weekend. Long. "
Ziva made a face.
McGee frowned at Tony.
"You shouldn't tell us this," he said, always the nice guy. "It's disrespectful."
Tony scoffed and waved an arm at McGee.
"Everything we did was disrespectful, McVirgin," he teased lewdly, turning to Ziva instead.
The Israeli leaned forward on her desk, arching an eyebrow.
She clicked her tongue and pursed her lips.
"Did you help her with her studies, To-nee?" she asked, talking to him as if he were an errant child.
Tony held up a finger and shook it.
"She didn't need help," he said. "Oh no no, she was educated," he said.
"Did you even get her name?" asked McGee sarcastically, wishing Gibbs would walk in and whack DiNozzo in his big head.
"That's the best part, Pro-ho-hobie," he said egotistically. He paused, as if building suspense, and then looked around, as if it were some secret. "Mateja," he revealed dramatically.
McGee and Ziva just looked at him.
"It's Croatian," he said.
"You did say she was a Croatian woman," Ziva pointed out bluntly.
He glared at her.
"Mateja," he repeated slowly, relishing it. "Listen to it, it's like silk, just rolling off your tongue," he muttered. "Try it, Probie. It will give you shivers."
"Mateja," said McGee, patronizing Tony.
"Wrong," snapped DiNozzo. "It's Mateja."
"That's what I said, Tony."
"No, you said 'Mat-ay-uh', like a hick or something. It's 'mah-teh-yah'," Tony corrected. "You roll it together like Spanish and say it real fast like French…except in Croatian…you know, it sounds better when she says it," he stared off into space. "In my ear. Or against my shoulder. Or my chest. Or my—
"Tony!" shouted Ziva, eyes wide. "We get it, you liked her to say her own name in bed."
"I liked her to say my name, too," he bristled. "She purred it like a kitty cat."
"So now you're into bestiality," mocked McGee.
Tony glared at them.
He pointed accusingly.
"You're jealous," he said egotistically. "Jealous of my smokin' Croatian lover. My Eastern European flame."
Ziva snorted and went back to work.
McGee just looked at Tony as if the older agent had lost it completely.
Tony smirked wickedly, preening.
"Want to know what Mateja can do with some ice cubes and a strawberry?"
"No!" McGee and Ziva answered firmly, and, Tony noticed, Gibbs' voice rang in, too, as he walked around the corner with a coffee cup in his hand.
"Tony is in love, Boss," McGee said.
"He's smitten with an Eastern European woman," Ziva teased, puckering her lips.
Gibbs glanced up.
"Those women are wild," he said bluntly. "They'll tire you out. Hope you're not tired, DiNozzo," he snapped, ignoring the shocked looks he was getting. "Grab your gear. Body at Pax River."
Gibbs grabbed the keys and left the bullpen again.
"Did he just— Ziva began, eyes wide.
"Yep," agreed McGee.
"Told you I had a wild weekend," Tony bragged. "Two whole days learning Croatian, ah, culture."
"It is very interesting," Ziva said seriously. "I visited Zagreb with my Aunt Nettie on my trip to Israel a few weeks back."
"Ziva," McGee said. "He's using 'culture' as a euphemism for sex."
"Yes indeed, my ninja," said Tony, taking to his chair and assuming his telltale pose again. He looked as if he needed a tumbler of brandy and a cigar to congratulate himself.
He whistle and looked up at the NCIS ceiling.
"Tony, we've got a body," McGee said, prodding.
"You'll both get to meet her," he drawled. "I invited her by to give her a tour of an American Intelligence Agency."
"Because she did not get any American intelligence all weekend," Ziva mocked.
The elevator pinged, and Tony sat up, slouching dashingly and smirking. A woman stepped off the elevator and he raised his hand to her. Ziva and McGee looked, as Tony got up to welcome her.
She was tall with dark features—dark in that her brows where striking and full, and matched her long, thick raven-coloured hair almost perfectly. That hair fell neatly tussled around her shoulders. Her eyes were observant and cool, a full mouth pursed in a permanent skeptical smirk, and skin that was pale like porcelain and smooth. She was comparable to CAaherine Zeta-Jones, but without the soft, baby features; her looks were sharper.
"This," DiNozzo said with a grand flourish, "Is—
"Mateja?" Ziva said, cocking her head and arching her own dark eyebrow.
After a moment of taken aback confusion and quizzical pursed lips, Tony's woman's eyes lit up a little.
"Ziva," she said in clear English, smiling slightly. She stepped forward and kissed each of Ziva's cheeks in greeting.
Ziva returned the greeting, and put her tongue in her cheek, looking at Tony wickedly.
"It is a small world," Ziva said devilishly.
Tony looked between them.
"You know—He began, confused. "How? What? What's happening?" he asked.
"I told you I was in Zagreb a month ago," Ziva said mysteriously.
"You have been well since then?" Mateja asked, sounding more French/British than the thick, Eastern European one might have expected.
"Okay, but, how do you two know each other?" Tony demanded.
Ziva smirked at Mateja. Mateja smiled.
"We experimented in Croatian…culture," Ziva said in a low voice, her tone suggestive.
Mateja winked pertly.
Tony squeaked, his eyes wide as saucers. He looked between the women rapidly.
"No way," he said in awe.
And his mind immediately began crafting a hundred different scenarios, all involving pillows, short little nightgowns, strawberries, and ice.
What were Mateja and Ziva up to in Zagreb, hmm? ;)
Trick or Treat. Happy Halloween, Mateja.