A/N: I have no idea where this came from, but I think I like it. I mean, over 2000 words? I never thought I'd actually like anything of that size, that I've written.

So this is long. Yeah. And again, putting off revision for a Biology mock exam tomorrow, all for you. Okay that sounds weird, but I hope you get the point. Uhh, apologies for any tense issues, etc. This was born in the early hours of today and finished after an extortionate amount of looking through books.

Disclaimer: I own this? Heh, that's a good one, really, my sides are splitting with the hilarity of your cruel, painful, and totally untrue words.

His thoughts are scattered into unrecognizable pieces as he drives home, and it scares him. His heart is playing trampoline and keeps jumping up into his throat whilst his stomach does the opposite and falls to his feet, all when he tries to recall what happened. Because it's like playing with lightning; a dangerous action that is entirely addictive and seeps into your every move, every thought, every damn breath. And that's what's happening with him, even as he drives there's the overwhelming temptation to make his thoughts his main focus, above all else, safety can go to hell.

Because he was riled up today, insulted to the core as every form of profanity was thrown at his partner, then thrown at him as he barged in and told the jerk to
'Shut the hell up'.
His boss was naturally pissed at that, of course, and sent his senior agent upstairs to cool off. But no cooling off was necessary, because she had left too and heated things up again.

He doesn't know why either of them did it, when he thinks about it. It was just an instinct thing, that she happened to commence. And he just went along with it, like the loyal man he is. Because he was shaken by his reaction to the interrogation; he genuinely doesn't know how he got from one side of the glass to another, or what he really said. All he knows is that he snapped out of his violent trance when he felt her hand on his shoulder in one of the only ways to get him to stop. She would know that, of course.
But he doesn't know why she followed him, or why they did what they did, because it's going to screw everything up if they can't get it together and take the right course of action. They either deny it ever happened, or accept its existence and maybe even let it happen again. Maybe.

When his tires squeal as he stops abruptly at a sudden red light, the force with which he is thrown forward is enough to make him realize he needs to think this over at a better time.

He gets home and falls to the couch, almost in tears at the effort not screaming out has cost him. Not because he's in any physical pain, but he's just worried sick about what will happen because of what she did. He sits up and presses the heels of his hands into his eyes and the sweet relief he feels runs down him in the form of a racked shudder. Anyone would think he actually was crying. But he wasn't, not really. A wave of nausea hits him as he flashes back. The metal railing, digging into his back, cold and painful. A sheer contrast is presented to his other side, warm and pleasant, if extremely unexpected.

His thoughts turn to whether or not he was asking for it, or whether she just deemed it the right moment to completely change everything. But he doesn't blame her, not at all. He did reciprocate the action, so to speak, so maybe she considered it as leading her on. Maybe she'd want things to continue. He certainly did, even if his messed up head didn't. Because things had changed, yes. He just didn't know whether or not they were for the better.

He storms out of the interrogation room with an angry yet satisfied smile on his face, pleased that he'd got through to the SOB. And yes, maybe he was being over-protective; after all, everyone knew Ziva could look after herself. But who wanted to hear their partner, best friend, and maybe-something-more be called a 'Filthy Jew' and a 'Sick Bitch' ? Not anybody he knew of. So yes, he had ran in there, and yes, he had sworn and been sworn at, but he didn't care. It had worked, anyway. The jerk had confessed, shut up, and been taken away.

It is only when he gets to the elevator that he knows she was there; just a few steps away. He hears her previously fast footsteps slow until he can see her in his peripheral vision, but he just gulps and keeps waiting for the doors to open so that they can at least yell in private. When the car finally arrives, they both step in and wait to see who is going to flick the renowned switch first. As it turns out, she waits rather a long time before snapping the metal and plunging them both into bizarre, eerie, blue lighting. He idly wonders how the conversation will pan out, whether it'll be a shout-fest over how she can protect herself, or more a deep, quiet note of thanks before they agree to never defend one another again.

So when he looks to his right and sees her staring at him, he wonders what's up. There is a weird expression in her eyes, causing her pupils to either be massive, or her irises to have turned black all of a sudden. He blames it on the light. She's biting the corner of her lip in tantalizing consideration, and all too quickly he's dying to know what she's debating. He blinks slightly as her eyes lock tight with his and he half-wonders if his eyes have gone dark too, because she takes a step forward and tilts her head as a form of questioning permission. He bows his head in the minutest of movements and then she steps forward once more to almost close the gap. And then he thinks he gets it, that maybe she's unsure as to whether or not this is allowed or not. And with all the built-up rage and the fierce feeling of protection running through his veins at ridiculous speed, he's the one who reaches out and slides his hand round by her neck and he's the one who leans forward.

He sees a glint in her eyes as she stands to meet him halfway. Their lips meet ferociously, like electricity and static at once, an enthralling and powerful feeling that makes his mind run wild enough for her to gain control.
She steps forward impossibly and he walks back, and before he realizes, he's pinned up against the wall, the railing digging in so forcefully it'll bruise and the wall so cold he involuntarily shudders against her. She breaks apart and kisses him again within a second, and then there's a third kiss and a fourth kiss, and each one gets stronger until he feels brave enough to make another move and he pushes his tongue out, expecting to find her lip but discovering that she has already allowed him in. And he deepens the action more as he pushes himself off of the wall so he can pull her closer and wrap his arms around her.

Which is exactly what he does, but his hand finds the back of her head and his fingers knot into her hair, until they've worked out a rhythm of sorts, pulling apart and pushing together as one, no extra practice needed. And it feels so expertly crafted that he feels no need for it to end, so when she moves to break apart, he pulls her closer again. She gets a little further the next time, but not by much, and he brings both hands to her head to pull her closer as he murmurs her name. She laughs as he kisses her several times more, then reaches out to the side.

When he hears the elevator starting up again, he slips her two more perfectly timed kisses just before the doors open. Then, like that, she's gone. And when he walks back to the bullpen, he sees his boss, and instantly gets told to head home.

So he has no idea what happens next. He's kissed her, and it was amazing, but where do they go from here? And suddenly, he really hopes she comes round, just so he knows where she stands. Because their relationship has always been confusing. Not friends, not lovers, more an innocent hybrid of the two, so much so that neither of them knows how to act.

She doesn't disappoint him. At 9:53, a loud and only-ever-Ziva knock rings out across his door, and he's not sure what to do. He looks through the peephole nonetheless, and automatically lets her step in, then shuts the entryway behind her. When she toes off her shoes, shrugs off her coat and leaves her bag on the coffee table, his heart sinks to the bottom of a metaphorical ocean as he thinks she's just here for a movie or something. However, as soon as he finds himself being roughly backed up against a wall, his thoughts re-awaken along with a long-lost hunger and desire that he's only ever felt toward her. So he kisses her with every ounce of passion and heat that he can muster, and before he registers what he's doing, his hand has slipped up the back of her shirt, and judging by the fact that when he lowers it, she grabs it and puts it back where it was, the direction they're headed in is exactly what she wants. And he doesn't mind either.

He collapses on top of her in a breathless heap as he finally gives up, and the sheet clings to his frame and the layer of sweat that drifts across both their bodies. As the sound of loud pants and exhausted gasps fills the air, he wonders if this has happened too quickly. Maybe they should have waited until at least the day after they first kissed. Not that Tony's used to that, of course. He hardly ever kisses anyone nowadays.

When her breathing still sounds labored, he realizes that he's crushing her, so he shifts to lie on his side and prop himself up with his arm and elbow. She has her eyes shut just a little as she breathes deeply, the sheet now taking its affection with her. Reaching out to play with her hair- she had had it loosely curled but now it's tangled and crushed and, in two words, a mess- he moves a little closer and kisses her on the cheek. She leans into the gesture and turns her head to kiss him properly when he draws back, but they keep the expression shallow and not overly long, deeming themselves too drained for anything more. So when they sleep, his arm is slung loosely over her stomach and his face is resting near her hair, which he would consider such a precious thing, were it not for what they've done.

He's not worried about whether his boss finds out, because the senior agent has long since been granted permission from the master. Tony, guessing that something might happen between his partner and him, had gone to Gibbs a few months ago, telling him that he 'Would never go against your rules without telling you, but if it happens, will you be okay with it?' The conversation had gone pretty smoothly, resulting in an 'I give you permission' and a 'Keep it outta the office, DiNozzo.'
Well, Tony wasn't sure about that, but he agreed and a smile plus a handshake and the deal was signed.
So, as he lies there in the morning, and discovers her snoring quietly, with her head resting against his chest in an adorable way, a sense of pride, emotion, and even love- especially love- fills him up until he is overflowing with feelings, so much that he kisses her neck until she wakes up, laughing and kissing him like there's no tomorrow. And they sure are glad there is.

A/N: Three pages on Microsoft later… Please review this if you liked it or if you didn't. I love waking up and finding six messages in my inbox about what people think, it makes me smile and actually like mornings.