"I still don't understand why you are making me wash the stupid car with you!" Ziva whined as she stepped out of her side of Tony's Mustang.
"Because," he answered, stepping out of his own side and leaning on the roof as he whipped off his favourite pair of sunglasses. "It's more fun than paperwork. This whole thing's gonna take a lot of documentation. Bancroft was outside my apartment, and we ended up chasing him down a dirt road when my baby got dirty." He ran a finger across the dusty metal, examining it closely.
"Sometimes I think you love the car more than me," she said, and he looked up.
"Not true. I love you both equally." Ziva rolled her eyes. "Besides, you were with me when it got dirty."
"Does not make it my fault!"
"You've never have a problem with dirty stuff before," he said, and winked at her.
"Can't you just use one of the drive-through ones?" she asked.
"But Ziva," he protested, walking over to a nearby bucket and picking up a sponge. "Cleaning's half the fun."
"Then what is the other half?"
He grinned. "Doing this," and he threw the sponge in her direction, only for her to catch it in one hand and wring it dry with an evil grin on her face.
"You are going to regret that, DiNozzo."
Before long she had hosed him, bombarded him with sponges and tipped buckets of water over his head, while the car had received very little attention. He threw his hands up in the air.
"OK! I surrender!" he said. "I'm sorry for bringing you, to be honest."
"You should be," she smirked, and tapped his nose. "Well, at least you are clean."
And from nowhere, he pulled a sponge out and squeezed every drop of water from it onto Ziva's head. Vengeance, finally. "And now, so are you."