A pre-Valentine's Day one-shot. It's mostly canon and quite fluff-ridden.
She oversleeps that morning. Ziva has a cold. She's all stuffed up and her voice is raspy and she's late to work because it had taken her four hours to breakdown and actually take Nyquil last night.
She comes into the bullpen with a huff and a scowl across her face. Tony's little jabs aren't funny and she doesn't even crack a smile. She just plops down in her chair and waits for her computer to turn on.
That's how Valentine's Day starts off.
She has a coughing fit right before lunch. Her face turns red from distress and Gibbs barks that she should go home, but after pulling a water bottle from her bottom drawer and re-coating her aching throat, she waves him off. She's fine, really – feeling better than she was last night.
It's around then that Tony disappears. He's gone for a while and her brain wanders. What did he always call lunchtime screws? She couldn't remember. She's so tired and her head is pounding.
McGee heads to buy himself a sandwich. He offers to grab her one – treat her even – he says they both need valentines.
She smiles and thanks him. He's a great partner and a better friend, but she doesn't really feel like eating.
Ziva just really wants some cool water on her face. She heads to the bathroom and spends a good five minutes splashing water across her face and neck and chest.
She probably has a fever.
Tony is still not in the bullpen when she comes back, but there is a mysterious carton now sitting on her desk, not to mention the red steaming, mug sitting next to it.
She returns to her seat and catches the print on the red mug.
Something flutters inside of her. She knows whom she thinks it's from, but she feels too crappy to get carried away. She takes a sip.
And then she does get a bit carried away, because it's her favorite flavor of tea and she's knows they don't have it in the little shop on base.
There's a sticky note on top of the carton of soup. She knows the handwriting just a little too well.
Sorry I made fun of your bad morning. Hopefully this makes you feel a bit better.
It's not signed and there is no mention of the mug, but she doesn't really expect there to be. After all, something may be different between the two of them, but not that different.
She opens the soup and dips the spoon in. It's chicken and rice because she once mentioned that she didn't really like chicken noodle.
The heat is soothing on her throat and she closes her eyes to enjoy the minute respite and that's when he saunters back in.
"Got a Valentine there, Zee-vah?" he asks.
She turns her head at him, a coy smile coming across her face. "I do not know. Do I?"
Tony shrugs and sits back in his chair. "Looks that way."
"I guess so," she replies.
"I bet he's a nice guy," he smiles, "You know, going to find that soup and your favorite tea."
"I think so," she says.
His face beams.
Gibbs let's them go at a relatively respectable hour. She's thankful because the medicine that kept her marginally functional for some of the day has definitely worn off.
The red Be Mine mug has been washed and she thinks about bringing it home, but then decides she'd like to see it everyday on her desk and she'd like to drink tea out of it if, say, a certain Special Agent happens to have to leave on assignment and she isn't feeling well.
So she leaves it perched on her desk.
Tony waits for her as she gathers her coat and her backpack. She sighs when she pulls the bag onto her shoulder.
"Here," he says, stepping towards her, "Let me carry it to your car."
"Tony," she scoffs, "I got it."
"Ziva," he replies, "You look terrible, let me take it."
She lets him because she really doesn't want to carry it. Carrying herself is trouble enough. He smiles again as they walk towards the elevator and she can't help but think how ridiculous he looks with one black standard issues backpack on each shoulder.
They're outside her car when he lingers a bit longer than he's supposed to. She raises an eyebrow in question at him.
"I was going to ask you to dinner," he explains. "That was my plan."
"As a date?" The question is hesitant but it's there nonetheless.
He purses his lips and the nervous DiNozzo smile breaks through. She's caught him. "Well," he says, "It is Valentine's Day. And the restaurant is fancy. It was going to be a date, yeah."
Naturally, she goes into another coughing fit just as he finishes. His eyes widen because she's either faking so that she doesn't have to respond or it's a bad omen.
She takes a second, but then she's fine again. "Sorry," she shakes.
"It's fine," he says and he doesn't know if they're talking about the date or the coughing. "Another time."
She nods and turns to open her car door, but then stops. She turns back and narrows her eyes. "We could still…hang out." She offers.
He pipes up at the notion and then tries to reign himself in. "I mean, if you're up to it."
"As a long as you are not afraid of getting sick."
"I'll…uh…bring a movie and…more soup."
She's in her pajamas when he arrives not more than an hour later. And he likes that she doesn't try to keep up appearances for him.
She lets him inside and while he walks past her, she sees what he's holding behind his back. He sets the soup and movie on the counter and then turns.
She's watching him.
"Soup isn't really romantic," he says, "And neither is being sick, but maybe this can salvage your Valentine's day." He pulls the rose out from behind his back. "Be mine?" he asks.
She smiles and takes the red rose from him. She leans up and presses a kiss to his cheek. "I'd love to," she whispers.
By the time they get around to turning the movie on, she's nearly asleep. She's nearly against him and he's pretty sure she has a fever because she's shivering and yet her face is on fire.
He pulls a blanket over them. She crawls even closer.
"You can go if you want," she says. There's a bit of resignation in her voice.
"Ehh…you look comfy," he says.
"You sure?" she asks.
"Yeah, I'll keep you company."
"Thank you," she whispers.
And he kisses the top of her hair.
That's how Valentine's Day ends.