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Ziva huffed as she flicked through the pairs of jeans hanging on the rack, eyes scrutinising. None of them were the right size… none of them would be the right size…
“Can’t find anything?” Tony appeared beside her, his eyes scanning the racks with her. Only his eyes, though. Not flicking through with his hands.
“None of these are in my size,” Ziva grumbled, still looking. “And any that are in my size are not in the colour that I want, or the style that I want. If I wanted my jeans to be ripped, I would take a knife to them. It would be cheaper.”
Tony stifled a laugh at that, as though he hadn’t heard that exact same argument from his Ziva before. It was an argument that made sense, really. He wouldn’t pay for ripped jeans either, not that he really wore jeans much nowadays. If he did, they were robust things that would last him years.
He reached in and pulled out a pair. They were definitely the colour of the pair she’d had to throw out the other day because they were beyond patching, and they were a similar size too from what he could tell. “How about these?”
Ziva looked at the pair he was holding, then looked up at him, and raised an eyebrow. “That will not fit me.”
Tony frowned. “What?”
“That pair.” She gestured to what was in his hands. “Those will be too small for me. They will be uncomfortably small. I have grown.”
“You’ve grown?” Tony didn’t quite believe that, and he gave her a once-over to confirm that. She looked the same size to him. He wanted to double check with his hands, he knew that was the best way to estimate (and he wasn’t going to deny to himself that he remembered the feel of her body in his hands). Instead, though, he just shook his head. “You look the same size to me.”
Ziva sighed, sounding very exasperated. “Tony, I have had a child—”
“And you look very good after having her. You’re the same size.” Before Ziva could argue again, he pushed the pair he was holding into her hands, giving her a look. “Just try them on. For me. I promise, you’ll look good in them.”
She stil looked like she doubted that would be the case, but she took the pair of jeans from him anyway, turning and heading to the changing rooms to try on the jeans. He paused, watching her go, before grabbing another pair of jeans in a different colour, the same size.
Might as well have some variety, right?
Sitting outside the changing room, Tony watched the curtain for when Ziva would come out. He could hear her shuffling behind the curtain, clearly getting the jeans on, and he couldn’t stop himself from bouncing his leg in excitement. It had been a long time since they’d done something as… domestic as this — clothes shopping for her. Usually she went out and got something quickly on her own, or she stole something of his to wear for the day (and somehow fashioned it to seem like it had never been designed for men in the first place — like his cargos, which she somehow managed to look good in even though he was sure that he definitely had a larger waist than she did).
It felt like an age before she eventually emerged, and Tony had to take a deep breath to focus on stopping his mouth from dropping. That didn’t stop his eyes from roaming over her figure, over how the jeans hugged her hips perfectly but seemed comfortably loose on the rest of her legs, how the colour was the exact shade that she had wanted and didn’t have any sort of fading anywhere.
They were perfect.
She was perfect.
“They are alright?” she asked, turning around to give him a full view of her in the jeans. He whistled lowly.
“Those jeans look good on you,” he said, genuinely. They genuinely looked good on her.
And damn, she looked good in them.
A small smile was growing on her face though — small and almost shy. “So I should get them?”
“Yes. And another pair in another shade.” Tony grunted as he pushed himself off the waiting seat. “I think these look perfect on you, and that you need to stop thinking that just because you had a kid, you won’t fit into anything anymore.”
Ziva’s cheeks flushed, and she looked away. “Tony, I am not… the same.”
“No, you aren’t.” He stepped closer to her, hands on her hips. “You’re a mom. And a hot one.”
She turned back to him. “A hot mom?”
He grinned at her. “The hottest.”
She rolled her eyes and smacked him playfully on the chest, but smiled anyway. “Stop it.”
He chuckled before leaning down to kiss her softly. “Buy the jeans.”
“I will! I will.” She leaned up and pecked him on the lips. “Thank you.”
He smiled. “No need to thank me. Ever.”