A very happy birthday to Meg! An amazing lady inside and out. Sorry this is a bit late, but I hope you enjoy it.
Much love,
jae
"So that's a no to the place past the Kentlands?"
Ziva nods to him in the affirmative as she dodges the smack intended for her hands from the rolled up paper he wields, smirking in victory as she succeeds in taking away another handful of his dwindling pile of fries on his desk they are currently gathered at.
McGee holds out his hand graciously from beside her as she divvies up her spoils between them. Tony watches her with narrowed eyes and she smiles gloatingly at his glare as she pops a handful into her mouth.
He grumbles at the pair of them, unraveling his paper with a sniff as he prepares to give them the silent treatment.
Ziva continues chewing unperturbed, knowing full well he will crack within minutes.
"MuGee, canwufhassthpepper?"
The Probie frowns, a fry paused halfway to his mouth, trying to decipher the already accented sentence mumbled through a mouth full of food, and Tony has to force back a chuckle at his partner's ever-charming manners.
This woman, he thinks, as he crosses an X through another listing in the paper.
"Pepper?" McGee questions from the other side of the desk, shooting the Senior Field Agent a frown and looking to him for clarification.
Tony doesn't look up, shrugging and scanning the page before him for other listings they had yet to shoot down.
"Pepper," Ziva repeats more clearly, and McGee hums in understanding.
"Ahh, Pepper." He hands over a small packet, and Tony slashes another X dramatically across the page with a flourish, and the air tingles with what can only be an impending film reference.
His silent treatment lasts two minutes, thirty-three seconds.
"Waiter, there is too much pepper on my Papikrash!" He exclaims, and glances up to look at them, his face alight with anticipation.
As predicted, he's met with an eye roll from Tim and Ziva's ever-familiar Does Not Compute expression.
"What is a Papikrash? I thought you got the cold cut."
He sighs deeply, exchanging a look of mock disappointment with McGee, and Ziva watches him with narrowed eyes as he leans across his desk to put a tally on the infamous sticky note he reserves for counting the movie references she doesn't catch. He will later label the title as to remember he must set it aside on the shelf at home.
"When Harry Met Sally," The Probie takes pity on her, and supplies the name for the movie title of the unknown Papikrash.
Ziva's face is superbly unamused as she turns back to her partner, quickly snatching the remainder of his fries, but he doesn't put up a fight, instead laying the paper down to smirk at her.
"A love story for the ages, Sweetcheeks." He dodges the stray fry she aims at his head.
"Did Harry ever agree to the apartments Sally suggested?"
McGee chuckles quietly as Ziva smiles sweetly in his direction, leaning over to tap the paper in his grasp.
"There are several in there that fit what we are looking for."
Tony knows this. But he also thinks she's grossly underestimating how picky she is.
He tells her as much.
"You're being picky. I liked the one over on Clark."
"That one had a no pet policy."
"We don't even have a pet … . Unless you count Probie," he adds as an afterthought, to which McGee injects an indignant "Hey!"
Ziva turns to give the younger agent a brief, apologetic look, offering him the last fry, and looks back to her partner while crossing her arms.
"Maybe I would like a dog, yes?"
"What about the one place Abby told you guys about?" McGee mumbles while he chews, trying to pacify the pair of them, but Tony merely shakes his head.
"Only a one bedroom."
Sighing, McGee gives up, learning long ago not to get too involved. Rolling his eyes heavenward, he stands from his chair, gathering the remnants of their lunch and taking his leave from the conversation to walk over to the waste bin by his desk.
He feels Ziva's piercing gaze still trained on him, but he keeps his eyes down pointedly. She does not yet understand why he is adamant they find an apartment equipped with two bedrooms. But when he doesn't yield to her searching expression, she leans forward and directs her attention to the paper before him.
"Fine," She leans back, crossing her arms once more as an easy smile settles over her face, conceding to one compromise and adding another. "But I want a jacuzzi tub."
His thoughts stray to the possibilities, and the images his brain supplies have him grinning inwardly.
This woman, he thinks, but rolls his eyes because it's expected.
"Fine." He circles a listing that rests in the bottom corner.
"But I'm picking the dog."
Tony knows that domestic Ziva is a privileged sight to behold.
He's learned that Saturday Ziva is a flurry of activity. She wakes early to run by the Farmer's Market to pick the freshest vegetables for the evening, and on the first Saturday of every month, she buys a bouquet of flowers to sit in her mother's old, ornate vase. She sings along to the songs in different languages that shuffle through her iPod while she cleans, vacuums, and folds her linens, and lets him watch as she cooks a three course meal for them to share. She's much different than post-work day Ziva, who can often be coerced into ordering a pizza and has been known to fall asleep against his shoulder on their couch, usually wearing his faded, old OSU hoodie. Nighttime Ziva is an even rarer, much more intimate Ziva, whose guard falls away under the shadows of darkness and the cocoon of sheets that surrounds them. This Ziva doesn't shy away from his hushed declarations; returning them with equal intensity and even more passionate kisses.
However, morning Ziva may just be his favorite.
There's a fragile stillness they wake to, tangled with one another in a twist of the silky, white sheets she favors and always smell of her. He wakes to warm hands and a soft, careful touch; languid kisses that sometimes build into something sweet and slow and intense that makes them late for work and unable to keep the smiles off their faces when their gazes meet from across the bullpen later in the day.
He may just receive the record amount of headslaps that day, but she's there with a soothing touch between the stairwell or their brief elevator rides from one floor to the next.
Morning Ziva smiles freer, laughs louder, kisses deeper, and is an addiction he has no hope to sate.
And it may just be all of those things that he loves the most.
But he thinks it may also be that Morning Ziva reminds him of what he can hope to wake to for the lifetime of mornings to come, and all the Zivas in-between.
If she thought she had escaped the long standing obligation of Tony's self-assigned cinema education course upon agreeing to move in with him, she had been terribly mistaken.
"What is this?"
She paddles barefoot down the hall, finishing off the wet braid in her hair as she makes her way into the living room area. The smell of popcorn wafts from a steaming bowl upon the coffee table, two glasses of white wine resting beside it, their rims collecting condensation. She shuffles toward where Tony sits in the middle of the couch waiting, eyes alight with the glow of impending anticipation.
"Mon-Ziva, have you forgotten what day it is?" He flicks the tail end of her wet braid, eyes searching her with a dazzling smile.
Ziva frowns, reaching behind him to grab the throw blanket that rests over the back of the couch. She shuffles closer to him, and he awaits her answer with raised eyebrows.
"It is Thursday-" She begins slowly, and he nods, reaching forward to grab their glasses, bringing it toward her and wrapping her hand around the glass he forces her to accept.
"Thursday, and la classe di DiNozzo is now in session." She rolls her eyes, her gaze now going toward the table with renewed purpose, searching for the case of the movie that he's selected for them tonight.
"Tony," she sighs, though she's already resigned herself to her fate, sitting back and taking a sip of the chilled wine. "We are living together now."
Tony settles back with her, grabbing the remote and thumbing through the DVD menu of what she assumes is another cinematic masterpiece.
"Oh, the tradition will live in on," he hits play and turns his head to land a swift kiss on her cheek.
"There's still so much for you to look forward to."
He laughs at her pout, and turns his head while she continues to watch him, bringing the wine glass once more to her lips.
Yes, there is, she muses silently to herself, and hides her smile behind another sip.
Much like their partnership, it doesn't take them long to fall into sync as they adapt to an additional environment they must co-exist in.
Fiercely independent, Ziva had been concerned that the routines they were so long used to would lead to a spectacular fall-out within days of being surrounded by one another at every given moment.
So far, it had not been the case.
She should have known that they would move around one another much like they do in the field; Zigging when the other Zags, reading one expression and reacting instinctively. Symbiotic in every aspect of their lives, from the very moment they begin their day.
Each morning she unravels herself from him first, paddling to the bathroom to start the shower, and he will follow behind her moments later, pressing a lingering kiss to her neck as she brushes her teeth in the reflection of the mirror.
He drops kisses on her shoulders as he pulls the straps of the cami she wears to bed down her arms, looking up to smile at her watching gaze.
She'll finish then, turning around to pull her top over her head as he moves around her, reaching for the toothpaste as she steps under the warm spray of the shower. By the time he has brushed and shaved, the smell of her jasmine soap surrounds him in the steamy room, and he steps under the spray behind her to finish lathering the expanse of her back.
She'll turn to press against him then, stealing a kiss against the newly smooth skin of his jaw, and he'll run a hand up the back of her neck to twist in her soaking curls.
They may both be fiercely independent people;
but oh, do they adapt.
"These weigh more than the piano." Tony's face appears around two cardboard boxes in his arms, and Ziva pauses from where she sits before the bookshelf, alligning the shelves with the books spread out around her.
Glancing back, she appraises him with eyebrows raised.
"I doubt that." She shoves the remaining four books into place, and gets to her feet, rolling up the sleeves of his shirt she wears with several buttons undone.
Tony groans when she reaches him and relieves one of the boxes from his arms, and he adjusts his hold on the remaining one while giving her an exasperated expression.
"What on earth is in these?"
Ziva throws him a completely neutral face in response.
"My weapon collection."
Tony looks as though he takes her seriously for about enough time it takes her to turn around. Ziva's halfway to the spare bedroom by the time he's started after her, and she calls out over her shoulder to him as she kicks the door ajar to make her way into the room.
"Should we just put the rest of the boxes in here for storage?" She drops the box in the middle of the room, turning around to look at Tony as he appears in the doorframe.
He shrugs, not meeting her eyes.
"Temporarily is okay," He replies, going to place the box beside hers, and she steps into his space once he's straightened and wiped a hand across his brow.
"Well, you wanted this extra room, if it is not being used…." She trails off, pushing her fallen sleves up again and he smirks, brushing a few of her fallen curls out of her face from the loose bun tied at the nape of her neck.
"Why, did you want to use this space for a man-cove?" Ziva leans into his hand, rolling her eyes to look up at him.
He laughs, glancing down at her, and his face warms with affection.
"Not a man-cave," Tony chuckles still, his voice growing softer. "It's just here, for the future, in case…" His sentence fades as she feels the surprise flicker briefly across her face, and he tenses, dropping his hand to her waist and backtracking.
"You know, whenever we are ready to talk about it," He rushes out, and Ziva breathes a laugh, only momentarily caught off guard by the sudden change in his demeanor.
She leans up to silence him with a deep kiss, only pulling away just as it's about to build.
"Soon," She promises softly against his lips, and pulls back to look up at him with warm eyes. "I just need some time."
Tony's answering grin is dazzling, and he presses another quick kiss to her mouth.
"Baby steps," He amends, and they both wince at his choice of words before breaking into laughter.
Ziva sobers, and gives him an affectionate smile as she hooks her fingers around his beltloop, pulling him closer.
"Soon," She repeats meaningfully, and smiles into his answering kiss.
The scene he stumbles on is sure to be one he'll never let them live down.
As he unlocks the door with his spare key and steps into their apartment for the first time, he's surprised to find how warm and welcoming it is. The walls are bathed in a low glow from several candles set out that had to be chosen by Ziva, and their flames flicker along the deep, nutty brown color of the freshly painted walls. He toes off his shoes by the door, treading softly along plush carpet that his feet sink into with every step. He follows the sounds of a low melody coming from the depths of the apartment, and as he passes by the meticulously clean kitchen, he flicks the switch to turn off the light that remained on, forgotten.
He finally reaches the room of the inhabitants he seeks, and he can't help the twitch of a smile that pulls out his mouth at the sight before him.
The last few minutes of The Lady and the Tramp play out on the obscenely large television screen, no doubt Tony's addition to their home, with the volume turned to an almost inaudible level. Juice boxes and empty bags of popcorn litter the coffee table, along with several toys and two abandoned smartphones.
And there, sitting before the forgotten movie are his two agents, a blanket pulled across them and the young girl that sleeps on, snuggled deeply between them. Amira's head rests in the middle of Ziva's lap, and the rest of her body is draped over Tony's, his arm resting protectively over her curled legs.
He treads quietly across the room, shutting off the television and coming to move before the couch. Carefully he unfolds the blanket, pulling it back to gently slide his arms under the sleeping girl and lift her effortlessly against his chest. Tony mumbles incoherently, his arms falling from the little girl back into his lap. Ziva, however, opens a bleary eye as panic briefly flares over her face, and an arm shoots out, searching for Amira's missing weight.
"Gibbs," She murmurs up at him, half-asleep, and the older man smiles, shushing her quietly and replacing the blanket back over her lap.
"Shh, go back to sleep." He murmurs, and she sighs contently, falling back against the pillows as he leans to press a chaste kiss to the top of her head.
He can't help but chuckle quietly as he glances around the room once more; the image his two agents make, with the mess that surrounds them and the utter exhaustion that radiates from them in a pile of tangled limbs and blankets on the couch.
But the little girl in his arms seems content, a sleepy smile pulling at her face, surrounded by a halo of sleep-mused hair; safe and sound without a scratch.
With one last glance over his shoulder, he carries the child with him back down the hall, blowing out the candles on his way out.
It seems his kids are growing up.
"You did not."
Ziva stares at him wide eyed, her face frozen in surprise.
"I thought I'd leave our Anniversary to add the next addition to your knife collection."
Tony grins as he sets down the wriggling ball of fur that squirms in his arms, taking a seat on the floor feet away from her as the young puppy bounds toward her, paws catching on the plush carpet and tumbling to a pile at her feet.
Ziva drops down immediately to scoop the pup into her arms, fingering the big, red bow that adorns it's neck.
"Tony…"
"She's about a month old," He injects, watching her with a wide grin as she lets the puppy lap at her cheek. "You get to name her, of course. She's your birthday present."
Ziva cradles the puppy to her chest, fingering the soft fur of her ears and head. Tony crawls forward so he can run his fingers over her coat, watching Ziva's face slowly melt with affection.
"You gotta name in mind?"
His partner smirks, holding the puppy up to her face once more and pressing a kiss to the top of her head, humming as she considers his question.
"Hmm…." She meets his gaze, eyes twinkling. "She looks like a Lady to me,"
Tony laughs aloud, nodding in agreement as he lifts the pup into his lap, letting her nip at his fingers. Ziva observes him quietly for a few moments, reaching a hand out to scratch behind her ears.
"Baby steps, yes?" She murmurs softly, keeping her gaze trained on the puppy.
Tony smiles warmly at her, his smile growing as one of her own tugs at her lips.
"Yeah," he chuckles, stilling his hand and looking up to gaze at her.
"Happy birthday, Ziva."
She looks up, and reaches over to wrap her arm around his neck. Ziva pulls him closer, and he falls forward willingly, closing his eyes as she brushes her lips against his.
And while her present snuggles between them, what she knows is this:
His presence in her life is the only present she could ask for.
He is everything she'll ever need.