Disclaimer: I do not own NCIS. The only things I own are my iPod, my shoes, and when I'm going to mock my brother again.
American BeautyYou are walking through a rose garden, because it's a beautiful day, because the garden's close, because nobody's been killed yet, because Gibbs gave you both an hour off because nobody's been killed yet. You chose to spend it with your partner. You both chose to spend it together.
She knows every rose by name, and it's beautiful, she's beautiful, here at home among the roses.
"Austrian Yellow," she calls the yellow rose, touching it gently. She walks on, to another rose.
"Sweetbriar," she calls the pink one, running her fingers over the petals. She continues walking.
He needs to ask.
"Do you really know every rose by name?"
She turns around and smiles at you, and she is lovely.
"Flowers gave me a great joy as a child. They still do, in fact."
She hasn't answered your question, but you know that yes, yes she does. She does know every rose by name. And you can see it: her as a young girl, before she became Mossad, sitting in the rose garden with a book in her lap, looking at a rose, and then finding the name and picture in the book.
She comes to another rose, and reaches out to touch it.
"American Beauty," she calls it, and you can't help it.
"Yes, you are," you whisper.
Of course, she hears you, and turns around.
Ziva laughs freely, a beauty among the American beauties.
"Silly Tony," she tells you, "I am not an American."
"Maybe not," you sort-of agree. "But you're still beautiful."
The End