"Would you really elope?"

Ziva looks up from her computer and finds her partner leaning forward on his desk, twirling a pen between his fingers. Their gazes meet. He waggles his eyebrows. "Excuse me?"

"Oh, come on. You don't remember?" Tony pushes back his chair and walks over to her, settling on the edge of her desk. "Last year, the night before we all got blown up?" A mischievous grin forms on his face. "We were talking about how awful weddings are and I said that I didn't know how I would deal with one and you said-"

"Elope," she interrupts as the memory comes rushing back. That particular exchange often gets lost in her mind, because it preceded the explosion that left her and Tony trapped in the elevator. Everything about those thirty-six hours is a blur. In the elevator, there was tension and heat and Tony's hands wandering over her body, checking for injuries, but it is hard for her to pinpoint any one particular moment and recall exactly what she was thinking and feeling.

Except for the heart-stopping second when Tony moved her hair behind her ear. For whatever reason, she doubts she'll ever forget that brief touch.

"So, Agent David," he says now, "would you do it?"

Ziva considers. "I suppose," she tells him, since her limited experience with weddings has not been pleasant.

He smirks. "I knew you had a romantic streak."

"I think I'm more of a romantic than you think, Tony."

The comment seems to catch him off guard, because his smile falters and his eyes grow wide. She, regretting her choice of words, internally curses herself for taking the playful air between them and turning it serious. "What brought that up, anyway?" she asks quickly.

"Burly tell you he got engaged?"

"Stan?" Ziva shakes her head. "No, he did not. That's wonderful."

"Yeah." Suddenly seeming very interested in the squad room's carpet, Tony clears his throat. "He, uh… he said I should try it."

"Try… getting engaged?"

"Yeah."

"What did you say?"

He stares off into space while his teeth work at his lower lip. Then he turns to her, and there is a strange glint in his eye. "Said I might."

Ziva crosses her arms over her stomach in a vain attempt to stop it from flipping over. She isn't quite sure what it is about his answer that has caused her body to react this way. "How do you intend to do that?" And with whom? "I mean, we have established that you've been going through a dry spell."

"Thank you for the reminder," he says sarcastically. "But I wasn't really planning to put a ring on it anytime soon. Not that I have anything to put a ring on."

Despite her confusion at his phrasing, she knows what he means. "You will find someone," she tells him, intentionally repeating what he said last year, after she broke up with Ray.

His shoulders droop. "I'm in my forties now, Ziva."

"So?" She stands up and joins him on the edge of the desk, pushing her shoulder up against his. "It is never too late."

Tony sighs. "I just didn't think I'd still be alone at this age. That's all."

"At lo levad," she replies automatically.

They look at each other. She is a little embarrassed until she sees how much Tony's face has relaxed. He opens his mouth to speak, but then opts to cup the back of her head and pull it down so he can kiss her temple. Ziva barely suppresses a gasp at the unexpected contact. When he pulls back, she says with forced lightness, "What about you? Would you elope?"

"Hell, yeah." His hand skims her thigh when it drops into his lap. As always, his touch makes her skin burn. "At this point, I think that's the only way I'd do it."

Ray had always filled her head with visions of an extravagant wedding in a big church or a large garden, and, admittedly, it had sounded appealing to her at the time. But perhaps that was because she was not truly in love with him. She was in love with the possibility of a house and children and stability. A fancy wedding seemed more fitting to her fantasy than a fast one.

What she had with Ray is different from the love she possesses for the man beside her right now, because that has nothing to do with what he can offer her and everything to do with him.

If she were marrying for that kind of love, she wouldn't mind how it happened.

"Not in, like, Vegas, though," Tony adds. "Too tacky. Can you imagine having a preacher dressed like Elvis in your wedding photos?"

She laughs. "No, I cannot."

"I think I would just hop in the car and drive. See what I came across. A chapel somewhere…" He turns to her suddenly. "Or a synagogue."

Her cheeks burn. "Or… or that, yes. Though I do not know why you would be going to a synagogue…"

"Who knows? Maybe the lady accompanying me would prefer Jewish proceedings."

Ziva could swear that the world stops turning as he watches her and waits for a response. Her mouth opens and closes, but no sound comes out; she has been rendered speechless. This talk of eloping had been facetious, she'd thought. What, then, is Tony implying when he speaks of a Jewish wedding and looks at her so intently?

Finally, he breaks the loaded silence that has fallen between them. "Just a thought," he nearly whispers.

He is so close that his breath washes over her face. She blinks once and then twice, and the second one is deliberately slow, giving him the chance to kiss her if he wants to. But he doesn't. Ziva opens her eyes fully, unsure whether she is relieved or disappointed.

Tony grins impishly, as if they share an amazing secret- and maybe they do, now- before tugging on her hand. "Drink?" he asks. "On me."

And, apparently, they are done with their previous conversation, but Ziva also has a strong feeling that it will be continued later. Perhaps next week. Perhaps next year.

For tonight, in answer to a question much less consequential than the one that would lead to elopement, she tells him, "Yes."

The sweetness has given me a cavity.

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