Home is Where the Heart Is

A/N: I do not own NCIS, CSI or El Al Airlines. If I did, I would be living in a mansion in Bel Air or a penthouse in Tel Aviv, not the house I live in now. Oh, and I don't own G&M either, although I'm pretty sure it's fake.

El Al flight 432 was thirty thousand above the Atlantic Ocean, heading to Washington DC from Tel Aviv, Israel. Ziva David stared out the window at the thick cloud layer below the wings of the plane. Only a few more hours until they arrived in DC. She didn't think she could wait that long.

Ziva passed the time by reading G and M, the gaudy magazine that she had picked up at the newsstand. The articles seemed vain and boring. She didn't see how Tony could enjoy it so much. Probably because of the full pages of photographs of scantily clad women lounging on the beach with titles like 'Sex on the Beach: It's not just a drink anymore'. She also watched an episode of CSI on her laptop, but found it unrealistic. It was probably the kind of thing that civilians enjoyed watching because they didn't know what a real crime scene looked like.

Finally, the pilot's voice crackled over the intercom.

" Ladies and gentlemen, we'll be beginning our descent into Washington DC in approximately five minutes. Please fasten your seatbelts and secure your trays." The phrase was repeated in Hebrew, Arabic and French. Ziva found herself staring out the window like an eager child. As the plane began to lurch downwards, the middle-age woman sitting next to her turned to Ziva.

" Traveling or going home?" She asked in Hebrew. Ziva glanced at the lights of DC. The Mall, the Washington Monument and the Capitol Building gleamed brightly in the darkness. The streets, so familiar, were like a buzzing circuit board of energy. The Navy Yard shone brightly across the Anacostia, like a beacon on a dark sea. Somewhere below the plane was Georgetown, where Tony was watching some stupid action movie Abby was listening to weird punk music and Gibbs was working on his boat. And Silver Springs, where McGee was working on his latest novel, typing on his typewriter and annoying his neighbors. She had been about to reply, oh, traveling. But the longer she thought about it, the more apparent the truth became. She knew the answer.

" Going home."