Author's Notes: I know I'm in the middle of two multi-chapters. But the well of ideas for Colour Me In has run dry for now, and I need to rewatch some more NCIS episodes before there can be another Every Little Fracture chapter. In the meantime, I started thinking about how different Ziva would be if her sister hadn't died, and then made the mistake of going to an OTP prompt Tumblr, and this little idea wormed its way into my head. There is no angst in this, guys! Also, I tried to allude to some events that actually happened on the show.
Please read and leave feedback. Please please please, and thank you to those who do.
Disclaimer: Not my characters, etc etc. Just borrowing and having some fun.
Based off the following prompt: Person A and Person B have not met yet, but they happen to be sitting next to each other at a bar when some jerk starts making unwanted advances to Person A. Person A then turns around and tries to pretend Person B is their girlfriend/boyfriend/other. Person B plays along, and when the guy finally leaves, they strike up a conversation. A few minutes later, one of them discovers that something had been slipped into Person A's drink and the two decide to hunt down that asshole.
As she steps inside the bustling bar and glances around, she sighs and can't believe her little sister, from halfway around the world, talked her into going to a bar by herself. "You complain that you have nothing in common with the students in your classes. So go find a bar in a different part of the city and meet people. Or find a temple," Tali had reasoned.
Ziva had been skeptical. "Go to a bar in an unfamiliar city by myself? That can only end in disaster."
"Well, I would hop on a plane and join you if I could."
She had laughed at that but also longed for her company. "Abba likely has your passport flagged. And you are too young to get into the bars here."
Tali had sighed and muttered, "I never get to have any fun." Then she brightened and said, "Which is why you need to have fun for me."
In the end, her vivacious 19 year old sister had convinced her. Ziva had thought briefly about lying about it and staying home but knew that her sister would see through the lies.
Plus, if she is honest with herself, she is lonely. She has been in DC for two weeks and in class for one, but her classmates are almost all younger than her and she has nothing in common with them. For one, she's certain that none of them has ever killed anyone in a state-sanctioned mission. In Tel Aviv, she spent most of her time with Tali, her sister and best friend.
So she had done some research on the internet and found a decent-looking bar closer to downtown with a review saying the bartenders make good mojitos.
The crowd at this bar is different from those at the bars near the university campus. Instead of sweatshirts, almost everyone wears professional attire, and the atmosphere seems more mature, less frenetic. She finds an empty seat at the bar, flags down the bartender and orders a mojito. As she pays, a man appears next to her. He is quite a bit older than her, with grey hair at his temples, dressed in a suit, tie loosened. "Hey," he says to her.
She smiles at him politely, then turns her head away, pretending to be interested in the American football game on the flat screen tv closest to her. "Let me buy your next drink?" he asks, stepping closer to her to get back into her line of sight.
"No, thank you," she responds, still polite but trying to convey her disinterest.
His eyes light up at her accent and she sighs internally. Here we go again. "I love your accent," he says. "Where are you from?" Why are Americans so interested in accents?
What she wants to say is, "Israel. And I am a trained assassin, so if you don't leave me alone, I will kill you with an ice cube and make it look like an accident." But that would be an overreaction and if this man is in politics, there would be an international incident and her father would have to get involved.
Instead, she turns to the tall man standing on the other side of her, whose back is to her and her unwanted companion. She taps his shoulder and as soon as he turns around, she slips into the crook of his arm, leans against his broad chest, and says in a purr, "Sorry darling, I have been ignoring you and paying attention only to the American football game."
She meets his confused eyes with a silent plea to please just play along, and thankfully, he quickly quirks his lips up into a smile and says, "That's okay, Sweetcheeks. I was just talking shop with the guys."
She has no idea what he means by "shop," but she smiles charmingly back at him, then looks pointedly at the other man. He mutters, "I didn't know you were with someone," and walks away.
As soon as he is lost in the crowd, she steps away from the tall stranger, letting his arm drop from her shoulder. "Sorry. And thank you," she tells him.
His eyes sparkle at her with mischief. "Don't worry about it. He seemed pretty intent." She smiles and returns her attention to her drink, expecting him to turn back to his friends. Instead, he holds out his hand. "Tony."
"Ziva," she replies, shaking his hand. She takes a sip of her drink and quickly spits it back out. She swears loudly in Hebrew. That jerk put something in her drink. Now she figures she has reason to hurt him.
Her new friend, Tony, frowns. "What's wrong?"
"That man put something in my drink. If you will excuse me, I am going to kill him with an ice cube."
He grips her arm before she can slip away. "Easy there," he says, his tone amused but his eyes serious. "I'm a federal agent. You probably don't want to confess to me that you're about to murder someone. Plus, there's no need. I can just arrest him." He flashes his badge at her. NCIS. Naval Criminal Investigative Services. Through her anger, she marvels at the coincidence. His friends have stopped their conversation and are looking at them curiously.
"Killing him myself would be more satisfying," she replies, frowning. "It would only take a few seconds. Much less paperwork for you."
"Who are you?" he asks, his face almost comically quizzical.
"Ziva David. Mossad. Well, former Mossad," she amends.
Understanding dawns on his face. His very handsome face, if she is being honest with herself. "Well, Ziva, Former Mossad, how about this? I'll arrest him but you can come with me and slap him silly."
She shrugs. "Fine with me. Let's go."
An hour later, she is standing in the viewing area of an interrogation room at NCIS, looking in at her would-be assailant. Tony is on his phone, arranging details with DC police to release the man into their custody. She got in her slap, and to her satisfaction, his cheek still looks slightly pink. The man had not denied slipping something into her drink. "How did you taste it? It's supposed to be tasteless," he had stupidly asked. Tony had had to grab her hand to keep her from strangling him.
"Okay, thanks," Tony says into the phone, then hangs up. He turns to her. "Someone from Metro will come pick him up. Your drink is down in forensics being tested, and we have your statement, so you don't need to stick around if you have somewhere to be."
"Actually, do you know an agent named Jenny Shepard?" She had been meaning to give Jenny a call to see if she would be in DC in the next few months anyway.
He looks surprised. "Yeah. But she's not an agent. She's our director." He pauses, then asks again, "Who are you?"
"She and I worked together on a mission in Paris a few years ago."
He blinks. "A few years ago? Mossad is recruiting teens now?"
She purses her lips. "I was 18 when I joined." She doesn't mention that her father is the deputy director and had been grooming her to join him at the agency since she was a child.
"You said former Mossad. Now what are you, the new Israeli ambassador?"
She smiles at his joke. "Hardly. I am a student at American University."
"Graduate student?" He sounds almost hopeful for some reason.
"No, undergraduate. I am in my last year."
He has a pained look on his face as he asks, "How old are you again?"
If he wasn't so good looking, she would roll her eyes and avoid answering. Instead, she says truthfully, "24." Then she can't help herself. She asks him saucily, "And how old are you?"
He smirks, looking more relaxed. "Older than you," he replies.
"That is obvious," she retorts, her tone half teasing to blunt an otherwise sharp statement.
At this, he laughs. His two friends from the bar, a man and a woman, enter the viewing room and smirk at him. "What's the status?" the woman, a petite brunette, asks.
"Metro's on the way to pick him up."
"And I can take a guess what she's still doing here." The woman smirks again before looking straight at Ziva and holding out her hand. "Agent Kate Todd," she introduces herself. "And you'd better watch yourself around him." She gestures at Tony, who is shaking his head slightly and frowning. "He has quite a reputation."
Ziva sees Tony mouth the word "Why" to Agent Todd indignantly, but she merely smiles and shakes Kate's outstretched hand.
"You'd better watch out," Tony retorts. "She knows our dear director."
The other man speaks up."You know Director Shepard?" he asks. He had introduced himself earlier. Agent McGee, she thinks. He is younger than the other two, with a sort of babyface that makes her think that he hasn't been a field agent for long.
"We are old friends," she shrugs.
The viewing room door opens again and a tall, slim man with silver hair sweeps in. "I let you all go at a decent hour and you decide to come back?" he asks. He notices Ziva and frowns. "Who are you?"
Before she can open her mouth, Tony responds. "We caught the man there," he jerks his head in the direction of the interrogation room, "Slipping a date rape drug into her drink at a bar. We just happened to be there. Metro's coming to pick him up."
"Okay," the older man says, taking it all in stride. "So get her statement and let her go."
"Already got her statement," Tony responds quickly. "She says she knows our director."
At this, the man turns to her and appraises her fully. "Gibbs," he says by way of introduction.
"Ziva David," she replies, holding out her hand.
He ignores it and she drops it, feeling awkward. "How do you know Director Shepard?" he asks.
For what feels like the millionth time in the last 10 minutes, she responds, "We worked together on a mission in Paris a few years ago." Off Gibbs' slightly furrowed brow, she adds, "I was an Mossad field agent."
"Ah," he says. "David, you say? Your father isn't Eli David, deputy director of Mossad?"
"He is," she replies. She sees the other agents exchange glances at this bit of news.
"Well," Gibbs says after a brief pause. "You are free to go, Officer David."
She corrects him. "I am no longer with Mossad."
He is nonplussed. "Then you really have no business being back here. Agent Todd can see you out. Tony, wait for Metro."
Tony opens his mouth as if to say something but upon seeing the look on Gibbs' face, closes it silently. Gibbs is clearly the team leader, used to obedience from his agents. Agent Todd gestures to Ziva, and they both walk out of the room, Ziva giving Tony a half smile on the way. Gibbs follows them out the door, then turns down another hall and disappears without another word.
"Do the subways run this late?" Ziva asks the other woman.
Agent Todd grimaces. "They don't. Where do you live? If you don't mind hanging around another few minutes, I can give you a ride."
Upon Ziva's response, the brunette looks thoughtful for a minute before saying, "That's the opposite direction from me, but it's near Tony - I mean, Agent DiNozzo. I bet he'd give you a ride." And then she winks at her.
Ziva shrugs and takes a seat at the desk opposite Agent Todd's, who starts typing away at her computer. After a brief silence, Agent Todd asks, without looking up, "So why'd you leave Mossad?"
After briefly contemplating how much to tell, she decides to stick to a simple answer. "I was tired of killing and I wanted to go to university."
Agent Todd nods and they lapse back into silence for a few minutes before she speaks up again. "I was serious before. Watch out for Agent DiNozzo."
"What do you mean?" Ziva asks, genuinely curious. They seem to have a relaxed relationship, joking together and going out to bars for drinks after work. Unless things are very different in the US, one does not go out for drinks with coworkers she does not like.
"Let's just say he plays the field."
Ziva frowns at what she thinks is a euphemism, trying to work out what it might mean. After a moment, she thinks she understands her to mean that he dates a lot. "Are you and he…?"
Agent Todd laughs. "Oh no way. I love Tony, but he's like a brother. An immature brother. Look, it's none of my business anyway."
At that, Ziva smiles. The agent seems to be assuming that she is looking at Tony as a potential husband, which Ziva thinks is an outdated notion. She supposes her old habit of sleeping with her Mossad field partners after completed missions would be considered "playing the field." She considers it more stress relief. A way to get rid of the excess energy caused by the adrenaline. It is seems clear that, at least on this team, NCIS agents do not do the same.
Tony and Agent McGee appear shortly after. "Metro retrieved our slimy buddy," Tony says. "And you're sitting in my seat."
Ziva smirks and stands up. He moves behind her, invading her personal space to settle into his seat and power up his computer. She settles herself against the tall metal filing cabinet between his desk and Agent McGee's. Agent McGee, sitting at his own desk, asks, "What are you still doing here?" His tone is one of curiousity, not annoyance.
Before she can answer, Agent Todd speaks up. "She took the subway and it doesn't run at this time of night, so she needs a ride. She lives in Tony's direction."
"Sure, I'll give her a ride," Tony responds casually, his eyes glued to his computer screen. She observes him, noting how instead of typing, he pecks at the keyboard. His hair is a medium shade of brown, carefully styled. Her thoughts briefly wander to what it would be like to run her fingers through it as she kisses the stubble on his strong jaw. As if he can read her thoughts, his eyes slide over in her direction. She doesn't hide the fact that she is staring at him and, mostly to see his reaction, she lets her gaze get suggestive. She thinks she sees his face turn rather red as he swallows and looks back at his computer, which makes her smirk to herself. This is the playboy of whom Agent Todd warned?
"I'm outta here, guys. See you on Monday," Agent McGee says abruptly, standing up and grabbing his backpack. "Nice meeting you, Ziva."
She smiles at him as the others mutter goodbyes without looking up at him. After a minute, Tony finally turns to her as his computer shuts itself down. "Ready to go?" he asks, his eyes dark in the dimly lit office. She pushes off the cabinet in response. He grabs his backpack. "You still working, Kate?" he asks the remaining agent.
"Yeah, I found a typo in my field report, so now I'm going through the whole thing and it's crap. I might as well finish before I go. Have a good weekend," she responds with a sigh. Then she looks up and smiles at Ziva. "Hope we see each other again, Ziva."
Ziva finds herself grinning back. "Hopefully," she responds. "Thank you for your help."
Tony steps back to let her into the elevator first when it arrives. Any flush that had appeared on his face earlier is gone now and he moves with a confident, relaxed ease. They stand next to each other in the elevator car, possibly closer than they really need to be, considering no one else is in the car with them. She is beginning to notice a pattern of closeness and he wonders if he does that to all women he finds attractive. And why isn't she stepping back at all?
"So where do you live?" he asks her as they exit and head toward the parking lot.
"North Cleveland Park," she replies. "That is near you?"
"Not too far." She cannot tell if he is lying or not, and she finds that she does not care. Even though they are not talking much, she can feel a chemistry between them that makes her think that maybe the way he was standing close to her in the interrogation observation room and the elevator was not an accident. Maybe they ought to capitalize on that chemistry for a night. She temporarily won't feel so lonely, and he can say he has slept with a former Mossad assassin. Something tells her she wouldn't need to do much to convince him.
In silence, they get into his car, a little sporty coup, and he maneuvers his way out of the parking lot. The bar, and the jerk who put something in her drink, seem far away. "So what does a former Mossad officer study in college?" he asks finally after fiddling with the radio and getting nothing but late night talk and commercials.
"English literature and Middle East history."
He glances at her briefly. "That's an interesting combination."
She shrugs. "I like English literature, and Middle East history will be useful if I decide to go back to Mossad."
"So that's an option? Going back to Mossad?"
She shrugs again. "Yes, although I would request being assigned to Intelligence rather than be a field agent."
"You don't want to go back to being a field agent?"
"No." Her response is sharper than she means for it to be, and he glances at her again. "I am hopeful that I will not go back to Mossad," she adds.
"What would you rather do?"
"Do you always ask so many questions?" she teases, dodging his question.
He flashes a grin at her. "I'm an investigator."
She tells him to turn at the next street, and for a few minutes, she directs him on to various streets before pointing to a driveway and saying, "There."
He pulls into her driveway and turns the engine off, as if he knows she is about to invite him in. "Would you like to come in for a drink?" she asks, her voice low and intimate.
"Sure," he responds, and she swears she sees his face flush briefly.
She leads the way toward the two bedroom townhouse that she rents and unlocks the front door. "Do you have roommates?" he asks as they step inside.
"No," she replies as she drops her purse onto the small table that serves as her dining room table on her way into the kitchen. She doesn't need quite so much space but after a few years of moving around several safe houses and tiny hotel rooms, the space seemed luxurious. "Red wine okay?" she asks him.
"Sure," he replies from the doorway into the kitchen. She busies herself with uncorking a bottle of pinot noir and filling two stemmed glasses, feeling his eyes on her the whole time. She hands him a glass as she brushes past him, briefly meeting his hazel eyes. They settle onto her couch. She toes off her heels and tucks her feet under her as she tries to think of something to say. He asks her a question first. "So what do you want to do if you're not going to go back to Mossad?"
She takes a sip of wine, considers how truthfully to answer. She opts for the truth. "I would like to be a literature professor."
"How very… studious." She isn't sure if he is teasing her or not. "I don't really read much," he confesses, "But if it's been made into a movie, I've seen it."
"You like movies?" she asks.
His eyes light up. "Love 'em. I drive my coworkers crazy with movie references."
"What is your favorite movie?"
"Casablanca," he responds quickly, not even needing to think about it.
"I have not seen it."
"Really?" he asks. "It's a classic! Bogart, Bergman, 'We'll always have Paris'. 'Here's looking at you, kid?'"
She shrugs. "I have not seen many American movies. I did not watch them growing up."
He grins, a big infectious grin full of excitement. "We'll have to watch it together."
"Now?" She looks askance at the small tv in the corner of her living room that she isn't even sure turns on.
He sees the tv and makes a face. "Definitely not now. First, your tv is way too small to fully appreciate the magnificence of the film. Second, you need the right lighting, the right snack food. Third, you need the dvd, which I'm assuming you don't have."
She laughs at his exuberance. "Okay. It is a date."
He turns back to her, eyebrows raised. "A date, Ms David?" His tone is teasing but he looks pleased.
She raises an eyebrow and smiles coyly. "If you behave yourself."
It's his turn to laugh.
Half an hour later, they are in her bedroom, undressing each other with enthusiasm. And, like she thought, she feels less alone as she revels in the feel of her skin against his.
His hair is softer than she thought it would be.
She may have predicted how the night would end, but she would not have guessed that he would call her the next day. "You owe me a date," he says as soon as she picks up.
To tease him, she asks, "Who is this?"
She hears him huff out a quick laugh before the line goes silent for a moment. "Tony DiNozzo, your knight in shining armor?" He sounds a little uncertain, which makes her laugh.
"Yes, Tony, I knew it was you. I was teasing."
"Geez, you had me worried for a minute there, Ninja Warrior."
She smiles at the nickname. He clearly enjoys giving people nicknames and while she has generally disliked any nickname given to her, she finds that she does not mind his, even the ones that reference a past profession that she would rather forget. "Are you calling to collect on that date?" she asks.
"Yup. My place tonight, if you don't have plans. I'll make dinner."
"You cook?" She hadn't pegged him as someone with culinary prowess.
"Um, by 'make,' I meant order takeout and pretend I cooked it," he says, sounding a little sheepish.
She laughs. "I will remember to compliment your cooking."
"My ego will appreciate that. How about 7pm? I'll text you my address."
She finds herself agreeing. After she hangs up, she stares thoughtfully at her phone. She really did not expect him to call her so soon, if at all. Last night was fun, and their bodies had fit together in pleasant ways. In the morning, she had gotten up, early as always, and dressed to go running before waking him. He had tried, unsuccessfully, to get her back into bed, but she had resisted, and he got up and left, giving her one last searing kiss and promising to call. They always promise to call. In her experience, few actually call to set up a date for that night.
Her phone rings again and she grins when she sees that it is Tali. "So? How did it go?" Tali asks.
"Oh, it was fine. I caught a guy slipping a date rape drug into my drink and then I invited another guy over to my place." She laughs at her sister's exclamations and recounts the night, leaving out the part about getting into bed with a stranger, but including their date for tonight.
"See?" Tali declares triumphantly. "I told you so."
"Yes, little sister. You were right. Now tell me what is going on in your life."
For the next half hour, she listens to Tali tell her about some of the customers who frequent the music store in which she works and what new pieces she is learning in her voice lessons. "I think I may have convinced Abba to let me visit you and tour a few music schools." The prospect of a visit from her sister makes her grin broadly and her spirits are buoyed as they hang up. Maybe things are finally looking up.
"Hey," he greets her as he opens the door to his apartment. The building is very nice, with a doorman who let her in and called up to his apartment to let him know she was there.
She smiles as he steps aside to let her in, then closes the door behind her. "I brought a bottle of white wine, although I am not sure it goes with Casablanca," she says, holding out the bottle that she spent more time picking out than she is willing to admit.
He smiles that megawatt grin at her. "It's perfect."
She looks around her. The apartment is nice, with hardwood floors and rugs, and he even has a piano. It is sparsely decorated but somehow manages to look like a comfortable space in which to spend time. It is also very clean, like maybe he does not spend a lot of time there. From what she knows about being an NCIS agent from Jenny, she would not be surprised if that is the case.
"Let's eat," he says, gesturing toward the breakfast bar, which has two places set, complete with placemats and cloth napkins. He shrugs. "Apparently, I don't have a dining table."
She sits on one of the stools at the bar. "No, this is nice." She wonders if he had the placemats and cloth napkins, or if he went out to get them for tonight. Then she sees the tea candles that have been lit and she cannot hold back the giggle that bubbles up.
He flushes a little but grins, almost guiltily. " Are the candles too much?"
"A little," she says honestly. "But the effort is nice."
"I just got really excited about Casablanca. No woman has ever admitted to me that she hasn't seen it. Probably so that I wouldn't make them watch it." He passes her a dish heaped with food, and she scoops some on to her plate.
"I love Moroccan food," she says, then adds with a mischievous grin. "Your cooking looks delicious."
At that, he laughs and replies, "I really slaved over dialing the phone and ordering. Plus, it's Casablanca, of course we had to have Moroccan."
They eat in silence for a bit before he jumps up. "The wine!" he says. He bustles around the kitchen, opening the wine that she had brought and pouring. The wine goes well enough with the food, and they eat, making some small talk.
"I will have to get the name of this place," she declares after she eats her last bite. "It is not bad, and I have been looking for a good Moroccan restaurant."
They linger at the breakfast bar, sipping wine and chatting. He is as charming as he was the previous night, somehow putting her at ease despite being a relative stranger. She finds herself telling him about Tali and the summers she spent as a child in Haifa at the beach. He mentions that he spent summers as a child at the beach as well, usually in the Hamptons, which he explains is located in New York, on Long Island, but also sometimes in Florida or California or South Carolina, "Wherever my dad decided to be that summer, usually with a new step-mom."
He tells her about how his mother died when he was a kid and then he was sent from boarding school to boarding school, sometimes spending no more than one year at one. "Sounds lonely," she says. "My mother died when I was 13, but I always had Tali and my half-brother, Ari." What she does not add is, until my father ordered the death of Ari's mother and he joined Hamas in retaliation.
"Must be nice to have siblings. I don't think I have any, but with Senior, you never know," Tony replies. She thinks it is both funny and sad that he refers to his father as "Senior," because they have the same name, and his father calls him "Junior." "I started calling him that sarcastically as a teen and then it just kinda stuck," he explains.
They reach a lull in the conversation and just gaze at each other, wine glasses in hand. Finally, he grins, his eyes regain their sparkle, and he exclaims, "Casablanca!"
She had almost forgotten the purported reason for her going to his apartment. They settle next to each other on his couch and he starts up the movie. The movie is interesting enough, but she finds herself watching his reactions more. It is clear that he has seen the movie multiple times, and he points out important scenes and mouths many of the lines silently.
At the end, after Rick and Louis have walked off into the fog and the end credits begin playing, he turns to her and says, "Well?"
She smiles at him. "I enjoyed watching you watch the movie."
He furrows his brow at her, although his eyes reflect a mixture of pleased and amused. "Did you pay attention at all, or are we going to have to watch it again?" he asks in what she thinks is his most teacher-like voice.
"I paid attention," she protests. "I cannot believe Rick made Ilsa get on the plane. She was ready to drop everything for him. It is very sad."
At her analysis, he grins. "That's what makes it so good. It's sad but really romantic."
She shakes her head at him. "What is romantic about leaving behind your true love and leaving him to an unknown fate?"
"Everything. He knew that letting her stay with him would lead to her feeling guilty about abandoning her husband, so he sacrificed his potential happiness and made her go. It's bittersweet."
"It is too sad," she counters. "I have had enough sadness in my life."
He regards her silently for a long moment, searching her face for something, his face more serious than she has seen it before. As she wonders for what he is searching, he blinks and grins. "Alright, Ebert," he says, "What's your favorite movie?"
She names the first movie that comes to mind. "Pirates of the Caribbean," she says glibly, her mouth sliding into a half-smile.
His eyes get comically large and he recoils a little. "Oh, come on."
She laughs at his reaction. "Okay, maybe that is just the only one I could think of, but it is highly entertaining."
"It's Johnny Depp in eyeliner," he protests. "There's gotta be something. Everyone has a favorite movie."
She bites her bottom lip and thinks some more. "Fine. The Sound of Music," she says eventually.
His eyes get large again. "You're serious? You're serious."
"I love the songs. Tali and I used to sing them all the time," she says.
"But there are so many other movies with singing. Better movies. With fewer Nazis."
She frowns at him. "Casablanca has Nazis."
"Well yeah. But it's a great movie."
She narrows her eyes at him playfully. He is teasing her and instead of irritating her, it makes her want to tease him in kind. "How about…" She searches for the name of that horrid movie that Tali made her watch once. "Weekend at Bernie's?"
"Geez, Ninja, are you trying to kill me here?" he asks, his face filled with horror.
"Not yet," she replies, smirking. He looks intrigued by this, but then gets a pained look on his face.
"There's something you should know about my bed," he says. Upon her questioning look, he continues. "It's a twin."
She blinks and tries to determine if this is yet another American idiom that she does not understand. Her confusion must be evident on her face, because he elaborates. "It's a single. A very small bed."
She smirks. "You are being presumptuous, yes?"
He replies by leaning in to give her a kiss. It is not the searing, passion-filled kiss that led them to her bedroom last night. This one is long, lingering, a slow burn. But she figures they both end with the same result.
Later, they lie naked on his bed, one of his legs hanging off the edge with her curled tightly against his side, head on his shoulder. She notes that the box of condoms he plucks from a drawer in his nightstand was unopened and, coupled with his single bed, she wonders if he does not often have women over to his apartment. And then she wonders what it means that she is there.
"How long are you here for?" he asks, interrupting her thoughts.
She twists her head to look up at him. "I will have to leave sometime in the morning. I have some reading to do before class on Monday," she replies.
He shakes his head. "No, you said you're in DC for study abroad. How long?"
"Oh. I will go back to Israel in December."
He takes that in. "In my line of work, things can get pretty… hectic," he says, seeming to abruptly change subjects.
"Okay," she replies slowly.
"But I want to see as much of you as possible," he finishes, lacing his fingers through hers. She must look as surprised as she feels, because he adds, in a more uncertain tone, "You know, if you want."
To reassure him, she squeezes his hand and gives him a small, shy smile. Nothing Agent Todd had warned her about him seems to be true. She is quite good at detecting lies and he is either extremely good at lying or he is sincere.
She wants to warn him about herself, how her life has been filled with death and destruction, how he should run while he can. But when he looks at her this way, like she is some sort of magnificent creature, she wonders if maybe things are not so set in stone, that she is not destined to be an old maid, like she always half-jokes to Tali. And in any case, she goes back to Israel in four months. If things do not work out, which is what she expects because nothing works out well for her, she can go halfway across the world and forget about him.
So she opens her mouth and says, "I do want."
The next few months speed by in a blur, a whirlwind of classes, studying, and Tony. Like he warned, he works long hours and many weekends, but they exchange texts throughout the day, whenever they have a spare minute, and they are together enough that she thinks he must spend all his time not at work with her.
She had expected him to get tired of her and slowly start coming up with excuses why he cannot see her, but it never happens. Instead, he sometimes shows up at her place late at night, looking exhausted. Sometimes he talks and talks, and she lets him, because she understands the nature of his job, how heavily it can weigh on the mind. Sometimes she answers the door and he springs at her without a word, kissing her hungrily. On those nights, she thinks he craves any sort of intimacy to get his mind off things, and she understands that, too.
She has lunch with Jenny Shepard a few times, and even though she never mentions that she is seeing one of Jenny's agents, Jenny once tells her, "I should thank you."
"For what?" Ziva asks, confused.
"For doing whatever you're doing to Agent DiNozzo." Upon the look on the younger woman's face, Jenny smirks and elaborates. "He's more focused, more mature. I didn't think he took his job very seriously before, but now he does. You're having a positive influence on him."
"How did you know we're dating?" she asks, curious.
Jenny snorts. "I hear things, whether I want to or not. It's one of the hazards of my job. Trust me, most of it, I'd rather not know." In response, Ziva merely smiles, and they begin chatting about other things, to Ziva's relief.
In October, Tali visits for a week. Tony and Ziva take her around to the various tourist sights, and Ziva accompanies her to visit a few music schools, both in DC and then by train to New York City. Having Tali there makes DC feel more like home, and she imagines them living there permanently. Although she tries not to think about it, Tony plays a central role in that future.
The air begins to bite in a way in which Ziva is not accustomed. Tony laughs at her complaints, claiming that it is not even that cold. She pushes him playfully and reminds him that she is from the desert. They are walking through a park, squirrels dashing around them, preparing for the winter. "Next week is Thanksgiving," he says casually.
She remembers that she has a few days off of class. "That is the holiday where you celebrate the extermination of an indigenous people, yes?"
He huffs a short laugh, his breath visible in the air. "That's the one. What are you doing?"
"Probably studying," she replies with a shrug. "Are you spending it with family?"
It is his turn to shrug. "Naw. Senior is Amsterdam, I think." They walk together in silence for a long moment, then he continues. "NCIS tradition is that we have Thanksgiving dinner at Ducky's. Come with me?"
She looks up at him, her eyebrows raised. "Really?" She has already met his coworkers, often going to happy hour with them, but from what she understands, Thanksgiving is a time spent with family.
"Yes, really," he says. "Please?"
When he looks at her like that, his eyes crinkled, a boyishly pleading look on his face, she cannot tell him no. "Okay. Tell me what I can bring."
After Thanksgiving, November quickly slides into December, and a small gnawing begins creeping into her heart. Final exams are looming, and after it, her return to Tel Aviv. She tries to ignore that feeling until she cannot anymore.
It is a Sunday evening, and Tony is quizzing her in preparation for one of her exams. "Your final in this class isn't for another two weeks," he had said. "I never studied this far in advance for any test."
She had smirked at him. "That is because your major was in physical education." He had grinned in response.
Instead of responding to his request for the date of some war or another, she asks him, "What is going to happen to us?"
He blinks at her sudden statement, then sighs deeply and rubs his eyes. "I don't know, Sweetcheeks." The look she gives him must reflect the sadness she feels, because he adds, "I don't want it to be over."
"Neither do I," she says quietly.
His eyes flit over her face, searching. As if he finds the answer to his unspoken question, he smiles confidently at her. "So it won't be over. We'll make it work."
She wants to be as certain as he sounds, but doubt pervades so many of her thoughts. "We will?"
He nods. "Yes. I've never been to Israel. I'll visit. You'll visit. We'll rack up frequent flyer miles."
"And I am applying to graduate programs here only," she admits. They hadn't discussed this and she hopes he is not affronted.
Instead, his face lights up. "See? It'll only be a few months and then you'll be back here."
"If I am accepted."
"You'll get into at least one," he says confidently, reaching across the couch to put his hand over hers. She draws strength from his touch.
"I have spring break in late March," she mentions. "Will you come visit?"
He grins. "Of course. I'll request time off work. I haven't taken a vacation pretty much ever, so Gibbs can't say no."
She smiles at him and turns her palm up so they are holding hands. "How did I get so lucky to meet you?" she asks.
"'Of all the gin joints in all the town in all the world, she walks into mine,'" he quotes Casablanca. "The stars aligned, Sweetcheeks, and we both got lucky."
Her return to Tel Aviv drops her back into reality. Her father immediately begins pressuring her to return to Mossad and he begins inviting one of her old field partners, Michael Rivkin, to dinner. Tali narrows her eyes the first time and questions him, but Eli David is as wily as ever. "He is like a son to me. Why would I not have him over?" he asks.
"You didn't invite him at all the whole time Ziva was gone," Tali persists. Their father pretends not to hear.
After dinner, as she and Ziva are washing dishes in the kitchen, she hisses, "Papa is so obvious." Ziva is glad that Tali is as indignant as she is. Eli has been very clear that he dislikes Ziva's American boyfriend, despite never having met him. He had tried to tell her that Tony could not visit, but Ziva had threatened to move out and Tali had threatened to never speak to him again, so he had relented.
"As if he controls everything in this country," Ziva had grumbled to her sister.
Her father makes thinly veiled references to her being distracted from her studies, but Ziva almost defiantly keeps up her 4.0 GPA. She is polite to Michael, who she has known since they were children, but Michael quickly picks up that she is uninterested.
She and Tony continue to text message each other, and they video chat whenever they can. She plans every minute of his visit, and when she feels his arms around her when he arrives at the airport, she feels like she is home again. She takes him to her childhood home on the outskirts of Tel Aviv and they walk hand in hand through the olive orchard behind the old house. They drive up to Haifa for a few days and lounge on the beach. She bravely swallows the lump in her throat when their week is up and she has to say goodbye to him at the airport. She walks with him onto the tarmac and they kiss. "Like that scene from Casablanca," she notes.
"Except for one important difference," he says. "We're going to see each other again." She holds on to his words, repeats them to herself as he waves and disappears into the plane.
The next week, she receives an acceptance letter for Georgetown and relief washes over her in waves.
She graduates from Tel Aviv University in the spring with her 4.0 GPA and her acceptance into Georgetown. Tony had been right - she was accepted into three of the four programs to which she applied. Two weeks later, she is on a plane back to the US. Somehow she knows that she will not spend a lot of time in Israel again. Her father, angry that she chose not to return to Mossad - "betraying your country," he told her bitterly as she packed up her belongings - spent even more time at the office, and Tali joining her in the US in another month, having been accepted into NYU's music program on a full scholarship.
Tony meets her at the airport. "Welcome home," he tells her, his eyes crinkling, as he slips his arms around her. She leans against him and thinks how she would not have believed a year ago that she would be returning to the US and partly because of a man.
She moves in with him, because it seems like the natural thing to do. The day after she arrives, they go shopping for a new bed. "As much as I'm sure we both enjoy basically sleeping on top of each other, we're gonna want a bigger bed," he reasons. He is meticulous in the decision making process, citing his bad back, making her lie down next to him on every single mattress in the store. They finally decide on one that is the perfect mix of firm and cozy. They enjoy breaking it in the next day when it is delivered.
Their merged lives settle into one of routine and contentment. He loses weight because she cooks dinner, and he stops eating out so much, and makes him go running with her occasionally. She laughs more, and he continues to delight in introducing her to new movies. "This one's a classic," he'll say, or "Alright, this one kind of sucks but watching it is a requirement if you're going to live in this country."
She misses him when he goes on work trips or catches a difficult case, but she also revels in the time she has to herself. Sometimes she takes the train up to visit Tali in New York City, but most of the time, she stays in DC, going about her usual day. She starts teaching a yoga class, signs up for adult ballet classes, something she used to do as a child until her father forced her to quit, and makes a few friends. Although she is sometimes alone, that nagging feeling of loneliness that used to plague her never reappears, and the belief that everything good in her life gets taken from her slowly disappears from the back of her mind.
She introduces him to Hanukkah and in turn, he introduces her to Christmas traditions. Around this time, he tells her that Director Shepard, her old friend Jenny, had chosen him for a deep cover mission and he had declined. He wouldn't tell her details and she knew the nature of those types of missions, so she didn't pry. She worried that it would impede his ability to advance at the agency, but he shrugged it off. "The director knew that I probably wasn't going to take it, but she wanted to ask me first since I'm a senior field agent."
A day after Christmas, she lying on the couch, her head on his lap, reading, while he watches a college basketball game. Seemingly out of the blue, he asks, "What are your thoughts on marriage?"
She puts down her book and looks up at him. He is looking earnestly at her. "It depends on who is getting married, I suppose," she answers carefully.
"You and me, for example."
She takes her time before replying. "Honestly, before I met you, I never thought I would get married."
If he is surprised by this, he does not show it. "Why?"
"My parents got divorced when I was a child." He nods, knowing this already. "And they argued so much. I thought, maybe foolishly, that marriage was not worth all of that."
"And now?"
She sighs. "I do not know. We are already committed, yes?" His eyes smile at her in response. "What else do we need?"
He cocks his head, considering her words. "I almost got married once," he says.
He had mentioned this in the past but hadn't gone into details. "What happened?"
"She left me at the altar." He says it without a hint of bitterness. "We were together for five years. It was right after I started at NCIS and I don't think she liked what I did."
She nods at this, understanding the dedication required for his line of work, having once done something similar. There is also the danger he puts himself in every day. It is not for everyone. "Did it sour you on the idea of marriage?"
He shrugs. "For a while, yeah. Plus, my dad has gotten married and divorced so many times, I've lost count. But…" He trails off and looks straight into her eyes. "But then I met you," he says finally.
When he looks at her like that, even after more than a year together, she still gets a tingly feeling. "And?" she prompts him.
He pauses for a long minute. "Gibbs has been married four times. The Director isn't married. Nobody I work with is married. I kind of figured marriage and the job just isn't compatible." She nods, having felt the same way about her work at Mossad. "But we're working, and maybe…" He trails off again.
"Maybe it is more compatible than you thought?" she supplies. He nods. She sits up. "Are you proposing?" she asks, only half joking, her eyes narrowing.
He huffs out a laugh. "Not tonight, Sweetcheeks. Just thinking out loud."
The feeling that comes over her is a mixture of relieved and disappointed. But she appreciates that he wants to discuss it before making a unilateral decision and proposing. "Well," she says. "I love you, and marriage will not change that." Then she leans in and kisses him.
He proposes on the first day of the New Year. The January sun is shining brilliantly after two straight weeks of clouds, and they are alone at their favorite park, nobody else crazy enough to brave the bitter cold. He just stops in his tracks and she thinks he is tying his shoes, so she casually looks back and he is on one knee, holding a small velvet box out to her.
"You are going to freeze to the ground," she manages to say, her heart so full it might burst. "Please get up."
He smirks at her but gets up and hands her the box. "Yes or no, you're stuck with me," he says. "But yes would be nice."
"You have not actually asked a question," she teases.
"Oh right." He grins at her. "Ziva David, will you please make an honest man out of me and marry me?"
After their discussion, she had been fully expecting him to propose, but tears still spring into her eyes at his question, simply asked. A smile blooms across her face and, unable to bring her voice above a whisper, she says, "Yes. But you are already honest."
He flings his arms around her and gives her a long, deep kiss. Then he asks, "Don't you want to see the ring?"
She opens the box. Inside, nestled in black, is a diamond, brilliantly cut, in a simple gold setting. It looks familiar. She tries to remember where she has seen it before, then it hits her. "Was this your mother's ring?" There is a framed photo of her in their apartment, the ring clearly visible.
"Yes," he says, a boyish grin on his face. "I thought Senior pawned it years ago, but he gave it to me right before Christmas, saying that I might have some use for it."
She takes it out, puts it on her left ring finger. It fits perfectly. "Huh. A perfect fit," he comments. She kisses him again, a quick peck, then slides her arm through his elbow as they continue on their walk. A perfect fit, she repeats to herself. Just like them.
When she calls her sister to tell her the news, Tali says smugly, "I told you so."
END.