Tony glanced over at Ziva in the passenger seat. Things felt like they were sliding towards a crazy new sort of normal that neither of them was completely ready for, and on top of that she didn't seem quite sure of herself yet. Example: she hadn't even offered to drive to the crime scene they were heading towards. Not even once. And though he liked the way her eyes were softer and more vulnerable now when she looked at him, he didn't like the edge of fear that crept into them from time to time. He missed the spark that used to cover that fear.
He cleared his throat, and she jumped as if she'd been falling asleep. He knew her mind was a galaxy away. Or maybe just an ocean. "It wouldn't have been fair, you know. You dying in north Africa without me ever knowing."
She drew in a long breath and he knew she was about to say something he didn't want to hear out loud. This time around, he wanted to be the first to speak.
"I mean, I've been wondering about it for years, and you said you'd tell me the secret before you died. At least, that's how I remember the conversation going. It was, what, three and a half years ago?" He shrugged. "Still, after we rescued you and everything, I think you owe me a straight answer."
"You didn't come to rescue me," she said. "You thought I was dead already."
"Don't change the subject," he replied, his voice a few tones beyond casual. She wasn't the only one dealing with emotional trauma from the summer. "I have a question, Ziva David, and I want you to pretend you're the one on truth serum and answer me."
She huffed out a semi-frustrated sigh and he held back a triumphant smirk. "What do you want to know?"
Tony maneuvered the car up close to the curb and turned off the engine. He turned to her and asked, "How did you get those friction burns on your knees?"
Confusion turned to a dawning memory, and Ziva laughed. She laughed so hard that Palmer, who was standing all the way up by the driveway, turned and bent his head to see what was happening. She laughed until the tears came. McGee, who had started over with the obvious intent of debriefing them, smiled and went to talk to Gibbs instead.
"Wouldn't you like to know," she said, finally.
"I would. It's why I asked."
She surveyed him thoughtfully, one eyebrow quirked. "I do not know," she hesitated. "Perhaps not telling you is a good luck charm. After all, I did not die."
"I prefer to think of myself as your good luck charm," he said. "I promise to keep wafting the luck your way even after you tell me the truth."
She tossed her hair to one side and sighed again, but this he recognized as a sigh of concession. "I was getting ready for the dinner party, and I was bringing out a box of candles and not looking where I was going, and...I tripped on my cat."
"You don't have a cat," he protested.
"That is because after I picked myself up and saw that in sliding on my knees on the carpet I had worn holes not just in my skin but also through my favorite skirt, I decided the cat and I were not meant to be. Abby found him a new home."
"That's the most ridiculous thing I've ever heard."
"And that is the reaction I expected, which is why I never told you."
"I'm allergic to cats," said Tony. "Is that why you didn't invite me over until he was gone?"
He flailed in surprise as Gibbs knocked on the driver's side window. He rolled the window down. "Oh, hey, boss. Fancy meeting you here."
"Welcome to the crime scene," Gibbs said to them. "You two waiting for an invitation?"
"Uh, no," said Tony. "No, we were just coming."
Gibbs walked back towards the house and motioned for them to follow. Ziva got out of the car and Tony scrambled after her.
"Why didn't you invite...."
She whirled on him, pushed him back with the fingers of her right hand. "Perhaps because I was not in the mood to play Twenty Questions." She pushed him once more for good measure, and there, as she turned her back on him, he caught it.
He'd missed that spark more than he'd realized.