Well, look at me, writing an NCIS story instead of a Castle story. I hope you like it. This is a Tony & Ziva story, should stay close to canon, and could possibly have sex but will not have smut.

It just didn't make sense. So many times, he thought that maybe, just maybe, he had a chance with her. He would seriously consider making a move, then she'd surely and completely insult his ability as a man. Whether it was laughing at his suggestion that women actually want to be with him, or mocking his inability to commit to one woman, or poking fun at his professional imperfections… he knew she'd never feel for him what he felt for her.

It was a fact. He had accepted it long ago. He had forced himself to not act on it. They were partners and usually friends. A romantic relationship could have gotten in the way of the Job, or even broken up the team if it didn't work out. He knew better. Pursuing her was against the rules and could jeopardize NCIS's A-team and ruin the little family they've created.

So he had promised himself to never give in and tell her how much he cared.

…

She found him attractive at first glance; then he opened his mouth and she realized that he was an idiot in a nice suit. For all she knew of Gibbs's team, she could not fathom how this man-child had secured a spot on it. He was shallow and self-absorbed and had to be ordered around in order to accomplish anything. He was a nuisance.

She was never sure when it started, but he grew on her. When she first realized it, she considered it to be like realizing you have ringworm, a fungus, a parasite. Unwanted, but already under her skin. But, still, he grew on her. She caught herself laughing at his jokes – and tried to quiet her laughs before he noticed. She failed. He noticed. The twinkle in his eye when he caught her laughing always gave her a little flutter in her chest.

And she actually considered sleeping with him. In Mossad, it was normal. Even the CIA encouraged it. If you were sleeping with a fellow agent, you weren't bringing an outsider into your circle of trust. And everybody has to get laid sometimes.

But her first allegiance (in America) was to Gibbs. She shot her own brother in Gibbs's basement, and that bond was more valuable than finding out just how fun Tony might be in bed. And Gibbs had a rule about sleeping with co-workers.

So anytime she caught him looking at her in a way that made her feel warm inside, she'd call him out on whatever BS he was dishing out at the time. He just made it so easy. Really, if he didn't want to get mocked, why would he keep saying such juvenile things?

But he kept getting under her skin, more and more. It made her angry – because she wanted him there and hated him there at the same time. The more she refused him, the more she wanted him. He would act like he wanted her – only her – so she'd start to let him in; then he'd have a fling with some bimbo, and she'd feel jealousy begin to prick at her heart. She had a job to do, and, damn it, she didn't need the complication of wanting him and being furious with him at the same time.

So she left.

…

And he came after her. He figured out that she was alive and someone was hurting her, and he went after her.

Clearly under the influence of a truth serum of some sort, she asked him how much he cared for her.

He refused to answer.

…

They stayed in flux like that – almost stepping over the line, almost taking a chance, almost acting on their growing feelings – for another three long years. Partly out of a sense of duty to Gibbs's Rules; mostly out of fear of losing their partnership that sometimes felt like the best friendship they've ever had, should the other reject them.

...

Then her childhood friend shot her father to death, and her heart-wrenching cry of "Abba!" echoed in his dreams, so he made it his mission to be everything to her that she would let him be.

…

He told her. After they cleared out for McGee and the others to catalog the crime scene, Tony pulled her aside with a gentle tug at her wrist. Bushes from Vance's neighbor's yard shielded most of the flashing red and blue glare. Tears still streaked down her cheeks, her eyes bounced around looking at everything but him, while his hands slid up her arms to steady her. Finally, once she was fairly certain she wouldn't crumble, she lifted her eyes to meet his steady gaze.

She saw pure concern and affection. And she crumbled.

She swayed just a bit toward him, and he pulled her in instantly, wrapped his arms around her, and held her. Embraced her. She wept on his shirt, and he held her. When her weeping quieted to muffled sobs, he whispered, "Oh, Ziva. I'm here. I'm here. I'm not going anywhere. I've got you. I've got you, Ziva."

They stood like that for several minutes – her trying to reign in her emotions, him whispering that he had her and wasn't leaving her – until she finally took a few deep breaths without crying. He kissed her temple and, with one arm still wrapped snug around her back, lifted her chin so she'd look him in the eye. He gently wiped the tears from her face and promised, "We'll get whoever did this. They won't get away with it."

"I know, Tony. It is what we do. It is what our team does best." But her attempt at emotional distance fell flat, and her eyes began to well with tears again. She clenched her teeth and inhaled deeply to clear them away.

"That's not what I mean. Our team is great, but I meant you and me. We'll get through this together… and I'll make damn sure whoever did this to you pays."

He kept looking into her eyes, the compassion barely masking a fierceness, and she knew deep down that- for him- this isn't about finding who killed her father, but finding the one who made her cry. In that moment, she knows that he'd do anything for her. And he told her just that.

…

He drives her home, fully intending to stay the night to be her shoulder to cry on. He follows her into her apartment without being invited, helps himself to her fridge pulls out a bottled water for each of them, and catches her staring off onto space with her bottom lip quivering. He catches her in another warm, reassuring hug and rocks them softy until she calms again. Yet she remains silent, just as she was the whole ride home.

He pulls back and nudges her hair out of her face with his thumb. "Tell me what you need right now. Let me take care of you."

She leans up against his chest and stays, letting him hold her. She lets the heat from him and the scent of him and the sound of his steady heartbeat settle her whirring mind before she pulls away. He keeps contact, sliding his hands down her arms when she takes a step back, until her hands are in his.

"Tony, I need you on the case. He… he should be buried before sundown tomorrow. I am sure that I will not be permitted to take him home tomorrow, but I will spend my day trying to get clearance for transport as quickly as possible. Please, Tony, please find us some leads. I need to focus on burying my father."

He nods. "I can do that. But right now, you should eat a little. We'll get something in our stomachs and get a little rest. There's nothing much we can do right now."

"No. I do not think I could eat. It is mid-day in Israel. I have phone calls to make. Please, go home, get some sleep… so you can find my father's killer in the morning."

"You sure?" He looked into her, making her feel vulnerable and safe all at once.

"Yes, Tony. I could not sleep anyway." Her voice was the softest he'd ever heard it.

He lifted his hand, caressed her cheek with one knuckle, and nodded. "Okay."

…

He went home. He showered. He grabbed food he could eat on the way (breaking his no-food-in-the-car rule), and he went on in to work.

…

The little sleep he got the next night was interrupted by her cry, "Abba!" more than once. He woke with a wet pillow, dampened by the tears shed in his sleep, the ones he'd held back while being strong for her as his own heart was breaking for her.

So? What do you think? Please let me know!