A/N: Here's Kit's contribution to Recruited -which I LOVED (and it wasn't because I had had Hello World on repeat for three days prior). The island mentions below is a reference to a previous tag of mine called Proposition, but it does not necessarily need to be read beforehand (or at all) to understand Renaissance. The creation of the title, by the way, came from this thought pattern: renaissance=revival=reminisce=remember (it made more sense, I think, in my head). Ah well, onward march, keep the peace, love one another, and until next time, Kit.
DISCLAIMER: =^..^=
Renaissance
I remember why I'm here.
"I missed you," he blurts out, to her mild surprise and, apparently, his as well. She lifts her face to look at him, her earmuff headband falling down over her eyebrows. His nose is slightly red from the wind that's kicked up since they've been out and his shoulders are hunched underneath his coat because he's cold even though he won't admit it. She slips a gloved hand from her pocket, threading her arm through his, anchoring herself to his side.
"I missed you too," she replies, offering him a warm smile that he returns in full.
"Yeah," he continues, "I love McGee and all, but he's just not . . . . you."
"Did you just say you loved McGee?"
"In a totally platonic way! I love McGee like I love Abby as opposed to-" and she can practically hear his jaw snap shut, his eyes flickering from hers to straight ahead.
Oh, but she isn't letting it go.
"As opposed to what, DiNozzo?" she wonders silkily.
And he pauses on the sidewalk and she, too, is forced to halt because they're still linked together at the elbows. Ocean-colored eyes stare down at her and when he speaks, his voice is quiet, intimate even though they are standing under the streetlight outside her apartment complex, exposed, "As opposed to how I love you, Zee-vah."
She just stands there a minute, heart pounding and this certainly isn't first time he's ever said those three key words, but they seem extra special somehow tonight. A shiver runs through him and she can't tell if it's because of her or because snow has started to fall in a flurry that won't leave any evidence tomorrow.
"Come on," she says, her breath pluming in the air as she tugs him along, disturbing the magic of the moment as she leads them up to her front door. And soon enough the key is clicking in the lock and they're stepping in the warmth of her apartment.
"Spring won't get here soon enough," he says, peeling his coat off and hanging it up in hall closet, Ziva mirroring his actions.
"You won't have to wait that long," she reminds him.
"No?"
She turns around, pressing her back against the door, watching him in mock disbelief. "Anthony DiNozzo, the islands beckon."
He smiles, reminding her, "I didn't make good on my end of the bargain, though." And she rolls her eyes, "Then I'll take a rain check."
"Very nice reference, you got that one."
"And I used contractions," she points out, smirking.
He nods, "I noticed and am duly impressed, grasshopper."
"I am a fast learner . . . . when I apply myself."
"Well, I am a vast ocean of all things Americana-"
She snorts.
"-so it's understandable that you've drawn new knowledge from my waters."
She laughs, brushing past him, "You are full of it, Tony."
"Knowledge?"
"Water might seem a bit more appropriate," she tells him, emitting a very un-Ziva-like squeal as he picks her up from behind.
"Put me down!"
And his voice is grinning somewhere over her shoulder as he half-carries, half-steers her into her bedroom. "I don't think so," he growls playfully, dropping her unceremoniously on the mattress and she bounces slightly, her foot catching him just below his sternum. He emits a hiss and she sits up, chastising him teasingly, "I did not kick you that hard."
"Bruise," he grunts, untucking his shirt tails to display the damage. Her eyes go wide as her fingers ghost over the dark purple smeared across his stomach, just above his navel.
"What happened?" she asks, tentatively probing the spot, most likely employing some age-old Mossad trick used to determine internal damage –even though Ducky had already examined the area.
"Two-by-four to the gut."
"When?"
"Earlier, suspect got the drop on me and McGee." He sits down beside her on the bed, purposely omitting the part where McGee nearly had his hand severed off at the wrist, instead deciding to keep the mood light as strokes a piece of hair off her face. She tilts her cheek into his palm, her hand coming up to cover his before directing his hand to her lips, kissing his fingertips.
"I've been thinking," he whispers, easing himself into her personal space and she lies down on her back, staring up at him, pondering him.
"About?" she prompts.
"Today. I don't want to forget."
"Today?" And she's confused.
"And you."
"Me?" And she is as surprised as she is confused.
He nods pensively, "I don't want to forget."
She watches him for a moment, lets his words settle in the room, unsure how to respond. "Forget . . . . me?"
"I just don't want to forget, Ziva," he repeats, "I don't want to get old and forget."
"Tony," and now she understands and that glint enters her eyes and, yeah, she's going to be the logical one, he knows, "Tony, what happened to Dr. Magnus . . . . He was sick."
"Yeah, I know, but . . . ."
She places her palm on his face, her thumb running over his cheekbone as she informs him quite seriously, "Then I will not let you forget."
He smiles at her with an expression she's come to believe is reserved for solely her, the one where his eyes are so soft and he regards her so tenderly she almost breaks. "Okay," he breathes. "You know that means, though, don'tcha?"
"And what is that?" She's scarcely able to keep up this conversation as he steals a kiss.
"That you and I –we're gonna have to make memories together, Ziva, so we can remind each other thirty years from now of everything we did."
She smiles at this, suddenly wistful as her heart drums against her ribcage because her partner, a man who used to be frightened of a weekend commitment, is talking about their future together. And it isn't just a year into the future, it's thirty years. He wants her around thirty years from now.
And, strangely enough –or maybe not strange enough- she thinks she would like him around thirty years from now, too.
"It is a deal," she tells him.
And he offers her another disarming smile as he presses his lips against hers.
Hello world.
A/N2: ?