A/N- Hello everyone. So, this is my new NCIS T/Z fic. You'll probably get from the first chapter the direction in which I'm going to take this, but let me just say that it is going to be a bumpy ride. So keep yourselves buckled.

This fanfic is going to be soaked with romance, flashbacks, and love. But also angst and hurt/comfort.

I write it down now as more of a therapy. My family just entered 'Shiva' today, as my grandfather, a great and righteous man, passed away on us this morning, at the blessed and full age of 98 years. While I cried, I felt no pain of anguish, since I know he lived on a full life of health and happiness, and he didn't suffer. He chose to leave us in the same way he lived. With serenity, peace, and modesty.

While I take my time to grieve, I also using the time to cope in other ways, one of which is writing. I took the time away from my usual angsty stuff, to focus on love and new life. Which is what I need right now.

I'll very much appreciate good reviews as well as criticizing ones. I'm not abandoning "Scorched Earth", which I'm going to update sometime in the next couple of weeks.

So here you have it. Chapter one out of... many.


Under the Palm Tree


Chapter 1


Yavni'el Valley, Israel

Late 2013

Anthony DiNozzo the second glances out the window, taking in the line of olive-trees, faraway in the distance.

Right behind those, stands proud a tall palm tree, foreign to the environment, just like him, yet stable and somewhat comforting to watch.

He needs that reassurance right now. A spark. Even a miracle.

A warm, soft hand touches his lower back from behind, and he turns around, taking in the teary eyes looking at him with an almost desperation.

His hands find their way to her curls, as hers find his cheeks, which are now perfectly shaved. He craves to touch her everywhere, just like the night before, to take and mark and devour her fully, with love and possession and everything in him.

Her hand leaves his cheek, only to curl into a fist around his shirt, and she's slightly trembling.

"We're going to be okay, Tony," she whispers to him, leaning in to touch her forehead to his, just like hours before.

He shakes his head. She knows better than to lie like this. She basically forces him away from her, from what there could have been, forcing him to live in a "if only" from now to the unforeseen future. How could it possibly be considered 'Okay'?

He wants to ask her for the umpteenth time to not let him do this, to not leave her. To take her home with him… but he knows it's not going to happen, she made up her mind and there's no running away from this.

The flight leaves in four and a half hours. And unless a miracle happens, they're to be separated, probably for good.

Ziva releases a sigh. She doesn't claim his lips now, as she did yesterday, or the day before. She releases her hold on his shirt, caresses him with a tender, yet deeply saddened look.

"Come, let's eat something before you leave," she says softly, turning towards the kitchen, "You must be hungry."


The stuffed peppers are usually delicious, like everything else she makes (he just recently found out how natural Ziva is around the kitchen), but today, they're tasteless and dry in his mouth.

His Ziva, always the observant one, notices his lack of enthusiasm, but doesn't comment on it. She plays with her own fork for a minute, but then just lets it rest on the plate. Exhaling, she stand up, the wooden chair creaks slightly at her movement. She approaches him, and picks his untouched plate. "Let me," she shakes her head at him, and he nods wordlessly.

As she turns to the sink, he shuts his eyes closed, waiting silently for her return to the table.

Seconds, or minutes, or years later, her seat stays vacant, and he titles his head, catching on the faded noise of the kitchen-television.

He stands up, to enter the kitchen, and it is where he catches her, her back to him, arms folded on her chest, eyes fixed on the small screen, where a weather-lady points out on the map behind her.

Hearing his footsteps, Ziva turns around, offering Tony a meaningless look.

"They say there's a storm coming," she murmurs.


The storm is just above Greece, headed east towards Turkey. It's funny, usually those kinds of weather changes are foreseen, but for some reason, it's not the case today.

All flights of the next three days are cancelled due to the storm, they say. Tony blinks at the news. Is that's the universe telling him that he's not forgotten? A message, telling him to take a huge U-turn from his plans?

When hearing the new instructions, Ziva's shoulders visibly sag. Emotions collide within her, relief and disappointment battle each other, but exhaustion wins over them both.

He approaches her from behind, circling his arms around her stomach, burying his face in her hair, breathing in her strawberry shampoo. He's relieved when his affection is answered, as she returns his half-hug, but shakes her head nonetheless, "We're just buying more time," she mutters, "We both know it needs to end."

"I know," he says to her, face still buried in her curls, "But it won't be tonight."


The window is opened; the spring breeze brings in the soft scent of olives and fruits. He carries her back into the bedroom, both stark-naked. The moonlight is reflected in her eyes, and God, he thinks, if she isn't the most beautiful creature to ever cross his path.

Her mocha skin is silk and butter under his greedy hands, her curves perfect and feminine, and her excitement well felt. He touches her everywhere, from back to hipbone, neck to arms. Her breasts are like made for his palms, her body in full sync with his own.

He lays her softly on the mattress; her hair spreads on the pillow like a mahogany crown. She mumbles her sorrows and emotions and fears to him as he takes her again, making love to her slowly, thoroughly.

He just bought himself some time. Time to spend and love and cherish her a bit more. But won't it be even more painful when he'll be finally have to leave?

He begs the universe, just before climaxing along with her, to send him another sign, another miracle, to make both him and her finally see that they should never be separated again. That this, them, is the right and only acceptable future.

His prayers are about to be answered.


It takes another day for him to start noting the changes in her, and another two to seriously question them. Her mood swings drastically, she's more on alert, constantly feeling uncomfortable and sickly.

On the third day, when awakening, he hears her emptying her stomach in the toilet, but she refuses to talk or refers to her physical or emotional condition.

It is in the fourth morning, on the day they finally announce the safe-flights-zone, that he walks into the bathroom to find her staring at the mirror, eyes red and puffy from tears.

"Ziva?" he asks her softy, taken aback when seeing her like this. Is she ok? She can't be sick again, can she?

Ziva jumps slightly, Tony pulled her from somewhat of an inner trance, it seems, and she slowly turns around, to offer him a fearful, weeping glance.

"What's wrong?" he approaches her slowly, heart beating faster, "you ok?"

Her chin quivers and eyes tearing all over again, which puts him higher on alert. What can possibly be wrong with her now?

"Tony…" she cracks out, blinking at him. It's when he catches the small, white stick in her right hand.

He needs to remind himself to breathe.

"I'm pregnant."


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