Welcome to my second attempt at smut. I'm just going to preface this with a little reminder that if you're a young'un, you should probably skip it. Just use your judgment, okay? I trust ya'll to do what's best for you.

The three of them sit in their respective desk chairs, but they are not working, not talking. McGee stares into his lap and Tony taps his fingers against his keyboard. Ziva has her chin propped in her hand as she alternates between watching her teammates and Vance's closed office door. By now, it's been ten minutes since Gibbs sent them away, yet still they wait.

She purses her lips and shifts her attention back to Tony, only to find that he's already looking at her. One corner of his mouth quirks upward in an attempt at a reassuring smile. She knows her partner well, though, and she can read his true feelings in his eyes. He doesn't believe for one second that Gibbs will be able to convince the director to keep the team intact.

She doesn't, either.

McGee nervously breaks the silence. "What do you think they're talking about?"

"Are you serious right now, Probie?" Tony snaps. "I'm pretty sure they're not discussing the weather."

"I meant-"

"It is okay, McGee," Ziva says with a warning glance at Tony. "We know what you meant."

Nobody speaks. She tries not to think too much, because then her thoughts will be of Israel, of Mossad, of travel arrangements that need to be made… and, perhaps worst of all, she will think about the man across from her and the fact that his flight leaves tomorrow morning.

He has been reassigned, and she is going home.

This is it for them.

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She is not surprised when Gibbs comes back downstairs, slams some files down on his desk, and then stands there, face bright red with anger. What does surprise her (and, she can tell, Tony and McGee), is the words that come from his mouth.

"I'm sorry," their boss says, breaking rule twenty-six.

For a split second, Ziva thinks she might become physically ill, because Gibbs is going against his own rules. And that, more than anything, is an indication that something is wrong.

"Not your fault, Boss." Tony puts on a mask of confidence, a brave face that she recognizes. It was often used during that summer he was team leader; more recently, she saw it in Los Angeles after they discovered Jenny's body.

Never has she been fooled by it.

Deciding that it is time to face facts, Ziva roots around behind her desk until she locates an empty cardboard box. She sets it flat on the ground and begins tossing her personal belongings inside.

"Guess I should pack up, too," McGee sighs.

"I'm not packing," Tony announces stubbornly, crossing his arms.

Ziva refrains from ridicule and allows her eyes to dart over toward him. He cocks a brow, challenging her, but she lifts her chin and does not comment.

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She stares at the wall of the elevator as it descends to the lobby for the last time with her in it. Beside her, Tony stands, tense and silent. They have just said their goodbyes to the others, and she, at least, is already emotionally exhausted. Abby was in tears and everybody else (besides Gibbs, of course) looked close to it; she eventually had to remove herself before she broke down, as well.

Tony followed her. It makes sense, she supposes, that their farewell would be private- there are so many things left unsaid, and although they are probably not going to be said now, the sheer gravity of them demands its own space.

The elevator stops and its doors whoosh open. She starts forward, box under one arm, before she feels it being tugged away. Turning around, she utters the first words spoken since they left the rest of their team. "What are you doing?"

"Carrying this for you."

"Why?"

Tony sighs, exasperated, and nudges her forward with his elbow. "Can't a guy help his partner out?"

"We are not partners anymore," Ziva says without thinking, and then immediately regrets it. Biting her bottom lip, she glances over at him. He appears stricken, as if he is receiving this news for the first time.

"Yeah," he mutters. "I know."

Her words have made this whole situation just a bit more real, and there has been a shift in the atmosphere. She leads the way to her car; once there, she stands to the side and watches him toss the box into the back. The door shuts with a sound of finality, and then the dreaded moment is upon them.

Tony regards her for several seconds with his mouth slightly open. She understands; she cannot decide which words to use, either. In the end, it is he who steps forward and slips his arms around her waist. She returns the hug, rests her head against his chest, listens to the steady beat of his heart. All she says is, "Take care of yourself, Tony."

"You too," he replies. They continue to hold each other, resolving absolutely nothing but taking some comfort in the contact anyway.

Then she gets in her car and drives away, frustrated and unsatisfied and with the distinct impression that he is in the same state.

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At home, the first thing she does is change out of her funeral clothes. She pulls on jeans and a loose t-shirt instead, then yanks drawers out of her dresser and sets about stuffing their contents into a suitcase. As she works, she takes a mental inventory of which of her possessions should be brought on the plane, which should be shipped to Israel, and which should be left behind. The thought of leaving this apartment makes her a little nostalgic. It and this life in America are perhaps the closest she has come to building her own home. But all that is gone now. It is over.

She fills three suitcases to take on the plane, then somehow manages to drag them all to the living room at once. Everything is set just inside the front door. Ziva turns her back on the evidence of her impending departure and goes to the kitchen, where she pours a tall glass of water.

What is that American saying? Something about a glass's fullness. It is usually phrased as a question, actually- is the glass half empty or half full?

She is not entirely sure what that means, but she would still guess empty.

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Two hours, multiple phone calls, and some shuffling around later, she is ready to go. Most of the furniture she needs shipped has been moved into one part of the apartment, she has a flight for the next day, and her less essential belongings have been placed on the couch to be sent over with it. There is one book sitting on the kitchen table (which belongs to the landlord); that will serve as her entertainment for the rest of the time she is here. Standing there and taking in her entire condensed world- a world she just recently began creating- is strange and not especially pleasant.

There is a loud, urgent knock on the door, which startles her enough that she jumps. She crosses the room, rises up on her tiptoes to peer through the peephole. And gasps.

"What are you doing here?" she demands when she opens the door. Tony looks directly at her, unapologetic. Despite the tone of her voice and the fact that there will now have to be another painful separation, she is sort of glad to see him.

"I couldn't let it end like that," he says slowly.

"It is going to have to end," Ziva says.

"Yeah. But… not like that."

And then his hands are on either side of her face and his mouth is on hers and she should be pushing him away but, instead, is tugging him closer and closer, as close as physically possible. She maneuvers them so that they are fully inside the apartment and uses her foot to kick the door shut. Tony pins her against it and coaxes her lips apart with his tongue at the same time, deepening their kiss. She strokes his chin, and the texture of slight stubble is enough to make her intoxicated and in need of more. More of this. More of him.

Tony breaks away, then ducks his head to nuzzle her neck. "Can I stay?" he whispers.

No. No, you cannot. No, we both have places to go tomorrow. No, this will just make everything harder.

"Yes," she says.

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He kisses her cheeks, her nose, her temples, her lips again. She tugs and combs through his short strands of hair. His wandering hand slips beneath the hem of her shirt and skims across her belly, up her abdomen. She practically melts as he cups her breast, but he must not have anticipated her being without a bra, because he exhales sharply into her mouth when skin meets skin. Ziva arches toward his palm, encouraging him to recover from his surprise. Quickly enough, he does. He begins to massage the area around her nipple with skillful ministrations, and she bites his lower lip just once before she feels his erection grounding into her hip and allows her head to fall back against the door. And suddenly, she really, really would like to skip all of this… but then again, his fingers are doing amazing things to her breast, and now they are moving to the other one, and she decides that she does not mind this pace.

Tony kneads, lips anchored to her neck. She gives herself another couple moments to enjoy the fruits of his labor before pushing his jacket off of his shoulders- it drops unceremoniously to the ground- and then undoing his belt. Lightly, she strokes him through his pants. He growls.

"Tony," she murmurs, tilting her head so that he can nibble on her earlobe, "what is this?"

He looks up, but his hands keep stroking lightly along her bare skin. She stares into his serious face, searching for any hint of an answer.

"This is us," he finally says, "coming to our senses."

Ziva knows what he means. He means that they are going to break this tension that has existed between them for the past three years, that they will stop squelching their mutual desire for each other.

In that way, they are coming to their senses.

But there is another way in which they are being very, very foolish.

"Tomorrow," she says, "we are both leaving."

Tony removes one hand from beneath her shirt and lifts it to her face. He runs his thumb gently along her cheekbone; between that and the look of adoration he fixes her with, she feels like a prized gem.

"I know," he whispers, "and we're probably never gonna see each other again. And that's why- that's why, Ziva, we have to make this memory tonight. It's gotta be… we gotta make it last a lifetime."

Slowly, very slowly, he grasps the bottom of her t-shirt. She lifts her arms so he can pull it over her head, and then he tosses it away as she stands in front of him with her shoulders and breasts and the entire expanse of her stomach completely exposed.

"You're gorgeous," he continues softly, and her torso erupts in gooseflesh. "I want you. I want all of you. I want to memorize every single inch of your body, and I want to remember it for the rest of my life."

Tears burn the backs of her eyes as she takes him in. Then she steps forward and practically falls into the arms of her partner, her best friend, her love that was doomed from the start.

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Ziva starts with the top button on his shirt and then undoes them all, one at a time, her fingers trembling just a bit. He holds onto her hips until he needs to pull the sleeves off of his arms; once the shirt has been discarded, he picks her up in one fluid, smooth motion. She yelps in surprise, but clamps her legs around his waist and bows her head to kiss him. Their mouths mold together like they were created solely for that purpose. The kiss is full of renewed passion, novel sweetness. Tony repeatedly draws back, clearly with the intention of speaking, but she does not allow it, and he is not complaining when she cuts him off.

Eventually, a need for oxygen overrides her wishes. While they catch their breath, he gasps, "You moved all your stuff."

Her brain is moving at a leisurely pace right now, and it takes her a few seconds to understand the significance of that statement. "The bed is in my room," she tells him. "There is only a sheet on it."

"Good enough for me."

Tony starts in the direction of her bedroom, hands on her ass to keep her upright. She rests her cheek against his and strokes his biceps as they wind through the hall, turn into the open doorway. Another two seconds, and she is being lowered onto the bed. Her legs fall from around him and drape over the side, toes barely touching the floor. He stands over her and undoes the button on her jeans, then the zipper, and gently tugs them down her legs. When he crouches down and disappears, Ziva redirects her gaze to the ceiling. She feels her pants slide over her feet, and then his hot mouth is on her knee, gently caressing the skin. He kisses up the inside of her thigh, causing her to dig her nails into the mattress beneath her as he gets closer and closer to where she really wants him to be. Three inches short, he pauses.

"What?" she groans.

"Tattoo?" he asks, half teasing, half enamored, and skims his fingers over it. She looks down, shifts her leg so she can see the Hebrew script.

"Mhmm," she murmurs, threading her fingers through his hair and pressing his face against the tattoo. Tony kisses it twice and, thankfully, moves on. Finally, he reaches the junction between her legs and flicks his tongue over her moist panties. She makes a little sound of contentment low in her throat, closes her eyes as he rids her of the fabric. Ziva can feel his gaze raking over her completely naked form, his hand tracing the curve of her side, and wonders what he is stopping for.

She brings her feet onto the edge of her bed and spreads her legs wide in an attempt at a nonverbal cue, but he does not take the hint. Instead, he sits down on top of her, the material of his slacks smooth against her flesh, and then his hot breath washes over her face.

Ziva lifts her eyelids halfway. His are down. "What are you doing?"

"Memorizing you," he whispers, kissing the top of her forehead and then working his way down. He peppers her ears and neck and shoulders with kisses, travels to her hand and back up her arm, covers the length of her collarbone. She arches her back as he suckles one breast and then the other; too soon, he is moving on. Once again, he almost, almost arrives at her preferred destination… but stops, keeping his lips at her waist.

All her patience gone, she bucks her hips and turns them both over so that she is seated atop his thighs. Tony stares up at her, seeming almost dazed. She unbuttons his pants in a businesslike fashion; while he kicks them to the side, she yanks down his boxers as well.

Now their bodies are totally bared to each other, and they are on level ground.

Ziva takes his throbbing length in her hand, squeezes, grins at his moan. She rolls it skillfully between two fingers and drops her thumb down to rub his tip. He throws his head back, thrusting into her hand, and she cannot help feeling delighted about the response she is eliciting from him. Looking to increase his arousal, she draws his balls into her grasp and massages them as well. Tony allows it; he hardens and tightens until he suddenly grabs her hand. "Ziva," he gasps, "stop."

"Why?" she asks, surprised. Her fingers still.

"Don't wanna come," he breathes out raggedly. "Not yet."

Understanding dawns on her, and she leans up to kiss him sweetly, fiddling with his chest hair. One of his hands caresses her back and the other holds her head; their mouths effortlessly becomes one. She is no longer in a rush. She is happy to take her time.

Tony pulls away, drops a kiss on the end of her nose, and rolls her onto her back. He settles on the mattress between her legs. Ziva bites her lip in anticipation, does not complain when he stalls by kneading her thigh muscles a couple of times.

And then his fingers slide through her slick folds, and it is all she can do not to gasp at the sensation of his warmth against her core. She holds onto the sheet beneath her but still refuses to make a single utterance. He works her as if he has done this a million times before- and clearly, he has, but this is different. This is not the same thing they have done with others; certainly, no man has ever made her legs quiver the way they are now. Some (unidentifiable) element of this interaction is unique to Tony and Ziva.

He dips two fingers inside her, and that prompts a tiny whimper. "Oh."

She is embarrassed, but he is focusing and does not appear to have heard her. He finds her clit and begins rubbing in clockwise circles, trying to loosen her up. Ziva tastes blood as her teeth dig ever deeper into her lower lip, but she is unrelenting. She will not make another sound.

That is, until she gasps, "Now."

And, good partner that he is, Tony seems to recognize that this is not up for discussion. He stretches out above her, aligns their bodies, and then guides himself into her.

Ziva rests her hands on his broad shoulders and takes a moment to feel him, full and heavy, inside her. Then she starts slowly rotating her hips at the same time he does. With steadily increasing speed, he burrows deeper into her, pushing her toward the edge of the cliff. She makes every attempt to welcome him in further so she can finally fall; she thrusts her pelvis into the air, winds her arms tightly around him and holds him close. Tony's features are screwed up in concentration as he fills her the best he can. It takes longer than she feels it should, and just as she is about to cry out in frustration, she feels the first wave of heat roll through her and cries out in ecstasy instead. Every bone and muscle in her body turns to little more than mush; if she were standing, she would have collapsed already.

Again and again, she is overtaken, and soon, it is too much. She squeezes her eyes shut. His forehead falls against hers at the exact moment that he spills into her; they ride out their orgasms together, shaking and rocking and practically melting. As they start to wind down, a tear leaks out of the corner of her eye. Tony kisses it away.

"I gotcha," he whispers into her ear, and he sounds so sweet and caring and sincere, and his arms cradle her carefully, as if she is glass. As if she is precious.

Tony shifts and falls out of her, then takes her face in his hands. Ziva blinks a couple of times. She is relaxed. All she wants to do is watch the contentment in his expression mirror her own.

"That was," he murmurs, ducking his head and continuing to speak into the crook of her neck, "worth every damn second we put it off."

She cannot form words yet, so she mewls in agreement.

"And that's gonna stick with me, Ziva," he adds quietly, almost reverently. "For the rest of my life."

"It will stay with me, too," she manages. The ache between her legs and in her breasts and abdomen will fade, yes, but she will not forget about it, and she will not forget about Tony DiNozzo and the way he made her feel on the one night they had together.

Part Two will be up in a few days. Thanks for reading!