Hello! ... Yea, I know. Don't say it. I know my ability to leave a story Complete is non-existent. But I hope you like this :D

Summary: Ziva helps Tony to create a second, modified, bucket list.

Disclaimer: You know, I actually own some of those items on the bucket list (which I will put up as a third chapter) ... but I own neither the idea of Tony's bucket list, nor Tony himself. I also don't own Ziva or NCIS. I own so little :(

Spoilers: Engaged parts 1 and 2 (9x08; 9x09), mention of 8x23 "Swan Song", mention of Ray, mention of Ziva's citizenship status, and big mention of Tony's CBS-released bucket list, of course.

Dedication: To JET1967, for your encouragement!

Warnings: This is definitely Tiva. Like, very Tiva, with friendship and romance all mixed up as they usually are. Also, it ended a lot fluffier than I expected.

Enjoy, and please review!

-Soph


Chronicle

The silence of his kitchen is punctuated only by clacking sounds as Ziva's slim fingers fly swiftly across the keyboard of his laptop. He can't deny it: he's letting her type because she's faster and more accurate at it than he is.

And there's also the fact that seeing her type the words Tony's Bucket List gives him a warm, fuzzy feeling, morbid as the subject is. He really doesn't know why.

She turns to him now, a confused furrow across her brow. "Do you do this in any order? Based on importance or difficulty or likelihood, perhaps?"

He shakes his head. "Only in the order that I think them up."

She gives him an odd look. "You constantly think about riding in a motorcycle ball of death?"

"What? It sounds interesting."

"You should consider making it the last thing you do, then, since it is called a ball of death."

He thinks about it. "You think I should leave it off my bucket list?"

"It's your bucket list, Tony. I have nothing to do with it. I will help you cross some things off, but … it's not my bucket list."

"Would you put it, if it were your bucket list?"

She bites her lip. "No. It's not high on my list of things to do."

"So what would you put?"

"Well…" She lifts her hands from the keyboard and presses them into her lap, looking miserable all of a sudden. "I would not have a bucket list, firstly. Because … death is unexpected, and I would not want to leave anything unaccomplished at the time of my demise. A bucket list implies unfinished business, if I should leave anything not crossed out. However, if I were to have a bucket list … there would not be a lot on it. I have been all over the world and experienced many things. All I want now is a home."

He pauses and watches as she sighs almost imperceptibly, her mask put on again before she smiles at him and asks, "So, what would number one be?"

"Uh…" He shakes his head to get rid of the images in it of him, providing her with a home; and replies, "I was kinda thinking … I still want to catch a shark."

xoxo

Three hours later, they have 11 of the original 26 items written down (it took him a while to remember them). Ziva is extraordinarily quiet, her fingers frozen atop the keyboard as she stares at let friends get closer and blinks rapidly. She'd already gotten slightly teary-eyed at tell Dad it's okay, and he can't help but to nervously wonder what's running through her head right now.

Finally, she turns to him, her voice shaky even though her eyes are dry. "Are you talking about us?"

"'Us' as in … you and me?"

"No. I mean the team … me and McGee and … well, even Gibbs."

He breathes out slowly. "Yes."

"You do not think we're close?"

"I wish we were. Look, I know I'll never be anybody's best friend or something, and I'm not asking for that muc—"

"Tony." She moves to wrap her hand around his, and his pulse jumps again. "You are my best friend."

He swallows. "I am?"

"Yes. But I did not realize that you were keeping me out." She furrows her brows at him again, looking inexplicably confused and hurt by this piece of information.

He looks away to avoid the accusation in her eyes. "I keep everyone out."

The hurt in her voice increases marginally. "Why?"

"Easiest this way. Are you going to tell me that you've never lied to me, Ziva?"

She hesitates. "I don't lie to you anymore. There are some things which I … do not tell you, but I don't lie to you anymore."

"Isn't that keeping me out, anyway? Not telling me stuff."

"I don't have to tell you everything. But … that said, I have told you about almost everything that has happened since … Franks."

He swallows and finally turns back to meet her eyes. "I appreciate that."

"Tony … you don't have to keep me out."

"You know the let friends get closer thing is actually referring to everyone, right?"

She shrugs. "I can't answer on their behalf. But I'm saying that you don't have to keep me out. I want to know about what happens in your life. Might as well give me something to remember you by after your death, yes?"

She gives him a faint smile, and he tightens his grip on her hand despite himself. "Yeah," he forces himself to agree.

xoxo

It takes another forty minutes for her to stop teasing him about wanting a catch phrase and a coat of arms, so it is already well past one in the morning by the time he tells her that he may, very possibly, be working on a memoir. She shoots him a look that suggests he sounds very definitely insane, and he feels his face burn. Before he can dip his head in shame, however, a gentle smile curves onto her lips, and she presses an apologetic kiss to his cheek. "Let me read it, please?" she whispers against his skin, and he finds that he lacks the willpower to protest.

So he lets her follow him into the living room, where they sit amidst the torn-up pieces of paper on the floor and lean their backs against the couch. She frowns at the sheets of paper he hands her, and he fusses around with the white confetti on the carpet so that she won't have to see how terrified he actually is.

"You have terrible spelling, Tony," she finally murmurs, clucking.

He extends a hand to take back the sheets of paper, but her quick reflexes keep them out of his reach. So he settles for retorting sullenly, "I was drunk."

A smirk appears on her face. "I was foreign, and you don't cut me any slack when it comes to the idioms that I get wrong."

He opens and closes his mouth several times, and she laughs. "I am just teasing," she tells him, and then tilts her head curiously. "But why do you want a memoir?"

"I don't know. For fun. No one said the bucket list had to make sense."

She stares at him for a few seconds before nodding curtly and handing him back the sheets. "In that case, continue with your drunken endeavours."

He can't help feeling that she knows 'for fun' is not the real reason.

xoxo

Another half hour has them back in the kitchen and him convinced—by her—that Jimmy Hoffa will never be found. So he reluctantly leaves that item out, but his enthusiasm for completing the list starts to wane when he realizes that there are only two things left to put down: discuss Paris, and tell her. He stutters and eventually blurts out the first thing he can think of—'Give the kitchen a good scrub'—while she looks at him with something akin to astonishment.

It relieves him that she doesn't push further, though, and merely asks him if he's sure he wants to put that down. She tells him that she thinks it might be a little too easy to accomplish.

His shoulders sag at that. "No," he mutters, "I think I might be done here."

"Sixteen items," she says, checking the list and then giving him a comforting pat on the back. "That's not too bad. Is there a minimum number of items you must put on this list?"

"No, but sixteen is a little short." He scrunches his nose. "I was kinda hoping I'd have more to do in my long, long life."

"You can always add something that wasn't on the original list. These are the ones that were?"

"Yeah. But, you know, I can't think of anything else I wanna do."

"Mmm." She lowers her eyes, lost in thought, before stretching forward and typing down a new item. Then she leans back, and he has a clear view of number 17—'Road trip across the United States with Ziva.'

He chortles even as his heart skips a few beats. "You really want to spend weeks alone with me?"

She raises her eyebrows at him in amusement. "You do not want? I can delete it."

"No, keep it." He studies her. "But I thought you were sick of travelling."

"Yes. But … I am an American citizen now, and I would like to know what my country is like."

"Hmm. Sure you don't want to do this with … CI-Ray?"

"You are the fun one," she answers, and her cheeks turn slightly pink.

He feels warmth suffuse him again, and has to swallow back the smile that threatens to stretch from ear to ear. "In that case, I'd be honoured to escort you on your road trip across the US, Ziva."

Her beam is so brilliant that the entire kitchen lights up.

xoxo

He doesn't know how it comes to be that seven more items are added to the bucket list. It probably isn't wise, he tries to convince himself, that three of the seven have to do with Ziva; but really, it gives him a rush to realize that one-sixth of his bucket list has the woman of his every dream in it.

She is laughing now, tickled to bits and pieces by item number 24—'Be persuaded by Ziva into taking Chinese language classes together'—and he feels something remarkably like contentment as he admires the way she throws her head back and dissolves into fits of laughter. He knows she's actually laughing at his horror upon her first proposing the idea, but he can't find it in him to be mad at her for that.

When she finally stops, her eyes twinkling and her teeth flashing, he grins at her. "Okay, fine. You get your way."

She looks at him fondly. "Are you okay with it, though? I want you to like the lessons too."

"Well, I wouldn't know until I've attended them…"

She considers. "Okay, how about this: we try out the classes, and if you don't like them, we can rewrite the item."

"I like the sound of that."

"Me too." She nods her agreement. "So, what do you want to put next?"

He contemplates the list. "I think I'm done. Are there any more of your non-bucket-list items that you'd like to sneak onto my bucket list?"

"Hey!" She punches him playfully. "I put only two in. The rest were your idea."

"I know!" he protests. "But I'm giving you an opportunity here."

"I think I'm done too," she replies, chuckling.

xoxo

It's nearing three in the morning when she takes her leave and he bids her goodbye at the front door, and as he locks up, he realizes that he is exhausted, but that his heart is lighter than it has been all week. Maybe there's something to be said about letting her get closer, after all.

He slips back into the kitchen and stands gazing at his (Saved) bucket list. Making up his mind, he leans over his laptop and very deliberately types down the last two items:

25. Discuss, with Ziva, Paris and our bucket-list items.

26. Tell Ziva.


A/N:

Items from the original bucket list, in order of appearance in the fic: 6. Ride in a motorcycle ball of death; 4. Catch a shark; 24. Let friends get closer; 10. Tell Dad it's okay; 8. Develop a catch phrase; 15. Create DiNozzo coat of arms; 22. Finish memoir; 21. Find Jimmy Hoffa, dammit; 19. Discuss Paris; and 26. Tell her. All these, I must disclaim (I do not own).

Modified items: 25 (changed from 19)—Discuss, with Ziva, Paris and our bucket-list items; 26 (as it was)—Tell Ziva. All these, I must cite (CBS, 2011). :P

My own items: 17. Road trip across the United States with Ziva; 24. Be persuaded by Ziva into taking Chinese language classes together (subject to change). These two, I claim (I own, hehehe, except for Ziva's name :S).

Items not included in the modified version of the list: 6. Ride in a motorcycle ball of death (as appeared in the original list); Give the kitchen a good scrub (unnumbered, my own item).

Full 2.0 version of Tony's bucket list in the next chapter. Not necessary to read, but of course you can if you want to!

Thanks for reading this chapter!

-Soph