A/N: Hello again... This one kinda kicked my butt a bit. Unfortunately, my goal of having a new chapter for each day of Chanukah is impossible to complete (now that I have thought about it a little more) so I hope none of you get confused when you have Day 2 of Chanukah on Friday... =/ I have a lot (and I mean a lot) of projects and homework and stuff that's due because it's getting toward the end of the semester and therefore I can't devote as much time to writing. You will get another chapter eventually...I just hope this will tide you over until then.

Disclaimer: I don't own Shuk Ha'Carmel Marketplace. It sounds like an amazing place to go though...


700 Hours
Wednesday, December 1, 2010

The Davíd House, Ziva's Bedroom

The sun shone into Ziva's bedroom window the next morning with such bright rays that staying in bed for much longer was impossible. She swung her legs over the side of her bed and padded into her bathroom, turning the water on for her shower while attempting to make as little noise as possible. Waking Tony was at the bottom of her list.

This conscious mindset set around Tony only doomed Ziva's mind to consider the more intimate thoughts she held for him but, on a regular basis, ignored or buried. The first to hit her was the very first time she stepped foot on NCIS floors. Or, at least, in the bullpen. Tony had been saying something dirty…staring off into outer space, and she had asked if she was intruding on something private. He had jumped to make it appear as though he had been participating in phone sex, but Ziva hadn't been fooled. No federal agent (or anyone in government, really) would engage in phone sex off of their desk phone at work. Tony may have appeared to be a bit dense, but she had been able to tell upon meeting him and talking to him for a bit that he was nothing of the sort.

She let out a soft chuckle, stepping into the shower and remembering how she had sat in (what she learned to be was) McGee's desk-chair and flirted with him. At the time, she had been testing the waters, trying to see what he was like. But looking back on it, it was flirting. There had been a chemistry that she found very rarely, especially with Mossad. The majority of her 'romances' were nothing more than fleeting trysts, either because they were the result of a shady undercover assignment or because they were simply that. Trysts. Rendezvouses that would never lead to anything more.

But Tony…there had been something about him that had captured Ziva's attention soon after they met, especially after their charade as assassins, and even more so after the summer nights they had spent together.

Running a loofa sponge over her elbows and knees, she also passed her palm over her shin and grimaced at how prickly they were. She realized too late that she hadn't brought a razor into the bathroom with her, and that they were still stashed in her suitcase.

Letting out a harrumph, Ziva left the shower, draped a plush towel around her waist, and tiptoed into her bedroom. Thankfully, Tony was nowhere to be seen and she assumed he had gone downstairs to eat breakfast. She bent over her suitcase and dug around for the pink Venus razor she had packed specifically for this vacation.

Ziva froze when she heard a soft chuckle behind her. "Love the view," Tony murmured. She turned to glare at him and saw that he was leaning against the doorframe, his arms crossed. Her partner's eyes were sparkling like blue diamonds. "Sorry. I'll leave you to find whatever you're looking for in peace."

"I was showering," Ziva said, her voice colder than she had intended. She tried to apologize with a small smile.

Tony nodded, a grin forming on his lips. "I can see that. You're dripping soap on the carpet, by the way," he told her, gesturing toward the lush beige beneath her.

She turned and scurried back into the bathroom, finishing her shower in less than fifteen minutes. After blow-drying her hair and scrunching it with a hefty amount of mousse, she emerged in a velvet bathrobe she had found in a drawer in the bathroom.

"Well, aren't we feeling a bit more awake," Tony said, crossing the room while trying to pull on his sock. He let his eyes visibly graze over her form, then sat on the chaise lounge, shoving aside a pillow. "Wish I could say the same for myself," he managed to get out before Liat barged in through the door. Fabulous, the partners thought in tandem, turning their attention to the cargo-pants-and-tank-top clad ninja. Trying not to stare at Ziva, but also trying not to shower Liat with too much attention, Tony simply bade her a 'Good Morning' and left the room with his slippers tightly grasped in his hands.

He wanted to see what breakfast at the Davíd Manor were like.


The Davíd House, Kitchen
1000 Hours
Wednesday, December 1, 2010

Over a large spread of sliced vegetables, goat-milk yoghurt, fruit, scrambled eggs, and toast, Tony soon realized that he may in fact be forced to gain several pounds over the course of Chanukah, especially if every morning began this way. After seeing what Dinner there would be like, he assumed (and rightfully so) that the Davíd family enjoyed a wide variety of foods, and never remained hungry for long. The only part of breakfast that Tony missed was the maple-cured bacon he had grown fond of in the United States, but after thinking about it for a while, he decided that he had eaten enough anyway and wouldn't have had room for it even if they'd had it.

Even the coffee was delicious, which meant that the rest of the day would surely go well. The only thing he wasn't sure of was how to deflect Liat's unwanted attention. Why she was hitting on him so heavily now compared to when they first met was beyond Tony, and he was hard-pressed (by himself) to find out as soon as possible. Preventing Ziva from killing Liat was one of the reasons, the other being that he simply didn't care for Liat anymore.

The initial spark of intrigue had been the driving force behind Tony's interest in her. That and the fact she had reminded him of someone he seemed to know. If only he could figure out who. It was bugging him and, usually, he just ignored things like that. Pushed it back of his mind and focused on what was truly important—usually, a case.

But this was so much different. When he looked at Liat he knew there was someone who she was exactly like except for a few outlying features, such as her nose or the distinct pout to her lips. The intensity in her eyes was what drove him, because he knew someone with that same, exact intensity. It pushed him closer and closer to insanity each day.

At that moment, Ziva swept into the room and reached over his shoulder for a piece of toast. After pouring herself a cup of hot water and steeping a chai teabag in the mug, she took a seat at the granite island and extracted the newspaper from Tony's hands. It wasn't as though he could read it anyway, what with having to start at the right of the page and move left (along with the pesky Hebrew alphabet), but it still niggled at him that she hadn't considered asking for it.

Tony had half a mind to reprimand her and opened his mouth to do so, but she turned to him and said rather plainly, "Oh, Tony, it is not as though you could have read it anyway. But if you insist…" Ziva hopped off of her chair and stood in front of him. For some reason (which he could not put his finger on), the closeness of her body to his made Tony's heart beat a bit faster. He barely heard her when she murmured, "Tony, may I please read the newspaper, if you are finished with it?"

Dumbfounded, he nodded. What bothered him wasn't the fact Ziva had somehow known what he was going to ask her, but instead the fact he still had a racing heart even after she had returned to her seat.

Crap.

"Chag Samaech, Father," she greeted Eli, breaking Tony out of his daze. "Day number one."

The older man smiled warmly and sipped at his orange juice. "Yes, Daughter, and Chag Samaech to you as well. Are you ready to cook the feast of this evening?"

Ziva thought for a moment before telling him, "Yes. Do I need to go shopping?" Eli shook his head. "I think I should take Tony to the bazaar, just so he can see it."

"Oh, Zeev," Tony muttered, "you don't have to. I'm fine here…"

Liat smirked. "If you have shopping to do, I can keep him company." Through the double-French door strode Malachi, who received a disgruntled glare from the young Israeli. "Sleep well?"

He nodded, grabbing a plate and scooping a rather large helping of Israeli Vegetable Salad onto it. "Yes, Liat, I did." Turning to Eli, Malachi smiled. "Chag Samaech and good morning, Director."

"Ah, Malachi," Eli declared, pouring himself another glass of juice. "I was wondering if you would accompany me to the office. I forgot my briefcase there yesterday and I am afraid I will need it this week." Malachi nodded and leant down to whisper something in Ziva's ear. A faint blush rose in her cheeks and she flipped her hair over her right shoulder in an attempt to hide it from Tony.

This was an impossible feat, and Tony laughed inwardly at the fact she actually thought he wouldn't notice.

"So," Tony began, nudging her upper arm with his elbow, "What're you making tonight? Battered beetles with lentils and mealworms?" He crinkled his nose to show he was joking, but Liat bounded over and appeared as though she was ready to slap him, causing him to step away from her. "Just kidding…"

She wasn't convinced, however, and showed as much by crossing her arms and glaring. "Bugs are not kosher, and neither are worms."

Tony glanced between Ziva and Liat, noting the thick tension that had settled over both women.

Very slowly (and venomously, Tony also noted), Ziva said, "Liat, you know that Father and I do not keep kosher."

"Since when does the Director not keep kosher? I believe that was your tradition, Ziva, not his." A smirk formed on Liat's lips, making it obvious she thought she had won.

"You may keep kosher, but the closest we come to it is separating cooking pans between dairy and meat," Ziva explained. "Look around. There are two refrigerators, two freezers, to separate ovens, two separate sinks, two sets of knives, and—" She stood and gestured to the rest of the kitchen, "—two of everything."

"What is your point, Ziva?" Liat spat.

Tony was growing very uncomfortable with being stuck in the crossfire and again took a step backward, only stopping when Ziva gripped his wrist, gluing him to the spot. Please, God, I know I don't pray often, but please let me not get killed today…

His partner's eyes flashed brilliantly (but dangerously) as she hissed, "If you do not wish to eat my cooking, you are more than welcome to leave."

Liat took the opportunity that arose to let out a laugh, albeit a bitchy one. Ziva, on the other hand, muttered under her breath something he suspected was vulgar. This caused her replacement to force herself in front of Tony, her backside just grazing where normally Tony wouldn't mind (but currently feared for his life too much to react in any way).

Her proximity to Ziva mixed with the dangerous look on both of their faces made him want to run but the possibility of a fight between them kept him rooted to the tile he was standing on. And he couldn't push from the recesses of his brain the worry he held that Liat would attack Ziva, potentially hurting her in the process. He remained.

"Maybe, Ziva, I will." Liat flounced from the room and left both Ziva and Tony staring after her.

He turned and eyed her cautiously. Her eyes were narrowed but you could see they were welling up with tears of a more angry nature. Her lips were pressed into a tight, thin line and her brow was furrowed. "You okay?" Tony asked, resting a hand on her shoulder.

She nodded but still stared at the doorway. After a while she hissed 'Golem' and turned back to her tea.


The Davíd House, Parlor
1400 Hours
Wednesday, December 1, 2010

Ziva was livid, furious beyond belief, but she refused to give Liat the pleasure of knowing it. Instead, she focused on dusting and cleaning the house for the gathering that evening. She froze when she felt someone in the room besides her.

"Look," she began, "I am sorry about earlier, but please let us be civilized adults and not fight? It is Chanukah, after all." She heard a man's chuckle and turned her head minimally to look over her shoulder. When she saw it was only Malachi, she relaxed and let a smile form on her features. "I thought you had gone into town with my father." The unasked question of 'Where is he now?' still rang in the air.

"He is outside discussing flowers with your aunt and uncle. He will be in soon," Malachi explained, drawing nearer to her. "There is something I have been meaning to talk to you about, Zee-vah." Only one other person pronounced her name quite like that. Tony. But only when he was serious about something. Ziva bristled slightly from his tone but said nothing, allowing him to continue. "Please, let us sit…"

She acquiesced to his suggestion and perched herself on the edge of a plush cushion lying on the floor beside the coffee table, propping an elbow on the glass to hold herself up (and to enable her to still defend herself if need-be).

"Zee-vah," he said as a soft whisper, almost as though he were reading poetry. "I would like to begin by saying we miss you very much in Mossad, and while we remain in contact with the occasional e-mail or phone call, the headquarters is not the same without your bright and beautiful eyes each morning." Ziva merely raised her eyebrows, a gesture for him to continue. "Your father has even mentioned the void your absence has left behind."

She smirked. "Oh, but Liat is my replacement, Malachi. You needn't miss me too much."

"Ah. So your father was right." Malachi let out a bark of laughter and studied the former-Israeli with humor in his eyes when she stared at him in confusion. "The Director thought perhaps you would take it that way."

Ziva rolled her eyes and looked away, focusing on the stark contrast the white lilies made with the blue chrysanthemums instead of meeting his piercing gaze. "Did he?"

"Yes, Zee-vah." Malachi paused, extending a hand and placing it above her elbow. A counterattack if he tried anything would be futile now, she knew, and she resented him for taking that power away from her. A rising sense of distrust (mostly out of suspicion) kept her ill at ease while he said, "We all miss you, and I feel as though it is my fault you are gone."

"Why?" she asked, eyeing the small frown easing its way onto his tanned features. "You fought the battle against me joining NCIS. How would my becoming an agent be any of your fault?"

Her former partner bowed his head and released a dramatic sigh. "Because I left you in Somalia to die."

It took seconds for Ziva to be on her feet and walking away from him, spluttering, "No, we are not discussing that on the first day of Chanukah. I refuse. No."

He gaited over to her and gripped her upper arms. "Zee-vah, I am so sorry. I should not have abandoned you in Somalia. All that happened on the Damocles … that was my fault. I should not have—" Ziva's hand made contact with his cheek sooner than he could finish his sentence, sending the echo of flesh-on-flesh through the parlor. He said nothing more and released his hold on Ziva's arms, allowing her to storm from the room and up the stairs to her bedroom.


The Davíd House, Ziva's Bedroom
1500 Hours
Wednesday, December 1, 2010

Tony sat in awe on the edge of Ziva's bed as the girl in question furiously paced back and forth, muttering lengths of Hebrew under her breath and emitting angry sighs here and there. Her eyebrows were creased so intensely that he was worried they would leave deep ridges in her forehead, along with his fear that she would end up killing him if he in the least suggested she calm down. He wanted to consol her but was unsure of how, because anyway he diced it, he would end up missing an appendage.

Finally, he worked up the nerve to stand and stop her mid-stride. "Ziva," Tony murmured, staring down at her. He waited until she had met his gaze before continuing, "Tell me what's wrong?"

All he got was a pissed-off "No." She tried to walk around him but he stopped her by stepping to the left, blocking her path. "Move."

"Not until you tell me what's wrong," he told her firmly. "I've only seen you like this once; when you were framed and the FBI was after you." Ziva shrugged, which didn't annoy him half as much as the fact she wouldn't confide in him. "I was there for you then, and I'm there for you now."

After taking a few deep breaths, she gestured toward the bed and crossed the room to hop up on it and cross her legs Indian-style. Tony joined her, pulling one leg up to balance his body. Slowly, Ziva began to explain everything that had transgressed between Malachi and herself, playing with a loose string that hung lifelessly from the blanket she was sitting on.

Tony didn't know what to say, so he exhaled through his lips and ran an unsure hand through his hair, setting it rather unkempt-looking. "Well, Zeev, I guess it's safe to say dinner's gonna be a toss-up, huh?" When she glared at him, he quickly covered with, "But I've got your back, so you don't have to worry."

Ziva chuckled bitterly and said in the most matter-of-fact way she could, "Unfortunately, Tony, you would have little chance going up against five Mossad officers."

"Five?" he asked, counting through the current number of house guests in his mind. "But the only ones here are Liat and Malachi."

She shook her head. "Tonight we are having a party, Tony. Did I not tell you? My father's closest and most respected employees are invited." He raised an eyebrow at her. "In the past," she explained, "that would mean myself, Malachi, Ari, and Michael. This year, there are replacements. Liat is one of them, and then three other men."

Oh dear. "Well," he joked, "I suppose that means I'd better be on my best behavior."

There was a pregnant pause before Ziva replied, "Only if you want to return to America alive."

She left the room before Tony could ask if she was kidding or not. By the time he had followed her downstairs, she was preoccupied with setting out dishes with her aunt and therefore couldn't answer questions anyway. He hovered by the baby grand piano in the corner until finally, she looked up and suggested they go to the market.

Uncertain of what else he would do, he agreed.


Shuk Ha'Carmel (Market)
1700 Hours
Wednesday, December 1, 2010

"When exactly are we supposed to be back?" Tony asked, almost cut off by the heckling of a nearby vendor. "I mean, this the third market we've been to. Isn't that kind of … overkill?" He shifted the two bags he carried in his left hand while trying to balance the heavy mesh tote he held in the crook of his right arm.

"We need food for the week," Ziva told him bluntly, smiling at a little girl in another booth. "We had might as well buy it now to save time later."

Tony couldn't argue with that and followed her. He envied the fact that as a woman, she wasn't expected to carry the grocery bags. That was his work. He also realized how much appreciation he held for American stores like Wegmans and Wal*Mart. What I would do for a shopping cart right now…

A thought struck him. "Hey, Zeev, you know what's really weird?" She gave him a noncommittal 'Hm?' but nothing more. "The fact that right now—" He glanced at his watch, almost dropping the groceries. "—it's only around ten in the morning in D.C.?"

Ziva nodded. "Yes. That is why, when I was doing undercover work shortly after Director Shep—Hmm, shortly after our team was separated…I rarely called." This earned her a perplexed look from Tony. "Well, be realistic, Tony."

"I don't follow," he murmured, wincing as part of the bag pinched his arm. She rolled her eyes and took the bag from him. "Thanks."

Ignoring him, Ziva elaborated. "If I woke up at seven in the morning, it was midnight in Washington. If, for some reason, I was up at one or two, you would be eating dinner. It just was not considerate, any way I looked at it." She stopped at a small booth selling something that looked like gold (but Tony couldn't tell what it was) before smiling at the vendor and greeting him in Hebrew. She looked at the pieces lying in their blue, velvet boxes before paying him and stashing the consequent box in her purse. She thanked him and walked onward.

He thought she was finished, but that was not so. "So I did not call," she murmured, pausing mid-step and standing on tip-toe to look over a tall man in front of her. "We do need corn flour," she said, almost as though it was to herself.

"I was all over the place, not just in one time zone. That being said," Tony stated, pushing aside her statement about flour, "I would've felt bad calling you in the middle of the night." Ziva appeared to be more interested in flour (although that was simply not the case) and began to push through the crowds in her determination. "Hey, Zeev, where you going? Agh!"


The Davíd House, Kitchen
1850 Hours
Wednesday, December 1, 2010

After separating every food group and washing all vegetables so that they were certifiably bug- and dirt-free, Ziva and Tony began the harrowing task of cooking the foods for the party. Tony had not been informed that he would be cooking that evening, nor was he altogether pleased about it, but he figured that if he was considered 'sidekick' to Ziva, not too much could go wrong.

The only problem he was having was keeping track of which place he was supposed to find meat. He had opened the refrigerator to grab an ingredient for Ziva (first the lamb for hashwe and then chicken for a curry dish, followed by several others) and nearly every time had to open both doors because he had forgotten behind which door was which category: dairy or meat. A few times he had even come close to cursing the entire practice, but thought better of it.

Liat had been in the next room, or somewhere in the house, and he hadn't wanted to die so soon. Not before at least giving Ziva her gift. So now he stood there, waiting for his partner to dictate to him what he should be doing.

"Ah, Ziva," Eli sighed, walking into the room. "Aunt Lucy wants to see you." Ziva's eyes opened widely and she glanced at the pan that held slowly heating olive oil. "Is that a problem, daughter? Are you in the middle of something?"

She shook her head and looked at Tony, who perked up immediately. "Need me to take over for a sec?"

Ziva explained to him how to toast the pine nuts and how imperative it was that he not burn them. She stressed this fact several times before untying her apron and pressing it into his abdomen. She did take a moment, however, to lean up and whisper, "She probably thinks we are a couple. I will cover for us."

While she was gone, Tony succeeded in not only not burning the pine nuts, but also in finding in the recipe what he was supposed to do with them once they were golden brown. He turned off the heat, as advised by the recipe, and waited a few minutes for them to cool. He then—very carefully, as to not get lamb on the pan or the wooden spoon—emptied the pan into the meat mixture and stirred them in with its respective spoon. Proud of himself, he referred to the picture on the recipe and found an appropriate dish, transferring the contents of the pan into it and decorating it with a sprig of parsley.

The look on Ziva's face when she returned to see the hashwi completed and (if Tony could say so himself) beautifully plated was worth the stress of cooking on his own. He had little experience with cooking and had been very nervous (since the last time he'd tried to make anything he'd set the stove on fire…). However, when she hugged him in thanks, he had simply beamed.

"It looks delicious," she told him, taking a bit of the hashwi onto a plastic spoon and trying it. "Mm…Good job, Tony. I am proud of you."

Fighting off the flush rising in his face, Tony smirked down at her. "Well," he said cockily, "you know how we DiNozzos roll." He remembered the reason she had left the kitchen in the first place and asked, "How's Aunt Lucy?" Stealing the spoon from Ziva, he also tried it. Not being one for lamb, he quickly swallowed, tuning into what she was saying.

"It is much worse than I thought," she told him, holding back laughter at his facial expression. "She thought—and still is convinced—that we are engaged."

"En-what?" Tony blurted, setting the spoon down rather harder than he needed to. The end broke off and he was left with a jagged handle. He gingerly placed both of the broken pieces in the trash can for meat and then turned back to his brown-haired partner. "How did we come off as engaged?"

Ziva shrugged. "I do not know, but hopefully she will not push us tonight during our gift-giving to make an announcement. I do not think my father's heart could handle it." She glanced at the clock on the wall and said, "The rest of the food is finished or out there, so we can go change for the party."

He nodded and checked the dials on the stoves and ovens. Nothing was on. But you can never be too sure, Tony reassured himself, throwing a glance over his shoulder at both of them before following her out of the kitchen.


The Davíd House, Parlor
2000 Hours
W
ednesday, December 1, 2010

Ziva looked stunning. Tony knew he shouldn't be staring as much as he was, or as blatantly, but he couldn't help it. While she was in conservative attire, the dark-blue, satin dress hugged her in all the right places, making any normal man's mouth go dry. The minimal amount of makeup she wore made her eyes sparkle and cheeks glow, although Tony wondered if perhaps that was from being with so many of her family and friends she hadn't seen in almost a year.

He had tried to match her (though subtly) by wearing a blue satin tie, which he thought looked more than alright with his charcoal dress-pants and white dress-shirt. While he knew Ziva had said a suit would be 'over-reaching,' he felt it was necessary, especially after seeing what Malachi was wearing. The Senior Field Agent's garb was far better in quality, being Italian-made, while the other's suit was made of cheap wool and polyester. Who's vying for her heart now, Ben-Gidon? Bring i—wait. Vying for whose heart, DiNozzo? Whoa, where did that come from?

His mind was in a frenzy, probably from watching Ziva socialize and laugh and make idle chit-chat with those who had been closest to her. He noticed that she was steering clear of both Liat and Malachi, which made him chuckle to himself. All comedy in the situation fled him when an elderly woman hobbled over to where he sat and plopped down next to him.

"I am Aunt Lucy," she warbled in broken English. "You are Tony."

Tony smiled. "Yup, that's me!" His face fell considerably when he was met with a stony glare. "Is that…bad?" he asked, hoping it wasn't.

"No. You are engaged to Zee-vah."

He shook his head. "No, we're just partners." Though he tried to keep his voice light, he knew he was failing pretty miserably. "Why do you think we're engaged? Do we act it?"

"She has ring on her finger," Lucy combated, giving him a stare that would make even Gibbs crumble. Tony tried to think of a ring that Ziva would be wearing, and then remembered the jade ring that Ducky had given her for Christmas the previous year. "You give to her."

"Oh, no, no!" Tony tried to defend himself. "One of our coworkers gave the ring to Ziva as a gift. His name is Ducky, and he's our Medical Examiner… He thought it would look nice with her skin tone."

Lucy shook her head decisively. "No," she declared, so convincingly that it made Tony doubt himself a bit. "You give to her. You propose."

He sat there for what seemed like an hour, trying to persuade her to believe otherwise, but Lucy ultimately stood and waddled away toward the food table. Sighing, Tony ran spread fingers through his hair, and then regretted it. He walked toward the stairs, with the goal of Ziva's bathroom mirror in mind. He was stopped short, however, by a bare leg at the head of the stairs. He let his eyes graze upward and finally found Liat's face at the top of the firecracker-red dress (that had, he noticed, a slit up to her hip).

"Tony," she greeted him, a minx-like, pouty smile gracing her equally red lips. "You look nice."

Bewildered, and uncertain of what to say to her, Tony just nodded and choked out, "You, too. I need a mirror." Squeezing past her, he found what he had been looking for and fixed his hair, combing it the way he knew Ziva liked it. Damn, damn, damn, damn….

Moments after he returned downstairs, the lighting of the menorah took place, along with prayers and such that Tony followed along with as well as he could. His practicing of the prayers had served him well, and he responded as confidently as the others around him. He smiled up at Ziva, who let her eyes sparkle at him briefly.

"Gifts!" Eli announced, sending the few children who were in attendance into hysterics. Tony removed the long box from his pocket and placed it in Ziva's hands, praying she would like it. The glitter to her brown eyes were enough of a reward; he didn't need to see her awe as she unfolded the silk scarf from its small, compact square.

"Tony, you should not have…" she had whispered, holding it up to the light. It was blue, with ivory lace at the ends. "It is beautiful. Thank you."

He was just as grateful for the amazing set of cufflinks she had given him.

The rest of the night went by swimmingly, and when Tony and Ziva went to bed, they didn't mind that they were in the same one.


A/N: Good? Bad? The Ugly? Reviews are nice. ::smiles:: If you haven't been able to tell, I don't care for Malachi and Liat much. I feel like they're going to be the downfall of season 8, for reasons unbeknownst to me, but it still bugs me greatly. So. Anyway. Back on track...I hope you liked this chapter. I know that hashwe is more of a Lebanese dish but I figured, meh, it's the Middle East, and as long as there's not dairy mixed into any of it...So be it. Also, I know that Ziva doesn't keep kosher (she's mentioned it before, besides the fact she eats anything she wants, haha) so I had her go through the motions of the "Dairy/Meat Separation" thing. I've done lots of research. Hopefully... ::crosses fingers:: ... it paid off? Mm. Love, Kat.

PS: HAPPY CHANUKAH!

Note: Translations!

&Chag Samaech means 'Happy Holiday' in Hebrew. It's a more common greeting than 'Happy Chanukah,' I found. Kind of like people say, 'Seasons Greetings' or 'Happy Holidays' in the States, I guess.

&Golem is defined in Jewish folklore as 'an artificially created human supernaturally endowed with life'. This, of course, was also in the episode Enemies Domestic. I read somewhere where 'Golem' also can refer to someone who's stupid. Like a 'bumbling idiot.' ::grins:: If you see where I'm going with this, congratulations...