Warning –- This chapter involves the romantic and sexual (though not overly explicit) pairing of two primary characters. If that is not something you wish to read, I suggest skipping this chapter. Otherwise, enjoy.

CHAPTER ELEVEN

Tony and Ziva left Abby's place and headed out to the car. Both were all but overcome by emotions. Tony couldn't believe that Kate was alive. It was the most incredible thing. He hadn't even realized just how much he'd missed her until she was standing there, right in front of him. It was like getting a member of his family back. That was how he felt about everyone at NCIS, like they were his real family. He'd never admit it to anyone, especially Gibbs, but he'd cried himself to sleep many times in the weeks after Kate's "death". But all was set right now.

For her part, Ziva was quite conflicted. She was happy for her friends, her team, that they were getting Kate back. She was well aware of how much they all loved her, how much she meant to them. A tiny part of her was just a tinge jealous of the attention Tony had given her, but she knew, in her gut, that it was not a romantic thing. It was simply his joy at seeing her alive. What really bothered her were the thoughts she couldn't quite banish, the ones that told her she'd killed her own brother, in part, for something he hadn't actually done. Oh, he'd intended to. He'd even thought he'd succeeded. She'd heard him tell Gibbs that, with her own ears. And, she had no doubt that he'd have killed Gibbs, without hesitation, if she hadn't acted. Even so, it was a painful ache she lived with every day, and even more so today.

They climbed into the car outside Abby's place. Tony was driving, which was probably for the best, Ziva had to admit. She was somewhat distracted just now, and her driving was less than perfect on her best days, not that she'd ever admit it to Tony.

They were quiet on the ride to her house. She was lost in her thoughts about Ari. He was doing his damndest to figure out what exactly he was going to say to her. She'd given him an eight hour reprieve earlier, but Kate's appearance had relegated it to the back of his mind, until now. He decided that it would be best if he just spoke from the heart. Ziva always could read him like a book anyway.

He turned onto her street and pulled up in front of her house. How many times had he been there? Too many for him to recall, but he'd never had butterflies in his stomach like now. He put the car in park and removed the key from the ignition. It was still reasonably early. They each stepped out, and headed up the walk to her door without a word. Ziva put the key in the lock and opened the door. They stepped inside.

Tony took a breath, wondering just where he should begin, when Ziva suddenly spun about to face him. She took a step, closing the distance between them, grabbing the front of his shirt and pulling him down to her. Her mouth sought his, hungrily. Her hands wrapped round the back of his head, her fingers entwining themselves in his hair. The door slammed shut as they fell against it.

For his part, Tony was taken aback. He'd intended to tell her about his feelings, and to kiss her, eventually, but he'd expected some serious conversation first. His hesitation lasted only a second though. He kissed her back, as much desire in his kiss as there was in her own. His arms wrapped around her waist, pulling her body tight against his own.

They carried on like that for a minute or so. Finally, pulling back a bit, Tony said, "Ziva, I think we should…"



Her lips found his again, cutting off whatever he'd intended to say. He straightened his back, lifting her off the ground. She was light, a feather in his arms. As soon as her feet left the floor, she wrapped her legs around his waist. He moved to the living room, and lowered them to the couch, where she pulled him down on top of her, continuing to kiss him ferociously.

"Ziva," he said, rather breathlessly, "I thought you wanted to talk about us."

"Later, Tony," she answered, kissing his neck. "I think we understand one another well enough for now, yes?"

Her scent, and her touch, her kisses were driving him mad. He'd wanted her more than he could describe. For three years the tension had been building between them. She was his partner. The thought popped into his head, unbidden. He pushed himself away again, taking several deep breaths, trying to regain some equilibrium. "Ziva, are you sure you want to do this?"

It was a dumb question, and he knew it when he'd started to ask. Of course she wanted this. If she didn't want it, she wouldn't have grabbed him and started kissing him as soon as they'd cleared the door. For her part, Ziva didn't answer with words. She reached up for his shirt, his suit jacket having come off somewhere between the door and the couch, and tore it open, sending buttons flying in every direction.

"Hey," Tony started to object, but he never got to finish telling her how expensive the shirt had been. She pulled him back down to her, her lips once again finding his own, her hands caressing the skin on his chest and back.

He couldn't fight it any more. The taste of her, sweet, like strawberries, and the warm feel of her body against his began to override any thoughts. Before he realized it, he was tearing at her clothing as frantically as she was at his. It wasn't long before they were entwined together on the couch, nothing else between them, their bodies moving against one another in a rhythmic dance.

Their first lovemaking was frantic, full of heat and passion, with little thought or reason, little feeling beyond the need to touch one another, to be fulfilled by them. The second, and the third were slower, more gentle, a trifle less urgent, but no less necessary. More than once the thought had run through Tony's mind that it would be wise to invest in earplugs. Ziva certainly hadn't been kidding when she'd told him she was a screamer. He'd actually been a little afraid the police might bust in through the door, the neighbors having called in fear that she was being murdered.

Somewhere in the middle of it all, they'd moved to Ziva's bedroom. Her sheets were silk, a pale pink in color, more girly than Tony would have expected of her, though the comforter was a bit more what he'd expect, a deep burgundy, very nearly the color of blood.

They lay together in one another's arms, and he told her he loved her, that he had loved her for some time. It wasn't anywhere near as difficult or frightening as he'd expected it to be. The words, which she'd longed to hear for so long now, were music to her ears. And he was no less thrilled to hear her tell him she felt the same.

She was feeling so good, she proved to him that page 57 was more than just the urban legend he'd always thought it was before she fell asleep with her head resting in the crook of his shoulder. Just before nodding off she whispered, "Good night my little hairy-butt." He laid there with her, holding her close, the fingers of his left 

hand tracing small circles on the skin of her arm until he could no longer fight off sleep either, eventually giving in with a smile on his face.