***Disclaimer: If I owned any of it, that would mean that I wrote for a brilliant TV show and had a job that I loved. Sadly, no….

She gasped as an icy blast of wind and snow hit her face. She pulled her coat tighter around her and looked around for Tony but he had moved ahead of her quickly and tossed her bag on the trunk of the nearest car. The snow was falling fast now, in large flakes. Her feet left footprints as she crossed the parking lot. Her eyes became mesmerized by how small her print was next to Tony's. All of a sudden her ninja senses sent off a signal to her brain and her head snapped up just as the snowball finished its arc and hit her squarely in the face.

Tony knew he was a deadman long before the cold ball of frozen water even left his hand, but he didn't care. He wanted to see the fire again. The fire that used to light her from the inside and in return, made his brain go crazy for wanting her. She came after him then, the glint in her eyes reading somewhere between NCIS and Mossad, which was like comparing a bowl of jello to a paperclip when it came right down to it. He knew better than to run across the slick parking lot so he was forced to stand his ground. She approached him slowly, as a puma would approach her prey. When she pounced, it was swift and silent, just as a stealth ninja should be. He was on his back, the cold, wet snow seeping into his clothes before he had even realized that she had moved from her spot. She was on top of him, mount position, snow gathered in both fists, watching his face. And then, without so much as a twitch for warning, snow was on his face, against his neck and down his shirt. He closed his eyes, still contemplating the possibility of her having a third hand with all the snow that was on him, when he felt the warmth leave his body. He opened his eyes and saw her standing over him with a smirk on her face.

"Never mess with Mossad. You will always lose," she said, winking at him. "Always."

He smiled back at her. "Is that anything like 'Let the Wookie win?"

"Wookie?"

"Star Wars?" he said, lowering his voice and beginning some heavy breathing. " 'Luke, I am your father'."

She shook her head and extended a hand to him which he grasped willingly. He began brushing the snow from his shirt, doing a mental inventory of the number of clean, dry, shirts he had left in his desk. She reached out and brushed a few flakes from his collar, her fingers grazing his neck as she did so. He couldn't help his reaction to her. Her fingers against his skin were like fire to ice, melting him from the outside in. He reached up and grasped her wrist and brought it down to rest on his waist. When she began to protest, he put his fingers to his lips. She became quiet, curiosity reading on her face as he took her other hand and brought it also to his waist. They were standing alone in the parking lot with only the glow of the street lights around them. He wrapped his arms around her and leaned in to whisper in her ear.

"Look up," he said, his voice barely audible as he inhaled her scent.

She searched his face, with a questioning look on her own.

"Hold on and look up," he repeated.

She tilted her head back and caught her breath. The snow came straight down and to stare into it, she felt like she was falling. Falling backwards into oblivion. Into Utopia. Had she ever had a more perfect moment in her life? She was sure she had but she was at a loss as to what it was. Right now the only thing that mattered was her. And him. Them. She held him tighter as she continued to fall. Finally, after she was fairly certain that years had passed as they stood there, she tilted her head back down. He smiled as the snowflakes on her eyelashes melted and more replaced them. She had dropped her arms when she had brought her head down but his were still firmly around her waist. She didn't fight it and he was glad.

"My mom used to do that with me when I was little." He shrugged his shoulders.

"I have never seen anything like that."

She thought she felt him grasp her waist a little tighter just before he let go. She wanted to throw her arms back around him and stay in the moment. She knew it sounded like a bad romance movie. She also knew better than to attempt it. And while a half hour ago, she had been 100% certain of his feelings for her, now…now the black and white was starting to fuzz into gray and she was no more certain of his feelings than her own. And it scared her. And that was an emotion she rarely encountered – fear. She had been trained to look past the fear and eventually it would fade. She was brought out of her thoughts by a warm hand grasping hers. She started to pull it away but he held firm and placed a single kiss to her open palm, his eyes never leaving hers. He reluctantly let go when the moment passed and backed away.

"Night, Ziva," he said in a soft tone.

She nodded, unable to bring words – any words – to her lips. He had caught her completely off guard with the kiss and she had loved it. Her mind screamed at her to regain her composure, gain back the steely eyed assassin mode she had worked so hard to acquire. But she hesitated a full minute before giving in to her Mossad mindset. Her eyes followed him as he went back inside. She wanted to follow right behind him but she knew she must go home. Home. There's a word, she thought. Had she ever really had one? Had she ever really had a place that was as comfortable and familiar to her as a home should be? She didn't like the answer that echoed back to her as she slid behind the wheel of her Cooper and started the engine.

He had taken the stairs back up to the bullpen, if for nothing else than the extra time it allowed him. He wasn't sure where the kiss had come from, what it had meant. He was the one who did it, though, shouldn't he know what it meant? And the answer to that, of course, was yes but damned if his mind was letting him in on the secret. As he reached his desk and changed his shirt, his mind started fuzzing. He yawned as he sat in his chair. A minute, he thought. I'll just rest my eyes for a minute. No one will ever know. The movie running in his mind before he drifted off was definitely a Ziva documentary.

She tried to make no noise as she unlocked her door and moved silently across the room. She was sure that he was awake, waiting for her, as he always was. She slipped into the bathroom for a quick shower. Ten minutes later, she was sliding in next to Michael, the warmth of him engulfing her. She slid her arm around his waist, waiting for the question. She was surprised when it never came. She ran her hand across his chest, testing. He shifted slightly but his breathing was even. He was asleep. She had never known him to sleep so soundly, but his flight had been long and he had stayed awake as long as possible to adjust to the time change. He had also been waiting for her. She had told him simply that she was going for a workout. He had been agreeable to the thought of rest but pushed her for words. Words she wasn't ready to speak and questions she wasn't ready to answer. She rolled to her back and stared at the ceiling. She knew, without words, that her father had sent Michael, but the reason? A thousand of them jumped out at her. She knew that her father was intent on seeing her married off to Michael. They had been partners in Israel. They had been more than partners. But Tony was her partner now. Or was he? Her return from Israel after Jenny's death had seemed to mirror the rest of her team mates. Everyone was distanced – emotionally, physically. She had thought that time would help them to sort through it but it seemed that time had only made it worse. And her father's words echoed back to her again.

'Gibbs is a friend,yes?' he had asked, leaning slowly back in chair, peering at her over the rims of his glasses.

'He is my boss, Papa.'

'And your boss came out of retirement to save you, yes?'

She had only nodded, not liking the direction of the conversation. 'I no longer wish to talk about this, Papa.'

'And what did you do for him, my Ziva?'

'Papa, if you are implying that I-…that we…' she had said, shaking her head.

'What power did you have over him that he dropped everything to come and save my Ziva?'

When she had not answered, he had slammed his fist against the dark mahoghany wood of his desk, his eyes dark with rage. Her eyes had immediately met his and in that moment, she knew that he knew. He knew about Ari. He knew her secret. He knew. She had loved and trusted Ari without restraint. She had never questioned his actions or motives until Gibbs. And in that moment, Ari's words to Gibbs about her father had come crashing back. They played like a broken tape in her head. Her father's expression had been unflinching. She was sure that she had seen a glimpse of the Devil himself shadow across her father's features. An advocate to the devil, she remembered thinking. What had she heard time and again growing up? Keep your friends close, my princess, and your enemies closer.

Her eyes turned to the man sleeping next to her. She had never seen him as the enemy, only a friend. Her father's cryptic words, coming from Michael's mouth a month ago had given her the chills. That her father sent his love. She knew that her father had far reaching connections. There were days when the idea of a Mossad NCIS infiltration even skittered across her mind. She knew that his tentacles reached into Fornell's place of play and possibly even into the inner workings of Trent Kort. The sparks started igniting in her brain as thoughts of Kort entered it. She thought to what Tony had told her about the Vance file that had surreptitiously come from the CIA operative and wondered just how many other files he had ferreted away, waiting for the opportunity to play Lucifer.

The chills she felt then assured her that her father had not come by this information by accident. The fact that she had killed Ari – a fact known only to one other person in the world, save for her – and not Gibbs, was something that crept into the back of her mind at least once a day, and stayed to torment. Ari had been everything to her. She had put him on a pedestal. She had believed his words, she had followed in his footsteps, and she had looked to him for leadership and guidance. And he had failed her. God, how she had wanted Gibbs to be wrong. She had never known Kate. But she had known how Gibbs had felt about her. Her dossier on him had been nothing if not thorough. She had done surveillance and undercover ops just to complete her report. She had seen through the walls and windows a man and a woman that didn't even need words to communicate. That a look was enough to last the night. That a kiss to the neck was the ultimate sin. And that a kiss dropped lightly to the middle of her palm was an action that turned into nights of endless lovemaking.

And Ari had taken that from him. But in the strange turn of events to follow, Ziva realized that in Ari's ultimate betrayal, he had given her a new life, a new chance. She had been given the opportunity to be extracted from underneath her father's heavy hand. She had been partnered with a man who at one point in time she had believed could have been something to her. More than just a partner. More than just a Michael.

A/N: Not as long as usual but I'm desperately trying to get the WHOLE story done before Tuesday because I don't want to be beat to the punch. If I don't finish until after Rivken gets whacked on Tuesday, I'm not going to want to finish the story. And Rivken will be killed. I got 100 bucks on Tony for the killshot.