A/N: Long chapter here.


Three.

It is dark when the plane touches down in Tel Aviv and when he turns his phone back on, it helpfully informs him that it is a little before 2200. He has never been good with time zones.

He steps out of the airport into the humid Israeli air, duffel bag in hand, and has the feeling of displacement that always accompanies transatlantic flights. He allows himself a few lungfuls of fresh air before heading to his rental car.

The rental, helpfully equipped with GPS, has him arriving at Ziva's in 20 minutes. Just a few minutes until he sees her again. His heart is pounding in his chest as he lets the GPS navigate him around the city. Finally, the canned voice chirpily announces that he has arrived at his destination, one minute ahead of schedule.

It is a small white stucco house with a flat roof. In front of the house are two tall palm trees, standing like dark sentinels. He can see light coming from the ground floor windows and he is relieved that she seems to be awake. He takes a deep breath and walks up the short paved walkway to knock on the front door.

He waits for what seems like an hour but is likely an appropriate amount of time. Then the door slowly opens a crack and her familiar face appears.

"Tony?"

Her voice is incredulous and the surprise on her face is evident. She opens the door wider and steps aside to let him in.

Despite his stuttering heart, he smirks when he sees that she is holding a small gun against her leg. "Greet all old friends like this, Sweetcheeks?" he can't help asking.

She narrows her eyes at him as she reapplies the safety on the gun and tucks it back in a little table near the door. "Old friends who appear out of the blue late at night, yes," she says. She frowns at him. "What is going on?"

"Hi Tony. Hi Ziva. How've you been? Oh, you know, same as always. And you?" he responds pointedly, mimicking a normal conversation between two friends.

She continues frowning at him. "Pleasantries later. Gibbs is the only one who had my address and he would only give it to you if it was important. So tell me what is going on." She sits on the overstuffed brown couch, where some textbooks are sitting, and gestures for him to also sit. He sits in a worn leather armchair.

To keep her from grabbing the gun and pointing it at him, he gets right to the point. "There's a rogue officer who has been causing some trouble," he starts.

"NCIS?"

"MI6," he replies, gauging her reaction.

Her frown deepens. "Why is NCIS involved if it's a British agency?"

He sighs and rubs his forehead. "He's targeting current and former officers of different agencies who were involved in the death of his wife, who was Russian intelligence. He killed Tom Morrow."

Her eyebrows shoot up at this piece of news. Tony continues. "He shot Fornell."

Her eyebrows rise even higher on her forehead and she finally looks a bit alarmed. "Is he dead?" she asks.

"No, last I heard, he was in stable but critical condition. The bullet decided to spare major organs, at least."

She blinks and takes a moment to process the news. "This is all bad news, but why did it land you on my front door?" she asks.

He exhales slowly. "The rogue agent is looking for you, but we don't know why. I'm here to give you the heads up," he explains, leaving out the protective custody part for now.

Her eyes narrow again. "Why the personal visit? Gibbs has my phone number."

He would have been surprised to hear that Gibbs has her number yesterday, but he just accepts that she did not believe he would be able to resist calling her. She would have been right. "I'm supposed to bring you back and place you in protective custody until we catch him." There is no point in sugar coating the truth.

Another pause from her. "I am not going into protective custody," she says predictably. "I have final exams starting next week and I will not miss them."

The second part is news to him. "You're a student?" he asks stupidly.

"Yes," she replies, gesturing toward the open textbooks. "At Tel Aviv University. I graduate this spring, so these exams are very important."

"So is your life," he counters, but then stops. "Wait, you're graduating? It's been what, two years?"

She smiles. "Two and a half years. I had some college credit from when I was in high school and then I just worked hard." A pause, and then she repeats, "I am not going into protective custody."

"Ziva. We caught a guy snooping around outside your old apartment in DC and even Gibbs couldn't break him to find out why. It's only a matter of time before they find out you're enrolled in a university in Tel Aviv," he explains in a slow voice, as if she is a child.

"I know how to protect myself," she argues stubbornly.

He rolls his eyes at her. "You've been a student for two years. I'm sure you're out of practice."

She arches an eyebrow at him. "You want to test me?"

He sighs in exasperation. How did he forget how aggravating she can be? "Maybe later, Sweetcheeks."

She looks at him for a long silent moment, unreadable. He wills himself to look back at her steadily, not wanting to betray how he actually feels about seeing her again.

"Would you like some tea?" she asks eventually, getting off the couch. He nods at her. She disappears into the kitchen and he hears the sound of running water and the click of a stovetop turning on.

He takes the time to survey his surroundings. It is sparsely but tastefully decorated. No TV but there is a tall bookshelf brimming with books. He grins at this - some things don't change. No photos of anyone on her walls or on the side table next to the couch. None of her NCIS family, but none of any new friends either. More importantly, none that signal any romantic relationship in which she may currently be.

It appears that she lives there alone and that lifts his mood, although he pushes that aside for now. He has a mission - get her to DC, protect her until Scott is apprehended.

She returns a few minutes later, a steaming mug in each hand. She hands one to him and sits back on the couch. "You look well," she observes, her eyes scanning him.

"You too," he replies. And she does. Her hair is shorter than it was almost three years ago but with the same curls. He can't place his finger on what exactly it is about her, but she looks more relaxed than he has ever seen her, more at peace. Abby would say that her aura has changed. She is wearing shorts and his eyes linger a moment too long on her bare legs. "Retirement looks good on you," he adds.

She finally smiles at him. He returns the smile and their eyes linger on each other for a beat too long. She sighs and is the first to break the gaze. "Look, Tony, about what we said last time we saw each other..."

The whispered words as they clung to each other in the dark the night before he left Israel the last time come back to him.

"What am I going to do without you?"

"You will do what you have always done."

"It isn't fair."

"No, it is not. But life is not fair. We know this."

"I love you."

"I know."

"But you're still making me leave."

"Yes."

No "I love you" back. He knew then and he still knows that she did love him. She was just so damaged that she couldn't say it out loud. But she showed him with her actions and he knows that counts for a lot.

He shakes his head at her. "You don't have to. I get it. I was pissed for a while but I promise, I'm not anymore."

Her relief is palpable. "I was actually going to call you some time soon," she says.

He raises his eyebrows at her. "Oh were you?"

"Yes."

"May I ask why you were going to break the radio silence?"

She licks her lip, seemingly nervously and takes a sip of tea. "I am graduating this spring," she begins slowly.

"You mentioned," he says, encouraging her to elaborate.

"I am planning on going to graduate school. And I have a number of options."

His heart starts beating a little faster in anticipation. "Oh? Like where?"

"Well, here. University of Cambridge. Columbia University. Georgetown," she lists, still slowly, her eyes watching for his reaction.

He wants to jump up and down. "Georgetown, huh?"

"Yes." She is still talking carefully.

"Where are you thinking of going?" he asks, his heart almost in his throat.

She breaks eye contact with him and looks down at her mug. "I have not decided yet. It depends."

"Well," he says, shoring up the courage. "Provided we don't get blown away by this deranged Brit, I vote for Georgetown. I hear DC is a pretty nice place to live."

She looks back up at him, almost shyly and smiles genuinely. "I will take note of your preference."

They silently gaze at each other again. Tony half expects Gibbs to come around the corner and slap his head.

Eventually, she blinks and looks away. "I am still not going into protective custody. But you are welcome to send an agent here to stand outside my classroom door while I take my exams."

He grins. "Well, I'm an agent. And I'm here."

"Oh, I didn't mean you." She says it quickly, then looks like she regrets having done so.

The grin drops off his face. "Well, hey. That hurts."

She sighs and explains, "No, I just meant. You are a senior field agent and you should be in on the manhunt for this man - what did you say his name is?"

"Jacob Scott."

She gets a far off look in her eye that he recognizes as her accessing the deep abyss of her memory. "Russian intelligence wife, about a decade ago?"

"Yes."

"I believe I provided Jenny Shepard with intelligence regarding the wife's location."

He exhales. "Man, I love your photographic memory," he mutters, then pulls out his phone. "Let me relay that back to Gibbs."

She continues sipping her tea as he calls Gibbs, who answers his cell phone with the typical "Yeah."

"Hey boss. I'm with Ziva and she says she provided Jenny Shepard with intelligence about the wife, which probably led to her death." Tony knows how much Gibbs loves talking, so he keeps to the essential details.

"Tell her thanks," was the gruff reply.

"So uh," he hesitates here for a second. "She's refusing to come in to protective custody."

"Huh."

"Yeah. So I figured I'd stay here for a while, watch her six, report back anything I might see." He says it as casually as possible. Ziva raises her eyebrows at his plan.

Gibbs is so silent that for half a minute, Tony thinks he hung up in response to his plan. "You sure you want to babysit? I was going to send you to Russia to follow a lead."

"Nah, I'm good here. Send Bishop, I think she's been itching to travel and get her mind off her divorce."

Gibbs snorts. "I know that feeling. Fine. Call if anything comes up." With that, he hangs up abruptly.

Tony closes his phone and says to it, "Well, that was easier than I thought it would be."

"I have not agreed to this arrangement," Ziva retorts. She does not sound overly thrilled by the idea of Tony acting as her bodyguard.

"Too bad, Sweetcheeks," he smirks at her. "How often do we give protectees a choice in the matter?"

She huffs a breath and mutters something under her breath in Hebrew.

"Same to you." He winks at her even though he has no idea what she said.

She snorts and stands up. "Well, if you are staying, let me show you to your room. I am exhausted and I know how your back aches after a long flight."

He follows her up the stairs with his duffel bag. "Nice place you have here," he states.

"I sold my father's house and bought this one. His was too big. This one is closer to the university"

And likely she did not want to live in his house, with his ghost following her around everywhere.

At the top of the stairs, he takes her hand. "Hey," he says quietly. "I just dropped in out of nowhere, bringing your old life back. How're you handling it?"

She looks at his hand in hers. It is the first time they have touched in almost three years. "I figured it would happen sooner or later. But it is okay." She looks up at him. "I am glad to see you."

He gives her a small, intimate smile. "I'm glad to hear you're glad. I thought maybe you'd punch me in the face."

"I have not ruled it out," she retorts but gives his hand a squeeze. "Come on, the guest room is over here."

He considers making a joke about staying in her room but decides it is a little bit too much too soon. Plus, it wouldn't totally be a joke.

The guest room is small with just enough space for a queen sized bed. "Cozy," he comments, sinking on to the bed. It is just the right amount of soft and he lets out a small moan as his back cracks in three different locations.

She chuckles quietly. "Well, good night," she says. She hesitates, then steps over to him and puts her hand on his stubbly cheek before kissing his forehead. He can't help it - he leans in to her touch.

"I missed you," he murmers, inhaling her familiar scent of vanilla and sandalwood.

Her breath hitches and she withdraws her hand after a moment. "I missed you, too. Sleep now. We will talk more in the morning, yes?"

He can suddenly barely keep his eyes open despite his nap on the plane. "Sounds good. G'night, Sweetcheeks."

He lays back on the bed and is asleep before she leaves the room.