Hey folks!

Wow...I did not truly realize how long I left this story hanging. My apologies (especially to you, dear Sophie!)!

Here is the final chapter. Hope you all enjoy ^.^

Thanks for reading!

Lights flashed and guns blazed.

Blood splattered, screams followed.

The night was filled with growls and wails and yelling and….

Slurping?

Ziva snapped from her daze in front of Tony's television.

Craning her head just slightly, she could see him at the far end of the sofa, socked feet moving absently as they sat propped on the table in front of them. He downed the rest of his beer, his lips pursing against the rim of the bottle and creating the unintentional sound that practically interrupted every other noise in the room.

She smiled when his eyes darted to her, widening as he brought the bottle from his mouth.

"Eh…sorry." He eyed the empty bottle she straddled between her legs. "You want another?"

Ziva blinked when he moved to pause the movie and lean towards her, head nodding in the direction of the kitchen.

"Sure, if you are getting up to get another for yourself, that is."

Tony nodded again, and, without warning, reached forward to pluck the bottle from between her legs. Ziva jolted, hand flying at his wrist and catching it just as the bottle became suspended in mid-air between them.

She could feel her eyes widening, staring into his own as the godawful tingle of physical awareness pooled into her being. And set her muscles coiling.

For a second (or two, or three…she truly wasn't really counting), they remained frozen, eyes locked in a silent battle.

Ziva felt her throat dry out and realized her mouth had been hanging open.

She watched as his eyes darkened again, and she knew this was one of those moments….

Where she desperately needed him to pull back, crack a joke, and pretend nothing had happened at all.

And, as sure as she knew Tony, he did just that.

A flood of relief washed through her tightening chest when he grinned at her suddenly.

"Looks like those ninja skills haven't completely disappeared, huh?"

Ziva felt movement, and looked down to find his wrist twisting in her vice-like grasp.

She chuckled, nervously (nervously?).

Released his arm and slinked backward into the cushions.

"I suppose they haven't. You should know not to move so hastily with me, Tony. I could snap a bone, yes?"

He stood, fingers flexing against the empty beer in his hand. Nodding sagely, he performed a mock bow as he backed away toward the kitchen.

"Of course. What was I thinking?"

The movie continued, and Ziva found herself sipping on her third beer with ease.

She had forgotten how comfortable it was to curl into Tony's sofa, how casual it made her feel. As if NCIS was something of a memory. As if she were simply a person, the same as any other, spending time with a friend and enjoying the wonderful world of cinema without the outside concerns of murders and suicides and missing persons.

She had leaned forward at some point, gazing at the screen as a quiet moment gave pause to the intensity of the alien-filled shoot-fest. The characters sat huddled, waiting, and Ziva had found herself moving her head slightly to better hear the woman (that Tony had insisted reminded him of her) as she spoke to the lead character.

She felt a shift beside her, and darted her eyes to the side to find Tony stretching his arms before reaching forward to snatch the bowl of pretzels from the table.

Her attention was pulled away from the movie momentarily when he unceremoniously crammed several into his mouth at once.

Munching loud enough to break the sound barrier, he held the bowl out to her and attempted to speak through the half-chewed mush:

"Wan' slome?"

A grin peeled across her face and she giggled at him.

She had also forgotten how much Tony made her laugh.

The film ended with Ziva's blood rushing slightly.

The Israeli woman (Isabelle, she recalled) had been rescued by the stoic, battle-hardened lead character, and said hero had engaged the alien antagonist and triumphed.

And the two—the only humans left alive—were thereby stranded on the planet they had landed on at the beginning of the movie, fated to await another onslaught of Predators.

Ziva felt her skin twitch and she whipped her head at Tony when the credits began to roll.

"Wait…that is it?"

Tony reached over to turn on a lamp near the sofa.

"Yeah. Kind of leaves things open for another, don't you think?"

The half-eaten pretzel in her hand paused on its journey to her mouth.

"I suppose it does. Surely they must get off the planet at some point. They cannot just keep fighting the aliens over and over again. They wouldn't survive."

She moved to hand Tony the three empty beer bottles from the table and stood as he walked towards the kitchen again.

His voice carried into the den, and she caught his hint of excitement.

"Exactly. I'm itching to see the title 'MORE PREDATORS' pop up on a commercial sometime soon."

Again Ziva could not fight the laugh that ripped from her throat.

"I do not think they would call the sequel that." She paused, and walked into the kitchen to find him disposing of their accumulated trash. "So….the woman…"

She smiled wryly when he jumped and then grew very still.

"Uh…what about her?"

"You said, she reminded you of me. And yes, she was Israeli. Yes, she had military experience. Are those the only reasons?"

Ziva leaned against the doorway to the kitchen, somewhat bemused at Tony's sudden unease. She watched as he polished off his last beer and swallowed thickly.

Green eyes met hers and held them.

She felt her chest tighten again.

"No…she was…courageous. And…eh…skilled. And….."

He fidgeted with the bottle in his hand before setting it on the countertop.

"She had seen war, and death, and even brought a good bit of it herself."

Ziva felt her jaw clench at his words, and strained her ears upon realizing he was practically whispering. His eyes narrowed and hers followed suit.

She could feel her brow furrow in anticipation and confusion.

"But she loved people. She loved life. And she valued it. Not just for herself, but for others. It was one of the side-stories to the movie. She taught that concept to the guy…eh, Royce. She taught him that it was okay to care about other people."

It was only when she released a heavy breath that Ziva realized she had been holding it. Her heart had begun to thud in her chest and she wondered when Tony had become so sincere…

She saw him smile then, gentle and assuring.

"Even though she was a trained killer, she had a good heart. That's what reminded me of you."

She broke eye contact with him, his words seeping into her brain and settling there in a bundle of warmth.

Her head ducked of its own accord and her smile betrayed her.

"Thank you, Tony. That is…very sweet of you."

A moment of silence fell between them, and Tony shuffled in his spot as Ziva stood stock-still in the doorway.

The sound of a chair scraping the floor had her looking up to see him pulling one away from his kitchen table, flipping it around to sit backwards on it.

"Yeah, well…." His eyebrows rose at her and he grinned. "I can be a nice guy sometimes, see?"

And just like that, her muscles relaxed.

Her chest settled.

Her heart calmed.

The old silly, charming, slightly narcissistic Tony DiNozzo was back, rocking forward in his chair and looking much like a five-year old who was practically asking to break his nose on the linoleum below.

Teeth flashed at her and her entire body grew warm.

She had most certainly forgotten how normal Tony made her feel.

"We should watch another movie sometime soon."

The words escaped before she could even command them.

He stopped rocking and met her gaze, his smile softening along with his eyes.

"Yeah. We should."