He stood in the hallway with a brown bag of Chinese takeout in one hand and a bottle of wine in the other. He wore a plaid button-down shirt tucked into his jeans, the sleeves rolled up to his elbows and the top button undone. His slightly ruffled collar matched his slightly ruffled hair and he smiled.

"Hey, Ziva," he greeted, offering the bottle and looking at her with elevator eyes that eventually settled on her own. "You look nice." She'd spent quite a few minutes in front of the mirror, trying to decide just what to wear on their casual, stay-in date that was to her a sort of farewell. Eventually she'd settled on a pair of tight, dark jeans and a mint-green blouse.

"I can say the same to you, hmm?" she said lightly, eyes exaggeratedly tracing along his collarbone, broad shoulders, down his cut torso. "Thank you for the wine. Come in," she invited, inclining her head to the apartment behind her.

"Where should I put the food?" he asked as he slipped his shoes off.

"The table is fine. Would you like to eat now?"

"I've been smelling this the whole way here, I'm starving," he admitted. She chuckled lowly and went to the small kitchen to grab plates, wine glasses, and the necessary utensils. Arms full, she carried them to the table and sat them next to the brown paper bag from which Tony was already emptying various containers. The smell hit her nose and her stomach growled.

"Hungry too, huh?" he mused.

She uncorked the wine with a pop and a lopsided grin. "Famished."

"You can't get the most basic idioms right, but you use the word famished?" She simply rolled her eyes in response and sat down in her chair, pouring them wine and filling her glass slightly fuller than his.

She was not usually one to drown her problems in alcohol, but the fear and dread that had lodged itself overnight in her mind, her chest, her stomach, was still yet to fade. A few drinks certainly could not hurt.

She took a larger sip than she'd intended, and it burned in her throat. The anxiety smoldered.

Hoping to take her mind off of it, she dished herself a portion of food from the containers. Noodles wrapped around chopsticks then her tongue, filling her mouth with bitterness. She gulped. Out of nowhere, an image popped into her mind.

When Tali was still young, their family had gone on vacation in Italy. It was a beautiful country full of beautiful cities teeming with culture. The young artist that she was, Ziva's little sister had insisted upon museum after museum. Ziva paid little attention, but there was one painting that had drawn a crowd. Curious and nimble, she'd made her way to the front to see what it was. It was this image that she saw that night, one of thirteen men gathered around a long, white-cloaked table.

The Last Supper, she thought it was called.

There was something that had drawn her, a young Jew girl, to it, just like it drew all of the people she'd weaved and dodged through to see it. Some mix of curiosity, sympathy, pity, glory…

Except now she was on the other side, and the view from here was not so glorious.

"Ziva? You okay?" She blinked as she felt a gentle touch on the back of her hand.

"I am fine," she answered almost robotically, flexing her fingers. Looking back down at her plate, she found that she'd lost her appetite. The bitterness lingered on her tongue and in her throat.

He quirked an eyebrow. "You don't look fine. Something I said?" She shook her head, glancing sideways at him and reaching for the glass of wine. One corner of her mouth twitched upwards in an empty half-smile.

"I am only thinking." The blood-colored liquid slid coolly down her throat, filling her mouth with a new, numb kind of bitterness. She sipped again.

Tony's brow furrowed as he fumbled with a pair of chopsticks.

"Did something happen? In the last day and a half?" She could tell that he was trying to sound as nonchalant as possible, but his concern shone through.

"Why?"

"Something's different."

She shrugged. "Just tired, I suppose." The look on his face told her he did not buy it for a moment. Luckily, however, he dropped it and launched into a story about a time he was so tired from working a case all night that he almost fell asleep a the wheel of the van and killed his entire team. She half listened, half stewed.

It was beginning to dawn on her that she had no plan of attack. Seeing him one last time, while it had sounded good to her aching, panicked heart that just wanted to be soothed by Tony's gentle gaze, may not have been such a great idea in practice. She could not tell him the truth, that much was clear. So that left, what? Disappearing into the night? Feeding him a lie so he would not attempt to find her? It was becoming more and more obvious the extent to which her goals tonight—closure and solace—were selfish endeavors at the very least. He would gain nothing but false hope from them, and then she would disappear. He deserved better.

At least he is breathing, she told herself. In theory, nothing else mattered beyond that.

That was a lie, of course, one that became extremely evident as she fully thought through the consequences of her current plan of attack. She'd missed something crucial, something that started as a nagging doubt in the back of her mind but grew into a consuming fear. The more she thought about it, the more she could not believe that she'd overlooked it.

Tomorrow, she would go back to Eli empty-handed. He would deal with her as he saw fit and in the same breath order another officer—one not quite as sympathetic as she—to finish the job.

Tony would be dead within the week.

And really, it should not have mattered. Ziva would not be the one to slit his throat, to watch the life drain from his oh-so-animated eyes. She would not have to see the look of utter betrayal, confusion, despair… His blood would not stain her hands, haunt her for the rest of her life.

Except that it would. Because even if she were not the one to end his life, she would still feel responsible.

But, still, there was no way she could think of to stop it. Tony's death warrant had been written and signed on the dotted line by a man named Eli who liked to play God. Short of begging her father to spare this man, she knew of no way to keep Anthony DiNozzo alive.

At least not without knowing why her father wanted him dead in the first place.

"Ziva? You listening?"

She blinked. "Sorry, what?"

"I said did you want me to take your plate for you?" He was standing up, inclining his head toward the still half-full plate sitting before her. She quickly moved to her feet.

"No, no, you are the guest. Let me take care of this."

"Please," he scoffed, proceeding to take her dish anyhow. She grabbed the empty white containers and tossed them into the trashcan.

"When do the fireworks start?" she asked as she rinsed the plates off.

"Soon. Wanna move to the balcony?"

She nodded her assent and shut off the faucet, wiping her hands and following him to the living room.

"Would you like me to take out chairs?" she offered.

"I'm fine with standing."

The night was warm and breezy as they stepped out onto the balcony, and the tile was cool under her bare feet. They leaned against the railing, wine glasses in hand. His face was illuminated by the soft glow from the streetlamps below.

"Happy Independence Day, by the way," he bid. Ziva smirked and looked out into the night. Across the rooftops, she could see the tippy-top of the Washington Monument. They would have a nice view of the display.

"It is a big deal here, yes? Everything is decorated in white, blue, and red."

"Red, white, and blue," he corrected. The look she shot him was one of incredulity.

"What does it matter the order?"

He shrugged. "I don't know. It's like saying cheese 'n mac. Dad and mom. Mary, Peter, and Paul."

"You are not making any sense," she informed him, shaking her head.

"I'm making plenty of sense. You're just not getting it." A breath, then, "Ziva, are you sure there's nothing wrong?"

She blinked in surprise. She'd been trying to appear more engaged since his earlier inquiry—apparently she had not fooled him. "There is nothing wrong, Tony."

"See, you say that," he paused to take a sip of the wine, "but you don't mean it. I catch killers for a living; it's my job to know when people are lying, and I'm pretty good at it."

She cocked an eyebrow. "Oh, are you now?"

"You're changing the subject."

"You are being nosey." She turned to him. "Maybe it is not any of your business."

"And maybe I'm just concerned for you," he fired back. She swallowed, looking away. He clearly was not going to drop this. She had to feed him something.

"My father called yesterday," she admitted. Why she felt the need to form a lie that was so close to such a dangerous truth was beyond her. She was playing with fire.

"Oh yeah? How'd that go?" He appeared interested, and she knew she'd have to elaborate.

She sighed. "He and I have… different expectations, I suppose you could say." And what a glorious oversimplification that was.

"About your life?"

"Essentially," she offered. "He wants me to be a certain thing, and I… am not so sure."

He frowned. "So whose idea was it for you to come here? For the internship I mean."

She licked her lips, leaning against the railing and looking back out across the rooftops. "His. I didn't really want to do this—political science, I mean. After my sister died…" she trailed off, not sure why she was divulging so much. "After she died I did not know what I wanted to do. In hindsight, I think he took advantage of that to get me to do what he wanted me to do."

"So politics is the family business?"

She smirked humorlessly. "You could say that, yes."

He sipped again. "So what do you want to do, then?"

She blinked. "What?"

"What do you want to do? What do you like?" She was not used to being asked that question, and she had to think for a moment.

"I have… I have always liked dance. But as a career, I never considered it."

"Why not?"

Her index finger tapped the neck of the glass, and she watched mesmerized as ripples formed and disappeared. "It was never in the plan for me, I suppose."

"Your plan? Or your father's?"

Her eyes burned and she wondered how such simple, obvious questions could affect her so. "My father… he is not a man to say no to."

"Don't you have a choice?"

Her face was set. "I do not think I have ever had a choice."

It was a lie, of course. There was always a choice. But the alternative of bending to his will was facing his wrath, and with it awaiting her tomorrow it was obvious why she had never gone against him before. She took a deep breath and the fire of fear in her chest flared along with the expansion of her lungs.

"I'm sorry, Ziva." He sounded genuinely empathetic toward her; and not pitying, there was a difference. "If it makes you feel any better, I know what you mean. My father's not exactly great to deal with, either."

She welcomed the shift of topic. "What is your father like?"

Tony scoffed. "You'd have to meet him." Upon seeing her continued look of curiosity, he continued. "He's charming, I guess. A real smooth-talker. But he doesn't exactly… walk a straight line."

"So he wanted you to follow in his footsteps and then you became a cop? I can see how that would irritate him."

Tony shrugged. "It's more that he thinks I can do better with my life."

"Better than finding justice for the grieving and putting criminals behind bars?" Minus the behind bars part, that was in essence her father's mission. It was interesting how different but similar the two men were.

Tony seemed to think for a minute. "My father measures success in wealth and connections. He sees a lifetime of rubbing noses with the elite in order to further his own financial interests as fulfilling. And trust me, he doesn't exactly have any morals to go along with it." He shook his head. "We're very different people."

Her ears perked up at this, shoulders stiffening. "No moral code? Surely that makes him a lot of enemies?" Was it possible that in this eleventh hour conversation she had stumbled upon the detail that could save his life?

Tony smirked sardonically. "You have no idea."

"Enlighten me." She had not intended to sound quite so pushy.

"I shouldn't tell you." He shook his head, eyes glancing at her chest. She looked down to find her golden Star of David pendant gleaming in the moonlight. Her shoulders tensed.

"Why not?"

Tony shook his head. "It's pretty bad, Ziva. He's gotten tangled up in some really messy stuff. With people you do not want to tangle with."

Her stomach was in knots. "Does that have anything to do with why you are oogling my necklace?"

"It's ogling, and…" he sighed. "And I suppose by now you've figured it out."

"Hamas," she deadpanned. His Adam's apple bobbed.

"Winner, winner, chicken dinner." The words were dry and humorless.

"They do not mess around, Tony," she warned, eyes dark.

"You don't think I know that?" he asked, turning on her in his frustration. She did not take it personally. He shook his head and settled, leaning up with his forearms against the railing as he stared at the street below. "I've tried talking him out of it. He's not a good listener." He drained the rest of his wine in one gulp. "He's gotten threats, you know. Against his life. There are people don't like that he's dealing with…those kind of groups. And reasonably so. But Senior's making a hefty profit off of it, so what does he care?" Tony barked a dry laugh, shaking his head and putting the glass down on the small balcony table.

That had to be it. It fit far too well, far too conveniently, for this not to be her father's motive. The man was not above blackmail if preceding threats did work and, given what she knew about Eli, it was not unreasonable to think that he'd been holding Tony's life as leverage. Obviously Mr. DiNozzo had not caved, and when Eli sent Ziva to DC he was simply making good on his threat. And as terrible and immoral of a thing that was to do, she was elated. Her father did not want Tony dead. Tony was merely a means to an end.

If she played her cards right, perhaps one of them could survive this.

"What do you think could get him to stop? Dealing with Hamas, I mean."

Tony ran a hand through his hair and exhaled deeply. "God, Ziva, I don't know. He's a difficult guy."

Just as he finished the first firework was set off. It shot into the sky with a burst of light and color, the deafening boom following shortly after. She jumped slightly, the little liquid left in her glass sloshing around. She drained it along with the next explosion and sat it next to his on the table behind them. When she leaned back up against the railing, the space between them had shrunk. She could feel the heat of his arm on hers, calling for her to slide closer, closer. A foreign longing for his touch lodged itself in her chest, neighbor to the undulating, ever-present terror.

She slipped closer to him and the desire flared, momentarily strong enough to mask the fear altogether. She shuddered, craving more, longing for a reprieve. This last night was not something that she wanted to be colored black by the thought of what she would face tomorrow.

She wanted to forget, even if only for a night, and what better way than to lose herself in him?

The light display continued in the sky, with red white and blue lights shimmering and disappearing into the smoky-black backdrop. She could feel each far-off explosion rattling in her eardrums.

"Woah, that one was cool," Tony observed. She could see the burst of colored light reflected in his eyes.

"Yes," she agreed, sounding dazed. Something stirred in her stomach, desire of a magnitude she had never really experienced before. Tony's skin hummed against hers, electric. She noticed that at some point, her mouth had fallen slightly slack. Without meaning to, she found herself imagining what his lips would taste like against hers. The fear faded into the background, encouraging her.

The grand finale began, turning the sky a mess of light and smoke and echoing explosions off of rooftops. It was bright and loud and she could taste wine and traces of gunpowder on her tongue. He shifted, the skin of his arm moving against hers, and she shivered.

"Cold?" he asked just as the last burst of light faded from the sky. She blinked, realizing he had caught her staring.

"Just the opposite," she responded, the words tumbling from her mouth. She was reminded of the day they first met, when she'd teased and flirted to accomplish the mission. That was fake—this was not.

The corner of his mouth pulled up as he met and returned her sultry stare. "Really now?" He moved slightly so that he was facing her, breaking the physical contact. The hairs on her arm stood on end and his absence only added to her longing. Without the fireworks, the night was quiet and she could hear him breathing in, out, in, out… Almost involuntary she shifted closer to him until she could feel his hot breath on her forehead. Her eyelids fluttered.

Below their waists his hand found hers and their fingers tangled. It drew them closer, closer, until her body was millimeters from his. She could feel her heartbeat in her temple.

"Kiss me." She breathed the words, each one dripping with a desperation she knew he could not fully understand. His eyes, darkened with palpable lust, bore into hers with an intensity she knew was mirrored in her own. His free hand moved up the center of her chest and slid to cup the back of her neck. She leaned into his touch, head tilting and body arching. He was so close she could nearly taste him.

And then the gap was closed, and a new kind of fireworks exploded behind her eyelids.

Their swollen lips moved in tandem, the passion building with every passing second as they continued to deepen the kiss. At her neck, his fingers became tangled in locks of curly brown hair, and at her hip the fingers of his other hand pulled free from hers so he could wrap his arm around her waist. His palm settled at the small of her back, pulling her even closer into him, and his thumb slipped under her blouse to rub circles around the dimples at the base of her spine. It elicited a moan from Ziva and a smile from Tony that she could feel against her own lips.

Despite their passion, his hands were gentle on her body. She'd expected nothing less from the man with gentle eyes and a gentle heart. But tonight she was not looking for soft circles on the small of her back or careful, calculated caresses. She was not looking for foreplay; she was looking to forget.

She was looking to be fucked.

Impatient, she backed him up against the exterior wall of her building, the brick scratching the knuckles of her hands at his hips.

"Bed," he was barely able to force out as he came up for air from their kiss. She felt rather than heard the word being formed.

"Yes," she panted back, allowing him to take control as the stumbled across the threshold and into her bedroom. She fell back onto the mattress, chest heaving as she looked up to where he was standing. His hair was notably disheveled and the top few buttons of his shirt had somehow come undone in the scuffle. A broad grin spread across his face as he undid the rest.

She did not waste time ogling his chest; she missed far too much the feel of his warm, electric skin on hers. Pulling him down onto the bed with her, she moved closer to the headboard so that her entire body lay prone on the mattress. His body mostly covered hers, his knees sandwiching hers and their ankles tangled together. Even through two pairs of jeans, she could feel him against her thigh.

His mouth descended upon her neck, kissing and teasing and sucking. She wondered idly if she would need to wear a turtleneck tomorrow when she returned to her father. At the thought, the fear burned bright even through the pleasure, and she hissed.

"More."

He readily complied, and soon her blouse and bra had joined his shirt on the floor. His mouth trailed from her neck down to her breasts, his red swollen lips wrapping around her pink swollen nipples. She gave a throaty moan, arching her back. His chest hair tickled her stomach.

"Pants. Now," she demanded, her breathing labored as he continued his ministrations. He chuckled and adhered, undoing the button of her jeans and slowly sliding them down her legs without moving his mouth from her breasts. She kicked them off impatiently, leaving her only in her underwear. His hands teased up and down her thighs, making her shudder in need. With every stroke his fingers got closer and closer to where she longed for them to be, and with every stroke her arousal built. From the bulge in his pants, she could see that his was building as well.

She was tempted to grab his wrist and guide his hands herself. She was tempted to roll over and trap him under her, take his pants of and take him, to force him to be rough with her, dammit. Every man she had ever been with had done that. There had been little intermediate period between the time her clothes were shed and they did what they sought to do. It had always worked just fine for forgetting her troubles.

As Tony's thumb rubbed aching circles over her clit, she knew that this would be very different. She whimpered, head lolling back and eyelids fluttering.

And as if that wasn't enough, his index finger began to tease her with moving the soaked underwear aside. Her breath came out in little pants and he silenced her with a hungry kiss. The ever-growing bulge in his pants slid higher up her legs as he did so, and her hips bucked.

"Patience," he coaxed, drawing out and savoring every vowel. Each syllable was accompanied by a light, teasing tap to the only part of her body still covered.

At her groan of pleasure, he hooked his index fingers on the elastic band of her soaked panties and slid them in one motion to her ankles. The cool air hit her and the noise she made made her male counterpart twitch.

She fully expected him to remove his pants then. She moved to help, but he wanted no part in it. He was not done with her yet.

His teasing fingers circled her and dipped. He flicked the little bud of nerves, relishing just a bit too much in the way that simple motion could send her into a downward spiral of pleasure. Every time he put more pressure until finally his thumb was rubbing back and forth against it, the other fingers slick with her arousal as they continued to tease her core. He brought his mouth back to her nipples, letting his teeth graze against them. She was quavering under his touch, complete putty in his hands as he focused completely on bringing her pleasure. The noises that fell from her mouth were primal and unrecognizable even to her.

"Do not stop," she ground out through gritted teeth, head thrown back in pleasure. Her palms lay face down on the mattress, an attempt to brace herself. "Please, do not stop." The second time, she was not above begging.

And the pressure built and built and built, until finally everything exploded around her. For a few moments, the pleasure he brought her completely overwhelmed her senses. She could feel, hear, see nothing else. When she finally came down from her high, she was trembling and panting and euphoric. Her vision focused and she saw the sultry grin spread across Tony's face.

Recovering quickly, she decided to turn the tables. She rolled until their positions were reversed. She sat naked on top of him, straddling his waist. The metal button of his jeans teased the sensitive flesh that he had just finished bringing pleasure to. Through the denim she could feel him hard against her sex.

"Oh, I like this," he joked as she reached down to undo his jeans. The fire of lust blazed in their unwavering eyes as she pulled the material down his legs. His boxers tented as his erection sprung free. She eyed it hungrily, still not letting go of her initial vision for this night. After all, rough was all she knew when it came to this particular endeavor.

Tony must have seen this fervor in her movements, because when he reached up to tuck a wayward strand of hair behind her ear there was a demand for calm behind his eyes. His fingers traced lines up and down her jaw, across her cheekbones, around the contours of her blood-swollen lips. Gentle. Slow. Everything she had not thought she wanted from this night.

"Please…" she whispered.

He shook his head. "Let's enjoy this, hmm?"

He guided her head down toward his. She caved and their lips, tasting of each other, connected once again. Her fingers came up to knot in his messy hair.

Their bodies fell together like perfect pieces of a puzzle. Her legs tangled with his as they rolled to their sides. She left a trail of biting kisses down his neck and collarbone, his throaty moans resonating through her whole body. Letting a hand stray southwards, she nibbled on his ear.

She slipped her fingers under the elastic of his boxers and slowly ran them down his length. She pulled the last remaining article of clothing down swiftly and surely. Somehow in all of this, he ended up back on top. She found that she did not mind.

He teased her oh-so-delicately, and she couldn't help but wonder how they ended up back here again. Their bodies, slick with sweat and desire, shone in the moonlight.

"Tony…" she pleaded, running her hands down his toned back and ass. She did not have to say any more. In a rush of heat she felt herself opening to him. Her legs wrapped around his sinking waist and wordless pleas tumbled from her lips to his. They moved in tandem, an effortless dance of give and take, push and pull.

And while it was passionate he was still very gentle. At some point, she realized that she did not mind. This was something she had never experienced before, and when she finally reached her climax they found release together. Someone's pleasure-filled scream echoed off the walls.

Completely spent, they collapsed on top of one another, a mess of sweaty limbs, sticky sheets, and dazed, panting grins. He rolled off and lay next to her. For a while, neither said a word; they simply lay there in the pale glow of moonlight and thought about what had just happened. Surprisingly, it was Ziva who was the first to speak.

"Thank you."

He looked over, seeming surprised. "You're thanking me?"

She blinked slowly, staring up at the ceiling. "I needed that." And oh, how different it was from what she expected, but how much better it was all the same. All of those years of thinking that meaningless, empty sex performed in a rough fervor was as good as it could get…

"Glad I could be of service," he answered wryly. She could tell that he was not happy.

"That is not what I meant. I just…" she took a deep breath, still not meeting his gaze, "I have had sex many times. But that was the first time it felt like…"

"More?"

She nodded, finally turning her head to look at him. Her eyes were wide, holding more vulnerability than she'd intended. "I did not know it could be so good."

Ah, how cruel the universe was to give her this little perfect taste of a life she could never, would never, have. But yet at the same time how fitting, as it reminded her just how worthy this man was of her protection. It reinforced in her mind that she had made the right decision.

"You're not too bad yourself," he joked, but behind it she could see that the seriousness of the situation did not escape him. "Too bad we both have to work tomorrow, or we could go another round."

"Sleep is important, yes?"

He gave her a kind smile. "Goodnight, Ziva," he bid, leaning over to press a chaste kiss to her lips. "You sleep tight."

"And you as well," she added in a faint voice as he rolled back on to his side. Her lips tingled. Just before she drifted off to sleep, she realized why it his action affected her so.

Of all the men she had been with, Tony was the first to kiss her goodnight.


A/N: Wow. I've never written anything like this before… I am very nervous. I hope you guys liked it!

My eternal thanks go out to mishka, princebishop, Mecha, liketoreadnotwrite, athenalarissa, ChEmMiE, mousie98, 1DNCIS5SOS, VG Littlebear, Roxy, j09tiva, Dina, 123sannancis, EowynGoldberry, and babyvfan for the amazing reviews! And a very very special thanks to Nicole and Tatiana, who put up with my insecurity about this chapter and were willing to read quite a few drafts.

Let me know what you think!

Allison