A/N: I'm on a roll, now. Hope you enjoy! Thanks for all of the reviews, once again.


As we sit in the kitchen, sorting through papers and taking notes, Tony has the brainstorm of calling to get the window fixed. Abby has already lifted seven prints off of the glass, and also off of nearly everything in the room. We cannot live with newspaper and cardboard covering the empty space for four months. While he dials, I scour the internet for 'things to do in Canandaigua.' I will never tire of Google.

I am about to give up, knowing that there are few places Tony and I would both like to go together, seeing as we are not truly married, when I come across a small diner. The one thing my partner likes more than movies and girls is good food. And, I read, this 'mom-and-pop' restaurant has been in business for forty-six years, nearly forty-seven. That must say something about the popularity. I bookmark the page and turn my attention over to his phone call, vowing to mention the diner after he hangs up.

"Hi, yes, I'd like to talk to Hank?" Tony mutters into the phone receiver. "Great, hi. My name's David Stadelvard and I just moved into a house on Watkins Road…Right, the old farm. Well, I'm not sure if it was in the news or not, but the house was broken into…Oh, it wasn't? Huh. That's odd." He scribbles a note onto a piece of paper and slides it to me.

Wasn't reported

I search for a pen and hurriedly scribble back,

Do you want me to call and ask around?

Tony shakes his head. "Okay, well, I was just wondering if you could come out and fix the window. I guess it was shattered when the guys broke in…You can? Oh, that's great. Thanks! Yup, see you around two." He hangs up the phone, looking very pleased with himself. "They'll be here around two tomorrow."

I nod in recognition. "David, where did Babby go?"

"Oh, Leroy took her into town. She wanted to scan something so they went to some special store." As in, they went to the police department. Since when does Gibbs allow outsiders to help with cases?

I smile. "Then we have the house to ourselves. Or at least some time to ourselves …" My hand weaves itself around to the back of his head and I allow my fingers to tangle in his hair. "I was thinking we could…"

His eyes widen. "You didn't find …"

"Oh, yes," I nod. "Yes, I most certainly did." I grin and show him the website. "Second generation family restaurant, serving mostly natural foods and using only the finest ingredients, besides the fact that they—"

"That's that, then. We're going." Tony smiles and grabs my hand. "And, this gives us ample opportunity to ask around about Buck."


"Hohoho, yeah. Ana, how did you know what I like…" Tony smiles, eyes devilish. "I'd kiss you and hold your hand and whatever, but … my hands are kind of … a mess." He looks down, drawing my eyes again to his beautiful hands.

"I understand. I would prefer you not getting Russian dressing on my clothes, thanks." I take another bite of the sandwich. I never thought a Reuben could be so delicious. In the past, I have enjoyed corned beef with cabbage for St. Patrick's day, courtesy of Ducky, and sauerkraut cake, thanks to Abby. McGee once bought me a salad with Russian dressing, and I know Gibbs loves rye toast. Swiss cheese is amazing on anything.

But to even consider putting each thing together in a sandwich, melt the cheese, and grill it all … The thought has always disgusted me. Nevertheless, today, I decided to try something new. An American meal, in a way. So I ordered the special: Reuben Sandwich, with a side of marinated cucumbers. Which brings us to present. And, I must say, I am completely satisfied.

"How did you even find out about this place?" Tony takes a sip of his iced tea and spears a cucumber slice. "You said it's been around for, what, forty-some-odd years?"

I nod and answer, "Yes, Tony. Forty-six years. I found it on the Chamber of Commerce website. The Lafayette Motel and Restaurant. We probably could have stayed here if Buck had not been so hospitable."

"Let's just hope he doesn't send us to the hospitable," Tony jokes, looking at the guest check. "Aren't Reubens usually more than that?" Seven-eighty apiece. "Huh, I guess I'm just used to that fancy place Ka—Er—Ducky used to take me to."

I dig in my purse for my wallet, stopping when Tony's hand comes down on mine gently. "David, you must let me pay for at least dessert." He does not remove his hand. "Drinks?" Nothing. "David!" I raise my eyes to his and set my jaw. "Something?"

"No. What's dessert?" At that moment, a waitress appears by the table.

"Couldn't help overhearing. We've got Triple Chocolate cupcakes, Blueberry Cheesecake cupcakes, elderberry pie, apple pie, and a fantastic strawberry chiffon pie." She gestures toward the dessert cases. "Everything was made right here. Elderberry is our specialty pie, but the owner's daughter loves the strawberry chiffon."

I eye the cupcakes. To prevent an argument, I decide to buy three cupcakes: one for Abby, so that she feels adequately recompensed; one for McGee, so he does not feel the urge to steal Abby's; and one for Gibbs, because as Leroy, he is openly warmhearted, and therefore, deserves a cupcake more than anyone I know. And … Abby secretly told me once that she had actually thought Gibbs had stolen her cupcake, and had been pretty surprised when she found out it had been McGee.

So, to put a fight on hold, three cupcakes are necessary.

Tony looks at me. I can read his face like a book. "And, one slice of elderberry pie—" That's for me. "—And the Strawberry Chiffon pie, please."

"Quite the sweet tooth," the waitress jokes. "Mmm, do you want your elderberry warmed?"

"Hmm. No, no, it will be fine. Thank you!" As she disappears to find us to-go containers, I turn my attention back to Tony. "You're drooling."

Aghast, Tony argues, "I am not!" We will have to go for a walk later to burn off all of this…Or, perhaps something else…


When we arrive back at the house, there is a large minivan parked in the circular driveway, and McGee is standing beside it, in some animated conversation with Gibbs. As we approach them, he turns and rolls his eyes. "Where have you been?" he complains. "I've been waiting for you for an hour."

Tony and I exchange amused looks and I reply simply, "We grabbed lunch," and hold out the box for Abby. "Here. They had cupcakes. Take your pick, and then Leroy. The third is for Tommy." I can feel Tony's chest shaking from behind me, and turn to find him doubled over in laughter. "David?"

"I … Tommy … drives … I can't … mommy-van!" is all he can get out before he collapses onto the gravel. When he has sobered enough to where he is still laughing, but can speak, he continues, "Tommy, seriously, a mommy-van? How many kids do you have?"

McGee stares at him in obvious irritation. "We have two kids, they're both on the soccer team, and we carpool. Susie—" That must be either made up, or Megan. "—insists on saving gas and time."

Tony nods, circling the car. "Yeah, I see that whole 'saving gas and money' thing." The younger agent smirks, rubbing it in that his superior agrees with him. "Must be really easy for you to save style, too." Tim's face immediately falls, and Tony sticks out his tongue mockingly. "Just kiddin', Tommy. What kind of brother would I be if I didn't pick on you once in a while?" He comes toward us, arms outstretched, and a big, mischievous grin spread across his face.

"Oh, no. You're not going to get me in a headlock this time. Not that easily," Tim states, backing up. "You might've gotten me at Christmas, but now I'm onto your tricks."

"What, a big brother can't give his l'il bro a hug? Come on," Tony murmurs, and Tim warily relents, only to be grabbed around the neck and given a … The name escape me. "Noogie party!" my partner shouts. Tim's 'Ow!'s and 'Hey!'s and 'David, let go!'s and 'Argh!'s fall upon deaf ears as the older agent playfully grinds his fist into his scalp.

Gibbs, Abby and I stand there, us girls not knowing whether to put an end to the obvious bullying or not, and Gibbs just watching with a glint to his eyes. Something tells me that he has been on both sides before. As Tony swings Tim around the yard, rolling about and playing—'roughhousing', I think it is called—a pick-up truck pulls in.

To my disappointment, the driver is Buck. He hops out of the truck and makes his way over to us, wringing his hat.

"Howdeh, neighbor," he greets me, not meeting my eyes.

"Hello, Buck. You have not met my in-laws." I turn to Gibbs, who already knows who Buck is, and introduce him. "Buck, my father-in-law, Leroy. And his…" Gibbs perks up.

"My girlfriend, Abby." There is a hint of a smile on the man's face as he looks at Buck, holding out his hand. "Nice to meet you, Buck."

"Nahce t'meet'cha, too, sir." There is a respect in Buck's voice that tells me he knows Gibbs, or 'Leroy', was a veteran. I was a fool to think someone could never read a book by its cover…No matter how hard Gibbs tries, he will always be known as a Marine. "Ah was jus' wonderin' if y'all'd heard from th'bank yet."

I had not noticed Tony and McGee fall silent and look over to see Tim sitting on the grass punching keys on his Blackberry, while Tony walks over to us. His gait shows his back is bothering him.

"No, Buck, we have not … Why would we have?" I inquire as Tony gingerly wraps an arm around my waist. "Was there a problem with the papers?"

Buck shakes his head adamantly. "Oh, no, ma'am. But ah guess y'all haven't seen th'news." We stare at him as if to say, 'What news?' He wrings his hat again, uncomfortable. "Th'bank's lost alotta money, `n they think it's been umbezzled'r'somethin'." I narrow my eyes unintentionally, giving Buck another once over. "So mah paw`n'ah were jus' tawlkin' `bout it `n ah thought ah'd come own down `n see if thur was a prollem."

I look up to see Tony's nose flare slightly, either out of suspicion or worry. Gibbs' face is tranquil, but I know his thoughts would prove otherwise, and Abby is fiddling with a loose piece of Styrofoam on the to-go box.

"We haven't heard anything … But thank you for telling us. We'll call and ask about it," Tony smiles, the previous expression of irascibility gone.

"Y'all're neighbors. Ah jus' thought ah'd check in with ya. Have a good naht!" With that, Buck spins on his heel, climbs into the cab of his truck, and slams the door. With a jolt, the truck comes to life and he is retreating down the road in minutes.

To no one in particular, but softly enough so only we can hear, Gibbs snaps, "He's hiding something."


Sleep avoids me like the plague since Somalia. There are so many reasons why, but I haven't the courage to discuss them with anyone, including Tony, even though he was the one who risked his life to save me from them.

Even though his strength, his determination, his pride, his love is what saved me.

Even though here I lie, wrapped in his strong arms, determined to move on, proud of who I have become, and loving what I have earned, safe and sound, because of him.

"Sweetheart," he murmurs, nuzzling the back of my neck.

I only manage an 'Mm?', too lazy to say much of anything else.

"Ana, are you awake?" Rolling my eyes, I press my lips together and grudgingly say,

"Yes, David." I roll over, so that I am lying flat on top of Tony, and look him in the eye. "What." Conscious that I probably sound miserable, I place a chaste kiss on his lips.

"You can't sleep either?" I shake my head. "Aw, baby …" He reaches up to kiss me, somewhat deeper this time. "Is it because of …?"

Tracing his collarbone, I manage, "I do not think so." For a woman who is two months pregnant, I know I have not shown signs of morning sickness or cravings, unless the Reuben counts as the latter. "I think there is something wrong with me."

"How can you say that?" Tony tucks a flyaway curl behind my ear. "You're perfect." I shoot him a disbelieving glare before tracing hearts and stars on his chest. "You're beautiful, and smart, and hilarious, and even though you don't really know that much about movies or pop culture, your effort is worth every breath." He nips right below my ear, and I find it difficult to decipher whether he is being sincere about his description of me, or just playing nice.

I shrug, letting my head fall down onto his shoulder, watching his chest rise and fall with each slow breath. "David?" I whisper, fighting to keep my voice steady.

"Yeah?" comes his voice out of the darkness; a bit raspy, but gentle, passionate, humble, and kind. So much like its owner.

So much like when he had been sat across from me in that straight-backed chair, hands tied behind him, lip split and bleeding, and had said, Just couldn't live without you. Tears well up in my eyes, but remain unshed, until I can calmly say,

"Thank you."

"For what, Ana?" An idle hand plays with my hair.

Considering for a moment how to phrase my appreciation, I simply murmur, "Everything."


I get up the next morning either very well rested or extremely overtired. After staring in the mirror for what seems like hours—but what has only been maybe five minutes—I change into my shorts and a sports bra and slip on a pair of socks. I tie my shoes and, before I leave the room, cast a placid look at Tony, who is sleeping soundly where I left him.

The sun should be shining. The birds should be singing, the cows mooing, and the bees humming. Where is the country? Where is my dream? I shake my head, bound down the stairs and out the front door, counting ten lunges down the driveway. Before easing into a jog, I do my routine stretches and look around. Someone is sitting on the front porch of Buck's house. Naturally, I choose to run in the other direction.

Forty-five minutes later—and it only has taken that long because I decided to build a relationship with a lone calf in the barn—I return to the house and upstairs, intending to take a shower. When I enter the bedroom, however, I hear salsa music and counting, heavy breathing and the rattle of maracas.

And then I see it.

Special Agent Anthony DiNozzo, working out to Zumba.

After taking a closer look at the screen—the forty-inch plasma screen—I understand why. Fifteen scantily clad women, rolling their hips, smiling, laughing, dancing for him. And then Beto Perez, in all of his muscly, sweating glory, rips off his shirt and throws it aside, joining in full-swing.

"Aw, come on. It was better before he had to ruin it," Tony complains between deep breaths. He is completely unaware that I am in the room, watching him, as he swivels and hops and 'works his abs,' as Beto instructs.

That is, of course, until I join in next to him.

"Ana! I didn't know you Zumba'd!" Taking in my appearance—which is almost an exact replica of the lead dancer's—he grins, a hungry gleam in his eyes. "It's pretty hot."

"I do not need to 'Zumba,' David. I simply know how to dance." The beat picks up and Beto and I begin to salsa. Out of the corner of my eye, I see Tony half struggling with the steps. "No, no, no. Like this." I show him and, when I can see he plainly does not understand, move to stand behind him and put my hands on his hips. "This foot forward," I instruct, patting his left leg. "Then this one." His right. "Then this one. Now move your hips more. There you go…"

But he does not have it.

"May I ask you a personal question?" Tony nods, and I catch what may be a grunt escape his lips. "Have you ever gone to a club?"

"Well, yeah, of course I have. College, and whenever I was on land after that."

I spin around him and land swiftly before him. "And, have you ever … hm … how do you say it. Zonah rakdaneet." At his confused look, I translate to English. "Whore dancer. Seems a bit…harsh." I motion to my abdomen, hips, and backside. "Like, a cheese grater. Or a coffee grinder…yes! Yes, that is it. Grinding."

Tony laughs. "Yeah, what about it?"

"You have grinded—ground?—grinded before, yes?"

"Oh, yeah. Plenty of times." He appears to reminisce for a moment before stating, "You know what I used to do at school dances, Ana?" I shake my head. "Not dancing."

"Well, there we are, then," I tell him matter-of-factly, ignoring his statement about school dances. It stings too much. "Think about how you moved. Side to side. In a circle. Correct?" Tony nods. "Same general idea."

"Miss Stadelvard," he hums, "are you asking me to dance?" I have no time to think before I am pulled tightly against his body, and we are swaying in time with the music. I can feel his breath on my neck, hot and seemingly longing.

My body seems to think for herself, my thoughts transported to nightclubs in Tel Aviv, and I am there again. Pounding music, steamy back rooms, frisky boys with flat-fronted trousers, unbuttoned vests, and bare chests. I feel my hips moving without my telling them to. The last time I have danced like this with a man…

"Michael," I gasp, suddenly breathless. Jumping away from Tony, I back slowly toward the door to the bathroom. When I am halfway there, I turn and run, slamming the door. Although he calls my fake name through the door, and texts me relentlessly, Are you ok?, I cannot tell him.

The less he knows, the better.


A/N: So, I want you to know that, as my disclaimer, I must say that I do not own NCIS, Zumba, or Tiva. That is to say, I have NCIS on DVD, bought a copy of ZumbaFitness, and read Tiva on a regular basis. I do, however, own The Lafayette Motel and Restaurant, through my mum and grandma. The website: .com. Feel free to visit the website-it would be super cool to have your business too. This is not a solicitation, or an advertisement. I'm just merely pointing out what I do and do not own. :) Hope you enjoyed this one, guys! Love, Kat