A/N: When you finish reading this chapter, read the A/N at the bottom of the page. Thanks!

Disclaimer: You're ridiculous for thinking I own anything of NCIS. If I did, Tony and Ziva would be together by now. Actually, no, if I owned NCIS, I would have my own personal Tony. And McGee. And Gibbs, because he's a sexy old man. Okay, so, here we are. Just go read.

The buzzing was what woke Ziva up. The incessant buzzing of fluorescent lights. It was driving her up a wall, almost as annoying as the beeping that echoed next to her. Buzzzz. Beep. Beep. Beep. She could barely take it anymore. An eye popped open and she immediately regretted letting it do so. "Augh," she groaned, attempting to lift a hand to shield her eyes from the offending light.

"Zeev, you awake?" a husky whisper said from beside her. "Ziva?" All that came out of the woman's mouth was another low groan. She felt him take her hand, and squeezed his weakly. "Atta girl." Ziva felt Tony release her hand, heard him shuffle over to the far side of the room, and flip a switch. "There; that should be a little easier on your eyes."

Her eyes fluttered open, and as Tony had promised, it hurt far less than before. This brought a small smile to her face, but she was unable to hold it for long. Any movement hurt tremendously, and even her soft breathing was wearing on her. "Water?" Ziva managed to croak, wincing at the feeling of gravel being ground into her esophagus. Tony nodded and held a glass of water out to her, pointing its straw into her mouth. She took several long, deep sips before releasing the straw from between her lips. "Thank you." Her voice was less raspy now.

"You're welcome," Tony murmured. "Do you want to know who did this to you?" Ziva nodded. "A guy named Marty. I think I saw him at the bar, on your other side."

"Why?"

Tony hung his head, but looked up at her through his eyelashes. "He was paid to kill you. Well, us. He's in cahoots with some other guy. Abby and Ducky are going through everything from the other three murders, and are going to let us know when they've found anything."

Ziva took another long sip of water and decided that if she stared straight at the ceiling, she could talk for longer. "Do you think Kessler has anything to do with this?"

Her partner shrugged. "We don't have anything to prove he is, but we don't have anything to prove he isn't, either." Again, he held her hand. "When the doctors release you, we're going back to the hotel."

"But…Did we not catch the man?"

The Senior Field Agent shook his head. "We caught one of the guys. These people work in packs. Chances are, there's another one out there who's going to be sent this time." He sighed. "Marty's failed them, so the head honcho is going to send another one to finish the job." Both of his hands swallowed Ziva's. "We need to get them, Zeev."

"I know," she told him blankly. "But what I can't get over is…" Ziva trailed off.

"What can't you get over?" Tony prompted.

She stared at him. "Why does this always happen to me?" Offering a small smile, she let out a laugh. "I am always the one who gets drugged and winds up in the hospital with you by my side pretending to be my husband."

"Well, Ziva," he mumbled, "this time it isn't pretend."

Ziva didn't think she understood what he meant, but she thought she might, even though she refused to let the butterfly wings tickle the inside of her stomach.

"Ah-HAH!" Abby shouted triumphantly, pointing an accusing finger at Major Mass-Spec. "You defied me earlier, maggot, but you've fallen to my fast wit and clever mind," she declared. "You have given me the answer that I need, that Gibbs has wanted since the beginning of all of this. You cannot fight me anymore, soldier. You are finished. When Gibbs gets down here, boy, you are gonna—"

"What'm I gonna say to your machine, Abs?" Gibbs was suddenly behind her, quieter than ever before. "Does it have something for me?"

The forensic scientist whirled around. "Yes! Remember Howie, the guy from four-oh-two?" Fearless Leader Gibbs nodded. "Well, he left a little something that, with the help of Major Mass-Spec and AFIS, I've linked to the guy who might've been the guy who might've known a guy who—"

"Today, Abby?" the Silver Fox snapped, deploring her with his eyes to hurry up and tell him. "We don't have much time."

"I know, Gibbs! But this is really, really, really important!" Abby stared at him excitedly. "Jeremiah Stone." Gibbs shook his head and shrugged to show he hadn't a clue who that was. "You know him, Gibbs. You met him a few months ago, when Tony and Ziva were in Israel!"

He arched an eyebrow. "You mean that puke who stole my coffee on the ship?"

"Yeah!" Abby blurted. "His DNA and fingerprints were on the clasps of each of the three wives' necklaces." Gibbs' eyes narrowed dangerously. "That means he knew each of the wives! And guess what?"

"What?" he snapped.

"He's dead!" The Goth danced happily around Gibbs, her clunky heels making loud, plodding noises against the cement floor. "The wicked Jeremiah is dead!"

The silver-haired man glared at her. "And this should make me happy…why?"

"Because he isn't the one who's killing people, Gibbs!" Abby grinned.

"You called me down here to tell me that this Elijah Sto—"

"Jeremiah."

"—Jeremiah Stone guy isn't our guy?" Gibbs snapped. "I can't believe this." He turned to go but stopped when Abby gripped his elbow. "You have somethin' else for me?"

She nodded vehemently. "Yes! He wasn't the one killing, but I think he might have been killed by the one who was killing everyone else." Pausing, her eyebrows pulled together. "Did that make sense?"

"Yah," the fatherly man murmured, kissing Abby's forehead. "Good work, Abs." And with that, he whisked from the room.

Ziva knew she didn't understand. "Why do I need a translator? I can speak perfectly fine English, Doctor Scott…" The man dressed in a white lab-coat (much like Abby's) shook his head and left the room, returning a few moments later with a man who looked—as much as she hated to admit it—handsome, very Middle Eastern. He had dark hair and eyes with a deep tan. His nose, too, gave him away. Ziva looked at Tony for reinforcement but got nowhere when her partner just shrugged. Grudgingly, she acquiesced, and nodded as the translator began telling her about what had happened to her (as far as the rohypnol went).

He ended with, "Ata alul lehargish menumnam. Hachlamâ me'hira," before bowing his head and being dismissed by Doctor Scott.

"What does that mean, Ziva?" Tony whispered, leaning closer to her.

"He told me I may feel drowsy, and then wished me a quick recovery," she told him, and then frowned. "Fine. That is okay. Thank you for clarifying. Now that I know what the effects of rohypnol are in both English and Hebrew, may I go enjoy the rest of my honeymoon?" Her partner chuckled and took her hand. "I did not get married just so that I could lie in a hospital bed for a week."

Doctor Scott smiled kindly. "Yes, ma'am. We believe you can go home right after you sign the release forms." Softly, he murmured, "Look, Ziva, I don't know what you two got into, but you should probably be really careful from now on. Drugs aren't things to be taken lightly." He sent a meaningful glance toward Tony, who eyed him just as analytically.

"Excuse me?" the former-Israeli asked. "What exactly are you insinuating?"

He grimaced. "I don't want to make snap judgments about your relationship, but I think communication is a better alternative to drugs when it comes to doing things together as a couple."

Tony snorted and told him, "You realize that she was drugged by someone at the bar, right? This has nothing to do with what goes on in the bedroom."

"I'd really like to talk to Ziva alone, if you don't mind," the doctor insisted. "I really want to hear her side of it." Blinking several times, the Senior Field Agent nodded and stood, walking out the door of the hospital room. Ziva assumed he would be calling Gibbs. "Okay, Ziva. Please tell me what happened at the bar."

"My husband and I purchased a Honeymoon Package with the hotel that gave us vouchers for an open bar all night," Ziva explained huffily. "We therefore went to utilize them. I ordered a mint mojito, and he didn't order anything. Soon after drinking about half of my beverage, I began feeling very strange." She resented the fact the doctor thought Tony had done this to her. How dare he even suggest it?

Doctor Scott shrugged. "Why didn't he drink?"

"Tony said that he had consumed a lot of champagne the previous night and did not think it would be practical for him to have any more alcohol." Ziva was growing frustrated and felt her cheeks flush angrily. "He loves me. He would not drug me."

She wanted him to shut up and let her leave, but he stared at her compassionately, thereby grating on her nerves even more. "Mrs. DiNozzo, I know that you love your husband very much, but if he did something—"

"No!" Ziva shouted, sitting up in her bed and standing up straight, very close to Doctor Scott, even though she felt the room shift around her. "Anthony Daniel DiNozzo has been nothing but good to me since the moment I started working at NCIS. We are married, Doctor. We are on our honeymoon; is that not a time of sexual experimentation between the newlywed couple?" Under her breath, she muttered, "Not that you would know, being nearly fifty and not yet married successfully." He blushed a deep red and hid his left hand. Apparently, he had not expected her to bite into him about his not wearing a wedding band. "Then why would I want to skip out on it? Why would he want me to be unconscious for it?"

The doctor mumbled something, but she cut him off. "I. Am. Not. Finished." He quieted, and Ziva continued, "If he wanted to make love to me, he could have simply said so, without giving me a roadie!"

Chuckling and straightening his lab-coat, Doctor Scott gently corrected, "It's 'roofie', Mrs. DiNozzo."

"Whatever!" she hissed. "That does not matter. What matters is that I am going to put my clothes on, and I am going to sign the release form, and my husband—who loves me very, very much and would never drug me—is going to take me back to the hotel." As an afterthought, Ziva murmured, "And, perhaps, we will have wild sex all night long!"

She had not heard Tony creep into the room, but when he dropped his empty can of ginger ale on the linoleum floors, her head snapped to face his. There was a faint smirk gracing his lips and his eyes held a sparkle that Ziva had seen very few other times.

"But the Doc said to keep you all nice and rested up, Zeev!" he said with a smile, crossing the room and wrapping an arm around her back. This effectively calmed Ziva's anger and held the back of her hospital gown closed, so she wasn't flashing everyone else. Tony bowed close and pressed his lips to her ear, whispering, "We'll see."

Ziva couldn't suppress the butterflies in her stomach this time, or the shiver that went up her spine. And the blush that touched her cheeks was seen by both Tony and the doctor.

Guest Services allowed Gibbs and McGee to move all of Tony and Ziva's things to a new room, on a different floor, and all of the cameras, microphones and bugs that had been in two-oh-one were transported, as well. McGee rented the room a few doors down and would watch the room in shifts with Gibbs, while Abby and Director Vance worked their magic at headquarters. Everything seemed to be in order. The two partners, however, found several things to argue about.

"I feel fine, and we still have vouchers for dinner!" Ziva told Tony, but was faced with his stubborn face.

"Ziva, no, Doctor Scott told you to stay in bed," Tony retorted. "You were roofied, alright? That's not exactly something you can bounce back from, the amount of rohypnol you were given."

She stood on her tiptoes and stared into his eyes. "Anthony DiNozzo, you are going to let me eat dinner. I do not care if I have to buy a frozen dinner from the shop downstairs; I am famished, and I am going to eat." Ziva searched his eyes before patting his cheek and walking down the hall (barefoot, as her heels made the room spin) to the door of their suite.

"Sweetheart," Tony called after her, rushing forward to balance her with his hands on her hips as she tottered. "How about we call in room service?" He swung her up into his arms, cradling her against his chest for the second time that night, and she slung an arm across his shoulders. "I hear Hotel Jerome has the best fondue in the tri-state area." The middle-aged man buried his face in Ziva's neck, nibbling at a batch of skin that smelled particularly succulent.

The former-Israeli nodded a bit, but most of her body still felt a bit fuzzy, or detached from her head. All she could find the energy to say at this moment was "Baby."

"What?" Tony asked. There was a long pause and he set her on the bed, taking a seat beside her as she pulled her knees up to her chest. He refused to recognize the fact her skirt was revealing her underwear. "Zeev?"

"What happens if, after this, I discover that we are …" When she said the word 'pregnant', it was barely audible. Ziva didn't trust herself to say much more; couldn't trust herself.

There was another lengthy silence before Tony finally said, "We would deal with it the way we're supposed to, and after that, whatever happens, happens." He drew her close, letting her press her ear against his chest to hear his heartbeat. Thud-thud, thud-thud, thud-thud.

"Are we…" Her trailing off could have only meant one thing: Were they destroying the marriage license and going back to normal?

He considered this for a moment before kissing the crown of her head. "I don't know," he told her honestly. "I was hoping we could figure that out when …" When Gibbs gave them their options. "…When we had to." She nodded against him and he felt his heart break. "How about we focus on getting some food in that tummy of yours, huh?" Tony didn't know why he felt so inclined to using pet names and baby talk with her, but there was a rising sense of tenderness within him that he had to acknowledge.

"Yes." Ziva yawned, and then placed her lips on his suprasternal notch. She had just recently learned the medical name, from Ducky, and liked the way it rolled off her tongue. Ever since she was a young girl, she had always wondered what the name for that sexy dip at the base of a man's throat was called, and now she knew. "Chocolate and cheese fondue?" Tony nodded, his eyes partly closed, though looking at her. "I will go shower, and you can call it in."

He squeezed her hand as she got up to go to the bathroom, calling room service after he heard the water running.

As Ziva stepped into the glass-encased shower stall, letting the hot water tumble down her skin and douse her hair. It was refreshing, and warm, and safe. Although Tony would most likely make some sort of reference to Psycho, she was more than comfortable just enjoying the feel of standing in steam and suds and tile, especially because of her new vanilla shampoo and body wash.

Ziva knew that Tony liked the smell of cookies, as he loved food, and she assumed he would likewise like the smell of vanilla. Or at least, she hoped, so that he might hold her again. The nights she lay cuddled in his arms, under all the blankets, were her favorites. It was something about the feeling of his chest rising and falling against hers, his warm breath in her hair, and the strength of his arms holding her close that, as a woman who had less than a successful romantic past, Ziva could not get enough of.

"Hey, Zeev?" Tony's low voice said, his head poked through the door (although his eyes were closed). "Room service just brought up the fondue…You almost done?"

"What time is it?"

"Nearly midnight…" he answered, checking his watch. "You've been in here for nearly an hour."

Wrapping a towel around her body, Ziva stepped out of the shower and walked on tiptoe over to the hook that held her bathrobe. "Yes; I think I was caught up in my daydreams or something," she murmured. "Sorry."

"It's fine. Come eat." He led her to the bed, pulling the cart behind him. And there they sat until Ziva fell asleep as the sun began to paint the sky red and purple, beginning another day.

A/N: It was another short one, I know, but … I feel like that's okay, you know? Let me explain; I have four hundred pages of film notes, five film review responses, five reaction-to-film essays, and a four-page paper to write by next Thursday. I have done ten pages of those notes. My film class would be ten times easier if I had my own personal Tony. Please, someone, get on that. Maybe an app for my dorky Alias, because I'm not cool enough to have an iPhone or BlackBerry. Anyway, that's why I haven't been able to do much. I also have a short story to write for Children's Lit. Therefore…I just…need some time for me. I've been having this issue lately, where I feel really heavy pressure on my 'sternum'; I'm not sure if that's what it's called, but I feel really tired all the time and my 'heart' hurts. Yaknow, like, when you say the Pledge of Allegiance and cover your heart with your hand, and all of that? That's where it hurts. I'm very strung out lately. I don't think you'll be getting another chapter for awhile, I'm afraid, or at least until I get everything done that I need to get done. I promise you, you'll survive this hiatus. ::smiles:: So. Here I am, signing out. Love muchly, Kathryn.

PS: If anyone knows where I can get a copy of Faulkner's As I Lay Dying, it would be mucho appreciated. I know what you're going to say; "You want the book Ziva quoted in "One Last Score"!" No. Actually, I did a paper on As I Lay Dying three years ago; I knew the quote "My mother is a fish" long before it was on the show. I was super psyched that she discussed Faulkner with Tony, though, on television. Woot! All I'm saying is that … technically, she likes my favorite book. I don't like hers. Haha. Aaaaaanyway, just let me know! I tried Amazon but I don't like their check-out system. Long story. I just really, really want that book! ::grins:: Thanks!