A/N: Again, thank goodness for Wikipedia and Google Maps.
Thanks to everyone for hanging in there.
Eleven.
Four hours and some change later, Livorno Centrale. They disembark from the train with a few other passengers, bags in hand. The station, filled with beautiful architecture, is eerily quiet at the late hour. Ziva leads the way, like she knows where she is going and Tony supposes she might. They step out of the station and breathe in the fresh air. He can smell salt in the air from the nearby sea.
"We should find a hotel for the night. If we go this way," she points, "we should be able to find one."
He yawns. "Okay," he replies, willing to let her take the lead. Her Italian is better than his, anyway.
As they walk along the empty sidewalk, passing stately buildings with glowing faces illuminated by streetlights, he reflects on the last two days. So much has happened in such a short period of time. Mostly, he thinks about how easy it has been, being back together with Ziva. It's as if the years apart have melted away and in its place is an understanding. He wonders why it is suddenly so easy to be honest with her when it was so difficult before. Maybe because they have nothing left to lose. This is his second chance, or maybe his third or fourth or fifth, and instinctively, he knows he will not get another.
Carpe diem, and all that.
They strike out at the first two hotels they come across but have better luck at the third. "One room left, queen bed," Ziva tells him on the elevator up to their room.
His only response is to yawn so deeply that his ears pop. It doesn't register to him that she mentioned one bed, not two, until she unlocks the hotel room door, revealing the one bed. "Oh," he says blankly. He is so tired that he had not been thinking of the logistics of sharing a hotel room.
"I can take the couch," she says as casually as she can manage, moving to drop her bag next to the couch, which looks marginally comfortable.
He gives her a look. "That's ridiculous," he responds. "We have shared a bed before." He almost mentions their conversations from earlier but knows that her hesitation has little to do with her actual feelings for him.
"I remember," she says softly. Paris. And her father's farmhouse. The air is suddenly charged with unspoken tension and she knows he is thinking of that last night as well, where they spent hours memorizing the taste of the other's skin.
"I promise to keep my hands to myself," he smirks, in an effort to break the tension. He slips his feet out of his shoes and plops down on the far side of the bed. He feels his back pop in at least five different places.
She hesitates for a long second, then goes into the bathroom, closing the door quietly. He closes his eyes, not sure what to make of her hesitation but too tired to try to make sense of it. He trusts that she will get into bed when she is ready.
In the small bathroom, she washes the day's travels off her face. She takes her time, wondering about her sudden apprehension at sharing a bed with Tony. It's ridiculous, really. They have already cleared the air of any uncertainties and possible misunderstandings. She meant it when she said that she wanted to be with him.
She wipes her face with a small white towel and looks at herself in the mirror. For her, actions have always spoken louder than words. Words are meant to be manipulated, have double meanings. Actions, on the other hand, always count for something. She has known for years that Tony loves her, and not because he ever told her. He showed it through his actions.
Sharing a bed will be the most intimate thing she has done with someone else in years - since she last shared a bed with him, really. She shakes her head at her reflection and folds the used towel. It is a good thing that he is so certain of them. Despite the therapy and newfound peace she has found regarding her past, she still worries about hurting him. They will need his steadfastness to break down the rest of the walls she spent a life creating and fortifying.
She emerges from the bathroom. His eyes are closed and she thinks he might be sleeping, but when she sits on the bed and swings her legs up, he opens his eyes. "Hey," he says in a hushed voice. And then he yawns again.
She smiles at him as she snuggles down under the covers then turns her back to him to lay on her side. A beat, then she feels him shifting until he is snuggled at her back and his arm is around her. She puts her arm on top of his, holding him close. "That's better," he mutters sleepily.
His breathing quickly slows down and levels out. She listens to his breathing, draws comfort from his arm heavy around her, and slowly drifts off to sleep.
He wakes to the sound of the room door opening and closing. The room is dark but he can see a sliver of sunlight coming from the gap in the heavy curtains. The spot where Ziva had been when he fell asleep is empty, but the sheets are rumpled and he figures she slept at least a little. She is standing at the tiny table, holding two coffees and a brown bag. "Good morning," she says, bringing him a coffee as he sits up.
"What time is it?" he asks, mentally shaking the cobwebs out of his head. He takes an experimental sip of his coffee and grimaces at the strength of it. She makes a face in apology and hands him the other coffee. He tries it - it has plenty of milk and sugar, just the way he likes it. He takes a longer sip, risking burning his throat, and feels the caffeine course pleasantly through his veins. She draws the curtains back from the window and the room floods with sunlight, temporarily blinding him.
"Ten thirty. I wanted to let you sleep as much as you wanted. You have done a lot of traveling in a short period of time." She takes a sip of the coffee she had accidentally given to him.
"Did you sleep?"
She smiles. "I woke up at eight and took a little walk around the city, got breakfast." She opens the brown bag and hands him a pastry. He bites into it without ascertaining what it is.
Around the mouthful of pastry, he asks, "What did I tell you about going out by yourself?"
Rolling her eyes, she responds, "I can handle myself."
"That's not the point, Zee-vah," he says, drawing out her name in the way he does when he is annoyed with her. "Someone is after you and I know you are a big girl, but I still worry. They just blew up your father's house, thinking you were there."
"I know," she sighs, and chews thoughtfully on a piece of another pastry. "If it helps, I do not believe I was tailed during my walk."
It is his turn to roll his eyes. "That's a comfort."
She narrows her eyes at him. "I am not an amateur. Have you forgotten?"
"Yeah yeah, you were a badass warrior princess. Were. Past tense. You're now a student, retired from being a ninja, remember?"
"One does not retire from being a ninja, Tony," she says, archly. She is teasing him now, dismissing his concern, and he knows it. Many things have changed, but it is clear that she is as independent as ever, and while he loves that quality in her, it also makes him nervous.
He sighs deeply and relents. "Okay, my little ninja. Just promise me you won't do anything reckless."
"I promise," she swears, then chuckles. He is as protective of her as ever and she finds it both endearing and a little irritating.
He pops the last of the pastry into his mouth and grabs the brown bag. It is empty and he frowns at it. She chuckles again. "It will be lunchtime soon and we can get a proper meal."
He cheers up momentarily at the thought before he frowns. "What if someone recognizes you and alerts Jacob Scott's lackeys?"
After a moment of thought, she replies, "I will wear a disguise. It will be very Mission Impossible."
"What?" He tries to think of why she is referencing that particular movie while also marveling at her making a movie reference in the first place. The iconic scene from that movie is of Tom Cruise hanging by a wire in a white room, unable to touch the walls or floor. He isn't sure why they would ever find themselves in that kind of a situation.
"The one where they have all the masks," she explains.
"Oh yeah. I think that was the second one. Where are we going to get you a mask like that?"
She smirks. "I was thinking more along the lines of a big floppy hat and sunglasses that cover half my face."
"Oh. Not as much fun, but I guess it'll work," he replies. "Let's go!" He stands, then looks down at his rumpled clothes. "Maybe after I change."
She cannot help but laugh, and the sound is music to his ears.
They eat lunch at a cafe near the beach. She is wearing sunglasses and a straw hat with a wide floppy brim that shades her entire face. She wrangled her hair into a low bun, and he has to admit that she looks like one of a number of women they've seen walking around the city. She insisted that he buy a pair of aviator shades and he allowed her to style his hair differently.
To the casual observer, they look like tourists enjoying a nice vacation by the sea.
After lunch, they walk along the seashore, holding hands and admiring the architecture, while covertly monitoring the people around them. Just a couple in love seeing the sights. He calls her Sophie and she calls him Jean-Paul. It feels like they are on a mission, something she hasn't done in a few years now.
Occasionally he stops and kisses her softly. This is Italy, after all. Public displays of affection are the norm, and he intends to make the most of it. She doesn't seem to mind too much.
They eat an early dinner at a restaurant with outdoor seating so she can avoid removing her hat and sunglasses. The day in the sun, spent entirely in her company, invigorates him and he is in rare form. He quotes more movies than she can count and generally acts like a rambunctious, albeit charming, labrador retriever. It has been a long time since he has been in this good of a mood, and he knows it has to do with her. And maybe being in Italy.
After the seriousness of the last day, she enjoys his energy. When she first started working as his partner, his antics annoyed her. A lot. She had been used to the no-nonsense demeanor drilled into her during her time with Mossad and the IDF, and she was convinced that his exuberance would cause them to make mistakes. Over the years, she learned that he was at his best when he was like that, and she came to enjoy that part of his personality, although she often wore a look of annoyance to keep from encouraging him.
They linger, ordering dessert and sipping espresso, watching the sun set over the glittering sea. His energetic mood has moved from being effusive to something she can't quite place. They sit mostly in companionable silence, but there is an underlying tension as the sun sinks lower in the sky. It is a tension that is familiar to her in his company. She can think of multiple times in their shared past when the air between them was so tight, she could have played it like a violin, but with a distraction, it dissipated, unresolved.
She looks out over the water and smiles at one memory that comes to the forefront of her mind. Agent David, do you really consider me to be… in your life? They had been on the verge of something there, she is still sure of it, but Ray had chosen that moment to call and she had stepped back from the edge to answer it, back into safer territory. She gives a tiny sigh. If only.
Eventually, they leave the restaurant and head back to their hotel, walking slowly, hand in hand. She has not held hands with another person so much in years. For once, and only because it is him, the closeness is nice. He is uncharacteristically quiet, and she wants to ask him about it but the relaxed lines on his face tell her that it is nothing to be worried about.
She opens their room door with the key card and he follows her in. As soon as the door clicks shut behind them, he kisses her. It is not the brief, gentle kisses from earlier. This kiss is urgent, seeking. She responds automatically, one hand at the back of his neck, the other on his chest. Her hat falls to the floor and his hands release her hair from its knot as she nimbly unbuttons his shirt.
They undress each other, barely breaking the kiss, moving closer to the bed. She leans back from him slightly, just so she can look at him, take in his heavily lidded eyes and slightly flushed face. She gives him a coy smile, pushes him back onto the bed, then follows.
After, they lay together, temporarily sated, and she wonders how she ever survived the last few years without him.
He thinks about a conversation he had with Gibbs months ago, and how he has finally found where he belongs.
A/N: Feedback always appreciated! I just finished writing chapter 12, so I'll post it tomorrow after I edit it one or two more times. We are on track to wrap up with chapter 15.