A/N: My author's note is going to suck. Want to know why? I wrote a freaking awesome one about fifteen minutes ago. It was long and funny and cutesy and amazing and then guess what I did? I went through and put the little line break things between each section. Then I tweaked some stuff, and took away some stuff, and added some stuff. I wrote an awesome disclaimer. Yep, took about fifteen to twenty minutes, right? Huh, funny, I went to paste something-which is a word you will read eventually-and it said I needed to 'Allow Pop-Ups in my Browser." Cool. Okay. ::allows pop-ups in my browser:: Oh snap. It deleted all of it. So. I don't own anything that you wouldn't normally think I'd own. This includes, but is not limited to, Tony, John Deere, Pokemon, Sonnenburg Mansion at the Gardens, Main Street, etc. Thanks for reading. Means a lot. Yada yada. ::scowls because she is in a bad mood, not because she is mad at her readers, and she feels horrible because she doesn't want them to feel bad about themselves:: Peace. [xx Love, Kat]

PS She's maaaaaaaad... ::munches popcorn:: -T
PSS She has every right to be. Internet Explorer hates her. Oh, she also does not own that, she is requesting I add. Now shush, DiNozzo, or we will miss the opening lines... ::holds down his hands so he cannot type a retort:: -Z

Weeks pass. In a matter of two days, Gibbs has all of the landscaping pruned, down to the cedar mulch around all of the rosebushes and freshly trimmed hedges. He even hopped onto the John Deere garden tractor Tony found in the garage, murmuring something about, 'What I do for you two.'

I had simply rolled my eyes and returned to the house to start a fresh pot of coffee.

But that was two weeks ago, and since then, the days have grown shorter, the nights colder, and the leaves more vibrantly orange. The wheat has begun to turn, the corn has dried, and fields of soybeans have gained a robust gold. The countryside is beautiful, but the feelings I have inside are changing as well.

Gibbs and Abby had left, declaring a 'couple's retreat' to Texas was in order. Tommy had gone back to Virginia long before that, pretty much the same week he arrived. All three left with the distinct message of, "If you need anything or just want to talk, call us anytime."

So, now, we are all alone, Tony and I, in this giant house. Some of the rooms I have not even been in yet except for the cursory scan the night we had found out about Buck's disappearance; McGee, Gibbs, and Tony had gone through each room and debugged each of them, the same night, but I had stayed with Abby and had a good few hours of girl talk before they returned. But, playing house is growing boring. I can feel Tony pulling away from our friendship.

I, of course, have not made matters better, what with avoiding his gaze as much as I can, only making physical contact when it is absolutely necessary to keep our cover, and only regarding him after he talks first.

As he approaches me now, pausing in front of the couch I am curled up on, I feel my stomach clench, and although the book I am reading has held my attention for more than two hours, for some reason I cannot read past the last sentence.

"You play piano," he murmurs, taking a seat on the coffee table, next to my steaming cup of green tea. I nod, missing his point. My heart beat quickens but I say nothing. "Ana, look at me." There is a brand of desperation in his voice that hits me strangely as he repeats, "You play piano."

All I can get out is a simple, "I do."

"Top of the stairs, hang a left, third room from the end of the hall." Tony just sits there, staring into my eyes just as intensely as I am staring into his. "Baby grand. Bergmann, classic gloss black. In tune." I nod, and when I do not elaborate but instead turn my attention back to my book, he just sighs, stands, and walks away.

Just as quickly as he is gone, I am on my feet and at the top of the stairs. Third room from the end…third room from the… My eyes land on a door. The doorknob itself is ornate, so I can only imagine how the room is decorated.

When I swing the door open, all of my focus is transferred to the beautiful piano in the corner. The sun glints off of the lustrous black case; the striking black against the pearly white keys; the gold embellishments on the inside of the action, the gleaming 'Bergmann' on emblazoned on the front of the piano. Breathless, heart racing—as this is the first piano I have seen since we have arrived in Canandaigua—I skip to the bench and take a seat, letting my fingers brush over the keys , playing several chords.

He was not lying. It is in tune …

As my hands glide across the keyboard, playing a song I had learned long, long ago, back when I was a teenager in Israel. In my mind's eye, I replay memories of the long, swaying grass. The cows. The market. The mountains, the beach, the trees, my home…

Mossad.

The notes reach a forte. I am playing with such fervor, such zeal, such passion, that I do not notice the door open and Tony sneak in. When I hit the resounding chord to end the piece, I am sitting there, heart racing as quickly as my mind, and I look up. Though my hands are tangled in my lap, when I see Tony, I want to hurl myself over to him and just sit in his lap, cry into his chest, wrap my arms around his neck and hold him until the pain is gone. His glittering blue eyes shine back at me, telling me that he wants me to do just that.

But 'that' …

That cannot happen.

"Hey, Zeev, you know what McGiggles left us?" I look up as he makes his way into the dining room where I am setting up for lunch. "A debugger. I mean, it's temporary, but look!" I glance at the black box in his hand. "See? Red light, everything's off. Green light, there's a bug. How awesome is that?" Tony swings his leg over a chair and sits down, pressing buttons. "On, off, on, off…" he mumbles under his breath.

When the red light is on, I murmur, "Tony, stop."

Green light. "Look, Ana, I know you're pissed at me, but—"

Red light. "I am not angry with you, Tony. Would you just hold the red button, for a moment, please?" He looks at me. "Thank you. I am not angry. I am confused and tired and bored and—"

"Ziva. Listen to me. You know what's boring?" My eyes meet his and he nods, mouth slightly open in a half-yawn. "Yeah, that's right, driving a tractor is boring. I can't even imagine what it's gonna be like to combine oats or whatever. This is ridiculous. But this is our mission and we've gotta play our roles. If you want to break protocol and face Boss' wrath, you go right ahead. But I'll just stay right here, thanks…"

I set down the plates I am carrying and plainly frown at him. "Tony." He groans, somehow knowing that I am serious. "Tony, I need to get out. I need to …"

"You're three months pregnant. There isn't much you can do." Green glows from the end of the device and Tony stares at me, a mischievous gleam in every feature of his face. "I mean, I read those books Babby gave us, y'know, and there was a chapter where—"

"We are not having sex. I believe the saying is, 'Keep it in your pants.'" I lock eyes with him and am greeted with resounding hurt, and some disbelief. "You are my husband. The father of my baby. Is that not enough? Let us go somewhere and explore Canandaigua, instead of exploring each other."

"But … but …" Red beams up at me as he splutters. "Okay, Zeev. What's really going on?" Tony gives me that look, that knowing 'There's something you're not telling me' look that he has given me on numerous occasions before.

"I asked you once before if you heard of soul-mates," I tell him, breaking eye contact and focusing more on the napkins I am supposed to be folding—per Ducky's instruction, of course. As he nods, I try to make a bird of paradise. Fold corner, fold up, fold…what? I shake out the napkin and start again, trying to ignore the unsettled feeling that just knowing Tony's eyes are panned on me gives me.

"And I said that you'd have to sing a few bars and I would get it. I know they were a band or something…" I see him shake his head out of the corner of my eye, and also scratch his temple in an attempt to concentrate. Figure it out.

"You did not 'get it' then, and you certainly do not 'get it' now." Frustrated, I toss the mess of a napkin down on the table and storm into the kitchen, somehow knowing Tony is tight at my heels. I try to make my way across the room but he slams a hand down on the counter, barring me from passing through. After I pointedly refuse to look at him, he places a gentle hand on my jaw and points my face up at his. My only response is a glower.

After a moment of silence, Tony sourly mutters, "I 'get' a lot more than you may think, Ziva, and you may think I don't 'get' very much about what you've been through—and hell, maybe I don't—but I've never told you that you can't talk to me about it, have I?" Without letting me answer, he plows on, "No. I haven't. So if you won't tell me what the fuck is going on in your mind, don't act like I'm so wrong for not knowing." His intensity—the cutting gleam in his eyes, his set jaw, the slowness of his words, the depth of his voice—scares me, but only for a minute, because just as soon as he finishes speaking, I register why he is upset.

He feels guilty.

"You did not rape me. You did not capture me, or beat me, or confine me, tie me up, throw me against cement walls, throw dust in my eyes, rip at my hair, or anything else that happened in Somalia," I slowly say, staring up into his eyes. "Therefore, you have no reason to blame yourself. Let it go. I have."

But that is a lie. Because I will never let it go.

"Where are we going?"

After having heard this question thirty times in the past ten minutes, I pull over to the side of the road and sit, staring at him intently, on the verge of hitting him.

For once, he has let me drive. Yes, me, driving, on a public highway. In an unfamiliar state. His beautiful black Mustang, in my ready hands.

I suppose telling him that I passed my drivers' test—which I only signed up for because I thought it would look better to have an American license—with only three points off of my parallel parking may have been in my favor.

"Where are we going?" Tony finally whines, staring back at me.

"The answer is not in my eyes, so you can stop looking," I mutter, not moving. "We are going to a place that means a lot to me. So just shut up, enjoy the ride, and relax." He nods bitterly and I take that as my cue to put the car into 'drive' and continue on my—our—journey.

"But can't you give me a hint?" he groans. "Jeez, you dragged me out of the house so we could sit in a car. Lovely."

"You did reinitiate the security cameras, yes?" I ask, suddenly regaining my agent persona.

"Yes, Ziva. I reinitiated the security cameras. But that doesn't tell me where we're going. Oh, wait! Was that a hint?" Suddenly excited, he is silent, thinking. I chuckle to myself, not confirming or denying his question. "Are we going to the PD? Do I get to walk around a jail or something? Where—Oh! Cameras, right? So that means we're gonna be on film! Am I meeting a celebrity?"

I shake my head 'no.' "Tony, you can just relax. I am not going to tell you where we are going."

The truth is, I found a website for a local State Park. Sonnenburg Mansion, with connecting gardens. The pictures on the internet were gorgeous, and I had made up my mind to drag Tony there—be it willingly or kicking and screaming—someday. After our confrontation in the kitchen earlier … I was even more determined. We had to somehow get our minds off of my 'past.'

So here we are, sitting in his beautiful, black Mustang, headed to the place of my dreams.

"Ziva?"

"You had better not be asking me what I told you not to ask. Right?" I make a left onto Main Street and slow my speed. "Because if you do, you are walking."

There is silence before he softly starts to talk again. "Ziva, what's that car behind us?"

I glance quickly in my rear view mirror. A blue van is following on my tail. Shrugging, but 'freaking out' internally, I murmur, "I am sure they are just going somewhere toward the top of Main Street." I know he can tell I am also worried.

"Been following us since we turned onto five-and-twenty, Zeev. I don't think it's a shopping spree they're interested in going on."

"Tony, relax." I tap on the brakes and gauge their reaction. They simply back off approximately a car's length. I make the snap decision to make a right hand turn. My sense of direction is impeccable. I know I will be able to navigate back to Sonnenburg once we lose them.

If we lose them…

They follow us for three turns before turning into a driveway. Even when we drive on, they do not. I check the compass and it says we are headed North. If I turn left, I should theoretically—

But there we are, in front of a beautiful house, more gorgeous than even in the pictures on the website. I am speechless. The looming gardens, iron gate, stunning mansion…

"How do you find these places, Davíd?" Tony whispers, also in awe. "God…"

"I would like to think that he has something to do with it." And fate. I pull through the gate and to the parking lot, choosing a solitary space to park in. Stepping out of the car, I shield my eyes and look up. "Well, sweetheart, are you still military?"

Tony laughs. "No." He digs in his pocket and withdraws his wallet. "Ten bucks a pop isn't too bad." Especially when it is not your own money, I think in amusement.

"Well, then. Let us commence with the touring, yes?" I smile at Tony and he suddenly is at my side, linking his fingers with mine. "David?"

"Ana." He is solemn, but there is fire burning in his eyes.

Leazazel.

"I wish I could do the Adventure Trail thing," Tony mutters, handing the lady behind the glass his admission money. She raises her eyebrows and counts through the five-dollar bills. "Like, I'd totally pay extra for two maps. I don't really even need the prize. It just sounds like fun."

The woman nods and gives a small chuckle, handing us the receipt. Holding up a finger, she halts us, and also thrusts two treasure maps at us through the window. "Have fun, you two. But don't tell my manager…" Smirking playfully, she lifts a finger to her lips and waves us through the entrance gate.

I turn the map over in my hand.

"Where to first, baby?" Kissing my cheek, I am slowly led down a stone path to the greenhouse. "The greenhouse looks pretty cool."

Checking my map, I nod, trying to ignore Tony's thumb is gently running up and down the side of my index finger. I cannot tell if it is simply to put on appearances or not, because I know our fingers—and what they are doing—are hidden from plain sight.

The moment we step into the greenhouse, a barrage of scents hit my nostrils, taking me back to the botanical gardens I used to visit in Israel. Jasmine, juniper, rhododendron…I am surrounded by gorgeous colours and smells.

"Wow, it's beautiful," Tony gasps, not letting go of my hand to cross the room and stare at the plants all around us. I have never seen him so enthralled, except for when Jeanne came to the office that last time, when she accused him of murdering her father.

Tell her what she needs to hear, I had murmured, although my heart was breaking into a million pieces. He had gone, and they had talked, and he had come back with tears in his eyes, but he had refused to say a word to either of us. He had not made room for eye contact. He had retrieved his jacket, phone, and duffel bag and swiftly left the building.

And I have a feeling that, when he had arrived home that night, he had gone inside and cried and drowned his pain in whiskey.

My heart thumps painfully for him, my pain melding with his, hoping he has forgotten or somehow put it aside, even though I know it is nearly impossible to do. Even after almost three and a half years, no one can forget a love that strong, that easily. That brand of love becomes part of you. It consumes you, and grows, and sometimes it grows so fast or so slow or so big that it hurts a little bit the entire time.

And then when it is gone, it hurts worse than any injury one could ever imagine.

It hurts worse than a hundred lashings.

It hurts worse than forty broken bones.

It hurts worse than a torn muscle.

It hurts worse than that first time, that first moment two people become one, that first second that you understand what love and hope and faith and future and marriage and beauty is.

Because once two people become one, it is very difficult to separate them. Because one split in two does not equal two separate people. One divided by two equals one half. It takes away half of a person. It does more damage than good.

Similar to when a person dies—be it a mother, father, sister, brother, grandparent, child—a piece of you dies with the loss of someone you love. In a way, death is involved in every breakup.

And I know that part of Tony died with his father.

But I have no time to consider this as the man in question yanks on my hand and pulls me out of the other end of the greenhouse. "Pokemon! Gotta catch `em all!" he sings, dragging me forward to skip with him. I have not seen Tony so enthusiastic in quite a while.

This is good.

"Woo-hoo!" Tony lets out a whoop and leaps into the air, drawing several disturbed looks from people exiting the mansion. "I got `em all! All of `em! Do you know what this means?"

"Yes, David," I murmur, humouring him. "It means you get a 'special prize.' I am sure it is nothing more than a piece of paper."

Tony puffs his chest out, obviously proud of himself. "I would make an awesome investigator. Detective David Stadelvard, P.I."

But he is not Magnum. He is Tony. My Tony.

A/N: My mood has been lifted a bit by rain and a bit of Nutella and stuff, so I can now tell you what I was going to tell you before. ::saves all changes before pasting word::

Leazazel = Damn. So, as we Americans use 'damn' to represent awe, or disbelief...that is how she was saying it. Kind of like 'Whoa' or 'Oh snappp!' or even 'Hot Damn!' And now, thank you very much, I have that song stuck in my head. The 'Oh hot damn, this is my jay-um. Keep me partyin' till the a-am. Y'all don't understand, makes me put my hands in the ay-er, ay-ay-er..." I think from that you have caught my drift.

A side note, I apologise for Tony's obvious vulgarity when confronting Ziva. I know he hasn't shown much emotion toward what she's been through but he's putting two and two together, and coming up with about four-point-five. He's close, you know? But not quite there yet.

Another side note. I was watching an interview from, I want to say, 2003? Was that when NCIS first aired? I cannot remember, I was not a fan at the time (I know, blasphemy!) so I wouldn't know when it aired. But it was shortly after Dark Angel ended and he was cast as Tony and it was like, between the first and second seasons. Anyway, I have a question for all of you MW fans out there-Do you think he is somewhat like Tony? Many actors and actresses [Aww snap, this is gonna take me well over 4,000 words.] bring their own...'voice'...to their roles. For example, I had to portray a 400-pound woman in our spring musical. A 400-pound woman who, at the end, attends Cinderella's wedding. I am boy-crazed. I am so boy crazy that it would make your head spin to watch me between classes. Like, my thought process is, "Okay, so I have to get to the Honours house by 3:30-Ooooh, there's a hot guy-and then I have to walk home-oooooooh, SNAPPP, another hot guy-and then..." I think I made my point. So I flirted with Nick, the guy who played the prince, the entire time. And also, I'm very self conscious, so I used that to my advantage and ... well, you get it. So, I guess I should give MW context for my question;

I was watching an interview, like I said, and it was going very well. He was nice, he talked about his son (MW was thirty six at the time, and his son was eight. I was considering marrying his son if MW was still married when I was like...twenty-three. His son is sixteen now. Not gonna work.) and stuff, and he was really sweet. And then the interviewer started discussing the break-up between MW and Jessica Alba, and he became Tony almost instantaneously. He started joking about having sex with her and yada-yada, how awesome she was. How she was nineteen, but, yaknow, they were together for three and a half years and so toward the end, she could drink. But she was legal the entire time for other stuff ::he winked here at the audience.:: And although I was somewhat disgusted (merely because I am against the objectification of women) I couldn't help but see past it into the soul of a hurting man. He stated toward the end of the interview that the moment he walked into the room and saw her, she had him mesmerized, and that the relationship itself was great. But it was still sad. Every time the man would ask MW a prodding question about Alba...he turned into Tony. Remember in Season 5, when Tony was interrogated by Fornell about his relationship with Jeanne? Replace Jeanne with Jessica Alba...and that's what you have. Yeah. I'm including the link at the bottom here, just if you wanted to watch it.

But what do you think? Do you think there are cases where, for all of the actors and actresses on NCIS, they show some attitudes and behaviours of the characters they portray?

.com/watch?v=fbG9ckk5rvw = The Interview.

Ta, I'm off to bed. Xx, Love much, Kat