Hi everyone. First of all: sorry for the long wait – we had a blackout, so I couldn't write for days…

Secondly: Since you all seemed to like the "domestic" Tiva, I have given it a lot of thought and I have finally decided to do the whole clichéd-done-to-death-bad-weather-stuck-in-the-apartment thing. The reason for this is that I REALLY don't want to write about four miserable months with Ziva in Israel and Tony pining for her back in DC. I am doing this to give Ziva better reason to want to return to America, because I don't want it to just be because of NCIS. At the moment she might be starting to feel something for Tony, but I don't think that it is enough yet to cause her to return. Thus I am going to be clichéd. Which I despise. Anyway. Looooooooong Author's Note complete. On with the story.

Disclaimer: You know the drill.

Making breakfast with Tony turned out to be much more fun than Ziva anticipated. For starters, the apron he had pulled over her head was obviously his and seemed to be the only one he owned. This of course meant that the man himself was covered in flour from head to toe after two minutes while she stayed squeaky clean, but that was not the best part. It was pink. Pink.

Tony DiNozzo owned a pink apron.

After she had given herself the pep talk, she had eventually looked down to see what he had dressed her in. She had expected one of those classic American aprons that wittily stated "Kiss the cook", or at least something in that line, but her eyes had almost bugged out of her head when she took in that colour. And those frills! Tony, who had been watching her closely to gauge her reaction, had laughed and explained that it had once belonged to his grandmother. She had taught him to bake when he was a little boy and had left him the apron as a reminder of the good times they had spent in the kitchen together. Since then he has refused to wear anything else while baking. Ziva had stood listening with rapt attention and felt honoured that she had been allowed to wear it.

Smiling, they went back to making breakfast as Tony regaled her with more stories from the past. Some made her laugh, like the time he had mistaken salt for sugar and the cookies had come out tasting quite...different. Others had her frowning at him as she did not understand the American significance of the tale.

After an hour and enough pancake mix to last him a few weeks, Tony relegated Ziva to the sidelines so that she could watch his "amazing kitchen skills". Perched on a barstool, she had admired his technique and smiled each time he perfectly flipped a pancake. To tell the truth, she was rather impressed. Her eyes travelled his chest, his arms and his face and again she found him incredibly handsome. Even when wearing a pink, frilly apron.

Tony had kept on chatting away while he baked, trying to calm himself with the thought that she was still here to listen to him, but mostly trying to keep her mind from reliving the previous day. He knew it had to happen sometime, but he wanted to prolong their happy bubble a little longer. He was overjoyed every time she smiled at him and he saw her checking him out, with resulted in him starting to show off a little. He got a full-on laugh from her when he didn't pay enough attention to what he was doing and the pancake landed on the counter next to him when he tried to flip it high in the air and catch it with the pan again.

"Tony," she managed to breathe through her laughter. "You should start paying attention!" She continued laughing and he just stood there, taking in the sight.

"How can I when a beautiful woman is sitting right in front of me?"

Her carefree laughter stopped abruptly and instead turned into a nervous chuckle.

"If you say so, Tony."

"I'm serious. You are beautiful." He feared he had crossed the line and waited for her reaction with baited breath.

She gazed into his eyes, and something she saw there must have convinced her that he was being genuine in his compliment, as she lightly blushed while murmuring a thank you under her breath and twirled a lock of hair around her finger.

Feeling better, he threw the ruined pancake in the trash and finished up.

As they sat down to eat after he had traded his flour stained shirt for a clean one, Tony turned on the television for some background noise. The channel was turned to the news and he just left it there, not bothering to change it. They were just finished eating when the next report came up: the shooting of a terrorist the previous day. As Ziva froze with the plates in her hands, Tony cursed himself for not thinking ahead far enough to know that the incident would be on the news.

"Ziva?" he quietly asked. When he got no response, he took the plates from her quivering hands in fear of them shattering on the floor when she lost her grip on them. He put them on the table and in the same movement tentatively pulled her against him. He could kick himself for letting this happen. All morning he had been so successful at avoiding the topic, only to mess it up with turning on the TV and not using his head.

He felt her tremble in his arms and knew she was crying. She was doing a remarkably good job of trying to stay calm and he had to commend her for it. They stayed like that until the news turned into the weather forecast and Tony watched over her shoulder as they predicted heavy blizzards blowing into the city and urged people to stock up on supplies and stay indoors.

Finally, after what seemed like hours, Ziva lifted her head from where it had found purchase on his shoulder and looked at him with red eyes. Inside she was freaking out about her ability to be so open with him, but for the moment she accepted it as being a freak thing.

"Tony?" she asked with a raspy voice. "You have been so incredibly good to me, but can I ask you one more favour?"

"Anything," he replied and she could see the honesty in his eyes.

"Can I…" her voice faltered, but he stayed quiet, giving her time. "Can I stay with you through the blizzard? Please? It is just that I do not really like thunderstorms and with everything that has happened I do not think that I can be alone right know. I do not know anyone else in this city and with the weather I will not be able to fly out soon. I am sorry if I sound needy and I do not expect you to do this, but - "

She was silenced by his finger lightly pressing against her lips. He had not stopped her earlier because he knew she needed to let some of it out, but he didn't want her to keep on going the rest of the day.

"Ziva, I said anything and I meant it. It would give me great pleasure to have you here for company. Really."

A ghost of a smile spread across her lips under his finger. He regretted doing so, but he removed his finger then so that she could speak.

"Thank you. I do not know how I will ever repay you."

"Your smile is enough." He thought he had overrun his mouth, but as she smiled again, bigger this time, he knew he was alright. "But, we should probably go on a quick road trip to get you some clothes and us some more food. I mean we have enough pancake batter to last us some time, but I don't think it'll do our health much good," he laughed. "Besides, I need to pick up my car from McGee's." Her face turned into panic for a second when she thought of having to face his co-worker, but he assured her with a smile that it would be alright.

"Okay," she replied. "Let us get going then before the storm hits."

"Good idea. We'll do the dishes when we get back."

Again he couldn't let her go completely when they separated and he laced their fingers together as he grabbed his phone and pulled her to the door. She didn't seem to mind.