A/N: Hello, once again. I'm sorry for the delay. Classes have been nuts, I've had a wretched bout of writers' block, and I've been focused solely on becoming an expert of continuity. 'What is an expert of continuity?' you ask. An expert of continuity is someone who can tell you backward and forward mistakes of continuity that television shows, books, movies, etc. have made when forming the plot of their work. Please send me a personal message if you would like to know my findings thus far! I look forward to it. On a more serious note, I am torn between disliking Jeanne for her treatment of Tony and liking her for teaching him how to love. As of right now, I'm more geared toward disliking her, because she was manipulative. How cool would it be for her to come back and be like, "Hey, Tony, guess what? I forgive you." ::angry chuckle:: I would be so mad… Thank you for being so dedicated to this fan piece. I really appreciate all of your support.

Disclaimer: I do not own NCIS, Canandaigua (or any of the outlying towns/cities I may have mentioned in this chapter, previous chapters, or future chapters), Dean Martin, 'That's Amore', TJMaxx, Lipton Tea, Tony DiNozzo, or anything you think I don't own. I really wish I did, though, because I'd have this fiction and a bunch of other great items if I did in fact own it all. But alas, I don't. All I own—through blood—is my mum's restaurant and motel. The Lafayette. ::smiles:: Oh, and my bedroom. And technically, the house that Tony and ZIva are in right now. But that's okay. No one needs to know…

Tony has changed my ringtone again, but I only find that out when I am suddenly broken out of sleep by the loud chorus of, "When the moon hits your eye like a big pizza pie, that's 'Amoré'!"

Groaning, I reach over to the bedside table and fumble for my phone, knocking the cordless house phone from its charging port and equally sending a pile of CDs cascading to the floor. Finally, I grasp the small rectangle of annoyance and wedge my thumb inside the hinge, flipping it open.

"Hello?" I croak.

"Ziva!" Abby's cheerful voice rings through the speaker. "You awake?"

"No." I want nothing more than to just collapse back into my pillow. There is something in my stomach, however, that bothers me. Some sort of feeling. "Is everything okay?"

"Mm, kind of."

"What does 'kind of' mean?" I sit upright and rub my eyes, stifling a yawn.

There is a long pause, during which I hear Gibbs in the background. He says something that sounds like, "Look, Babs, can't we just—" before Abby cuts him off. There is a shuffle and a high-pitched, "No!" followed by a giggle, and the Goth girl is back on the phone. "Ziva, you're never going to believe what we found."

I relax slightly and, keeping my voice low, murmur, "Does it have to do with the case?" My partner shifts his weight and the bedsprings creak. Wincing, I vow to keep the conversation even quieter.

"What?" Abby blurts. "Oh. No. We're at this place called TJMaxx…It's a store in town, right? And they've got this entire baby department. You and I have to come here because it's just absolutely fantastic. I mean, there are rubber duckies and books and bottles and pacifiers and bibs and—"

"Abby," I murmur, cutting her off, "I'm not actually pregnant." I feel Tony playing with my hair and I glance over my shoulder to see him sitting up against the headboard. He is staring at me and it takes much strength to not let my eyes graze over his strong shoulders and chest. "This is getting out of hand. Way out of hand."

There is a loud chuckle and then Gibbs states firmly, "Alright, Babby, let's go." Abby says nothing more but I hear a click and the call is ended. Shrugging, I close the phone and set it back on the table.

"Zeev-ah," Tony says softly. I turn around, bringing all of my hair over my left shoulder with a free hand.

"Yes, Tony?" I reply.

"There's something I've been meaning to ask you."

"Could it have been, 'Ziva, may I change your ringtone?'" I inquire jokingly. He breaks into a grin and shakes his head. "Well, then I have no idea."

"You were on the phone. It would've been rude to ask." Smiling, his eyes twinkling, he sits there looking at me. "Anyway, I was wondering if we could go get some breakfast?"

The Lafayette is busy this morning, and it takes a good thirty minutes for a table to open up. When we sit down, in the Dining Room this time, at a lovely table for two, my feet accidentally rub against Tony's. He does not move them. Neither do I.

The waitress smiles at us. She is not the same waitress from the first time we ate here, for lunch, but she looks familiar. "Good morning! My name is Martha. Can I get you anything to drink?"

"Ladies first," Tony murmurs. The toe of his Italian leather shoe grazes my ankle and causes the butterfly-feeling in my stomach to erupt.

"Hot tea, please." I fold my hands on the table and smile up at Martha. "What flavors do you have?"

She thinks for a moment before counting off, "Green, Apple Spice, Peach-Mango, Chamomile, Earl Grey, De-Caf and Regular Lipton."

"Green tea! Thank you!"

Martha nods and turns to Tony. "And for you?"

"I…would like a cup of regular joe." Again, I feel his foot against mine. "But instead of creamer, can I have a little bit of skim milk?"

"Anything you want, sir." To both of us, she smiles and murmurs, "I'll be right back with your drinks," before she disappears around the corner.

I stare at Tony across the table for a moment before turning my attention to the menu. Mm, Stuffed French Toast? Spinach Feta Omelet? There are literally fifty different items to choose from and each sounds even more appetizing than the last. I am considering having a grilled cinnamon bun and scrambled eggs when I catch him looking over the top of his menu at me.

"May I help you?" I murmur, smirking slightly.

"Yeah. You definitely can." Tony sets down the menu and takes my hand, leaning forward. His voice drops so low that I can barely hear him, but I make out enough to know he is talking about a couple in the corner. As if I am looking at my surroundings, I turn, taking in the green wallpaper, lace curtains, and photos on the wall. While I am doing so, I see a woman with brown hair and features very similar to our victim's. When I face forward again, I nod at Tony to let him know I see them.

"So, David, what are you getting?" I run my thumb along the bank of his. "I am torn between several options…"

He nods. "I think I'm gonna play it safe and get the Big Breakfast Special..." Reading the menu, Tony recites, "'Two slices of the toast of your choice, your choice of two eggs and meat—three slices of bacon or sausage links, one patty sausage, slice of ham or one veggie sausage—and home fries.' That's…a lot of food."

"That it is, David. That it is." I again examine the laminated sheet of paper. "I really feel like splurging…"

"Then splurge," he mutters bluntly. "You deserve to. Look at you." I gaze at him in confusion. "Well, I mean, you're pregnant…you need a little bit of splurging." Tony coughs, embarrassed. "Ahem, so, what were you thinking?"

With an eyebrow raised, I tell him, "Either scrambled eggs with a grilled cinnamon bun with nuts, or the stuffed French Toast with raspberries…"

"Oh man…Maybe I can get a grilled cinnamon bun in place of the toast…" Tony licks his lips hungrily. "That way, we can split it." Eyes sparkling, he shoots me a sweet smile. "Okay, darling?"

I return the smile and look up just in time to see Martha come back with our tea and coffee. "Here you go!" she chirps. "Have you decided what to order?"

"I believe I will have the stuffed French toast on regular wheat…with raspberries." Pouring water from the teapot into the mug at my place setting, I smile up at the waitress. "Eating for two, you know."

Martha nods and rocks on her heels a bit. "I thought so. How far along are you?"

"Almost six months," I answer, dunking the teabag into the water. "Only a little while longer yet."

"Wow, congratulations!" she croons. "Boy or girl?"

"We were told it is a baby girl," I explain, "but you know how unreliable medicine can be sometimes."

Martha nods, turning to Tony. "And what'll be for you?"

He looks up at Martha and smiles. "Uhhh…the Junior Breakfast Special with home wheat, scrambled, and—" He thinks for a moment. "The veggie sausage."

Is he trying to lose weight…?

"Oh, and a grilled cinnamon bun with nuts, please." Tony grins at me and I roll my eyes in return. "Thank you." Martha nods once more and disappears. "I thought maybe if I was going to 'splurge' on the cinnamon bun, the least I could do is get a small breakfast." I feel his grasp tighten on my hand and glance down at it. He is inspecting my ring.

I stifle my laughter and flip his hand over so I can look at his. "Does yours say anything on the inside?" I ask softly. Tony nods and lets go of my hand, slips the ring off of his finger and hands it to me.

Tu sei mio amico.

Sitting in the dark, in our desk chairs, one with the popcorn, one with the drinks. "Are you ready for the adventure of a lifetime?" he asked me, a big grin spread across his face.

"It is just a movie, Tony," I murmured, taking the cup from my partner. His expression of half-hurt, half incredulity caused me to smirk. He passed a drink to me, put the popcorn down on a table between us and then sat, remote control firmly in hand.

"How dare you? Is Mickey just a mouse? Ringling brothers just a circus?" Tony interrogated, settling into his chair. My answer of 'yes' only fueled his argument. "Well, you see, that's why you don't have any friends."

I sat straight up and looked at him, jaw slack. "I do have friends!"

"Really?" he asked. I nodded. "Then what are you doing with me, watching a movie on a Friday night at work? Huh?"

After considering his statement, I softly tell him, "You are my…friend." It was completely true. My fear of his reaction—which would probably be more intense than I was ready for, or maybe less than I wanted… —caused me to regret my words almost as soon as they left my mouth.

Surprised, he turned to me, staring into my eyes. "Really?"

I 'chickened' out, terrified of something happening. Or not happening. "No…my date cancelled."

"Mine too." Although we exchanged a small smile, I did not miss the disappointment flicker on his face.

I am brought back to the present when he coughs quietly. "I was not lying back then, that night with the movie. And…I wanted to marry my best friend someday," I whisper, staring at the gold. "I did."

"What?"

"I was not lying. You were my friend. You…" I play with the string of my teabag. "…are my friend."

Tony just grins at me. "I know."

Martha returns with our food just as I am going to say that he was obviously more than just a friend, so my thought process is hindered by the scents and sights of the food. It all looks delicious, especially the cinnamon bun.

"Oh my goodness…Thank you, Martha," I murmur, lifting my fork and knife. She flits off to another table, leaving us alone.

We eat in partial silence, exchanging flirty glances and smiles and jokes every now and then. As I am about to take my last bite of my French toast—which was more of an 'indulgence' than I have allowed myself recently, what with the slightly sweet cream cheese filling and warm, gently tart raspberry sauce—I am struck with a thought.

"David, this restaurant has been owned by the same people for forty-six years." Setting down my fork, I reach for my cell phone in my purse. "That is really saying something!"

I send a quick text of, "Got a lead" to Gibbs before looking at Tony.

"I'm not following," Tony murmurs, finishing off his coffee.

I lean forward, under the pretense of pouring myself more hot water. "I want to talk to the owner. She must know everything about this town. Who better to discuss Canandaigua with as a pair of new citizens than someone who has been here for forty six years of her life?"

Realization flashes in his eyes and he nods, smiling and taking a bite of the grilled cinnamon bun. "Alrighty, then, let's ask about that." I retrieve a compact mirror from my pocket and open it, running a hand through my curled locks. I glance over my shoulder in the mirror and see that the brown haired woman is still there, staring down at her own cell phone with what look to be tears in her eyes. Tony and I nod at each other, a silent vow not to involve her just yet. We can get a subpoena later for the credit card slips of the day as long as we remember the date … and as long as she uses a credit card.

When Martha returns, we ask her whether it would be okay for us to talk to the owner of the restaurant, if she is there. At the waitress' brief expression of concern, we reassure her that everything was delicious but as we are new to the area, we want to talk to her and grow more accustomed with Canandaigua. She nods and leads us through a red swinging door to a back room, where a woman in a scrub top and jean capris is flitting around, cooking and baking.

"Nancy," Martha says over the loud whirr of the mixer, "a couple wants to talk to you." The woman stops the mixer and spins around, a wide—but slightly alarmed—smile on her face. "Is that okay?"

Nancy approaches and wipes her hand on a wet cloth, then extends it for us to shake. "Hello, I am Nancy Higgins. How may I help you?"

I take her hand and introduce myself as Ana Stadelvard, throwing in a quick compliment of, "My breakfast was delicious."

Tony, too, nods and shakes Nancy's hand, murmuring, "David Stadelvard. Your grilled cinnamon buns are phenomenal…"

Nancy's face breaks into a wide, relieved grin and she replies, "Thank you. I'm so glad your breakfasts were enjoyable. But…" She pauses. "There is something other than food that you wanted to discuss?"

I see my partner shoot Nancy a kind smile before hearing him say, "Yeah, there is, actually. We're new to town, and since you've been here for a while, we thought we'd like to ask you a few questions about the area."

The woman takes a seat on a stool next to the counter. "Sure, go for it!"

Tony begins the questions. "This is a pretty quiet town, right? Not a lot of crime or anything?"

Nancy shakes her head. "We have our fair share of news, but most crime happens up in Rochester. Our Community College, of course, has student housing, and the cops are up there every night for fights or parties." Thinking for a moment, she continues, "And, I mean, no town is completely spotless. We have our own jail and there's a curfew for under-eighteen-ers, but other than that, not much really happens here."

I jump in with, "Before we bought the house we now live in, someone broke in. Is that common?"

"Whereabouts do you live, Ana?"

"Almost in Cheshire," I reply, judging from her expression we have assumed correctly that house robberies are rare.

Nancy again shakes her head before elaborating. "If you were near Farmington, or Victor, I'd say you'd have a better chance at your house getting broken into. But Cheshire's a pretty safe environment. You're more likely to find a cow trespassing on your property than a human…unless it's the owner of the cow." She winks, and Tony raises a valid point.

"But, they're not unheard of, you're saying? Like, robberies are rare, but they've happened before?"

The older woman nods and tells him, "Well, yes, you're right." Turning to me, she reassures, "But really, if this is where you're starting a family, it's a great place to do it." Nancy glances at the loaves of risen bread dough behind her on the counter. "You don't mind if I work while we talk, do you?" Both Tony and I shake our heads, and she starts pressing raisins into the dough. "Anyway, do you have any other questions?"

"I do!" I exclaim. "Do you know the Andrews family? Or the Jacksons?" Nancy's face grows stony. "We live down the road from the Andrews' farm, and I guess the Jacksons lived in our house before we bought it."

"Bill was a regular here for a long time," she answers finally, rolling up the dough around the raisins. "The waitresses said he was a good tipper and never gave them problems. Always ate whatever they gave him, even if the kitchen sent out the wrong thing." Completely the opposite of what we have experienced…"And then his sister left. He was never the same after that."

"Where'd she go, Nancy?" Tony asks, sipping coffee from his cup.

Nancy shrugs. "I haven't the foggiest idea. I've heard rumors of Texas and then of Virginia. Her son, Arnold, tried to follow her but she wouldn't have anything to do with him after he married a girl from Arkansas." Martina.

"Oh," I gasp, "what a horrible reason for disowning your son …" I subconsciously bring a hand to cradle my stomach. "Did Arnold live around here?"

"Yes. He kept the house that I assume you're living in now. He wasn't really ever there, because he joined the Marines as soon as he turned eighteen, but when he and his other military friends—the ones who're missing now, ironically—were all home, he'd have small parties. My daughter was invited to a few of them." Nancy rolls the dough out flat with a metal rolling pin and sprinkles it generously with cinnamon sugar. "Let me see if she's still around. Her dad might've come to pick her up." She squeezes past us and out a red door, taking a left after what appears to be a cooler and disappearing.

Dropping my voice, I whisper to Tony, "If Jackson's mother ever took out her anger on Martina, that may explain why she's in a mental hospital."

Tony, obviously in disagreement, shakes his head and mutters, "As awful as Jackson's mom might've been, I don't know as anything she could ever say would be traumatic enough to land Martina in that bed." There is a pregnant pause before he adds, "If the information Gibbs got from her is true, Mom might have been doing herself a favor by getting away from Jackson."

I am about to agree and add my own bit of information when Nancy returns with a brunette young woman in tow. She shares the former woman's big brown eyes, pronounced cheekbones and wide smile. "Ana, David, this is my daughter, Lydia." The girl briefly squeezes Tony's hand, and then mine. Picture perfect lady…

"My mom said you live in Arnie Jackson's old house?" Lydia asks. Tony and I both nod. "It would be easier for me to show you than to tell you …"

"Show us what?" Tony inquires, turning to provide Lydia with some extra room to slip by him and down into the kitchen. She comes back with her cell phone clutched tightly in her slender hand.

"Well," she begins, "pictures, texts … You guys seem like the helpful sort."

Not understanding, I prompt, "'Helpful sort,' Lydia?"

"Yeah. Like, 'civil servants' or something." The woman thrusts her phone's screen at me. "Those are the three guys who went missing last year."

"What about them?" Tony questions, taking the phone. He texts the pictures to his own cell phone, deletes his information from hers, and hands it back to her.

"They were at a party about three days before they were reported 'missing' by their wives." Lydia shrugs. "The ladies are really nice. Kind of stupid, and very floozy, but nice." Taking a deep breath, she continues, "Adam—that one, there. The really hot one with the scruffle and pretty green eyes—he was really drunk and said something about how if 'that idiot tried to sell him anymore of that damn pot,' he'd have to 'kill him.'"

I furrow my brow, trying to comprehend the chain of events. "Pot, as in…"

"Yeah, marijuana," Lydia confirms. "Anyway, they were all laughing and whatever, having a good time, and then out of nowhere, Arnie's cousin—Buck, I guess he goes by—punched him square in the jaw and told him not to make petty threats unless he was prepared to follow through on them."

I nod, understanding how Buck may have felt. "So, Buck was angry?"

"Mm, no," she replies, her phone vibrating. She stows it in her jeans' pocket and focuses her attention on us. "More like scared." Tony and I exchange a glance.

Why did the chicken cross the road? To get away from a murder charge.

A/N: I hate dentists. Just saying. Okay, so, you can all probably assume that I made a Mary Sue for myself…but she's not really a huge role. Trust me. If she's not been introduced until the twenty-first chapter, there's not much more that she can do than pass along a message. Also, my name is Kathryn, not Lydia. Ironically, though, my mother—whose name is not Nancy, either ::smirks::–was going to name me Lydia, Sadie, or Samantha. So, there's your little tidbit of trivia about me today…

PS: Just saying, those grilled cinnamon buns are fantastic. –Tony D.

PSS: Just saying, my partner is a dimwit whose life is centralized around food and sex. –Ziva D.

PSSS: Just saying, my characters have taken over my laptop… -Kat.