Ok. So I completely forgot that they were meant to go to Barca first. Thanks for pointing it out. I have changed the ending of the last chapter to fit with Spain.

I don't speak Spanish so you are just going to have to imagine.

'Just two, sir?'

Tony nodded and the waiter pointed towards a table tucked under the wooden stairs of the small pizza restaurant.

He pulled Ziva's chair out for her and returned the charming smile she gave him. They were the picture of marital bliss. He was taken back to the last time that they were in a restaurant like this. Since then, they had mostly either eaten takeaway pizza or Chinese or Ziva had cooked for him.

They picked up their menus but there was no hiding behind them, forcing banal small talk to avoid the uncomfortable revelations. They had declared their love and taken all steps to solidify their relationship. There was nothing between them anymore.

Tony chose his quickly and dropped his menu, eyeing the eager waiter hovering nearby. He was a young lad and probably new to working. He seemed determined to make a good impression and complete his job as quickly and efficiently as possible. Tony's generous nature came out and he prodded Ziva his foot.

'Have you chosen?' he asked.

Ziva looked up, frowning. 'What's the hurry?'

'Our waiter wants to take our order,' he explained.

Ziva chuckled. 'It's not just that you want to get back to our room, then?'

Tony grinned and reached over to lay his hand on top of hers. 'Well, that too,' he admitted.

She smiled sweetly and let go of her menu. 'Chosen,' she announced.

Tony nodded at the waiter who dashed over, clutching his notebook as if it was a fly itching to escape from his grasp and contaminate the customers' meals.

Tony congratulated himself on speaking Spanish fluently and was glad that Ziva, his new wife, did to. The boy would probably have a stroke if he realised that he would have to decipher drawled, nasal English.

'Ready to order, sir?' the waiter asked breathlessly, looking fervently at Tony.

'Yes,' Ziva answered sharply, determined not to suddenly become a second wheel now that she had got married and was not independent.

Tony leant back in his chair and watched his forceful wife take charge.

'I would like the margherita,' she told him. 'And my husband would like…'

Tony looked up. 'The mushroom and ham,' he put in.

'…the mushroom and ham,' Ziva repeated.

The waiter wrote this down, presumably listing all the ingredients since it took him a good few moments.

Tony watched him with interest, trying to imagine a child of his being that nervous. It was an unlikely situation; not because they wouldn't have children, but because both parents of any child were so confident and sure of themselves.

The waiter fumbled as he attempted to slide his pen neatly into his breast pocket. He dropped his notepad-holding arm to his side and made to move off but Ziva resumed reading her order loudly to stop him as politely as possible.

The boy blushed profusely and scrambled to pull his pen out of his pocket. 'Sorry,' he muttered. 'I didn't quite catch that.'

Ziva smiled forgivingly and repeated her order. 'A bottle of the house red, please,' she requested civilly.

'Not champagne?' Tony asked, blurting out the question before considering the toll it might have on the poor boy's sensibility. 'I mean, we are celebrating,' he added, quietly and hastily.

Ziva cocked her head. 'You are willing to pay?' she confirmed. Tony chuckled at hr audacity but nodded. She shrugged and turned to the palpitating waiter. 'Ok, then, make that a bottle of champagne.'

The boy nodded as courteously as possibly imaginable but Tony could see the panic in his eyes as he mentally went through the unprofessionalism of scratching out One bottle of house red and writing One bottle of champagne over the top.

Tony wished he had a rubber to hand to the flailing boy but he didn't. Who carries a rubber with them into classy, Spanish restaurants?

The waiter grinned goofily at them before hurrying off towards the kitchens. Tony smiled generously at his retreating back and Ziva smiled curiously at her paternal husband.

He turned back to her and squeezed her hand. 'What do you want to do tonight?'

She pursed her lips in thought. They had the whole town at their fingertips but Tony's body seemed much more alluring at that moment.

'The hotel has a swimming pool,' Tony suggested, not being very subtle.

Ziva smiled softly. 'I'm not stripping in front of strangers,' she replied firmly. 'You may have to do with seeing me in the bath.'

Tony's face did not fall. 'Or maybe I could get in with you,' he pointed out.

Ziva laughed. 'It's a possibility,' she acknowledged.

Tony looked around the restaurant. 'Abby hasn't called,' he remarked, frowning. 'She usually calls every few seconds when we are away.'

Ziva grinned. 'I asked her – very politely, mind – not to call more than once a day. We need our privacy.'

Tony leaned across the table to kiss his wife's enticing lips. Long gone were the days when he could look but not touch.

'We certainly do,' he agreed. 'We only have two weeks before we are back to work. We have to make the most of them.'

Ziva smiled wistfully. 'We will,' she promised.

'Lots of sex, sun and food,' Tony listed his requirements for a perfect honeymoon.

Ziva eyed him with amusement. 'No movies?'

He shook his head. 'In case you didn't notice, whenever we watch a movie together I always spend more time watching you than the movie.'

Ziva hid a delighted smile. 'I did notice,' she replied drily. 'You generally do realise when someone undresses you.'

Tony opened his mouth to make a witty – at least, he thought it was witty –retort but was stopped by the waiter approaching, bearing a basket of bread and their bottle of champagne in the other.

He smiled weakly at Tony as he balanced the bread basket precariously on the edge of the table while he overturned the wine glasses and shifted the napkins to the side. Tony cursed himself for not already doing it. He didn't know why he felt so protective of the boy but he really wanted to put the boy at ease.

Eventually, the boy had painstakingly arranged their table in the way probably demonstrated by a seasoned waiter with arms like whippets during his tutorial. He stepped back to admire his handiwork before smiling proudly at Tony. 'Is everything to your liking, sir?'

Tony noticed a steely glint appear in Ziva's eye; she didn't like being treated as subordinate to her Senior Field Agent and, if any other circumstances, the boy would have found his arm twisted behind his back and his mouth flowing with incoherent apologies.

'Yes, thank you,' he replied quickly, placing a pacifying hand on Ziva's arm.

The boy nodded and moved away to serve another table with just the same amount of slow care.

Tony broke a piece of bread in half and munched on one, offering the other chunk to Ziva. 'Who does he remind you of?' he asked through a mouthful of bread.

Ziva frowned in thought but eventually shrugged.

Tony smiled guiltily. 'Palmer,' he enlightened her. 'When he first started and was confronted by Gibbs.'

'I wasn't here when he first started,' she reminded him. 'When I came, he had already been working there for about a year.'

Tony's lips parted slightly, unsure how to reply. He vaguely thought that Ziva must have an idea why Palmer's predecessor had left. He really hoped that she did. How do you explain to your wife that her brother – his brother-in-law – had shot an innocent man in the shoulder?

He didn't want Kate to be brought up either; for one thing, he felt slightly guilty that he had married her successor and murderer's sister. Obviously, he didn't think of Ziva in those terms but he was aware that that was what it would look like to an outsider.

Ziva didn't press the matter, however, so Tony was spared an uncomfortable conversation. Instead, she held out the champagne bottle to him. He took it and poured generous glasses out.

As they drank, the dark thoughts milling around the table were dismissed and the atmosphere lightened. They laughed and joked and needled each other in good spirits and, when the waiter approached with two large platters of pizza, Tony greeted him jovially like a well-liked son.

The bottle was finished before they moved onto dessert but Tony made the executive decision that another one was probably unwise. They were not quite drunk but they were moving in that direction.

Two hours after they were directed to their table, Ziva pushed her cleaned plate of chocolate cake away from her and ran her tongue over her lips.

'Ready?' Tony asked.

Ziva nodded and he hailed a passing waiter. He did not panic at the sight of the large bill, exponentially enlarged by the champagne, but pulled out his credit card. Ziva touched his arm.

'I was joking, by the way,' she assured him. 'Let me pay for half.'

Tony shook his head firmly. 'We are married, anyway,' he pointed out. 'What's mine is yours, so you are paying for the whole thing technically.'

Ziva looked dubious but leant back and let Tony pay. He bid farewell to the waiter, tipping more liberally than he would normally, and they stood up and left.

This ended up as longer than I intended but my afternoon was fairly empty anyway. My plan of escaping my jail for half-term has failed miserably. My dad has resumed his tactic of locking me in the house. I've still got the computer, though, which means FanFiction and Facebook: my two vices (along with cigarettes and alcohol naturally).