A/N: Happy Thursday! Here's chapter 4; you can expect chapter 5 on November 19th. Thanks for reading, and I hope you enjoy! — xoxo, Clara

"He's doing just fine," Tony points out softly. "He'll survive this."

Ziva can only hope against hope that he's right, that Eitan's resilience will carry him through—and almost as if the idea has prompted an oft-ignored urge, the words to a familiar old blessing start to echo quietly in her ears… Unable to stop herself, she briefly closes her eyes and tunes Tony out.

She can't remember the last time she prayed, but she allows herself the comfort doing so now. It's a silent request for peace, and for succor—both for Eitan, who deserves none of the pain he still faces, and for her own ability to do what must be done...

No matter what that turns out to be.

"Ziva?"

Ziva feels a hand lightly shaking her shoulder as she finishes her prayer, and she opens her eyes to find Tony watching her uncertainly. His hand falls away from her shoulder.

"You still with me?" he asks.

"Yes. Um—I am sorry, I was only…"

Tony shrugs when she trails off. "Don't worry about it. Did you hear what I said, though?"

Ziva shakes her head.

Fortunately, he doesn't seem to mind repeating himself. "Eitan is healthy, and he's as happy as he could possibly be—you know, under the circumstances. So I don't know what stressed-out place your mind just went to, but don't forget that you're doing a damn good job of making this work so far."

Ziva catches Tony's hand to squeeze his fingers, emboldened by his own gentle touch. "You are right," she decides. "Thank you, Tony. I needed to hear that."

"Hey, what am I here for?" Tony replies with a shrug and a half-smile; his eyes are kind, though, and they seem to say 'this is just what friends do.'

"Ah, the question of the hour," Ziva teases, briefly rubbing the pad of her thumb across Tony's knuckles before releasing his hand altogether.

He snorts. "This is the third time you've brought that up in, like, twenty minutes. Are you trying to get rid of me?"

"I was not the one who brought it up this time!"

"Yeah, well, same difference. You were thinking it, I could tell."

"I was not."

"Were, too."

"Was not!"

They break into laughter at the same time.

"I am not trying to 'get rid of you,'" Ziva finally answers. "Not at all. Actually, it… means a lot to me that you came to check on us."

"Ah, well… I can't imagine what I would do in your shoes," Tony explains self-deprecatingly. "The thought of it is enough to make me panic. Figured I should make sure you weren't panicking, too."

"I do not panic, Tony," Ziva shoots back haughtily, though she knows Tony can see that she's merely putting on a front.

"What do you do, then?"

"I…" Ziva pauses, considering, and then she brightens as she arrives at a reasonable explanation. "I think through every possibility, no matter how unlikely. And I think through them very quickly, which sometimes produces a physiological stress response."

Tony laughs again; this time, it's loud enough to draw Eitan's attention from the other room. He looks up to see them watching him, and he tilts his head, frowning. "What is funny?" he wants to know.

"Tony was amused by something I said."

"I did not want you to answer, Ziva," Eitan argues, his miniature frown deepening. "I wanted him to answer."

"My apologies," Ziva replies, fighting back a renewed grin at his annoyance; something about it makes him seem like a pint-sized Gibbs. "I did not know who you were talking to… but Tony, unfortunately, cannot answer you."

"Why not?"

"Because he does not speak the same language that you and I do."

"Why not?"

"Because he did not grow up in Israel."

"Why not?"

"Because he grew up in America."

"Why?"

Ziva laughs rather than answering. "You have many questions, do you not?"

Eitan's expression shifts at once, an impish grin appearing on his small face. "Maybe," he hedges.

"That makes two of you." Ziva turns back to Tony and switches to English once more. "He wanted to know why you were laughing, and then he wanted to know more about you in general."

Tony offers a tentative smile to Eitan, whose own little grin becomes much shyer. The two seem to like each other from a distance, even if they're not so sure what to do with one another up close.

"I have to admit, the curiosity is mutual," Tony assures Ziva when their eyes meet again. "Maybe you can teach me some Hebrew—then one day, he and I can chat."

"You want to talk to him?" she remarks in surprise.

"I mean, yeah. If he's living with you—"

"Temporarily."

"—temporarily," Tony obediently amends with a disobedient roll of his eyes, "then I'm sure he and I will cross paths again every now and then. I can't really talk to him right now, and I don't want to have to just ignore him the next time I see him. I don't want to be rude."

"'Not being rude' would be a first for you," Ziva counters dryly before she can stop herself.

Tony gives her a dirty look, and she gives up, chuckling.

"Okay, okay. Sure, I will teach you, but I do not think you will much enjoy learning."

"What makes you say that?"

"It would take months and months of concentration and effort—Hebrew is not an easy second language, I am told—and everyone knows that you avoid work like the plague."

"You're so rude, Ziva," Tony complains without heat, poking her ribs and making her laugh. "Here I am, trying to be nice, and you just—"

"Shush, Tony," she orders, grinning. "You win, okay? I hope Eitan will be on his way to a permanent home before there is time for you to learn much, but either way… well, who knows? It might actually be fun to teach you, no matter how long it takes."

"Again, rude. I'll have you know that I am a quick study!" When Ziva gives him an insultingly doubtful look, Tony snorts. "Come on, try me," he bids. "How do I say something simple?"

"Like what?"

"Hm… how do I introduce myself?"

"That is easy enough, I suppose," Ziva accedes. "You would say 'shmi Tony.'"

"Shmi Tony," Tony repeats; his pronunciation is decent, certainly understandable.

"You said it well," Ziva grants, "but why are you saying it to me? I already know your name." She's sure that Tony can see what she's doing by goading him, but chances are good that he'll take the bait anyway. "There is someone here that you have only been introduced to; you should go make your own introductions."

"Right now?"

"When else?"

"What if I mess it up?"

"He is four years old, Tony."

"So?"

"So, he is hardly a linguist himself. The worst he can do is laugh at you, and I do not think he will even do that."

When Tony doesn't move, still looking wary, Ziva puts a hand on his back and shoves him lightly in the direction of the living room. She's not even trying anymore to hide her enjoyment at seeing him so off his game... really, this is just the kind of distraction that she and Eitan needed this evening.

Tony stumbles in the direction Ziva pushed him in and stops a few feet away from where Eitan sits. Eitan's concern seems to have faded, but Tony is still distinctly wide-eyed, resembling a beer in the headlights. Maybe he needs another push.

"Do not just stand there staring at him, Tony!" Ziva hisses. "Say something!"

"Um…"

Eitan watches Tony, bemused. "What is he doing, Ziva?" he asks, sotto voce—as if that would stop Tony hearing from no more than a meter away.

"He is trying to speak," Ziva elucidates.

"Why?"

"Because he would like to talk to you. Right, Tony?" Ziva adds the last sentence in English.

"Yes?" Tony answers uneasily, not sure what he's agreeing to.

"Ken, Tony," Ziva corrects.

"Ken," he echoes.

"Good. Now, what else did you just learn?" she presses.

"Right," Tony mutters to himself. Then he clears his throat and straightens up, finally spurred into action. "Shalom, Eitan," he begins, his voice empty of all its usual confidence. "Um, schmi Tony."

"I know that." Eitan is nonplussed. "Why are you saying it again? Ziva already told me your name. You should be a better listener," he scolds.

"Eitan, I think you can answer more politely than that, yes?" Ziva chides gently. "It took courage for Tony to introduce himself to you. You should answer nicely."

Eitan grimaces but dutifully acquiesces. "Shmi Eitan," he tells Tony.

Tony grins at once, his eyes flickering between Ziva and Eitan. "I understood that!" he exclaims in English.

"Very nicely done," Ziva praises, chuckling.

"What'd he say at first?"

"He answered much the same as I did… something along the lines of 'I already know your name.'"

Tony laughs; his success in communicating seems to have put him in a charitable mood. "Dry humor may be a family trait," he suggests.

"Or simply an Israeli one," Ziva allows, smiling; she still doesn't like deliberately lying to her partner.

"Do you want to watch cartoons with me?" Eitan interjects, the question clearly directed at Tony.

"He asked you to join him for tv time," Ziva translates.

Tony hesitates for the briefest moment and then relaxes, appearing to reach a decision. "Can you tell him that I said 'okay'?"

That surprises Ziva, and she raises her eyebrows doubtfully. "You are actually willing to?" she probes.

"Sure."

"Why?"

"I mean, I won't lie, kids kind of scare me, but... Eitan won't bite if he's focused on Looney Tunes, right?"

Ziva snorts. "I suspect he will note bite either way. Really, though, you should not feel obligated to join him. He is my responsibility, not yours."

"And I promised to help you out if I could," Tony counters. "Ziva, have you taken five minutes for yourself since you picked him up?"

"Yesterday, after he went to bed, I sat down with a glass of wine and—"

"And sipped it anxiously while resisting the urge to go check on him," Tony finishes for her. "Doesn't count."

Ziva can't really argue; it's why she had called him in the first place. "Then I suppose my answer is no."

"Alright, then… so let me take a quick shift, okay?" Tony coaxes. "I'll hang out with Eitan for a little while. You take half an hour to shower or do whatever else you might need to do to relax. I mean, you still look…"

"Be careful in how you finish that sentence," Ziva warns facetiously, but her stubborn resolve is loosening.

"You still look tense," Tony conciliates lightly, "that's all."

He's half-smiling—almost like it's a joke—but Ziva knows that he's only trying to put her at ease.

"Are you sure about this, Tony?" she asks one more time, torn even in the face of his own decisiveness. While it would be nice to have a brief respite from her nearly constant state of tension, and while she knows that Tony can be trusted, it's hard not to feel that she's unduly burdening him.

"Yes," Tony assures her firmly. "It's been a hard couple of days for you, so take a break. You've earned it. Eitan will be fine… and so will I, hopefully."

That makes Ziva giggle when she wasn't expecting to, and she feels a deep surge of fondness for her friend. She knows that no matter how calm and pacifying his words are, he's offering something that makes him very nervous. It's that selflessness that pushes her over the edge into agreement.

"Okay," she finally surrenders. "But you will yell for me at once if there is trouble, yes?"

"Of course, but what's the worst that could happen?"

"Do not tempt fate by asking that question, Tony," Ziva suggests, her tone abruptly darkening.

"Whatever you say, Ziva," Tony replies rather than asking her to elaborate; he seems to know that she won't say more. "We'll be fine."

"Alright. In that case, you should go ahead and answer Eitan, then."

Tony gives her a look. "I'd love to, but you never answered me about what to say to him!"

"You do not need me to tell you, Tony. You already know how to give an affirmative answer in Hebrew."

"No, I d—oh. Yes, I do. I was thinking that I didn't know how to say 'sure', but I guess I know how to say 'yes.'"

"You do," Ziva concurs, the corners of her lips quirking upwards. "Here, I will see if Eitan is willing to repeat the question." She moves to crouch by the sofa and switches languages. "Eitan, do you remember what you asked Tony a moment ago?"

Eitan, who has long since lost interest in the adults' English conversation, looks away from the tv to meet her eye again. "Yes. Why?"

"Can you ask him again?"

"Why?"

"Because he is ready to answer you."

"Okay, I guess. Tony, do you want to watch Looney Tunes?"

Ziva indicates to Tony that he should answer, but the gesture is unnecessary—he heard his name, and he had been closely watching regardless, waiting for his cue. "Ken," he agrees.

Ziva can feel her smile growing, and she tries not to question the surge of positivity—why on earth should something this simple seem like such an accomplishment, or make her so happy?

Luckily, Tony is observing Eitan, not Ziva, so he doesn't see her strange burst of enthusiasm.

"Tov!" Eitan exclaims.

"Tov," Tony agrees.

Ziva moves out of her partner's way so he can settle on the sofa next to the 4-year-old; though he still looks tentative, Tony seems to feel bolstered by the fact that he and Eitan communicated with one another—however brief a conversation it might have been.

"You understood that?" Ziva prods, though she knows the answer.

"He said good!"

"And you said it back."

"I did." Tony gives her an affable look and elbows her hip gently—it's all he can reach from where he's sitting. "Now go on, Ziva."

"Okay, okay… I am going."

Tony has already turned back to the tv, though, when Ziva's hand lands on his shoulder, and she bends down to press a fleeting kiss to his cheek. "Toda raba, Tony," she murmurs into his ear, and then she straightens up and walks away without giving him a chance to react.

She knows that he understood what she said, and that he understood how deeply she meant it…

Thank you so much, she had whispered.

Following Tony's suggestion, Ziva uses this short period of repose to take a shower. She leaves the door open, listening for sounds of distress, but after a few minutes of relative quiet, she starts to let the hot water and its resultant steam tug her closer to a feeling of tranquility.

In yesterday's meeting with her father, she had considered the logistical possibilities of taking in a stranded child, but she hadn't considered how much it might tax her emotionally.

It has already started to do so, though, and it's only been twenty-four hours. She didn't anticipate the automatic and perhaps irreversible sense of worry and hyper awareness—every time she looks at Eitan, she thinks about how fragile he is. She's the only shield he has from a world that's often cruel and dangerous.

It seems, though, that at least for tonight, Ziva and Eitan have a shield of their own: Tony.

He'd really surprised Ziva by showing up when he did this evening, and he surprised her far more by essentially volunteering to 'babysit' for a few minutes. She has seen him around kids before, and she knows that he hasn't suddenly changed… he's just pushing past his own discomfort now out of concern for her own.

Oh, Tony likes to pretend that he's selfish, that he's immature… but Ziva knows the truth.

When she gets back to the living room, her hair hanging damp and loose around her shoulders as ringlets start to form, she finds a scene that makes her feel very soft indeed.

Tony and Eitan are more or less where she left them, sitting side-by-side on her sofa. They've gravitated closer together, though, and they're chatting animatedly in a way that draws a chuckle out of Ziva… because she realizes almost immediately that they're having two entirely different conversations.

On the right, Tony is happily explaining the history of Looney Tunes' original run. "It started in 1930, see, but I gotta tell you something crazy—it was in black and white for more than ten years! Can you believe that? At first, they only had the technology to…"

On the left, Eitan is countering with a long and convoluted story that Ziva thinks might be about a time that he watched cartoons with Zohara. "She, um, she said it was too late, but it was not my bedtime! I know what eight looks like! I know the numbers! And I said please, so many times. Zo really likes when I say please. I said please three times, or four times, or five times, or..."

Of course, neither of them can comprehend what the other is talking about—they have no common tongue. That doesn't seem to matter, however; rather than monologuing, they're clearly speaking to each other, using enthusiastic hand gestures and frequently glancing away from the television to make eye contact.

It's absolutely nonsensical, but it may also be the cutest thing Ziva has ever seen.

She watches for a while before finally interrupting, using a word that they'll both understand. "Shalom," she greets softly, and they both turn around to look at her.

Somehow, their smiles match.

Ziva addresses the little boy first. "Eitan, it is nearly bedtime now. Can you go find your pajamas from last night and put them on again?"

Eitan frowns, and he sticks his lower lip out, glancing between his new guardian and his new friend and back again. "But the show isn't over," he complains, "and Tony just started watching it with me! I want to finish it."

"I know you do, but it is getting late. Please be a big boy and do what I have asked you to do."

The furrow in Eitan's brow only grows deeper, and he crosses his skinny little arms. "No."

"Eitan…" There's a warning in Ziva's tone, but Eitan doesn't heed it.

"No," he doubles down. "I do not want to."

Ziva suspects that this is a pivotal moment for them both; Eitan has not tested her until now, though Zohara had warned that he likely would before long… and since this is their first interaction of this kind, the way Ziva responds to him will set a precedent.

She wishes that it could be as easy to be firm and direct with strange children as it is to treat strange adults the same way.

"Sometimes," she tells Eitan, trying not to let any self-doubt into her voice, "we each have to do things that we wish we did not have to do. Now it is your turn to carry that burden."

Eitan opens his mouth to argue again, and Ziva holds up a finger, stopping him before he can start. "You have a choice here, yes? Either you willingly go now like I asked you to, or you can refuse and I will take you to your room myself. It is up to you—but if I must go with you, then I will ask Tony to show himself out while we are changing your clothes, and you will not get to say goodbye to him."

"Not fair," Eitan mutters, but despite looking mutinous, he gets to his feet.

Ziva feels an unanticipated surge of pride in the boy's decision, and she nods in approval. "You may return when you are dressed for bed," she says, her tone softening.

Eitan harrumphs, but he presents no further arguments before scampering out of the room.

Once he's gone, Ziva finally turns to Tony with a faint smile of apology. "I asked him to go put his pajamas on, but he did not want to stop watching cartoons with you," she explains, knowing that he will ask for a translation.

"Huh, really?" Tony looks pleased by that revelation, making Ziva laugh.

She moves to take Eitan's vacated spot on the sofa. "You made him argue with me," she chides, though her voice is light. "It is not something to be proud of."

"Hey, you can't blame me for feeling accomplished," Tony protests, grinning. "He likes me! I'm not sure a kid has ever liked me before, not really."

Ziva feels a new surge of fondness—she's full of that tonight, it seems. "I am sure that is not true, but… yes, he certainly seems to have enjoyed spending time with you while I showered. It is funny, though—Zohara said that he is slow to warm up to men, but he did not seem that way with you!"

"You're joking."

Ziva shakes her head.

"So not only does he like me, but he likes me especially… nice."

Tony looks so self-satisfied that Ziva has to giggle again, and once her laughter fades, she pats her partner's knee.

For reasons she can't discern, she feels compelled to scoot a few inches closer to him.

"He has good taste," she says warmly, and she can tell by the way Tony's eyes widen ever-so-slightly that her compliment has surprised him; she might have surprised herself some, too. "I am impressed, Tony. You really have grown up, have you not?"

Tony's ears pinken, and despite his usual arrogance, he seems unsure of how to react to her clearly genuine praise. "Don't you go telling anyone," he mutters awkwardly, but there's a minute unconscious smile lifting his cheeks. "I have a reputation to protect."

"Your secret is safe with me."

"Knew I could count on you."

Ziva is about to answer when she hears her name. "Ziva!" Eitan calls from the next room. "Where is my shirt?"

"It should be with your pants, yes?" Ziva calls back, patient but slightly tickled.

"Oh, yeah…" Eitan replies faintly, and he falls silent.

Ziva looks back at her friend, her eyes still twinkling. "Tony?"

"Mhm?"

"You may already have plans for this weekend, but if you do not, you are welcome to join Eitan and I—I thought we might go out for ice cream on Saturday or Sunday afternoon."

A smirk turns up a corner of Tony's mouth. "Are you asking me out, Ziva David?"

"Actually, I changed my mind," Ziva backtracks at once, wrinkling her nose. "You are uninvited, and in fact, you can go home now, too."

Tony snickers, entirely unbothered by her dismissal. "McGee predicted this years ago, didn't he? Officer Lisa has been in love with Agent Tommy from the very beginning…"

Ziva's eyes narrow. "Eitan has had a hard week already, Tony," she reminds her partner shortly. "Do you really want him to have to watch me kill someone?"

"Oh, you think you could take me?" Before Ziva can respond to this challenge, they hear small footsteps moving in their direction, and Tony's taunting expression fades into one of general contentment. "If I'm free," he answers belatedly, "I'll go with you. Just let me know once you decide when you're going."

Eitan appears around the corner, now dressed in soft green dinosaur-patterned sleeping clothes.

"Cool pajamas, little man," Tony admires, seeming almost fully at ease with the kid now.

Ziva quickly translates her friend's words into Hebrew for Eitan, who beams. "Toda!"

"No problem." Tony offers his hand for a high five, and Eitan mimics the gesture enthusiastically.

"Eitan," Ziva stage-whispers, as if Tony would understand them regardless of volume, "do you want Tony to think you are really neat?"

"Yeah!"

"I thought you might. He is about to have to leave, but if you say goodbye in his language, I think he will be very impressed."

"How do I say it?"

"Good night." Ziva says it slowly and then encourages Eitan to try. He does, and he lights up when she praises his work. "Very nicely done. Now, do not be shy—go ahead and tell Tony, yes?"

"What if I say it wrong?"

Ziva has to bite back a grin—this is almost exactly the same conversation she had with Tony himself an hour ago. "The worst he can do is laugh at you, but I know that he will not. Be brave, yes? Try it out!"

Eitan nods, looking diffident, and takes Ziva's hand for reassurance. The simple gesture does something to soften whatever remnants of tension she still feels; he really is a cute kid, and it's cheering to be the recipient of so much implicit trust.

"Tony?" the boy pipes up; the adults can practically hear his small heart thrumming.

"Mm?" Tony replies, his eyes twinkling. Ziva's sure he got the gist of the whispered conversation, even if all he understood was 'good night' at the end.

Eitan takes a deep breath and releases it in one great sigh. "Good night!" he exclaims in a rush; he seems afraid that he'll lose his nerve.

"That was great!" Tony celebrates at once. "Well done! Good night to you, too, Eitan."

Eitan is smart enough to understand the approval in Tony's voice, even if he can't understand most of the words, and he looks so proud of himself that Ziva can't see even a hint of the upset child she had dealt with in the wee hours of this morning.

She knows that difficulty will come again for him—and for her, too, because she'll have to comfort him—and she's aware that they're just going to have to weather the storms as they come. For now, though, she's glad that he's too young and innocent to understand and grieve his loss, she's glad for his unexpected new kinship with Tony...

And she is gladder for her own friendship with Tony than she knows how to express, too.

She gets to her feet, quiet equanimity written across her face; it wasn't there before her friend showed up, that much is certain.

"Well, good night, Tony. Thank you for…" She's not sure how to finish the sentence, but he knows what she can't say anyway.

"Sure thing. Let me know about ice cream this weekend."

"I will."

They share one last long look—something undefined but almost content passes between them—and then with a wave at Eitan, Tony disappears through the front door and he's gone.

An hour later, Tony's phone buzzes to alert him to an incoming text message, and he grins as he reads it.

[text from Ziva David]: Eitan started rhyming our names once you left and did not stop until he fell asleep.

[text from Tony DiNozzo]: How? Our names don't rhyme at all.

[text from Ziva David]: Do not be stupid, Tony.

[text from Ziva David]: He has one rhyme for your name and another rhyme for my name.

[text from Tony DiNozzo]: What's mine?

[text from Ziva David]: Tony Avromi

[text from Tony DiNozzo]: What's Avromi?

[text from Ziva David]: A diminutive form of Avrom.

[text from Tony DiNozzo]: You seem to forget how little Hebrew I know. What's Avrom?

[text from Ziva David]: An alternate form of Abram.

[text from Ziva David]: Abram is a given name.

The second text interrupts the reply Tony had been formulating to ask a now-obsolete question, and he deletes what he had already typed in favor of sending something else.

[text from Tony DiNozzo]: Ah, that's cute! Does having a Hebrew name make me an honorary Israeli?

[text from Ziva David]: Hm… perhaps. Are you prepared to serve in the honorary IDF?

[text from Tony DiNozzo]: I think I'm probably too old for that.

[text from Ziva David]: You are not getting any younger, it is true.

[text from Tony DiNozzo]: And you're not getting any more tactful.

[text from Ziva David]: Whatever you say, octogenarian.

[text from Tony DiNozzo]: How is it that you don't know 'cat nap' but you know 'octogenarian'?

[text from Ziva David]: Superior intellect and the ability to prioritize?

[text from Tony DiNozzo]: And a strong sense of humility, too, I see.

[text from Ziva David]: I learned the benefit of having a large ego after years of observing you from across the aisle.

[text from Tony DiNozzo]: You're welcome for the life lesson. Now, you got me off topic, so what's the rhyme for your name?

[text from Ziva David]: You are the one who changed the subject!

Tony is still sniggering when a second text follows the first.

[text from Ziva David]: Ziva Chaviva

He rolls his eyes.

[text from Tony DiNozzo]: Ziva.

[text from Tony DiNozzo]: Don't make me keep asking.

[text from Tony DiNozzo]: Can you give me just a hint of context? Please?

[text from Tony DiNozzo]: Because I. Do. Not. Speak. Hebrew.

[text from Ziva David]: That much is certainly true. I enjoy watching you attempt it, though. :)

Tony notes that she still isn't answering his question; he's pretty sure that the misdirects are intentional. She's just enjoying the act of stringing him along while he tries to get more information out of her.

[text from Tony DiNozzo]: Glad I can entertain you. You can teach me a new word or two next time I see you.

[text from Tony DiNozzo]: But for now, I'm sure I'd butcher Chaviva if I tried, so how about you just spell it out for me?

[text from Ziva David]: A

Tony's surprised laugh echoes through his empty apartment, and he shakes his head even as his fingers speed across his text keyboard.

[text from Tony DiNozzo]: The MEANING, Ziva. Spell out the MEANING.

[text from Ziva David]: Oh.

[text from Ziva David]: It is also a given name. It means 'beloved.'

[text from Tony DiNozzo]: Suits you… and don't you see? Eitan must be a big fan of yours already.

[text from Ziva David]: He is only making up silly phrases to entertain himself, but I am told that he trusts women easily... so you may be correct anyway.

[text from Tony DiNozzo]: Lol, I am screenshotting that so I have it later. Ziva David admitted that I'm right! Gonna show McGoo tomorrow.

[text from Ziva David]: I said MAY.

[text from Tony DiNozzo]: ;)

[text from Ziva David]: Stop that, Tony.

[text from Tony DiNozzo]: ;) ;) ;) ;)

Ziva never replies to Tony's last text. Worn out from her second long day in a row, she falls asleep instead, her phone still in her hand and the shadow of a smile still on her lips.