Hi all,

This is a surprise one shot for MaidenMoonshine on her second writing anniversary on this site. If it weren't for her, I never would have even attempted to write a word for this site. She is an amazing writer, supporter, editor and friend. So here's to you, MaidenMoonshine! I know your words will be there when you are ready. ((Hugs))

Planting Seeds

Ziva sat at her desk and stared out the window of Tony's apartment. Actually, it was their apartment now. The former Mossad officer-turned agent had moved in a few weeks ago when the couple decided it was time to live together.

It was relatively easy for Ziva to get out of her lease and a couple moving truck trips and the purchase of a queen bed later, the couple were officially living in one place.

Just the two of them. And Kate, the goldfish.

Ziva reveled in all that had changed since she returned from Tel Aviv after the team had handed in their badges. Since then, they had all gone back to NCIS – all except Ziva.

Ziva returned to D.C. with Tony and the two finally gave in to the love they had for each other. But she had turned down the chance to return to NCIS. Instead opting to take some time off and explore her desire to write – encouraged by Tony.

Ziva had always had a secret desire to write. Her mother had encouraged Ziva's writing when she was young, but her father discouraged and almost outright forbid his daughter to follow such a career path.

For many years Ziva dreamt of having the time to sit and allow her thoughts to become words and ideas and scenes on a page. And now, she was doing just that. But… the words would not come.

She huffed a little and tossed her pen down on the desk, just as Tony passed by.

"Zi, what's going on?" Tony crouched down next to Ziva's chair, smoothing a wild curl back from her face.

"It is nothing," Ziva said, her brow still furrowed. "I am frustrated. I have wanted to write for years. I have dreamt about having this time! And now? Nothing!"

She held up the empty notebook as proof of her failure. The stark white pages unblemished by even the smallest beginnings of a story.

Tony took the notebook and set it back on the desk. He looked at his girlfriend with a little smile.

"Zi," he started. "You just set this new goal less than a week ago. You can't expect to sit down and write a novel just like that. It takes time. And it takes patience. Don't worry. The words will come to you."

Tony kissed Ziva's mop of curls and she looked up and kissed him back softly on the lips. She would have never believed a month ago that she would be here with Tony and that she would be embarking on a new creative pursuit.

Tony left Ziva to her thoughts with one more small kiss and a shoulder squeeze. She smiled at his touch and turned back to her notebook. She picked up her pen and looked at it carefully before bringing it to the paper.

Without thinking, Ziva wrote down a quote she thought of often over her growing years. One that had served her well during the hard times when she had to be patient and practice discipline.

"The day you plant the seed is not the day you eat the fruit."

Ziva smiled as she looked down at what she wrote. These words held a core truth for the Israeli woman. She remembered her mother saying them while she taught Ziva how to cook or when she was learning to write her name.

It was then Ziva understood. She would write, she would revise, and edit and possibly start over. She would do all those things and it would be okay. As long as she made a start – planted that seed.

Ziva scribbled ideas as they flowed through her mind…the way her mother kneaded the challah…her father's laugh… Tali's singing…Ari playing ball in the street.

The words came quick and the sentences were fragmented. It did not matter. Ziva would water these seeds tomorrow. She would grow that plant with her words and, in turn, it would grow her.

THE END