A/N: This chapter is set directly after the last one. In other news, I'm still part of the way through watching NCIS for the first time (late to the party, I know!) and I just last night finished 11x2. Talk about a broken heart!

As it turns out, Tony doesn't need to worry—at least not too much. Jeanne and Ziva get along fine, and by some stroke of luck, they mostly stay away from dangerous topics.

They discuss Jeanne's work at length; Ziva's fascinated by the process it takes to train a doctor, and she's brimming with questions for Tony's new girlfriend. Of course, being the fearless woman she is, Ziva goes through being stitched up with no problems. Jeanne mentions that she's impressed when Ziva doesn't even flinch.

The only hiccup in the conversation comes when Jeanne asks about Ziva's profession.

"Looks like this isn't your first time being stitched," Jeanne comments. "I suppose you run into danger every now and then in your line of work?"

"Yes, I tend to do so—more often than is really healthy for me, I believe." There's a smile on Ziva's face as she thinks about the sheer number of times she and Tony have nearly gotten killed together. It's been fun, in her opinion. "Of course, since I am a f—"

"A private investigator! Since she's a private investigator, she doesn't always see people at their best!" Tony interrupts loudly, aware that Ziva had been about to say that she's a federal agent for all intents and purposes. "Most people who attack her end up thinking better of it, though, because she's a better fighter than you'll ever see."

Ziva whips her head around to stare at Tony—luckily, Jeanne is focusing hard on the task at hand and isn't looking up to see. "Private investigator?" Ziva mouths silently. Tony just shakes his head in an I'll-tell-you-later gesture.

Five neat stitches and twenty minutes later, Ziva's hand is in much better shape. By the time they're done, Tony's tense but can feel relief around the corner. He pulls Jeanne down the hall a little to talk to her in relative private. This isn't a conversation he wants to have in front of Ziva at all.

"Hey," he says softly, brushing her hair behind her ear. He can feel his friend watching, which puts a little lump in his throat. He's so distracted by it that he nearly forgets to use the code name he's come up with for her. "I'm sorry for ruining date night here, but I should probably take Ziv—uh, Zena home and make sure she's alright. She doesn't have any roommates or anything to help her out. If nothing else, she might need a hand cleaning up her accident—get it? A hand?" He holds up his left hand—the same one Ziva's just had stitched—and wiggles his fingers.

Luckily for him, Jeanne laughs. "Very punny," she compliments. "Of course, I completely understand. I started the interruption anyway, and I had a good time—even after I got called to the hospital." She pats him consolingly on the chest.

"You're the best," he replies, kissing her on the cheek. "I had a good time, too."

Her face instantly brightens. "I think we should definitely try this again soon, then."

"I think you're absolutely right. Maybe Friday? You said you're not on call or working then, right?"

"You've got it. I'm surprised you remembered."

Tony taps his temple. "Attention to detail is one of my specialties. How else do you think I can torture a class full of freshmen with the finer points of Hitchcock?"

Jeanne giggles. "I'd like to see that myself someday."

"You will, I promise," Tony lies. "Anyway, thank you for stitching Zena up and for forgiving my abandonment. I'll call you tomorrow, okay?"

"Sounds perfect." She leans in to kiss him lightly before heading back toward Ziva. "Zena, it was wonderful to meet you. Next time, let's do it with less blood, though, okay?"

Ziva laughs—Tony's not convinced she's really amused, but Jeanne seems to buy it. "That is fine by me." They shake hands, exchange goodbyes, and head in separate directions.

"So you think I need your help to get home?" Ziva asks casually as they make their way back to the hospital exit. Tony knows that there's something slightly dangerous lurking under the conversational tone in her voice, and he winces.

"No, I don't. I know you're completely self-sufficient, so don't bite my head off, okay?"

"Why, then, did you tell your girlfriend that I would not be able to manage alone?"

"Because I needed a chance to talk to you without her around," he answers as if it's obvious.

"Talk to me about what?" Ziva pushes in a hard tone—whatever dangerous thing was lurking hasn't disappeared yet.

"Not here. Later," he replies. They're passing a lot of people in the ER waiting room, and though none of them probably care to eavesdrop, Tony sure as hell isn't going to say anything that could bite him in the butt later anyway, not when there are witnesses.

Ziva grunts out her assent and they depart the hospital in silence. She passes her keys off to him with only a small show of reluctance—though she could get home on her own, much of one of her hands is still numb, and it probably would slow her reflexes. Better to let Tony do the driving just to be safe.

Once they're on their way, Tony reaches over and lightly pushes Ziva's shoulder. "Hey. Don't be mad at me, please."

"What makes you think that I am angry?"

"You're too quiet."

"You said we had to wait to speak—"

"I didn't mean you couldn't say anything! I just meant nothing sensitive."

"Hmph."

He can't help smiling a little. She may be genuinely angry with him—he's not yet sure, either way—but her frown is adorable. "Ziva."

"What?"

"Are you ready to talk now?"

"I suppose."

"Good. I hope you're ready to listen, too. I take it you noticed that I told her you're a PI?"

"Yes. You should be glad that I trusted you enough not to call you out on it at the time."

"I am, Ziva, believe me. Really. Thank you for that." Eyes still on the road, he feels for her uninjured hand, and after a moment, she lets him have it. He squeezes her fingers gently.

"The curry is still out on whether I regret going along with it or not, however."

"The jury's still out," Tony corrects, smirking, but he squeezes her hand one more time. "Anyway, you're probably wondering why I told her what I did. Thing is, she doesn't know I work for NCIS. She doesn't know I'm a federal agent at all."

"Why not?"

"Because… well, there are several reasons," he fabricates. Luckily, he had time to think about this while he was watching Jeanne repair Ziva's hand. "One of the big ones is that—she's innocent, you know? She's so… untouched by evil, I guess. I don't want to have to answer uncomfortable questions about whether I've ever had to kill anyone, that sort of thing. I don't want to color her perception of me so soon. For once in my life, I'd like something pure to be kept that way."

He chances a glance over at Ziva, only to see her determinedly looking out the window instead of at him. She's still letting him hold her hand, but hers is resting loosely in his. Her expression has something in it that he can't identify. "Is that reason enough to build your relationship on lies?" she finally asks quietly.

"By itself, probably not," he concedes. "But there's more. I don't want her to be in danger because of who I am and what I do. You've seen the kind of situations we end up in, obviously, and not just in our day-in-day-out fieldwork. People get mad at us and hold grudges. We get accused of murder sometimes, or hell, we might even occasionally be accused of murder and espionage!" This time it's her who squeezes his hand, and to his relief, the move is accompanied by a little laugh from her. "The less she knows about my life for now, the safer she'll be."

"Is that also why she believes that my name is Zena?"

"You've got it. I don't know if you've noticed, but Ziva isn't exactly a common name here. Have you ever tried Googling yourself?"

"No, I have not." He sees out of the corner of his eye that she's turned to look suspiciously at him. "Have you?"

"I have, actually," he says, unembarrassed. "And searching your name—even just your first name—comes up with dozens of articles about the bombing in Georgetown. I'm sure you remember just how much drama all that caused. The articles say what you were accused of, they say that you're a Mossad officer assigned to work with NCIS, and they talk about the evidence against you. Obviously, you were cleared of all those charges, but those articles aren't first-page-of-Google stuff."

"And you did not wish for Jean to read about me and figure out by extension that you, too, work at NCIS," Ziva concludes.

"Hole in one," he confirmed. As always, she's quick on the uptake.

"Why lie to her about me? Why not simply avoid talking about me at all?" Her tone is confused, which blows Tony's mind.

They're stopped at a red light, so he can look over at her—he does so, incredulously. "Because you're one of the most important people in my life. Because I spend half my free time with you and she'd think I was a hermit who stays home all the time if I had to pretend all of that never happened." He nudges her with their joined hands, making her smile. "Because I'm proud to have you as a friend, okay?"

She doesn't reply to that, but he can see her smile before he has to tear his eyes away to look back at the road. He's surprised her.

"Anyway," he finishes eventually. "I'm sorry for drawing you into my lies. I hope you'll forgive me for it." It occurs to him that for someone who very much so looks up to Gibbs, he does a lot of apologizing.

"There is nothing to forgive, Tony," she tells him.

He pulls up to her apartment building and puts the car in park. "What did you think of her?" Though he knows he shouldn't, he withdraws his hand from hers and drapes his arm around her shoulders. The two weeks he spent without her companionship still weigh on him, and having her close feels like such a luxury. He knows he's torturing himself, but at the moment, it doesn't matter.

"I thought she was obviously smart, and she seems very kind. That is good—you deserve more kindness in your life," she answers earnestly. It seems she really has forgiven him, and he's touched by her assessment.

He has to resist the urge to make a joke rather than a serious reply. "Thank you, Ziva." He hopes she knows how much he means that, regardless of how stilted he may sound.

They stay there a while longer without speaking, her head on his shoulder and his arm draped protectively over her back. Realizing that he's been idling in this space for fifteen minutes, though, Tony reluctantly decides that it's time to go. "Can we do something soon?"

"What do you want to do?" Her expression says that she's anticipating something fun, and Ziva is someone who deserves to have a hell of a lot more fun than she's been allowed to have for most of her life.

"I don't know." He smiles in the way that he only ever smiles for her, soft and genuinely happy, and it pulls a smile to her lips, too. "I just know that we haven't done anything outside of work in two weeks, and I've… missed this." It's always hard to talk seriously about his feelings, but it's a little easier with Ziva.

"I have, too. Perhaps it is time to go see another film?" she proposes.

"Oh, you always know the magic words, Ziva David," he teases, and she giggles. It's his favorite of all of her laughs, the one that makes her seem younger and more carefree.

"Tomorrow? You can take my car home tonight and pick me up in the morning," she suggests.

"It's a date." He winces as soon as the words leave his mouth, but she doesn't seem bothered by them. "Right, see you then." He lets his arm fall away from her shoulders.

She starts to get out of the car, but then she hesitates and turns back around to look at him. "Hey, Tony?"

"Yeah?" he answers, that soft smile rising to his face again.

"I really hope she makes you happy. That is all that I want for you." She's soft, earnest.

Then she swiftly kisses his cheek, and she's gone.

He's left to drive home in a car that smells like Ziva, thinking about how he held her hand the whole way to her apartment and he never once questioned it.

When he swings by Ziva's in the morning to pick her up for work, she's waiting out front for him despite the chill. He notes that she looks particularly stunning today, her hair straightened and her sweater a fetching green color. She looks annoyed, though, as she opens the car door to get in.

"You are late, Tony!" she scolds in lieu of a greeting.

"Good morning to you, too," he replies in a petulant tone. When she gives him a dirty look, he laughs. "Okay, I'm sorry. I didn't know you'd be waiting outside for me. Anyway, I'm late for a reason. Look!" He hands her a steaming cup of coffee from her favorite shop. "The line inside was longer than I expected, hence the extra five minutes you had to stand out in the cold. I hope this at least makes up for it a little?" He gives her a charming grin and she sighs loudly but gives in.

"I will forgive you this time," she says, starting to be reluctantly amused as the heater in the car thaws her fingers.

"This time? You mean we're going to do this again? I thought you didn't like me driving your car."

She laughs and sips at her coffee. "You are right, I do not! Thank you for reminding me. You always leave the seat too far back and the mirror too high."

Her tone is teasing, and something about this whole situation—casually sipping coffee as they carpool to work, goading one another, seeing Ziva laugh in that beautiful green sweater… it gives him a sudden clarity that he absolutely was not expecting.

He's in love with Ziva David.

The realization makes him choke on his coffee; luckily, they're still in the apartment building's parking lot and so he doesn't risk a car accident during an ill-time coughing fit. "Are you alright?" Ziva asks, thumping him on the back.

"Just—just swallowed wrong," he wheezes.

"You know, Tony, it sometimes surprises me that you have survived into adulthood," Ziva replies, smirking.

He's glad he has a good excuse not to look at her.

Luckily, the rest of the ride passes without incident and soon it's business as usual. Tony's distracted all day, thinking about his partner, but it turns out to be a relatively quiet day and he gets away with it.

It's both the easiest thing in the world and the most difficult to go out with Ziva that night and not feel like it's a date. They go to the movies and watch Borat, which ends up being both funny and relatable for Ziva; she's now been living in America for over a year, and as her friends like to remind her, she's sometimes still a little off on American customs and society.

After the movie, Ziva puts aside her affinity for vegetables for the evening as she and Tony shame-eat their way through a bag of Beltway Burgers.

When she drops Tony off at his own car so he can head home, he's still lost in thought. It's been a lovely evening, but he can't stop thinking about his newly-realized feelings for Ziva. He isn't one to fall in love—though their breakup (for lack of a better word) has proven exceptionally hard on both of them, he hadn't figured out exactly why it hurt so much. This is all new to him.

Unfortunately, the realization comes two weeks and one undercover assignment too late. He's up to his elbows in the task Jenny's assigned him, and he can't just abandon it, as much as he wants to.

What he really needs to do is figure out a solution; he doesn't even know where to start. He considers what Gibbs said about compromise, but it's hard to think critically right now. It's easier and more pleasant to think about the feel of Ziva's hand squeezing his, the look on her face as she roared with laughter at his despair when he dripped burger sauce down his expensive shirt, or the sound of her voice derisively saying "Tony" when he made a joke that wasn't to her taste. Now that he's acknowledging his feelings, he's shocked to realize just how naive he's been. He's been head over heels for her for a long time now. The sheer number of Ziva-related memories he has catalogued for further perusal is evidence of that.

With no answers springing to mind, he falls asleep thinking about her.

Despite his best efforts, he knows he comes across as slightly surly during his date with Jeanne on Friday night. His date-planning prowess has failed him this week, his brain otherwise occupied, so he takes Jeanne on almost the same date as he took Ziva a few days ago. They go see Borat—Jeanne doesn't find it quite as funny as Ziva did—and go out for a late dinner afterwards.

Normally an enthusiastic talker, Tony lets Jeanne carry most of the conversation as they transition from appetizers to entrees to desserts. He's sort of listening to what she's saying, but he's still startled when she suddenly changes the topic.

"What do you want out of life, Tony?" Her expression is curious, contemplative. She's asking for a reason.

"I—what?" he says, thrown.

"You know… what are your goals? Long-term?" Her big blue eyes rest, unblinking, on his face.

"I…" he pauses, hesitates. Though what he's feeling doesn't matter at all to his cover story and Tony DiNardo would probably have a straight answer, the urge to talk to someone about his recent realizations is nearly irresistible. He's never had much of a filter, and he's never been one to keep his thoughts to himself.

"What, is it that hard of a question?" Jeanne is smiling, but it's a confused expression, fumbling. He can tell that she regrets asking him.

"No, it's just… how do you know what you really want?" Cover or no cover, it's a question he'd really like answered. Figuring out his complicated feelings for Ziva hasn't exactly given him a clear idea of how to proceed or even what goal he would want to work toward.

Jeanne stops to consider this. "I've never really thought about it that way, I guess. When you look at your life fifteen years from now, what do you see? If you don't filter yourself, and you don't limit yourself, where do you want to be?"

"When you put it that way…" For a moment, he closes his eyes, trying to do what she suggested. "I see… well, most things are the same." Still working with Ziva, McGee, and Gibbs, still popping down to Abby's lab or Ducky's autopsy to check on things. "I like the way my life is now. It would be nice to not come home to an empty apartment, though, if I could do that without losing the rest of what makes my life so...so sweet. I see a home filled with—with life." He realizes that his words are true even as he speaks them, and it throws him for a loop yet again. When did he become this person who wants something so domestic? When did he decide that he's better off abandoning his eternal bachelor's ways, letting his lines and boundaries bend and soften until the shape that's left hardly resembles what was there before?

Oh, yeah. Since Ziva David crashed into his life.

"Who do you see in that not-empty home?" Jeanne wants to know.

Tony opens his eyes and looks at her, smiling and deliberately not answering.

"I see." The little smile still playing at Jeanne's lips still looks off somehow. She may not be sharing it, but something's bothering her.

"What's wrong?" he asks after a moment of dithering.

She doesn't lose the smile, but her eyes focus hard on his face.

"How long have you been in love with Zena?"