A/N: Anyone else ever in the middle of writing a fanfic chapter that takes place in Israel and next thing you know, you're booking flights to go to Israel yourself? No, just me? Oops! Looking forward to exploring Ziva's homeland in a few months!
The more time Ziva spends in Israel isolated from her loved ones and the more time Eli keeps her on desk duty, the more irritable and volatile she gets. It's wearing for her Israeli friends—Adam is understanding and patient, but Malachi learns quickly to keep his distance.
It's harder on her American friends, though. Ziva responds to the stress and frustration by withdrawing, aware that she is liable to take her anger out on people who have done nothing to deserve it. It starts slowly… for the first month or so, she's decent at keeping in contact. She Skypes with Abby at least once a week—the chatty forensic scientist can always fill the silence, and her sunny disposition is a welcome distraction. Ziva talks to McGee and Ducky on the phone a few times each; with Palmer, she keeps up a continuous email thread. He's like Abby in that his cheerfulness keeps her going sometimes, though with him, it's usually in the form of cheesy jokes in their email exchanges.
She communicates little with Gibbs, though that's hardly surprising and doesn't bother her. She does receive a delicate block of wood that's clearly meant to be a decoration, a map of the United States hand-carved in loving detail on the front of it. There's neither a note nor a return address, but Ziva knows it's from Gibbs, and she cherishes it. It's a quiet reminder that no matter how poorly Eli treats her, she does have a father out there somewhere who loves her.
After her first month in Tel Aviv, though, reality starts to set in. Ziva realizes she's not moving back home any time soon; her apartment is set up, furnished, drawers and closets filled with her things. Her days become routine, long hours of desk work at Mossad interrupted by short lunch breaks and going home exhausted at the end of the day. She finds herself less willing to talk to her friends—it takes energy and effort that she just can't summon anymore.
She starts turning down Skype dates, shortening phone calls, taking longer to respond to emails. Of course, her team is persistent and they don't let her get away with complete radio silence, but after a while, the strain of one-sidedness makes those relationships suffer a little anyway. As much as Ziva doesn't much feel up to talking to anyone, she finds herself slightly hurt regardless when communication attempts dwindle. It's an unfortunate line to walk.
The only person with whom she keeps steady contact is Tony. She's been impressed over the weeks and months when he steps up to be there for her. He may put on a childish, self-centered front to most of the world, but she knows how selfless he is deep down.
He finds time every day to reach out. Keeping tabs on her moods, he backs off or pushes more in his insistence that she talk to him. On some days, that just means a few texts back and forth, but on others, it means forgoing Saturday night plans to sit in front of his laptop's webcam and talk to her (or engage in adult behaviors with her) for hours.
Tony knows that things are getting worse, though, the frequency of her irritable moods growing along with her despair. The others at NCIS talk amongst themselves and sometimes to him about how withdrawn Ziva has been; Abby in particular is hurt by the lack of contact.
Tony's mostly at a loss as to how to help, though. He knows Ziva hates to be alone back in Israel, but he can't very well control her father's actions to bring her home.
This Saturday afternoon, he's sitting on his sofa with the laptop's Skype application open on the coffee table and an array of Chinese takeout boxes around him. It's 1400 for him, 2100 for Ziva.
She's telling him about the weekend trip to Haifa that her father interrupted, making her return early to Tel Aviv. "He is punishing me, Tony," she says in a tight voice; Tony recognizes the odd tone as an attempt to fight off bitter tears.
"Are you sure?" he asks carefully after finishing a bite of kung pao chicken. "You did say he made you come back to help with… something serious, right?" Despite the progress they've made with sharing information with one another, Ziva is still hesitant to talk about Mossad operations when they don't directly impact NCIS. There's always a chance her father or someone else will hear, and it would place her in a world of trouble. As a consequence, conversations about her everyday existence are stilted at best, much to their mutual frustration.
"Yes. But there are others who could have helped, others who were still on duty, who had not chosen a holiday for the weekend, who were still in Tel Aviv! He did not need me!" She loses the battle with her tears, just a little, and a couple of drops make their way down her cheeks.
Tony sighs. "I'm sorry, Z, I really am." He wishes so hard that they could be in the same place right now; it feels awful that she's so upset and that he's too far away to offer any comfort at all.
He hesitates slightly, and she must see it, because she gives him a look as she impatiently brushes tears away with her sleeve. "Say whatever it is you wish to say," she commands him, and he knows that if he doesn't, he'll just irritate her more. There is little she hates more fervently than feeling like he's walking on eggshells around her.
"I just…" Tony trails off, thinking. He sees Ziva's face turn imperious and, knowing what she's about to say, he holds up a hand to cut her off. "Have a little patience, Ziva. I'm not holding back, I'm just trying to figure out how to say what I'm thinking." Appeased for the moment, she nods and watches him until he speaks again. "Maybe it's time to plan a vacation where you're too far away for him to interrupt. You know," he hints, "some place that's a good 12 hours away by plane, not close enough to help urgently in a 'crisis' or whatever excuse he wants to use…"
To Tony's surprise and horror, this suggestion is met with a fresh wave of tears. "Ziva, what is it?" he asks gently, concerned. It isn't like her to cry this much—she rarely does at all.
"I would not be allowed to go," she answers, her voice unsteady. "My father made it very clear that I am not to leave Israel without his express permission, and he will not give it until he trusts me again." She leaves her laptop where it is and scoots away, pulling her knees up to her chest and curling in on herself; her eyes flutter shut, though the occasional tear still finds its way out. She suddenly looks very young, and Tony's reminded of the ten year age gap between them that usually seems so insignificant. Tonight, it just makes him think of how much she's had to deal with in her short life.
He has to swallow back a surge of anger at Eli David—he'll deal with his feelings about that bastard later. For now, his girlfriend needs him. "Then you'll do what you have to do," he says, determined.
That wasn't what Ziva had been expecting, and she opens her eyes back to look at him questioningly. "What do you mean?"
"You need to earn his trust back? Do it. Do whatever you can to make that ben-zonna think you're on his side. You don't have to mean it, right?"
His Hebrew curse—meaning son of a bitch—makes her laugh appreciatively, and his absolute confidence in her ability to do what he's suggesting makes her feel a little less hopeless. "That is what I am already trying to do," she informs him, but there's no heat to her retort.
"Then try harder."
She laughs again at that. "You are not very adept at sharing sympathy, are you?" she teases, wiping her eyes one final time as her tears slow to a stop completely.
"Come on, Ziva—is sympathy really what you want right now?"
Ziva smiles and shakes her head.
"That's what I thought," Tony finishes smugly, proud of how well he can read her. "Now, let's brainstorm. Let's figure out what you can do to suck up to that bastard father of yours…"
That evening, Tony goes to Gibbs' house with a spring in his step. He's got a plan.
He finds his boss in the basement as expected. "What's the problem, DiNozzo?" Gibbs asks as he spots Tony at the top of the stairs.
Descending 'til he's reached the bottom, Tony leans against the wall near where Gibbs is working. "Well, Eli David is the world's biggest jerk, but that's nothing new."
"Come here just to tell me that?"
"No. Came here because while that's a problem, I have a solution… at least a temporary one."
Gibbs looks up from his work again to give Tony a half-smile, clearly amused. "Got a time off request for me to sign?"
Tony snorts and shakes his head. "How do you always know? Don't answer that, the mystery is part of the charm, boss." He chuckles to himself and pulls the folded form out of his jacket pocket. "Yep. Five days from now. I want a long weekend."
Gibbs glances the form over once and looks back at DiNozzo. "If I sign this, are you going to end up in an Israeli prison for assaulting a government official?"
Tony smirks a little. "No. But I might end up in prison for helping my girlfriend hide a body when she assaults a government official."
That makes Gibbs laugh. "How's she doing?"
"She's frustrated, Gibbs. And she's hurt. Eli has never been the father she deserves, but now he's punishing her for what she did for me." He sighs, crossing his arms and thunking his head back against the wall. "She hates being chained to her desk, and it's my fault."
Gibbs shakes his head. "DiNozzo," he snaps in exasperation, "we've been over this! Stop it."
"Right. Anyway, you'd know all of this if you'd pick up the phone and talk to her." The admonishment is very light, but it's far more than he'd usually say. Ziva's emotional pain from Eli's behavior is making Tony extra protective, though, and he finds himself unusually willing to stand up to Gibbs on Ziva's behalf.
Gibbs gives Tony a look, unimpressed. "Phone works both ways. Ziva knows that. If she needed something, she'd call."
Tony gives Gibbs the same look he just received. "There's a difference between 'needing something' and just needing someone in your life, boss. You know how fiercely independent she is! She wouldn't ask you to make an effort even if it would save her life… and it wouldn't kill you to act like you care about her!"
Gibbs lets out a loud sigh, annoyed. "Did you come here to scold me or to ask me for something, DiNozzo?"
"I need your help," Tony admits, slightly sheepish as he realizes he may have crossed a line.
"Then ask for it."
"Right. Okay, here's the thing. Eli has pretty much grounded Ziva like she's some badly behaved little kid or something. He's not letting her do field work or go on any missions and he's basically revoked her passport. She tried to go to Haifa this past weekend—not asking for vacation time or anything, just going on her normal days off—and she'd barely been there for twelve hours when her dad made her go home. It's all of an hour's drive, and Eli wouldn't even let her go that far!" Tony lets out an angry bark of laughter. "If his head was any farther up his own ass…"
"This story have a point?"
"Yes. If I can't get her over here to visit us, I want to go visit her." Tony gestures hopefully at the time off request form.
"You didn't come here on a Saturday night just to ask for my signature." Gibbs' ever-present impatience is compounded by Tony's pushiness about staying in contact with Ziva, and he's more than ready to find out exactly what his team member wants him to do.
"No… not exactly. I need Eli David distracted while I'm there—because if he's free to focus on what Ziva's doing, I know he'll keep her so busy that she won't have time to see me. That'll defeat the purpose of the trip, obviously." Tony sighs. "I know what'll distract him, and I think it'll help us, too."
"Spit it out."
"I think we should bring Mossad in on the La Grenouille investigation."
Gibbs snorts. "You know better than that, DiNozzo. We aren't going to make this a joint investigation just so you can spend time with your girlfriend!"
Tony groans. "See, this is why I didn't go straight to the director about this. I knew everyone would take it the wrong way! It isn't just about me and Ziva, okay? We could use some help on catching Rene Benoit, and it's relevant for Mossad."
"You were taken off that case, or did you forget?" Whether he's showing it outwardly or not, Gibbs is sympathetic to Tony's plight. He doesn't trust Eli David as far as he could throw him, though, and bringing in Mossad—regardless of motivation—seems like a bad idea.
"That's why it would work so well on my end. It's a case I can't do any work on thanks to Shepard benching me, so it won't be a problem if I'm not here. And Ziva's dad is pissed about everything that Ziva did for me in this case, so if there's some interagency cooperation, he's going to make sure she's not involved, either. It's a win-win, boss. I think that if NCIS and Mossad work together, we might finally catch the bastard, and I get to go remind Ziva that she's not alone over there."
Gibbs still doesn't look convinced, and Tony feels a renewed flash of frustration. "Come on, boss! You really gonna sit there and tell me you don't want to catch the guy responsible for Ziva almost dying!?"
"Of course I want to catch him, DiNozzo," Gibbs snaps, "but are you really gonna sit there and tell me you trust Eli David? I don't want to work with him unless we have no other choice. And what do you mean, it's relevant for Mossad? Are they investigating, too?"
Tony can't help looking a little sketchy, not sure how to pass on information without risking getting Ziva in trouble. "Maybe," he hedges.
"Maybe!?"
"I have a contact who is… leading me to believe that they are, yes."
"That contact about 5'6, got dark, curly hair, and have an intimate relationship with a handgun?"
"...maybe," Tony repeats.
"Inform Ziva that if she wants us to know something, she should tell us," Gibbs replies pointedly. He's not a big fan of games of telephone.
"She doesn't know much, okay?" Tony pushes his hands back through his hair, irritated. "Anyway, just bring the idea to Shepard, please. See what she thinks."
"Maybe you should ask her yourself," Gibbs suggests, his expression carefully neutral.
"She kicked me off the case. Pretty sure I'm not in her good books right now," Tony admits with a sigh.
"And what makes you think I am?" Gibbs retorts with a self-deprecating grin.
Despite his general vexation, Tony has to laugh at that before sobering up again. "Please, boss."
"Yeah, I'll ask her, DiNozzo. And I'll sign your form. Don't get your hopes up, though."
"Got it. Thanks, Gibbs."
Ziva David is not an easy person to surprise. Tony books his flight tickets as soon as he gets home from Gibbs', and his excitement immediately starts to build. All he wants is to tell Ziva that he's coming, but she's having such a difficult time right now that he really wants to make this visit special for her. Of course, he knows she'll be thrilled if he tells her now that he's coming in a few days, but as long as he does it the right way, he thinks she'll really enjoy the shocker of suddenly seeing him in Israel.
She senses that something's up when he next talks to her on the phone… and he resolves afterwards to stick to text until he sees her again.
His phone rings as he's climbing into bed the day after he gets his time off form signed by Gibbs, and he looks at the clock—it's right around 2300, far too late for anyone polite to be calling. That means it's either someone from NCIS calling about a case or it's Ziva, who doesn't need to stand on ceremony with him.
He gets back out of bed to grab his phone from its charger and he glances quickly at the caller ID—it's Ziva. "Hey, sweet cheeks!" he says cheerfully as he answers it.
"Good morning, ahavati," she replies, sounding much happier than she was when they Skyped yesterday.
"Can I just say that you look absolutely stunning tonight?" he comments warmly, and Ziva throws her head back and laughs.
"How do you know?" she demands playfully. "You cannot see me right now."
Tony chuckles, too. "I don't have to see you to know how gorgeous you look—because you always do." He knows he's being totally cheesy, but he means it. He's never seen her look less than pretty, and when she wears the sweet smile that stole his heart, like he knows she's wearing now… well, that's the stuff his dreams are made of.
"Thank you, Tony," Ziva replies, her tone affectionate. She's never sure how to respond to his sincere compliments, and tonight, he speaks with so much conviction that she can't help believing him. It's wonderful to hear, even if it makes her feel a little bashful. "You are in a very good mood this morning," she observes. "Did you solve a difficult case today or something along those lines?"
"No, nothing like that, I'm just excited to—" He stops talking so abruptly that Ziva has to pull her phone away from her ear and check the screen to make sure the call didn't drop.
"Excited to what?" she prompts.
"Excited to… ah, to go to bed. Long day!" Tony winces, glad she can't see his face right now… what a lame lie! He has to curse himself for slipping up. If he's not careful, his surprise won't be much of a surprise at all.
To his surprise, though, Ziva takes what he's said at face value. "Oh! I am sorry." She sounds embarrassed. "If I had realized you were asleep, I would not have called."
"You're fine, Ziva, ha," he snorts, pleased by the success of recovering from his blunder. "I wasn't actually asleep yet. I was just getting into bed. It's fine."
"Still," Ziva replies, "I should let you go. We can talk tomorrow."
"You sure?" Tony queries. "I really don't mind staying up a little longer. You know I always want to talk to you," he adds sincerely.
"I am sure. I do not want to have to deal with irritable Tony tomorrow if you do not get enough rest tonight," Ziva teases. "Go on, my love. Hit the snack."
Tony laughs. "Hit the sack," he amends. "Alright, alright. You've convinced me. Getting in bed and turning the lights out now, mom."
Ziva rolls her eyes, but she's amused as usual by his childishness. "Sweet dreams. I love you."
"I'll never get tired of hearing that," Tony responds fondly. "Love you, too, Z. Hope you have a good day today."
"Starting the day talking to my little hairy butt is a good sign for today," Ziva decides happily.
"Good. Good night, Ziva."
"Good night, Tony."
The time between booking his flight and actually leaving Washington drags interminably. They get a big case in the wee hours of Monday morning and it turns out to be a tough one. There's a serial killer targeting Navy newlyweds and they can't seem to get a handle on figuring out who he is and why he's killing… he's always one step ahead of them, taunting them. There's a trail of eight bodies by the time they catch him on Wednesday evening. It's an exhausting investigation that keeps them all in the office close to 24 hours a day 'til they're done.
Then it's almost a full 24 hours left to go before Tony's flight, and he feels restless in waiting for the time to finally arrive. He goes to the movies that night, trying to distract himself so time will pass more quickly. He finds it uncharacteristically difficult to focus on the film, though.
He gets home and packs for his trip, second guesses his clothing choices, unpacks and repacks. He writes out careful instructions for McGee, who will be feeding Kate while he's gone. She's a goldfish and does not require any particularly difficult or labor-intensive care, but setting the food and instructions out and cleaning her bowl occupies a good half-hour that might otherwise be spent pacing a hole in the floor.
Ziva texts him at around 11pm again, asking if he has time to chat on the phone. As a matter of fact, he has plenty of time, but he knows that if Ziva nearly caught him the other day, she'll certainly catch him tonight. His excitement and antsiness can't be kept under wraps now that he's so close to making his trip.
He fabricates an excuse for saying no. Probably not 2nite. Finishing a big case, playing catch up on paperwork.
Ziva's reply is very quick and it makes Tony laugh. This would not be a problem if you worked on it along the way rather than doing it all at the last minute.
Lol, Ziva, we can't all b ms perfect goody 2 shoes, he replies.
Is there a Ms. Perfect Goody who does NOT wear two shoes? Is there anyone who does not wear two shoes? That is a silly qualifier, she texts back.
Just an xpression, Z.
He can't wait to hear her little English slip-ups in person again!
The next day, he takes his things with him to work, intending to go to the airport straight from the office once he's done. It's a slow day, which is both a good thing and a bad one—it's good because there's no risk of an active investigation threatening his ability to leave, but it's bad because it's just more time that he has to sit and wait.
In the afternoon, though, his desk phone rings. "Very Special Agent Tony DiNozzo," he answers.
"Tony!" It's Ziva, and he knows from the tone of her voice that something's wrong.
"Ziva! Are you okay?"
"I am angry," she replies, and Tony crosses his fingers that it's not him she's angry with.
"What happened?"
"La Grenouille may have been in Israel, or so it appears. Mossad is putting together a team to join in the investigation being run by NCIS."
"Why's that a bad thing?" Tony asks cautiously, though he already knows the answer.
Ziva exclaims something loudly in Hebrew, her voice venomous-sounding. Tony waits a beat, not sure if she was just cursing to herself or if she was saying something he was meant to understand. When she says nothing else, though, clearly waiting for a response, he has to laugh very lightly—though the sound sets Ziva off again. "Ziva, if you want me to respond to what you're saying, you have to say it in English."
Ziva had not even realized that she'd switched languages, but she doesn't skip a beat, merely repeating herself in a language Tony can understand. "I said that I am not allowed to join that team."
Tony sighs. "I'm sorry. That sucks—but if it makes you feel any better, I've been benched on this one, too."
Ziva growls under her breath. "That does not make me feel better, no. Tony, I do not think you are understanding why this is so frustrating for me."
"Then spell it out for me," Tony suggests, glad she's not asking for details on his own involvement here.
"Most of that team is going to Washington to collaborate and join forces and I do not get to go!"
"Oh, Ziva…" Tony sighs, and he nearly comes clean to her then and there. "You'll make your way back here eventually, I just know it, okay? Your dad is a nasty old bastard, that's for sure, but he can't tie you down forever."
"I know, I know!" Ziva still sounds half-furious, half-devastated. "But knowing that people I know here will be standing in between those silly orange walls while I am still here staring at my computer screen…" She can't seem to finish her sentence, making Tony wince guiltily.
"You're right, love, it sucks. I wish I had a better solution for you… but you know what?"
"What?"
"I think your week is about to turn a corner. In fact, I think you're going to have a fantastic weekend," he tells her softly.
"I appreciate your optimism, but I do not believe you know what you are talking about this time, Tony."
"Well, you're free to tell me 'I told you so' if by the end of the weekend, you're still having an awful time, but I hope I'm right." He infuses his voice with as much warmth and love as he can, trying to comfort her.
She laughs a little sadly. "As much as I enjoy saying 'I told you so', I hope you are right, as well." She sighs and changes the subject, clearly looking to distract herself. "Do you have plans for the weekend?"
Of all the questions she could have asked, why did she have to pick that one!? He hesitates slightly, not wanting to fully lie to her but also still determined not to give away his secret. "I'm planning to spend some time with an old friend, someone I miss a lot. I haven't seen her in way too long."
"Oh? Which friend?" If Tony didn't know better, he might think he hears a hint of jealousy in her tone.
He's not sure how to answer the question, but he doesn't have to, struck by sudden inspiration. "Oh, Gibbs is coming, Ziva—got to go!"
"Oh… okay. I will talk to you later, I suppose." She sounds a little put out, but Tony knows he'll fix that for her soon enough.
He hangs up the phone quickly.
He texts her from the airport that evening—she's sure to be sleeping since it's roughly 0300 in Tel Aviv, but he wants to let her know that he'll be unavailable for a while. Going briefly undercover. Will talk when I can. Love u. Hopefully that will keep her from wondering where he is if she reaches out while he's in transit and doesn't hear back.
He takes a leaf out of his dad's book and pops a sleeping pill as the plane taxis away from the gate, hoping to knock himself out for most of the flight. He lucked into finding an affordable last-minute direct flight, a bonus he hadn't been expecting, so he doesn't have to be awake and aware enough to change planes halfway through the trip. Less than 11 hours from now, he'll be touching down in Tel Aviv.
Luckily, the pill does the trick; he doesn't even stay awake long enough to take advantage of the meal service—not that he's probably missing much, anyway.
He wakes up an hour before touchdown and uses the time to get ready. He thought ahead, bringing a toothbrush, toothpaste, clean clothes, and cologne in his carry on. He wants to look his best when he sees Ziva in person for the first time in two months—is it strange that he's more than a little nervous?
Going through passport control, he feels like Abby Sciuto—that is, just unreasonably cheerful under less-than-thrilling circumstances. Everyone else in the line looks tired and grumpy, but Tony is beaming.
"Shalom," says the bored-looking border control officer. "What is the nature of your business in Israel?"
"I'm here to visit my girlfriend." He should probably be embarrassed by how much cheesy joy is in his voice, but he's not. He's thrilled and he wants the whole world to know it, too.
Luckily, it makes the experience a little easier, melting the stony expression of the officer who seems a little charmed by his romantic excitement. "How long are you staying?"
"Only five days, unfortunately."
She smiles at him and stamps his passport. "I hope you and your girlfriend have a good visit," she says, and she waves him through.
The difficult thing about visiting without warning Ziva first is that he has no way of knowing certain details—for example, is he welcome to stay with her in her Mossad-provided apartment? Not knowing the answer to that, he's booked a hotel near her office. He's been in contact with her friend Adam, confirming her normal work hours and her usual haunts. The location of Mossad headquarters is a closely guarded secret, but his connections make it relatively easy to track down, and Adam solidifies that for him.
With his plane touching down at around 1630, he's finally in a cab on his way to the north Tel Aviv office by 1715. After asking the cabbie to make a quick stop so he can buy flowers, he arrives at his final destination around 1800. He's not heading to Mossad—he has no interest in talking his way into that particular building—but rather to his hotel. There's a nearby restaurant on the beach that he asked Adam to trick Ziva into going to when she finishes work at 1830 or so, and Adam readily agreed… and so Ziva thinks she's meeting Adam for dinner, but Tony will be joining her instead.
He has just enough time to check in at his hotel, drop his things off, and freshen up one last time before heading to the restaurant. It's go time.
It's been a hard week for Ziva. First, there was the NCIS joint investigation that she was barred from, something that has caused her a lot of pain in the last few days. She misses her American family so much that it's hard to breathe sometimes, and knowing that she'd get to see them this week if things were different is hard to bear. Her father's continual cold shoulder is right in line with that emotional burden.
Then there's Tony, who has been comparatively absent all week. They've spoken a few times and texted some, but it's a lot less contact than they've had most weeks since she left for Israel two months ago. Both aware of how easy it is for a long-distance relationship to go sour, they've made a conscious effort to stay in touch as regularly as possible. Ziva's not sure why Tony's backing off now, but it makes her a little anxious and more than a little sad.
When Adam suggested earlier in the week that they meet up for dinner on Friday night, she agreed with a feeling of great relief. She needs a break and a chance to unwind—and if she needs to imbibe a fair amount of alcohol and carbs for that to happen, then so be it.
She gets to the restaurant a few minutes early and gives her name to the hostess; they seat her at a secluded little table in the back. She thinks wistfully that this would be a rather romantic place to eat at under different circumstances. Ordering a glass of wine, she settles in to wait for her friend, pulling a novel out of her bag to further unwind and to kill time before Adam gets there.
After a minute or two, though, something starts to feel… off. She feels eyes watching her, and while she knows her father's people still follow her from time to time, she hadn't sensed anyone leaving the office building after her. No, something tells her this isn't Mossad. Careful not to make any sudden movements that would give her away, she slides a hand slowly into her bag to grab her gun.
She pauses, listening hard to the low voices of people dining at the other tables—nothing sounds amiss. Then she looks up from her book, ready to confront a threat as soon as she spots it, and freezes.
Standing next to her table, a grin on his face and a bouquet of flowers in one hand, is Very Special Agent Anthony DiNozzo.
She gapes at him, momentarily unable to understand what's happening. His grin falters slightly—is she not happy to see him?
After a few seconds, though, her brain catches up with what her eyes are seeing, and she releases her gun back into the confines of her bag in order to leap to her feet and launch herself at Tony in a hug. He grunts with the effort of catching her, but he laughs, swinging her around in a circle. The bouquet of flowers gets dropped carelessly onto the table. "Shalom, yafah," Tony whispers in her ear, and it brings tears to her eyes. Hello, beautiful.
"What are you doing here?" she asks, pulling out of his embrace just enough to look at his face.
He positively beams at her; he looks for all the world like a man who has everything he's ever wanted. "What do you think I'm doing here, Ziva!?" he asks incredulously, laughing. "I'm here to see you."
Of course, that's the obvious answer, but the question had been rhetorical. Shaking her head in amusement, she snorts and leans in to kiss him fiercely, not caring in the least that they're on full display of the whole restaurant. They kiss until someone nearby clears their throat loudly, and they break apart, laughing. "Please, Tony, sit!" Tony lets Ziva usher him into the booth next to the seat she was sitting in, and she slides in after.
"God, it's good to see your face," he murmurs.
"Likewise," says Ziva warmly. "I cannot believe you came all the way here—and you did not even tell me!" The last part is accusatory and she's frowning, but she can't really be mad at him, not for this.
He laughs and reaches out to gently run his fingers through her hair—it's straight today. "You seemed like you needed a good surprise after all the bad ones this year, Z. But if you think I was wrong to make a surprise trip, I can go ahead and leave…" Of course, he makes no move to get up, and she giggles and whacks his arm.
"Do not dare to move a centimeter," Ziva warns. "I have handcuffs and I will use them if necessary."
Tony leans in to kiss her cheek and breathe a question into her ear. "Oh, is that a promise?"
She shivers. "That depends, do you want it to be?"
Tony grins at her and pecks her lips lightly one more time. "Why do you think I flew all the way to Israel?"
The waiter comes back then with Ziva's wine, and Tony orders a matching glass. Then he leans against the wall at the back of the booth, drawing Ziva back to rest against him so he can snuggle her properly as she sips her wine. "How long are you staying?" she murmurs, feeling absolutely content for the first time in two months.
"I have to leave early morning Wednesday," he answers just as softly, winding his fingers in between hers on her free hand.
She twists back to look at him, amazed. "You flew six thousand miles to spend only four and a half days with me?"
He leans down and kisses her nose, smiling at her tone of surprise. "You really seemed like you needed a friendly face, love. And I missed you. Four and a half days is what I had, so four and a half days is what I went with."
"That makes so little sense, Tony," Ziva argues, but her voice is tender.
"Just trying to keep you on your toes." He looks up to accept his wine from the waiter and then glances back down at Ziva. "You hungry?"
The answer is yes, but stronger than the need to eat is the urge to be alone with Tony, so she shakes her head. "Can we go ahead and get the bill, please?" Tony asks the waiter with a charming smile, and the waiter departs to get it.
Tony picks up his wine glass and holds it out to Ziva. "Cheers," he says, quiet but happy, and kisses her temple.
"Tony, you are in Israel now. You should speak Hebrew. So—l'chaim!"
He chuckles. "L'chaim!" Only then does Ziva tap her glass against his, grinning.
The waiter comes back with the bill, and Tony gently knocks away Ziva's hand as she tries to hold out her card; he hands over his own. Ziva mutters "chauvinist" under her breath but doesn't protest any further.
They stay at the restaurant for a while longer, finishing their wine and enjoying each other's company. Then, hand in hand, they head for the hotel.