She shifted in the car seat, struggling to keep her eyes open.
"You could have slept, you know. I wasn't going to kidnap you," he said softly, eyes on the road as he navigated the narrow rural road.
She stretched her arms as much as she could, one of them resting on the driver's side headrest. "Maybe I am just interested in where we're going."
He slid a doubtful look in her direction and grinned when he saw her somewhat guilty look. Ziva caught with a control issue. Let it go, Tony. "Sorry that we're changing plans. The case kept us out longer -"
"I know, Tony," she interrupted. "I was there."
He winced. "Yeah."
Her hand slid from the driver's headrest to the back of his neck and gently began to work the kink out of the tense muscles there. He groaned and his eyes flitted closed for a mere second before he snapped them back to the road.
"You're going to put us into a ditch, Dah-veed."
She smiled at him and pulled her hand away, leaving it on his shoulder.
"But I'll take a rain-check." He slowed and put his blinker on before turning into a small drive. "Ah. Home sweet home."
"Why does this seem like the opening scene to one of those horror films you're always making me watch? Old house in the woods late at night. Should I be afraid for my life, Tony?" she teased as she unbuckled and opened her door.
He cast her a lingering look. "If I murdered you, Ziva, who would I have to rub my neck on the ride back to DC?"
Tony moved and shouldered both of their overnight bags, and walked towards the cottage, the front porch light guiding their way.
"Realistically, I'm the one who should be afraid. How many weapons do you have on you right now?"
She grinned, dark and predatory. "All I need is one, Tony. Sometimes, not even one. A hand can work wonders in expediting death."
He shook his head, long since having come to terms with her assassin roots. He keyed the door, and held it open as she preceded him into the cottage. Tony flipped the lights and watched as Ziva moved into the space, taking in her surroundings.
He knew she was calculating exits, distance between one point of cover and another, and all points of exposure like windows. She did it without thinking. She did it in a matter of seconds, where he still had to remind himself to be observant when it counted.
He headed upstairs quickly, not drawing attention to himself and returned while she had set about examining the kitchen.
"Hungry?" he asked, sliding up behind her.
"No. Dinner was filling – and quite tasty," she replied.
They had stopped at a local dinner on the other side of the bridge. Fish and chips and a cold beer had been the order of the night and both had enjoyed the casual fair.
The remainder of the drive onto Cobb's Island had been spent in casual silence as they each pondered the events of the day.
"It was nice of your friend to allow us to stay here," she said, grabbing two beers from the fridge and following him out to the back deck.
Tony nodded and walked out the garden-gate and onto the small dock over the water.
"Simon's a good guy. He's deployed for the next six months." he replied. "When Gibbs gave us the weekend off, I thought maybe this might be a nice change from dinner and a movie."
His normally light hearted tone had disappeared, taken over with one that had what she could only identify as a small amount of self-consciousness to it.
He kicked off his shoes and sat with his feet hanging over the edge, Ziva following suit. She passed him a beer and they clinked bottles before each taking a gentle pull.
"It is a pleasant change, Tony," she said, "But dinner at home would have been fine, too."
He managed a reluctant chuckle. "Really? Not sick of DiNozzo spaghetti yet?"
"I'm more sick of movies where you can quote every line," she teased, shifting closer to him on the dock. "The spaghetti is quite good."
The moonlight reflected off of the water, glistening as the waves lapped the dock pillars.
Tony sipped his beer again.
"Have you ever been in love, Ziva?" he asked, his voice soft and somewhat gravely.
She tilted her head and regarded him for a moment, the sudden topic change unexpected.
"Mm," she said, making an agreeable noise. "Once. Many years ago."
"Not recently?"
She frowned and pulled from her beer bottle. "Love is...," she stopped, trying to collect her thoughts. "Love is a luxury, Tony."
"A water-bed is a luxury, Ziva. Love is an emotion," he corrected, chuckling.
She shook her head. "A Mossad assassin does not know if they will make it through the hour, much less the day. You train to be the best and hope that training keeps you alive. But love complicates things," she paused and cleared her throat. "It makes you stop before you shoot. It makes you lose a split second that is the difference in life and death. It is a luxury, Tony."
"You're not in Tel-Aviv anymore, Ziva. You have friends to watch your back in that split second."
The conversation was drastically different than one she had ever expected to have with him. Teasing barbs about sex? Sure. Tormenting discussion about who could beat up whom? Definitely. Love? Never made her list of possible conversation topics.
"That is true," she said simply. "But – how do you say it? Old habits die hard?"
He nodded and half-shrugged, as if to say 'fair point.'
She prodded: "What about you? Have you ever been in love?"
"Somedays I think I was. Otherdays, I'm not sure I know what love is."
Ziva had to consciously form the word: "Jeanne?" she asked.
He nodded. "It was supposed to be just another undercover."
"But?"
"Other undercovers don't hurt as much as this one does- did."
She forced her tone to remain neutral. "You got very close with her, Tony. It makes sense."
He shrugged. "It would make sense if I was upset over her death," he supplied.
"But you're not?"
"I am," he corrected. "I'm sad she died. She wasn't a horrible person. Just had horrible parents," he paused before continuing. "I think I'm more upset about what it did to the team- to us."
Her eyebrows rose as she took his words as he meant them – honest and open. She leaned closer and briefly rested her chin on his shoulder in as much a sign of solidarity as she could offer. "We will all be fine, Tony. We're here, yes?"
He turned and planted a chaste kiss atop her forehead.
"So tell me about your love, Ms. Dah-veed," he prodded, trying to make his voice more jovial.
"Chaim," she said quietly, simply. Her head still resting on his shoulder. "We... we were young children together. He trained as Mossad along side me. We were partnered on several missions."
"You grew up together?"
She nodded. "His father and my father were friends."
Tony moved, settling his arm around her back and pulling her closer into him. He felt her move closer into his embrace, relaxing into their contact.
"He was my closest friend for many years. I could tell him anything – and many things I never had to speak of because he already knew."
Neither spoke, nor pointed out the obvious similarities.
"Were you going to settle down? Pop out little Chaims?" he said, lightly teasing. He felt her face curl into a smile.
"We discussed it, yes. We thought of marriage and children. But I enjoyed my work. He did, as well. We thought we had more time." She paused and cleared her throat. "He got caught while attempting to assassinate Shamir Puriv. They weren't kind to him. But after many hours of suffering, they did end his torment."
He closed his eyes and drew her tighter towards him. "I'm sorry, Ziva."
She nodded and blinked quickly, forcing back the stray tears that had managed to well in her eyes. "As I am sorry for your loss, Tony."
The moon rose higher in the sky and the glow on the water grew brighter.
"We should get inside. It has been a long day, no?" she asked, sighing and gently withdrawing from Tony's protective embrace.
He nodded and they stood, hands brushing as they walked along the narrow dock to the garden-gate.
Ziva stopped, regarding him in the moonlight. Her hand darted out and she linked her fingers with his as she leaned up and planted a gentle kiss on his cheek.
"Thank you, Tony."
He frowned. "For what?"
She half-shrugged. "Treating me like a girl, occasionally."
He laughed, an actual laugh that rose from his gut. "Trust me, Zee-vah, if there is one thing I'm painfully aware of, it's how much of a girl you are."
She rolled her eyes, taking it for the compliment it was. "Thank you for the get-away this weekend, too. It is a nice change to not be in the city."
He squeezed her fingers and pulled her towards the house. "I still owe you a real date."
"And I plan to collect," she agreed, following closely behind as he led the way back into the cottage and up the stairs.
Tony stopped at the top of the stairs and released their fingers, backing down the hall. "I'll be down here if you need me. Night Ziva. Sweet dreams," he offered as he opened the door to his room and slipped inside.
She felt her forehead furrow slightly. An odd sense washed through her. Regret? Loss? Disappointment? Yes. It must be disappointment.
When he stopped over that night after work and told her to pack a weekend bag, the thought of sleeping arrangements hadn't really entered her mind. It would just take care of itself- as it usually did - she was able to set limits.
And while she hadn't expected to share a bed with Tony, now that she realized she wouldn't fall asleep with her friend's protective embrace around her, she felt an odd pang of disappointment.