The likes of you may never be

Attracted to the likes of me

But accidents will happen and I'll be around

Burke & Van Heusen

"Jeeeesus, Zee-vah."

During Tony's assignment in Hawaii, he regained most of his equilibrium; certainly with regard to his professional irritations. Not regained completely because he also identified the other source of his trouble. Finally accepting the situation; the realization had allayed some of his restlessness. However, it also provided a whole new set of problems - Tony hadn't figured out a solution to any of them. The other source of his trouble was currently in his kitchen. Tony had walked in, still getting dressed after a shower. Momentarily, he paused in the doorway - after the initial shock - amused by the mental juxtaposition of the two women who had been, most recently, in his kitchen. Alice standing by the table: all calm chic and elegant equanimity. And Ziva: sat cross-legged atop one of the counters playing catch with a knife. The beautiful, bewitching woman he could never entirely exorcise from his thoughts.

Tony studied her. She was radiating that weird, watchful vitality of hers. A mood indicator ranging from Ninja senses alerted to an imminent strike warning. Or simply she was mad because someone had cut in line. And sometimes it signaled disquiet. Despite its inscrutable, multi-faceted identity, Tony was an expert at reading the vibe; tonight she was disturbed.

"What did you do; teleport?" Buttoning his jeans and starting on his shirt.

"I picked the lock." As if it was a perfectly normal method of gaining entry to someone's home.

"Thought Miss Constitutional Rights 2009 had renounced that kinda unlawful behavior?"

He teased. Waiting for Ziva to settle; Tony was certain he knew why she was there. Ziva would get around to it – eventually. Unusually, she had made the first move; he was curious to discover how close she would permit him. And to gauge how touchy she was.

"The practice is of benefit." Her smile was uncertain.

"You could've called." The echo of a prior conversation, under nearly identical circumstances hung between them. Landmine #1

"So could you." Temper flashing instantly.

"Zee-vah, I meant tonight, you could've called tonight." He was exasperated, caught off-guard by her misunderstanding. "Instead of trying to give me cardiac arrest, we could've had a drink or dinner or….something."

Stopping, because those options suddenly all sounded suspiciously like dates. What Tony meant was not here, not in his apartment. With the memory of the last time she had arrived unexpectedly, rebelliously laying siege to his thoughts.

"Oh." Ziva was embarrassed by her overreaction and redirected. "Director Vance is pleased with you?"

Tony hadn't called – using the head space afforded by time away to figure out what he wanted to say to her. It wasn't the sort of conversation to be conducted from a distance of four thousand miles. And calling her and ignoring the fact they'd slept together would be just peculiar. He was glad he resisted the urge to talk to her; judging by Ziva's sensitivity to the subject, it was going to be a long night. It would have been impossible over the 'phone.

"Yeah." Tony gave a wry grin. "'Til he's not."

Vance was very satisfied with Tony's handling of the task. Although Gibbs' gruff praise had meant far more to him than all the Director's plaudits. Tony had acquitted himself admirably; breezing in, swilling coffee, and only marginally more talkative than his own boss. Leading from the front and laying down rules. Fielding the surly Abbott; waiting until he made a rookie mistake and then ripping the guy a new one, effectively ending any revolt. The two minor and one, relatively, major investigations were carried out to Gibbs' exacting standards. He handed Craig a markedly different team to the one over which he had assumed charge a month earlier.

"How was Hawaii?" She was circling the topic of the night before he left.

"Green and humid." He pushed himself off the door-frame and walked over to the refrigerator. "Wanna beer?"

"Yes, thank you." She hesitated. "It was not an early Spring Break?"

She teased on his frat boy persona – although the tone of her voice implied they were inching nearing to the reason for Ziva's presence.

"Nah." He shook his head, handing her a bottle. "Besides, I'm old enough to know better."

Tony clinked his bottle against hers, offering an unspoken toast, and sat on the table opposite Ziva.

"But young enough to do it anyway…if you wanted to." She cryptically widened the discussion – with the same motif she always followed; what did he want.

"It doesn't work like that." Tony took a drink, watching her speculatively. By not responding directly to the underlying meaning, he was hoping to force Ziva to lower her guard.

"Sometimes it does." Ziva was picking at the label on the bottle, not looking at him. "It could." - A quiet, cautious advance.

'It' had become a charged word. An oblique reference to their relationship which needed no explanation; 'it' represented all the missed opportunities, all the mistakes. 'It' was the personification of their difficulty; encapsulating the emotions, doubts and hopes spanning five years. 'It' represented the Gordian knot entangling them. The tension surrounding those two letters was palpable.

"I don't want a female fuck buddy, Zee-vah, if that's what you're offering." A faint grin crossed Tony's face, as he attempted to ease the pressure a little. "Once every three years means I'd have to rate you a definite fail."- Landmine #2

"That is not what I meant." Ziva's head snapped up, insulted. "Why must everything be a joke to you?"

Anger sparked into life. The critical accusation used for defense as Ziva perceived disinterest. She glared at him, eyes brewing a fight.

"Oh, I'm sorry." Sarcasm tinged his apology. "You want me to take this seriously?" Her reaction had provoked mocking skepticism. "OK, seriously then, why'd you leave, Zee-vah?" Coolly deliberate as he posed the question.

Tony recognized the irony. He, of all people, was protesting the outcome of a one-night-stand. And, in reality, he was reluctant to ask her why – in the event the answer was not one he wanted to hear. However, in grappling with the dilemma, he had made one determination; perpetual evasion served no purpose. They either had to leave each other alone, or find some way to move forward. His unflinching, candid challenge was designed to confront Ziva; gambling with a head-on approach instead of their usual avoidance. Tony steeled himself for the inevitable explosion.

"Because I did not know what to say."

There was a complete lack of aggression in the simple admission. Meeting his gaze with an unsure apology in her eyes as she awkwardly confessed her confusion.

"And you're here now 'cause you do?" Tony quizzically raised an eyebrow; surprised at her calm.

"No, Tony." Ziva shook her head with a sigh. "But it should be said."

He took another drink, rolling his eyes at her reticence. A statement of the blindingly obvious would not aid progress. The specters of an endless cycle of chances not taken and incomplete declarations oppressively stalked the room – filling the atmosphere with vague pessimism. Frustration erupted.

"Then say it, Zee-vah." Tony held out his hands – irritation made his comment seem like an abrasive ultimatum. "Who am I? Professional partner? Friend with occasional benefits?" He swallowed. "Older, much older, brother? And if that's the case you really are gonna have to stop sleeping with me." The last remark infused with a measure of cynicism beneath the levity. She had said that to him once. 'Stop being such a big brother' - it had stung.

Ziva uncrossed her legs, stretching and flexing her back.

"Why does your age bother you, Tony?" Her direct query was an unexpected digression.

"It doesn't." The denial was without conviction.

Ziva held his gaze unwaveringly – disbelief etched in her expression. She knew Tony just as thoroughly as he knew her.

"'Cause it's true." He shrugged in resignation. "I'm nearly forty, Zee-vah. You're not even thirty."

Involuntarily tensing as he spoke the words. There was little point in denying it. The thought constantly nagged at him once he had accepted he was in love with her. Four weeks in Hawaii spent worrying over the age difference. The other problems which arose; working together in a high stress, hazardous environment, Gibbs' Rule, that Tony didn't do commitment – incredibly willing to make an exception now. That he sometimes questioned whether she was entirely sane – in an completely enchanting kind of way. All of these were trivial in comparison.

"That does not matter." Still with her eyes locked on his. "The number of birthdays does not matter, Tony." Her answer was typically Ziva; forthright and without sentiment.

She was surprised by Tony's self-doubt. Noting his frequent references to age of late, she linked it to his earlier moodiness. She had failed to comprehend its specific significance as an obstacle. On one occasion, Ziva even told him she found 'certain older men attractive' and assumed Tony had understood. Until he mentioned it tonight, the difference in their ages hadn't made an appearance on her personal radar.

"There's plenty of people who'd tell you it does, Zee-vah." Tony was realistic – even as he was suddenly a little more hopeful – in countering her easy dismissal.

Most of his friends were involved with or married to – and a number divorced from – women nearer their own ages. In between enviously congratulating him on Ziva, he knew they'd be issuing cautionary recommendations. And her friends would do the same – maybe without the congratulations.

"I am different." A pensive note seeped into her voice.

"Well, yeah, I'll give you that. You snore, you drool." Feeling the healed inside of his lip with his tongue; remembering the kisses. "You bite." He grinned affectionately. "And no man's ever gonna complain about any of it, Zee-vah, 'cause you sleep with a loaded gun and you're an assassin." - Landmine #3 delay switch

Ziva stiffened and her eyes dropped. Focused on the topic which had been causing him so much grief, Tony didn't notice.

"There are other factors which are of greater relevance to it….to making a relationship work."

Tony exhaled the breath he didn't know he'd been holding. For now, at least, she seemed to be saying the age gap didn't bother her. And 'it' had transformed into the 'r' word.

"But, you have to admit," he gave her a philosophical smile, "it'd be fucking stupid not to even consider the difference." It was an opportunity to amend her position if she wanted.

"I am different and…." She repeated the phrase, uneasily, as though it were some kind of charm warding off demons.

"OK. And I'm still a lot older than you." He was puzzled, sensing she was spooked over an unknown entity. "So if none of that matters, what does?" Another echo conjuring the past.

"Age is not always about years. Experiences or actions can be….corrosive. They can age a person….it can be wearing..." She sounded wistful, with a lost, haunted look in her eyes. "Sometimes anyone can feel as if they are a thousand years old…."

Tony was alarmed. Despite speaking in careful, general terms, Ziva was clearly referring to herself – which was downright weird. She was endeavoring to articulate her own worries. Only Ziva's disjointed monologue meant the point was obscured and telling her that wasn't a good idea. Over-wrought was bad; angry and over-wrought was a near disastrous combination for Ziva. Somehow the conversation about his age had skewed in a direction Tony didn't completely comprehend.

"Hey Ninja, why is this important?" He asked again, trying to bring her back.

"Because if you….some knowledge is destructive." She looked at him warily. "There are things I have done…" Ziva's faltering statement stalled again.

"Zee-vah, I'm not stupid. You were Mossad. I know what that means and, yeah, you've probably done some real scary shit. Christ, I've seen you do some real scary shit." He struck a light, neutral attitude; hoping the calm would have an effect. "Without it you wouldn't be you, Zee-vah." Tony cocked his head with a cautious, concerned smile. "You do bring a whole new meaning to the phrase 'Bond Girl'."

"Tony it is not that simple. I…." Ziva shook her head, nervously avoiding his gaze.

"Yes, it is that fucking simple." He interrupted firmly. "And one day you'll tell me. Or maybe you won't. Or maybe I'll ask. That doesn't matter." Tony edged nearer to tackling what seemed to be her apprehension. "What does matter is I'm not gonna let you use it as an excuse 'cause you think it'll drive me away or so you can run."

They were about to cross the Rubicon and the concept was frightening her. The five year possibility was almost a real-time actuality. In all honesty, Tony was more than slightly disconcerted by the notion. In seeking protection, a reason to retreat, she had inadvertently released the seal on deeper fears and hurts. Ziva appeared to be waging an internal war; as if she believed herself to be irreparably damaged in some way. That he wouldn't want her.

Ziva remained silent for a few minutes; leaning forward, rigid, with her head down. Her knuckles were white as she gripped the edge of the counter. She was slipping away from him, trapped in a dark, distant place. Uncertain as to exactly what had tripped the wire, he knew Ziva's distress level was rising; rapidly. Her extraordinary fortitude, the sheer guts which meant she survived the ordeal, was the flip side of a poignant fragility and the two were interconnected. Tony wondered, sometimes, if he were the only one able to see both elements of her personality.

"When I was held….they….what happened to me…." Ziva was struggling to verbalize her anxieties – almost panicked. "It….You should know…."

Tony didn't wait for her to finish, walking over; Ziva tensed further. He put his fingers on her lips and stopped the agitated flow of words. The episodes were sometimes like a waking nightmare; amazingly rare given the hell she had endured. Maybe three he was aware of in nearly eighteen months. Never prolonged and Tony didn't know if, or how often she fought alone.

"Listen to me; you can tell me anything." He reassured softly. "There's nothing I should know, OK? Let's get that straight, right now."

"OK?" - Gently encouraging her when he didn't get response.

"You do not understand….." This wasn't one of the transfixed variety; just a shock wave of memory.

"No, I don't. It didn't happen to me." Tony was honest. Even rattled, bullshit wouldn't work on Ziva. "You never talk about it. And that's OK too." The comment wasn't a reproach; it was a soothing acknowledgment of autonomy. Her right to deal with her trauma the way she chose. He wouldn't impose rules as to how she should react. "Whatever the bastards did; it doesn't change anything."

Tony placed his hands on top of hers. Waiting for her to relax and quell the turmoil. Eventually, Ziva released her desperate grasp on the counter. Resting her forehead against his and clasping her hands around his neck.

"You didn't answer my question." Tony might have battled Ziva's gremlins, he still had one of his own to vanquish.

Ziva sat back, opening her eyes with a perplexed frown.

"Who am I?"

She didn't answer immediately. Fiddling with the bottom of his shirt where it was un-tucked.

"You are Tony DiNozzo…" She took an unsteady breath. "….and that is why we love you."

Tony was amused by her choice of pronoun. Ziva's declaration was the archetype for their relationship; the meaning explicit yet sufficiently disguised to be non-threatening. She would, eventually, manage the 'I' word – Tony figured she would probably work her way through all eight other languages before he heard it in English.

"That doesn't mean I have to sleep with Gibbs and McGee does it?" - Unable to resist teasing her over the dodge. "Ow." Ziva retaliated by pulling the short hair above his ear.

"What do you want to do?"

Ziva's inquiry was exceedingly pertinent. They hadn't, actually, resolved anything. He had an inability to commit; if there is no commitment, the promise cannot be broken. A legacy of his disrupted disconnected childhood. She was fighting the ghosts of abandonment; the result of horrific events. He had a fear of rejection and she was a latter-day Lady Macbeth; scrubbing at bloodstained hands. Against all odds, their mismatched pieces fit. They had reached a point of understanding – it was a beginning. Tony leaned forward, whispering in her ear.

"Pizza. I'm hungry."