Title: Facing Forward
Author: CSIGeekFan
Rating: T (mild language)
Disclaimer: I don't own NCIS. Do I seriously need to actually say that? For crying out loud, if I owned NCIS, I wouldn't feel the need to write fan fiction.
Author's Note: Reviews are appreciated. I hope you enjoy.

X X X

They settled along the craggy shoreline of the small island chain Tony had shown them on a map. From a small alcove, they could see anything coming from miles away.

Before ever wending their way through the treacherous waters, retired fishing Captain John Granger had flipped off all but the below-deck interior lights, and had navigated in pitch black, where he anchored.

They'd been nestled out of sight for half an hour already, and Tony felt his nerves fray more with every passing moment. He had not idea when to expect something to happen, but every ounce of him believed it would be tonight, under the cover of darkness.

The only thing that kept him from worrying a path on the deck was the fact that every time the boat tilted precariously, due to heavy waves, he thought he might heave-ho right over the side. He'd never been fond of time on the water. His time as agent afloat had certainly confirmed that, and this experience sure as hell wasn't endearing him.

Standing on deck with Gibbs, Tony nervously said, "You know, the night the Titanic went down, it was so dark that no one could really tell the difference between wide-open seas and a big ass iceberg."

"No ice bergs here," Gibbs said, leaning casually against the rail, while Tony held on with an anxiety-driven death grip.

"No, there are big rocks here. Somehow, that makes it worse," Tony muttered as a wave whipped up the side of the boat, making it rock hard. Back and forth, side to side. The water didn't calm for a moment, but when it did, he let out a sigh of relief and wryly added, "An ice berg could pop up right now, and the only way I'd know is if I heard the band playing on deck."

"No violins here, DiNozzo," Gibbs said, before tapping the railing. "Goin' below. Wanna go over the plan with the captain."

With those few words, Tony was left alone on deck, pondering the sound of crashing waves around him. At least the moon shone just enough to outline the splashing foam as it slammed against the shoreline, although it still made him nervous.

He jumped at the feel of a hand on his shoulder, and sighed as Ziva stepped into Gibbs' vacated place.

She settled her arms on the railing next to Tony.

"It is beautiful," she murmured. "Dangerous, yet beautiful."

"I know," he said, turning to face the former Israeli Mossad agent. "We lose tourists here every year. Signs are posted all over the place. Hazard buoys line the chain of rocks, and amateurs still try to maneuver onto shore with yachts and small charters. Darwin's theory at work."

Those accidents typically happened during the day, though. Not even locals tried to land at night. Not until now. Even Captain Granger had balked at the notion, until Tony had explained the plan – explained in full the lives at risk.

"Are you sure Private Matthews will be here?" Ziva quietly asked.

"Yeah, I am," Tony replied, turning to face his former partner. "It makes sense… and my gut's telling me I'm right."

For several minutes, he studied his former partner in the dark. The silence that settled over them had nothing to do with comfort. In reality, he had things he wanted to say – things he wanted to tell her. She effectively broke the silence, though.

"This… Mike… must be quite something," Ziva nonchalantly said.

Thinking of his best friend and sometimes-lover, Tony grinned and turned to look out over the water and rocks. Michaela loved everything about the sea. The treachery of it. The beauty of it. And more than anything, the life of it. To her and so many other New England fishermen, the ocean represented everything worth living for.

"Yeah," he eventually replied. "You could say that. Mike is… different. Tough, smart, and independent."

"It sounds like you are happy together," she said, making Tony bark a laugh.

"We're content," he replied. "We're friends, and we live together a lot of the time. She spends more than half the year out here where she feels most at home. I keep my feet planted on land whenever possible. And when we're together, it's comfortable."

He didn't know how to add that sometimes settling isn't a bad thing – that keeping loneliness at bay is worth giving up the dream of a soul mate. Even more, he didn't know how to explain that the reassurance of just having someone around could make all the difference.

"I guess, in a lot of ways, I do love Michaela," he softly admitted. He glanced at Ziva and smiled sadly when he added, "She's not the love of my life, though. And I'm not hers. That's not what we get from each other."

"What do you get?" Ziva quietly asked, her voice tinged with a hint of sadness.

"I get someone I know will be happy spending my life around, even though she'll never be all mine," he replied. It calmed him to say it out loud, he realized, and he added, "I'm actually okay with that."

Silence fell between them as the sound of water lapping against the boat filled the air. So much had been left unsaid between them when he'd left. For the longest time after he'd fled the city, Tony had let it eat at him – what he would say if he saw Ziva again. Then time had worked its magic, and some of the pain had faded, and he'd let other things take its place. So he'd stopped actively searching for the words.

Funny, that he should find them in that very moment, standing on the bow of the rocking boat.

In the dark, he reached out and felt a familiar little jolt when he ran his hand down Ziva's arm, until he reached her fingers and held her hand. Now, though, the spark felt good, rather than dreaded. Because now he had the words.

"If we'd really been meant for each other, Ziva we would've worked for it. Found a way," he said. While he couldn't see her face in the dark of night, just enough moonlight silhouetted her features, and he watched her turn her face toward the water.

It seemed eternity ebbed and flowed past before she quietly responded, "Perhaps you are right."

A hidden, perpetually existent tension shook away with the rocking of the boat, and a companionable silence settled between them. Closing his eyes against the night sky, he tilted his face and let the tang of the air wash down his nostrils.

When Ziva leaned in and kissed him on the cheek, he smiled wide, turned his head; and captured her lips, languidly indulging. Because it would be the last time he ever looked at her that way and they both knew it.

"Thank you," he whispered, when they separated.

"You are welcome," she murmured before drawing away and heading back below deck.

Alone, Tony made his way to the bow and stood at its peak. Stars shone above. Everywhere else, blackness thickened the air, blocking out everything but constantly moving seas.

And somewhere out there, three boats made their way in his direction. He just hoped they didn't bring a storm.