(tony/ziva) Letters from the Sky

Chapter 3: Stay

Alright, everything is alright
Since you came along
And before you
I had nowhere to run to
Nothing to hold on to
I came so close to giving it up.
And I wonder if you know
How it feels to let you go?

So change your mind
And say you're mine.
Don't leave tonight
Stay.

"Tony," McGee pondered aloud. "What'd you tell Brenda?"

They were comfortably seated in the second row of the roomy SUV, their luggage snuggly tucked between them, leaving Gibbs and their equally reserved driver, Daniel, to silently share the front.

"What?" he looked to Tim in confusion. "Tell her about what?"

"Tony, we just left the country. And we have no idea how long we'll be here," Tm said in disbelief. "She's not going to worry about you?"

"McGoo," Tony rolled his eyes into the darkness, "Brenda and I have been done for over a month now. Keep up."

"A month? You never said anything."

"Eh," he shrugged. "She was a nice girl. But I don't think we'd have made it in the long haul."

"Girl," Tim repeated lowly; he strained his eyes and watched Tony carefully, his gaze shielded fully by the darkness, but surprisingly, Tony seemed unaffected, scrolling through his phone.

Girl.

Tim mulled over the word, trying desperately to grasp at the subtext; because the last time Tony had used the term 'girl' in reference to his love life, had been at his fortieth birthday party:

'Yeah, Abs," he'd said about the bartender who'd unabashedly flirted with him throughout the evening, complete with a coy wink and a few perfectly timed giggles, "she's cute. But she's just a girl."

And for two hours after Jimmy, Abby and the rest of the gang had left the bar, Tim had stuck around, making his way through two more pitchers with Tony.

Consequently, the Senior Field Agent's birthday bash had turned into a no-holds-barred introspection of his life;

Audience of one, Timothy McGee.

And according to a slightly tipsy Anthony DiNozzo, because apparently with age came a sudden intolerance for alcohol, being married to his job was a weak substitute for the real thing.

He was forty, and although his job and subsequent pay grade allowed for luxuries most would only ever dream of, being Over the Hill had, as he so eloquently put it, given him a pretty damn good view; and to his dismay, a wife and kids were nowhere in sight.

A week later, Tony's online profile stated he was in a 'committed relationship' with Brenda Bitner, the pretty brunette barista from the coffee shop down the street from his condo. And although Tim's initial reaction left his mouth dry, grasping for that one proverbial straw to fill in the missing pieces, he eventually accepted the move for what it was, an attempt to build a life for himself outside the walls of NCIS.

Anthony DiNozzo Jr. wanted someone, a woman, to come home to at the end of the night.

Wanted a woman to build a family with.

And McGee couldn't fault him for that.

..

They arrived at Mossad within an hour, and Tony was eager to stretch his legs. Luggage all but abandoned, the group made their way down the cobblestone pathway to the massive double-doors at the entrance of the building.

Once inside, Tony stood awestruck, barely making it over the threshold before succumbing to his bout of temporary paralyzing disbelief.

The outside of the building had been as expected, tall and white washed, stucco built, with sharp corners and vast courtyards encompassing dead grassy patches. It was practical and dreary, effectively establishing the fact that, Mossad in fact, meant business.

But the inside.

The inside was, dare he say, beautiful.

It was vast and open, with a clear view of all three floors; the walls, too, were adobe made, desks sectioned off, mostly into quads, each with respective inhabitants typing furiously away. The wide, lengthy hallways led to god knew where, with multiple coiled staircases connecting floors. And everything held orange, earthlike tones.

"McGee," Tony whispered. "I think we're in the wrong place. Tell Daniel-son we took a wrong turn back there by the-"

But with a particularly hard glare from Gibbs, Tony clamped his mouth shut, and they made their way through the floor set in silence.

And judging by the way he carried himself leading the way through the winding corridors, and the sheer number of deliberately averted eyes, Daniel was more than just a driver.

With a swift knock announcing their arrival, Daniel opened the heavy wooden door, almost immediately disappearing once the agents stepped into Eli David's office.

And then there were four.

The room was large; larger than one man would seemingly need, whether or not the Director of Mossad. And it lacked personality, donning no family photos, no novelties or distinctive touches; it was bare, and quite dark.

"Ah," the man behind the desk acknowledged, removing his reading glasses and standing to attention. "Gibbs," he extended his hand, "and your team."

"Special Agents DiNozzo and McGee," Gibbs clarified.

"I wish our first meeting was under better circumstances," Eli dragged a chair from the corner and gestured towards the black leather, uninviting couch that sit against the wall. "But it is good to meet you nonetheless. I have heard great stories from Ziva," he smiled. The Director noted the quick shift in attention, and before anyone could ask, he answered their shared query, "She should be joining us shortly."

Tony, like Gibbs, politely refused the offering of what he assumed to be tea; he sat back, after a cheeky look from Tim that confirmed the tea hadn't been poisoned, content on listening to the Director's words and admiring his wardrobe. His accent, Tony noticed, after deciding his suit was undeniably an Armani, was markedly heavier than Ziva's, almost presenting itself as a slight lisp, and after a few minutes of formalities, Tony's attention was drawn back to the present with the mention of her name.

And the way he pronounced it, the Z sounding more like an S..., it was making him crazy.

"Ziva," Eli said in a low chuckle, "I am afraid, Agent Gibbs, that you made her soft."

"Soft?" Tony asked.

Because Mossad Officer Ziva David was not soft.

Or rather, she was. But not in the way he was implying.

"Yes, soft," Eli confirmed. "She came back, and she had so many questions. All these questions, questions, questions," his hands waved in dismissal. "She was always wanting to know why, and how, and all the other possible solutions than the orders given to her. She thought I could not see it," he mused, "but she had gotten soft."

"Naw," Gibbs refuted lightly with a head shake. "That just makes her an investigator." His swell of pride, although subtle, was unmistakable.

"Either way, she has served me well," Eli admitted. "But she was too restless in the field, so I eventually gave her what she wanted, her own team."

"Her own team?"

"Well, of sorts. She and Malachi run their own affairs, taking the cases that need," he paused, choosing his words carefully, "a finer touch." He absentmindedly tended to his tea, but noting the look of confusion on the agents' faces, he continued. "Malachi Ben-Gidon," he clarified. "A good Officer, and one of a handful of men I trust with my daughter's life." His eyes shifted pointedly to Tony. "They work efficiently together. They live their separate lives outside of work," he explained, "and every now and then they recruit an officer of their choosing to join their mission. They never last though," he admitted with a smile. "They either resign or get hungry for more. That pair though, they are content with their work."

Eli continued with his anecdotes, but Tony was distracted, twitching uncomfortably in his seat, unsettled by the look of recognition, of knowledge, he'd just received from the Director of Mossad.

Or had it been from Ziva's father?

Either way, it left him feeling exposed, as if he knew more about their partnership than Tony would have liked.

And as if on cue, ready to rip Tony from his overzealous scrutiny and ensuing discomfort, his senses were drawn to the creaky swing of the office door; Ziva noticed the trio with one foot barely in the room.

And then she just stood there.

She just stood there, lips slightly parted in surprise, eyes darting from agent to agent to agent, and back to Eli. "Is everything alright?" she pressed Eli. "What's happened?"

And when she stepped hurriedly out of the dark hallway, kicking the door closed behind her, Tony's brow furrowed at her appearance. She was dressed casually, in dark jeans and a black tee, but his eyes were drawn to her face; there was a bruise that covered the spans her left eye and led into her hairline. And her left arm was tucked rigidly close to her ribcage, as if it belonged in a sling; not that she'd use one.

All she needed was the sexy split lip, and she'd make a damn good Bond Girl.

And her hair was so long, longer than he remembered it ever being; it almost touched the small of her back, cascading in soft waves, highlighted, likely from the exposure of the Israeli sun.

Ziva muttered something Tony couldn't understand, although it sounded like a threat, and Eli let out a hollow laugh. He stood, the three agents following suit, and gave her a chaste kiss on the cheek before tilting her chin with a thumb to look at injuries, only to have his hand swatted away in protest. "Nothing is wrong," he insisted with a sigh. "They are here to help with your next case."

"With what case?" she urged. "Malachi is already working a case. He will not be back for days." She took the manila file from her father's desk, and quickly scanned the cover page. "NCIS Agents?" she questioned. "When?"

Gibbs glared at Eli in question. "She didn't know we were coming?" he accused.

"No, I did not." Her chin tilted upwards in defiance.

"You know now," Eli stated, thinning patience evident in his tone. "Now you have your notes, and if I am correct, Ms. Sciuto has emailed all of you the military and personal backgrounds of each agent." He turned to Ziva, eyes and tone softer, "To be wrapped up quickly, hmmm?" She merely nodded in approval, and Eli handed her a set of keys. "Show them to their suite? The house in Florentin."

A second, silent nod of approval, and Ziva turned, for the first time, to face the three agents.

And she was wearing a tired smile that told Tony she hadn't slept in days.

"Are you ready, Gibbs?"

"Waitin' on you, Ziver."

Her face brightened at the mispronunciation of her name, that, over the years, she'd come to understand was a term of endearment.

And God, had she missed it.

Once outside, she tossed the keys to the black SUV to Gibbs, who seamlessly navigated his way through the streets of Tel Aviv, following every one of Ziva's sharp left turns, sans her blinker, as if he'd already known the route.

...

Fifteen minutes later they arrived, having passed numerous eateries and, according to an easily excitable McGee, the Tel Aviv boardwalk; they pulled into a long driveway, to a modern house in the middle of a bustling city that promised endless hours of exploration.

And it was definitely not at all what Tony had expected of Ziva's native country.

Ziva hopped out of her midsized grey Nissan Tiida, leaving the engine to run idle, indicating she had no intentions of staying. "The key should be on your key ring," she directed.

"Bright and early, David?" Gibbs asked.

She shrugged innocently. "Whenever these two decide to roll out of bed, I suppose."

McGee smiled and squeezed her arm softly before bustling up the stairs to the veranda behind Gibbs.

Tony turned face her, but Ziva was busy watching his counterpart clumsily make his way past the threshold of their makeshift home, almost tripping over Gibbs' motionless feet. "You should stay for a while," he suggested, bowing his head to catch her attention. "McGee and I will probably head out for food while the Bossman does," his face scrunched in thought. "Well, whatever it is he's gonna' do."

He watched her swallow nothing, a telling ripple on the smooth column of her throat.

Please.

She smiled warmly up at him. "Not tonight, Tony," she declined. "I have notes to review for tomorrow, and calls to make."

"Some other time," he suggested.

"Of course, Tony."

"Hey," he cocked a brow, tugging gently on her wrist as she turned to leave; "Sorry," he muttered, dropping her hand quickly, feeling her hesitation at his touch. "I just...-, didn't I ask you to stop getting blown up?"

"I did not get blown up, Tony," she dismissed, laughing at his excessive concern. "It was merely a tactical exercise."

"Tactical exercise?" he repeated. "You did this in training?"

Who the hell would take training that far?

"You could say that," she considered slowly. "But I really have to go, Tony," she glanced at the time on her phone. "I'll be late if I don't leave now."

"For what?"

For who?

Ziva pulled a face, but it quickly turned into a smile. She finally allowed herself a moment to take in his appearance.

Five years, and he'd barely aged.

He still wore that brown belt with his jeans, and that goofy smile.

But his green eyes were just as she remembered, and the day old stubble on his chin reminded her of the rawness on her skin it had left in its wake, after their last night together.

On her inner thigh.

And her stomach.

And her lips.

She took a few short steps towards him and stood on her tip toes, quickly steadying herself with a hand on his shoulder, to leave a soft kiss on his right cheek.

And as quickly as it had happened, Ziva pulled away from him. Her nose crinkled, "It is good to see you, Tony."

"Yeah," he responded, dazed.

He stood with his hands in his pockets and watched as she climbed back into her car and drove off.

Within minutes she was back on the main road, surpassing the speed limit by numbers easily in the double digits, and she slammed her left hand against the steering wheel. She cursed loudly at the sharp pain that throbbed in her shoulder, and then at herself.

Five years.

It'd been five years, but he had somehow edged his way back into her life; even if it were only temporary.

Tony was in Israel, and everything was going to fall apart.

A/N:

Jeez, I'm actually extremely excited to get to the juicy chapters later in this story.

Like. You. Have. No. Idea.

And, again, I love you all for your continued support and reviews.

And a preemptive thanks for your feedback on this chapter!

-Katie