Chapter 13

"No way," Tony said. "This time, we're having Italian!"

Ziva laughed at his vehemence. They had got Tim to commit to coming to dinner on Saturday night and now, they were trying to decide on a menu. Typically, Tony wanted to do Italian while Ziva thought they should do a Moroccoan meal.

"Zahara likes Moroccan food, Tony," Ziva said. "It is what she grew up with. Tim likes it, too."

"She likes Italian food, too. It's something she doesn't get as often. Everyone likes Italian."

"Everyone we will be feeding likes Moroccan, too," Ziva said.

Tony shook his finger at her.

"No. This time, we're doing Italian. I'm putting my somewhat-diluted Italian foot down and declaring what we're making. Besides, Zahara said she liked it."

Ziva knew Tony meant it but at the same time, he was being intentionally ridiculous as well. Besides, really, she had no particular objection beyond that Zahara liked having the food she had grown up with.

"Very well. What are you going to make?"

"Huh?"

It was clear that he had been ready to keep arguing.

"If we're doing Italian, what are you going to make? ...oh, and remember that Zahara does not drink alcohol."

"Oh, yeah. Well, that's easy to work around," Tony said. "And hey, we'll do a real Italian dinner."

"What do you mean?"

"I mean, with all the courses."

"How many are there?" Ziva asked. "I have never had a real Italian dinner."

Tony grinned. "Lots. There's antipasti, primi, secondi, soup, salad, fruit and cheese and then dessert. Hmmm... that might be too much."

"Yes, I think so. It sounds like traditional meals in Morocco, too."

"It's all about packing on the calories so you can go out and toil in the fields the next day," Tony said. "I did it playing sports, too. Carb loading."

"Well, since they do not play sports and none of us toil in the fields, perhaps we can simplify a bit," Ziva said.

"Okay, okay. Well, let's drop out the soup and salad, but we have to do dessert. I know that Tim has a sweet tooth, even if Zahara doesn't."

Ziva smiled. "Good. So now, what will we have?"

They started to plan out the menu.

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

Jimmy and Breena had offered to babysit Salma and Jonathan while Tim and Zahara joined Tony and Ziva for dinner. Tim had felt a little weird accepting since it meant that the Palmers weren't invited, but he had insisted. Not every gathering had to be everyone together. There were plenty of opportunities for that. For this evening, it was going to be just the two couples.

After finally accepting that, Tim tried to look forward to it. Both Tony and Ziva were great cooks so the food would probably be phenomenal. Still, he couldn't help wondering if there was a secondary motive for the invite. What that might be, he had no idea. He wasn't hiding anything. ...well, except for their trip and Zahara's pregnancy. Zahara felt they should tell everyone about the trip and Tim agreed that they should. He couldn't even really explain to himself why he'd been reluctant to share that information out. However, he really didn't want to say anything about the new baby until Zahara was a little further along. The pregnancy was so early yet that it just felt like jinxing them to start spreading that news. Tim knew that Zahara didn't really agree with that, but she wasn't pushing him on that one.

They walked up to the apartment building where Tony and Ziva lived and just before going inside, Tim paused and took a deep breath.

"It is just a nice evening, Tim," Zahara said. "There is no reason to worry at all."

Tim forced a smile. "You say that like it matters."

"It does. It always matters."

"I'll try to believe you."

"Since it is true, then, you will succeed. Come."

They walked in together and knocked on the door. Tony was the one who opened it and invited them in. Tim hadn't been in their new apartment before. They'd got it just before the wedding and had been so sneaky about it that no one had known that they'd moved. So Tim was looking around the space and he could easily see that they'd combined forces with the decorating. Tony's movies were all neatly stored on a number of bookshelves. There was a space that held Ziva's various training equipment. He looked at Tony and smiled.

"So is your bed still a race car?" he asked.

Tony laughed and then leered. "Only figuratively."

Ziva gave Tony a gentle shove.

"It is not a race car in any way, Tim," she said. "Come into the kitchen."

"What are we having?" Tim asked.

"Italian," Tony said emphatically.

Zahara laughed. "I don't think I've ever had Italian made by you, Tony."

"You'll be impressed."

"Will I?"

"Absolutely. You can't eat Italian and not be impressed." Tony said.

"Would you say that if you weren't vaguely Italian yourself?" Tim asked.

"Vaguely?" Tony repeated, grinning. "Vaguely?"

"Yep. Vaguely. Would you?"

"I'm not telling," Tony said.

"Then, would you tell what we are having?" Zahara asked.

"Yes," Ziva said, firmly.

"We're going to do the whole works. A traditional Italian dinner, although we are cutting out a few courses because we want you to be able to walk at the end of it," Tony said. "And we're not having any alcohol since I know you don't drink it."

"Oh, you did not have to do that," Zahara said.

"You're our guest," Ziva said. "We would not try to feed you something that made you uncomfortable."

"Have a seat," Tony said. "And don't even think about asking to help. We're serving you tonight and that's that."

Tim raised his hands and sat down beside Zahara at the table in the kitchen. It wasn't a huge kitchen but it was quite nice. Very organized, as both Tony and Ziva tended to be.

"So for antipasti... aka appetizers for you Americans," Tony said.

"You're an American, too, Tony," Tim said. "Actually, everyone in this room is an American."

"Shut up. For antipasti, we decided to go simple and just do some homemade bruschetta."

"That's bread," Tim said to Zahara.

"It's bruschetta and this is my thing, Probie. Don't you forget it."

Tim laughed as did Zahara. However, they were both happy to try the bruschetta when it was served along with an Italian drink called Sanbitter Rosso.

"This is such a simple thing, but it's very good," Zahara said. "I like it, Tony."

"Thank you," Tony said. "What about you, Probie?"

"It's good, Tony," Tim said. "Now, I thought you guys might get a house after you got married. I was surprised you decided to do an apartment."

"Well... that is because we can't agree on where to live," Ziva said, smiling. "We can't afford a house of any size in DC itself but we can afford an apartment. So we'll live here until we can decide on who will compromise."

"Which means we'll be here forever," Tony said. "Luckily, it's a nice place. It's got enough room. Neither of us has family who will come to stay with us so we don't need anything really extra."

They chatted for a while over the antipasti but then, Tony declared it was time for the primi course.

"So I'm guessing that primi means first," Tim said. "And since the appetizer was antipasti, does that mean primi is pasta?"

"Very good detective work," Tony said. "Ziva and I made cheese tortellini with garlic butter so no kissing anyone after dinner."

Tim laughed and Zahara blushed a little.

Tony served the pasta, finishing it off with a fine grating of parmesan. Then, he skewered Tim with a look that said he was waiting for a compliment on the pasta. Tim smiled. He knew that it would be good even without tasting it.

"Tony, it'll be good. You don't need to be so nervous," Tim said.

"Just eat it, Tim."

Zahara took her first bite.

"Wonderful," she said. "It is delicious. Isn't it, Tim."

Tim took a bite and gave Tony a thumbs up. He took a second bite.

"Great, you guys," he said with his mouth full.

They ate the pasta and then, Tony served the secondi, the meat course which was chicken with chickpeas and oranges. It was a different combination and definitely not stereotypically Italian. Still, it was delicious and Tim and Zahara were both happy to compliment them on the meal.

"Man, Tony. How much more is there?" Tim asked. "It's great but I'm definitely getting full."

"There is the fruit and cheese plate which is mostly a palate cleanser before dessert," Ziva said. "Just don't eat much of it."

"No problem. I'd say that I couldn't eat dessert, but I know it's going to be great so I'll just resign myself to gaining twenty pounds tonight."

"You won't, but even if you did, you could stand to gain some weight anyway," Ziva said. "You are definitely not overweight. Not at all."

Tim smiled and tried not to take that as anything but slight concern.

"It's about time. I've been overweight most of my life," he said with a smile and patted his stomach.

They all sampled the fruit and cheese board but none of them ate a lot. Then, finally, it was dessert, a rich chocolate cake served with some perfectly smooth gelato. As they ate, Tim glanced at Zahara and she smiled encouragingly at him. She had left it up to him but he knew that she wanted him to share their travel plans.

"So...now that you're back, do you have any other travel plans this year?" Tim asked, knowing that his question would be reciprocated.

"No," Ziva said. "Not right now. We used up a lot of days with the wedding and our honeymoon. Especially since Tony is the team lead now, we don't have as much leeway for time off."

"We may go somewhere for Christmas but not during the summer," Tony added. "What about you guys? Doing any traveling?"

"Actually, yes," Tim said.

"Where are you going?" Ziva asked.

"Egypt."

Tony's eyes widened in surprise.

"Really?"

"Yeah. We're going to visit Ahmed," Tim said.

"Wow. I didn't think that... you'd go back that direction," Tony said. "I mean, I know you guys went to Morocco but that's a lot farther away from...other places."

Tim took a breath and forced himself to smile.

"Yeah."

There was an awkward pause as the events that had taken place in that part of the world loomed up in everyone's minds...especially in Tim's and Tony's minds. Tim's abduction and torture was, by far, the worst time for most of them. Those memories would never be good ones. Then, Zahara saved the conversation. She leaned forward and patted Tim on the knee.

"We were talking about visiting Ahmed before Salma was born, but the timing has been wrong because I do not want to be traveling when I cannot enjoy it, but Ahmed has been inviting us to see him and to let him show us Egypt. So after Salma is out of school, we're going to Egypt for a week."

"Taking your kids, then?" Tony asked.

"Yes. Salma is old enough to enjoy it, and hopefully, this will be the first of many visits and Jonathan will learn to love Egypt," Zahara said smiling.

Another awkward pause and then Ziva saved the conversation.

"What are you going to see?"

Tim smiled more genuinely this time.

"All the typical stuff. We're going to see the pyramids, mummies, the Nile River."

"You going to ride a camel?" Tony asked.

"Well, I've already done that, but maybe," Tim said. "I'm just hoping that it won't be too hot."

"Compared to DC, I'm sure it will be fine," Zahara said.

Tim laughed and the conversation shifted over to weather for a while. All of them had experienced other climates and that allowed them to compare with each other and talk about what was the worst kind of weather, what was the most surprising. Finally, Tim and Zahara had to go and rescue Jimmy and Breena from their kids and get home so they got up and prepared to say their good-byes.

"Thanks for dinner, guys," Tim said. "It was really good and Zahara and I don't get out much for regular adult conversations so that was nice."

"Yes, I am happy to have tried your Italian food and now I know what to try to cook myself," Zahara said, smiling as she kissed Ziva on the cheeks.

"You are both welcome anytime," Ziva said.

"And next time, we'll invite everyone... maybe over to your house since this apartment won't fit everyone," Tony said with a grin.

"See you on Monday," Tim said.

Then, Tim and Zahara left. They picked up a very sleepy Jonathan and Salma and took them home and tucked them into bed, glad that the next day was Sunday and the kids could sleep in if they needed to. Tim took Marra out for a quick walk and then went into their bathroom to get ready for bed. He looked at himself in the mirror for a long time.

Then, he reached up and felt the metal plate in his cheek and traced the scars around his eyes. While he had mostly accepted his physical injuries, he still couldn't think back to that time with any degree of acceptance. The most he could do was not dwell on it, but he had known that any mention of going back to the Middle East or anywhere close to it would lead to dredging up those memories again. He hated remembering that pain.

Then, he felt Zahara's arms around his waist. He covered her hands with his.

"I hate remembering, Zahara. I try not to. I try to accept it, but I hate remembering it." He looked at her in the mirror, not turning around. "I wish there was some way I could stop remembering."

Zahara's expression was sympathetic.

"You cannot stop remembering, but you can accept that it happened."

"I don't know if I really can. Not anymore."

"You can try. For now, come to bed. I will sing to you."

Tim smiled weakly.

"I wish that you didn't have to."

Zahara reached out and traced the scars around his eyes with gentle fingers.

"I love to sing for you, Tim. It helps you and that's all that matters."

"I love you."

"I love you. Come to bed."

"Okay."

Tim went into the bedroom and lay down beside Zahara. She urged him to close his eyes and then she began to hum softly.

"I love you," he whispered.

"I love you," Zahara said and then continued to sing softly until Tim felt himself relax enough to sleep.

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

Suhayl was awake early in the morning, thinking about his coming departure. He hated leaving his family, but he had been summoned. Much more forcefully this time. It would not do to refuse the summons again. He had been able to use the damage to the tents and some of the injuries as a reason to stay. No longer. He would have to leave.

"Suhayl?" came Layla's voice in the darkness.

"Na'am?"

"Hal onta mughādir?" she asked softly.

"Na'am."

"'Ayn?"

"La astatī' an aqūl. Ta'arifuha."

She sighed.

"'Arif. Ahabbak."

"Ahabbik," he replied.

Then, he got up and prepared to leave. It would be a long journey.

To Egypt.

Arabic translation:

"Suhayl?"

"Na'am?" Yes?

"Hal onta mughādir?" Are you leaving?

"Na'am." Yes.

"'Ayn?" Where?

"La astatī' an aqūl. Ta'arifuha." I can't say where. You know that.

"'Arif. Ahabbak." I know. I love you.

"Ahabbik," I love you.