I will figure out where I belong.
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Tony's leg is beginning to grow tired from an hour of bouncing up and down. He keeps trying to stop by pushing down on his knees; it works for all of ten seconds. Then he glances up at the arrivals board or catches a glimpse of dark hair, his stomach flips over, and he can do nothing but slump further down into his seat as his foot resumes its anxious dance.
Today is the day. He's been an exhilarated, terrified mess since the moment he woke up this morning. Work dragged on and on, and it didn't help that his teammates were much more interested in discussing Ziva than their current case. (Until Gibbs started distributing head slaps, that is.) Once she left Kenya last week, she called each of the others individually to announce that she was coming home, and he has barely heard a conversation about anything else since. He doesn't really mind; Ziva is like family to all of them, too. He gets that.
Even so, he's glad to be in the airport by himself right now. He has missed her so very much, and he isn't ready to share her yet.
Ziva's flight no longer has a projected landing time of 7:03 listed next to it. Now, five minutes early, it says arrived. He swallows so loudly it echoes in his ears as he stands and heads toward her gate, wiping his sweaty palms on his pants. She is right outside.
She's here.
Too soon- but, somehow, not soon enough- the passengers begin filtering into the lobby, one after another. Hugging and squealing and waving commences. Tony rocks back on his heels, hands shoved deep into his pockets as he fixes his eyes on the doors straight ahead.
One second she is not there and the next, she is. His heart jumps into his throat; for a long moment, he's incapable of moving. All he can do is stare: at her hair, curly and loose; at her spring jacket, hugging her curves just right; at her bulging carry-on bag, stuffed full because she's here to stay.
He is still watching her, dumbfounded, when she spots him. Her jaw drops for just a moment before she breaks into a grin. She starts in his direction, dragging that suitcase behind her on its wheels. He watches her the way a man watches his bride come down the aisle: like she is rescuing him, coming to make the rest of his life worth living.
Finally, Tony manages to unglue his feet from the floor. He erases the remaining distance between them and catches her as she flings herself into his arms. He closes his eyes and returns the embrace, perfectly happy to just revel in her warmth.
With her arms still locked around his waist, Ziva positions her lips right up against his ear. "Tony," she whispers. Hearing her voice in person is enough to send chills through him.
"Yeah."
"I'm here."
He gently pulls her head back so that he can see her face. She smiles at him, eyes slightly moist.
"Yeah, you are," he murmurs before gripping her chin and dragging her mouth up to his. Their kiss, though equally as passionate, is so different than the last one they shared in Israel. Instead of desperate, it is unhurried. Instead of bittersweet, it is joyous.
Instead of goodbye, it is hello.
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Ziva knows that the way she and Tony have chosen to proceed with their relationship is unorthodox; until last fall, they were no more than friends, and now, after months apart, her home is suddenly his. There are so many unknowns- not only where Tony is involved, but also for her, personally and professionally. She is not naïve; she knows that not everything will go smoothly.
However, on this first night back in America, those worries seem distant. She has a belly full of Thai food and has now been sideways in Tony's lap for the better part of an hour. Sometimes they talk; sometimes they kiss. Mostly, they are just glad to be in each other's company again, and they don't need words to communicate that. It is a given.
She would be perfectly content to remain curled up there for the rest of her life, but eventually Tony announces, "I can't feel my legs," and she has to crawl off of him. He massages the tops of his thighs for a couple seconds before standing and reaching down to pull her up, too. Their chests brush. Tilting his head down, he fixes her with the same adoring expression he's been wearing since they left the airport. Even though she is much more at peace with herself than she used to be, she cannot help feeling unworthy of such reverence.
"You know," he says slowly, "I haven't showed you my newest purchase yet."
Ziva's heart rate picks up. She knows exactly what he's talking about. "No." She ghosts her lips over the bottom of his jaw. "You have not."
Tony grabs her hips and turns her in the direction of the bedroom. Pressing his front up against her back, he gently nudges her forward, moving along right behind her. "Go ahead, Miss David. Tell me what you think."
Ziva pushes the door open, and there is the queen-sized bed he's boasted about. It is beautiful, just as he claimed, and she does love it, as he predicted she would. "Did you end up assembling it by yourself?"
"Why does that matter?"
She glances back at him, raising her eyebrows. Tony sighs. "I called someone."
"I thought it might come to that."
"I could have-"
"Tony," she cuts in, snaking her hand up his chest, "you are welcome to continue defending your honor, but I would really rather you familiarize me with our new bed." Her tone is sultry, the goal being to seduce him, but instead of a heady kiss or a hand up her shirt, she gets a goofy grin. "What?"
"Our bed."
"Yes," she clarifies, and then a surge of fear rises within her. "It is ours, correct? We are still going to-"
Tony grips her by the shoulders. "Ziva," he interrupts, "yes. Yes. Of course we're still doing this."
Feeling silly, she bites the inside of her cheek and holds onto his wrists.
"I'm sorry. You said our bed, and I guess that was the first time it really hit me that you're back for good and… and that we're gonna be sharing our lives. I'm so excited, Ziva. You have no idea how happy I am right now."
A lump rises in her throat in the midst of his monologue; once he has finished, she wraps both arms tightly around his neck and tugs him toward her. "Oh, I think I do."