Her thermostat rested at its usual high temperature, but the feeling in the room was cold. She slipped back into her apartment, keys jangling in her hand, having seen her friend out into the cold. He dunked the plate into the warm soapy dishwater, not caring that it splashed him. Soaking his overpriced shirt.

"That went well," he said, as she stood next to him, and took the tea towel into her hand, rather violently. Tension brewed, and fermented.

"Did it?" she asked, raising her eyebrow to her hairline.

Things had not gone well.

The dinner had been an attempt to marry her old life to her new. She had invited her friend Jessica, who was in a couple of her classes, to meet Tony. She had opted to cook, as Jessica did not have the money for a restaurant, and she liked to cook. Jessica had enjoyed the spicy shakshuka Ziva had made. Jessica had brought a decedent desert, which Tony had devoured.

"No," he said with gulp. "Not really, no."

"Did you really feel the need to interrogate my friend?" she asked, trying to keep her voice at a reasonable level. It was late, and her neighbours were too nice, to become an audience to what might become a nasty fight.

"I didn't interrogate her," Tony said, trying to keep his voice low.

"I have seen you interrogate people," she shouted, being the first to turn this from a tense discussion to a full-blown fight. "I knew what your were doing."

"Well," he shouted. "Were you gonna tell me your new friend was a jail bird."

Tony had latched onto Jessica, when she revealed that she had being in prison for fifteen months, about a decade before hand. Ziva had watched as slipped into work mode.

"Why?" she shouted. "So, you could judge her before you met her?"

"So, I could not make an idiot of myself," he said.

He had certainly done that.

"So, you admit you interrogated her," Ziva replied.

"I was curious," he said, softening his voice. "It's not everyday, you meet someone who has been to jail."

"You do," she said, snarkily.

"You know what I mean," he replied. It was not everyday, you meet someone who had been to prison as a friend. A stint in the big house, was not something people advertised.

"She has been out of prison for eight years," Ziva said, softening her tone. "She should not be judged by what she did at nineteen."

He wondered how much of that was about Jessica, and how much was about Ziva.

"Did you know?" he asked.

If she hadn't known, she had certainly pulled her best Mossad poker face, when Jessica's past was revealed.

"Jessica told me a few weeks ago," Ziva said.

It had been after their Psychology class, where the Zimbardo prison experiments had come up in conversation. Ziva found herself squirming in her seat, as they watched footage of men humiliating others, she hadn't needed the class to teach her the ways of the world. Ziva had also watched as Jessica, usually a strong contributor to the classroom discussions, became quieter and more withdrawn.

Ziva had insisted they get some coffee, before Jessica left, and as they sat in Ziva's car, Jessica had mentioned her time in prison. She had been nineteen, and caught with drugs three times in six months. She was sober now, and was trying to build up her life back up. She wanted to help other women, when they came out of prison, and prevent recidivism.

"And you didn't think to mention it to me?" he asked.

"It was not my story to tell," she said softly.

"Did she know you used to be cop?" he asked.

"I was never a cop," Ziva replied.

"What do you tell people, when they asked what you did before?" he asked.

"I tell them I investigated crimes," she replied.

"That's what a cop does," he interrupted.

"So much of what I did was outside the law," Ziva said softly, letting a breath out with a hiss. "There is so much I have done, that should have landed me in prison or worse."

She was more than what she had done to survive.

"Don't say that," he said. "We're the good guys."

"It is true," she whispered, looking down at her feet. "Just because my actions were ordered by a government, or because someone high up looked the other way, does not change the nature of them."

"Is that why you and Jessica are friends?" he asked. "Because you think you're on the same level."

She looked up at him, eyes crinkled. He was way off base.

"We were friends, before she told me about her past," Ziva told him. "She likes the same music, and we always seemed to end up paired up for class discussions. She is a good person."

I am good person, she was trying to say. And, if somebody was going to rank her and Jessica. Jessica would come out on top, because as far as Ziva knew, Jessica never killed anyone.

"I know," he said softly.

"I told her about Somalia," Ziva whispered. "Not everything, but some of it."

His jaw slacked, and his mouth opened. Somalia was a closely guarded secret, only those who had been in her life at time, knew about it. Delilah and Ellie, probably knew about it through their jobs, and the rumour mill. Breena was blissfully unaware. Most of the scars from those three months were easily hidden. Friends from her classes, and translating work had no inkling.

"I did not intend too," she whispered, "it just came out. We were talking about the Zimbardo prison experiment, you know from the seventies."

His Intro to Psychology class might have been over two decade ago, but the name rang a bell.

"And I mentioned that I had been held captive," she whispered. "I did not tell her everything, but I told her some things. She asked if that was why I left NCIS. It was good to tell someone. Obviously, I do not want to broadcast my past, but it felt good to talk about it. I do not want to burden her either."

What a sight, they must have looked, they had decided. Two women sitting in a car, coffee and breath fogging up the windows, spilling secrets. Eyes glassy. How both women, wished their secrets only involved bad hook-ups, and wardrobe malfunctions.

"That's good," he said, dishwater soaked hand reaching for hers, and squeezing it. "I don't think she thought of it as a burden."

"Jessica wants to do good," Ziva whispered. She wanted to do good, too. "She is more than her past."

I am more than just my past, she saying.

"I know," he whispered. "I didn't realise women's prisons were such a mess."

Once Jessica had revealed her past to Tony, she had started a spiel about the myriad of issues facing female inmates including; medical care, lecherous guards, and separation from children. She was hoping to help make the world a better place, for female inmates, and especially upon release.

"You didn't?" she asked, poking her head up. He might be less inclined than her to read a newspaper, but surely he knew something.

"I think, I kinda chose not to think about it too much," he admitted, swallowing thickly. "I've been a cop for over twenty years."

"I know," she whispered.

"I've seen it all," he said. The horrors of the job, played like a bad movie montage in his head "I've seen kids sitting in their own filth because their parents are too strung out. I've seen people murdered over a few grams."

She moved closer to him, closing the distance, and trying to banish the bad, bad world. He had seen too much.

"And, when you've seen all of that," he continued. "You have to believe that when the bad guys get caught, and that they do their time. You can't think about how much they suffer in the big house. You can't think about how their are rich kids who do far worse, end up with shorter sentences. You can't think about that. Otherwise, you wonder if you're doing more harm than good."

"I know," she whispered.

"Do you think you would have been friends with Jessica if you still worked for NCIS?" he asked.

He was being so honest with her, unearthing parts of him, that were not his proudest. She owed him the same honesty in return.

"I do not know," she admitted. "I am not sure, we would have ever met. The job did not leave much time for making new friends."

"No," he said. "It doesn't."

"Even if I had met Jessica before, I probably would not have become friends with her," she finally said. "But, I am glad I have met her, she is very funny. She is a good person."

"Yeah," he said. Remembering the joke Jessica had made about the TA for the statistics class, she and Ziva were taking. Apparently the man had quite the taste in winter sweaters, and made very bad jokes.

"I'm sorry, I kinda interrogated her," he whispered.

"I think you should apologize to her," she replied. "I would like you too apologize to her."

"Yeah, I should," he admitted, voice solemn. "Did you invite her to Purim?"

Ziva's Purim party, was in a week. So far, they had full attendance from all of her friends from her old life. Delilah was keen to show off her new wheels. Abby was excited to dress up. Ellie said she would see about bringing her husband. None of them had met Mr Ellie yet.

"Yes," she said. "She seemed very excited. I also invited Rachel and her partner."

"They're from your synagogue right?" he asked.

"Rachael is," Ziva said. "Her partner is not Jewish, I have not met her partner."

Ziva knew very little about Rachel's partner. She had seen an Indian woman pick Rachel up from services a couple of times, but had not asked if that was her partner.

"I'll be on my best behaviour, when I meet them," he promised, hoping the Purim party would go better than the dinner. "Promise."

He flashed his thousand-watt grin.

"I am sorry, I sprung Jessica on you," she said, softly. "Maybe, I should have mentioned that she did not have a conventional past."

"I shouldn't have overreacted," he said softly. He held his breath for a second, trying to hold the thoughts that were swimming inside of him. "It's just so much is changing. So much has changed."

She was changing. They were changing. Were they evolving in the same direction?

"I know, I have asked a lot of you, in these past few months," she whispered. "Too much perhaps."

"You've been so much happier," he told her. "It's good to see you so happy. It makes me happy to see you happy"

So peaceful. She was so peaceful. She deserved to be this happy.

"There is something you are not saying," she murmured as she brought her hands to his face. Was he not happy?

"It's just," he paused, then gulped. "What if you decide, I don't fit in to this new life of yours?"

"I do not think that will happen," she whispered.

"Hear me out," he whispered. "What if you get sick of this old man, you've hitched your wagon too? You're changing, and I'm not. You're going to take on the world, and I'm asking you to settle down. I'm looking at winding it down."

"Winding it down?" she asked.

"I don't want to still be chasing bad guys with Gibbs', when we have kids," he replied. "I'd want one of those boring desk jobs, which means I'd be home by six, so we can tag team bath time."

How easily he conjured up their future. She hoped they could breathe reality into his dreams.

"We have a little while," she whispered. She had told him, she had wanted to be done with classes before they started making babies. It seemed he wanted her barefoot and pregnant now. She wanted that degree. Nobody could take that degree away from her.

"I don't want to rush you," he muttered. "I also don't want to miss the boat."

"You are not," she said softly. "You are not going to miss the boat."

"I feel like going through the motions," he continued. She watched with her mouth slightly ajar. So much had been going on in his head. So much, he was not sharing. "Like I'm not really going anywhere."

How long had he been sitting with these thoughts, she wondered.

"Yes you are," Ziva told him. "You have a five year plan, and you are making changes to fulfil that plan. You are letting others in. Maybe, things aren't changing on the outside, but they are on the inside. You are doing well."

Could she have ever imagined, the goofy playboy of a partner she was partnered with all those years ago, would turn into the man she wanted to share her life with? He was softer now. More caring. She hoped he was happier too.

"I hope so," he whispered.

They were both doing well. Letting go of the past. Moving forward, together.

"I know so," she replied. They were going to be okay.

"So, you not going to run off with your stats TA?" he asked.

She gave him a throaty laugh. He smiled for just a second.

"Definitely not," she promised, as she patted his stomach. "You have much better taste in sweaters."

He laughed. A lion's roar of a laugh. She smiled, a full moon of a smile.

"You should talk to me about these things," she whispered, as the laughter trailed off. "You have to let me in."

She kicked herself for not noticing earlier. She had been so self-absorbed in recent months.

"I figured, only one us can be a hot mess at a time," he said, as she pulled him into a hug. "Not that you were ever that much of a mess."

She smiled.

"Well, I think you have earned your turn," she whispered, as she looked up at him. "Please Motek, don't keep secrets."

Motek, how he melted everytime she called him that.

"I didn't mean too," he admitted. "It's all be going on under the surface. Bubbling away."

"I know," she said softly. "These things tend to happen like that."

It hadn't been to long since, it had all come up to the surface for her.

"I'm starting to understand," he said.

"Understand, what?" she asked.

"How you could give up the badge," he declared.

"I thought you understood why I had to do that," she said, trying not to raise her voice.

"I did on a logical level, and I remember how tormented you were," he said softly. "But now, I get it. I really get it. On a personal level."

She let out a heavy breath. Worry knotted in her stomach.

"Do you want to stop being a NCIS agent?" she asked. Her stomach tight.

"I don't know," he whispered, his eyes heavy. "I really don't know, and that scares me. It scares me a hell of a lot."

"It's okay," she said, "I will be okay."

"I think that's why I've been thinking about kids, a lot lately," he admitted. "That way the decision would be made. I'd give it all up for a kid. People would get that."

People wouldn't get him running away from the fire. How could he leave the others to stand and fight?

"I am tracking well for my degree," she murmured. "Like I said last week, I could be done in two and half years."

"You shouldn't have to rush, because I'm having a crisis of faith," he said.

Was this another symptom of his endless midlife crisis?

"We can look at other things," she whispered. "It would be good for you to be settled in your career, before we start having children."

"Yeah," he said. "You're probably right. You're always right."

She offered him a smile, and a hand squeeze. Assurances.

"Have you given it much thought?" she asked.

"I know I don't want to go back to school, I'm way too old for that," he said. "I'd want to stay in Law Enforcement. I was thinking maybe recruitment or training. Make sure the next generation, are the best we've got."

Years ago, he saw the new agents as competition, now he wanted to mould them, to let them learn from his mistakes. Oh, how he had grown.

"Yes," she said, with a smile. "I think you would quite enjoy training new agents."

"I've been a cop for two decades," he said, voice quieting. Doubt creeping in. "What if can't do anything else?"

"I think you will do great," she said. "You are more than the badge."

But, what if he wasn't. He wasn't like her. He wasn't adaptable. What if he was just some old grump?

She pulled him closer, until his head rested on her chest. His knees were bent and his back ached, but he didn't care.

"I got your back," she whispered, as her hand rubbed circles onto his back. "I will always have your back."

A/N:

I don't own a thing. Thanks for all the reviews, and love.

Not the direction, I intended on this taking so early on, but the ol' muse had other ideas. As you've probably noticed, I tend to leave things to stew, before picking them up a few chapters later. The plan for the next chapter is the Purim party.

Also, there probably won't be a chapter next week. I'm travelling for Christmas. Hopefully, they'll be one before the new year. I'm also in the process of moving countries, so I'm a little strapped for writing time.

Also, in shameless self-promotion. I wrote a blog post about all the books Ziva read or referenced during her time on the show. If you google "Alice Reads Books" wordpress, it should come up. If that tickles your fancy.

Happy holidays, whether it's Christmas, Hanukkah, Festivus, or something else, hopefully it is happy and joyful.