The June sun was fading as Tony slipped out of the restaurant, and onto the terrace. His hands were still a little wet, so he wiped them on his pants, and watched Ziva. She had her wine glass in her hand, and was sitting peacefully in the sun, wearing the dress he liked on her. She was a different creature in the warm summer months, more relaxed. Carefree, almost. Perhaps, it was the desert dweller in her.

"This is nice," she said, as he came and sat in front of her, carefully lifting the seat so it would not scratch the ground. "It was a good idea."

There had been a dinner planned for May, for their anniversary, but they had been in Stillwater with Gibbs then, missing their reservation in a far fancier restaurant.

"I do have them occasionally," he said, picking up his own glass of wine.

They had managed to get public transport to the restaurant, and would spend half a mortgage payment to take a cab home. He could already imagine the slightly tipsy cab ride, his blazer over her little black dress. A new diamond ring on her finger, glistening in the moonlight.

Tonight was going to be a good night.

Tonight was going to be the night.

Life was too short, he had decided as he buttoned his shirt, and she hunted for the shoes that went with the dress, their new closet organisation system, seemed to lead to more problems than it solved.

"Very occasionally," she purred, reaching her hand across the table for his. She rubbed her fingers over his wrist. She was smiling. That tispy smile that came with the wine.

"I wanted to do something nice," he said, as he studied her face. She tanned better than he did, and had bronzed nicely.

"It has been a tough few weeks," she declared, running her hand through her hair.

He reached over, and took the last piece of bread from their starter. Trying to smother his nerves in pure carbohydrate. He was an Italian, after all.

"Yeah," he said, stuffing the bread in his mouth. The mains they had ordered, were taking their time.

It had been a couple of weeks since Gibbs father had died, peacefully, and they were all so glad for Jackson to be permitted such peace. Gibbs being Gibbs, had kept quiet about it, keeping all those that cared in the dark. Eventually, news of Jackson's death had spread, and they had all ended up in Stillwater for the funeral. Gibbs being Gibbs, had been back at work a few days later, acting like nothing had happened, and was resisting any attempts of reaching out.

"How is Gibbs doing?" she asked, her eyes lighting up as the waitress appeared with their mains. Finally, both of them agreed telepathically.

"Well, it's Gibbs," Tony said, as their plates suddenly appeared in front of them.

They thanked the waitress, and watched as another couple walked onto the terrace. The two barely looked old enough to drink, but the man looked serious, with beads of sweat on his forehead. The sweat was not from heat, but from nerves. Tony wondered if this was the break-up dinner. It was an awfully nice place for a break-up dinner.

"You know what he's like," Tony continued.

She probably knew better than anyone. Gibbs and Ziva just got each other. A samurai code of honour, he'd told Ellie a few months ago, when she'd asked about why Gibbs' calls Ziva, Ziver. It was deeper than that, Gibbs and Ziva had an understanding. An understanding of how much horror the world contained.

"Maybe, I should go and see him again," she said, as she ran her knife along her chicken.

Ziva had popped over when Gibbs got back from Stillwater, with some food in tow. She had not stayed long, sensing Gibbs wanted some quiet time. He'd told her, he was okay, but she wasn't sure.

"Maybe," he said. His hand dove into his pocket, and he patted the velvet box he'd brought. Making sure it was still there. A shiver running up his back.

"Maybe, he will talk more," Ziva said. "Maybe, he just needed some time."

"Well bossman's not exactly a chatterbox," he said. "Even with you."

"No," Ziva admitted, flashing a smile "But he needs someone. We talk more now."

"Really," he asked, "You barely see each other."

"No we do not," Ziva said. "But, he talks a little bit more. I think it is easier, because he does not have to worry about me in the field."

"So he's spilling his secrets?" Tony asked. "Did he tell you how he gets the damn boat out his basement?"

"Not exactly," Ziva said, offering a half laugh "But, things are different now."

"Good different, or bad different?" he asked, as he put something green in his mouth.

"It is just different," Ziva said. "There are good parts, and bad parts."

She wanted to say more honest. Maybe it was. There was also more worry. She worried about him more.

"Okay," Tony said. "Maybe, you could go see him on Sunday. We both could."

"You know he sent me a text the other day," Ziva said.

"Gibbs can text" Tony declared, "How do grunts translate into text form?"

She fished her phone out of her impossibly small clutch purse, and presented it to him. Opening the screen for him, even though he knew the passcode. He finally got to the message bank.

Proud of you, kid.

"He even used punctuation," Ziva declared, as he handed the phone back to her. "It took me a while to figure out, what he was proud about. You told him about my grades, yes?"

Ziva's end of semester grades had been posted not long after they got back from Jackson's funeral. The lowest grade was a B+, and the highest was an A+, with a solid A for that statistics class that she'd hated. Ziva had been full of excitement, when she pulled Tony over to her computer to show him. She remained smiling for days. She had called Schmeil for their weekly chat, later that day, and he suspected that had been the first thing she told him. Tony could practically hear the pride in the old man, from across the ocean.

"Might have done," Tony said, a smile dawning over his face. "I tried to get him to talk about Jackson, but he kept turning the conversation away. Eventually, he asked about your grades."

"He does that," Ziva said.

"He wasn't the only one who asked," Tony said. "McComputerGenius was ready to hack into the university."

"It probably would not have taken him long," Ziva admitted. Her university often had technical issues, much to the dismay of Ziva and her classmates.

"Can I tell them about your grades, if they ask?" he asked. This was the dance they danced, how much could he share on her behalf? How much should she share herself? "Or maybe you should send 'em a text."

"Abby and Tim have masters degrees, Abby has a PhD," Ziva said. "I doubt they care about a handful of A's in a social science program."

"They do," he assured her. "Besides, we all need to get better at not talking about work."

Could their little family manage it? Whole dinners without discussions of cases or paperwork.

"I suppose," she said.

"Well, we'll need other things to talk about, when we start drifting our separate ways," Tony murmured.

"You're worried about that, are you not?" she asked. The hairs on the back of his neck stood up, how easily she could see right through him.

"Kinda," he admitted "I mean weren't things different with everyone, once you gave up the badge?"

"Yes," Ziva said. "But, in some ways it's better. Yes, sometimes it's difficult to organise things, but I spend more one-on-one time with everyone. Sometimes, the conversations are more honest, that they would have been if we still work together."

"Like what?" he asked. He watched, as Ziva scrunched up her face, unsure if she should reveal secrets.

"It is just different," she finally said. "We do not have work to get in the way. Tim and I talked about our fathers, when we went for a run."

"Yeah, McGoo is looking McSlim, since you started taking him running," Tony declared. He decided not to pry any further. If McGee wanted to talk about his Dad, with him, he would. "You need to be careful with him, he'll waste away."

"The last two times, we have gone out for brunch afterwards, so there is no danger of that," she told him. "It is good to see him, more often. His stamina is improving."

He smiled. Glad, that Ziva and Tim has found their rhythm, it had been a hard balance to get right.

"Good," Tony said. Glad that his friend and his girlfriend had found their footing. "And it's nice that you and Breena have become friendly."

"Yes," Ziva said. "Though she does not want to do Krav Maga anymore."

The plans had been loose, offered at Abby's birthday party. Still, when Ziva had brought them up again, as her Spring semester drew to a close, Breena had declined over text, and Ziva had found herself disappointed, having wanted to get to know Breena better. She was more than just Jimmy's wife.

"You don't think?" he asked.

The Palmers had started a round of IVF in April. Tony and Ziva were the only people outside of the couple, and Breena's father who knew. Palmer had been quiet, the last couple of weeks, and Tony had put the down to the stress of the end of the medical school semester, and the treatments. Despite Breena's reassurances, Jimmy still thought of himself as less of man, because he was the one with the fertility issue.

Tony now wondered, if the quietness, had been because Jimmy was sitting on a secret. Maybe, it had worked.

"I do not know," Ziva said softly. "But, we should not jinx it."

She hoped that her friends would get good results. They both did.

"No," he said, tapping the wooden table leg. Ziva muttered something in Hebrew. He knew it translated to something like god willing, she had said it before, and called her superstitious old Jew.

"I do not think you should worry about what will happen when you move on," Ziva said, after a couple of moments of quiet. She'd finished her salad.

"That's easier to say than to do," he said, closing his knife and fork. His plate completely clean. He was definitely stress eating. The ring in his pocket, felt heavy.

"I know," Ziva said. "But, Tim and I talked about it, last week at bruch. We were more than just a team. We have been through too much together, just to drop out of each others lives."

"Yeah, I hope that's the case," he said. They lapsed into quiet, eating their food, and sipping the wine. "Do you remember Delores Broomstead?"

"Yes," Ziva said, with a smirk. "The wicked witch of human resources, that you had to buy a Secret Elf present for one Christmas."

"Secret santa," he corrected. Giving her pass, since Christmas wasn't her holiday, even though she did like presents. "And boy, do I admire your memory."

"It comes in handy sometimes," she said, with a smile. "Anyway, what about Dolores?"

"I've got a meeting with her on Monday," he said. "To discuss what my options might be?"

"You are ready to take that step?" she asked. "Have you given it some more thought?"

While Ziva had given the badge up rather quickly, Tony was slower in the decision making process. He loved his job, but also understood that it was no conducive to a life outside of it. That faint goal of becoming a team leader one day no longer fit him, but he wanted to still work in law enforcement.

He had a few ideas. They had made list of what he wanted and didn't want. His ideal job, they'd determined would be some sort of training role. Fletc would be the best fit, as he would have fixed hours. They had also recently opened a Fletc campus in Virginia, which worked as Tony knew Ziva wouldn't want to move.

"It's just testing the waters, seeing whats out there," he replied, feeling at peace with his decision. "Dolores said that Reynolds from Fletc is retiring next summer, which means there might be room at the inn. Reynolds is a legend, both McGeek and Bish had him."

"That is good," she said.

She had been grandfathered in, when she became a NCIS agent, with her experience meaning she had been spared Fletc, as an agent she had wondered if she was missing out on something, but now those thoughts felt distant.

"I've been thinking a lot about the future," he said. Honesty, sweeping over him. "I've been thinking about it a lot, these past couple of months. A lot is changing."

They had been talking about it a lot, those past couple of months; over dinners, and before they went to bed. So much talking. He didn't think he'd ever shared so much, with anyone.

"Yes," she said. "There have been good changes. I am proud of you. Of us."

He fingered the ring box in his pocket. He was so sure, today was going to be the day, but something in his gut was telling him no. He didn't doubt that he wanted to marry her, nor that she wanted to marry him. Maybe, a public proposal was not the best way to do it. Ziva was a private person. He'd been hesitant when his Dad suggested the classic restaurant proposal, when they discussed options over their newly regular dinners.

Maybe, today was not the day. Maybe it was just his nerves talking, but what if she said no?

"Me too," he murmured.

"Have you talked to Gibbs?" she asked, as she finished her wine. "He should be in the loop."

"I will, when theres something to tell," he said. "I'm not sure if he'll get it."

"I think he will," Ziva said. "He gets more than we think he does."

She too, had thought Gibbs would not get it, but instead his arms had wrapped around her.

"Well I hope he does eventually," Tony said, with a sigh. "Otherwise it'll make Thanksgiving mighty awkward."

She smiled, trying to banish his dark thought with her brightness.

"He will understand," she said softly. Willing it into the universe.

She reached across the table and pulled out the bottle of wine. There was enough for them both to have another glass.

"We should have a toast," he said, as she poured another glass for each of them.

"To what?" she asked.

"Lots of things," he said. "We've survived a year without killing each other."

Their anniversary had actually been when they were up in Stillwater. Their dinner reservations passing. Still, he had decided it was important they celebrate, even if it was a couple of weeks late.

"Yes, we have," she said with a smile. "Though, I think I have come close."

"We both remember the basmati rice argument," he said, holding the smile.

The worst argument they had since they moved in together, had been one about rice. Tony had brought home the wrong kind of rice, and Ziva had lost it. It was of course during the middle of finals, and the stress had erupted.

"That was not my finest moment," she said, looking away from him. Still so ashamed.

"Everyone gets stressed during finals," he assured her, reaching for her hand and rubbing her knuckles. "It's something we can laugh about."

"I will look at managing that better," she said. She had stared down terrorists, and yet a statistics final had made her blow as gasket. "But this year, it has been good, no?"

That no, hovered. He knew it was a hangover from Hebrew, to inflect her speech like that. Still doubt stirred in him, for just a moment. Her smile raged on, and the dark little thought popped like a balloon in a tree. It had been good. No better than good. Great.

"Very good," he said. "Better than good. There is so much to celebrate today. Your grades are amazing. Things are looking better with my Dad. You and I have moved in together."

They were happy. So happy that it was sickeningly sweet. For so long they had denied themselves this chance at happiness, and now they reached for it with both hands.

"We should toast to all of that," she declared, holding out the glass. "To our wonderful year, and many more to come."

He fingered the ring box in his pocket. He'd do it now. He'd ask her to marry him, promising her many more years. He thought of the speech he had been rehearsing for months, all the wonderful things he was going to say. The moment was perfect.

What was he waiting for?

A woman's shriek burst their little bubble. He felt the hairs on the back of his neck stand up, he was finely attuned to danger. Would he have to put his cop hat on?

"Oh my god, yes," the woman from cried. It dawned on Tony, the shriek was one of happiness.

Of joy. So much joy.

"Oh," Ziva said, looking at the scene playing out behind them on the other side of the terrace.

Tony turned around, and saw the sweaty guy from before on one knee, with a ring box open. The woman had was both crying and smiling. It was exactly how it looked in the movies.

Tony pushed his own ring box, deeper into his pocket. The damn sweaty kid had stolen his thunder.

"How nice," Tony said, swallowing the bitterness that came up. It should have been them.

"Yes," Ziva said turning back toward him. "Now, where were we?"

He was about to ask her to marry him. She would have probably said yes. She would have been the crying-smiling woman in the middle of a restaurant terrace. It would have been just like a scene from a movie. They would be the ones, getting the complimentary champagne from the restaurant.

"We were toasting," he said, swallowing the bitterness as quickly as he could, even though it burnt his throat. He smiled back at her, holding up his glass.

"Yes," she uttered. "To us."

"To us," he echoed.

To them. To many more years together. Forever and always.

A/N:

I don't own a thing.

Apologies for the delay, I've started a new job with a nasty commute that interrupts writing time. I'll try and keep updating every two weeks.

I did promise a proposal. Fear not kids, this will lead to a greater pay off. *ducks as my lovely readers throw rotten tomatoes at me*

I know in real life that Fletc is in one of those flyover states (I'm not American), but the show always seems to imply there is some sort of Fletc equivalent or secondary campus in the local area to the show. I'm gonna go with that.

Thanks for all the love. I'll reply to reviews soon. Huge thanks to all the guest reviews too.