A/N: Here you go! Much love, keep the peace, hang on tight, always, Kit.

P.S. Everyone do me a favor? Forgive each other, okay? Forgive each other or at the very least, let it go. And love. Always, always choose love. Always.

DISCLAIMER: Yes.

Chapter X

"They made a statue of us." Us, Regina Spektor

The following morning dawns bright with a clear, cloudless sky. Ziva takes her time getting up and making herself some toast before lounging around in her pajamas, enjoying a glass of cranberry juice and an episode of House Hunters International.

It's a quarter 'til ten by the time she finds herself wandering down the block toward the hum of the farmer's market on the next street. Tents are set up along the sidewalks with people peddling everything from homemade soaps and cheeses to hand knit scarves and blankets. A group of children are holding signs advertising fresh lemonade and she produces a dollar for a cup, much to the delight of the children. Music lingers in the air, the twanging hum of a steel guitar harmonizing with the light notes of a violin and the folksy vocals of a small blonde perched on a bar stool. She's singing a sweet song about statues and mountaintops and love and Ziva finds herself smiling at some of the lyrics as she moves closer to peruse the neighboring vegetable stall.

Her cell phone vibrates in her pocket and she slips it out, pressing it to her ear and offering up a warm, "Hello."

"Special Agent David," and she shouldn't be surprised to hear Vance's careful voice on the other end of the line, but she is anyway.

"Director," she returns amicably, watching a mother shepherd her young son away from a crate of onion s. "What can I do for you?"

"You can meet me this afternoon if you're available."

"I am free at two."

"Two is fine. How's the wrist?"

She shrugs, even though he can't possible see the motion. "Useless," she tells him truthfully as she directs a scornful glance at the arm resting limply in the sling at her side. "It does not hurt, though."

"Good to hear. So I'll see you at two this afternoon?"

"Yes. Where exactly, though, am I meeting you?"

"Right –temporarily set up shop in Quantico."

"Quantico. Okay. I will see you then, yes?"

"Yes ma'am."

"Shalom, Director."

And she's just re-pocketed her phone when Tony happens to find her, right between the tomatoes and cucumbers. He doesn't call out hello immediately, though, taking a moment to appreciate the sight before him of Ziva David, ninja extraordinaire, shopping for something as mundane as vegetables. And he almost didn't recognize her; after all, her athletic shorts and tank top ensemble blend in remarkably well with every other coed nearby. In fact, most of her more distinguishing characteristics are absent; her combat boots have been exchanged for relatively new pair of Nikes, and her dark hair, usually styled, is tied up in a simple ponytail. The only thing that gave her away, oddly enough, is the navy sling concealing her broken wrist.

He pretends to bump into her accidently, biting back a chuckle as she hurriedly apologizes until she realizes who he is.

"Tony," she says and, yes, her eyes did light up a bit there when she noticed him.

"Good morning, Zee-vah," he returns with a smile. "Fancy meeting you here."

"Yes," she agrees, playing along. "It is quite a, ah, tiddly-wink, yes?"

"Coinkydink."

"Like coincidence?"

"Precisely," he says with a nod. Then, "Do you smell churros?"

And she offers him a grin, holding up the tomatoes she picked. "I'm going to go purchase these and then we will go find your churros, yes?"

"Yes!"

. . .

They do, in fact, find churros, but the homemade ice cream wins out and they retreat to a shady place in the park across the street to eat. Melting ice cream drips down Ziva's fingers as she watches a group of teenagers progress in an impromptu soccer game several yards away. Laughter and cheering mingle in the humid air with the sound of birds bickering and squirrels chittering and Tony complaining of a brain-freeze beside her. And the empty bench they found is long, but the bird droppings that mottled the leftmost end force the two to sit side by side, their shoulders brushing. And, yes, it's hot outside, and much too hot to be sitting in such close proximity to another human being, they cannot bring themselves to mind. Ziva smiles to herself, relishing the semblance of normalcy that she realizes she'd sorely been missing.

Eventually, she interrupts the silence, asking casually, "Any plans for the rest of the day?" And, really, she's just trying to make polite conversation.

He casts a sideways glance and a lopsided smirk in her direction. "I can't tell if you're asking because you crave my company or because you're sick of me and are hoping for an easy out."

"I suppose given your personality it could go both ways."

He pouts at her in jest before looking away and she knows she might have hurt his feelings a little bit there.

"Tony," she starts, her tone holding the proverbial olive branch of peace.

"I have something at three," he says and she nods in acknowledgement, of both his previous engagement and implied pardon.

"I have a meeting with Vance at two."

His curiosity seems piqued and he angles his body -while consciously avoiding the bird droppings- so he can face her better. "Yeah?"

She nods, focusing on the spot just beyond his shoulder. "Mm-hm. I thought it was odd."

Tony merely shrugs and shakes his head, "Nah, he's just checking in, I'm sure. It's been a rough couple of weeks." And it is a glorious understatement.

"It has," she agrees quietly, and he immediately recognizes her pensive voice. She's been so relaxed and relatively unconcerned all morning and he's gone and ruined it with his big mouth.

"McGee's awake," he blurts, if only to keep her from withdrawing into her headspace.

Dark eyes snap to green. "Really?" she asks excitedly, and all her intense contemplation suddenly vanishes. "Why didn't you tell me sooner?" she demands without giving him time to answer. "How is he?"

And now he has to be careful; he wants to tell her what Gibbs had told him, but he doesn't want to see that helpless, brokenness enter her eyes again, not when it's only now just gone away. So he settles for evasiveness, and what he hopes is reassuring nonchalance. "He's doing okay, I mean, I haven't actually spoken to him, but Gibbs says he's doing better." And it sounds neutral, yet encouraging to his ears, at least.

"Do you know if he can have visitors?"

Damn.

"Uh," think fast, DiNozzo, "I'm not sure. I'll tell you what –tomorrow afternoon you and I will go down there and see, okay? You can help keep my mind off how creepy hospitals are." And though his execution is flawed, his logic is convincing.

"Fine," she agrees with a smile as he stands up, offering her his hand.

They exchange their goodbyes before parting ways. And he's taken about three steps before her voice calls out, teasingly, "I cannot help but wonder, though, Tony, if you aren't just making an excuse to see me tomorrow."

And he smiles to himself before glancing at her over his shoulder. "An excuse to see you, sweetcheeks? Always."