Rifiuto: Non Miriena

Thanks to JonnyP86 and puppypants for reviewing 5.

As the door closed behind them, she removed her jacket, which he promptly took and set over the back of the small kitchen table. She wandered into the living room as Jethro came bounding in from the back bedroom. Her gaze moved over everything, eventually ending on the window. Even though it wasn't the Paris skyline, it was still beautiful in its own way.

Before she joined NCIS- back when she was still in Mossad- she had traveled all over the world. England, Asia, Africa, India, South America. She had seen everything and met everyone she could; now as an NCIS field agent, the only other place she'd been had been Mexico. Well, and Paris.

"Here you go." She looked over her shoulder to find him holding out a steaming cup of coffee. Giving him a soft smile, she accepted.

"Toda." He raised an eyebrow, and she blushed. "Thank you." He nodded, before taking a seat.

"So, I've pretty much told you my life story. What's yours? Unless you can't say." She chuckled, joining him on the sofa. He took a sip, watching as she wrapped her hands around the warm mug.

"I can say." She bit her lip. "Where do you want me to begin?"

"The beginning is always good." When she didn't say anything, he elaborated. "A good novel starts with a strong beginning, allowing the rest of the story to flow and evolve towards a good, strong ending. It's always good to start at the beginning. Even the most heartbreaking tragedies start at the beginning."

"Like what?" She asked, looking up at him. He sipped his coffee, thinking.

"Like the Titanic; the Hindenburg; the American Civil War. All started at the beginning, no matter the tragedy that unfolded at the end, the beginnings were always strong." She nodded, swallowing.

"I was... I was born in Israel. Be'er Sheva. At home. In nineteen-eighty-two. And you?" He chuckled.

"Mare Island Naval Hospital on the Mare Island Naval base northeast of San Fran in seventy-eight. Dad was a captain the Navy; his career was more important than his family. The Navy was his family. We were just people he lived with and provided for." She reached out, taking his hand and squeezing. "Go on, please."

She gave him a small smile, and took a deep breath. "My father is the... Deputy Director of Mossad. I was raised in Tel Aviv-" She shrugged. "And that is Ziva's story." He raised an eyebrow.

"That can't be all there is. Not for an individual as exotic and mysterious as you." She blushed. "You are Mossad? Or were?" She sighed.

"I was Mossad long before I ever came to America, long before I ever joined the agency as a liaison. But I am currently in the process of becoming an American citizen. I want to become a field agent, and therefore, I need to become an American."

"What agency?" He asked. She met his gaze. He shook his head. "Just curious." She sighed.

"The Naval Criminal Investigative Service. NCIS."

His eyebrows shot up as she met his gaze. "Small world. I have a cousin that works in NCIS, and you... you are a Mossad liaison attached." She bit her lip, unsure if she should ask or not. Eventually, though, she said,

"Who... who is your cousin?" He took another swallow of his coffee and set the cup back on the table.

"We call her E. J. Erica Jane Barrett. She's eight years older than me." She nodded.

"I know her. Not very well, but I do know her." They lapsed into silence for several minutes, before he asked,

"So, what made you join Mossad? Old family tradition?" She shook her head, sitting back and turning to face him.

"Israeli sense of duty." He raised an eyebrow.

"Really? So who recruited you?" She matched his raised eyebrow.

"Why do you want to know?" He shrugged, leaning back against the arm of the sofa, watching her.

"I find people fascinating. Their histories, their presents, the decisions they've made. I like to know what makes them tick, what their quirks are, their... personality traits. It helps me develop more interesting and engaging characters."

"And you think I would be good character?" She asked, narrowing her eyes slightly. He tilted his head, grinning.

"Yes, I think you would be." He reached out, gently squeezing her hand. "So who recruited you? Father? Uncle? Brother?" She kept silent for each suggestion, only a small smile playing on her lips. He leaned close, whispering the last suggestion. "Boyfriend?" Her dark eyes locked on his, as she replied,

"Aunt. Sister." She caught the surprise in his eyes, and enjoying the minor thrill of the game they were playing, added one more log to the slowly building fire as she leaned towards him, their lips inches apart. "Lesbian lover." His eyebrows rose and she caught the spark within those emerald orbs.

"You're good. Almost got me off the question." He replied, pulling away. He took a sip of his coffee, before leaning towards her again, eyes darting to her lips and back before he brushed his lips against hers in the gentlest, lightest of feathery kisses. "Almost."

Her eyes had closed during the fleeting kiss, and when she looked up at him, she found herself wanting to experience that brief kiss again and again. Taking a deep breath, she moved closer, until their thighs brushed and their hands touched. Then, she leaned closer, her own eyes now going to his lips. Her voice was soft, filled with unfamiliar longing and desire, and as she reached down and tangled her fingers in his, she breathed, "I volunteered."

He raised an eyebrow in surprise, and she watched as something sparked within those beautiful green eyes of his; they were a deep shade of emerald, a shade she'd never seen before. A moment passed, before she leaned up; he met her halfway, closing the gap between them.