There are some references to things that happened in my story Rapture in this chapter, which is kind of the prequel to this story. So don't feel like you've missed a chapter of this one if you don't remember what Tony and Ziva are talking about. Also, this story is set a few years ago, hence the Les Miserables reference.

Ziva took him to a Korean barbecue place a few blocks from her apartment that Tony remembered visiting once before. If he recalled correctly, this was the place they'd come last year only to be evacuated halfway through their meal when other diners cooking their own meat on the grill at their table had somehow started a fire. He couldn't attest to the meal being one of the better he'd ever had, but perhaps that wasn't fair. He'd only taken about three bites before people started screaming "FIRE!" and mayhem ensued. He was prepared to give it another chance.

He opened the door for Ziva, and as she passed him to enter the restaurant he whispered, "This time, we get a seat near the exit."

Ziva smirked, but then paused and then turned to face him. "We can sit outside," she offered, gesturing at the half dozen tables on the sidewalk. "It's a beautiful night."

It was a beautiful night. In fact, it was downright balmy and the traffic on the street was fairly light so they wouldn't have to yell to be heard. He swung his arm out, gesturing back towards the sidewalk. "After you."

They settled at a table as far away from the only other outdoor diners as they could, with each of them positioned to face one end of the street. Not that they expected to be ambushed by drive-by shooters. But hey, they hadn't really expected that the last time they'd been in Colombia, either.

"Have you spoken to Monique lately?" he asked suddenly.

Ziva blinked at him in surprise. "No," she said slowly. "Not for months. Why?"

He waved his hand, dismissing the conversation as unimportant. "No reason. I was just thinking of Colombia."

Ziva's eyes darted around the immediate vicinity. "Did you see something?" she almost whispered.

"No, nothing," he said quickly, reassuring her. "Forget it."

She eyed him with suspicion for a moment, and then let the issue drop. "All right."

"Was she safe?"

"Monique?"

"Yeah, when you last talked to her."

Ziva nodded slowly, and he saw something in her eyes that made him think she was beginning to regret suggesting dinner. "She was, at the time," Ziva told him. "She was on her way to Panama."

"What's in Panama?"

Ziva shrugged. "I hear they have a very nice canal."

Tony responded her smart-ass reply with a smart-ass smile.

"I did not ask," Ziva told him.

He sighed and leaned back in his chair as he thought about a tropical climate and exotic beaches. "Everyone's traveling but me."

Ziva's lips turned upwards in a little smile. "We were just in Miami," she reminded him.

But Tony made a face. "One night in Miami in the middle of a huge storm, with no power, and babysitting a drunk that made even my skin crawl doesn't count as traveling."

"I was not drunk!" Ziva protested, and then smiled to assure him she was joking.

Tony chuckled with the idea of comparing time spent with the reptilian Luis Zapata with a night in bed (platonically, of course) with Ziva. "You could have been fall down, vomiting drunk, Ziva, and it still would have been preferable to spending five minutes with Zapata."

Ziva flipped her hair over her shoulder. "I am a very pleasant drunk."

Tony scoffed, as she knew he would. Ziva rarely got drunk. Credit where it was due, about 80 per cent of the time when she did drink, she was indeed pleasant and fun and funny. The remaining 20 per cent of the time, she got stubborn and argumentative and was a giant pain in the ass. Although he supposed the same could be said for most people.

"I'm just saying that a week lying in a beach would be nice."

Ziva made an agreeable face. "You need a vacation."

"We all need a vacation," he replied.

"So ask for one," she said, and then added with a smile, "Before you shoot another car."

He sighed heavily. In a moment of utter frustration he'd fired one shot into the rear fender of a car that was blocking him and Ziva in to a parking space. The owner hadn't pressed charges (they suspected he probably had some open warrants he was looking to avoid), so technically Tony had gotten away with his massive lapse in judgment. But that didn't mean that the team would ever let him forget about it.

He looked at Ziva across the table. She looked a little too smug for his liking, and he supposed he could bring her down a few notches by explaining that he'd shot that car out of misplaced frustration over the state of their relationship (i.e. they didn't have a 'relationship'), but he wasn't entirely sure if she was ready to hear that. He'd kissed her once, soon after they'd returned from that waterlogged trip to Miami. And Ziva had responded enthusiastically. But at the end of it, they had sort of agreed to just let the kiss tide them over for a while. The problem was, he didn't know how long 'a while' was supposed to be. He was sure as hell ready for another kiss. Another thousand kisses, actually. But Ziva? He couldn't read her on that one.

"Perhaps I should go on a cruise," he said, getting his mind back on topic. "But one where people don't die."

Ziva looked thoughtful. "I think I would go crazy after a few days being stuck on a boat."

"You'll never make Agent Afloat with that attitude," he lectured her.

Ziva looked back at him impassively. "I may be able to cope with that."

Tony raised his eyebrows in silent agreement. Agent Afloat had been the worst job he'd ever done. "What's the longest you ever spent on a boat?"

"Two months," she told him. "I hated it."

Tony looked off down the street and thought about the case they had in their hands. "What do you think the chances are like that Alicia killed Will herself?"

"Slim," she replied. "He died four months ago. If she did it, she already got away with it. Why would she draw our attention to it now?"

Tony shrugged. "Guilt."

He watched her think it over, but in the end Ziva shook her head. "I do not think so, Tony. That does not feel right."

"No," he agreed. "She seems sincere. And those photos of the two of them together…" He trailed off as he tried to think of how to explain them without sounding scarily romantic.

"They were very much in love," Ziva said, drawing his gaze. "They looked at home together. Is that the saying? At home?"

Tony nodded slowly at her. "Yeah. At home. They were comfortable together. Clearly happy."

Ziva gave him another small, soft smile. "Mm," she agreed with a nod. "Unless something went terribly wrong between them, which is always a possibility, I think they were a very strong team."

Tony held her gaze, and he wondered if she was thinking what he was thinking. Who was a stronger team than the two of them? Who else had been to hell and back together, and got through it, stronger in the end? Who else could he sit with for hours in comfortable silence, or in easy conversation?

Okay, perhaps they weren't always comfortable. Perhaps they were prone to spending days at a time keeping each other at an awkward arm's length and avoiding too much eye contact. But Tony felt they only had those moments because they couldn't clear the air. More often than not they were paralyzed over talking to each other about what the real issue was, because they weren't supposed to acknowledge it when their feelings were hurt over something the other one did. They couldn't talk it out and reach a resolution because they weren't supposed to be upset or mad or hurt in the first place. They were supposed to be co-workers and nothing more. But Tony thought—or at least hoped—that if they were something more than co-workers, those days of being awkward and hurt would end when they were allowed the freedom to acknowledge how they felt. Or something.

"Yeah," he agreed softly. "You gotta have teamwork."

…

Half an hour later they were most of the way through their meals and nothing had caught fire. So far, so good.

"So, you and Borin are getting chummy now," he said. "Turning into BFF gal pals."

Ziva chewed on a piece of green pepper thoughtfully. "What is BFF?"

Tony rolled his eyes. "Get your sorority girl on, will you?" he asked. "Best friends forever."

The thoughtful expression remained. "I have never been a sorority girl."

"We're getting off topic."

"What is the topic?"

"You and Borin," he reminded her. "Your friendship is blossoming like a beautiful flower."

Ziva chuckled. "We do not know each other that well. But I enjoy her company."

As she ate her bulgogi, Tony considered the pros and cons of that friendship. He thought Ziva and Borin made a good pair, and he could see similarities between them. But given Borin's interest in analyzing Ziva's relationship with him, and the feelings he'd admitted to having for Ziva just the other night, he wasn't sure if having the two of them be so chummy was in his best interests right now. Yes, Ziva knew how he felt about her. But he still didn't want Borin blabbing about it.

As he continued to stare at her, Ziva began to look unnerved. "What?" she asked.

"Nothing," he said with a shake of his head. "It's just nice to watch."

She looked at him like he was a freak. "Me eating?"

"No," he chuckled. "You getting along with Borin." He decided to try to look past his own interests.

Her eyes narrowed in a warning glare. "Because I do not usually get along with people?" she charged.

He answered without thinking. "Not with women." It sounded innocuous in his head, but he knew he'd said the wrong thing when Ziva's only response was to stare at him in silence for a full five seconds. He tried to backpedal quickly. "I mean—"

"What about Abby?" she challenged, setting her chopsticks down on the table. At least she wouldn't stab him with them.

"Yeah, no, you're great friends with Abby," he agreed.

"And Monique."

"So close you're like sisters."

"I was friends with Jenny."

"Definitely."

Ziva sat back in her chair, and Tony thought she might continue to argue or take offence. But the hard look on her face shifted to self-doubt as the fight left her face. "Do you think women don't like me?" she asked him. And she was really asking him. She wanted his opinion. But Tony felt that being honest was fraught with danger.

Tony leaned over the table and took the time to carefully word his response. "No, I don't think that's the case. But I think that there would be a lot of women—not all women, but some—who would find it challenging to relate to you."

Ziva pursed her lips and Tony couldn't work out how she'd taken it until a smirk broke over her face. "Nicely handled, DiNozzo."

"I try."

She leaned forward again and resumed eating. "Borin is the same."

"Yeah, I guess so."

"She is easy for me to be friends with. And she is fun."

He pushed around the rice on his plate. "Did you have a nice trip out to see Klein?" he asked casually.

She looked at him curiously as she tried to work out what he was getting at. "Yes. But if you think I am a bad driver you should be a passenger with her."

Tony shook his head firmly. "She can't be worse than you."

"She is reckless," Ziva told him without a hint of self-awareness. "I may be fast, but I am always in control and know where every other car is. Borin does not."

He found that hard to comprehend. "Yeah, I don't buy it."

She glared but didn't fight him further on it.

"So what did you talk about?" he asked.

"When?"

"In the car."

Ziva shrugged, not understanding why it was important. "Klein. The naked photos that we correctly assumed were on his thumb drive."

"So…just work?"

She stared at him for a moment and then a smile slowly stretched across her face. "Do you want to know if we talked about you?" she purred.

"No," he lied quickly. "Just wondering what the girl talk is like between the two of you."

Ziva leaned forward and rested her chin on her hands. "Well, obviously it's all about matching our guns to our outfits and our handcuffs to our men."

He smiled, allowing her to make fun of him. He probably deserved it. "I didn't think Borin had a man to match them to," he replied.

Ziva paused, and he wondered (almost panicked, in fact) that she was going to point out that she didn't technically have a man herself. That'd be awkward. But she didn't. "Not right now. Curse of the job."

"Yeah. I guess." But it didn't have to be.

"She gave me some good advice," Ziva told him.

"About what?"

"Job, career."

He recalled Borin telling Ziva she'd have her on her team at the Coast Guard, and he was as unhappy with the idea tonight as he had been on Friday. He put his hand down on the table, halfway towards her. "You're not actually considering going to work with her, right?" he checked.

Ziva chuckled and closed her eyes as she shook her head. "No, of course not. I am very happy where I am."

He eyed her, but decided he believed her. "Okay," he said, and pulled his hand back again as he felt himself calm. "So, she gave you career advice."

Ziva nodded, and her eyes drifted over his shoulder. "And life advice."

"Interesting."

Her eyes drifted back to him and she watched him quietly for a few moments before she nodded gently. "Good life advice," she told him.

It seemed cryptic, and he would have loved to hear more. But he knew Ziva. She was unlikely to spill her secrets, particularly if she was pushed to. So he just smiled and hoped that Borin really did have Ziva's best interests at heart.

Because if she didn't, he'd mess her up.

…

It was still early when their empty plates were cleared away. When the waiter offered them coffee Tony was inclined to accept. He was in the mood to linger and draw out the easy conversation for a while longer. But Ziva shook her head as she sent the waiter a polite smile.

"No, thank you."

Tony declined as well, and then lifted his eyebrows at Ziva, expecting her to call it a night.

"Do you want to come over and give me another lesson?" she asked with a smile. When they'd gotten back from that trip to Miami, Tony had bought her a second-hand guitar to help her complete the one and only item on her bucket list (that he may have actually come up with on her behalf). Since then he had only given her two lessons. It had given him a perverse sense of glee to find that she wasn't very good at it. Hell, she was good at every other damn thing she tried, so it was nice to know that she had some gaps in her talents. And it was nice to be able to actually teach her something she didn't know. It felt strangely intimate.

"Sure," he said. "But I don't have my guitar."

Ziva waved her hand as if this was trivial information. "We will work something out. Or we can watch the end of Gentlemen Prefer Blondes."

"You mean the middle and the end," he corrected. She'd fallen asleep the other night before Marilyn and Jane Russell had even made it to Paris.

She scrunched her nose at him for teasing her and leaned down to grab her bag. "Well, I have not been drinking tonight, so I will be able to stay awake."

After paying the bill, the two of them took off for Ziva's apartment on foot. They had walked a block in comfortable silence when Tony nudged her gently with his elbow.

"They were on a cruise."

"Hmm?"

"In Gentlemen Prefer Blondes," he said. "They were on a cruise. We're surrounded by cruises."

"Do you believe in omens?" she asked, looking up at him with a teasing smile. They had already been over this, he recalled. Ziva was open to things that she couldn't see or understand. Tony didn't buy into any of it.

"No," he told her. "And if my movie habits are suddenly going to be a harbinger of things to come, watch out for our next round of cases involving zombie wars, mob wars and singing prostitutes dying of tuberculosis."

Ziva nodded thoughtfully. "That sounds interesting." She said. "Did you finally see Les Misérables?"

"I hated it."

"I told you."

"I should have listened to you," he said with a nod. "But Wolverine and the Gladiator were in it. I had to."

"There was a distinct lack of chariot races and mutating…" she made a claw gesture with her hands, "knife things."

"It's done now," he said, and then muttered, "Oscar-schmoscar."

As she had done on Friday night, Ziva linked her hand into the crook of Tony's elbow, and then patted his arm with her free hand. "There is always next year," she tried to commiserate.

"I guess."

When they made it another block and Ziva's hand was still gripping the inside of his elbow, and she was still walking with her side right up against his, Tony started getting a funny feeling in his gut. And it wasn't the Korean barbecue refusing to settle. No, Ziva was up to something. The dinner invitation. Taking him someplace close to her apartment. Refusing coffee to get him to go to her apartment. Talking movies with him. Close-walking and lots of smiles. Oh yeah, she was up to something. And Tony didn't have a clue what it was.

As they got closer to her apartment, he wracked his brains to remember anything he might've done recently to deserve retaliation. Was it because he put gold glitter in her jacket pockets and desk drawer the other day? Because that was really just a prank on McGee that got out of hand. Was it because he ate her piece of biscotti that came with her coffee last week? That was hardly fair, because he'd been the one to go and buy her the coffee. It was a more like payment for his effort. Was it because he'd slept on the couch with her on Friday night and hadn't made any effort to move until he'd been forced to? His heart panged at that. He knew it was overstepping the barely visible line between them, but in the wake of the kiss and that vague agreement to see where things went he thought he might be able to get away with it. And it had been…nice. Really nice. Brutally physically uncomfortable at times, but overall it had left him all warm and fuzzy and in a really good mood, despite the back pain that had lingered. If she was about to lock him in her apartment and torture him for his sins, he just hoped that wasn't the sin he'd be punished for. Because it hadn't felt like a sin. It had felt normal. Comfortable. Right.

When they made it to her apartment Tony climbed the stairs behind her with trepidation. His gut was sending out major warning signals, but he couldn't work out if they were telling him to turn around and run for his life or just alerting him to the fact that something fishy was going on. Ziva was still smiling (and if he was not mistaken, she was also swinging her hips a bit as she climbed the stairs ahead of him), but she wasn't looking at him long enough to work out whether there was evil intent beneath her smile, or, as he thought he'd caught a glimpse of earlier, nerves. If they were just going to have a guitar lesson, there shouldn't be either look in her eyes. So what the hell was going on?

She opened the door to her apartment and stepped inside, and Tony paused at the threshold to quickly look around for…well, he wasn't sure what. Anything out of place. But everything looked normal, and when he didn't follow her immediately as she'd expected, Ziva looked at him with curiosity.

"What?" she asked, with her jacket caught halfway down her arms.

He gave her a quick smile and came inside. "Nothing. I was just…nothing."

Ziva's curiosity turned to suspicion. "You are giving me the creepy crawlies."

Tony almost laughed. He was giving her the…creepy crawlies? "Heebie jeebies," he corrected. "It's not intentional."

For reasons he couldn't understand, Ziva's face fell into an expression approaching self-doubt, and she looked to the floor as she slid her jacket completely off. "You do not have to stay, Tony, if you have somewhere else to be."

"No, I don't," he replied. "I'm good here. Aren't you good here?"

Ziva's eyes slowly surveyed her kitchen as she framed her response. "Well, I live here, so I am…good."

"Good."

She gave him another weird look, which Tony countered with a cheery smile. He took off his jacket as a sign of faith that he was staying, and then followed Ziva from the hallway into the kitchen.

"Drink?" she offered.

"It's a school night."

She gave him another look. "Coffee? Water?"

"Water. Just water." He could hear himself sounding weirder and weirder with every response, but it was like he didn't have control over it. The anticipation of waiting for whatever the hell she was going to do to him was making his skin itchy and his adrenaline pump. Somehow, in the space of three blocks, he'd become stranger than her.

Ziva poured him a glass, and when he went to take it from her his hands got overly grabby and he ended up spilling half of it over their hands.

"Sorry!" he said quickly, and put the water down on the counter before grabbing some paper towels.

Ziva didn't move from where she was standing, but just watched him with wide, alarmed eyes. "Tony, what is wrong all of a sudden?"

He walked over to take her wet hand and quickly dry it off. "Nothing! Everything's fine."

"You have become twitchy."

"I'm not twitchy." She gave him a look of utter disbelief, and Tony sighed and threw the paper towel in the trash. "You wanted me to come over," he stated.

She nodded impatiently. "Yes. That is why I asked you to come over."

He leaned back against the counter and crossed his arms. "But you have something up your sleeve," he accused. "I'm here for a reason. Are you going to get payback for the glitter?"

For a few seconds Ziva stared at him in silence, clearly struggling to comprehend what he was talking about. "Glitter?"

"The prank I played—"

"Yes, I remember."

"Did you get me here tonight for payback?" he asked. He thought he put it to her carefully and with enough of a touch of humor that she could take it as a joke if she wanted to. But her expression fell again, making him feel instantly guilty for thinking she was out for blood. She leaned against the counter across from him and mirrored his position, and after a heavy sigh she put a pleasant smile on her face and shook her head.

"No payback, Tony," she said, although Tony didn't believe that she hadn't been about to tell him something and then changed her mind. "I just thought a movie or a guitar lesson might be fun."

Tony watched her as she crossed to the living room to turn on the entertainment system he'd long ago pestered her to buy, but he suspected she rarely used. She was clearly lying to him. He was a detective—a good one—and he'd known her for years. He knew when she was being dishonest. But he also knew that whatever she was being dishonest about right now wasn't likely to get either one of them killed. He knew Ziva to get a lot more defensive than this when the stakes were high. Whatever it was that was on her mind wouldn't cause harm, and he supposed she'd tell him when she was ready. Ziva didn't like to be pushed; he knew that from experience. So for the moment, he let her be.

"Yeah," he said finally. "Ladies' choice. As long as it's not The Sound of Music."

…

Ziva liked to think that she was a master of patience and calm. She had been practicing flatlining her emotions since she was a teenager, primarily to allow her to focus on taking the right course of action in a stressful or dangerous situation in order to preserve life. She had been training to lie still in on place for hours at a time, and how to filter out her flight and freeze responses so that all that was left in a situation was to fight. She could hold her nerve against anything or anyone…except, it appeared, against herself.

Tony had been right to be suspicious of her intentions that evening. She wasn't terribly surprised that he had realized something was going on. She hadn't exactly been trying to hide her plans, and Tony knew her tells better than anyone else. But when he flat out asked her what was going on and had given her the perfect opportunity to bring up the topic of them, she had lost her nerve and lied. She couldn't tell him that she wanted to revisit their end-of-the-world kiss, and raise the possibility of some far more regular kissing and sex.

But at least she was fairly certain that her armor of calm was holding. And she was calm. Mostly. Even if her heart rate elevated every time one of them moved and brushed against each other, because it seemed they were not even bothering to leave distance between them anymore as they lounged on the couch watching Cinema Paradiso.

And that wasn't the only thing making her heart race.

Tony had started quoting the movie along with the dialogue, which would be exceptionally irritating were he not doing it in Italian. She had somehow forgotten that he was multi-lingual. Certainly he wasn't as multi-lingual as her, but she knew his Spanish was solid. Solid enough, in fact, to throw around sexual slang without a stutter, although it wouldn't surprise her if Anthony DiNozzo could do that in every language. His French was not great. He could order a sandwich, a coffee and hire a scooter, and he knew a flirty phrase or two. His Hebrew was improving slowly, and Ziva knew it was her fault that he only seemed to know the swear words. Sometimes she swore his English was patchy at best, although he always insisted that she was the problem when she couldn't understand his left-of-field mutterings.

But she had forgotten all about his fluency in Italiano. And what a shame that was that he didn't use the language more frequently, because, God help her, it was a hell of a turn on.

She indulged in a small smile behind her hand as he recited another line of dialogue, and then almost jumped when he leaned in close to her.

"What are you smiling at?" he whispered.

Ziva hadn't been aware that he'd been paying attention to her as he played along with the movie. She looked at him and found him smirking and almost close enough to kiss. Her heart started pounding again, but she played coy, just for fun.

"Nothing," she told him, shaking her head. "Just…thoughts."

"Thoughts?" he repeated, popping an eyebrow. "Do tell, Ms David."

A million butterflies started fluttering in her belly, and she was almost positive she could feel his fingers on her thigh. She enjoyed the feeling immensely, and so she allowed herself to bait him. "I had forgotten that you speak Italian," she said, and nudged him a little with her shoulder.

Tony took the hook, just as she suspected he would. "I am Italian," he reminded her, leaning back just a little bit. "Of course I speak it."

She almost rolled her eyes, and teased him gently. "You are an American with Italian heritage."

"Well—"

"And you were born in Long Island," she added.

"Yes."

She couldn't help adding more. "And your father was born in New York City, and your mother was born in Cambridge, England."

He held up a finger that just moments ago had strayed to her knee. "But my dad's parents…"

"Were also born in New York City."

"To Italian immigrants," he finished, as if the information made his point for him.

"Mhmm."

He eyed her with what she supposed was suspicion, but the look just made her skin prickle in a very favorable manner. "You know too much about my genealogy," he accused her.

Ziva thought he might be right about that. Once upon a time, back before she had ever met him in person, she had prepared a background file on him. But she was hardly going to bring that up now "Who knows? The information may be useful to me one day."

He thought about that for a moment, blinking slowly at her under the dim living room lights and making her skin prickle even more. But then he frowned almost comically and rejected her suggestion.

"In what circumstances could it possibly be useful for you to know where your partner's great grandmother Milia was born, Ziva?"

"I am not sure," she said dismissively. "But it is good to be prepared for such a circumstance."

"You're such a good little girl scout."

"No, I was a good Mossad operative," she corrected, swaying towards the truth.

Tony nodded his head from side to side, accepting that. "Anyway, of course I speak Italian," he said, getting back on track. "I'm practically a native."

Their back-and-forth banter gave her a pleasant rush, so she continued to press the point. She knew he liked their 'arguments' as much as she did. "You have a distant background," she stated. "Just as McGee has distant Scottish background. But it is not assumed that he speaks Scottish Gaelic."

"Have you asked him?"

The question threw her, and she realized that he has a point. "Well, no…"

Tony's eyes got that twinkle he always got when he scored a point off her. "So, how do you know?"

Ziva shifted slightly in his direction, causing her bent knee to overlap his thigh, and abandoned the McGee argument. "Abby also has Italian heritage," she pointed out. "And she does not speak Italian."

"Have you asked her?"

"Yes," she said quickly, raising her chin in challenge. "And she thought is was ridiculous that I would think she speaks the language just because she has Italian relatives."

Tony smirked again in the face of her evidence. It hadn't thrown him. "But you just pointed out that my mother is from England. And the first time we met, you assumed I spoke English."

Ziva tried not to, but she couldn't help smiling at him. And concede his point. "Yes, Tony," she drawled, and leaned in a little more again. "You are right. That is exactly why I assumed you spoke English."

He let go of a full-wattage DiNozzo smile. "So it follows that I also speak Italian," he led.

Ziva rolled her eyes. "I am not disputing that you speak—" She cut herself off when she realized that he had gotten more of a rise out of her than she had out of him. He'd stolen this round from beneath her feet when she thought she was taking it from him. Typical DiNozzo. "Okay, this is a stupid conversation," she said, and got to her feet. "Are you sure you do not want a drink?"

"Si, bella," he said, and then continued the Italian as she headed for the kitchen. "You're so cute when you get frustrated with me."

The butterflies in her stomach went wild again, and with her back to him she allowed herself to smile. "Shut up, Tony," she replied, but her tone was entirely light.

Tony switched back to English. "It sounds less offensive when I say it that way, huh?"

"No," she argued. But her body's physical reaction to it told her she agreed with him.

In the kitchen she poured herself a glass of water and let go of a full smile. She really did enjoy his company, which she supposed was a good thing, given that she spent so much time with him and was keen to spend much, much more with him in the future. She wondered again how she could have let herself back out of her plans tonight to move things along between them, and considered going back out there and starting the conversation now. No time like the present.

"Hey."

She pushed her hair back behind her ear as she turned to face Tony. He was standing in the entrance to her kitchen and wearing his jacket that he hadn't been wearing before. Ziva kept her smile in place, but felt disappointment fall like a led weight in her stomach. He was leaving.

"Don't take this as a comment on the company, but it's pretty late," he said. "I had my heart set on getting a full six hours tonight."

Ziva put her glass down and stepped towards him. "Six hours?" she repeated. "So lazy."

He grinned again and quickly looked her up and down. "Thanks for dinner. I'm glad nothing caught fire this time."

She smiled and followed him to the door. "Thank you for the company," she said.

Tony switched back to Italian again. "The pleasure was all mine, bella."

"Are you going to keep doing that?" she asked. She tried to sound annoyed, but there was just a little piece of her that hoped that he would.

And for the moment, he did. "Don't pretend that you don't like it," he went on.

"And why do you do it if you think I like it?" she asked, allowing herself to slink just a little bit as she walked up to him. "Are you trying to make me like you?"

"You already like me," Tony said, switching back to English as his eyes did another quick pass over her body.

"Not very much," she sniffed, knowing he wouldn't take her seriously.

With one hand on the doorknob, Tony cocked his head and lifted one corner of his mouth. "I do it because it makes your lips do a thing."

Ziva blinked. She hadn't expected that. "They do not do a thing."

"And your nose scrunches," he went on.

Ziva shook her head once. "My nose never scrunches."

"It's very cute," he told her.

Ziva crossed her arms, rejecting that outright. "I am not cute."

"You're sort of cute."

"I could kill you with a spatula. Is that cute?"

Tony chuckled. "No. That's an empty threat."

"Only because Gibbs would kill me," she muttered.

He looked about as worried about that as he needed to be. "All right, then."

"You do not believe me."

"That you would kill me with a spatula?" He shook his head. "No. I don't."

"I am losing my edge," she mused.

Tony reached out to squeeze her hand and run his thumb along her palm. "No. You're just edgy enough." He let go of her hand, turned and opened the door. Ziva's chest still stung with disappointment, and on impulse she stepped after him and touched his hand.

"Tony," she said, and as soon as he turned around again she moved in and lifted herself onto her tiptoes to kiss him. Her momentum carried them backwards until his back hit the doorframe, and Tony groaned into her mouth. She worried that she'd hurt him and started to pull back, but Tony's hand wrapped around the back of her neck to hold her firmly in place. The kiss exploded in seconds flat, and she couldn't hold back her moan when his hand tunneled up into her hair and his tongue invaded her mouth. It was a direct hit to the pleasure centre of her brain, and she gripped at his hip to pull him as close to her as possible. Her skin caught fire and her heart raced, and every single sensitive part of her started to throb.

Forget their last kiss. This was an end-of-the-world kiss.

As good as it was, Ziva knew he wasn't going to stay the night. She enjoyed the hell out of the kiss while it lasted, and when they finally broke apart and panted against each other, she let go of a wide smile that she didn't care that he saw.

"So," she said with unintentional huskiness. "I thought the last one was too long ago. I wanted to make sure the interest remains."

Tony breathed out a laugh against her chin and briefly tightened his grip on her hip. "Oh yeah," he said breathlessly. "It's there."

"Good." She pressed her hand to his heated cheek and drew it down to his neck. "Buona notte, Antonio."

"Laila tov," he returned, and then kissed her cheek and gave her a big smile before slipping out the door.

Ziva closed it behind him and turned the locks, and then leaned back against the door and smiled as she pressed her hand to her racing heart. So, she hadn't followed through on her full plan for the evening. But she'd make a start on it, had enjoyed every second of it, and knew for sure that Tony was still very, very keen.

The best was definitely yet to come. And Ziva couldn't wait.

Okay, okay! You're sick of the case, I hear you (even those of you who say you're interested in the case). So I hope that chapter gave you some smiles.

I realized it's only a few weeks until the finale and Weatherpants is gone forever, and I assume most of you will be too. So I'll start posting more frequently so we can all get out of this sooner rather than later :)