Sunlight spilled in through the window, a golden haze encircling the room. Specks of dust glimmered in the air like confetti, slowly settling all around them.

Tony drifted into consciousness as his eyes fluttered open, feeling the weight of the body wrapped in his arms. The weight of love.

For a moment before she stirred, he took in the sight of her, half unconvinced that the previous evening had been real. She had shown up on his doorstep unexpectedly, announcing she was pregnant and that he was the father of their baby. Of course, the revelation had hit him like a tonne of bricks, as it would have anybody. He – Anthony DiNozzo Jr was going to be a father. To a child. Their child.

After the initial shock had worn off (which in reality, hadn't taken long) on his drive to the grocery store, the epiphany had hit him – that everything he had ever wanted was right in front of him. It had been no lie when he had told her that he had imagined their future together. It wasn't hard to do when you were so irrevocably in love with somebody, the way Tony DiNozzo was with Ziva David. He had pictured the white picket fence and the house, the dog running around, while they sipped coffee over the morning newspaper. It had taken every ounce of strength in him not to purchase another flight to Tel Aviv upon his return and turn up on her doorstep, admitting that he knew she wanted space but he had made a mistake in leaving her. Because he had made a mistake in leaving her. No sensible man leaves his heart behind.

Of course, he hadn't pictured them having a baby together quite so soon. They were barely even together. And yet, it had been less than twenty four hours and they were slipping into things so effortlessly –more easily than he had ever imagined. Of course, the sex in the farmhouse three months ago had happened so organically. But falling into bed and falling into life together were two very different things.

Her eyes slowly blinked open and he felt her sigh against his chest.

"Good morning," he whispered to her. He was about to untangle himself from her when she pulled him closer.

"Not yet," she mumbled, 'stay."

He smirked, checking the time on his watch. Had he always been wearing a watch? 6:45am.

"As much as I'm loving this," he replied, "I have to go to work." He pressed a kiss to her hair.

She sighed, burying her face in his chest, before she slowly sat up. Her hair cascaded around her and he smiled, his hand coming to rest gently on her lower back, stroking it.

"I do not want you to go," she admitted to him, biting her lip. Her concentration was focused on her fingertips, which she played with absentmindedly.

He sat up, resting his back against the headboard before wrapping his arms around her waist and pulling her into him. She leaned back, her body sinking into him and laid her head against his chest. "I don't want to go either," he mumbled against her hair. "But I have to. It would look awfully suspicious if I didn't." He bent his head to place a kiss in the crook of her neck. "But I promise I'll swing home on my lunch break."

"And what exactly do you suppose I do all day?"

"Well, in case you'd forgotten, there is a vast array of movies in my collection, many of which I don't think you've seen."

"You want me to spend all day watching movies?" she asked with a smile.

"I want you to do whatever it is you want to do, so long as you're here when I come home tonight," he replied.

He ran his hands down her arms, her bare skin tingling at his touch, before he intertwined their hands and interlaced their fingers.

"What are you going to tell them?" she asked, her voice small.

"At the moment, nothing."

" Nothing ?" she craned her neck to look at him, confused.

"As much as I want to scream this from the rooftops, I also just want this – you and our baby – all to myself for a little while before we start telling people. Is that wrong?"

She laughed, shaking her head. "No. It's not wrong."

"And until we figure things out, it's just easier not to let anybody inside this bubble, isn't it? You know the minute Abby knows she'll start asking a thousand questions about what we are, where we're going to live, if I'm leaving, how it happened, when it happened, and then start searching the internet for a crib in the shape of a coffin."

Ziva laughed. "That does sound like her. "

Tony smiled. "Besides, I also have someone I need to tell first."

"Your father?" she smiled.

"Gibbs."

He walked into the office, slinging his bag beside his desk and sitting down, the way he did every day. But, for Tony today was not every day. No. Yesterday, Tony DiNozzo was a heartbroken, depressed man seeking solace in the bottom of a bottle. But today, he was a man on top of the world, as evidenced by the slight spring in his step. Not enough for anyone to notice, but he felt it. a

"You're late, DiNozzo," Gibbs muttered, as he sipped on his charcoal black coffee.

"Sorry, Boss, I got caught up this morning… traffic."

Gibbs hummed, unimpressed and unconvinced. There was something different about his senior field agent, that he couldn't quite put a finger on. He seemed… brighter, than all the previous days he had been there. In fact, to Gibbs, he hadn't seen Tony this bright since…

His eyes narrowed at Tony as he examined him pulling out case files from his desk. Was that a hint of a smile on his face? He took another sip of his coffee, glancing at McGee who was typing away at his keyboard. His phone pinged and he stood, heading in the direction of Abby's lab.

"So, what did you do last night, Tony?" asked McGee, looking up from his desk. Tony froze. Of course, he should have prepared for such a question. Oh, nothing much, McNosey. Ziva turned up on my doorstep, announced she's pregnant with my child, and we spent the night together – not like that – and now maybe she's kind of sort of my girlfriend, and we're kind of sort of living together, but we haven't actually talked about it properly yet because I still need to take her on a date , and she's currently at home working her way through my DVD collection while I'm here catching bad guys.

"Nothing much," he replied, nonchalantly. "Ordered takeout and watched the best movie of all time."

"Titanic?" asked Ellie Bishop, their new probie who occupied Ziva's desk.

"Wrong, Probie! Casablanca!"

"Does that mean you also cracked open the bottle of red too?" his friend asked him, concerned.

Tony had tried to keep his habit hidden as much as he could, but McGee, being as perceptive as he was, had picked up on it several weeks ago, after he'd searched through Tony's credit card records in the middle of a case, to exclude him from the suspects lists. (Because, yet again, Tony DiNozzo almost got framed for murder.) He had seen the transaction for the grocery store among the list, and the total amount equaled a single bottle of expensive red wine that he knew was Tony's vice. That, coupled with the witness testimony of Tony having been in the store late at night, helped him put two and two together. The following morning, he asked him what his plans had been, to which Tony had replied – ordered takeout and watched Casablanca – but his friend knew there was a half-drunk bottle of Merlot sitting on his kitchen counter, waiting for when he got home. From then on, McGee had noticed the pattern. A sad Tony thinking about Ziva meant takeout and Casablanca, so he could relive the parting of the lovers on the tarmac over and over again. (Because yes, McGee had seen it after much persuasion from Tony, and though Tony had never talked explicitly about what had happened between him and Ziva, he was a skilled investigator – and a writer – and he assumed that was the moment that had him so… hung up.)

"I don't know what you mean, McFlowerPower," Tony replied, feigning ignorance.

"Sure you do." Tony shot McGee a glare. "Tarmac. Rick and Ilsa. Tell me you didn't spend the night thinking about her, and I'll leave it alone."

"Thinking about who?" Ellie asked, raising her eyebrows as she looked up from her computer.

"Nobody," Tony snapped, his jaw clenching as he closed his case file and stood abruptly from his desk. He turned and headed towards the break room.

"Is he okay?" Ellie asked McGee, quietly concerned. Though she had only known Tony for a couple of weeks, she couldn't help but feel an odd kinship with him already – like an older brother whom she looked up to. They were partners in the field and Tony was protective of her, and the feelings were very much requited. And to see her new friend hurting, worried her deeply.

"Not really," he replied, his eyes following his friend as he exited the bullpen. When he was out of earshot, he replied. "He's been… it's been hard for him since Ziva left."

"Ziva? As in the agent that used to sit at this desk?"

"Yeah," McGee nodded. "They were kind of…"

"Together?"

McGee resisted the urge to laugh. "No, not really?" he replied, shrugging. "It's complicated. He won't admit it, but he loved her."

Ellie bit her lip and raised an eyebrow. "Maybe he's acting this way because he still does."

He stared at the vending machine, examining the choices. Was 8am too early for a candy bar?

His fingers hovered over the buttons, indecisive.

"You know that only works once you put money in, right?" said Ellie, leaning against the counter. Tony cracked a smile before he turned to her. "If you're out of cents, I have home to spare."

"I'm good, little Bishop," he replied. "But thanks."

"Are you?" she asked, raising her eyebrows. He raised one back at her. "You almost bit McGee's head off back there."

"I'll apologize to him later," he said. "I'm just… figuring some things out."

"Things to do with Ziva?" Tony narrowed his eyes. "You miss her."

"I do," Tony nodded. "A lot." And it wasn't a lie. He did miss her, even though she was likely sitting in his living room at that very moment crying over The Sound of Music, or rifling through the fridge for snacks she could find (he'd pick up more on the journey home on his lunch break, so she had an even bigger selection to choose from). She was a thirty minute drive away, and he missed her as if they were still separated by eight thousand miles. Perhaps, it's because he wasn't entirely sure that she was going to stay.

"Do you want to talk about it?" Ellie asked, sitting at the table. She left space and silence for him to join her if he chose.

"Things with Ziva… they're complicated."

"Have you tried talking to her?"

"She wanted space and I'm trying to respect her wishes." Also true. It was not his fault she had shown up in the middle of the night on his doorstep. And he had tried to take the couch, but it was her who had asked him to come to bed with her. He had tried giving her space, but now that she was there, there was nothing else she wanted except to be close to him. And he felt entirely the same.

Ellie let out a sigh of acknowledgment. "Well, you never know, Tony. Maybe she'll come around."

Oh, you have no idea.

"Ziva?" he called, closing the door behind him. He stepped into the apartment with two bags of groceries — more snacks for her to choose from — and his heart pounded when he was met with silence.

"Ziva?" he called again, this time louder. Oh god…

The bags slipped from his fingers, landing with a thud on the floor; his eyes darting around every corner of the living room, and into the kitchen. No sign of her. He raced through the apartment into the bedroom, and took sight of the covers — perfectly made, exactly as he kept it. He scanned the room for anything reminiscent of her. There were no belongings on the side, not that she had unpacked any, but where he had assumed he would see the t-shirt she had stolen and slept in, he found nothing but a navy pillow.

He walked closer, bending down to smell it. If he concentrated hard enough, her scent lingered, but then it had been this way since he left her. If he willed himself to, he could smell her all around him.

He shook his head, his heart beating erratically. He darted into the bathroom as fast as his legs could take him, and still no sign of her.

He ran a hand through his hair as he re-entered the living room. His DVD's were all perfectly aligned. Her bag that she had hooked over her shoulder and subsequently dropped by the door on the floor when she arrived the previous evening was nowhere to be found. There was no trace that she had ever been there at all.