Tony knocked on the door of the apartment, with a medium-sized bouquet of red roses tucked under his arm. Of course he had taken Gibbs' advice (not that he had needed it as he had been planning on buying her flowers anyway), and had ventured into a local independent florist close to his building.

He was slightly later than he wanted to be, but he had spent so long choosing the perfect selection of blooms for her, that the minutes had escaped him. By the time he had looked at his watch it was already 19:30, and they had texted earlier in the evening, agreeing that their date would be at eight. And he didn't want to start it off by screwing up by being late.

He knocked on the door again and there was no answer. He attempted to push away the unease that settled into his stomach. She was the one who suggested this tonight, Tony. She hasn't suddenly run away. He repeated it to himself over and over, constantly reassuring himself that she wanted to be there. She had agreed to stay. She wasn't going anywhere.

When he knocked on the door for a third time, there was still no answer, and so he settled for using his key like any normal homeowner would. He fumbled for them in his pocket, the jangling of metal against metal reverberating through the corridor and eliciting a long meow from Satan, who had somehow escaped from his neighbors apartment, and was now staring at Tony, beady-eyed and… threatening? He glanced at the cat before shaking off the stare, opening the door and stepping inside.

Well, she's still here, he thought as he took stock of her shoes by the door and the bag that she had arrived with, still in the same position as they had been when he had been home at lunch time. The Sound of Music was long back in its case on the shelf and she had chosen several others laid out on the coffee table - Top Gun, When Harry Met Sally, and The Parent Trap (no doubt on account of his comment the previous evening.)

He closed the door behind him and walked through to the kitchen, where a bag of half-eaten cheetos and a tall half-drunk glass of water stood on the countertop. He smiled at how… lived in it felt. In the twenty four hours she had been there, she had made it feel more like a home than Tony had in the last thirteen years.

He was about to call her name when he heard the sound of retching coming from the ensuite attached to the bedroom. His stomach lurched at the sound and he placed the bouquet down on the kitchen island, heading towards the source of the noise. He knocked once, before gently pushing the door open.

Ziva sat with her hands resting on the toilet bowl and her eyes closed. She inhaled and exhaled slowly, as she attempted to hold back the wave of nausea in her throat. She didn't need to open her eyes to know that he was standing over her, and she smiled to herself when she felt him sit behind her with his legs astride; his hands slowly and softly rubbing circles on her back. He pressed a kiss to her shoulder right before she spoke.

"The burrito did not agree with the baby," she announced, slightly shaking her head. His lips twitched, amused by her tone, before concern washed over him as he felt her body lurched forward; her stomach spasming and she vomited into the bowl. She sighed. "I'm sorry, I-"

He shook his head, brushing her hair away from her face. "No, you have nothing to apologize for."

"We are supposed to be going on a date," she replied, frustrated and annoyed at her stomachs inability to keep food down. She had been getting ready into the nicest clothes she had brought with her (just in the event that she would need them), and had been applying mascara when the first wave of nausea had hit her; her legs scurrying to the bathroom as fast as they could take her.

"You don't need to worry about that," he said, softly, his hands continuing to stroke her back.

"But-"

"Ziva," he said more firmly, "it doesn't matter."

"But we had planned it and I do not want you to think that I…"

There was a moment of silence before he finished her thought. "You don't want me to think that you don't want to go?" he asked, raising his eyebrows. Her eyes remained closed, and she nodded, before bending her head. "Honey, you're pregnant," he replied with a small chuckle. Her heart skipped a beat at the term of endearment that slipped so effortlessly out of his mouth, as if he had been saying it to her for years. "You can't control being sick." He pressed a kiss just below her ear - her skin hot and clammy under his lips.

He stood and she sighed in disappointment at the absence of his body. He pulled a washcloth from the shelf and ran it under the cool water, before wringing it out so it was damp. He sat back down behind her, his legs on either side of her and the toilet, and softly pressed the cloth to her forehead. The cold fabric was soothing against her skin and she sighed in relief. He pressed another kiss below her ear in a spot that he remembered she liked, to comfort her.

"Thank you," she spoke, leaning back against her chest. Her whole body relaxed beneath him and she sighed, the two of them breathing synchronously, like one organism.

"Mhmmm," he mumbled against her hair. "Why don't you take a shower, brush your teeth and slip into something more comfortable… say sweatpants?"

"I do not have any," she muttered. "I did not bring many clothes with me, just in case you did not want me here."

He smiled at her admission, while his heart broke at the idea she could ever think that he wouldn't want her.

"Then, I'll find you some of mine, and a nice baggy t-shirt to go with it."

"That is hardly sexy," she chuckled.

"I disagree," he teased. "You in my clothing…" He bit his lip, his eyes trailing over her as he pictured her in his sweatpants. "So hot."

"I am sure that only applies to your boxers," she laughed, remembering how she had pulled them on in the bedroom of the farmhouse after they had made love, and walked around in… virtually nothing else. (It was either those or the t-shirt she had stolen.) He spent the entire time unable to resist his arousal and quickly pulled her back into bed after they had eaten breakfast (for sustenance), so he could remove them off her again.

"I get to decide what I find sexy," he whispered into her ear, "and what I find the most sexy is you being yourself and comfortable." His hands rested on her abdomen. "Not that it matters what you wear because I'd be attracted to you in anything. But I don't want you to do or wear something just because you think it will make me happy," he said. "What would you like to wear, Zi?"

Her heart fluttered at the nickname, that he had only ever called her at one other time. As she wrapped her arm around his neck, and her other around McGee, when he had rescued her from Somalia. When Tony had saved her life in more ways than one.

"Sweatpants," she smiled, to which he smiled back at her.

He pressed a kiss to her hair. "I'll get some ready for you. Take your time."

Forty minutes later, she changed into the gray sweatpants and the rolling stones t-shirt he had laid out for her on the bed, the shirt oversized on her small frame (though she knew that she would probably be finding herself wearing it frequently, and it would come in handy as her belly grew.) SHe had taken a steaming - nearly scalding - hot shower, reveling in the feel of the water cascading over her skin, before brushing her teeth and curling up on the bed wrapped in a towel, until she regained the strength and energy to make herself look presentable. She brushed her hair and allowed it to dru naturally - curly, before freshening up with some lip balm.

She opened the bedroom door and shuffled slowly into the living room; her breath catching in her throat as her eyes glanced around the room.

"What is all this?" she asked.

In the center of the coffee table were candlesticks, their small flames emitting an amber glow to the room. Beside them, bowls of snacks lay in a row - from watermelon, cheetos, and crackers, to peanut butter m and an array of other sweet and savory treats that Tony had purchased - along with two glasses of lemonade (and water, in case she didn't feel like anything else.)

"Well, my ninja," he began, picking up a glass of lemonade and walking over to her. He offered her the glass and she took it, before catching his gaze. Her body tingled with butterflies as he looked at her. "Since having a date outside of the apartment is a tad risky, I thought I would bring the date to you." His voice was soft and low, and laced with a seductiveness that he knew drove her wild. Her eyes sparkled and her brows crinkled in amusement. "Or maybe something less cheesy?"

She laughed. "You did all of this for me?"

"Of course," he smiled. "Ziva," he continued, taking her free hand in his. "I don't care where we have a date," he shrugged, "all that matters is that it's with you."

A tear slipped down her cheek at his words. Damn her hormones! She smiled as she wiped it away, leaning up to press a long kiss to his lips; the minty taste of toothpaste lingering on her mouth. "Thank you," she whispered, before capturing them again.

His eyes twinkled with adoration as they pulled apart and he gently tugged her hand, guiding her towards the couch. He gestured for her to sit and she did, placing her glass of lemonade on the coffee table, but not before taking a sip; slightly grimacing at the taste mixing with her minty fresh breath, but thankful for the soothing bubbles against her throat.

He sat beside her, loosening his tie slightly. "You are… all dressed up," she said, as she noticed the pale blue button down shirt he was wearing, alongside a dark navy tie - different from the gray suit and white shirt he had worn to work that morning.

"Well, I wanted to make an effort for you," he smiled.

She smiled back, reaching her hand out to his chest and softly stroking it, before loosening his tie the rest of the way and pulling it free. "You should be comfortable," she said, "like me."

He smirked at her, his hand reaching up to cup her head and his fingers tangling in her hair. He pulled her closer, kissing her deeply. He didn't mean to be all over her all the time, but he couldn't help it. He needed her like he needed oxygen. He had spent eight years resisting the urge to kiss and hold her, and now that she was there and she was his (though not quite officially, which he hoped would change after tonight), he wasn't going to waste any more moments not kissing her if he didn't have to.

The corners of her lips curved into a smile as she pulled away. "Just when I think you cannot surprise me any more," she said.

He grinned, raising his index finger to her face, silently asking her to hold her thought. He leant down beside the couch, reaching for the bouquet of red roses. He saw her gasp as he presented them to her, nervously. "They didn't have any sunflowers left which I know are your favourite, so I had to choose something else and I didn't know what else you'd really like, but I asked the florist and-"

It was her turn to surprise him with a kiss. "They are perfect," she replied, unable to contain the smile on her face. "Thank you." Another tear fell from her eye and she cursed under her breath at how emotional she had become, before he reached up and wiped it away with the pad of his thumb. "Nobody has ever given me flowers before."

"Ever?" he asked with surprise, as she confirmed the statement that Gibbs had made to him before he had left the office. How could no one have ever bought her flowers before? Sure, she might be a trained assassin and could kill you with a paperclip, but underneath it all she was first and foremost a lady, who deserved to be loved and appreciated.

She shook her head. "Not even Ray."

Tony's jaw clenched at the mention of the man's name, the anger bubbling in his stomach. There were very few people in the world whom Tony DiNozzo had a burning hatred for, but former CIA agent Raymond Cruz, was one of them. (Interestingly, the only other person he hated just as much also happened to be a CIA operative by the name of Trent Kort.)

When Ray had been dating Ziva, he had pretended to like the guy, for her sake. If Ziva was happy, that was all Tony could ever want, even if it meant that it was not with him. He loved her enough with every fiber of his being, that he had been willing to abandon his own happiness and any hope he ever had of being with her. But he would have been lying if he said he didn't think the guy was scum and always had been - not just because he had been jealous (which he, not-so-secretly, had been.) Ray had constantly let ZIva down - on their dates, as he recalled the time he had stood her up and left her alone in a restaurant for three hours without so much as a single phone call or text. And not to mention the reason why he and Ziva had actually broken up - because Ray had murdered an innocent woman, and was now spending the rest of his life behind bars.

In the five times Tony had met the man in person, including the time that Ray had come to him to discuss proposing to Ziva (which Tony had to pretend hadn't been killing him inside), not a single good vibe had been felt, and it made him sick thinking about how much time she had wasted with Ray, when she could have been with him instead - someone who loved her more than anything, and truly appreciated everything about her. If only they had just had the courage to be honest with each other.

"That doesn't surprise me," Tony admitted. "The guy was a scumbag."

She laughed at his bluntness. "You are saying that because you were jealous."

"Yes," he nodded. He had no reason to deny it anymore, not that he had ever really tried to deny it before. All it took was one look or one expression and she could see right through him. "I was." He tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. "But I thought you were happy, so I let it go. But he never treated you the way that you deserve." His hand lingered by the side of her face as he spoke. "You know, when you told me he stood you up, I was secretly wishing you had called me?"

Her brows crinkled. "What?"

He gave her a small, coy smile. "I would have been with you in that restaurant." His fingers softly caressed her face. "I would have romanced you and shown you what love really looks like."

She gulped.

It had taken her far too long to see it, but she knew in her heart that the only man who had ever deserved her love had been quietly showing her for years, without her truly knowing. Even though somehow, she did. It was in the way he noticed that ruffling her hair sometimes made her smile, and how he brought the opera to her to honour her sister when she couldn't get ticked. It was how they had sat in the bullpen and watched The Black Pirate together, split a croissant in the breakroom, and how he had hand delivered her gum and magazines to the airport when she went to bury her father, because he knew that she could not fly without them. He showed his love by opening up to her about his mother - to her and no one else - and overnighting her old friend Shmeil from New York to DC, because he knew that it was what she needed at that moment in time. It was in the way they had gazed into each other's eyes as they slow-danced in Berlin; and how he would consistently protect, encourage, tease, support, and comfort her, even when she perhaps did not deserve it.

"You jeopardised your entire career and for what?"

"For you."

"Couldn't live without you, I guess."

"Aht lo lehvad."

"I know it's hard, and I know you want to change. I can change with you."

He had loved her consistently and unconditionally.

Her eyes sparkled as she smiled, leaning over to kiss him - pouring her entire heart and soul into his body. When she pulled away, his lips were rosy and his cheeks flushed. She didn't think she had ever seen him blush like that before, let alone because of a kiss. But she could not deny the satisfaction it gave her.

"You are blushing," she commented with a smile.

"I… well…"

"I made you blush?" she teased, as her eyes narrowed at him. He bit his lip, refraining from smiling too hard. She was loving it and he knew it.

"Mhmm, what?" he asked, averting his eyes from her and turning his attention towards the television. "Do you feel like watching a movie? Let's watch a movie."

She chuckled. "How about you choose, while I put these in some water?" She pressed another peck to his lips and he grinned in response.