Ziva woke up to the familiar buzz of her alarm, signaling the start of another workday. She blinked against the faint morning light, stretched, and groaned softly at the thought of leaving her warm bed. As she reached for her phone to silence the alarm, a message notification caught her eye.
It was from Tony:
"Coffee before work? My treat."
Ziva rolled her eyes, though a small smile tugged at her lips. She knew Tony well enough to understand this was less about coffee and more about finding an excuse to see her before they faced the chaos of the bullpen.
"Fine," she replied, adding, "but I choose the café."
Tony's response came almost immediately:
"Deal. See you at 0700."
By the time Ziva arrived at the small café near the Navy Yard, Tony was already seated at a corner table with two cups of coffee. He spotted her walking in and grinned widely, waving her over like an eager kid.
"You're early," she said, sliding into the chair across from him.
"I'm motivated," he quipped, sliding one of the cups toward her. "And I know how grumpy you get without caffeine."
Ziva smirked, taking a sip. "Perhaps I should have skipped this meeting, then."
"Don't pretend you don't enjoy my company, David," he teased.
Their conversation remained light—updates on the team, a debate over a movie Tony insisted she had to watch, and a quick mention of the case they'd wrapped up the night before. Despite their usual banter, there was an underlying warmth in their interaction, a quiet acknowledgment of the connection they now shared.
As the clock ticked closer to their start time, Tony stood and offered her a hand. "Shall we?"
Ziva raised a brow but took his hand briefly as she rose. "You're unusually chivalrous today."
"I have my moments," he replied, smirking as they walked out together.
They arrived at the bullpen separately, as always, to avoid any suspicion from their colleagues. Gibbs was already at his desk, sipping his coffee and reviewing a file. McGee walked in shortly after, looking mildly frazzled, and Abby bounced in with her usual energy, carrying a report.
The day unfolded with the typical flurry of activity—interviews, evidence processing, and long hours of research.
At one point, Tony leaned over Ziva's desk, lowering his voice. "Dinner tonight? My place. I'll cook."
She glanced up at him, her expression neutral, though her eyes sparkled with amusement. "Do you even know how to cook?"
"You'd be surprised," he shot back, his grin infectious.
"Fine," she said softly, returning to her work. "But if I find frozen pizza in your oven, I'm leaving."
Tony laughed, his voice light. "Noted, Ninja. Noted."
As the day wound down and Gibbs finally called it a night, Ziva caught Tony's eye from across the bullpen. He gave her a subtle nod, a silent promise of the evening ahead.
And as they left for the night, Ziva felt a rare sense of anticipation—one she was slowly beginning to welcome.
Tony had just finished setting the table in his apartment when there was a knock at the door. He straightened his shirt, took a deep breath, and walked over to answer it.
Ziva stood there in her casual attire—a fitted blouse and dark jeans—but there was something about her that made Tony's heart skip a beat.
"Perfect timing," he said with a grin, stepping aside to let her in.
Ziva walked in, glancing around. "It smells…surprisingly good in here. No burnt pizza or suspicious takeout boxes?"
"Ha, ha," Tony said, shutting the door behind her. "I told you I'd cook, didn't I? Now, sit down and prepare to be amazed."
Ziva raised an eyebrow but followed his lead, sitting at the small dining table. Tony disappeared into the kitchen briefly and returned with two plates of homemade chicken piccata and a side of roasted vegetables.
"Color me impressed," Ziva said, inhaling the aroma. "You actually cooked this?"
"With these two hands," Tony said, holding them up for emphasis. "Though I may have called my Aunt Gina for a few pointers."
They began eating, the conversation flowing easily between bites. Ziva asked about Tony's family recipes, and he teased her about her own limited cooking repertoire, which she defended passionately.
As dinner ended, Tony cleared the plates and brought out a bottle of wine. They moved to the couch, glasses in hand, settling into a more relaxed atmosphere.
Ziva curled her legs beneath her, leaning against the armrest, while Tony sprawled comfortably on the other side. They started watching a movie Tony had insisted on—an action-comedy she admitted wasn't terrible.
As the credits rolled, Ziva stretched, her legs brushing against Tony's. She glanced at the clock on his wall and sighed softly.
"It is late," she said, setting her empty wine glass on the table.
Tony smirked, not making a move to get up. "You sure you don't want to stay for a sequel? I've got plenty of cinematic gold in my collection."
Ziva chuckled, shaking her head. "Not tonight, Tony." She stood, smoothing her shirt, and grabbed her jacket from the back of the chair.
Tony rose too, walking her to the door. "You know, Zee, you're breaking my heart, leaving like this," he teased, leaning against the doorframe as she slipped on her shoes.
Ziva looked up at him, her lips curling into a playful smile. "I am sure you will survive."
As she reached for the door handle, Tony's hand gently caught hers. She turned to him, her eyes meeting his.
"Goodnight, Ziva," he said softly, his teasing tone replaced with sincerity.
She smiled, stepping closer. "Goodnight, Tony."
Before he could say anything else, she leaned up and pressed a lingering kiss to his lips. It was soft and sweet, a promise wrapped in affection.
When she pulled back, Tony blinked, a dazed grin spreading across his face. "You really know how to make a guy feel special."
Ziva smirked, her eyes sparkling. "I will see you tomorrow," she said, opening the door and stepping out into the night.
Tony watched her go, leaning against the doorframe with a contented sigh. After she disappeared around the corner, he closed the door and leaned his head against it, a smile still playing on his lips.
"Goodnight, Zee," he murmured to himself, already counting down the hours until he'd see her again.
The next week flew by in a blur of activity as the team worked a demanding case that required constant surveillance of a key suspect. It was all hands on deck, with everyone taking shifts to ensure they didn't lose track of the target.
Ziva found herself paired with Gibbs, taking the late-night shifts in a nondescript black sedan parked just out of sight. Their time together was spent in companionable silence, punctuated by occasional check-ins with the rest of the team. Gibbs, ever the observer, would glance her way now and then, but he didn't pry. Ziva appreciated his steady presence, even though she caught herself missing Tony's easy banter.
Meanwhile, Tony and McGee took the day shifts, stationed across the street from the suspect's apartment in a dingy van equipped with surveillance equipment. Their time together was anything but quiet.
"You've been staring at that screen for an hour, Probie," Tony said, tossing a crumpled snack wrapper at McGee's head. "You're going to go blind. Or worse, start looking like the suspect."
McGee rolled his eyes, brushing the wrapper off his shoulder. "At least I'm doing my job, Tony. Maybe if you focused more on the suspect and less on your next movie reference, we'd get something done."
Tony grinned. "Relax, McGeek. I've got one eye on the prize and one on making sure you don't nod off. Someone's got to keep this operation lively."
Their bickering carried on for most of the shift, with McGee sighing dramatically and Tony grinning mischievously.
By the end of the week, the long hours and demanding schedule had taken their toll. Tony and Ziva barely had time to exchange more than a few words in passing at the bullpen. Their stolen moments were fleeting—a shared glance here, a knowing smile there—but they spoke volumes.
It wasn't until Friday evening, after the suspect was finally apprehended, that the team could take a collective breath. As they packed up their equipment and prepared to head home, Tony glanced across the bullpen at Ziva, who was leaning against her desk, rubbing her temple.
"Long week," he said quietly as he approached her.
She looked up, a tired but warm smile on her face. "Yes, it was. But we got him."
Tony nodded, resisting the urge to brush a stray curl from her face. "So… plans for the weekend? Or are you planning on hibernating?"
Ziva smirked. "Perhaps a bit of both."
"Fair enough," Tony said, stuffing his hands in his pockets. "If you find yourself needing company for the hibernation part, you know where to find me."
Ziva's smile softened. "I will keep that in mind."
They parted ways, each heading to their respective cars, but not without a sense of quiet anticipation for when they'd finally get some uninterrupted time together.
As November rolled on and the workload at NCIS lightened, Tony found himself with more time to think—and to spend with Ziva. Her birthday was approaching in less than three weeks, and he was determined to make it special. The thought of finding the perfect gift was both exciting and nerve-wracking. What could he possibly give her that would convey everything he felt? Something thoughtful, meaningful, and maybe even a little playful—just like their relationship.
In the meantime, the extra free time allowed them to enjoy each other's company more often. One evening, they decided to go bowling. Tony had insisted it would be fun, and Ziva, despite her skepticism, found herself laughing as Tony attempted to show off his "expert" moves—only to have the ball veer into the gutter.
"Are you sure this is your idea of impressing me, Tony?" Ziva teased, standing with her arms crossed, a playful smirk on her face.
"Oh, it's all part of the strategy," Tony replied, leaning on the ball return. "Lull you into a false sense of security before unleashing my secret weapon."
"And what is that? More gutter balls?" she quipped before stepping up to the lane and sending her ball straight into the pins, earning a strike.
Tony groaned dramatically. "You're impossible, David."
"And you are predictable," she shot back, grinning.
A few nights later, they shared a quieter evening at their favorite sushi restaurant. The dim lighting and intimate atmosphere set the perfect stage for a relaxing night. Ziva ordered her usual sashimi, while Tony experimented with a new roll that he later declared "weird but surprisingly good."
"See? I'm not as predictable as you think," he said, pointing his chopsticks at her.
She raised an eyebrow. "Trying a different sushi roll does not make you unpredictable, Tony."
After dinner, instead of parting ways as they often did, Ziva invited Tony back to her apartment. They'd been growing closer, and the unspoken understanding between them deepened as the evening progressed.
For the first time, Ziva felt safe enough to take the next step. As they held each other, their connection felt stronger than ever, and the night became one of tenderness and mutual trust. Ziva, who had often struggled with nightmares, slept soundly in Tony's arms, her mind free from the usual turmoil.
The morning after, as sunlight filtered through the curtains, Tony woke to find Ziva still nestled against him, her breathing steady and peaceful. He brushed a strand of hair from her face, marveling at how much things had changed between them.
Ziva stirred, opening her eyes to find him watching her. "What are you looking at?" she asked, her voice husky from sleep.
"Just you," Tony said softly.
She gave him a small smile, one that spoke of contentment. "You are getting sentimental," she teased lightly, but her tone held no sting.
"Maybe I am," he admitted. "And I'm okay with that."
As they started their day, the unspoken agreement between them was clear: their relationship had reached a new level, one built on trust, care, and a love that was quietly blossoming. The weeks ahead promised both challenges and joys, but for now, they were exactly where they wanted to be—together.
Ziva's birthday began quietly but meaningfully. When Tony arrived at her apartment early that morning, he was carrying a small, intricately wrapped box. She raised an eyebrow as she opened the door, dressed in a casual outfit but already radiating warmth and curiosity.
"Good morning, birthday girl," Tony said, leaning in to kiss her cheek. "I couldn't wait till later to give you this."
Ziva smiled as she took the box. "You have been plotting this for weeks, have you not?"
"Guilty," Tony admitted. "But I think you'll like it."
Inside the box was a delicate necklace, the pendant a small, intricate gold pomegranate blossom with a tiny diamond at its center. Ziva's breath caught as she held it up to the light.
"It's beautiful, Tony," she said softly, her fingers brushing over the pendant.
"I did some research," he explained, watching her reaction closely. "The pomegranate is symbolic in a lot of cultures, but I read it's also important in Israeli traditions—new beginnings, abundance, even connection." He paused, suddenly self-conscious. "I just thought it suited you."
Ziva looked up at him, her eyes glistening. "It is perfect. Thank you." She stepped closer, wrapping her arms around him and whispering, "I will cherish it."
He helped her fasten the necklace, and she admired it briefly in the mirror before turning to him. "You have set the bar quite high, DiNozzo. I hope the others did not feel the need to compete."
--
At work, the team had prepared small but thoughtful gestures for Ziva. McGee gave her a limited edition copy of a book she had once mentioned liking—The Little Prince in Hebrew. Abby had baked her a batch of almond cookies, decorated with tiny pomegranate designs in red icing, which made Ziva smile as she recognized the unintentional connection to Tony's gift. Gibbs handed her a new tactical knife, engraved with her initials and an understated "Happy Birthday."
"Figured you'd use this more than flowers," Gibbs said gruffly, earning a soft laugh from Ziva.
"Thank you, Gibbs," she replied, her appreciation sincere.
As the day wound down, Ziva prepared to spend her evening with her mother and sister.
--
At her mother Rivka's home, the atmosphere was warm and inviting. Tali, her younger sister, greeted her with a hug and a playful remark. "The big sister gets older, and somehow she's still the favorite," Tali teased.
"I will remind you that you are the one who brought the wine," Ziva replied with a smirk, holding up the bottle Tali had handed her.
Rivka had prepared a traditional Israeli dinner, complete with challah bread, roasted vegetables, and chicken seasoned with spices that reminded Ziva of her childhood.
Over the meal, the three women talked and laughed. Rivka reminisced about Ziva's childhood birthdays, telling Tali stories she had heard a dozen times but always found amusing.
"She was so serious as a child," Rivka said, her eyes twinkling. "Always watching, always analyzing. But on her birthday, she would smile nonstop—like the world finally made sense."
Ziva smiled softly at the memory. "Perhaps I just appreciated having one day where I did not have to compete with Ari," she said, her voice tinged with both humor and a hint of melancholy.
As the evening went on, Ziva felt the warmth of her family's love. For all the challenges and distances that had once defined their relationships, they had grown closer in the years since Eli's death.
Before she left, Rivka gave her a small box. Inside was a pair of gold earrings that had belonged to her grandmother. "These are for you, Ziva," Rivka said. "You've grown into the kind of woman she would have admired—strong, kind, and wise."
Ziva hugged her mother tightly, whispering, "Thank you, Ima. This means so much to me."
Driving home later that night, Ziva felt a deep sense of gratitude—for her family, for her team, and for the man waiting for her back at her apartment. As she reached for her phone at a red light, a message from Tony lit up her screen.
"How's the birthday girl doing? Ready for a late-night chat when you get home?"
Ziva smiled, her fingers moving quickly to reply. "I will be home in 15 minutes. Thank you for making this day so special."
Tony's response was instant. "Always."