He exhaled, gently rapping on the door with an extra large bouquet of mixed roses in hand; the petals tickling his face as he struggled to see above them. Okay, perhaps it was overkill, but he wanted her to know how much he loved her, and give her the best first date she had ever been on… or was it technically their second? Or third? Did making out while watching a film after work (for him), in the apartment you lived in together, count as a date?

It had been two weeks since she had shown up at his door, and they had slipped into domestic life like pulling on a pair of warm, cosy socks. It felt familiar…normal…as if it was meant to be. He would wake up every morning and press a kiss to her lips before rolling out of bed to shower and change, while she quietly slipped into the kitchen to prepare coffee for him, despite his protesting that she shouldn't worry about him and should stay in bed and sleep. When it was evident that she was staying (as for the first few days, he still half expected to come home and find his apartment empty), they discussed upgrading to a bigger bed with space for them to cuddle and canoodle, as though she loved how close they were in his very small twin size bed, she made the point that they would both probably like more room once her belly started to grow; a thought that he couldn't disagree with her on. His days were filled with work, though he would venture home every lunch break to check on her, as though she was very much making herself at home in their space, he still worried about her being on her own for too long. She was a social creature and she hated doing nothing, but in the absence of her having a job, there wasn't much for her to do except for visiting the cafe down the street with her books and reading until dinner time, when she greeted him like an over-excited puppy seeing a mailman at the door.

And, their romantic relationship was going extremely well. Thanks to Ziva's raging hormones, they had had countless amounts of sex at all given hours of the day - morning, on his lunch breaks, before dinner, after dinner, and once during dinner, where his hand had slipped into her panties as she ate. She had been startled at his boldness, as it wasn't a move she ever imagined Tony would consider, and yet she found it incredibly arousing; the food quickly forgotten when his lips made careful work of her neck too. And, when they weren't having sex, they were enjoying being in the company of each other; something which wasn't hard after their near decade of friendship; simply trading quiet nights alone in the bullpen together for quiet nights alone in their apartment.

Tony held his breath as Satan eyed him, slipping past his legs, meowing; and he shook off the shiver down his spine. He really hated that cat. Thankfully for him, he heard the padding of the heels on the wooden floorboards, the door to the apartment opening seconds later.

Her curled hair cascaded down her shoulders, highlighting the bare skin between the straps of the low-cut black dress she had chosen, which came to a stop at her mid-thigh; and the strappy black heels she paired it with accentuated her long, slender legs. As Tony's eyes trailed upwards, it took everything in him not to drool. Of course, he'd always known she was incredibly hot (though he loved her for more than her body), but the fact that this was all forhim, made his heart race uncontrollably.

When his gaze reached her face, he flashed her a grin that made her heart leap, before she returned it, beaming back at him. She had opted for light makeup: smoky eyeliner and mascara emphasised her brown eyes, a thin layer of foundation sat upon her skin, and her mouth was coated in a thin layer of lipgloss (a safer choice than lipstick, if they kissed).

"You look beautiful," he said, pressing a light kiss on her cheek, so as not to ruin her makeup after all the time and effort she had taken. When her eyebrows crinkled and a tiny pout crossed her face, he chuckled, before bending down to press a proper kiss to her lips. "Better?"

"Much," she replied with a grin. "And thank you." She looked down at herself, her hands splaying across her front as she smoothed her dress. "Are you sure it is okay? You said we are going to a quirky place, but I did not know what to choose…"

"You look perfect," he replied. "I'm the luckiest man alive."

"Well," she said, softly dragging her index finger down his chest as she looked at him with a seductive twinkle in her eyes, "if you play your cards right, you may get even luckier…"

He chuckled. "She says, as if we didn't have a round of shower sex this morning."

She rolled her eyes, grinning. "Are those for me?" Her eyes widened as she eyed up the enormous bouquet in his arms.

"No…" he replied sarcastically, with a smirk on his face, "They're for Mrs Patterson across the hall, because I'm also in love with her and she too happens to be carrying my baby."

Ziva chuckled as he held them out to her. She brought her nose close to the petals, her eyes closing and a smile crossing her face as she inhaled. When she opened them, he was gazing at her lovingly. "They are beautiful, but you did not have to."

"Of course I did," he replied as she finally took them from him. "I'm not about to go on a date with my girlfriend and not bring her flowers. What kind of man do you take me for?"

"A very handsome one, who polishes up nicely."

"Scrubs. Scrubs up nicely," he corrected, as she disappeared into the kitchen. He heard a cupboard door open and close, followed by the tinkering of glass on the counter and the running of the faucet, followed by a small "ow!" when one of the thorns poked her in the hand. His lips turned up and his smile only grew when she reappeared minutes later, walking to the coffee table and slipping some small silver hoops into her ears. .

"Are we ready to go?" she asked, brightly.

He was about to nod, when he glanced to the empty space on her neck. "There's one thing missing."

"Oh?" She raised an eyebrow.

He paced over to the fireplace, delicately removing the necklace from the stand, where it was sitting front and centre on the mantelpiece, in between two photos: one of them on the Vespa in Paris, and the other, his favourite - of Ziva looking at postcards (she was right when she said it would look better in black and white.) Truthfully, he hadn't meant to keep it on display like an artefact in a Ziva-themed museum, but once he had, it felt disrespectful to move it. It had also, in the last three months before she returned, given him ample excuse to think of her, as he sat and stared at it with a bottle of wine close at hand.

He held the gold chain between his fingers, the pad of his thumb softly tracing the pendant at the end - a symbol which to him, had become synonymous with Ziva. Resisting the temptation to bring it to his lips, as he had done so many times out of habit in her absence, he strolled back to where she was standing, her eyes following him the entire way. When he came to stop in front of her, he smiled.

He unclasped the necklace, the air suddenly rushing from her lungs as she gasped, when his fingers softly grazed the nape of her neck; her skin reacting with goose pimples at his touch. As her gaze met his and their eye contact remained unbroken for an extraordinarily long time while he fastened the chain, she willed herself to breathe. Seconds later, his index finger lightly caressed the skin around the pendant, as it dangled upon her chest, back in its rightful place.

"There," he said, the corners of his lips curling up in satisfaction, "now you are… you."

Her eyes dropped to his lips before she curled her hand around the back of his neck, her fingers tickling his hair as she brought him down for a kiss. It was slow and intense, and his hand automatically tangled in her hair, as it did every time they kissed like this. And, if it hadn't been for the fact that they had dinner reservations and slipping her tongue in his mouth to deepen the kiss would only make them stumble to the bedroom instead, she would have done so.

When he eventually pulled away, much to his displeasure, a love-drunk look crossed his face. "What was that for?" he asked, breathlessly.

"For not giving up on me."

"Never."

"Well, you were not kidding when you said this place was quirky," she chuckled.

Thirty or so tables sat in the front of the restaurant, each draped in red cloth with a candlestick centerpiece, and the occupied tables were topped with fresh rose petals - not a standard affair for such an establishment, but itwasone of the many reasons why Tony had chosen it, due to its extremely romantic appeal. Admittedly, he had never actually stepped a foot inside and had only admired it through the glass, his eyes trailing over the couples sitting at the tables, talking, giggling, and kissing

As the years passed and the more time he spent on the outside looking in, the nameless couples faded into a clear vision of him and Ziva, together, sharing a bottle of wine while he did everything he could to make her laugh. He imagined leaning across the table to brush a strand of hair away from her face, his heartbeat pounding as much as hers, seconds before he dropped his gaze to her lips and met them in a good, all-encompassing kiss. And, not so long ago, his mind had wandered to them sitting at a table in the back as he knelt down on one knee, presenting her a blue velvet box, inside which was an oval diamond surrounded by a gold band; an item which was currently under lock and key, beneath the false bottom of the bottom drawer of his desk, where no prying eyes would find it. (He had been keeping it in the far back of the top drawer of his bedside table, where he didn't have to look at in her absence. But, when Ziva had taken up residence in his apartment, he surmised that with her skills - which he had once equated to that of a Mossad hunting dog - it would only be a matter of time before she found it). And while hewasgoing to give it to her eventually, he still wanted her to be surprised when the moment came.

Her body tingled at the warmth of Tony's hand resting on her lower back, as the waiter guided them to their table in the far corner, dressed much like the ones in the front with red cloth, candlesticks and rose petals, with the added addition of mood lighting in the form of sconces on the walls, which made for a far more intimate and romantic experience than those in direct view of the window.

As they continued to be led further into the restaurant, their eyes danced across the decor, which for all intents and purposes had contributed to the 'quirky' reputation that it had acquired. To their left, supersized jars of olives sat in hollowed out arches in the walls, illuminated by spotlights; some also accompanied by an expensive bottle of red wine, with a glistening golden label. On the right, the feature which lended itself to the name 'Cupid's': an entire portrait of the mythological god, fashioned entirely out of wine corks.

When they reached their table, the waiter gestured for them to sit. He placed a menu in front of each of their table settings and was about to pull Ziva's chair out for her, as was customary for his job, when Tony politely gestured for him to stop, with a small shake of his head. A look of shock crossed Ziva's face, surprised at his behaviour, as the Tony DiNozzo she knew was as chivalrous as they came; until he walked to her side and flashed a dopey smile at her, her expression matching his own as his hands gripped the chair and gently slid it out from beneath the table.

"My lady," he pounding in her chest only grew as she sat, his fingertips lightly brushing the exposed skin from her dress as he removed them from the chair; a move which, from the smirk on Tony's face when he took his own seat, was entirely intentional.

"Wine, Sir? Madame?" the waiter asked, as he fiddled with the red cloth draped over his arm.

"No, thank you," Tony replied with a small shake of his head.

"Tony," she smiled, "just because I cannot doesn't mean you shouldn't." Her fingers gently tapped the table as she examined the , she was nervous.

"Nope," he pursed his lips. "You're giving up your body for the sake of our child. It's only fair if I give up something too."

"You are pregnant, Madame?" the waiter asked with a smile.

A lump formed in her throat as an unfamiliar feeling settled in her stomach. She raised her head to find Tony looking at her, expectantly, with a proud smile on his on! Tell him!his eyes screamed. She swallowed, hard, as she glanced between Tony and the waiter, who was hovering for an answer.

Until now, it had been their secret - hers and Tony's; a small piece (or large, if you considered the gravity of such a life changing thing) of their lives, just for themselves. But, there she was in front of her boyfriend and a stranger, being asked a very simple question of which a 'yes' or 'no' would suffice, only to find her voice constricted; tied and bound, nothing more than a hollow puff of air in her throat.

Her cool hands turned clammy as four eyes remained fixated on her, and, if she wasn't mistaken beneath the dim glow of the candlelight, she saw Tony's jaw clench ever so slightly, before a strange look crossed over his face. The waiter cleared his throat, breaking the silence.

"Well, I shall bring some sparkling cider to the table, just in case," he said, letting out a breath before turning on his heels and heading to the bar. When he was far enough out of earshot, Tony spoke.

"Okay, what was that?" he asked, an unfamiliar edge to his voice. She attempted to answer, but the words caught in her throat. and unable to do anything else, she stared at him intensely, with her eyes wide.

"Ziva?" he asked, his gaze darting between her pupils. "Why didn't you tell him you're pregnant?" His voice was softer, as was his expression, and yet, she still found herself unable to answer him. He watched her chest rise and fall as she dropped her eyes to her place setting, straightening the fork which was ever so slightly wonky. "Are you ashamed?" he paused, his voice dropping an octave lower than usual, "or are you ashamed it's mine?"

Her head snapped up to his in surprise. Her mouth parted slightly and she studied the way he bit his lip with one eyebrow faintly raised; his aquamarine eyes now a shade of cyan as they glazed over, the hurt on his face matching that in his words.

"Oh my god, no," she assured, shaking her head. "I am so proud to be carrying this baby, and I am so proud that it isyours."

His expression softened and a smile played at the corner of his lips. "But?"

She tilted her head slightly, wetting her lips with her tongue before she pulled her lips together and exhaled. "Perhaps it is selfish of me," she explained, "but I like the fact that right now, it is just betweenus -you and I. We can make decisions about what is best for us and our family without feeling like we have to justify them to someone else."

Our heart raced at her words; the smile on his face growing as he nodded. "I get that."

"You do?" she asked, raising her eyebrows. His hand reached across the table to find hers, squeezing slightly.

"I do," he nodded. "And as much as I want to tape the photo of the sonogram to my computer so I can stare at it twenty-four seven, I really like that it's just for our eyes only." A rosy tint crept across her cheeks as he smiled at her, in a way that nearly made her heart stop; the corner of his eyes wrinkling ever so slightly, as they glistened with pure adoration for , how lucky she was to have found this kind of love… to have found him.

Moments later, the waiter appeared with a silver ice bucket tucked under his arm. Beads of condensation gathered on the neck of the bottle as he presented it to them: the best sparkling cider that the restaurant had to offer; before pouring them each a generous glass. He placed the bucket on the table, before nodding to the menu.

"Have you chosen what you'd like?"

"My girlfriend will have whatever she likes," Tony replied, Ziva's breath catching in her throat at the term of endearment falling so easily from his lips, "and whatever that happens to be, I'll have it also."

"You do not want something like a steak?" she asked, confused.

"Nope," he smirked, "I'll have whatever you're having."

Her eyes narrowed and her brows wrinkled, suspicious. In the years that she had known him, and the several times they had been out to eat together, most notably a few weeks after she had joined NCIS as a liaison, he had always opted for a hearty, meaty dish on offer.

"Very well," she shrugged, "I will take the spaghetti with tomato, mushrooms and chilli, and a side of the garlic flatbread please."

"A very good choice," the waiter replied, collecting their menu and disappearing to the far end of the restaurant into the kitchen.

"Now it is your turn to explain," she said with a smile.

He leaned across the table, his voice only audible to her, a flirtatious smirk dancing across his face. "Considering yours — or perhaps the bump's current aversion to meat, I figured it would be a better option just in case your tongue ends up in my mouth later…"

She let out a small chuckle. "Mytongue? You make it seem like I am about to spontaneously push you against a wall and devour you…"

He leant back in his chair with a smirk.

"Oh," she laughed, "so that is the way you want to play this?" She bit her lip; a mischievous smirk appearing on her own mouth as she leant forward slightly. "Fine," she nodded. "If my tongue ends up in your mouth by the end of the evening, I will do that…thingyou like, when we get home."

He grinned, playfully. "And I believe you have a condition for if mine ends up inyours?"

"Then you will do anythingIlike…"

"Anything? You have something in mind, Miss David?"

She grinned, leaning back in her chair. "Perhaps," she replied, her eyes twinkling.

"Alright," he smirked, "you've got yourself a deal. But, I think you'll find I'll be winning this bet."

A hearty chuckle escaped her.

For the next two hours, bites of food were interspersed with gentle conversation and flirtatious comments that made each other blush, as they stole loving glances from across the table. He memorised the way her eyes twinkled beneath the soft glow of the mood lighting, and how she bit back a smile before allowing herself to giggle uncontrollably at his quips and jokes; his heart swelling as he witnessed the whimsical, carefree side of her. She had spent so much of her life guarded and stoic, confined to a regime of careful control and carrying burdens unimaginable to the majority of humankind. It was, to Tony, an honour and a privilege that she felt so safe with him, to be the most authentic version of herself.

And she too found herself in awe at the man sitting across from her, carefully watching the way his eyes lit up as he recounted stories he had never told her, and patiently waiting for her reaction at the good, funny, or embarrassing parts. She listened intently as he told her about his mother and the traditions they shared - from Halloween to Christmas, and all of the small long forgotten birthday treats they had indulged in, in his youth; failing to hide the look of surprise on her face when he casually mentioned about continuing such traditions with their own impending offspring.

"Would you like some dessert?" the waiter asked, returning to their table.

"Yes, we-"

"Actually," Ziva interrupted, "we would like the bill please."

"We would?" Tony asked, his head slightly cocking to the side.

"Yes," she smiled, knowingly, "we would."

"No problem, Madame," the waiter smiled, clearing their plates. As he walked away, Tony turned to her.

"You don't want dessert?"

She shook her head. "We have dessert…at home."

He gulped, his pants suddenly extremely tight. Surely, she wasn't suggesting… "You mean…"

She licked her lips, smirking. "You think I bought a jar of chocolate spread just for fun, Tony?"

"I thought you got it to go with your weird pickle craving," he replied, with a small shrug of his shoulders.

"Well," she dropped her voice low, "it can provide multiple purposes, yes?"

Beads of sweat threatened to break forth on his skin and he adjusted his tie at the sudden lack of oxygen he felt in his lungs. Without warning, he rose from his seat before pulling out his wallet and his credit card.

"Where are you going?" she asked, peering up at him.

"Ziva," he replied, "you've just implied that you want to spread chocolate on my…." he cleared his throat. "I am not waiting forty-five minutes to pay, while the waiter dawdles with other tables. Now, grab your purse, so we can get out of here!"

She rolled her eyes with a smile. He offered his hand for her to take and a thousand-watt grin crossed his face when she slipped her hand into his and interlocked their fingers; Tony bringing them to his lips to place a kiss on her knuckles, his thumb softly caressing them. As he turned to gently drag her to the front of the restaurant, he stopped suddenly in his tracks, his body tensing as he eyed the man and his date at the table directly next to the door.

"Shit," he muttered under his breath, though audibly enough for her to hear.

"What's the matter?" she asked, concerned.

He nodded his head to the table, and her eyes widened; their hearts racing in their chests as the man stood up and turned in their direction, no doubt heading to the mens room, down the stairs directly adjacent to the table where Tony and Ziva had been sitting. Her hand tightened around his as they quietly panicked. It was impossible to make it through the restaurant without being seen; and there were very limited options available to them other than returning to their table and hiding behind their menus, though one double take in their direction and they would have a mountain of explaining to do.

His eyes darted to their surroundings, quietly cursing to himself for choosing the table that quite literally backed them into a 're a trained Special Agent, DiNozzo… think!

As his gaze shifted to Ziva, a succession of images from not so long ago flickered behind his retinas; the harsh fluorescent lighting of the nightclub and the soft melody of 'I'm Glad There Is You' drifting into his consciousness. They're playing our song, Sweetcheeks. Act like you're just with me.

Before she could protest, he tugged her into the small alcove opposite the stair and she gasped when he pinned her back against the wall.. Her heart threatened to break forth from her ribcage as she inhaled his cologne, woody and musky; his body pressed against her with exactly the right amount of pressure that she could feel the bulge in his pants against her thigh. Oh, her talk of chocolate had definitely turned him on…

Tony turned his head slightly, the man getting closer to them with every step. When he turned his head back, his gaze dropped to her lips as the corners of his mouth tugged up.

"Trust me," he whispered.

She gulped, the entirety of the English language slipping from her mind; her brain intensely focused on his closeness and the way his breath was warm and ticklish on her face, as he dipped his head, their mouths inches apart. Unable to verbally respond, she simply gave a slight nod of her head.

As the man turned the corner to the stairs, Tony's lips crashed into hers and her hands found his waist; resisting the urge to moan as his tongue slipped into her mouth. When he was certain his move had been well received (not that it had ever been protested before), he decreased the pace, allowing their tongues to explore gently; her fingertips curling around the fabric of his shirt to bring him closer. Their lips parted slightly as they inhaled in unison, smiling against each other's mouths before they resumed kissing; his hand softly tugging her hair. It was soft and slow, and incredibly passionate; more so than any other kiss they had shared so far. Perhaps it was the thrill of the fact that they were in public, and he was kissing her in a way that ignited every nerve in her body; but suddenly she had to resist the urge to fumble for his belt and ask him to take her there and then, up against the wall of DC's most romantic restaurant.

The sound of footsteps passed them, followed by the tapping of dress shoes on steps. When Tony was certain the coast was clear, he pulled his lips from hers, and she gazed up at him in love-struck awe. If there had ever been a kiss to take her breath away, it was that.

His chest rose and fell as he willed the oxygen to return to his lungs; running a hand through his hair, his other still on her waist, making no attempt to separate their bodies.

"That was-" she breathed, her voice barely a whisper.

"Yeah…" he murmured.

Moments passed, the two of them gazing into each other's eyes, before a smug smirk appeared on her face.

"What?" he asked, tilting his head slightly in confusion.

"I am just thinking about how when we get home, you will be doing that thing I like…"

He raised an eyebrow, an amused smirk tugging at his own mouth before he chuckled and pressed a soft kiss to her lips.

"I guess I'll be eating dessert first then?" he winked, before slipping his hand into hers and pulling her through the restaurant. The sooner they got home, the better.