The morning light filtered through the windows, casting a warm glow over Tim's house. Ziva sat at the kitchen table, hands wrapped around a fresh cup of coffee, but she hadn't taken more than a sip. Her eyes were heavy, rimmed with exhaustion from the night before, and though she didn't say it, Tim knew she hadn't gone back to sleep after the nightmare.
That was exactly why he was taking the day off.
She needed something—anything—to shift her mind away from the weight of her past.
Tim leaned against the counter, arms crossed over his chest. "Alright, here's the plan," he said, breaking the quiet. "We're going to IKEA."
Ziva blinked, looking up from her untouched coffee. "IKEA?" she repeated, as if unsure she had heard him correctly.
"Yeah," Tim said, grabbing his own mug and taking a sip. "I told you that we would get some furniture for your room, right? Might as well make a day of it."
Ziva hesitated the idea of doing something normal—something that didn't involve crime scenes or painful memories—was strangely appealing.
"Okay," she said softly, a small, almost hesitant smile tugging at her lips.
Tim grinned. "Then let's go. But fair warning—there is no escaping IKEA without buying something you didn't plan to get."
Ziva gave him a skeptical look. "I do not believe that," she said, standing up to grab her coat.
Tim just smirked. "Oh, you will."
The moment they stepped into the massive warehouse-like store, Ziva's expression shifted. She had never been to an IKEA before, and the sheer size of it was overwhelming. Everywhere she looked, there were people pushing carts, testing out couches, and wandering through perfectly staged room displays. The smell of cinnamon rolls and freshly baked bread lingered in the air.
"This place is… big," she observed, scanning the endless aisles.
"Yeah," Tim agreed, grabbing a cart. "It's like a maze designed to make you buy things you didn't even know you needed."
Ziva raised an eyebrow. "You are exaggerating."
Tim chuckled. "We'll see about that."
They started in the bedroom section, where Ziva carefully examined different bed frames. She ran her fingers along the wood, testing for sturdiness. Tim watched as she compared a sleek modern frame with a more rustic one, her brow furrowing in concentration.
"This one," she finally decided, tapping the rustic bed frame. "It feels… warm."
Tim nodded. "Good choice. What about a mattress?"
Ziva tested a few, lying down stiffly at first, as if unsure if she was allowed to relax. But after Tim flopped onto one with a dramatic sigh—"This one feels like a cloud"—she chuckled and settled onto the one she liked best.
As they made their way through the store, Ziva gradually let herself enjoy the experience. She picked out a simple dresser and nightstand, a soft throw blanket, and a set of deep blue curtains that she ran her fingers over for a long moment before nodding.
Then they reached the decoration section.
Tim noticed the way her eyes lingered on a small, delicate potted plant. "You should get it," he said casually.
Ziva shook her head. "I am not good with plants. They die."
"Then get a fake one." He pointed to an identical artificial plant. "Looks real, no maintenance."
She hesitated, then picked it up, tilting her head as she examined it. "Maybe."
Tim smirked. "Told you you'd end up buying something you didn't plan for."
Ziva rolled her eyes but didn't put the plant back.
By the time they reached checkout, their cart was full. Ziva stared at it, mildly bewildered. "I did not intend to get this much."
Tim laughed. "No one ever does."
They loaded everything into the car, and as Tim pulled out of the parking lot, he glanced over at Ziva she looked… lighter. Still tired, still carrying the weight of everything she had been through, but there was something softer in her expression.
"You know," she said after a moment, turning to him. "I think today was good."
Tim smiled. "Yeah. Me too."
Building Furniture and Decorating the Room
Back at Tim's place, they carried the IKEA boxes inside, stacking them against the wall of Ziva's room. She had chosen simple yet warm pieces—a rustic bed frame, a matching dresser and nightstand, deep blue curtains, and a few small decorations that made the space feel more like hers.
Tim stretched his arms over his head. "Alright, let's do this. But fair warning, IKEA furniture can break even the strongest of people."
Ziva raised an eyebrow, arms crossed. "You are exaggerating again."
Tim chuckled. "We'll see about that."
They started with the bed frame. Tim knelt on the floor, pulling out the instruction manual while Ziva carefully sorted the pieces. The first few steps went smoothly—until they realized they had screwed one of the side panels in backward.
Tim groaned. "You've gotta be kidding me."
Ziva smirked. "I thought you said you had done this before?"
"I have!" Tim defended, flipping through the instructions. "But these things are designed to mess with your mind."
Shaking her head, Ziva crouched beside him and helped unscrew the panel. As they worked together, there was a comfortable silence between them, broken only by the occasional sound of screws clicking into place and Tim muttering under his breath whenever something didn't align properly.
When they finally finished assembling the bed, Tim flopped onto it with a dramatic sigh. "Okay, I think we deserve a break."
Ziva sat down at the edge, testing the mattress with a small nod of approval. "It is good," she admitted.
"Yeah," Tim agreed, staring up at the ceiling. "And no missing pieces. That's a first."
Next, they tackled the dresser. This time, Ziva took the lead, carefully following the instructions while Tim handed her the tools.
"You're actually really good at this," he observed.
She gave him a side glance. "You sound surprised."
"A little," he teased. "I figured all your skills were in hand-to-hand combat and survival. Didn't take you for a master furniture builder."
Ziva smirked. "Building is not so different from strategy. You analyze, follow the steps, and adapt when necessary."
Tim chuckled. "I like that. IKEA: the ultimate test of strategy and patience."
After a few more hours of assembling, the furniture was finally complete. They stood back, surveying the room.
Now came the fun part—decorating.
Ziva took the deep blue curtains she had picked and carefully hung them up, smoothing them out before stepping back. The color softened the room, making it feel less temporary.
Tim watched as she placed a small decorative lantern on the nightstand, then carefully positioned the fake potted plant he had convinced her to buy.
"You know," he said, arms crossed as he leaned against the doorframe, "this actually looks like a real home now."
Ziva exhaled softly, running her fingers over the smooth surface of the dresser. "It feels… different," she admitted. "Like I belong here."
Tim smiled. "Because you do."
Ziva glanced at him, eyes flickering with something unreadable before she gave a small nod.
"You hungry?" Tim asked, breaking the moment. "Because after all that, I'm thinking we order pizza."
Ziva smirked. "IKEA did not break us, but I think cooking might."
Tim laughed. "Exactly. Pizza it is."
As they left the room, Ziva took one last look over her shoulder.
The days leading up to the trial were filled with tension. Even with Tim by her side, Ziva felt a heavy weight settle in her chest as she prepared to face her father in court. She had spent years hiding the truth, pushing down the memories, but now—now it was all coming to light.
The courtroom was cold, both in temperature and atmosphere. Eli David sat at the defense table, his expression unreadable. But Ziva knew better. She saw the anger simmering beneath his composed mask, the way his fingers twitched slightly as he listened to her speak.
Ziva sat tall in the witness stand, her voice steady even when her hands clenched into fists in her lap. She recounted everything—the years of abuse, the night he killed her stepmother and sister, the evidence she had hidden all those years ago. The room was silent except for her voice, every word carving the truth into the walls of the courtroom.
Tim sat just a few feet away, his presence grounding her. His jaw was tight, his hands clasped together, but his eyes never left her.
When it was over, when the verdict was read and Eli was sentenced, Ziva felt something she hadn't in a long time—relief. It wasn't happiness, not exactly. But it was freedom.
A few days later, Ziva stood outside the courthouse again—but this time, for a much different reason.
She clutched the paperwork in her hands, barely able to breathe as the judge finalized the decision. She was no longer in limbo. She was no longer just a case file in the system.
Tim had been granted the right to foster her.
She could stay.
The moment they stepped outside, Tim grinned at her. "So… you up for some celebrating?"
Ziva tilted her head. "I do not have to pack my things and leave, so yes. Celebrating sounds good."
Tim laughed. "That's the spirit. C'mon, we're getting sushi."
The sushi restaurant was quiet, with soft lighting and the faint sound of jazz playing in the background. They sat in a booth by the window, looking over the menu.
Ziva ran a finger along the edge of the table. "I have never had sushi before," she admitted.
Tim's eyes widened. "Wait, seriously?"
She nodded.
"Oh, this is a big deal, then," Tim said, grinning. "Alright, we'll start you off easy—California roll, maybe some salmon nigiri. Nothing too crazy."
Ziva raised an eyebrow. "And what do you consider crazy?"
Tim smirked. "Anything that still moves."
Ziva rolled her eyes, but a small smile tugged at her lips.
When their food arrived, Ziva eyed the sushi carefully before picking up a piece with her chopsticks. She hesitated for a moment before taking a bite.
Tim watched her expectantly. "Well?"
She chewed slowly, considering. "It is… different."
Tim laughed. "That's not an answer."
She took another bite, then nodded. "I like it."
They ate in comfortable silence for a while, the tension of the past few weeks finally starting to fade.
At one point, Tim set down his chopsticks and looked at her seriously. "You know, I meant what I said before. You're safe now. You don't have to look over your shoulder anymore."
Ziva looked down at her plate, her expression unreadable. Then, quietly, she said, "I know."
With everything finally settling down, Tim knew it was time for the next big step—getting Ziva enrolled in school. He had done most of the paperwork already, but today, she was coming with him to finalize everything and choose her subjects.
The local high school wasn't too far from Tim's place, and she'd be able to get there easily by bike or bus. As they walked into the school building, Ziva took in the surroundings carefully, her sharp eyes scanning everything. It wasn't like homeschooling. Students roamed the halls freely, talking and laughing in groups.
Tim noticed the way her shoulders tensed slightly. "You alright?" he asked.
Ziva gave a small nod. "It is… different."
"Yeah, high schools are something else," he said with a chuckle. "But you'll do great. You're, like, ridiculously smart."
She gave him a look, but there was a flicker of amusement in her eyes.
They reached the front office, where a kind-looking woman greeted them. "You must be Ziva," she said warmly.
Ziva nodded. "Yes."
"Well, we're happy to have you here. Let's go over your schedule."
Ziva sat down at the desk, going through the list of subjects she could choose from. Some were required—math, English, science—but others she could pick. She lingered over certain options, thoughtful.
Tim leaned in slightly. "You thinking about taking a language class? Frensh might be useful."
She smirked. "I already speak Frensh."
Tim blinked. "Right. Of course, you do. Overachiever."
She rolled her eyes but ended up choosing Spanish, just for fun. She also picked an advanced science course, history, and—surprisingly—art.
Tim raised an eyebrow at her last choice. "Art, huh?"
Ziva shrugged. "I have never had the chance to try."
Tim grinned. "Well, now's the time."
Once everything was set, Tim filled out the final details. Just in case anything ever happened to him, he listed Lucy as a secondary contact. He wasn't planning on going anywhere, but he needed to know Ziva would have someone she could rely on.
When they stepped out of the office, schedule in hand, Tim turned to her. "So, first day's on Monday. You nervous?"
Ziva folded the paper carefully and looked at him. "No."
Tim tilted his head. "Excited?"
"…Maybe."
He grinned. "That's good enough for me."
The Saturday before Ziva's first day of school, Lucy picked her up in the morning for a shopping trip. It wasn't strictly necessary—Ziva had enough clothes—but Lucy had insisted. "Come on, it'll be fun," she had said, waving off Ziva's protests. "And besides, new school, new start. You deserve to pick out some things that feel like you."
Ziva wasn't entirely sure what felt like her yet, but she agreed.
They drove to a large shopping mall, the kind with bright storefronts, groups of teenagers wandering around, and pop music playing over the speakers. It was a world Ziva had never really been a part of, and though she didn't say it, she felt a little out of place.
Lucy, on the other hand, was completely in her element. "Alright," she said, steering Ziva into the first clothing store. "Let's find you some outfits."
Ziva raised an eyebrow. "You seem very excited about this."
"Obviously. Shopping is the best kind of therapy."
Ziva wasn't sure she agreed, but she let Lucy pick out a few things for her to try on. As they sorted through racks of jeans and sweaters, Ziva found herself watching Lucy closely—particularly the way her face lit up when she talked about something she liked, or the way she had this easy energy about her that made everything feel normal.
Eventually, after trying on a few outfits, Ziva stepped out of the dressing room in a pair of fitted jeans and a casual but stylish top. Lucy gave her an approving nod.
"That looks great on you," she said. "See? Shopping can be fun."
Ziva smirked. "I did not say it was not fun."
Lucy laughed and nudged her playfully. "You were thinking it."
They kept browsing, and at some point, Ziva casually asked, "So… you and Tim?"
Lucy, flipping through a rack of jackets, hesitated for half a second before saying, "What about us?"
Ziva gave her a knowing look. "You are more than just colleagues or friends."
Lucy snorted. "We're definitely friends. And colleagues."
Ziva tilted her head. "That is not what I asked."
Lucy sighed, shifting her weight. "We work together. We have each other's backs. That's all."
Ziva crossed her arms. "You hesitate before you say that."
Lucy looked away for a moment, pretending to be interested in a nearby display of scarves. "Tim and I… we've been through a lot together," she admitted. "We understand each other in ways other people don't."
Ziva raised an eyebrow. "So you care about him."
Lucy glanced at her, a small smile playing at her lips. "Of course, I do."
Ziva studied her for a moment, then smirked. "Does he know?"
Lucy rolled her eyes. "Okay, we are not doing this right now."
Ziva chuckled but let it go—for now.
They finished shopping, with Ziva walking away with a few bags of new clothes that, surprisingly, she actually liked. As they walked back toward the car, Lucy nudged her.
"Alright, detective, since you're so good at reading people—what about you?"
Ziva frowned. "What do you mean?"
Lucy smiled knowingly. "You and Tim have gotten really close. Do you trust him?"
Ziva didn't answer right away. She looked ahead as they walked, feeling the weight of the question.
"…Yes," she finally said. "I do."
Lucy nodded. "Good."
After Lucy dropped her off, Ziva carried her shopping bags inside, placing them neatly by the couch before heading into the kitchen. Tim was there, standing by the fridge, drinking a bottle of water. He glanced up as she entered.
"Hey, how was the shopping trip?" he asked, capping the bottle and leaning against the counter.
Ziva shrugged, opening a cabinet to grab a glass. "It was… interesting."
Tim smirked. "That bad, huh?"
She poured herself some water and took a sip before turning to face him. "Actually, it was good. Lucy is fun."
Tim nodded, seeming pleased. "Told you she'd be a good person to go with."
Ziva leaned against the counter across from him, watching him for a moment. Then, with the same directness she had used on Lucy earlier, she asked, "So… you and Lucy?"
Tim, who had just taken another sip of water, nearly choked. He coughed once, then wiped his mouth, frowning at her. "What about me and Lucy?"
Ziva raised an eyebrow. "You are more than just colleagues or friends."
Tim groaned. "Did she put you up to this?"
Ziva smirked. "No, actually, she denied it too. Just like you are about to."
Tim huffed and crossed his arms. "Because there's nothing to deny. We're partners. We trust each other. That's it."
Ziva studied him, her sharp eyes not missing the way he had stiffened slightly, the way his fingers tapped once against his arm before he forced himself to stop. A tell.
"You hesitate before you say that," she pointed out, echoing what she had told Lucy earlier.
Tim rolled his eyes and walked past her to put his bottle in the recycling bin. "You are reading too much into things, kid."
"I do not think I am," Ziva countered. "I think you care about her. And I think she cares about you."
Tim sighed, rubbing the back of his neck. "Of course, I care about her. She's my friend."
Ziva tilted her head. "Is that all she is?"
Tim hesitated for just a second too long.
Ziva's smirk widened. "Ah. So you do have feelings for her."
Tim turned to her with an exasperated look. "Ziva—"
"I am just saying," she interrupted, holding up her hands. "You two act very much like a couple. You look at each other like a couple. You trust each other more than just colleagues. And yet, you both insist there is nothing between you."
Tim groaned again and ran a hand down his face. "This is what I get for letting you watch detective shows."
Ziva chuckled. "I do not need detective shows to see what is right in front of me."
Tim shook his head. "Alright, that's enough matchmaking for one night. You have school on Monday, remember? Maybe focus on that instead of my love life."
Ziva sighed dramatically. "Fine. But just so you know—denial does not change the truth."
Tim pointed toward the hallway. "Bed. Now."
Ziva grinned but obeyed, grabbing her bags and heading toward her room. As she reached the door, she paused and looked back at him.
"Just think about it, Tim," she said softly. "You deserve to be happy."
And with that, she disappeared into her room, leaving Tim standing in the kitchen, staring after her with a thoughtful expression.
