#tat fic

[hopeless-nostalgiac]

An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works

Chapters: 1/1 Fandom: NCIS Rating: General Audiences Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Ziva David & Anthony DiNozzo Characters: Ziva David, Anthony DiNozzo Additional Tags: their whole saga in food metaphors Summary:

Lasts and firsts, together. 

[hopeless-nostalgiac]

An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works

Chapters: 1/1 Fandom: NCIS Rating: General Audiences Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Ziva David/Anthony DiNozzo Characters: Anthony DiNozzo, Ziva David, Talia "Tali" DiNozzo Additional Tags: Tivali family fic Summary:

Would they still grow, she wonders, from the ashes?

[hopeless-nostalgiac]

An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works

Chapters: 1/1 Fandom: NCIS Rating: General Audiences Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Ziva David/Anthony DiNozzo Characters: Ziva David, Anthony DiNozzo, Breena Slater, Jimmy Palmer Summary:

It has been decades—since Tali, maybe.

[hopeless-nostalgiac]

An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works

Chapters: 1/1 Fandom: NCIS Rating: Teen And Up Audiences Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Ziva David & Anthony DiNozzo Characters: Timothy McGee, Jimmy Palmer, Jenny Shepard, Ziva David, Anthony DiNozzo Additional Tags: Summer between S3-4, Tony as team leader, secret summer of sex, not quite smut but close-ish

[hopeless-nostalgiac]

🌹

“Well, flying halfway ‘round the world to do a probie’s job...” Tony sighed and held her tighter, dragging his teeth over the spot she’d kissed. “It’s not how I’d planned our first New Year’s Eve together, that’s for sure.”

[hopeless-nostalgiac]

2020 IN WRITING

tagged by @loudlooks 

tagging: I haven’t been around, so I don’t know who’s writing anymore *shrug* If you want to, go ahead!

1. List of works published this year:

With Finer Grit - Chapter 10

with all appliances and means to boot

2. Work you are most proud of (and why):

The update to WFG because it was so long in the making (4! years!). Really thought I’d never continue it. I liked the other piece, too, because I actually had fun writing it. Team Leader Tony is one of my favorite Tonys.

3. Work you are least proud of (and why):

The update to WFG because I see the flaws and I might have ruined it with that last scene. Welp.

4. A favorite excerpt of your writing:

They dozed together in the dark of her bedroom. They weren’t cuddlers, per se. Their connections left them too sensitive, sticky and unspooled. They stayed close, though. Touching random pieces of her to him, him to her. His head resting on her bicep curled closest to the mattress. Her ankle molded to the arch of his foot. Sometimes as conventional as their hands laid one atop the other, fingers loose.

5. Share or describe a favorite review you received:

Hmm. Not many reviews these days. I cherished all the feedback from @mcgeekle *hugs*

6. A time when writing was really, really hard:

Pretty much every time I sat down to write. 

7. A scene or character you wrote that surprised you:

Um. I attempted to write smut, but never got to the actual smut part of the ficlet, so...I don’t think it counts. Also I tried writing Orli, which was interesting, if ultimately futile. 

8. How did you grow as a writer this year:

I know for a fact I did not grow because I did not put honest effort into it. 

9. How do you hope to grow next year:

I’d like to find a way to write again, regularly and with pleasure. Not sure how to achieve that, yet. Might need to find fresh inspiration. 

10. Who was your greatest positive influence this year as a writer (could be another writer or beta or cheerleader or muse etc etc):

@mcgeekle such a sweetheart, so helpful and motivating and gives great insight, only wish I could return the favor somehow *more hugs*

@loudlooks read drafts of my work (that didn’t even became a thing) when she wasn’t feeling tiva, now that’s a writerly friend *hugs*

11. Anything from your real life show up in your writing this year:

Nope, and I think that’s part of the problem. 

12. Any new wisdom you can share with other writers:

Not really new, but...write ideas/characters/worlds that interest you, make you laugh, send you flying back to the computer to write whenever you have the chance. Write what makes you want to keep writing.

13. Any projects you’re looking forward to starting (or finishing) in the new year:

Maybe finish WFG for good? Blessing could be continued...if I was so inclined. 

Mostly, like @loudlooks, I have a ton of WIPs. Seriously it’s disgraceful. There was the smut thing (it’s a tiva shower fic cause we need another of those). I’ve been dabbling with a New Year’s Eve tiva ficlet--for a couple years now. There’s a Hanukkah fic which would indeed be a miracle if I could finish it. A random piece on post-S17 Ziva. A S11 AU that gets bigger every time I think about it. A post-elevator fic that’s also a puppy fic (don’t ask). 

Then there’s a category of WIPs I previously released as part of Tiva Amnesty, but that I go stare at on occasion to torture myself. It’s fun. The biggest culprits are: --Tender Curiosity (S8 AU Ziva is preggers, but it’s not Tony’s; angst and deep friendship exploration ensue) --The Villa (S12 AU Tony and Ziva reunite at an Italian chateau, but it doesn’t go the way he planned) --Land I Grew (S7 Ziva and Tony rebuilding, one mattress at a time)

If the middles and endings of any (or all) of those want to suddenly be fully formed in my mind, that would be great.

To be honest, I think I have outgrown writing Tiva and that’s why it’s nearly impossible to produce these works, and thus why my writing has stalled completely.  

14. If you could recommend only one work from yourself published this year:

with all appliances and means to boot because it stands alone, at least.

15. Year word count:

WFG chapter = 2,331

With all appliances, etc. = 3,261

Drafts upon drafts, random crap, fiddling with WIPs = infinite

[hopeless-nostalgiac]

with all appliances and means to boot: ncis/tiva fic

for this challenge, @loudlooks​ requested Tiva + "I didn't know you could do that." thank you for the inspiration!! *hugs*

set summer between S3-4 w/ team dynamics & tiva (a LOT of tiva—they took over the fic, basically, and I’m not sorry about it) 

also, this turned out like eight times longer than I expected & was the most fun and freeing thing I’ve worked on in years, so

enjoy:) 

FFN

“I didn’t know you could do that!” 

McGee’s voice filtered over news-chattering televisions, incessantly ringing phones, and chicken-clacking keyboards to reach Tony at his desk. 

“There was no reason to mention it earlier. It is not exactly a useful skill, my friend.” Ziva’s full-throated chuckles were wind chimes amidst the office drudgery.

Tony shook off the eruption of gooseflesh on his arms. It was way too early for that. And McGee was babbling again.

“I’ve just never met someone in real life who could do it.”

“Really?!”

A boom of shared laughter enveloped them.

Glancing at the digital read-out on his monitor, Tony silently cheered. 9:07. Totally busted. Then he pretended to be busy with paperwork, so his attention was occupied ahead of time. 

The agents’ conversation lowered until it faded completely, coinciding with their entrance into the squadroom.

Tony had that effect on them now. The tables, as the saying went, had turned. They were the class troublemakers to his super-strict teacher. They, the unruly cadets, and he, the veteran drill sergeant. They were Agents; he was Boss. 

“Agent McGee. Officer David. You’re late.” 

McGee froze while swinging around his desk. Ziva froze after dropping her gear. Tony continued to stare yet not see the file in front of him, but he didn’t need visual confirmation to know the teammates were exchanging glances, coordinating their plan of counterattack. 

“Well, technically we were in the building on time.” The opening lob courtesy of McGee. 

“Technically, that’s not good enough, McTardy.”

“It was when you were wearing our shoes.” 

Tony fought an eye roll. “You can’t throw me off the scent with a well-timed idiom blunder, Officer David.” 

“Can’t I, Tony?” Ziva’s voice was louder, closer to him. 

Out of his peripheral vision, he spied her leaning on the divider between their workspaces. So close now, he caught a whiff of her lavender mint shampoo as she flicked at a cascade of curls that had fallen over her shoulder. If this was their strategy, well, it wasn’t the worst angle. 

But Tony DiNozzo was better. 

“No, you can’t,” he reiterated, finally gracing each of them in turn with his steady gaze. Calm, yet intense. Everything rumbling beneath the surface. “And it’s Agent DiNozzo. Or Boss.” 

Ziva stared back, golden-brown eyes matching his intensity, but not the calm. She rattled off a string of heated Hebrew, ending with a sharp snap of her teeth before spinning around on her heel and dropping heavily into her desk chair.  

Crazy chick.

“So, anyway. Just to be clear: If you’re here after me, you’re late. Period.” Tony slapped a case folder closed, causing his desk to tremble; he could emphasize his words, too. “For today, you can make amends by telling me whatever it is McGee didn’t know Ziva could do. I’m thinking it involves lots of stretching, but if there’s a video game reference, leave it out. Go!” 

And like that, authority forfeited for curiosity. 

McGee did roll his eyes and muttered something that suspiciously sounded like waste of time under his breath. Ziva scoffed, typing noisily at her computer and decidedly not looking in Tony’s direction. 

“That’s an order.” Even he didn’t buy the command. 

9:10. The day was shot. 

. . . 

If someone asked Tony how his first weeks as leader of MCRT were going, he’d say, “Good, considering the circumstances,” with a flash of white teeth. He didn’t like to lose face, sure, but he was pretty confident it was the truth, too.

Because when your boss quit and ran off to Mexico, leaving you in charge of a team that for years affectionately regarded you as The Class Clown, the circumstances weren’t on your side and ‘good’ was the most you could hope for.

. . . 

“What did you do?” 

Passing through the automatic doors, Tony came up short—as much due to the always assaulting antiseptic stench as the accusation. “Why do you assume I did something wrong? Can’t I come see my favorite Autopsy Gremlin with no ulterior motive?” 

“Sure you can,” Palmer called from the freezer section, where he was sliding a corpse home. “But I already talked to Abby, who talked to McGee.” 

Fantastic.

“So before, with the ‘what did you do?’...that was kind of redundant, huh?”

“Guess so.” A dorky chortle escaped the assistant. “I mean, seriously, they were only late by a couple minutes, Tony. Sorry, Agent DiNozzo.” Another hiccup of laughter. 

Great. Just great. 

“Gee, I was hoping I could escape some of the ridicule down here....” Tony pressed his palms against the cold steel of an autopsy table, shoulders hunched, depositing weight into the defeated stance. All his course-correcting tactics, including buying his team lunch, had done little to reverse the morning’s death blow. McGee and Ziva were ignoring him aside for a lone campfire, and then their interactions were clipped—aggressively so where the ex-assassin was concerned. Now the damage was spreading to the sub-basement, it seemed. 

“Look on the bright side, you’re the team leader. It’s what you’ve always wanted, right?” Palmer mirrored Tony on the other end of the table, adjusting his glasses before adding, “This is a bump in the road, but no one ever achieved greatness without first overcoming resistance.” 

“That’s wise, Palmer. For a man who talks to the dead. You wouldn’t happen to know—”

“What McGee didn’t know Ziva could do?” 

Tony blinked. Maybe they’d been underestimating the Autopsy Gremlin all along. “Yeah. Know anything about it?” 

“It’s not a big deal. We were at the bar last night and first the waitress got Abby’s drink order mixed up, but it was super busy, so I suggested that—”

“Sometime today, Palmer.” 

“Well, it turns out Ziva can knot a cherry stem with her tongue, and then...” 

Oh, it was more wondrous than he’d guessed (and that list was long).

Palmer’s rambling dissolved to the background of Tony’s thoughts. He couldn’t get to the audacity of everyone going out for drinks without him because the dexterity of Ziva’s tongue was front and center. As he was recently familiarized with that very tongue and the talented mouth it resided in, it was all too easy to lose himself in a sexy daydream of the alleged feat.

Until he remembered how pissed she was at him. Bubble, burst. 

. . .

If someone asked Tony how his first weeks sleeping with Ziva, his former partner and current subordinate, were going, he’d say, “What? I’m not—we’re not—how dare—what?!” 

Because when your boss quit and ran off to Mexico, some of his rules haunted you. 

. . . 

“Rough day?”

Tony looked up right away. It was best not to play games with the director, who emerged stealthily in the dim, empty squadroom. He’d dismissed McGee and Ziva at regular quitting time, unable to make eye contact with either of them—for different reasons—but stayed behind to catch up on last week’s case reports. Him, voluntarily completing paperwork. 

Rough was an understatement.  

“I see my shortcomings are making the rounds.” 

Jenny’s smile was beautifitic, the one she wore during news interviews. “Don’t worry. I wasn’t seeking it out. I was speaking to Ducky on a separate matter, and he happened to mention talking with Mr. Palmer, who—”

“Got the scoop from Abby because McGee blabbed to her,” Tony finished, barely restrained. “Yeah, I’m well acquainted with the watercooler daisy chain.” 

It didn’t slip his notice that Ziva was the missing link. The text he’d started writing to her the second she disappeared through the elevator doors was unfinished and unsent on his phone. 

“Did you also hear they went for drinks after work without inviting me?” It came out as a whine.

Jenny didn’t mask her amusement. “Did you always invite Gibbs for drinks? No, because he was your boss and you were probably venting about him.”

Touché.

“I’m trying, ma’am.” This he intoned with every fiber of professionalism and sincerity he could summon in the moment. The problem was that this wasn’t his first mistake since taking over—wouldn’t be the last—but he was trying. He wanted that noted. Also, there was an insane learning curve, and yes, big shoes to fill. Could he be blamed for that?

The redhead stepped forward, switching her smile for an expression of...not quite pity. Understanding? “Uneasy lies the head that wears a crown, Agent DiNozzo.”

“Robin Hood: Men in Tights?” 

“Shakespeare.” Jenny chuckled, her fair eyes sparkling in the light of his desk lamp. Tony could see why Gibbs was once head-over-heels for her, back when they were partners. He knew something of those complicated emotions, of which the text draft on his phone contained damning evidence. 

“It’s the nature of being in charge,” she continued. “You’re going to have crappy days and plenty of nights when you can’t sleep. My advice, from experience? When you screw up, apologize and do better next time.”  

“Isn’t that a sign of weakness?” It was a reflex, after so many years. 

Jenny caught his eye and held it. “No. It’s a sign of respect.” 

. . .

He was sober when he showed up on her doorstep. Stopping off for some liquid courage briefly flitted through his brain, but flitted out just as quickly. McGee, he could buy a NutterButter, eat some humble pie himself. All would be cool again. Ziva was a different story. 

Namely, a story with a lot of sex in it, and it’d barely been a month yet. That he spent a large portion of the day envisioning her tongue doing erotic dances with a red cherry stem wasn’t helping. It also further convinced him of a brutal truth: Things were changing. Things had already changed. 

Ziva, outlined by the glow from inside the apartment, crossed her arms over a baggy workout t-shirt. Curls piled in a messy bun. It was Tuesday, kickboxing night. “If you are here for a booty call, you will be sorely disappointed.” Each word was wrapped in her delicious Israeli accent, momentarily distracting him from their sum meaning.

He’d expected as much.

“See, when you want to get them right…” Tony’s attempted humor and roguish smile failed to earn him leniency. 

“Goodnight, Boss.”

The door hurtled toward him, closing on his chance to repent—and more than that, his chance with her. His left hand flew up, catching the wood with a few inches to spare. 

“Hey, whoa. Wait. I’m here to apologize, all right?” Breath whooshed in and out of him; sweat beaded instantly on his forehead.  

Okay, so it wasn’t just about the sex. He was enamored with her, and it hadn’t been a full month yet.

Ziva yanked the door back, though the arrangement of her features maintained dubious feelings. She raised her eyebrows in a way that said, Yes, and?

“I was an idiot, Ziva.”

A corner of her delicate mouth pulsed. “Good start.”

The heaviness in his chest released. He dared another smile, softer-gentler this time, and the door stayed open. “I was too hard on you and McGee.”

“You will apologize to him as well, yes?”

“Yes. McSweetTooth will wet himself with glee, I’m sure of it.” Tony shuffled his feet, bringing him onto her brown doormat, never dropping her gaze. “But seriously, Ziva, I know I messed up, especially, you know...I mean, you should be able to call the guy you’re sleeping with by his first name, even if he’s your boss. That is,” he sheepishly tagged on, “if I’m still the guy you’re sleeping with, after today.”

For a bloated handful of seconds, Ziva froze, as she had that morning in the squadroom. Eyes like lasers, drilling through him. It lasted long enough for doubts to creep in. Then—

“Are you?”

So simple, but coupled with her head tilted to expose honeyed neck, her popped knee, and the slight part of her plumped lips, the challenge was clearly set for him. 

This would be fun. 

Tony launched over the doorway, literally sweeping Ziva off her feet as he plowed into the apartment. An honest-to-goodness squeal filled his ears, then that wind-chime laugh took over and his knees wobbled in their sockets—nevermind her 100-something pounds hanging on his torso. 

It was the first time he’d carried her this way—any way—but her arms and legs wrapped around his body with an ease he would have analyzed if not for the supple give of her breasts against his chest, or her frizzy hair tickling his chin. Her mouth alternated between whispering the dirtiest promises in his ear and nibbling on his neck. Thoughts would have to wait. 

How they shut the front door, how they maneuvered the hallway to her bedroom, how they undressed and (eventually) found the bed was a haze of details that didn’t matter. The shudder that coursed through her at his every touch, mattered. The inverted bridge her back made when his lips and tongue met her center, mattered. His name on a gasp, woven into a sigh, lifted to a shout...

In this area, Tony DiNozzo excelled. He was damn well going to prove it. 

. . . 

It took two rounds to sate her. The first go was part of the apology; the second was because he had a young, hot lover who could run eight miles at the crack of dawn, kickbox for an hour after work, and still have energetic sex with him—twice. Who wouldn’t take advantage of that? 

“Guess I got that booty call after all.” He love-tapped her ass, which was bare to the air. He braced for retaliation. 

None came.

Hair mussed and cheeks flushed, Ziva glanced over, fixing him in her line of sight. A smirk hiked up the side of her mouth not buried in the pillow. “As did I, Agent DiNozzo.”

“Never going to live that down, am I?”

“Give it a few months.” Her smirk widened as her eyelids drooped, each blink taking longer and longer to pull back up. 

. . .

They dozed together in the dark of her bedroom. They weren’t cuddlers, per se. Their connections left them too sensitive, sticky and unspooled. They stayed close, though. Touching random pieces of her to him, him to her. His head resting on her bicep curled closest to the mattress. Her ankle molded to the arch of his foot. Sometimes as conventional as their hands laid one atop the other, fingers loose. 

. . . 

He began talking while they ate cereal in the kitchen at quarter to eleven. He was talking as she cleaned and put away their dishes and led him to the front room, his body going where she steered and nudged. What he voiced was nothing new to either of them. All the same issues that overwhelmed him on a cool May night, that propelled him to Ziva’s door in what would become a habit. He was drowning; she was refuge. 

For that, and so many other reasons, he trusted her without question. 

Ziva allowed him to talk now because that was how he worked out problems. They both knew that, too. 

“I think it comes down to the fact that...I don’t know how to be a team leader that isn’t Gibbs.” The admission floated and settled on the sofa cushion between them. It wasn’t often they said his name anymore. The memory was sore to the touch. 

“We have been over this, yes?” Ziva tossed a leg across his lap, the other tucked beneath her. He immediately claimed the tanned skin of her thigh, rolling it under his hands. “This is a chance to be your type of leader, make your own rules.” 

“Every time I do that, it blows up in my face.”

“Not every time,” she corrected, her eyes darting to his lips and lingering. 

His heart rate ticked up. Very true. They might not have happened if Gibbs hadn’t left. But… “We’re one thing, Ziva. The team is another.”   

She turned his chin with her hand, locking his gaze with her steady and fervent stare. An imposing combination. “Tony, you either keep trying or you quit, just like Gibbs. What will it be?” 

It was Tony’s turn to sneak a not-so-subtle glance at her lips. When she put it like that, the answer was undebatable. What he’d told Jenny wasn’t a lie. And giving up wasn’t an option. 

Didn’t mean he’d hand her the win that easily. 

“How about we make a deal?” While his eyebrows waggled, his hands roamed farther than her thigh. “I persevere with the team leader thing. In exchange, you show off your fancy cherry stem tying prowess for me.” 

Her mouth gaped, eyes narrowing. “Who told you?”

“Palmer. The guy’s actually not a bad sounding board.” He’d have to remember that for future thorny cases. 

Ziva deflected, “I do not have any cherries in the fridge.”

Tony returned, “That wouldn’t stop a true parlor trick magician like yourself.”

Her face reformed in an expression that always intrigued him. A cat devising the perfect trap for her prey. It didn’t surprise him when she stretched her leg out, straddling his lap properly. He circled her low back, drawing her hips over him and generating a spark of friction. There was extra verve in her fingers burrowing the short hairs at his nape, tipping his head upwards. 

“You must really want me to—”

Ziva covered his lips with hers, swallowing his words as they melted to moans. Instead of continuing hot and heavy, everything slowed. Each kiss long and needy, a continuous caress. Her heady spice invaded his senses. The tip of her tongue slipped by his teeth, running the roof of his mouth before pushing in further.

Tony’s spine straightened at the sensation of tongue against tongue, the rough texture, the strokes and flicks. He gripped whatever part of her was in his reach, would likely leave marks. She didn’t flinch. She was all around him, practically tying him in a knot. 

It was exactly how he imagined it, but also superior.

He was smiling when they broke apart, breath imperative for them both. “Your ingenuity is an inspiration, Ms. David.” 

Ziva winked, leaning forward to kiss him again, a casual closed-lipped peck in the wake of such an intimate encounter. And he knew, no matter what came of leading the team, he wanted this—them—to survive. 

“Now you must honor your part of the deal, Tony.” 

“Whatever you say,” he agreed, flipping her onto the cushion and following her down for round three.

. . .

The next day, Tony waited at his car in the parking lot for his team to arrive. He walked into the building with them, and didn’t check the clock in the mornings ever again. 

He apologized to McGee, which just freaked out the newly-appointed Senior Field Agent. As Tony predicted, the Nutter Butter made all the difference. 

By the end of the week, he brought Special Agent Lee onto the team because there was symmetry in four and they needed a probie to act as a buffer. Plus, she was good at meeting case report deadlines and Tony wasn’t.

He doubled-up on campfires and went to Jenny for advice more often. Palmer, too. 

The team went out for drinks, occasionally inviting him to join. Occasionally not. 

A month later, he and Ziva started keeping their love in each other’s hearts along with spare clothes in one another’s dressers. Soon, there would be no sense hiding them anymore. 

And when someone asked Tony how leading his own team was going, he said, “Our results speak for themselves,” and meant it. 

Because when your boss quit and ran off to Mexico, leaving you in charge, you wore the crown and made it your own. 

fin

[hopeless-nostalgiac]

With Finer Grit - Dovetail (Chap. 10)

@loudlooks @harmandmac @mcgeekle @mokkemusic @coffeedepablo @youaresoooloved

Need to remember what the heck is going on?? (I did.)  The beginning; this chapter on FFnet

Sorry doesn’t seem broad enough to cover a nearly 4-year hiatus on this story. Adult life (and depression) is totally unfair to creative pursuits. I’ve always wanted to continue, but often didn’t have the time and/or motivation to get back into the story. This chapter took forever, literal drafts upon drafts. But I’m happy to finally be moving forward! 

Special thanks to @mcgeekle for going above and beyond to make sure I was on the right path, and for letting me babble. She’s insightful and amazing! 

Hope you all enjoy. :)

Words: 2,329

Foggy morning. Fish-smell and pine. Lake green, blue, white, changing its mind with the lull and lap. Gibbs depressed the cold, rocky sand at shore. Vapors rolled over the water, as if a fire burned below. Ziva slid beside him like salmon downstream. 

“Sitrep.”

“They are unpacking—still.”

A fragile mist broke as they stood together. 

Shuddering, hands fisted deep in her jacket pockets, his youngest peered from beneath the windbreaker’s hood. “It is too early for this.” 

His hum was agreement. 

Their other half was with the supplies and borrowed canoes. 

“I’m not getting in that thing with…with…” A sneeze punctuated McGee’s refusal. 

“Yuck, McGermy. Keep your nastiness over there. It was bad enough I was stuck in the backseat with you all the way up here.” 

“It wasn’t a picnic for me, either, you know—” 

“You two done bitching like a coupla school girls?” Only Gibbs caught Ziva’s giggle. 

Tony cut a path with his eyes. “I know who I’d gladly share my canoe with...”

“If you care for your eyeballs, I would suggest you look elsewhere, Tony.” But she dangled his name like a string before a cat.

Tony laughed; the echo amplified through the trees. “Okay then, why don’t we let Gibbs decide? Who’s in the boat with you, Boss? McAllergy, Ziva the frozen popsicle, or me, your senior field agent extraordinaire?” 

Ice collected under his jacket collar. Tide slurped the shore, shhhhheeeeerk. It really was early. Hadn’t Kelly blamed him for that, too? 

He looked to one, to the next. To Ziva, grabbing up the paddles. She met his gaze across her shoulder. Smile over easy. 

“It is okay to let me go, Gibbs...”

Eyelids peeled back, flickering. Light dim, kindled gold and amber to match the tendrils of her hair. Gentle-gazed Jo, arching above him. Out of reach.

“Dozed off there. Bit too early for that, yet.” 

A tepid breeze tumbled through the screen door, the yawning windows. That afternoon he’d cut the grass under a cool sun. Jo tended the blooming Virginia bluebells while Pen chased birds. Longer days. Shorter nights. 

“Were you dreaming?”

Gibbs sat forward, rubbing out the crusty ghosts of sleep. “Ah, worse. Memory.” 

“We’ve all got a few of those.” 

“Don’t see you waking Pen up.” 

The Lab, stretched out on the rug, flapped her ears, like they were on fire or swatting at imaginary flies. 

“Oh, she’ll sleep til morning. And don’t try changing the subject.” Sinewy arms circled him from behind, wrapping them in a forest. “What was it? Talking helps free ‘em, Jethro.”

Free who, he wanted and didn’t want to ask. He hadn’t thought of the case in years. Couldn’t recall which parts were real, the place or the people. 

“Doesn’t matter.”

“Ziva matters.” Jo pinched his neck with his mother’s fingers; he was drifting off in church again. “You said her name, in your sleep.”

Not surprising. Out of country, not mind. Ziva made sure of that. Sent him emails. Novels. From the airport. From a café in Tel Aviv. On and on about indigenous flowers and the familiar heat and DiNozzo’s antics made worse with Schmeil playing along. But there was something off, something she wasn’t writing. Gibbs read that much between the lines.

Into his silence, Jo said, “I miss that lady, too. Almost as much as you do. Get another one of her letters?”

It’d been a day, maybe more. Wasn’t like Ziva to forget. He shook his head. “Sure you aren’t just missing her help around the shop?”

Jo swatted his chest. Her bubbles of laughter, her life—a flood. He caught in the swell. 

“Goodness, no! I got you for that, stockboy,” she murmured along his ear.

Wind chimes sighed on a neighbor’s porch. Evening sighed.  

Gibbs shifted. Touched her skin, after her lips. “You stayin’?” 

‘Oh, please don’t go—’

“You’ll have to give me a lift in the morning.” Her smile swept his cheek. “Before the shop opens...” 

Gibbs filled her callused hands with his own. “It’s on the way.”

Another gust whistled through his home, his open door. Maybe some memories would slip out with the wind.

…

Second coffee of the morning. Director’s office. Gibbs breezed in. “You summoned.” 

“Thanks for knocking.” Vance clicked off the news, stowed away a briefing book marked CLASSIFIED. “Close the door, would you? Then take a seat.” 

First request obliged, second ignored. “Why am I here?” 

“Always straight for the jugular.” Today Gibbs’s brusqueness amused the man; tomorrow it would rankle him. “I’ll make this brief.”

“Promise?”

Scratch tomorrow. 

With a sigh, Vance reached for a toothpick and a maroon folder. DAVID, ZIVA blazed the cover. Last seen: Christmas Eve, Gibbs’s living room floor, discarded. “A few months ago, I brought you this information, compiled on former Special Agent David’s time away from the agency. Ring a bell?” 

“It was none of my business then, Leon. Nothing’s changed.”

“I disagree. You’ll be happy to hear she kept her nose pretty well clean the past two years. Lots of charity work attached to her name. Lots of silence, too. For a stretch of months there, we couldn’t track down a receipt for a cup of coffee.” 

Gibbs smirked behind the lip of his brew. “She’s more of a tea-drinker.” 

“Only anomaly came last May. Ziva made contact with known associates of Shin Bet and Mossad. The nature of the communications are undisclosed, but the dates coincide with our operation in—”

“Zakho.” Of course. Of course it was. 

“...and we’re all aware of your relationship with coincidence.” Sitting back, Vance flipped the twig to the corner of his mouth. “Is there anything you want to add, anything she’s mentioned?” 

Gibbs stared through the office’s windows, blue and yellow bursts of sky. A horn—long and baritone—sounded in the harbor. 

You knew I’d been shot—

Yes, I did!

Hell, Ziva!

It was for you!

He shook off the memory, the sound of chisel tearing her flesh. Even before, even that first night in his cabin, Ziva mentioned it by name. I also know about the incident in Zakho…

She assumed he’d catch on; he saw that now. Probe, push. And he hadn’t. Not in the way he should have, or would have a decade earlier. 

But that was on him. 

“All I know is what you’ve told me,” Gibbs finally replied, shoulders shrugging. “Said it yourself, seems like a coincidence.” 

The toothpick twitched. “Well, I’d like to find out how deep her connections still run. Especially before I offer her a position consulting for NCIS.”

Scoffing, Gibbs approached the desk. Mahogany. Mass-produced, but a fine grain and shine. He tapped the surface once, twice. “She won’t take it.” 

“That was my next question. I have a meeting with Ziva once she returns from vacation, and you know her better than anyone. Would she at least consider it?”

Depended: Old Ziva, New Ziva. The survivor, the orphan; the woodworker. The woman practically prancing down his basement stairs, all smiles. I am free. They blurred in his memory, her ghosts, echoes over echoes. Early mornings and shadows and lakes and wood and fog. It is okay to let me go, Gibbs… 

“Give it some thought.” Vance knotted his fingers to rope. “I have one more matter to discuss, if you’ve got a moment?”  

Gibbs tossed his empty at the trash bin. Arc, bounce, fall. 

…

There are places in this city I have only experienced as another person. 

Slender hands stilled over the keyboard. The left was tingling, a plea for reprieve. No longer a pair, her hands. Right, normal; left, thin and veiny and pale. Left chasing right, chasing lost time and lost muscle.

Chasing the right words. 

Ziva read the sentence over, mindlessly performing stilted finger stretches. At first, the missives flowed like conversation—the mostly one-sided kind she was accustomed to with Gibbs, each at their own workbench in the cabin, their old desks in the squadroom. Left, right. 

With each day spent in Israel, the emails grew more difficult to compose. 

To her homeland she had returned for closure, yet the past constantly bombarded. The group of young IDF soldiers she saw licking ice cream cones outside a cafe, dripping melted globs on their brown uniforms. The father and his two daughters at the park, playing, laughing happily. How they walked by her old apartment building in Neve Tzedek, the once dusky blue roof tiles now red… 

The bathroom door clicked. Tony appeared in a cloud of steam. Sandy hair damp, tousled. Towel-wrapped waist. Smiling. He was so often smiling. He was always coming back to her. Her-Tony. 

Good thing I’d follow you anywhere...

“Ah, right where I left you, Zivaleh.”

“I am right where I said I’d be, and only Schmeil is allowed to call me that.” 

“Then sweetcheeks you’ll stay, Sweetcheeks.” He crossed the hotel room, folding around her at the compact desk, a blanket of dew. 

Ziva relaxed in the embrace, his chest solid at her back, his aftershave tickling her nose. Eucalyptus and mint; her windowsill garden traveled with them, mingling with the salty Mediterranean air coming through the open windows. 

“I’m getting a ‘Netflix and chill the night away’ vibe from you.” Tony barely lifted his lips from the column of her neck, the ridge of collarbone. “Should I bother putting pants on?” 

“Only if you plan on going to dinner half-naked.” 

“Tempting.” He pressed a final kiss behind the shell of her ear, then straightened. “Didn’t get too far on today’s email, huh?” 

There are places in this city—

“It is unlikely Gibbs reads them, anyway.” 

“I’m sure Jo can work the computer for him.” 

They shared a chuckle. 

“It is not that.” She hovered a finger over the ‘delete’ button. “I am unsure what to write.” 

“What do you normally write to your special little pen pal?” He tugged the towel free from his hips, reaching for the clothes she’d set out.

Bottom lip snagged between her teeth, Ziva admired the view. “I write about you, Tony.” 

He laughed, loudly. “I love you, David, but you’re a terrible liar.”

Another gust, sultry and jasmine-scented. Her heart flit, flit, landed. “So you have told me, a’huvi.” 

“Well, we’ve created some pretty good memories this week. You can always make Gibbs jealous of the awesome white beaches.” He tipped his tanned face, evidence of their day in the sun and sand. 

“Or all of our lunches with Schmeil,” she added, adjusting the collar of his white dress shirt, “though I was unable to get a word sideways between you two.” 

“Edgewise, Sweetcheeks.”

They carried on, listing everything: Walking Jerusalem. Sneezing from the purple bunches of cyclamen at the Nature Preserve in Sataf. Browsing the market stalls in ancient Jaffa. Tony towing her into alleys, the heavy press of skin on skin, his knee between her thighs. The spice of their mouths, sticky and wanting, wanting. 

“Ooo, I really like that one.” Green eyes darkened as he knelt before her, fitting himself within the bracket of her legs. 

“I do not think Gibbs would agree with you.” She smirked, pecking his waiting lips. “Thank you, though. Toda.” 

“Bevakasha.”

“You are learning.”

“When in Tel Aviv,” Tony whispered, capturing her mouth anew. Running his thumb along the reddened flesh when they parted. “Mind telling me what I did, so I know for next time?”

Their laughter fused again, rising over the muted city sounds, the snippets of talk from the street below. 

Ziva stroked his cheek, the freshly-shaved skin raw yet smooth. “You reminded me that...I do not need to dwell on the past. It cannot be changed, but since my last time here, I have.” No resistance off her tongue. Truth. A breeze whistling through her soul. 

I have changed.

You’ve grown, but you’re still you. You always...thrive. 

Had it only been a few weeks since those whispered words in her bedroom? Had it already been seven months since she returned to D.C., seeking absolution? To set herself free. Move on, start over, heal. 

Perhaps this was the way: making new memories in old places, and with those she loved. 

“Reminding you of all the good...” Tony brushed the wave of curls off her shoulder, smiling. Always smiling. “That is something I will very happily do, Ziva. For as long as you need it. Preferably, the rest of our lives.”

Eyebrows high, she sent him a look. “You are teasing me.”

“No, I’m, uh—” His breath caught, as if it got ahead of him. He cleared his throat. “I’m saying I want a future with you.” 

Warmth crept into her cheeks. Future. Ziva tasted the word; a tremor ran through her. Or was it Tony trembling against her legs? Her faithful partner. Her beautiful friend. Her-Tony, offering happiness, home. A future, together.

With her thumb, she soothed the pinch of anxiety across his brow. Kissed the spot, softly. Another smile—her own. “I would like that, too, a’huvi.” 

His eyes gleamed round and flashing. “I guess this wasn’t too presumptuous, after all.” 

Later, she would consider the small wooden box he produced from his pocket, the detailed cherry blossoms etched into the sides. The diamond ring—simple, elegant—nestled inside drew her immediate focus.

Somehow, it slipped onto her finger. Left hand finally outshining right. 

“I didn’t get to ask the question yet, Ziva.” 

“Ask, then.” She slid out of the chair, straddling his lap. Plump lips swerved. “I will say ‘yes’.”

Tony beamed, circling her waist with his strong arms. Releasing breath and laughter and nerves between them. “Marry me?”

Ziva mirrored his action, hooking her elbows around his neck. The earthy musk of him was a cocoon she never wanted to leave. “Yes,” she purred along his bottom lip, before seizing him entire. 

Their hunger escalated to an ambient rhythm, an insatiable pulse. Breath pulled taut, a familiar chord vibrating through their chests, puffing the curtains, letting in streams of orange sunset, flooding the room. Their love, brightest of all.