NCIS 1. Chapter 1

Dirt clung to Dinozzo's dry throat. It crusted the edges of his lungs and stung his red eyes.

Even here, in the city, the heat of the desert stalked him. The bright sun beat down on his brown wind-blown hair. He was sweating, even in the light tan tunic that loosely swayed around his body.

He considered his options as he drained the last sip from his cooling coffee. Jet lag had definitely caught up to the very special agent.

But this "vacation" wasn't about catching up on beauty sleep, it was about putting his feelings to bed, but instead they were just beginning to stir.

The second he arrived in Tel Aviv he considered getting back on the plane and going home. But having spent two grand and 16 hours in the air already, he figured he might as well stay, even if he didn't see Ziva.

As he sat at the metal table he glanced down at his iPhone. He ran his hand along it's edge and played with the case.

24. That's how many times Tony flicked his phone to life, considering texting or calling her. He'd made it as far as punching in the first four numbers, but he just couldn't do it.

What would he say? He knew she didn't want to see him. She hadn't given him her new number, he had used NCIS resources to find it. She wanted to break her ties to him, to leave him in her memories of DC, where he belonged.

He was intruding. But at this point, it seemed unavoidable. He thought of her constantly, he dreamed of her nightly. Hell, last week when the office was empty at 1am he sat his desk staring at hers.

The office wasn't the same, work wasn't the same - but he expected that. What he didn't expect was the fact that he wasn't the same.

That night in the office, he twirled a pen in his fingers for a solid five minutes as he stared at the seat she used to keep warm. Then, only because the building was nearly deserted, he rose from his own spot and walked over to her desk.

His finger tips ran along the surface of the wood as he turned the sharp corner and plopped down in her seat.

The memories hit him like a flood - the first time he saw her, the first time they danced, the first night they kissed, the first dress he saw her in, the first time she threw something at him, the first time she punched him, the first time he rescued her, the first time she rescued him, the first time they got stuck in an elevator together, the first case they worked…but what burned in his memory was the last time he saw her.

They were in Tel Aviv…

Despite her rock-solid resolve, sadness ran like a current beneath her features. Her hair fell in soft curls around her shoulders, and her summer-kissed skin shimmered in the afternoon light.

He fought for her that day, lost in a grove of olive trees. He begged her to come back to DC and start over with him, but her fresh start didn't include Anthony Dinozzo.

It stung - deep.

He drank the whole way back to DC, until he got so bombed that he fell asleep for the rest of the flight.

Ziva David was a wound that refused to close.

He gripped the empty coffee mug so tight that it threatened to crack. He realized his knuckles were white, so he let go of the empty chalice. His chest vibrated with sadness and loss.

Taking a deep breath, he leaned back in his chair and looked around the small square. There were kids playing, couples laughing, girlfriends chatting. He was trying to free his thoughts from her, if only for a moment, but failed the second he wondered if she had ever come here…had coffee here…sat where he was sitting.

He shook his head, dropped some money down on the table and stood.

He still didn't know what he should do. Should he find her, make sure she was okay? Should he interact with her at all? Should he get back on the plane? Should he tell her that she was consuming him from the inside out?

But what if he came to realize during this trip that she had successfully moved on?

The notion was unbearable.

The streets were alive with the bustle of the waning day, but Dinozzo felt alone as he traversed the metropolitan thoroughfare. His hands were balled into fists in his pockets and he mostly kept his gaze down.

He asked himself how he had gotten this way? And the only conclusion he could reach was that throwing himself into work didn't serve as a sufficient distraction to the fact that he loved her, he missed her, he wanted her.

Shit, he'd move here if she asked him to. He'd walk into a burning building if she asked him to.

But she never asked him to stay, in fact, she asked him to leave. And here he was, doing what Dinozzo's do best, holding on to the past.

It wasn't long until the afternoon sun dipped below the buildings. Tony was tired of thinking. He was tired of feeling. He was just tired.

The special agent must've yawned five times in the short span of time it took to get from the hotel lobby to his room.

He slipped inside the room. The space was dead silent. The clock by the bed was digital, so he didn't even have the rhythmic comfort of a secondhand to focus on. The view was nice, but he didn't much care.

The remote was on the TV but he touch it, instead he opted to free fall onto the bed. It gave a mild groan beneath his weight. He stared at the ceiling.

Six hours, that's how long he'd been in Tel Aviv. He'd been away from DC for 12 hours. But what had he accomplished?

He still didn't know what the hell he was doing here.

So desperately he wanted to find her. She was a magnet that had pulled him half way around the world, and yet, here he lay, in the same city as her, but a thousand miles away.

It wasn't too late to turn back, to return to DC. But he couldn't live his life this way. He couldn't let her go.

'Maybe that's what I should tell her,' he thought. 'I can't let you go.'

Ughhhh…he sighed deeply, bringing his hands to face in defeat. Rolling to his right side he looked out the window at the seemingly peaceful night. He was beyond exhausted, but somehow he knew that sleep wasn't in his immediate future.

He contemplated calling her, but scrapped the idea because he knew that he would only be rebuffed.

So instead, he settled on another plan.

Tomorrow, he would find where she worked, or lived, and he'd go there. Perhaps he'd be able to catch a glimpse of her, to make sure that she's alright. And if he gets lucky, maybe he'll see her smile, and maybe that smile will get him through the next three years of being without her.


	2. Chapter 2

The hot summer night dragged on, each hour felt like three. In order to clear his head of recurring intrusive thoughts, every time he found himself caught up in thinking, Tony would roll over. He must have tossed and turned a hundred times, rolling himself up in a knot in the restrictive bedsheets.

Finally at 3am, he kicked all the sheets of the bed and resolved to lay there, on his back, until the sun came up.

So when the bright orange light arose and flitted through his room, Tony was surprised to realize that he had in fact, fallen asleep. Sure, it was only three hours of sleep, but it was enough.

With a deep breath, he pushed himself up, leaning back on his arms, and looked out the window.

The world was still resolving, and the scene outside was beautiful. A rich and radiant sun drenched the inhabitants of Tel Aviv and reached it's fingers into Tony's room.

Instead of appreciating it, he wished it would rain. Not because it was so god forsaken hot, but because the weather should mirror how he felt inside. It should be gray and cold and somber, like it was back in DC. But Ziva was here, so of course the sun would follow her here.

He sat up and swung his legs over the side of the bed. The thought of shaving entered his mind, but why bother? Instead, he took a quick shower, threw on the first outfit inside his suitcase and sat down at the small desk. Thank god for wifi.

He pried the laptop open and began what would be a quick search to find out where Ziva lived and worked. The only reason the task proved so easy was because Tony was using NCIS resources. Was it illegal? Could he get fired? Sure…but he didn't really give a shit at this point.

An apple from the front desk served as breakfast, he rubbed it against his black cotton shirt and took a bite as he stepped outside.

The city was alive; the sidewalks hummed with business workers, children, and vendors. The street buzzed with haphazard traffic and the sound of horns. But despite the frantic crowded nature of the city, Tony DiNozzo felt alone, like he was just another passerby in a sea of people.

He tried to tell himself not to over-think this. His brain would turn him around, but his heart kept pushing his feet forward, so he paid no attention to the whisper in his mind that begged him to reconsider.

The only regret he had so far today was that he chose to wear a black shirt. At 9:48, it was already approaching 80, and the sun felt like a hotplate stuck to the back of his neck. So to evade the heat of the day, Tony took a taxi the rest of the way.

With traffic, it took about half an hour to reach her home. It was a Tuesday, so he figured that she would be at work. It was the easiest option to go with - a cop out - the option that didn't involve her just yet. Maybe after this he would go to where she works? Maybe not. Maybe he had no right to be here.

The cab rolled up to the curb and came to a stop. The jerking of the car abruptly snapped DiNozzo out of his headspace. The taxi driver turned to him and asked for his NIS60. It was a private taxi service, so he shouldn't have been surprised that it cost so much.

Tilting to the side, he dug his wallet out from his back pocket and offered the money to the man before cracking the door open and stepping outside. He shut the door and the car drifted off down the street. In his pocket was the number to call for when he needed to be picked back up, but Tony wasn't focused on semantics.

He had come 5,890 miles to stand right here, and stare at his…at Ziva's…empty house.

It was quaint, but beautiful. She lived just far enough outside of the city to have a place of her own instead of an apartment, condo or duplex. The exterior was a soft creamy yellow and a balcony wrapped around the front of the structure.

A sidewalk ran down the left side, and the right side was framed with large green trees. The yard was well manicured and the street was relatively quiet.

It was so easy to picture her here. He imagined her walking up to the front door after a long day of work or kneeling in the garden with her hands in the dirt on a quiet saturday.

He wondered what the inside looked like. I mean, he was already in a place he didn't belong, so what harm could it do to peek in the window?

It was a short stroll up to the porch, and since the front door had some glass panels, he cupped his hand and looked inside. Afterwards, he walked over to one of the windows and did the same thing.

The inside was sparse but cozy - very typical of Ziva. The colors were muted, the furniture had a modern flare, and just like in any home, the side table by the couch was dotted with picture frames. He was too far away to see the pictures, and a lick of fear rolled in his stomach as he imagined what they might contain…

Being as beautiful as she is, it's hard to imagine that Ziva would still be single.

Tony rubbed the back of his neck and stepped away from the window and door. The porch muttered beneath the weight of his footsteps as he made his way toward the corner pillar. A rose bush had caught his eye. It reached impressive heights and stretched its green arms between the railing.

A few peach roses peeked through the gaps, and Tony knelt down to pick one. Just as he freed the rose from the bush, a sharp thorn caught his flesh. With a yelp, he brought his hand up to his mouth and plopped his bottom down on the porch.

He lent against the corner pillar, with the rose in his left hand and his mouth on his right hand. He removed his index finger with a pop and looked at the small but deep wound. The familiar copper taste of blood lingered on his tongue.

The event gave him a moment to pause and realize just how pathetic he was. As if it wasn't bad enough that he had turned into a lovesick sap, now he had been foiled by a plant. Well, not entirely, he still held the peach flower in his hand, admiring its beauty.

But seriously, this was just sad. He never should have come here, he never should have allowed himself to cling to his feelings for her. He was used to being abandoned, his father gave him plenty of practice. And usually he could heal and move on, but his life without Ziva felt stagnant.

Still, that was his problem, not hers, and he had no right to be here. God, he was practically stalking her…using NCIS resources to find her…even when she had made it abundantly clear that her future didn't involve him.

He was suddenly very grateful that she wasn't home, and he scrapped his plan of seeing where she worked. He was done.

Tomorrow he'd get back on the plane and go home, where he belonged.

He wouldn't call her, he wouldn't text her, he wouldn't think about her. It was time to let her go for good. It was time to find himself.

He remained leaning against the pillar, flower in hand, massaging his weary forehead, when he heard the porch creak. His gaze snapped up and met with a very familiar face.

"Tony?" Ziva whispered in disbelief.

His mouth hung open in surprise as he scrambled to stand up. "Ziva…hey…" he said awkwardly as he brushed off his bottom and straightened out his shirt. "What…what are you doing home?"

Her eyebrows knitted together dangerously, "you're the one asking me questions?"

"Uh…"

"What are you doing here Tony?" she countered with storm clouds gathering in her voice.

"I…I didn't really plan on running into you…" he ran a nervous hand through his hair.

"Then why are you at my house?"

"I…I don't know…just ended up here I guess."

"You just ended up in Israel…at my home?"

"No, I mean…I came to Tel Aviv," "Why?" she cut him off.

Suddenly it felt as though there wasn't enough air in the atmosphere for him to breathe. The porch seemed so small and her gaze was as sharp as a knife's edge. He didn't know how to answer her.

"I came to see…to make sure that you…well, that everything's good with you."

"You could have called first."

"You didn't give me your number," he said.

"Yes, and that was for a reason. I also did not give you my address," she turned towards the door and pulled out a key.

"Ziva, wait," Tony said, launching himself forward. The door was already open and she was stepping inside.

He held the door open with his hand and looked into the coffee brown eyes that he had missed so much.

"The real reason I came was just to see you. I wasn't going to talk to you or bother you or anything. I just wanted to see you."

"Why?"

"You know why," he said, his voice filled with pain and longing.

"Tony, I can't do this," she said, her words threatening to crack. "I've started a new life here."

Her eyes stung with tears that threatened to spill. Seeing Tony like this, all of a sudden, without warning, was too much. She had no time to prepare for the wound in her chest that ached when she heard his voice.

"I know, I know that you've started a new life," he said, his eyes downcast, his bottom lip a prisoner of his teeth.

"And it's selfish, it is, but I just…I needed to see you," he gave a weak smile. "Believe me Ziva, I've tried letting you go, and it's not working."

She shook her head and attempted to gather her resolve.

"I can't let you go," he whispered.

"You have to," she replied. "I'm so sorry Tony…but you have to," she moved to close the door and he let her.

A searing pain unfurled in his chest and tears slipped down his cheeks. In defeat, he rested his forehead against the door with a thump.

The first thing in his line of sight was the brushed nickel lever door handle. He lifted his hand and realized he was still holding the rose. So he decided to tuck the rose into the crook of the handle before turning to leave.


	3. Chapter 3

Everything happened so fast. One minute he was sitting there, thanking his lucky stars that he could back out of seeing her, and the next minute she was standing right in front of him.

Seeing her again…there are no words to describe it. Although a smile never graced her features, Tony drank in the sight of her - the way her hair bounced around her shoulders and lit up a rich chestnut brown when the sunlight hit it. She was tan, muscular, wearing a sleeveless green top that matched her shoes. The scent of lavender clung to her, just as Tony remembered.

Everything happened so fast. She was there one minute, and gone the next. Tony's soul hadn't even had time to shatter by the time he reached the sidewalk. None of it had processed yet. He thought that the last time he said goodbye to her was the hardest 180 of his life…but this was a close second.

The ride back to his hotel was unbearably quiet. Despair had begun to set in. He looked out the window at the crowds of people out and about for lunch. His stomach growled, but he had no desire to eat.

The car ride seemed relatively fast. Again, the halting of the taxi jarred Tony from his thoughts. He gave the driver his NIS60 and stepped out of the vehicle.

Around him a foreign city sprawled out, stretching in the noonday sun, but all Tony wanted was to go to bed. A short elevator ride and small walk delivered him back to his temporary dwelling. He stepped inside the room, letting the door shut with a bang, and leaned against it.

If he thought that his heart ached before, it was nothing compared to this.

Slowly he slid down the door until his jeans met with the carpet. Arms resting on his knees, the back of his head against the door, he wondered how he let himself get to this point.

Ziva's rejection - her second rejection - proved unbearable. He balled his hands into fists so hard that his nails dug into his soft palms.

Why was she pushing him away? Why couldn't she even stand to visit with him? He knew why…it was because he hinted at his feelings for her, and it scared her away. Maybe their meeting was just as unbearable for her as it was for him.

He'd never know now.

An hour later, when Tony's ass fell asleep, he finally rose and hobbled over to the bed. The crisp white duvet and sheets were again present, the knot of sheets on the floor was gone. The bed looked pristine, so naturally he had to dive face first into it.

Dammit, he mumbled into the pillow the second he realized that he had yet to close the drapes. The afternoon sun shouted into his room from the singular window, so he got up with a grunt, closed the curtains, and once again planted himself firmly on the bed. He didn't even bother with undoing it.

For the first time he realized how soft and comfy the bed was, and rather than stew in imminent depression, he shut his mind off and drifted to sleep.

Jet lag must have caught up to him with a vengeance, because by the time Tony awoke, it was 8pm.

Great, there went the prospect of sleep for the entire night. He turned over and slowly stretched out his aching limbs. Joints popped in protest and muscles groaned, but his physical pain was dwarfed by emotional pain.

He knew that today's encounter with Ziva was burned into his mind, that he'd replay it thousands of times, probably dream of it, dwell on it. Today felt like the first day of the rest of forever, and forever felt pretty long without Ziva David.

Sitting up, he glanced over at his phone for the first time. It was face up on the nightstand, and the tiny dot in the top right corner flashed red. He'd missed a call.

In an instant Tony snatched up the phone. He was so enthusiastic that he nearly dropped the thing, but caught it mid fall. His mind went blank as he flicked it to life and saw that it was Ziva who called him. She didn't leave a voicemail, but he did have a text message from her.

"Shouldn't have brushed you off. Sorry Tony. I do need to give you something, can I meet you?"

"Give me something huh?" he whispered to himself. Probably a swift kick in the ass. Ah hell, he'd take it, probably even enjoy it a little at this point.

"Yes," he answered. Shit, was that too short?

She wasn't saying anything back. Had she changed her mind? She did send the text a half hour ago...

He set the phone down on the night stand and told himself to get a grip. But the second the device lit up, he sprang for it.

"Where are you staying?"

"At the Mamilla Hotel," he texted back a bit too quickly. "Meet you at 9 in the bar?"

"Make it ten."

"Ten's good, see you then."

He set the phone down, realizing that he didn't even bother to ask what it was she wanted to give him. But did it really matter? He was going to see her again, and that's all that mattered.

Nothing about this day had gone as Ziva David planned. Her day was completely thrown off before she even ran into her former partner, and then seeing Tony…

He had looked like shit, like he hadn't slept in days. His head was in his right hand and his left hand clutched a peach rose from her rose bush. It wasn't until the porch creaked that he heard her and snapped his gaze up.

His eyes were as blue as the sky, and as refreshing as a cold drink in the middle of the desert. She had to ask herself if she was hallucinating. But he was real, he was there, sitting on her porch, standing in a hurry and brushing himself off as he rambled like an idiot. And in that instant, in that singular moment of spotting him, every emotion she harbored for the man came rushing back. All of the feelings she had put to bed awoke with a fury.

Her knee-jerk reaction was anger. She was angry that she had gotten ambushed, she was angry that all the work she had done to put him out of her mind was in vain. But most of all, she was angry at herself for continuing to harbor feelings for him.

If she ever had doubts as to whether or not she did, they were put to rest when her heart leapt at seeing him.

She felt weak, vulnerable and caught off guard so she did what she does best - push people away.

But the second he disappeared down the sidewalk, heartbreak flooded her system. She sat down on the couch, throwing her bag to the floor, and denied herself the tears that clawed at her eyes. He had no right to be here, he had no right to put himself back into her life just when she was beginning to move on.

But then again, wasn't Tony DiNozzo's timing always this perfect? She chuckled, wiping away rogue tears that had escaped.

For the rest of the afternoon, Ziva could not shake the fact that Tony was here, in Tel Aviv - just a moment away. She tried to forget this many times as she did the dishes, made lunch, cleaned up the living room - but she couldn't. It was too late, the damage was done, she had a taste of Tony's presence and she longed for more.

The final "nail in the coffin," (as they say) was when she opened the front door and found the peach rose he was holding, cradled by the door handle.

The two hours between 8pm and 10pm seemed to drag on indefinitely. Tony had paced around the room, changed his wrinkled shirt, combed his hair and then mussed it up again, and finally attempted to watch some TV.

Still, he found himself in the hotel bar thirty minutes early, drinking a whisky to calm his nerves. The whole thing was absurd. Why was he nervous? This was Ziva David, his partner, his best friend, his…well, whatever she is. But the truth is that three years had passed, and for all he knew, she could be a completely different person.

That thought scared him more than anything.

He wanted her to stay the same - strong, beautiful, defiant, intelligent, funny. He wanted to go back to whatever point in time it was when he had a chance and tell her the truth. Tell her how he felt about her.

Why did he wait so long?

Why did he wait until she was already gone to fight for her?

She had every right to push him away, to be mad at him. He had showed up to the play, but the curtain was already closed. He had plenty of time with her, plenty of time to tell her, plenty of opportunities to fight for her.

He should have told her the truth that day in the desert, when the hood was pulled from his head and then hers. She asked why he had come for her, and he should have told her, "I came back for you because I love you Ziva, because I haven't stopped thinking about you since the moment those elevator doors closed, because any life without you isn't a life worth living."

Leave it up to him to fuck things up, to come up with the perfect response of: "Can't live without you I guess?" followed by a dopey smile.

Really? REALLY? He face palmed there at the bar, just remembering it. God, it was no wonder he lost her.

He brought his gaze up and over to the other patrons at the bar who were looking at him with confusion.

Realizing that he looked a bit nutty sitting there at the bar having a mental conversation with himself, Tony stood, grabbed his glass, and made his way over to a comfy gray club chair.

He sipped the acidic butter in his glass and thumbed at the cup's design. Although he tried to resist, he brought his wrist up and pushed the fabric back to see what time it was.

Just fifteen more minutes to go.


End file.
