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Chapter Text

The heat pressed down on Jaffa like a silk scarf heavy but scented with rosewater, mint, and grilled lamb. The market was alive, blooming with noise and movement. Vendors shouted in Hebrew and Arabic, cats weaved between stalls, and the breeze carried notes of cardamom, sun warmed stone, and car exhaust.

Tony DiNozzo walked two steps behind Ziva David, his sunglasses perched on his nose and his shirt already sticking to his back. McGee was somewhere behind him, pretending not to be overwhelmed, while Abby darted between stalls like a caffeinated butterfly. Ducky and Jimmy lingered near a spice merchant, their eyes wide with wonder. Ziva moved through it all like she belonged
“She’s glowing,” Tony muttered to himself. “Not that that’s anything new
The team was in Israel chasing down a lead in a murder case tied to stolen U.S. naval artifacts. One of the sellers they were tracking down was known to frequent the Jaffa market. But as they searched for clues, Tony noticed Ziva had stopped walking.
She had frozen in place.
“Zi?” he asked, brow furrowing as he stepped up beside her.
Her expression was unreadable. Still. Silent. Focused.

And then“Oh no,” she muttered.

From the crowd, a woman emerged. Not in the dangerous, shady criminal way that would’ve warranted backup but in a high-heeled, professionally blown out, rich perfume cloud kind of way.

Ziva’s body visibly tensed.

The woman spotted her.

“Ziva!!” she called, her voice shrill lilting with syrupy affection. She was already moving forward, arms outstretched like they hadn’t spent their childhood in open competition.

Ziva forced a smile. “Shir.”

They hugged. Well, Shir hugged. Ziva endured it.

“Look at you,” Shir purred, stepping back. “Still with the same haircut. Still playing with the Americas?”

“We are here on assignment,” Ziva said crisply.

Tony, wisely, said nothing. But he didn’t like this woman’s tone. Or the way Ziva’s eyes hardened slightly with every word.

“I’m so glad I ran into you,” Shir continued, flicking a glance at Tony before returning her eyes to Ziva. “Guess what? I’m engaged!”

Ziva nodded politely. “Mazel tov.”

“To Ilan the cardiothoracic surgeon. We’re living in Herzliya now. He proposed on the Pont Neuf in Paris. Rose petals and champagne. I still wake up and can’t believe it.” She wiggled her fingers. The diamond sparkled aggressively.

Tony couldn’t help a quiet mutter “Subtle.”

“And you?” Shir asked, too sweetly. “Still single? Or have you found someone who can keep up with you?”

Ziva blinked. Just once.
Then she turned to Tony with flawless poise and in perfect English said, “Actually, this is my fiancé. Tony.”
The world stopped spinning for a moment. Or maybe that was just Tony’s brain short circuiting.

“Fiancé?” Shir repeated, blinking.

Tony recovered like a champ. “Yup. Me. Fiancé. Lucky guy, right?” He stepped in smoothly, sliding his arm around Ziva’s waist. She didn’t flinch. That surprised him more than anything.

“You didn’t say you were engaged,” Shir said, voice almost too light.

“Oh, it happened recently,” Ziva replied, expression cool. “While we were working together. It was… unexpected.”

“Love usually is,” Tony added, giving Ziva a meaningful glance. “But when you know, you know.”

Shir’s eyes narrowed just enough to signal disbelief “I don’t see a ring so I’m suprised although I guess you would be the type of girl who insists she doesn’t want a ring” Tony then piped up, “most people in our field don’t wear rings when doing field work. Zivas cousin pointed her nose up slightly “And what is it you do, Tony?”

“Oh, I interrogate suspects, shoot bad guys, and I’m very skilled at breakfast in bed,” he said, grinning. “But mostly I follow this one around and make sure she wants for nothing.”
Ziva gave him a dry look but didn’t deny it.
“Interesting.” Shir tapped her chin. “Well. We should catch up properly. Have lunch. You and your…fiancé.” She glanced over his shirt, half-rolled sleeves, and scuffed boots. “You’ll come to Meleya that’s where Ilan and I are members. Very exclusive. Do you still have something that fits the dress code?”

Ziva’s nostrils flared slightly. “We would be happy to join you.”
Abby, hidden behind a spice stand, audibly gasped. “This is better than reality TV.”

Ducky murmured, “I believe we’re witnessing a masterclass in performance art.”

“Tomorrow. One o’clock.” Shir handed her a pristine business card, then turned and glided back into the crowd.
As soon as she vanished, Tony exhaled. “So we’re engaged now. Should we send Gibbs a ‘Save the Date’?”
Ziva pocketed the card without answering.
“I’m just saying, if we’re lying to your family, we might as well lie with style,” he added. “We can say we met during a shootout. Something sexy.”
“You were the nearest body,” she replied, tone flat.

“But not the worst one to grab,” he said, voice low. “Admit it.”

She said nothing, but she didn’t pull away either.

Abby came bouncing up. “Ziva. Fake engaging Tony? Inspired. I mean, you could’ve picked McGee, but you went full DiNozzo. I respect it.”

McGee squinted. “Hey.”

“I didn’t say you weren’t cute,” Abby said, patting his arm. “But this one” She nodded to Tony. “he commits.”

Jimmy nodded like he was taking mental notes.

Tony adjusted his grip, still not letting Ziva go. “So, how do you feel about wearing my mom’s ring tomorrow?”

Ziva finally cracked a tiny, almost invisible smile. “Do not push your luck.”

Tony’s grin widened.

That’s when the voice behind them cut through the air like a gunshot.

“DiNozzo!”

Tony froze. His arm still around Ziva’s waist.

He turned his head slowly.

Gibbs stood at the edge of the group, arms crossed, scowl in place. His gray hair was windblown, his eyes sharp.

“Why the hell do you have your arm around David?” he asked, in that dangerously calm tone that meant this better be good.

The team went dead silent.

Even Abby, who had been recording a voice memo about local olives, snapped to attention.

Tony coughed. “Uh undercover?”

Ziva didn’t blink. “We’re pretending to be engaged. It’s strategic.”

Gibbs squinted at her. “Strategic?”
“My cousin believes herself superior. I disagree.”

There was a long pause. Then Gibbs sighed. “I leave you alone for ten minutes”
Tony gave a hopeful smile. “You want to come to lunch with us tomorrow?”
Gibbs just walked past them, muttering under his breath, “This better not end up in an incident report.”
Behind him, Tony whispered to Ziva, “So he didn’t say no.”

She groaned softly. “Tomorrow’s going to be a disaster.”

Tony beamed. “Can’t wait.”

Chapter Text

The NCIS team moved in a loose pack, half working, half watching Ziva, who had been uncharacteristically quiet ever since her run in with her cousin Shir.

Well, quieter than usual. Which, for Ziva David, meant she wasn’t threatening anyone under her breath.

Tony, however, had disappeared.

Ziva’s eyes swept the crowd like radar. “Where is DiNozzo?”

“I think he went left at that perfume stall,” Jimmy offered, squinting.

“Or the one with the Turkish sweets,” McGee added. “I saw him sniffing the loukoum.”

Ziva sighed, her expression tightening. “I swear, if he wandered off for food”

Abby tilted her sunglasses down her nose. “ I don’t know Tony’s got that look in his eye today. He’s up to something.”
“DiNozzo!” Gibbs barked into the crowd. “You’ve got two minutes to show your face.”

“Ladies and gentlemen,” a voice rang out suddenly, rich with that unmistakable DiNozzo bravado. “If I could have your attention.”

The team turned.

Tony stood a few yards ahead in the middle of a clearing between stalls, customers and merchants parting like the Red Sea. He was grinning, suave as ever. Until he was right in front of ziva.

Thenhe dropped to one knee.

Ziva’s eyes widened slightly. “No. He is not”

“Oh, but I am,” he said, reaching into his pocket.

He pulled out a small velvet box and opened it with theatrical flair.

Nestled inside was a delicate rose gold ring, set with a deep red ruby and a sparkling topaz both modest in size, but striking. Not flashy. Just thoughtful.
Their birthstones.

Tony’s eyes locked on hers, and though his voice was light, something in his tone had real weight. “Ziva David,” he said, loud enough for the vendors and shoppers to pause and stare. “Would you do me the honor of being my fake fiancée?”
The team broke.
Abby nearly collapsed against a crate of lemons, clapping her hands over her mouth to stifle a squeal. Jimmy made a choked little noise that might’ve been a laugh or a sob. McGee squinted suspiciously and muttered, “Wait is that real?”

Ziva’s right eye twitched.

Ziva didn’t move. Not at first.

She walked forward slowly, boots brushing against stone, her expression unreadable. She didn’t laugh she didn’t yell. She just looked down at the open box and blinked once.

Then, in one fluid motion, she took the box from his hand, shut it with a snap, and slipped it into her jacket pocket.

“No,” she said coolly. “But yes.

Tony finally stood, brushing imaginary dust off his knees. “Well. That could’ve gone worse.”
Gibbs gave him a look.
“You spent thirty minutes in a foreign market, left your team, wandered off mid operation, and reappeared to stage a public proposal.”

Tony beamed. “Pretty good for a Thursday.”

Gibbs stared at him. “You’ve got five seconds before I take that box and hurl it into the Mediterranean.”

Tony raised both hands. “Hey. Mission morale boss got to look the part to act the part”
That ring real?” Gibbs asked flatly.

Tony smirked, but didn’t answer.

Gibbs’ eyes narrowed. He didn’t need Tony to confirm it he already knew. He had been married four times. He knew real gold when he saw it. He knew birthstones when he saw them. That wasn’t a vendor trinket.
That ring had weight.
He said nothing.
Tony, now flanked by Abby and McGee asking far too many questions, jogged ahead.

Gibbs fell into step behind them, eyes tracking Ziva, who had moved further down the path.

And then he saw it.
Her hand slipped briefly into her jacket pocket. Subtle. Quiet. And when it came back out again?
The ring was on her finger.
Not her thumb. Not her middle finger.
Her ring finger.
She didn’t fidget with it. She didn’t glance at it. She just walked, expression as impassive as ever. But the ring glinted every time her fingers caught the light just stilling there like that’s were it belonged.

Gibbs watched her for another moment, then looked back at Tony.

Tony hadn’t noticed.

Not yet.

But Gibbs had.

And something in his expression just for a second shifted from irritation to something more thoughtful.

He muttered to himself, barely loud enough for even Ducky to hear.

“Huh.”

Chapter Text

The hotel room was quiet except for the low hum of the air conditioner and the soft clink of Ziva’s makeup brush tapping against her compact. Outside the balcony, Tel Aviv pulsed with life car horns, street laughter, the faint echo of music drifting up from a nearby café. But inside, everything felt still.
Ziva sat at the edge of the room’s vanity, bare feet brushing the rug, a black camisole strap slipping from one shoulder. Her face, always striking, was half lit by the warm lamp beside her. She moved with careful precision, dusting bronzer over her cheekbones, darkening the corners of her eyes with smoky shadow. Controlled. Unshakeable.
Behind her, Tony leaned in the doorway between the bathroom and the bedroom, arms crossed, watching her reflection.
She caught his eyes in the mirror and said, “If we are doing this lunch tomorrow this performance we need to stay close to the truth.”
Tony blinked. “Truth?”
She nodded, not looking up from her eyeliner. “Yes my hairy butt it’s easier to remember. Safer. Real things how we met, where we work, things we’ve done together. It will be easier to slip into the roles if we don’t have to invent everything.”

He walked into the room, settling into the armchair near the window. “Okay. Truth it is.”
Ziva set the liner down and turned to face him, her posture still relaxed but her eyes sharp. “How much did you pay for the ring?”

Tony’s brows lifted. “What?”
“The ring,” she repeated, gesturing to her hand where the delicate rose gold shimmered under the light. She hadn’t meant to wear it after the market. She didn’t even remember sliding it on. But now it was there, snug and quiet on her ring finger, like it had always belonged.
Tony shrugged and asked “why do you want to know?”
“I need to know,” she said. “So I can pay you back.”
Tony leaned forward, forearms braced on his knees. “No.”
“No?” she repeated, frowning. “What do you mean, no?”

“I mean no, Ziva.”
She stood, arms crossing over her chest. “That is not an answer.”
“It’s my answer.”
Ziva narrowed her eyes. “It wasn’t some cheap vendor trinket. It’s real. The stones. The gold. It’s not a joke, Tony.”
“I know it’s not a joke,” he said, quietly. “And it wasn’t meant to be one.”

“Then let me pay you.”

“No! Why are you being so stubborn about this?” He stood now, slowly, and crossed the space between them. Not looming. Not imposing. Just close enough that his voice dropped low and steady.

“Because it’s a gift.”

She stared up at him, clearly not satisfied. “Tony”

“I gave it to you because I wanted to,” he said, not letting her look away. “Because for once, I wanted you to have something that was just… good. Something that wasn’t earned with blood or grit or pain. Something that wasn’t survival. Something that was soft. Kind.”

Her breath stilled in her throat.

He kept going.

“You’ve been through hell, Ziva. And you walk around like you don’t carry it on your shoulders, but I see it. We all do. You act like you don’t deserve comfort. Like joy is some luxury you’re not allowed to have.”

She said nothing.

“And maybe it’s stupid, or maybe it’s romantic, or maybe it’s just me being me,” Tony said, voice a little rougher now, “but I saw that ring and I thought, ‘That looks like her.’ Not just the gold or the stones you. Strong. Sharp. But still… beautiful. Quietly. Like it doesn’t need to be loud to be worth something.”

Ziva’s eyes had softened, barely. Just enough for the mask to slip at the edges.

“And yeah,” he added with a half-shrug, “you forget sometimes that my family is a little… DiNozzo-ish. There’s money. And now that my dad’s finally come around to accepting I’m not gonna sell yachts or marry a Countess, I’ve got some room to breathe. I’ve got some money to play with. But I didn’t buy this ring to show off.”

He reached up then, slowly, and tucked a piece of hair behind her ear.

“I bought it because you deserve it.”

She swallowed. Her eyes didn’t leave his.

“You deserve to have something beautiful given to you with no strings. No expectation. Just… because someone thought you were worth it.”

The silence that followed wasn’t uncomfortable. It was deep. Full of everything they hadn’t said in years of dancing around each other, every gesture unspoken, every glance loaded.

Ziva looked away first.

And when she spoke again, her voice was quiet. “Fine. I’ll keep the ring.”

Tony smiled gently. “Okay.”

“For the lie,” she added quickly.

Tony didn’t argue.

But they both knew it wasn’t just for the lie anymore.

Chapter Text

Tony was in the middle of a dream.
A wonderful dream
It involved sunglasses, convertible cars, and Ziva laughing at something he’d said really laughing, head back, eyes soft. A warm breeze blew off the Mediterranean, and he was pretty sure he was wearing a tuxedo for no reason at all. It was perfect.
Until someone started pounding on the door like the building was on fire.
Tony jerked upright in bed, blinking blearily. The comforter was twisted around him like a straitjacket. The knocking intensified.
“Tony!” McGee’s voice came muffled through the wood. “Get up, now!”
Tony groaned. “It better be terrorists or bacon.”
He stumbled to the door, shirtless, hair sticking out in eight directions. He opened it a crack.

McGee stood there, already fully dressed in his NCIS windbreaker, clutching a tablet and a serious expression. “Get dressed. Now.”

Tony blinked. “Why are you awake? You don’t even drink coffee until after eight.”

“Mossad just called. Ziva’s dad says they’ve got something on the artifact thefts video surveillance, internal shipping records. He’s requesting our presence at HQ immediately.”
Tony stared at him. “Mossad headquarters?”
“Yes.”
“Ziva’s dad?”
“Yes.”Tony’s blood ran cold.

“Oh no. No, no, no. This is a trap. This is a trap and I’m gonna die in a gray Mossad basement and no one’s even gonna know because they’re going to feed my body to wild dogs and say I tripped on a rug.”

McGee pinched the bridge of his nose. “Tony”

“No! This is exactly how it happens mcgoo! Shir probably called him after the market. ‘Daddy, guess what, Ziva says she’s engaged to some American with too much gel in his hair and no bloodline.’ Next thing you know, I’m waterboarded next to some war criminal!.”

McGee gave him a flat look. “Tony, Eli didn’t say anything about the ring, or the engagement, or you. He said they found a warehouse discrepancy in Haifa military artifacts moved through a private Mossad courier line two days before the murder in D.C. We’re going to follow up.”
“Sure, sure. ‘Follow up.’ That’s what you call it when you invite your daughter’s fake fiancé into your heavily guarded compound and interrogate him until he cracks like a walnut.”
“Fifteen minutes. Be in the lobby.”
Tony shut the door, leaned against it, and exhaled. “This is it,” he mumbled to himself. “This is how I go. Death by an angry dad.”
He pulled himself together in record time though his tie was askew and he’d only managed to get one sock to match his outfit. Whatever. If he was going to be executed by an intelligence agency, at least he’d look slightly presentable.
The lobby was already buzzing. McGee sat typing rapidly on his tablet while Jimmy and Abby hovered nearby, going over the case notes again. Ducky sipped tea in the corner. Gibbs stood by the doors, unreadable as always.
And then the elevator dinged.

Tony turned.

And his heart immediately shot straight into his throat.

Ziva stepped out.

Her hair was pinned half back, a casual green top much like she wore when they first met and the hem of a sidearm just visible at her hip. She looked completely composed. Like someone who’d had a full night of sleep, a healthy breakfast, and possibly assassinated a man before 7 a.m.

But it wasn’t just the look that made Tony freeze.
It was the ring.
Still there.
Still on her finger.
He couldn’t stop staring.
“You’re wearing it,” he said before he could think better of it.
Ziva tilted her head slightly. “Of course I’m wearing it.”
“Why?”
She arched an eyebrow. “Because it fits.”
Tony opened his mouth. Closed it.

“That’s not” He stopped himself. “Okay.”

Ziva walked past him without another word, joining the others by the exit. But her hand her left hand caught the morning light.

And the ring gleamed like it belonged.

They arrived at Mossad headquarters thirty minutes later.

The compound, nestled between military facilities and diplomatic offices on the city’s southern edge, rose like a concrete fortress sleek, austere, quiet. It wasn’t flashy. But it was deeply, undeniably Mossad. You didn’t need signage to know exactly where you were.

As the black van pulled through the gates, Tony’s knee bounced uncontrollably.

“I don’t like this,” he muttered.

“You don’t like airports either,” Abby said from beside him.

“Airports don’t have Eli David waiting for me with a kill order.”

Ziva, seated across from him, looked up from her phone. “He doesn’t know.”

Tony gave her a look. “You don’t know that.”

Ziva’s voice was calm. “If my father knew, he wouldn’t ask you to walk into Mossad headquarters.”

Tony’s voice cracked. “He’d just have me delivered?”

“You’re being dramatic.”

“Is this dramatic?” Tony pointed to his chest. “Because this feels like impending heart failure.”

Gibbs cleared his throat. “Focus. We’re not here for your love life.”
Tony muttered, “It’s not a love life. It’s an elaborate lie that’s getting dangerously out of hand.”
Ziva’s lips twitched.

The van stopped.

The doors opened.

Tony stepped out into the courtyard of one of the most feared intelligence agencies in the world, heart hammering in his chest, pulse in his ears.

Ziva walked beside him, silent, steady.

He glanced down oncejust once.

The ring glinted again.

And somehow, he didn’t feel quite as afraid. Just confused.And maybe a little doomed.