Chapter Text
“Hey, Ziva, right?”
Ziva turns around, facing the neighbor whose habits she’s learned by heart since moving in, but is for all intents and purposes still a stranger.
“We don’t really know each other, we had a brief chat about a month ago,” Tony says.
“That was three months ago and I asked you to keep the noise down, right before your grandmother showed up.”
“Yeah, sorry, what can I say, the ladies love me.”
He delivers the line with a million dollar smile and so much glee, she can’t help but bring his ego down a notch.
“I can deal with five minutes of porn sounds coming from your apartment, I can’t deal with hours of uninterrupted blockbuster explosions and gunfights.”
Tony clears his throat, then scoffs awkwardly. Clearly he had forgotten what that conversation had actually been about.
“How did you know that was my grandmother?”
Ziva narrows her eyes at his sudden change of subject. “Little old Italian lady,” she looks him up and down, “30-something playboy who suddenly seemed very ill at ease when she showed up.”
“Ha, yeah. Anyway, my grandmother asked about you”
Ziva quirks an eyebrow.
“And, um, she invited you to my family’s Thanksgiving dinner.”
“Why would she do that?”
“Well, you’re really cute, and I thought you might be lonely, you haven’t lived here for that long, and,” he shrugged, then mumbled “I may have told my family we were dating.”
Ziva guffaws.
“Hey! Every woman in my family has been harassing me about my dating habits and telling me to settle down. Do you have any idea how many aunts and cousins I have? I can’t handle that much pressure.”
“I can imagine, you can barely handle bringing home the same girl more than once.”
Tony raises his chin and looks down at her. “The food will be amazing, the company loud. And I will owe you.”
Ziva laughs and Tony rolls his eyes before turning towards his open door. As preposterous as the idea of fake dating sounds, she hasn’t been undercover in a while. This could be an easy way to refresh her skills.
“I’ll do it,” Ziva says.
Tony faces her again, and his eyebrows squish together. “Really?”
“I don’t have any plans tomorrow, and amazing food sounds good.”
She deliberately leaves out the part about honing her skills, not in the least because she has no intention of telling a Navy cop she is Mossad. When she found out he worked for NCIS, after she moved into her apartment, she had started avoiding him as much as possible. But, someone owing you a favor, especially someone in law enforcement, could always come in handy.
“Thank you,” he says and grabs her upper arms as if she was a lifeline and he was drowning. He reaches into his back pocket and hands her three sheets of folded paper. “So, these are all my likes, dislikes, favorite drinks, the last two pages are my favorite movies categorized by genre.”
Ziva gapes at him. Maybe this wasn’t going to be as much fun as she initially thought.
“By the way, if anyone asks, we met at an adult store.”
At her raised eyebrows he says, ”Trust me, it’s a funny story.”
She watches him walk into his apartment with a spring in his step and a wide grin on his face.
Maybe this will be fun, after all.
Tony babbles about every single family member the entire ride to his grandmother’s house. It isn’t until they arrive at their destination that he seems to realize he doesn’t know anything about her.
“We will wing it,” she says with a wink, then adds, “mon petit pois.”
His gaze flicks to her mouth. Apparently the ridiculous endearment struck a chord.
“You speak French,” he says and the corners of his mouth quirk upwards.
Did his voice sound the tiniest bit lower? Playing with him on this fake date just got a whole lot more interesting.
“I do.” She says in a sultry voice.
His grin widens and he quirks an eyebrow. “Interesting,” he says as they get out the car. He looks her up and down quickly. “What does it mean?”
“My pea,”
His grin fades and he looks at her sideways as they walk up the driveway. “Never call me that again.”
“Very well, my little hairy butt.”
He turns towards her as they reach the front door and scowls. “You know what, I’ve just decided we’re not the kind of couple that does terms of endearment.”
Ziva chuckles and holds a finger to her lips just as the door opens. They are whisked inside by Aunt Laura, and Ziva asks her how she’s recovering from the hip replacement. Tony sends her an impressed little smile, Aunt Laura pats Ziva’s hand and shimmies her hips a little.
Tony’s eyes become more curious as she charms her way through his family, bringing up the little facts he had divulged on the way over; Rose’s fur coat which turned out to be a fake, Eduardo’s classic Thunderbird breaking down again, one of Francesca’s kids breaking her favorite vase, and on and on.
The introductions seem to go on indefinitely, until they finally reach Tony’s grandmother and he proudly introduces her as Nonna. The 87-year-old purses her lips into a thin line and narrows her eyes at Ziva in scrutiny before asking Tony in Italian whether he’s treating her right. Ziva surprises both of them by replying in Italian, that so far, he’s treated her better than anyone. Her gaze meets his and she sends him a warm smile.
The smile doesn’t seem to distract him much, though. Hopefully it fooled his family. When his grandmother clasps her hands together in delight at the fact that Ziva speaks Italian, she can see the wheels in his head turning as he mentions she also speaks French and Hebrew.
“Haven’t used Google translate in months,” he says, and she leans closer to pat him on the chest.
“I travel a lot, for work,” Ziva explains.
“Ah yes, the job, tell them about it,” Tony says.
He snakes an arm around her waist and squeezes her a little tighter. Ziva meets his eyes and the sweetness that laced his voice is nowhere to be found. Instead, she’s met with a look he’s undoubtedly used on female suspects and she berates herself for getting caught out so easily at keeping secrets. Then she remembers he literally knows nothing about her, making everything a secret.
Ziva turns her attention to the family members gathered around them and says, “I work for an Israeli company. We have operations worldwide, I help gather and analyze information, find the right people, make sure documents are in order.” She waves her hands dismissively, “It is boring to explain, but I get to travel, it is rewarding and,” she trails off and meets Tony’s gaze again and smiles fondly, “occasionally, I get to meet some very interesting people.”
From the corner of her eye, she sees Aunt Laura clutch her hands to her chest at her last words, and Ziva decides she’s not as out of practice as she feared. Tony, though. Tony was going to be a challenge. The goofball playboy act she had seen so far had clearly been mostly that; an act. He was cleverer than he let on. An excited tingle ran through her body.
An hour later Tony takes her aside and points at the Star of David necklace which had slipped from below her shirt collar. “I, um, I forgot you were Jewish.”
Ziva frowns and touches the pendant.
“I don’t think any of the food is kosher,” he says apologetically.
“That is fine, I do not keep kosher.” She smiles at the relief washing over his face.
“Great,” he says and looks over his shoulder, then leans in close. “So, my grandmother is a really devout Catholic, this one time I saw her make a Jehovah’s Witness cry because he disagreed on the importance of Jesus.”
Ziva raises an eyebrow, and fiddles with her necklace, wondering where this conversation was going.
“To avoid lengthy religious discussions, it would be easier if you removed your necklace-“
“No,” Ziva said forcefully and Tony leaned back a couple of inches. She glanced around to make sure nobody was within hearing distance, and continued in a sharp tone, “I agreed to this fake date, I will even stick my tongue down your throat to play the part, but I will never take off this necklace.”
Tony held up his hands in surrender. “I’m sorry, Ziva, I didn’t realize-“
The broken English of his Nonna asking Ziva if she was Jewish cut his apology short.
“I am,” Ziva says and slips the necklace underneath her shirt collar. She eyes Nonna’s crucifix pendant, then says, “We practically have a whole testament in common.”
The old woman lets out a laugh and pats Ziva on the cheek. “Then you and I have more in common than little Anthony,” she says with a nod in Tony’s direction, before walking away and ordering everyone to table.
Ziva chuckles wide-eyed, then leans in close to whisper, “Little Anthony?”
Tony closes his eyes and shakes his head. “Just…don’t.”
But Ziva can’t help herself and lets her gaze drift down his body, all the while trying to suppress the laughter bubbling inside her.
“I’m beginning to think this whole fake dating thing was a mistake,” he hisses next to her ear.
“What could possibly go wrong on a fake date,” she says in a lilting voice, then pecks him on the lips and pulls him towards the big dining room table.
Three courses in, belt buckles and buttons are opened and it’s unanimously decided to leave a bit more time between the next courses.
Ziva sees this as an opportunity to retreat to the empty kitchen and reflect on how the “mission” is going. Leaning against the counter she has an open view of the main dining room table and about half of Tony’s family. Her gaze briefly meets Nonna’s and she hopes the smile she sends the old woman conceals how much she misses having a real family.
That’s when Tony walks in giving her the once-over, then leaning against the butcher block table across from her.
“Taking a break from the DiNozzo onslaught? Can’t say I blame you.” He tips his non-alcoholic beer towards her, takes one last swig and places the empty bottle behind him.
“You have a very nice, very nosy family,” Ziva says solemnly and briefly looks over at the crowded dining room. When she focuses on Tony again, she finds him staring at her.
She leans forward and grabs his wrist, pulling him towards her. His eyebrows raise as a slow smile builds on his lips.
“You’re not really selling it, though,” she says in a low voice, looking up at him while intertwining their fingers.
“I wasn’t exactly sure how far you were willing to go with this,” he murmurs with a wavering smile.
Lowering her voice she says, “I distinctly remember telling you I would stick my tongue down your throat if I had to.”
“You’re such a romantic.” There’s a twinkle in his eye as he moves his hands to her waist.
Ziva pulls his head down and whispers huskily in his ear, “Fake romance will cost you another favor.”
Tony chuckles and looks into her eyes. “Why do I feel like I made a deal with the devil?”
Ziva lets out a throaty laugh and places a hand on his cheek, bringing his face inches from hers. “Your grandmother is watching us like a hawk,” she murmurs, lips almost touching.
She feels his face turn into the direction of the dining room and increases the pressure with her hand to make sure he doesn’t. “You are a cop, you should know better than to blatantly look at someone who’s secretly watching you.”
“First of all, you’re referring to my grandmother. Second of all, I’m off the clock and surrounded by family.”
Ziva glances away, wondering what that would feel like, to be truly off the clock and surrounded by people you trust implicitly.
“Do tell why you know better than to directly look at possible suspects,” he says in a low voice.
Ziva looks him in the eye and sees intrigue mix with desire there, so she closes the distance and slowly touches his lips with hers. His fingers flex and extend at her waist and she draws back, resting her forehead against his.
She runs her thumb over his lips, and before she can drown in his eyes and forget that none of this is real, she says, “I read a lot of spy novels.”
She rakes a hand through his hair and closes the distance once more, running her lips over his, tasting the lingering flavor of the beer he had mere minutes ago. She keeps her kisses light and chaste. She’s trying to sell the cover of a girlfriend to a family, after all, not give an R-rated show.
It doesn’t take long—unfortunately, because he turns out to be quite a good kisser—for “oohs” and “awws” to start drifting into the kitchen. Ziva breaks the kiss and leans her head against his chest, facing away from the dining room, hoping to show just the right amount of embarrassment at getting caught by his family.
When his arms engulf her she looks up at him again and quirks one corner of her mouth. Something flickers across his face before he turns to his family and chides them for acting like they’ve never seen two people in love before. She fiddles with a button on his shirt as she feels her ears turn red at his words. Maybe he’s better at this faking thing then she had anticipated.
A few aunts and cousins wander into the kitchen to prepare the next course. Ziva offers to help, but is shooed away with an “you already have your hands full” and a wink. Tony takes this as an invitation to plop them both down on the couch and absentmindedly play with her hair while he stares at a football game on TV. When she comments on the poor choice of name of the sport, and gets the stink eye from all surrounding DiNozzo men, she decides to focus her attention on how she definitely should not be enjoying Tony’s hand in her hair quite so much.
Two courses, and a lot of anecdotes from Tony’s past—some more embarrassing than others—later, Ziva realizes the superficial profile she made of her neighbor, the one currently staring at her with a twinkle in his eye, arm loosely draped around her shoulder, had been a little too superficial.
“How about you, Ziva, do you have any siblings?” Aunt Laura asks.
It is an everyday question, one she had expected hours earlier. But now, after more than half a day with this loving family, the answer doesn’t seem so simple anymore. She’s still staring in Tony’s eyes when she realizes how badly she wants to tell the truth. Especially on this day. Her siblings may be gone, but she is forever grateful for the time they had together.
It isn’t until she sees something shift in Tony’s eyes, that she feigns having been distracted, because really, she should have answered by now.
“No, unfortunately not,” Ziva replies shaking her head a little.
It sounds convincing, even to her own ears. But when she meets Tony’s gaze again, her convincing-yet-fake smile falters the slightest. The curiosity from mere seconds ago is now replaced with suspicion.
But then there’s something else Ziva’s grateful for; the dessert one of the cousins places in front of her. If she eats it very slowly she won’t have to look into his prying eyes again. And why is she suddenly feeling guilty. She’s never felt guilty about eating dessert before.
The conversation continues around her, and she’s not entirely certain, but it almost seems as if Tony is making sure she has to contribute as little as possible. Whether he’s doing that for her benefit, or his family’s, she doesn’t know.
In any case, by the time everyone finishes the last course, Ziva is blocking out the sudden onset of guilt like a professional, and asking for the recipe while wiping a crumb off Tony’s face.
The aunts finally accept her help to clear off the table and do the dishes, and the men once more congregate in front of the TV. She feels Tony’s eyes burning a hole in her back the whole time.
As the cheers and jeers coming from the living room increase in volume, Sophia, one of Tony’s cousins whom he insists on calling Loren, takes her by the arm and leads her towards the far side of the kitchen.
“How much do you know about Tony’s…past?” Sophia asks her quietly.
“If you are referring to his attempts to make Casanova proud…enough,” Ziva replies smoothly.
Sophia keeps staring at her with such open curiosity that Ziva momentarily wonders if anything she said or did gave her away.
But then the woman, who was probably more her age than Tony’s, places a hand on her arm and says, “I’m sorry, I just…” She stares in the direction of the loud cheering suspiciously, then leans in and says, “I’ve never seen Tony bring a date to a family dinner.”
Ziva bows her head and feels some of the tension leave her body.
“I’ve seen him leave a family dinner with my brother Vinny’s date one time, though.” The woman crosses her arms and glances away briefly. “Needless to say, that didn’t end well.”
Ziva snickers. “I can imagine.”
“You better not be discussing my sexual prowess, laughing like that.”
Tony’s low voice next to her ear sends a tingle down her spine. She’s suddenly glad she was somewhat prepared for his presence, having seen him walk into the kitchen from the corner of her eye.
Ziva looks at him over her shoulder, coy smile on her lips. “I would never discuss your sexual prowess, or lack thereof, with your family.”
He narrows his eyes at her and scrunches his nose, she leans back slightly and bumps into him with a wink, making the corners of his mouth curve upwards.
That is, until he points at his cousin and dramatically says, “Loren, stop sharing embarrassing stories about me with Ziva.”
Sophia rolls her eyes. “Then stop embarrassing yourself.”
Tony huffs and counters, “You and I both know that’s not going to happen.”
And once again, Ziva is distracted by the desire to be part of a family. A family where cousins bicker like siblings. It’s odd to feel this lonely surrounded by so many people.
Tony’s soft lips at the corner of her mouth bring her out of her reverie. And when he walks out the back door, she instantly misses the warmth of his body so close to hers, and can’t help but stare after him. She frowns at the closed door, not quite sure what to make of these feelings. She’s not romantic. She doesn’t fall in love easily. So what was so different-
“You guys look so good together,” Sophia almost squeals as she grabs Ziva by the arms.
Ziva opens her mouth, unsure of what to say.
But then Sophia gives her a sly look, tells her they really don’t need extra help with the dishes, and practically shoves her onto the porch.
Ziva looks through the glass pane of the closing back door and feels slightly mortified when Sophia grins widely giving her two thumbs up. Suddenly the mission where she went undercover as the girlfriend of a Hamas terrorist seems a thousand times easier than this. Perhaps not easier, but definitely less confusing.
She resists the urge to sigh, and faces Tony who offers her a bemused smile. He’s sitting on the porch swing, right arm draped casually over the back and she walks over to him.
“So, is your mother dressing you up as a sailor the reason you became a Navy cop?” She sits down next to him, careful not to make the bench swing.
He breathes out a laugh, “No, it was a little more complicated than that.”
Ziva takes in his demeanor and decides not to push it. Whatever the reason, it obviously wasn’t an entirely happy one. Should a day that revolves around giving thanks be riddled with so many sad memories?
A chill runs through her when a gust of wind sweeps over them, blowing her loose curls in Tony’s face. He tucks them behind her ear, hand lingering, and another chill runs through her. She briefly wonders if Tony would have had the same effect on her if there had been someone to…take the edge off since she moved to America.
She looks up at the dark sky, sparsely sprinkled with stars, and rubs her hands together for warmth. They’re really not dressed to be outside in this weather for long. Tony lightly pushes her forward and takes the oversized soft throw from the back of the swing, wrapping it around both of them.
They sit in a comfortable silence for a few moments, until Ziva’s curiosity gets the best of her once more.
“Do you miss your father not being here?”
He keeps staring straight ahead when he answers, “Not really.”
Another touchy subject, she decides. To lighten the mood, she bumps her knee against his to get his attention and asks, after glancing through the kitchen window behind them, “Do you think he would have believed us…dating?”
Tony lets out a sardonic laugh. “He probably would’ve been too busy sweeping you off your feet to give it much thought.”
Ziva takes in his wry smile and says, “I assure you, I am very steady on my feet.”
He squints at her. “What about your father? Would he buy us dating?”
She barks out a laugh. “No. Absolutely not.”
“Should I be offended?”
“No…my father is…” And this time it’s her turn to look away and stare straight ahead. “He is not easy to fool.”
“And my family is?”
He almost sounds offended, so she turns to him and places a hand on his knee underneath the blanket. “What I meant was…he expects people to lie to him.”
She regrets divulging this much when his brows knit and his mouth opens to speak. But then she picks up a noise from behind the door, and she remembers why she’s there.
Ziva closes the distance between them and says, “Someone’s coming.”
She takes advantage of his confusion, and open mouth, and kisses him deeply, just as laughter from the kitchen drifts out onto the porch.
His right hand palms the back of her head as he kisses her back greedily. When he almost pulls her onto his lap with his other hand, she wonders whether they’re taking things too far. Then again, it’s his family, surely he knows how to behave naturally around them. It certainly feels natural.
By the time the door closes again, and the laughter is silenced, she no longer needs the blanket to feel warm in the cold night air. Tony swirling her tongue with his, while running one of his hands underneath her shirt, is making her temperature rise quickly.
The offending smell of cigar smoke makes them break apart and finally look up at the reason they started making out in the first place.
“Don’t mind me,” Eduardo says with a smirk.
Tony locks eyes with her once more. The almost carnal look he gives her, tells her he’s actually considering picking up where they left off. Her gaze flicks to his wet lips and he’s in charge tonight, so she’ll play along with whatever he throws at her. Any excuse is a good excuse, she thinks as he runs a hand over her ass under the cover of the blanket.
But then he clears his throat unexpectedly, stands up pulling her with him, and says, “It’s getting chilly out here.”
Eduardo chuckles as they both head for the door. “I don’t know, you two look a bit flushed to me.”
Tony gives him the stink eye and closes the door behind them.
From her position on the couch, squished next to Tony, she sees Eduardo talk with the women in the kitchen ten minutes later. The synchronized turning of heads in her direction tells her the “mission” was a success.
$
A few hours later they are walking down the hallway, too close after pretending to be joined at the hip for most of the day, and stop in front of their respective doors.
“So, that was…fun,” Tony says with a grin.
“Mm, someone owing you a favor is always fun.” Her voice is flat, but she knows her eyes are giving her away.
And then he’s looking at her with a newfound fascination and asks, “What are you doing on Christmas?”
“I am Jewish, remember?” She unlocks and opens her door.
A slow smile plays on his lips as the corners of his eyes crinkle. “Loren hangs mistletoe everywhere…literally. You’d have a hard time dodging some of my uncles and cousins if you joined…us.”
“Then I will have to stick close to your side, yes?” she says and winks, before walking into her apartment and closing the door behind her, thankful for her neighbor’s preposterous idea.