Disclaimer: They are still not mine...maybe I'll get them for my birthday.
Rating: I've been told it's still T, but a heavier T I think.
Comments: This is the end. I hadn't planned on writing any more in this universe, but my muse is starting to perk up again since I've been publishing this, so who knows? Thanks for all of the kind comments, and extra special thanks to my patient and talented beta.
Da Mi Basia Mille
Love knows not its own depth
Their fifth kiss, pressed up against the barely-closed door of Ziva's apartment, is deep, deliberately measured, and a prelude of the remainder of their night together.
They take his car over to her place, as he has to be back at his desk before this short leash he is being allowed is pulled, and she trusts the security of the Navy Yard garage over her building's for her car. They remain silent as they climb to her door, although the continual and insistent brush of hands, shoulders and hips speak volumes. Tony doesn't stop himself from standing right up against her as she unlocks her door with hardly detectable tremors in her hands. He tucks his face into her hair and tries to memorize the way it smells tonight; he knows he'll never forget but also that this memory will never be enough.
She turns on him as they enter; he barely notices her lock the door behind him, busy with gently pulling her hair loose so he can tangle his fingers in it and guide her lips up to his. She comes willingly, pressing her body flush against him, and this time they do not have lab results waiting, coworkers celebrating in the next room or criminals pursuing them.
Ziva draws back just enough for their eyes to hold a silent conversation, questions and answers spoken as clearly as if they'd been uttered aloud. Satisfied with what she sees, Ziva pulls back further, but only far enough so that she can slide Tony's jacket off of his broad shoulders and begin untucking his shirt. He traces her spine beneath her sweater, running his hands over smooth skin that is only just becoming familiar to him.
The scant few hours they have together are much too short, but this does not deter them from taking their time now that this night might be all that they have. After their fifth kiss the count is lost as lips are placed against cheeks, eyelids, collarbones and napes. Tony's growl reverberates through her own torso as she sprawls across his chest in her bed and catches his earlobe between her teeth. His skilled hands massage her scalp and tilt her head back so he can nip his own teeth along her throat, eliciting an answering purr from her.
Ziva mutters something in Hebrew as he worships the small of her back; the blissed-out smile on her face when he looks up from his ministrations tells him that it's something good and encourages him to continue. He can't believe how soft the skin on the backs of her knees is, and he spends an inordinate amount of time applying fingers and tongue, until she grows impatient, and with more Hebrew, that doesn't sound so nice this time, pulls him back up to kiss him senseless.
She knows from their brief time spent undercover that Tony's ribs are ticklish and mercilessly attacks him, sitting astride his hips with nothing but their warm and sweaty skin between them, until he manages to topple her off with a move that she has forgotten that she taught him.
One of her favourite parts of him is the hollow of his throat, and when they are lying tangled together, catching their breath and allowing heart rates to slow, she lays her lips there, gently. In this moment he has not a care for his vulnerability, how easily she could kill him, and her heart begins to break at the unfairness of it all, at the utter trust and belonging they have finally found with each other.
He strokes her back and murmurs to her in Italian, and they alternate briefly napping with lovemaking that goes from rough and desperate to soft and slow in a heartbeat.
It is still dark when they leave her bed to shower. She lets him comb her hair free of tangles, and then braids it tightly while he puts the coffee on and finds some bagels in the freezer. They sit knee-to-knee on her couch while they eat, and suddenly there is so much to say to each other. Tony tells her of his last game with OSU, and his first day on the Baltimore PD force. Ziva gives him her memories of making Purim cookies with her maternal grandmother, and her first day in the Army. They do not know how far she will have to go, or for how long it might be, so they forge their new bond as tightly as possible as the first light of day begins to steal into her apartment.
She leaves a key with him, and after one, final, thousandth kiss, she shoulders her backpack and heads out to the waiting car. She doesn't look back, and he turns to survey her home that is strewn with their clothes and still carries the scent of her shampoo from their recent shower. He waits a minute, slouching against the door, breathing in deep, then grabs his gear, and heads out, locking her door behind him. He doesn't look back either.
Let not the waves of the sea separate us now, and the years you have spent in our midst become a memory.
You have walked among us a spirit, and your shadow has been a light upon our faces.
Much have we loved you. But speechless was our love, and with veils has it been veiled.
Yet now it cries aloud unto you, and would stand revealed before you.
And ever has it been that love knows not its own depth until the hour of separation.
The Coming of the Ship, The Prophet, Kahlil Gibran