A/N: Well, I finally got around to updating! This was supposed to be a two-shot but it got away with me. Oops. Enjoy!
Tony parked the car in Ziva's own parking spot outside her apartment and stopped the engine. He didn't move to get of the car though, and glanced over at Ziva. She hadn't spoken throughout the journey and her expression was one of despondency and anguish. Tony wondered what she was reminiscing about.
"Ziva?" he said in a hushed tone; he didn't want to startle her too much. He knew that if he did she would become taciturn and uncommunicative, hiding her emotions once again. Ziva looked up at him, slightly stunned by the fact that she hadn't noticed that they had arrived at her apartment.
"Sorry," she apologized with a tight smile and turned away from his penetrating gaze. She felt translucent when he looked at her, as if he could see through her but her secrets hidden below the surface where slightly out of focus to him: he could see her mystery but he couldn't make out the details.
Ziva opened the car door and got out, the cool wind biting against the bare skin of her arms. Tony sighed – how long would it take for her to trust him? – and got out of the car and threw the keys to Ziva. He followed her into the apartment and closed the door gently behind them.
"Nice place," he commented politely, trying to make casual conversation to hide the awkward silence that had been building up. Ziva was hiding something from him – from everyone – and he planned to find out what it was, whether she wished for him to know or otherwise.
Ziva smiled at him. "Toda," she spoke quietly as if someone was still on her mind, troubling her. "Dinner first?"
"Whatever you would prefer," Tony shrugged indifferently and trailed Ziva to her light kitchen. He could tell that she cooked often – he knew she was a good cook, an excellent cook – and the cupboards were full of spices and also ingredients that she had brought with her from Israel.
"So, Master Chef, what are we cooking?" Tony grinned. She turned to him, one eyebrow raised in the international expression of skepticism.
"We?" she asked curiously. Last time, she had cooked before he came so they hadn't had the problem of one person lounging around on the couch while the other person did the cooking. It was times like these where Tony reminded her of Gibbs more than the immature person he pretended to be most of the time.
When Gibbs had visited her when she had offered him a dinner invitation he had offered to help her cook. Even though she had denied his assistance three times he had ignored her protests – like he usually did with anything – and helped her anyway. She had appreciated it, in the end.
"Would I sit on the couch and be left out?" Tony smirked and Ziva punched him in the shoulder lightly.
"Fine," she conceded, opening the cupboard and grabbing what she needed to make the Chicken Flautas she had planned on cooking for herself anyway. She put a pot full of water on the stove and set it to boil. She added the chicken and lowered the heat.
"Twenty minutes, right?" Tony grinned when she glared at him.
"Did you steal my recipe?" she asked suspiciously and he opened one of the cupboards and removed a battered journal-like book and waved it at her.
"I didn't steal it, I just read it," he grinned and she rolled her eyes. "It seems to be a favorite recipe of yours, these chicken flautas."
Ziva shrugged. "Maybe I just like Mexican food," she suggested and Tony chuckled.
Half an hour later, the pair sat down on the couch in Ziva's living room. Each had a plate of chicken flautas and a glass of wine. Ziva picked up a remote off the coffee table and hit the power button. Tony was expecting the television to turn on, but instead it was the radio.
"Really, Ziva? El Zol?" Tony asked skeptically. El Zol was a Spanish pop radio station and one of the last stations he would have expected Ziva to be listening to.
"I like some of the music, David Bisbal has a very good voice," Ziva was talking about a popular Spanish singer who Tony had vaguely heard of, but he hadn't heard any of the songs. "This is one of his now."
Tony listened to the song that was playing, which seemed to be called Ave Maria if the amount of times the phrase was sung was anything to go by.
"Ave María, cuando serás mía, si me quisieras, todo te daría. Ave María, cuando serás mía, al mismo cielo, yo te llevaría." Ziva sang along softly and Tony chuckled. She did have a very good voice, and although he teased her about singing – especially The Sound of Music – he did like listening to her singing. Her voice was… pleasing. He couldn't think of a perfect word to describe it, but pleasing worked well enough.
"I would have thought you'd be listening to classical music," Tony teased her and she glared at him as she took a sip of the Chilean Pinot Noir that she had opened for the occasion.
"So you know what music I like?" Ziva asked, raising her eyebrows expectantly. Tony smiled.
"You seem like a classical sort of girl," he grinned. "Although you do have a… affliction for musical theatre."
"You do not like musical theatre?" Ziva questioned. Tony could tell form her grin that she knew what music he liked: knowing her she'd probably read through his iPod and memorized the track names in the first read.
"Some musical theatre," he conceded and she rolled her eyes, eating her chicken and waiting for him to expand on his sentence. "Phantom of the Opera's good."
"Seriously?" she smiled at him and he leaned forward to her. Her eyes questioned his motives but he simply removed a drop of the sauce from her bottom lip.
"Seriously," he answered, with a small smile.
A/N: Reviews would be awesome! Thanks!