"It's quiet in here," he said cheerily to Ziva as he began to brew a pot of coffee. "My iPod's in the dock; would you turn it on?"

Ziva harrumphed. "It's not going to work, you know," she called to him.

"What, the iPod? No, it's been charging all day, it should be fine," Tony replied.

"I didn't mean the iPod, Tony," she said, coming into the kitchen.

"Then what are you talking about, Ziva?" Tony asked innocently.

"This," she gestured vaguely. "Whatever it is you're trying to do with this. It's not going to work."

"I have no idea what you're talking about," Tony said with a smile. She smiled back mockingly before walking back to the iPod docking station and hitting play. Immediately, Coltrane began to blare from the speakers. Startled, Ziva turned it down quickly.

"Jazz?" she hissed.

"Do you have a problem with jazz?" Tony asked.

"No," Ziva said with some difficulty. "I just prefer something with a little faster tempo. Besides," she added with a pointed look in his direction, "Your neighbors might think we're having sex."

"Ha!" Tony scoffed. He poured coffee into two cups, adding whiskey and Irish cream to both. He stirred them both quickly and then brought them out, handing one to Ziva.

"Thank you," she said. Tony took a sip, wincing slightly as the coffee burned his mouth and the alcohol burned his throat. Ziva, however, sniffed her drink suspiciously.

"What is in this?" she asked. "Did you put alcohol in here?"

"It's called Irish coffee, Ziva," Tony said. Ziva rolled her eyes.

"I am going home," she said, setting the cup down.

"Your car won't start, remember?" Tony said, setting down his coffee, too. "And even if you did, the roads are really bad out there. I wouldn't let you drive."

"Well then, I will get a cab," Ziva said. Tony crossed the room, blocking her path to the door.

"There aren't any cabs," he said.

"Then I will walk," she snapped, deftly avoiding his attempt to grab her before she reached the door. She pulled out her orange hat and jammed it on her head.

"That's not going to happen, Ziva."

"Are you going to stop me?" she challenged him, moving so that they were millimeters apart. He grinned devilishly.

"I can try," he admitted, "but if you want to go out, get lost, and freeze to death, that's fine with me. It's a blizzard out there, Ziva."

"I have seen worse," she said, not mentioning that she had ended up being snowed in for three days. He smiled and slipped his arms around her.

"Ziva, you don't want to go out there. It's—" her closeness and worry got to him, and he faltered. "It's really bad out there. Please stay."

Ziva looked in his eyes. She saw his worry—real worry for her—and couldn't see any hidden motives.

"I wish I knew how to stop this," she breathed. He blinked.

"Stop what?" he asked hesitantly.

"The storm," she said after a long, pregnant pause. He smiled, noticing how her eyes sparkled in the still-low light.

"Of course," he said. "The storm. It's not something we can control, unfortunately." His eyes flicked up to the orange hat that capped her head.

"Why's your hat on? Take it off, Ziva. I liked the way your hair looked before." He used two fingers to pluck the hat from her head.

Ziva sighed, shrugging out of her coat. "Give me that," she said, snatching it out of his hands and stuffing it in her sleeve.

"You'll stay?" he asked hopefully.

"I should be saying no," Ziva said lightly, stepping out of his reach.

"You don't really have a choice," Tony said.

"You are right," she said, giving him a resigned sort of look. "I really don't. When we get out of here, I am going to say that I tried to leave."

"Ouch," he said, feigning pain. He clutched his chest. "That was harsh. Oh, look," he said, looking down and pointing at a spot on his chest.

"Yep," he said, nodding as he continued to examine his chest. "You left a mark with that one. See?"

She looked down at his chest, eyeing it critically. After a moment, she glanced back up at him, smiling wryly.

"I do not see anything," she said. She made the mistake of catching his eye. She saw something in his eyes; a product of their chemistry, no doubt, but she also had no doubt that it was real.

"I really should not stay," she said.

"Don't hold out on me, Ziva," he said. "It's snowing like hell out there."

"I do not like the cold weather," she admitted. He smiled—he knew he had her.

"Well, it's cold outside," he said, trying to keep the triumph out of his voice. "I'm making steak for dinner. Would you like to help?"

"This is good," Ziva admitted as she chewed the piece of steak.

"I soaked it in wine," Tony said with a smile.

"Marinated," Ziva corrected him.

"Marinated," Tony repeated. "Right. I marinated it in wine. I used the cheap grocery store stuff; for some reason, it tastes better."

She smiled. "Well, whatever you did, it tastes very good." She poked her fork into the mashed potatoes, tasting them hesitantly.

"Wow, Tony," she said appreciatively. "That is good."

"You're not the only one who can cook," Tony said. "Don't sound so surprised."

She smiled, taking a sip of wine that was certainly not cheap.

They finished dinner, talking casually. After dinner, dishes were a joint effort. They worked in comfortable silence, making short work of the pile.

"Well," Tony said as he dried the last dish and put it away. "Want to watch another movie? I have Ransom, if you like Gary Sinise so much; we could watch that."

Ziva, however, looked at her watch. "I have to go, Tony," she said apologetically. Tony's face fell.

"Ziva, come on," he said. "We went over this; it's cold and it's blizzarding outside."

"No, Tony," she said softly. "I cannot stay here."

"Where are you going to go?" Tony asked. "You can't go anywhere."

"I will figure something out," she said, reaching for her coat. Tony grabbed her free hand.

"Ziva," he said softly, "I'm really lucky that you dropped by. I mean it."

Ziva looked at him with sadness in her eyes that Tony didn't want to understand. "Tony," she said softly, putting her other hand over his, "This evening was great, and I loved spending time with you, especially this time of year, when I have no—no family to go to, but I cannot stay."

Tony felt his luck slowly fading as he looked at her, trying to find the words that would describe what he was feeling.

"Ziva." He said her name again, unable to keep the plea out of his voice. She looked at him, sorrow and regret and desire doing battle in her eyes. She looked away, unable to keep his gaze.

"What, Tony," she said as flatly as she could. It wasn't a question; more of a statement that she'd repeated over and over, a Hail Mary she'd throw out when she was unable to keep up the façade. DiNozzo's plea for her to stay, his confession of loneliness and his feelings for her died in his throat.

"Look outside," he said with an air of grasping at straws. "Look out at the storm. You won't make it out there."

"Tony, do not," she said. "I will be fine. And besides, we cannot stay together tonight. What will they say at work tomorrow?"

"They won't say anything," Tony said.

"Abby will say something," Ziva said firmly. "She will notice us coming in."

"Abby comes in at 6 a.m.," he replied, slowly coming closer to her. He tried to give her his usual flirty grin, but the effect was ruined somewhat by his silent desperation.

"McGee will notice when you and I walk into the bullpen," she said, feeling her resolve weakening. "Together. You are never on time."

But Tony wasn't listening. Carefully, he encircled her in his arms, bringing her close.

"You know, your lips look just beautiful tonight, Ziva," he said softly. "What would you do if I kissed you right now?"

"If I stay here, Tony, Gibbs will know," Ziva said weakly, ignoring his question. His closeness, and his gentleness, combined with the wine, was clouding her mind. Would it be so bad to stay? She was no longer sure. Tony leaned forward, and she closed her eyes without thinking.

His lips settled over hers for a soft, sweet kiss. Ziva was partly too shocked to do anything, and partly unable to do anything.

"Tony," she whispered brokenly when his lips left hers. She didn't even open her eyes.

"Please stay," Tony whispered in her ear, sending shivers of awareness down her spine.

"Maybe just another glass of wine," she relented softly. She knew she wasn't going anywhere tonight now. Not that she was going to go down without a fight, and not that Tony was going to know that he had her.

"Thank you," Tony said softly. Reluctantly, he released her.

"I've never seen such a blizzard like that before," Tony said hesitantly in the silence that followed. Ziva nodded mutely, wondering how she could have let herself be roped into this.

"I have," she said woodenly. "It was when I was with Mossad. It was the last mission I went on with Ari before he—" the word stuck in her throat, and she shook her head, angrily refusing the sting in her eyes and at the back of her throat.

"Hey, Ziva, it's okay," Tony said softly from behind her. He set something down on the coffee table with a soft clink—probably a wine glass—and came to stand with her by the window. Tentatively, he wrapped his arms around her and let her settle against his chest.

"You don't have to be strong with me," he murmured in her ear. Ziva sighed quietly, closing her eyes against the sting of tears.

"I want to go home," she admitted quietly, her voice a husky whisper.

"Oh, Ziva, you'll freeze out there," Tony said.

"No," Ziva said. "I want to go home, back to Israel."

Tony was quiet for a long moment. "Oh," he said finally, trying and failing to keep the surprise and sadness out of his voice.

"Do not say it like that," Ziva said regretfully. "The feeling, it comes every year around this time. I miss my family. I cannot help it…it will go away."

Tony's voice was deep and husky with emotion as he spoke his next, carefully chosen words. "Ziva… We're as much your family as Eli, Ari, Tali, and your mother were. We may show it differently, with head slaps and jokes instead of family dinner or Shooting-Range Tuesdays, but we're your family now. It's okay to miss them, though, Ziva, it really is. I miss my family, too, sometimes, as screwed up as my father is. It's one of the reasons I invited you over."

Ziva sniffed. "And I thought it was to try to Americanize me," she said, making a weak joke. Tony smiled slightly into her hair.

"I want you to be a part of my family," Tony whispered, almost too quietly for her to hear. She turned in his arms, a question in her eyes.

"Tony…?" she asked uncertainly.

"No, Ziva," he said softly. "Not like that." Yet, he added silently.

"I'm tired of being alone," he admitted. "Please stay with me."

"I should go home," she said, looking back out at the snow.

"Babe, you'll freeze out there." His sudden use of an intimate nickname mentally froze him, and it was because of that that he was unprepared for the elbow to his stomach. She stepped away as he doubled over, wheezing suddenly.

"So let me borrow your coat," she said smartly, crossing her arms over her chest, her need to be held suddenly assuaged.

"It's up—up to your knees out there," he gasped, trying to catch his breath. "Please don't go."

"No, Tony, it is fine, really," she said. "This night was very nice, but I cannot stay here now."

"I'm sorry," Tony said, straightening up. He moved in front of her, looking her in the eyes, trying to be conciliatory.

"Maybe it's just the heat of the moment, or maybe it's because I'm slightly inebriated, but your eyes look beautiful, Ziva; just like starlight." He put his hand tentatively on her cheek, and she let it stay there.

"We cannot do this. Don't you see?" Ziva asked quietly, putting her hand on his.

"Ziva, don't do this to me," he begged, putting his other hand on her other cheek. He didn't care that he wasn't making jokes, didn't care that he wasn't being himself; he didn't even care that he was laying his heart out for her to shoot and stab and walk over as she pleased. He was willing to lay all of himself out for her—and not because he was in the middle of what could have been the wildest ploy to get a woman in bed he'd ever pulled. It wasn't like that. He didn't want to simply have sex with her—simply having sex with Ziva would be like getting a mint condition original Bond movie script and using it as a fire starter. No, sex with Ziva was not in his plans for tonight. He could afford to be desperate for simple company tonight.

"Abby and McGee are going to talk like chickens," Ziva muttered.

"I'm not sure I know what that means," Tony admitted, "But if by that you mean talking, we went over this; they won't know."

"Oh, they will know," Ziva said scathingly. "And if they do not, Abby will imply plenty. It is better if I walked home. I do not live that far."

Tony looked at her, a mixture of sympathy and worry on his face.

"I wouldn't be able to live with myself if you got sick and died," he said. "Now, I'm tired of playing games. Are you staying, or are you going to try and walk home and get lost?"

Now was the moment—the last possible moment Ziva would have to try and deny him. Not that she would actually succeed—Ziva knew he was right on all fronts. Unless she wanted to try and sleep in the lobby, she was staying.

"I should not stay—" Ziva began broodingly.

"Ah-ah-ah-ah," Tony said. "Get over that, you've used that one too many times tonight for me to believe you. Stay or go, Ziva?"

"—but it is cold outside," Ziva finished, standing on tiptoe to kiss him on the nose. "I guess I will stay."

As she looked at Tony's bewildered but quickly joyous expression, Ziva decided that whatever consequences came of that night was worth it.

"Come on," Tony said after a few seconds' recovery. "Let's go build up the fire. It's cold in here."

"Not as cold as it is outside," she said with a smile.