The lowball was cold in his hands. A few droplets of condensation rolled off the leaded crystal, trekking icy rivulets down his wrist. He watched with vague interest as another drop fell to darken the rich, mahogany bar.

"Alright sir?" the bartender asked, startling Tony from his reverie. "Anything else I can get you?"

"Time machine would be nice," he mumbled quietly.

"Sir?"

Tony just shook his head, his gaze focused on the amber liquid. "I'm fine."

"And how far back would you go?" He jumped at the soft voice that had suddenly materialized behind him. Again. "An hour before I crunched the wedding? Or a year? To before I left?" She took a few steps forward, resting a hand on the back of the barstool beside him. "A full decade would be cleanest," she said fairly, tilting her head in consideration. "Before we met…"

He gave a hard chuckle, tipping the glass towards her in acknowledgement without looking up. "Crashed. You crashed a wedding," he corrected.

She shrugged. "My English is a little dusty."

He let that one go. "And besides, it's not crashing a wedding when the groom knows you're coming."

"That is why I wanted to find you," she sighed, drumming her fingers on the chairback. "I just came in here to apologize. Your father said that he wanted to be the one to tell you. I truly didn't mean to surprise you, Tony. I am sorry."

He had figured as much, but it didn't stop the dull pang of anger he felt towards Senior. She was silent then; his turn to speak. And words were indeed creeping up his throat. Words that scared him. He wanted to scream and yell and beg and plead, and he wasn't sure which reaction would rent its way out first.

So he focused on choking them all down instead.

He was so engrossed with the monumental task that he missed the way she was watching him. Missed the look of sadness and longing in her eyes. "In any case, that's all I wanted to say," she said softly. "I'll leave you alone, now. Goodnight, Tony."

He counted the click of three high-heeled footsteps before a single word finally came tumbling out.

"Stay."

Regardless of his inner maelstrom, the one thing he knew for certain was that he wasn't ready yet for her to disappear again. He pulled the chair out beside him, a peace offering, and waited until she sank into it. The bartender came back, and Ziva pointed to Tony's drink and held up a finger. "You look good, by the way," he said conversationally, carefully. His eyes trailed up, taking in the heels, the black dress, the mess of curls. She tucked a strand behind her ear and fidgeted self-consciously under his gaze.

"So do you," she said, giving his tux a once over. "It all seems to be quite the opulent occasion for a, what, fourth wedding?"

"Fifth," Tony corrected. "Though in fairness, it was only Lynda's second, so that averages it out some."

Ziva nodded, accepting her drink and taking a small sip. "So how are you?" she asked, her voice too formal.

"Oh great," he answered, his voice too cheerful. He cleared his throat and tried to sound more like himself. "And you? How goes the new life and all?"

Her face fell in disappointment and he couldn't blame her. None of this was right. It felt forced and awkward and wrong. It was all so damn wrong.

He sighed. "Can I ask you a serious question?"

"I wish that you would."

He nodded, swirling the glass and listening to the gentle clink of ice against crystal. "Don't take this the wrong way. Because despite my awkwardness and apparent schizophrenia, I hoped I would see you again...someday. But why are you here now?"

She leaned her elbows on the bar and turned to study him for several long moments. "I know how much you struggle with your father. He told me over the phone how involved you have been with the wedding planning, and about his history with Lynda and your mother. And I just wanted…" She paused long enough for the fissures in his facade to well and truly crack. "Well I wanted to be here for you," she finished lamely.

It felt like a punch to the gut as he leaned back in the chair to stare at the coffered ceiling. She was there for him. The words should have given him comfort or pleasure or a sense of hope. Instead, all he heard was what she didn't say.

She wasn't there because she regretted leaving in the first place. She wasn't there because she missed him, or because she wanted to stay.

Ziva misread the silent reaction. "I didn't foresee that my coming would do more damage than good. I'm sorry, this was a mistake. I should have stayed the course...should have kept my promise to keep my distance. I know I've just reopened all these wounds from a year ago."

Each word was indeed like a knife into his already shredded chest, and so it surprised him when the hard chuckle boiled up this throat. "Ten months," he corrected, his voice harsher than he intended. She tensed in surprise but he continued, unable - unwilling - to control the simmering anger any longer. "Ten months and two weeks to be precise. For the first month, I couldn't sleep, literally couldn't get any rest for days on end to the point that it affected my work. Then the benders started. In fairness, Gibbs put a kibosh on those much faster than the last time. He sent me to the shrink. Again. Shrink sent me to a support group," he scoffed, glancing sideways; she was watching him as warily as she would a ticking bomb. "Me. Sitting around a damn support group talking about feelings and 'abandonment issues' and crap and somehow actually feeling better because of it. Ten months of pain and painstakingly slow progress to move on. And then you show up here tonight and undo me with just two words. I heard your voice back there and honestly Ziva, I honestly hoped you weren't real."

It was the first time all night - all year - he had allowed himself to say her name aloud. It always sounded so sweet in his mind, but in that moment, it tasted like vinegar on his tongue. He raised his glass and downed the whiskey in one shot, hoping it would chase away the bitterness.

Her response was quiet enough he almost didn't hear it. "I...I had no idea…"

His laugh returned, impulsive and bitter. "Don't give me that," he said. He was holding the now-empty glass so tightly that a corner of his mind wondered if it may just shatter in his grasp. She seemed to share his musings; slender fingers closed gently around his wrist and forced it back towards the safety of the bar top.

"Tony, I am so sorry..."

Combined with his admissions and her pitying response, the touch proved to be more than he could handle. The walls were closing in on him, the room suddenly stifling. The whiskey was well on its way to making a reappearance when he bolted from the seat, throwing a fistful of cash on the bar. "I gotta go," he muttered.

"Tony…" He didn't bother to look behind him as he fled, and didn't really pay attention to where he was going. He made it through the hotel lobby and out to the streets before she caught up with him. "Tony!" she all but yelled, grabbing for his shoulder. He shrugged her off, taking in gulps of the stale New York night air as if his life depended on it. "Stop running and talk to me! What is the matter with you!"

"You are!" he yelled suddenly, spinning towards her. She jerked to a stop to avoid running into him. "Clearly you are what is wrong with me!"

Her bewildered expression morphed then into something more complex: guilt, hurt, frustration. And anger of her own. "This is why I left - I am poison to those around me. Why are you still letting me ruin your life like this!"

"Let you?" he countered incredulously. "I didn't choose any of this, Ziva! God dammit, does this look like something any sane person would choose?"

She ran her fingers through her wild curls and stared at him exasperatedly. "You are impossible!"

They were inches apart, staring each other down, chests heaving. It felt as if all the air was being sucked into the chasm between them, the silence utterly deafening. How long they stood like that he did not know, but after a while the investigator in Tony began to take notice of their surroundings. A couple waiting at valet was shooting them glares of disapproval and a bellhop looked as if he were ready to jump to Ziva's aid in case their argument came to blows. That was what finally broke through the roaring in Tony's ears, the idea that Ziva would ever need someone to help her. He exhaled loudly and folded in on himself, all the fight draining from him in an instant. He fell sideways to lean on a half brick wall and scrubbed his hands over his face, muttering into his palms.

"The future."

She maintained her rigid posture for several long seconds before joining him on the wall, leaving a few careful inches between them. "The future?"

"The time machine," he clarified, glancing sideways at her confused expression. "You asked me how far back I'd go, but I don't want to go back in time. I want to go forward. I want to go far enough forward that I can see you and be happy. Hear your voice and not want to crawl into a bottle or put my fist through a wall. God only knows how far I'd have to go, but I wish I could just fast forward to that day I finally figure out how to stop l..."

The word caught in his throat, but she heard it anyway. She gripped the wall tightly, her knuckles white in the darkness, and stared down at her feet. "Your father was right," she sighed, resignation ringing in her voice.

Tony just stared at her incredulously. "Of all the things I don't want to hear you say right now…"

She shook her head. "No, it's just... He called me a bullheaded fool." Tony's eyes widened in surprise. "And he's right. I...I lied to you. I didn't come here for you. At least, not just for you," she amended quickly as she caught sight of his wounded expression. "I came here for me, because I needed to see you. Because... Because I miss you."

He realized that from the moment he first heard her voice that night, those were the words he most needed to hear. "Why couldn't you have just led with that," he sighed and she gave a bitter chuckle.

"Because I'm a coward," she said angrily. "I'm a jaded fool and a coward and a selfish…"

He reached a hand out blindly, catching her wrist in his grasp and effectively silencing her. Unlike her touch in the bar, it was the first time in ten months he felt the smoothness of her skin under his own fingertips and, like an addict, he knew instantly that he was hooked once more.

The contact was at least enough to snap her out of the self-loathing jaunt. "How did we get here?" she mused distractedly, gazing around the busy New York street.

"Well, you followed me."

Whether she didn't recognize the sarcasm in his voice or it simply lined up with her existing train of thought, he did not know. But she answered him seriously. "About time. All those times you came after me. Even when I had given you no reason to. Nothing but determination or blind stubborn faith. And each time, I pushed you away..."

"Ziva, please stop…" He swallowed down the emotion, too many painful memories surfacing with her words. She looked at him then, and the tears were falling freely down her cheeks. He couldn't help but wonder if they were a part of the 'new' Ziva, the one who had emerged over the past year that he didn't quite know yet. Or maybe such displays of emotion were still as much of an aberration as they'd always been on her face.

"I miss you," she whispered again, and he could see the physical struggle as she fought against her instincts to bury it. "I miss you, and it's getting worse instead of better. I thought that with time and distance, it would be easier."

"Well I think tonight's display has proven I'm not exactly coping well either," he said fairly, and she gave a shaky but genuine laugh that warmed him to hear again. She wiped at her eyes, her attention returning to their surroundings.

"You know what this reminds me of?" He followed her gaze down the street but shook his head, seeing no familiar triggers. "The first time we truly talked," she continued.

He nodded, catching on to her train of thought. "Outside the Embasero. I remember. You told me about Mossad. And about Tali."

"I never could have guessed what you would become to me. How vital you'd be to my life."

"Which begs the question," he said softly, seeking more answers. "Why did you really leave in the first place?"

She scuffed her heel on the ground, not meeting his eye. "I lost Tali. I lost Ari and my father. I lost my job and with it my strongest connection to our team. In my mind, it was just a matter of time before I lost you too…"

"Ziva -"

"I know," she interrupted. "I know it's not rational and you have never given me any reason to doubt you. I didn't doubt you; I doubted myself. Everything and everyone I have ever loved, I've lost, and it was always completely outside of my control. Or worse yet, my own fault. I thought it would be better for once to rip off the band aid and start over again on my terms before it was no longer my choice. Does that make any sense?"

Tony didn't answer right away. "I follow your rationale, even if I think your logic is flawed," he offered finally, and she conceded that with a silent nod. "So where does that leave us? Where do we go from here?"

She grimaced. "I don't know what to do. My plan was to come out here, see you for one evening, and return to Israel. But now? I have no idea. It's all so complicated."

He considered that. "Well the way I see it, you've got some questions to ask yourself. And really, the questions themselves aren't hard, Ziva. Being honest with yourself, that's the hard part."

She looked wary but nodded. "Questions like what?"

He pursed his lips, studying her carefully. "Okay well, let's start simple. Are you happier in Israel or in DC?"

Almost immediately, a small but genuine smile twitched on her lips. "It feels like I am home again," she said with a deep breath. "I am not really sure when Israel became foreign and America became home, but it is good to be back in the States."

Tony's answering smile showed a measure of relief. "Good. Now what about NCIS?"

The answer came much slower than the first. "I don't miss the death and violence that comes with the job. I haven't made much progress in the past year figuring out a new career path, but I don't think NCIS is my future anymore."

"Fair enough," Tony nodded and they both fell silent. She was staring at him, and he at her. They each knew the next question without him even verbalizing it.

"Do you truly think everyone - ," she paused on the word and he knew she mostly meant him, "- would be happy to have me back in their lives? After all I've put them through and leaving like I did?"

"I think the team has already proven that they all love you enough to forgive most anything," he said not unkindly and she nodded in understanding. "And even if you're not at NCIS, you'll always be in the gang, you know that. I can even see you and Ellie becoming friends."

"I'd like to meet her," Ziva said softly. She shifted on the wall then, facing Tony head-on and taking a deep breath. "I couldn't help but notice you said they all love me enough to forgive anything. You didn't say 'we'. Do...do you include yourself in that statement, Tony?"

He met her gaze and braced himself for the confession that he knew had the potential to give him everything he wanted or blow his life apart. "No," he said simply. Her expression fell, and he continued quickly, reaching for her hand. "Because if you do come back into our lives, Ziva, we can't just go back to the way it was. I can't be just one of the gang again. Not anymore."

He watched the stirrings of hope and fear on her face until she dropped her gaze to avoid his scrutiny. "So last question, Miss David. If you come back to DC, find another job, rejoin our crazy little dysfunctional familial group - will you stop pushing me away? Will you promise to stay and take a chance on...whatever this is we've been avoiding for the past nine years?"

She still didn't meet his eyes, her thumb worrying across the side of his hand. "We could crash and burn," she whispered.

He laughed softly. "Of course that's the cliche you nail perfectly. We could crash and burn, yes, that is a very real possibility. Or, maybe, this is the time we finally get it right. If you're willing to try?"

She looked up at him finally, and he registered tears brimming in her eyes a few seconds before she reached her hands up to caress his face. As she leaned in close, he felt more than heard the gentle yes she whispered against his lips.

Before that moment, the clearest memory he possessed in the world was the feel of her lips against his as they stood on the runway ten months and two weeks ago. Somehow she tasted sweeter than he remembered, and he knew it was the difference between the finality of a goodbye and the promise of a new beginning.

She was the first to pull back, her hands still on his face as she leaned her forehead against his. "I promise, no more leaving," she vowed. It meant more to him in that instant than if she had said I love you.

He pressed his lips softly to hers, once, and whispered his promise in return.

"I told you I would fight for you, Ziva. And I always will."

Apologies for the delay on the last chapter. Hopefully it was satisfying...I wrote and rewrote it several times trying to strike the balance and keep it believable/in character. It's hard to do when one character is suddenly AU. Though I have to admit, it is somewhat cathartic to write for them again. :) Please drop a line and let me know your thoughts! ~J