Well, this is it. I am so sad to let this story go, but it's time. We'll catch up with them in the future and it will be joyful.

Thank you all so much for three beautiful writing-years. Many special thanks to girleffect, Amilyn, and Chemmie for hanging with me for so, so long, and to born30 for being my second eyes on this particular piece.

I can't express enough appreciation for all of you. Thank you and thank you and thank you.

. . . .

The smile on your face,

I live only to see.

It's enough for me, baby.

It's enough for me.

Oh, heavenly day.

"Oh Heavenly Day," Patty Griffin.

. . . .

The sun was low but the day was still warm. Yellowed leaves clung to the tree branches. Deep, autumn-blue sky could be seen between them. The living room was cool and dim, and quiet, though. Tony patted his hair, adjusted his cufflinks. Outside, Ducky asked the guests to find seats. Ayelet's heels clicked overhead; he and Ziva had been separated that morning. She'd been whisked upstairs while he and Gibbs ate cold pasta from the plastic container in the kitchen.

Tony lifted his chin to let Gibbs adjust his tie one more time. "Not even down the aisle yet, DiNozzo."

He forced a smile. "It's not a call-out, Boss."

He grunted and brushed invisible lint from Tony's shoulders.

The hired string quartet took up Pachelbel's Canon in D. Tony stiffened, an odd, hollow ache beginning in his middle. Was that panic?

Gibbs gave him a nudge. "That's you."

He nodded. "Sure is."

Boss' blue eyes were wide. He gave a nod to the back door. The window was covered with butcher paper for privacy. "Get, DiNozzo."

Tony nodded again and walked on stiff legs to the door, opened it, stepped out onto the deck. Senior was there, dressed in a tux, grinning. "Ready, Sport?"

He had no answer. Ready? Yes. No. Yes.

Gibbs took Tony's arm. Senior did the same. Sara appeared at the bottom of the steps and gave them a tight wave. Her dress was deep red-orange with tiers of lighter shades in the skirt. The neckline was high, the bodice ruffled to hide her brace, thought she'd be out of it soon enough. PAM infusions had given her an inch in height and five very necessary pounds. She held a fall bouquet in her lap. Gibbs gave her a nod. "Go ahead, sweet pea."

The quartet took up a tune Tony didn't recognize, but Sara hummed along as she lead them slowly down the aisle, veering off to where Abby sat in the front row. Abby air-kissed both of Sara's cheeks and helped her park in the free space. A new toy appeared from beneath Tim's chair.

They made their way under the chuppah. The young rabbi smiled and held his hand out, indicating where Tony should stand. Senior and Gibbs stepped aside. Tony turned, following the guests' gaze up the aisle to where Ziva was poised with Romi and Ayelet. Ayelet had Maya on her hip. The baby's dress matched Sara's.

The afternoon warped and wavered. Tony swallowed, sweating through his suit, heart thundering. The guests could hear it, the rabbi, Gibbs, Senior. They were going to stage a coup. Impostor! Remember Fat Elvis? Remember the flings? The one-night stands? The water-cooler gossip?

Ziva was beautiful in raw silk the color of blush wine. She smiled and winked. Maya swung her feet and put one pudgy fist in her mouth.

They met him beneath the canopy, each of them kissing Ziva's cheek before stepping aside. Maya babbled mum mum mum. Sara shushed her. The guests tittered.

"Welcome, ladies and gentlemen," the rabbi boomed. What was his name? Fish-something? Fishbein? Fishburg? Fishenstein? He had a deep voice for such a skinny guy. "Welcome to the blessed union of Anthony and Ziva. May they build a home of peace and unity, of laughter and joy. May they grow in love and light, health and happiness. May they always be surrounded by family and friends as they are now."

Romi muttered amein selah under his breath.

The rabbi pulled a plain gold band from his pocket. "Tony, do you hereby promise that this ring is your possession and yours alone?"

His throat closed. He cleared it. "Yes."

"Ziva, extend your right index finger, please."

She stuck out her finger, gave him a half-smile.

"Do you, Anthony, take Ziva to be your wife? To love and honor her, to cherish her, to protect her, whether in good fortune or adversity, according to the laws of our land and the tenets of Moses?"

"I do," he proclaimed, and slid the ring on Ziva's slender finger.

Ziva closed her hand, signaling her acceptance. Tony exhaled shakily. Halfway.

Another ring. "Ziva," the rabbi asked. "Do you hereby promise this ring is in your possession and yours alone?"

She gave that small smile again. Was there a naughty glimpse in her dark eyes? "Yes."

Tony held out his hand, afraid to blink, afraid to miss one single thing.

"Do you, Ziva, take Anthony to be your husband? To love and honor him, to cherish him, to protect him, where in good fortune or adversity, according to the laws of our land and the tenets of Moses?"

"I do," she said crisply.

Tony closed his hand.

The rabbi smiled. "Romi, please come forward for kiddush, please."

Romi appeared, cup in hand. He made the blessing in Hebrew, took a draught, passed it to Tony. Tony drank, held it out to Ziva. She sipped, staring at him, eyes alight.

The cup was passed to the rabbi, who drained it and set it aside. "And now it is time for the reading of the ketubah. Sara?"

She came to the front and turned to face the guests. The whole crowd shifted, leaned forward, peered over shoulders and between heads. Romi held out the scroll for her and she read in perfectly-accented Hebrew, one finger extended to trace the line as she'd been taught in school. She'd practiced with Ayelet for hours via Skype.

Tony had the translation committed to memory. On this day, in this month, in this year, I consecrate you to me. I shall treasure you, nourish you, respect you all through the generations. We vow to establish a hope open to all life's potentials. All of this we take upon ourselves as valid and binding.

They'd signed it, sealed it. Sara finished with a proud amein! and the crowd called back, "Amein!"

A small satin bag went from Ayelet to Romi to Sara to Tony.

"As a final measure," the rabbi announced. "We will have Tony break the glass. It is important to remember that this is the last time he will ever put his foot down."

The guests laughed. Tony set it down, took a breath, and stomped. The glass shattered. The crowd erupted with shouts of mazal tov! and Ziva took his hand.

"Kiss me," she demanded.

He did, and let his brow rest on hers. Her skin was warm and silky; a quiet place among the clapping, singing guests.

The rabbi gave them a gentle nudge. They turned and walked back up the aisle to Siman tov u'mazal tov. "Ye'heh lanu!" they crescendo'd.

Tony closed the back door and swept Ziva into his arms, not caring if his suit got crushed or her hair messy. "We did it," he sighed.

Her breath was soft on his neck. "Yes."

They stood like that for a long time, listening to the caterers set up tables, listening to the guest schmooze and munch on canapés. His pulse rose and fell. Ziva's arms were an anchor around his middle.

A soft knock; the rabbi. "Yichud is up. Your public awaits."

They stepped out. The crowd was already seated at round tables, eight to a top, challah knots and condiments at the ready. Tony's stomach growled; dinner time.

They waved like homecoming court and worked the room, accepting congrats and mazal tovs from friends, from family, from Senior, who grinned and pumped Tony's arm and slapped his shoulder.

"I'm proud of you, Junior."

He pulled his hand away, oddly embarrassed. "Thanks, Dad."

"I can't take credit for how great you turned out."

No, you sure as hell can't. "I'm sure you did your best."

Senior nodded. "Yeah," he said vaguely. "Listen, I'm really honored to be a part of this day."

Tony opened his mouth, ashamed of his pity-invite, but Romi lead him and Ziva to a table for two and poured them each a glass of wine. "Relax," he said gently. "The hard part is over."

Ayelet brought them each a savory pastry. Tony tore into it, not caring who saw the crumbs fly, and sighed when it was gone. A waiter brought another plate—Dover sole, salad, a piece of orange. He ate that, too, and sat back so that plate could be bussed and another brought. This time steak, tiny potatoes, grilled vegetables. Then a sweet melon sorbet and a piece of dark chocolate. Cake would come later.

Waiters circled. Tony sighed and sat back. Maya was deposited in his lap. She grinned a gummy grin and kicked her tiny, soft-soled Mary Janes. Her hair had come in full and soft, her face taking on more definition than just fat-newborn.

"Those David genes are strong," he murmured.

Ziva shrugged, still spooning sorbet into her mouth. "She has your eyes, Tony."

But not his hairline or his mouth or his nose. Not his cheekbones or hands. He brought her fist to his mouth and kissed it, wanting to taste it, wanting to put the whole thing in his mouth. "That's all she needs."

. . . .

Dusk. No crickets, but soft jazz on the speakers and strings of little lights around the dance floor. A few dancers swayed together—Romi and Ayelet, Bill from Baltimore and his wife Janie, Gibbs and Ziva. People trickling up the drive to their cars—it was a school night, after all.

Tony surveyed the scene, the waitstaff clearing cake plates, Tim and Abby talking softly at a table, the wine glasses ringed with lipstick, Sara using a pilfered spoon to boost petit-fours from the dessert table. She tucked two into a napkin and slid them into the bag snapped to her chair frame.

"Hey," he sang softly. "What'cha doin', Bug?"

Busted. She rolled back, eyes wide. "Nothing."

"You don't have to hide," he told her. "It's a party."

She frowned. "My dad said I had too many already."

"How many?"

"Maybe twenty."

He couldn't even do that. "And you don't have a stomach ache?"

"No."

He helped himself to chocolate ganache topped with a pink rose. He handed her a small piece of...something with raspberry jam on top. "Cheers," he intoned. They touched the wrappers together and ate.

"I got you a gift," Sara announced, mouth full. She paused to swallow. "Hold on."

She went to the gift table, picked up a package, and brought it to him. "Here."

"Thanks, Bug. Bet I should wait for Ziva, huh?"

"No," she fairly ordered. "Open it now."

Under the tissue paper was a handmade book. My Family was stamped on the cover. Tony opened it. My name is Sara. I am six. I go to Berman Hebrew Academy. I live with my Dad in Bethesda, Maryland. I am special because I was adopted and because I have a cat named Yitzi.

He turned the page. My dad's name is Gibbs. He is kind. He does not like people who are mean. He likes to build boats and eat steak. There was a photo of Gibbs and Sara in her classroom, cuddled together on a beanbag chair. Owl Moon was open on his lap.

Ziva is my special friend. She is pretty. She has a baby named Maya. The live near me and we like to talk and play games. Ziva likes to read and feed the baby. A photo—Sara and Ziva at Gibbs' dining table, a bowl of ice cream between them.

Tim likes to build computers and talk about smart stuff. He is a special person because he likes me.

Abby teaches me science.

Ducky comes over sometimes when I get a break. He is a good doctor.

My best friend's name is Tony. He is nice and he is funny. He likes to be silly. Tony makes me laugh a lot. He is good. He likes to eat pizza and burritos and minute steaks. I love Tony very much.

He hadn't shed a single tear during the ceremony, but now his eyes welled. A lump grew in his throat. He dropped his head, cleared his throat. Dammit. "Thanks, Bug."

"I'm glad Zeeba married you."

"Me, too."

"I'm glad you're my friend."

He chuckled. "Me, too."

She hugged his arm. "My dad loves you, too. He doesn't say love-stuff too much, but he does."

He hadn't had to use words to ask Gibbs to walk him down the aisle. "I know, Bug."

Sara cocked her head. Her curls had come loose from their bow and were wild around her face. Her eyes glowed a little in the low, golden light. "I am not going to get lost again," she told him seriously. "But just in case, I memorized how to get to your house. So if I can't go home, I'll go to you. Ok?"

Romi and Ayelet shared some secret joke. Maya slept in Abby's arms. Gibbs smiled down at Ziva and whispered something in her ear. And Sara tugged his arm, her face beautiful and expectant. There was laughter, and glasses clinking, and Ziva smiling at him, smiling and beckoning, the curve of her hip highlighted by the soft overhead lamps.

His home. His family. His village.

"Tony," Sara pestered. "That's ok, right?"

He sighed. "Bug, that is totally, totally ok."