"This is disgusting."
Tony grabs a handful of the pumpkin’s innards and flicks his wrist toward Ziva, pretending to toss them at her. With a yelp, she ducks. He laughs and drops the goop onto the newspaper protecting his cozinha table. “Come on. You have to make a jack-o’-lantern on Halloween. It’s a tradition.”
"There are many Western traditions that I love," she says, wincing as she reluctantly sticks her hand back into the pumpkin. "But this does not make the list."
"Is this the first time you’ve done it?"
"Yes."
"Then you just need to get used to it. seguinte year, you’ll be totally into this."
Ziva snorts, but doesn’t deny his hypothesis, and Tony grins.
Hopefully, after tonight, she will associate jack-o’-lanterns with good memories.
They spend the seguinte few minutos working in tandem to empty the pumpkin. The insides are mostly smooth and devoid of seeds when she steps back and declares, “I am finished. We can put a candle in there now, yes?”
He appraises their work. “Yeah. Looks good.”
"Good." She walks around to his side of the mesa, tabela and, careful not to touch him with her messy hands, leans up and gives him a peck on the lips. "I need a shower. Otherwise my skin will be stained laranja and I will smell for days."
“‘Kay. I’ll be here.” Tony steals another kiss from her before she smiles and saunters off. He moves to the sink to wash his hands, then leans against the counter, waiting for the water in the bathroom to turn on.
As soon as it does, he grabs a faca and rushes back to the table. He holds the abóbora steady with his left hand; with his right, he carves into it. He lacks the precision Ziva has when using knives, and he does deem it necessary to mutter a couple swear words along the way, but the end product doesn’t look bad.
The candle fits perfectly in the bottom. He lights the wick and replaces the stem on topo, início of the pumpkin. Flicking off the lights, he assesses his handiwork.
Nope. Not bad at all.
Down the hall, the water turns off. Tony positions the abóbora so that his carving is facing the cozinha doorway. He goes to stand just inside the door, coração in his throat, with nothing to do but wait.
She comes padding down the hall a couple minutos later. “Tony?” she calls, sounding bemused. “Why is it so dark?”
He doesn’t answer. As she approaches, he can make out her wet curls and the little beads of water lingering on her cheeks and the suéter, camisola she is wearing- his sweatshirt- and he cannot resist reaching a hand out to her.
Ziva takes it as soon as she is close enough, but her eyebrows remain furrowed. “Tony, what is-“
Her words trail off into a gasp when she sees the abóbora and its glowing letters.
Marry me?
"Tony," she says again, but now she is breathless. He uses his free hand to turn her face toward him.
Her gaze is smoldering and, he thinks, a little bit watery. With his thumb, he traces her cheekbone. Their foreheads fall together. Ziva snakes her arm around his waist, which he takes as a good sign.
But she still hasn’t answered his question.
"Ziva," he murmurs, speaking right against her mouth, "please say yes."
She exhales heavily. The pause that follows is much too long for his comfort.
"Yes," she says finally.
Yes.
She said yes.
It is the most beautiful syllable he’s ever heard in his life, but he barely has time to process what has happened before she is beijar him deeply, pulling him closer, absolutely devouring him. When they need an oxygen break, Tony pulls the ring out of his pocket and holds it up.
"This is for you," he says breathlessly.
Ziva lets out an uncharacteristic giggle as she extends her hand. He slides the ring onto her ring finger.
"Perfect fit," she murmurs.
With a grin, he draws her close again and plants kisses all over her face, then her neck. Ziva places her mouth seguinte to his ear. “I amor you.”
He returns his lips to hers. “You, too,” he whispers. Another round of beijar commences, and everything in the world melts away- everything besides Ziva and the glow of their jack-o’-lantern.
Tony grabs a handful of the pumpkin’s innards and flicks his wrist toward Ziva, pretending to toss them at her. With a yelp, she ducks. He laughs and drops the goop onto the newspaper protecting his cozinha table. “Come on. You have to make a jack-o’-lantern on Halloween. It’s a tradition.”
"There are many Western traditions that I love," she says, wincing as she reluctantly sticks her hand back into the pumpkin. "But this does not make the list."
"Is this the first time you’ve done it?"
"Yes."
"Then you just need to get used to it. seguinte year, you’ll be totally into this."
Ziva snorts, but doesn’t deny his hypothesis, and Tony grins.
Hopefully, after tonight, she will associate jack-o’-lanterns with good memories.
They spend the seguinte few minutos working in tandem to empty the pumpkin. The insides are mostly smooth and devoid of seeds when she steps back and declares, “I am finished. We can put a candle in there now, yes?”
He appraises their work. “Yeah. Looks good.”
"Good." She walks around to his side of the mesa, tabela and, careful not to touch him with her messy hands, leans up and gives him a peck on the lips. "I need a shower. Otherwise my skin will be stained laranja and I will smell for days."
“‘Kay. I’ll be here.” Tony steals another kiss from her before she smiles and saunters off. He moves to the sink to wash his hands, then leans against the counter, waiting for the water in the bathroom to turn on.
As soon as it does, he grabs a faca and rushes back to the table. He holds the abóbora steady with his left hand; with his right, he carves into it. He lacks the precision Ziva has when using knives, and he does deem it necessary to mutter a couple swear words along the way, but the end product doesn’t look bad.
The candle fits perfectly in the bottom. He lights the wick and replaces the stem on topo, início of the pumpkin. Flicking off the lights, he assesses his handiwork.
Nope. Not bad at all.
Down the hall, the water turns off. Tony positions the abóbora so that his carving is facing the cozinha doorway. He goes to stand just inside the door, coração in his throat, with nothing to do but wait.
She comes padding down the hall a couple minutos later. “Tony?” she calls, sounding bemused. “Why is it so dark?”
He doesn’t answer. As she approaches, he can make out her wet curls and the little beads of water lingering on her cheeks and the suéter, camisola she is wearing- his sweatshirt- and he cannot resist reaching a hand out to her.
Ziva takes it as soon as she is close enough, but her eyebrows remain furrowed. “Tony, what is-“
Her words trail off into a gasp when she sees the abóbora and its glowing letters.
Marry me?
"Tony," she says again, but now she is breathless. He uses his free hand to turn her face toward him.
Her gaze is smoldering and, he thinks, a little bit watery. With his thumb, he traces her cheekbone. Their foreheads fall together. Ziva snakes her arm around his waist, which he takes as a good sign.
But she still hasn’t answered his question.
"Ziva," he murmurs, speaking right against her mouth, "please say yes."
She exhales heavily. The pause that follows is much too long for his comfort.
"Yes," she says finally.
Yes.
She said yes.
It is the most beautiful syllable he’s ever heard in his life, but he barely has time to process what has happened before she is beijar him deeply, pulling him closer, absolutely devouring him. When they need an oxygen break, Tony pulls the ring out of his pocket and holds it up.
"This is for you," he says breathlessly.
Ziva lets out an uncharacteristic giggle as she extends her hand. He slides the ring onto her ring finger.
"Perfect fit," she murmurs.
With a grin, he draws her close again and plants kisses all over her face, then her neck. Ziva places her mouth seguinte to his ear. “I amor you.”
He returns his lips to hers. “You, too,” he whispers. Another round of beijar commences, and everything in the world melts away- everything besides Ziva and the glow of their jack-o’-lantern.