So this is my first attempt at a Tiva fic. It takes place before Jet Lag, in Paris. I really hope you all like it... and leave me lots of lovely reviews.

Disclaimer: If I owned them, you wouldn't be reading this, you'd be watching it.

Tony sighed as he watched Ziva say something in French to the young man at the check-in desk. He was tired, all he wanted to do was go up to his room, shower all the airplane grime off, and crash. He hated jet lag.

He closed his eyes and leaned his head back against the fancy carved pillar in the lobby, losing himself in the sounds of Paris that were seeping in through the open doors of the hotel. He supposed this was what people fell in love with here, the sounds of the city somehow weren't as harsh as they were in D.C. People laughed more, and the language flowed beautifully, one word into the next, not choppy like English. He liked French. He wished he could understand what everyone was saying.

"Quoi?!" Maybe he didn't want to understand that. The furious voice of Tony's partner broke the peace. His eyes flew open as more loud French came tumbling out of Ziva's mouth. Tony snorted. Judging by the terrified look one the poor man's face, and the harsh tone of her voice, Ziva wasn't exactly happy. Hurrying to intervene, Tony reached out and laid a hand on Ziva's shoulder. She immediately quieted, though not with out giving the man and Tony a withering look.

Tony looked at the man (whose name tag read Jacques) apologetically. "Do you speak English?" Tony asked hopefully. Unfortunately, Jacques just looked at him, his face blank, clearly not fluent in Tony's language. Tony sighed and looked at Ziva. "What happened?"

Still glaring at poor Jacques, Ziva said, "This man has just informed me that they have screwed up our reservations and they only have one room available." Tony winced. That could cause problems. "Well ask him what the room's like."

Ziva said something rapidly in French to the wary man. He looked at his computer and started listing things. Ziva's face relaxed. "It is a fairly nice room, a jacuzzi, balcony with an excellent view, mini-bar..." she trailed off thinking of the last time she'd stayed in a room like that. They'd shared that one, too... she blushed. Tony cleared his throat, trying to get the same thoughts out of his head.

Ziva shook her head to clear it, and nodded to Jacques, who looked extremely relieved. He handed over the key and motioned to the bellhop. Ziva hurriedly shook her hand, waving him away. She never did trust hotel employees after the day one tried to kill them. She and Tony grabbed their few bags and wearily traipsed into the elevator. Their room was on the top floor.

Stepping out of the elevator, they were surprised to find that the floor had only six rooms, three on each side of the hall. They found theirs easily and Tony unlocked it. He strode in and immediately felt some of the day's stress fade away. The room was huge, and overlooked a beautiful plaza and the Eiffel Tower. Beside him, Ziva hummed her approval.

Though the room was amazing, something felt strangely off to Tony... He realized what it was the same instant Ziva did. He felt her freeze at the same time. He groaned. "It figures that we get one of the biggest rooms in the entire freaking hotel, and it has only one bed." Snorting, Ziva stated, "I call the right."

Tony conceded, not feeling up to a debate with her. He threw his bags on the bed next to hers and stated digging. He thanked God that he'd thought to pack some... respectable pajamas. "I get the shower first," he said. There was no answer. Looking up, he found Ziva on the balcony staring out at the city. Tony shrugged and figured she wouldn't mind.

Stepping into the shower with a massage jets, he hummed in appreciation. The water pounded soothingly onto his aching back.

Meanwhile, Ziva stood looking out at the city that held so many memories for her. After a long time, she returned to the room. The lights were still off, and looking around, she couldn't find Tony. Frowning, she moved toward the door, thinking he'd gone out into the hall for something. As she got closer, she heard something that sounded like muffled music.

Suddenly she burst out laughing. She recognized the song and the voice. It was one of Tony's favorite Sinatra songs. He was attempting to sing it loudly over the shower. Smiling, she went over to her bag and extracted her sweatpants and tank top.

She collapsed onto the bed, and turned on the TV to pass the time waiting for Tony to finish. She laughed as she found a rerun of one of the soap operas she'd watched during her time in Paris for Mossad.

Half an hour later, Tony fell onto the bed next to her, his hair still dripping wet. "Whatcha watchin'?" he asked. He couldn't understand a word of it, as it was in French.

Grinning, Ziva childishly replied, "Television." Tony rolled his eyes as she got up and retraced his steps into the bathroom, carrying her clothes with her. He watched her and then stared at the door that hid her from him for a while. He then turned back to the TV.

A while later, Ziva returned to the room to find Tony fascinated by the show he couldn't understand. For a moment, she simply stood there, amused as Tony focused on the screen. After a minute he turned to her, as if he were going to say something. His mouth opened, but nothing came out.

Ziva raised an eyebrow as he lay there, staring at her. She wore only her rolled up sweatpants and a thin tank top, and her curly, dripping hair was a mess, but he thought she was the most beautiful thing he'd ever seen. Of course, he didn't say this... "Tony?" her voice brought him out of his thoughts. He blinked.

"Were you going to say something?" she asked. Tony thought for a moment. He had been, but then he'd looked at her and his mind had gone blank.

"Um... I was going to say... that even though I can't understand a word of this gibberish, it's quite entertaining," he said, quickly making something believable up. She gave him a strange look, but didn't call his BS.

Going back over to the bathroom mirror, she pulled out her hairdryer and flat iron and began to wrestle with her hair, trying to make it lie flat. Tony lay, content, watching the TV, but listening to her. The mirror was around a wall, so he couldn't see her, but he could listen to her quiet mutterings in one of the many languages he couldn't speak.

After a very long time, she came to sit on the bed with him. He was lying down, so her now straight hair was all he could see of her.

"Took you long enough.," he teased.

"My hair does not like being straightened," she protested. He laughed. Stubborn and strong, just like its owner, he thought.

She simply glared at him playfully. Then she made the mistake of pulling her beautiful, long hair over her right shoulder, exposing her back.

She could not say why she did it. She knew they were there, and she'd been so careful up to that point. All she knew was that when she was with Tony, she tended to slip up. She cursed herself as his sharp gasp hit her ears.

"Ziva," Tony breathed, taking in the angry, red, scars criss-crossing the expanse of skin above her tank top. She quickly got up, swinging her hair back into place. "It is nothing," she said briskly.

Regaining his senses, Tony retaliated. "Ziva, that is most definitely not 'nothing'!"

"It is over! They are healed, they do not pain me, I have all but forgotten them." She was lying. He could tell. But he didn't say anything. His mind was swirling. He knew who did this to her. He knew when it had happened, and why. And he knew he could have stopped it. Walking slowly over to where she stood by the window, he reached out and gently laid his hand on her shoulder. Her back was to him, and she did not turn around, but she let his hand rest where it landed.

After a moment, Tony took a deep breath. He began to slowly gather her hair up into his fist, giving her time to realize what he was doing. She shuddered slightly, but did not pull away. When Tony had all of her hair, he pushed it over her shoulder. He hadn't looked down, waiting until the last moment.

He took a deep breath, bracing himself. He needed to see what the bastard had done to her. Finally he gathered enough courage to look at her back. His hand tightened on her shoulder. She gently uncurled his fingers, and pulled his hand down to her own, giving him her support.

Tony could hardly believe the sight. The straight lines were red and purple, raised and rugged. He'd seen scars like this in old movies he'd watched in school. They crossed the backs of black slaves who had tried to escape their "masters" before the civil war.

Shakily, he reached out and gently rested a finger on one of them. It was rough, but not as bad as he'd expected. Ziva shivered under his touch.

Suddenly, he was angry. No, not just angry; he was furious. His hands began shaking even more. He wrenched his hand away and inhaled sharply, trying to calm himself. It didn't work.

He grabbed a pillow and threw it across the room. "I should have been there sooner!" he yelled, startling Ziva. "I should have looked for you earlier, I should have tried to contact you! I should have-"

"Tony!" Ziva was suddenly in front of him, cutting him off with a hand on his mouth. "Listen to me! You could not have done anything. You said yourself that you all thought I was dead. What could you do for a dead person? Of course you did not try to do anything. I am fine now."

Tony pulled her hand off his face and retorted, "We could have found him sooner. You could have been dead by the time we got there!" He stopped at his own words and went pale. "Oh, my gosh, you could have been dead." His knees felt weak as he pictured the scars and the way she'd looked when Saleem had pulled that sack off her head. Tony had no doubt that Saleem would have really killed her without a second thought. "Ziva..."

Ziva sighed. She knew exactly what he was thinking. She'd thought it herself so many times before. She knew that he had made it go away simply by not thinking about it. If he didn't remember how it had felt in that cell, then he didn't have to face it. Seeing those scars made him relive it, and realize that it had indeed happened. "Yes, Tony, I could have been. But I was not. I am here, with you. Look." She forced his chin up so she could look into his eyes. "Look," she repeated. "I am here. You see me. You hear me."

Tony gazed into her seemingly endless eyes, the eyes that had seen so much. Feeling calmer now, he reached out. He didn't know why he did it, but he didn't seem to have any control of his body. He couldn't get Ziva out of his head. His hand was in the air by her head, and she was looking at him expectantly, confused, wondering what he was doing.

"Yes," he whispered. "I see you. I hear you." He brushed his hand along her cheek. "I feel you." He stepped closer, leaning closer to her. His nose was near her hair. "I smell you," he murmured as her wonderful, clean, spicy scent overwhelmed him. She took a deep shuddering breath.

"You know," Tony breathed into her hair, "the only sense we're missing is taste." Ziva looked up and met his eyes. For a moment, they simply stared at each other. Then Tony leaned in, slowly, letting her know what he was doing, giving her a chance to move away. She didn't.

Closing her eyes, she leaned forward to meet him in the middle. His lips pressed against hers, soft, comforting, wonderful. He pulled away after a moment, opening his eyes. She stood in front of him, eyes shut, in disbelief. Was this really happening? He smiled, wondering the same thing, before capturing her lips again.

Her arms slid around his neck and his hands found her waist. This second kiss was more heated, passionate than their first gentle kiss. He pulled her close, so her hips aligned with his, and he could feel every bit of her pressed against him. Their lips moved in perfect synch, just like the time they were undercover, but this time he really let himself feel it. He allowed five years of carefully restrained passion to seep into the kiss. His body ached with the relief of releasing all the tension that had built up since that first day when she caught him talking to Kate. He'd felt it even then, though it took him forever to admit it.

I love her.

Finally, they pulled apart to catch their breath. Ziva looked into Tony's desire-darkened eyes. "You see? You proved with all your senses that I am here and that I am fine now. There is no place I would rather be than here, with you." He nodded and pulled her to him once more.

That night, in a hotel room in Paris, the couple finally gave in to their deepest desires. And just for a while, they forgot they were there on a mission. They forgot about Ziva's terrible scars. They forgot about Rule Twelve, and Gibbs, and Mossad, and everything else that had ever stood in their way. Just for a while.

Well, that seemed to just finish itself, so let me know if you think I should add another chapter. I have an idea, but it didn't really seem to fit with the way this one ended. If you really wanted me to, I suppose I could tweak it... but that would require quite a few reviews... all you have to do is click that little green button right there... I know I'm evil.