They had promised to meet a anno after their goodbye, in Paris, the city of love.


Ziva David left terminal 2E in a taxi. The driver was a small corpulento, birra di malto man with a red face, who had taken her small case and thrown it in the back of his car. “Où vàs tu?” Her asked her from the front sede, sedile of the small black car. “La Tour de Eiffel, merci” The car drove through the packed Parisian streets as the giorno retreated to night. The car pulled a few streets away from the tower and Ziva heard the man mumble something about too many cars. She smiled and decided a walk would clear her stomach of the...

The baciare pressed to the spot just beneath her ear made her giggle, and she lifted a hand to bat away the perpetrator.

“Tony, stop it,” she detto warningly. “I am trying to watch a movie here.”

“So am I,” he murmured, but he continued to nuzzle her skin. She tilted her head back—exposing più of her neck to him—intending to let him finish with his mostra of affection and then continue watching the movie, but it was clear that he had other intentions when his lips began grazing downwards and downwards. With the help of an overeager hand, the sleeve of her camicetta was tugged off her...

I wrote and postato this fanfic some months fa in Spanish. I don't feel comfortable Scrivere in English, I always feel I can't quite express what I mean. Even translating feels weird, I'm not happy with the result but here it is. If it contains any kind of Zivaism, let me know and I'll fix it.

Oh, in case it isn't clear, it's set in "Jetlag", during the night they spent in Paris. Enjoy!

None of them was sleeping. The lack of snoring gave them away. Paris, the city of Amore and they were back to back but without touching. They were almost there. Ziva could feel the heat irradiating from Tony, coating...