Stepping onto the porch, a deep breath of cool sea air; the gentle breeze tickled, Fiona jumped excitedly, ready for her walk with Vicky. She’d made a healthy breakfast, coffee by the bed to wake Ziva, and looked to the best part of the day. Ziva groaned; years of parties meant she hated mornings, Vicky in contrast; thrived on the dawn, a habit that increased with the puppy companion. A brisk walk stimulated the mind; her imagination opened, ready to create art. Brindleton Bay held limited opportunities for artists, so she took her work profile online, inundated with requests, nice to have her pick of work.

Abby shared Asher’s feisty spirit, he was happy to wrestle; they pounced and growled, worrying Vicky, as they bit and clawed at each other. In the calmer moments Asher would lay, stomach to the sun, squinting at Abby chasing butterflies, when she rested, it was to wash his head. Patches slowed, a lazy cat, she slept, enjoying her twilight years, purring heavily, deeply; Ziva ensured cuddles were longer, and she had space to eat her food without competition. Vicky knew her spot in the bed was forfeit the second she moved; Libby and Abby were ready to steal a place in the residual warmth, clawing the bedspread should Vicky wish to move them and return.

Spending time with Rylan in family situations was pleasant; arguments had fizzled out through the years, making way for playful banter and teasing. Enjoying a drink in memory of their parents every few years had become a regular event; although Ziva found Rylan more difficult as his celebrity status grew. Fans flashed their cameras, blinding them; some swooned, others thrust pen and book for an autograph, at least whilst he was on the bestsellers list. Ziva found it fickle he was the flavour of the month, the happiest she would see him, and when another book would hit the top, it made her brother grumpy. This evening was the former, Rylan on top form, who wanted to celebrate his recent book “Widow of Exile”, a move from cybercrime to borderline horror. Reading his work took time; Ziva’s stomach churned at the descriptive brutal acts; her preferred reading could elicit pleasant dreams, his book brought nightmares.

Her treadmill paid dividends, Ziva squealed, embracing Vicky, her girlfriend stumbled bewildered. Space Cadet; Ziva had clearance; she would board the shuttle, take herself to space. Ziva loved any excuse to party; Vicky had something romantic planned instead, a moment for the two of them unless kissing stopped them getting through the door. The Chez Llama was becoming their regular date location since the bowling alley incident. Sunset walks along the coast were no longer romantic; Fiona decided to eat another dog’s poop, and honked it up on the picnic blanket where they were kissing.

Vicky opted for a rooftop view, the stars, warm air, a glass of wine, her head spun, empty stomach. She skipped lunch, creating the perfect showpiece for her client’s home. In truth, Vicky wanted a special evening; a rose, a hesitated kneeling position; Ziva’s eyes widened, wondering what Vicky had in mind. Things had been great; living together had its problems, but a few hairballs or dead mouse in her shoe had her undeterred. French Toast brought them together; Vicky wanted a life in these moments, a breathless whirlwind, to awaken in old age without regrets of those memories spent together.

Ziva feels scrutinised as her ageing body wobbled and stamped the treadmill under the cats gaze, judging her ability. Maintaining good fitness was paramount to her career, hoping it would come with some weight loss, but Ziva loved food and refused to compromise on her diet. Ignoring her audience, Ziva took a deep breath, adding speed to her incline, she pushed on. Exercise outdoors was preferable, Ziva took those jogs at a leisurely pace, and this punishing regime reminded her it was the late-night partying that had done the damage. Turning down invites to raves and a reduced consumption of alcohol was thanks to Vicky, evenings curled together with cats, kisses and a movie, the perfect way to end any day.

As children, Ziva moaned at the bowling sessions; she hated the shoes worn by other people, her inability to roll the ball and teased by her brother, to whom the activity came natural. It was time to change that memory; Vicky had yet to taste the cold chips and smell the stale alcohol from the bar’s carpet, years of party’s she was certain Rylan had contributed. Ziva had limited skills to impress Vicky despite sharing all the techniques Rylan told her. They laughed at the gutter balls and the few pins that could knockdown, enjoying a few glasses of cheap wine.

In the next alley, a girls team cheered; Ziva admired how they spun, kicked legs and danced the balls, pins leapt clear, producing strikes, spares, doubles, turkey’s, all impressive playing. As Vicky set up her next move, a girl from the group approached Ziva showing admiration for her curvy figure, her voice and actions flirtatious. Ziva smiled, watched by a jealous Vicky unable to hear the conversation over the music. She was polite, declining a party invite, enjoying the date with her girlfriend; the girl handed Ziva the scorecard, her number written in the grid. The card in her bag, Ziva returned to the game; however, it seemed Vicky had gone.

Ziva paced; Vicky had been cold, distant on the phone she had been reluctant to agree. They spoke in apology; Ziva bowed her head, the hurt in Vicky’s eyes she wanted to eradicate the memory. Vicky hated how she believed Ziva would betray her heart the way her ex had; seeing the other woman, her eyes caressing Ziva, made her jealous. It took a moment to admit she overreacted; Ziva looked sheepish, flattered by the interest, viewed as desirable, but Vicky was all she wanted. Emerald eyes brightened; Ziva wanted to dive in; no one made her this amazing; Vicky giggled, struggling to keep track. The gist was pure, simple; Ziva fell for the creative sweetness; she had loved the days waking up next to Vicky, finding herself disappointed when a wet nose was her morning greet. She worried Vicky might think it would be sudden to move in together, but Vicky could think of nothing better.

Ziva skips to her treadmill, her body feeling lighter with every date she and Vicky have. Patches lick her paw; she had been staying home, indulging in food, begging for and receiving plenty of chicken. The kitty was plump, lazy and reminded Ziva so much of herself; the machine burst into life; Patches leapt, circled and settled, taking her position as the personal trainer, eyes judging Ziva’s every stride. Work gave her the opportunity, entrance to their space cadet training, fitness was a huge part; she aced the logistics, her academic brain had absorbed everything, yet the body had failed to keep up. Vicky mused how Ziva enjoyed the good things life offered; of course, that included her; Ziva slipped, distracted at the thought of her girlfriend.

That word, girlfriend, Ziva made the assumption, when the objection failed to transpire, Ziva found it was her who felt surprised. Relationships, those other than friends, Ziva thought were beyond her now; she became complacent with her single life and fur baby motherhood. She busied, cleaning, brushing her pets, hoping Vicky could look past the spartan living. Ziva had made few changes since moving, uninspired by interior decorating, despite watching homemaker over shows. Checking the mirror, Ziva answered the door.

Fiona wagged at the visitor, muscling in on Ziva and Vicky’s embrace with excited yapping. She squeaked her toy, dropping it and pushing it towards Vicky, eager to play. Ziva found herself alone cooking lunch; Fiona had a new best friend as Vicky played fetch, while Asher sat judging the houseguest, his prerogative as a cat. Patches, who had been affectionate in recent weeks, refused to leave her spot, Ziva worried as she curled beneath the bed. Putting aside the chicken, Ziva hoped Patches might come down for some. Vicky attempt polite discussion over the decor, wondering how long Ziva had lived there; she changed the subject, taking advantage of an eager, playful pup who approved of the romance.

The house created some conversational tension; although they enjoyed a movie snuggled together, Ziva felt ashamed of her home, regretting the invite. Morning brought renewed vigour; Vicky had a point the house needed bringing to life, and since Ziva realised inviting her artistic girlfriend to move in might be a bit drastic, the place could use a new perspective. Musing through paint samples a familiar voice ordered croissants and coffee, which she placed atop Ziva’s ideas. Vicky delivered her sweetest apologetic smile, insulting her home unintentional, she hoped Ziva would forgive her. Tearing the croissant Ziva made Vicky squirm waiting for an answer, food solved most problems, and would be the perfect way to say sorry, particular if Vicky could share her input on home improvements.

Ziva danced home; breakfast had become lunch; taking over a table in the coffee shop; she took on board Vicky’s many suggestions. The house seemed quiet; she assumed the cats were hunting, but where was Fiona, and why was she unresponsive to her calls. Upstairs everything she needed to understand, Patches affectionate behaviour, her sudden need for peace and her desire to settle beneath the bed, it all made sense. Fiona’s bum wiggled her head, and front paws were looking at Patches who had given birth to two kittens, neither of which looked like Asher. A stray who frequented their home had taken a shine to Patches; the two babies were clumsy balls of fur, which Ziva called Libby and Abby, were a perfect mix of their parents. Although a welcome addition to the household, it was a reminder to Ziva she needed to prevent future deliveries.

The Chez Llama, the place Aria spoke with affectionate, how Jose would don his salmon pink shirt, black tie and take her for dinner. Her mother believed it made the perfect place to take a lover or potential one. Rylan agreed, the opportunity to wine and dine Emilie; she accepted his proposal and, in his eyes, a happy ever after. Ziva’s stomach knotted, food had been a comfort, she believed nothing would put her off food, but she had felt nauseous after breakfast, worried Vicky would cancel their date. She pondered, looking at jobs that needed doing, the washing up, dusting, changing the bedsheets, none of it distracted. Vicky was all she could think about; they had continued to maintain a conversation by phone, their new jobs getting in the way of meeting, Ziva needed to pin a date, and that was tonight.

When the taxi arrived outside Vicky’s home, the woman standing outside made Ziva’s heart flip, hair extensions bundled atop her head, a few loose curls to frame her face. The slender figure hugged by the grey lace maxi dress, the upper half, sheer material with appropriate shadow detail kept Ziva’s imagination buzzed and lack jawed. Ziva felt underdressed, fidgeting with her hair, smoothing her dress; Vicky giggled shyly; she liked her outfit, reaching her hand squeezing, they would have a wonderful evening.

The definite chemistry bubbles as Ziva eases into face to face conversation; the butterflies settle with the second glass of wine. She cringed at the poor retelling of Rylan’s jokes; her brothers promise they would break the tension; at least Vicky was polite enough to laugh. Ziva chose her food carefully, nothing spicy or with significant use of garlic, choosing a lighter meal she knew would mean a late-night snack at home. A touch, fingers interlaced, excitement rush through silencing them until the waiter cleared his throat, interrupting the moment with dinner.

She hesitated as they stood to leave; Ziva wished she had nipped to the bathroom, refreshed, instead she remained lost in those green eyes and soft voice. Brushing a stray hair from her face, leaning forward, hoping Vicky would meet her. Ziva held her breath as her lips pressed against Vicky’s, electric; Ziva knew in that one moment, she wanted to kiss no other lips.

Life had given Ziva so much she loved her single life, friends, partying, nieces and nephews, the space to enjoy herself, spend time and money on her fur babies. Vicky changed everything with a kiss; Ziva crawled into bed, her snack forgotten; it was the fairytale in her mind she wanted to indulge; the wonderful evening she hoped to repeat.

Ziva squeezed into her cropped jeans wanting to look her best, her conversations with Vicky were amazing, she ended each feeling high, happy and eager for the next. She shook loose her thick black hair admiring herself, signing heavily, she checked the time, a shower would have been great, except she was late leaving. Loosening a ponytail to the side, Ziva gave another glance in the mirror, making a good impression was vital, this would be the first time meeting.

A tall gentleman, broad shoulders, a shock of white hair contrast again his dark skin answered the door, a warm smile at the nervous Ziva as he took his time with the invite. She guessed this was Simon, the oldest brother, his white styled beard and a habit of being overprotective of his sisters. Vicky had tried to clear her siblings from the house, but the mention of meeting her long-distance girlfriend, they were staying for that. Alexis and Liam were the youngest and the half-siblings, with black hair, meaning the white locks came from their father since they share the same mother. On the phone, Vicky seemed tentative as she explained how both she and Simon, born with ginger hair, were shock when it turned white as teenagers, she had worn wigs or dyed her hair for years, but this was damaging. The doctors had given a brief explanation, Canities Subita, a rare phenomenon, that causes rapid colour or melanin loss, and linked to poliosis, a small white patch of hair, present at birth. He revised his diagnosis to include a trigger, their father died when they were young, the introduction of a stepparent and two additional siblings, the white hair was psychological stress. Either way, Vicky and Simon had learned to embrace their locks, Simon felt it gave him a mature, trusting appearance.

Three nosy siblings separated the couple, Ziva ignored them politely, her eyes focused on a blushing Vicky, their conversation flowed as though they had known each other their entire lives. Vicky was beautiful, Ziva had been uncertain what to expect, wondering if the white hair made her look old and whether she, herself would be desirable to Vicky, none of that mattered, Ziva knew, this was everything she had been waiting for. Ziva shared her decision to take a risk with her career, handing in her notice, leaving the Tech-Guru career that had given her a stable income to chase another dream. Damiren kept his word, securing her an interview, Ziva worried her weight would be an issue, however, she passed the physical tests and expertise in computers gave her the edge over the competition and she entered the space adventure as a low orbit specialist.

Happiness, excitement prevented Ziva from feeling guilty leaving Fiona home alone for the afternoon, meeting Vicky put her heart and head in a spin. It knocked her sideways, the moment Vicky appeared, that voices, those large green eyes, Ziva lost her voice for a moment. She twirled, cuddling Fiona, the pup’s objection to the spinning unnoticed, instead Ziva popped on the leash and dragged her to the beach, hoping future sunset walks, she would enjoy with a loving girlfriend. Fiona, had she been human, would have rolled her eyes at the smitten woman, exclaiming how wonderful life was, but as a dog, the equivalent was her favourite activity, chasing her tail.