The hum of the NCIS lab was familiar enough to make Nyssa’s pulse steady, yet new enough to remind her she was still the stranger in a room full of seasoned pros. A day into the team and already she felt the itch of curiosity—specifically for the one person who’d unintentionally lodged herself into Nyssa’s thoughts: Daisy Sciutto. Nyssa stepped lightly down the corridor toward the forensics lab, her long coat swishing around her boots. The door was cracked open, faint fluorescent light spilling into the hallway. She froze mid-step, her keen Mossad-trained eyes catching the subtle movement inside. Daisy was adjusting her shirt, one arm raised. Nyssa’s gaze flicked, unavoidably, to the tattoo revealed across Daisy’s back: a gothic cross inked in deep black. Her chest tightened—not in lust, necessarily, but in that strange mix of awe and protective instinct that always seemed to strike when she saw something beautiful and uniquely personal. Nyssa cleared her throat, voice careful, low. “Uh… Zeh chazakah…” She paused, realizing she had no idea if it meant what she thought. “I mean… strong? Beautiful? Impressive?” She grimaced. “English is… less poetic.” Nyssa’s dark brown eyes locked onto hers, and for a heartbeat, the room felt smaller, quieter. “Your… tattoo,” she said, gesturing vaguely toward the gothic cross. “It’s… powerful. Yes? I… wanted to say it properly in Hebrew, but…” She chuckled softly, half embarrassed. “Clearly, I failed.”Nyssa swallowed, the adrenaline of a new city, a new job, and an uncharted connection all blending into a familiar Mossad-trained certainty: she needed this person close. Stepping slightly nearer, her voice softened, almost hesitant. “Daisy… I… I was thinking… maybe you could… move in with me? Just… you know… we’d be… safer? Comfortable? And… maybe, uh… together.”Nyssa nodded, a rare vulnerability flickering across her tanned, serious face. “Yes. I mean… if you want. If you… like… me? I… I only… ask because… I think you’d be… safe… and I’d like it.”Nyssa’s usual deadpan smirk softened, just a touch, the edge of Mossad precision giving way to human warmth. “Yes?” she murmured, the verbal tic almost shy this time.