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Tony always knew he eventually had to bite the bullet and get a bigger bed. But, for a long time, he convinced himself that, at that moment, it wasn’t necessary. There were no women in his life. No women he’d want to stay the night, anyway.
The first time he considered it seriously was when Ziva had stayed at his place. She’d sent him away when he woke her from her nightmares; it took every ounce of his self-control and willpower to leave the room, to leave her alone. For the first time in a long time, he wanted to just sleep with someone, in the most literal sense of the word. And he knew it was hopeless to try to fit two grown adults on his bed.
When he finally buckled down and bought a king sized bed, it wasn’t because of a woman, or because it was finally necessary. It was a half-assed attempt to move on. But as he lay awake, all he could think was that the other side of the mattress was too empty, and he wished more than anything that the other pillow smelled like Ziva’s shampoo.
xXxXx
He was flirting with a woman at some bar, marveling at how quickly he fell into his old habits. Like riding a bike.
But maybe not, maybe things weren’t the same anymore, because when she tugged on his tie and whispered, “Your place?”, he froze up. It felt wrong. It felt inexplicably wrong.
He stammered something about having to be at work the next day (it was a Saturday night, he wasn’t even making an effort with his excuses anymore), downed his drink in one swig, and left the bar.
He thought the sour taste in his mouth was from whatever combination of alcohol he’d consumed. He berated himself as he climbed into bed. He should know better. He’s too old for this.
But then, that taste was still there in the morning. And all day. Even after his morning coffee and toast, even after he went for a run just to try to shake the uneasiness from his bones. It was only when he was standing in the shower, trying to melt the tension away, that he recognized it— it was the same taste that followed him home from Israel, no matter how hard he’d pressed the gold Star of David into his palm.
xXxXx
Unlike the hundreds of fantasies he’d fabricated, she didn’t just show up at his apartment, knocking on his door and taking him into her arms.
Instead, he saw her sitting on a bench as he was going to get his mid-afternoon coffee.
He spotted her from a distance, before she saw him. She was sitting alone, and if he hadn’t been searching for her face in every crowd for the past year, he would’ve missed her. She cut her hair off, her curls falling right below her ears. She was looking out, across the Navy Yard, a cup of coffee in her hands.
Tony realized that he was standing in the middle of the sidewalk, and he realized she would probably make him at any moment. He wanted to see her, but it felt too surreal—like a dream, and he was scared if he moved, or breathed, it would all vanish. He took slow steps as he approached her. He was still half waiting for the vision of her to vaporize, but when she finally saw him and gave him the most gut-wrenching sad smile, he realized that she was there for real.
He stood in front of her, finally, and everything he wanted to say to her for the past year was gone. He was gawking at her like a complete fool, and he hated himself for it.
“Hi, Tony.”
He gave her one of his bewildered smiles. “Hi.”
She waited for him to say something, anything, and when no words were forthcoming, she glanced around them. As though she hadn't just magically appeared in front of him after being absent for a year.
“Is this a bad time?”
He shook his head, no, no. Never. She gave him that same heartbreaking smile, one that spoke of guilt and penance and loneliness, and she patted the space on the bench next to her.
Maybe he finally came to his senses, or maybe the shock wore off long enough for him to do something. He all but yanked the coffee from her hands, placing it on the ground, and then pulled her by her hand, so that she was standing. He didn’t let go of her hand, holding on fiercely, and placed his other hand on her cheek. Her lashes fluttered against her cheek and she turned into his palm. When she looked at him again, there were tears in her eyes. He felt his heart fall through the ground.
He pulled her against him, her face falling into the crook of his neck like it was the most natural thing in the world, and yeah, his eyes definitely weren’t dry, either. He was probably crushing her, but she didn’t move or protest, and he certainly wasn’t letting go.
He pressed his lips to her hair. “I’ve missed you so much,” he whispered, his voice cracking. (He couldn’t even bring himself to be embarrassed.)
She moved her hand on his chest so that she was gripping his lapel, her breath moist against his neck. Her lips moved, but no sound came out, and that was okay. He knew.
They stood there, clinging to each other as if it were the end of the world, as time passed around them. The notion of letting go of her was physically painful, but he knew if he didn’t get back soon, he’d earn at least a headslap.
He pulled back, but only enough to look at her face. “Do you want to come back with me? Boss won’t mind.”
“I haven’t spoken to anyone but you. I think I need to do one thing at a time,” she said quietly, and yeah, okay, that made sense.
“I get off at seven,” he started, then stopped himself, feeling stupid. “You know that.”
She was patient, though, bringing her other hand up to touch quivering fingertips to his jaw, and that was just not fair at all. He swallowed around the knot in his throat.
“Do you have a place to stay?”
She shook her head with a small laugh. “I just got in. I came straight from the airport.” She looked over her shoulder where a small suitcase was tucked neatly beneath the bench, and Tony was amazed he hadn’t noticed it before.
“Okay. Okay.” He was mostly talking to himself at this point, but her hand still hadn’t left his face, so he could hardly be blamed for his lack of coherency. He reached into his pocket and dug out his keys. He had to take his hands off her in order to remove a single silver key from the ring, and she looked at him inquisitively. He pressed it into her palm, curled her fingers around it.
“You do now.”
She was still looking at him curiously. He huffed a laugh. “I had a copy of it made. Back when you were staying with me for a few nights, back when—” He cleared his throat. “I never got the chance to give it to you after that. But it’s yours, if you want it.”
He shrugged, feigning a nonchalance that he didn’t feel and that she certainly wouldn’t believe. She stepped back, reaching behind her neck and deftly removing a plain gold chain that rested against her collarbone. It was strange to see her with a necklace that wasn’t the Star of David, he reflected, as she slipped the key onto the chain and clasped the necklace around her neck again. And yeah, it definitely did things to him to see the key to his house against her chest, moving as she breathed, fluttering minutely with her heartbeat.
She reached up again, patting his chest. “You have to go. Your lunch break is nearly over.”
He knew she was right, but he didn’t want to part with her. She saw it on his face.
“I will see you in five hours, Tony. I will be at your apartment, waiting for you.”
He closed his eyes and leaning his forehead against hers. Her hand drifted to the back of his neck, and genuinely considered just skipping the rest of the day, going home with her. But she probably needed time to relax, to breathe. And maybe, he needed time to think, too.
He gave her shoulder a gentle squeeze as he stepped away. “I can get you a cab.”
She waved her hand dismissively, returning to the bench to fetch her forgotten coffee and her suitcase. She stepped into his space again, reached for his hand, and brushed her chapped lips against his knuckles.
“I will see you soon, Tony,” she promised, and then she turned and walked away.
He stared after her until she got into a cab and was out of sight. He never got his coffee.
xXxXx
Five hours was a ridiculously long time.
He’d first discovered how much time could lurch and lag when he was captured in Somalia. He knew, logically, this was better. He was not being tortured, he was not injected with anything, he was not being interrogated by a Caf-Pow addicted psycho, and he had access to running water and plumbing. And, at the very least, they did have a case. He was stationed at his desk following leads and looking into phone records. Or, he was supposed to be.
Tony swore he’d never felt his emotions split off into so many directions at the same time. He was anxious. That was likely the most obvious one, so much so that Ellie shot him a glance.
“You okay? You’re,” she gesticulated at him, “fidgitier than normal.”
He opened his mouth to protest, then realized he was bouncing his leg and drumming his fingers on his desk at the same time. McGee glanced over too, adding, “She’s right, Tony.”
Gibbs chose that moment to emerge from the elevator, a manila folder in hand. “Who wants to go interview the owner of the bakery across the street from the murder?”
“I’ll go.” Tony jumped up, having begun to gather his gear before Gibbs even finished his sentence.
Gibbs gave him a look, but thankfully decided not to comment, shoving the folder into Tony’s hands. “Figure out if there’s any video footage we haven’t seen.”
“On it, boss.”
He didn’t even bother with the elevator. He took the stairs, two at a time.
xXxXx
By the time Tony was standing the door of his apartment, key in hand, he’d come up with at least a hundred different ways this conversation could unfold.
When he summoned the nerve to open his door, the last thing he was expecting to see was Ziva with her coat on, closing her suitcase. Her body language was completely different from when he saw her before. She was holding herself stiffly, terse, like she was defensive. She looked up at him briefly, but turned her eyes back downward a moment later. He was dumbfounded.
“Um. Where do you think you’re going?”
Ziva sat back on her heels, pushing her hair out of her face, and gave Tony a tight smile.
“You’ve been very kind to offer me a place to stay, but I do not want to intrude.”
Tony dropped his bag, slinging his jacket over a chair. “Whoa, wait. Intrude on what?”
She didn’t answer him, didn’t look at him. He squatted to be at her eyelevel. “Hey. What’s going on? You’re not intruding on anything.”
“You…” She fiddled with the buttons on her jacket, and Tony barely contained the urge to tell her to just take the damn thing off. She met his eyes.
“I assume you are with someone now, yes?” She barely kept the hurt out of her voice. “It’s fair. You didn’t hear from me. I had no right to expect you’d just wait. I will not bother you anymore.”
She moved to stand and Tony reached out, grabbed her wrist, and she stilled. He rubbed his thumb over her pulse.
“Why do you think I’m with someone?”
Her eyes flitted around the room. She exhaled. “You got a new bed. I just assumed…”
Realization washed over him, and he shook his head adamantly. His voice came out harsher than he intended when he spoke again. “I needed a change. I was trying to move on. You got to escape to a different country, Ziva, while I was left here. I couldn’t shake you. I didn’t have the privilege of erasing every trace of you.”
She swallowed, still quiet, and he sighed. “Look. We need to talk, but I’d feel a hell of a lot better if you’d take off your jacket and shoes and put your suitcase back in my bedroom.”
She tilted her head. “In your bedroom?”
Tony prayed fervently that his cheeks weren’t red. He met her gaze squarely. “Do you think I’m going to take the couch again? My back will hurt for at least a week.”
She gave a broken laugh, her hand coming to her mouth, and she squeezed her eyes shut. He knew the moment she began to cry, he probably would too. He tugged gently at her wrist, standing. She did the same, her eyes focused on the ground. After several heartbeats, she grabbed her suitcase and wheeled it into his bedroom. When she emerged, her jacket was hanging off one shoulder. He moved to help her out of it, unable to keep himself from touching her. He needed to ground himself. And, maybe, he needed the comfort of it. He draped her jacket over his, and nearly breathed an audible sigh of relief to see that his key was still around her neck.
They both stood still for a moment, her gaze gradually moving upward to meet his. She’d blinked back most of her tears.
“Come here. Let’s sit.” They both moved to the couch and sat; she faced him, with one leg on the ground and the other folded up underneath her. He suppressed the urge to touch her again, her hand or her knee, anything. She needed to talk. He knew she was trying to find her words, and he knew she’d probably thought about this conversation just as much as he had. Her hands came to rest in her lap, and she was looking at him again.
“I wanted to contact you, Tony. Do you know how many times I dialed your phone number?” She shook her head. “I didn’t know how to explain myself. I didn’t know how to explain why I needed to be back in Israel instead of here. Mostly, because I didn’t have an answer.” She raised a hand, hesitated, then put it on his leg. “My home, my family, everything I… everyone I love, they are all here.”
Tony felt his pulse stutter. They'd danced around it for so long, and she was getting closer and closer to saying it. He pushed it to the back of his mind. “Why did you stay, then? You always could have called me, Ziva. You know that by now.”
She tucked her hair behind her ear. “I do not have an answer as to why I stayed. It was just something I needed to do. And, I couldn’t call after weeks and months had passed. It didn’t feel fair to just come barging back into your life like that.”
He studied her, unsure of how to reply. Her eyes were pleading. For what? Forgiveness?
“What changed? Why are you back now?”
She squeezed his leg, and to his surprise, she didn’t stammer over her words, didn’t miss a beat. “I missed you. I completely cut myself off from everyone, everything, and it helped me to grieve, but after, I began to realize that Israel held only empty memories.”
“And Shmiel,” Tony added, and she looked surprised before she chuckled softly. Oh, how he’d missed that sound.
“And Shmiel. But you, you are here.”
He covered her hand with his as he began to understand what her eyes were pleading for.
“I haven’t moved on, Ziva. I couldn’t. I pretended.” He rubbed the back of his neck sheepishly. “I don’t think anyone really believed me anyway.”
She remained silent, analyzing him.
“I want you, here. I wasn’t kidding when I said I don’t care what you do, whether it’s NCIS or working at a convenience store. I don’t care.” He laced his fingers through hers and looked into her eyes. “You are always welcome here. And I feel the same way about you that I always have.”
The expression of relief on her face broke his heart all over again, but rather than dwell on it, he just leaned in and kissed her, finally. It was different than the kiss on the tarmac as he was about to board the plane. He buried his hand in her hair, dragging his tongue along her bottom lip, and she moved to press her body against his. This kiss was one of promise. It wasn’t sorrow. It wasn’t goodbye. There was hope. The thing in his chest that had been strung tight since he last saw her in Israel let go, and he felt an overwhelming rush of relief and gratitude. After not knowing if he’d ever see her again, having her solidly in his arms, her lips moving against his and her hair smelling exactly as he remembered—she felt like home.
She pulled back but she didn’t move far, mimicking his gesture from earlier and resting her forehead against his. They caught their breath, and she pressed her thumb gently against his chin.
“I am very jet lagged,” she muttered at last, her eyes still closed.
“Oh. Right.” He felt like a fool for not remembering. She’d probably been awake for more than 24 hours by this point.
She moved, looking at the clock on his wall. “I know it’s early, but I’m probably going to sleep.” She looked shy suddenly. “Are you sure you want me to sleep in your bed?”
He pressed his lips to her shoulder, mostly just to hide his face. “Honestly? There wasn’t anyone else I pictured when I bought the new bed. Only you.”
She exhaled his name on a shaky breath as he rubbed circles in the small of her back.
“I could sleep now. It’s been a long day for me, too.”
She tugged at his hair until he raised his head and met her eyes again. “I will wash up. You go get ready for bed, too. I will not be long.”
This time, she was the one pulling him up until he stood, and she held his hand all the way into his bedroom. Not tonight, maybe not for a week or a month or a year, but someday, he knew the gesture would be laced with an entirely different connotation. But until then, just having her fill the empty space on his mattress was more than enough. It was more than he’d ever allowed himself to hope for.
xXxXx
When they first climbed into bed, she was hesitant to touch him. But after months of visualizing her here, Tony wasn’t wasting any more time. He breeched the distance, circling his arms around her, and she settled against him easily, kissing his neck.
They still needed to talk, about many things. He wanted to hear every detail of the past year of her life. He wanted to tell her about Ellie, about how he wasn’t even sure what contraption Gibbs was building in his basement anymore. Now wasn’t the time, not with her fatigue.
Her breaths evened out quickly, exhausted from her travels and the entire range of emotions they’d both put themselves through.
Before she drifted off, she murmured, “Just so you know. I never moved on, either. And I pictured myself here, too.”
As her breaths turned to snores, the warmth in his chest spread down to his toes. This bed was for her, for them. It always had been.