Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

A knock sounded at his door, pulling focus from the family portrait he was staring at.

“Come in”, Vance called out. Ziva walked in, followed closely by Gibbs. Her appearance had Vance leaping to his feet.

“Are you alright?”, he asked, noting her tosseled hair, the cut on her cheek, and the bruise forming under her eye. Ziva did not answer, but continued to stare, her eyes glassy. “Is it over?”.

Ziva’s head nodded almost imperceptibly, but it was several seconds still before she replied to his question. “It’s over”.

The ride back to the Navy yard had been eerily quiet. The silence almost deafening. McGee had volunteered to drive Ziva’s car back to base, knowing Tony would not – could not – be separated from her right now.

When the elevator dinged, singling their floor, Ziva strode purposefully, if not rigidly, for the staircase behind the bullpen, her destination clear to both Gibbs and Tony. Gibbs followed, leaving Tony at his desk, alone.

In a quiet moment when they both disappeared behind the door to Vance’s waiting room, his rage flared. He was so angry. She did it again. She did it. Again.

Tony sat down at his desk and put his head in his hands. Signals crossed. Lost in translation. Functional mutes. He was so sick of it. Had he not proven, time and time again, that he could be trusted? That he could be called upon? That he, for all his goofiness, playfulness, silliness, could be depended upon?

Ziva had done it again. Two steps forward and god-only-knows how many steps back. On most days, they seemed to be working towards something; the “post-elevator” them. Pictures of his mother. A comforting look. A hand lingering moments too long. Berlin. Berlin. And then like some great tsunami, she’d go rogue, and all of it washed away leaving only the memory of once was.

He was so angry. But more than that, he was so very, very, tired.

In the still of the bullpen, the opening of Vance’s outer office door sounded like a gunshot. He snapped up, quickly smoothed out his hair, and stood at his desk, watching as Ziva and Gibbs descended towards him.  

The look on Ziva’s face was a strange mix between relieved, defeated, and desperate. She gingerly bent at her waist to retrieve something in her bottom drawer when Tony noted her wince. He approached her desk, ignoring the glare he was getting from Gibbs.

“I’m taking you home tonight”, Tony said, his voice surprisingly even.

“Tony, that is not…”, Ziva began, but was cut off in abrupt fashion.

“No! No. Stop this”, he barked, making a swiping motion with his hand “I’m taking you home. Get your things”.

Ziva’s eyes widened, but not as wide as Gibbs’ had.

“DiNozzo!”, Gibbs reprimanded, but Tony was having none of it.

“No! This happens every time. Every goddamn time. I’m taking her home. That’s final. If you don’t like it, shoot me, because I swear Gibbs, that’s the only scenario where I don’t drive her back to her apartment tonight”.

Gibbs steely glare, once so formidable, didn’t bother Tony in the slightest. He had the moral high ground. He stood above everyone tonight.

Ziva looked between Tony and Gibbs, unsure of what to do.

Tony broke the staring contest and looked back at Ziva with slightly more forgiving eyes.

“I’m ready when you are”.

She nodded slightly and made her way around the desk and the partition, feeling Tony behind her as they walked to the elevators.

The ride down was silent. And if it were anymore electric, surely the elevator would have short-circuited.

Tony waited for Ziva to exit when they reached ground level, then walked out half a length ahead of her until they reached his car. He opened the door for her, and she gingerly slid in. He shut it once she was seated, careful not to slam it as hard as he wanted to, lest the whole thing come off its hinges. He made his way to his own door, getting in, and not being entirely successful with not slamming that one. Ziva jumped at the noise.

The ride towards Ziva’s apartment was silent. Before they could reach her building, though, Tony pealed off and drove into the parking lot of a pharmacy.

Switching off the engine, he turned to Ziva. “Don’t even think about it”. And with that, he exited, and made his way into the store. 

While Tony bought out the local CVS of bandages, antiseptic wipes, hot/cold packs, Epson salts, gel packs, pain medication, and whatever else he thought she’d need, Ziva quietly stared out the window.

It was hard to believe this nightmare was over. She had killed the man who had ordered her father’s assassination. And who had murdered Jackie. Sweet, innocent, Jackie.

Ziva’s life, as of late, was ruled by one thing and one thing only: Revenge. And now she had gotten her revenge. She had her day in the sun. But instead of feeling relief, she was burnt beyond recognition. She didn’t like who she had become – or had become again. She had hoped she had matured since being at NCIS. But when it came down to it, Ziva was a highly-trained, focused, lethal weapon.  

Tony observed Ziva as he walked back to the car. He opened his door, tossed the shopping bag into the back seat, and prepared to drive off again.

“You are angry with me”, Ziva suddenly whispered.

Tony’s keys hovered near the ignition.

“Yea. I am”, he bit back. Then started the car and drove the remaining distance to her apartment.

Chapter Text

They arrived at Ziva’s apartment only a few minutes later, and while she wanted to protest his hovering, she knew it would do her no good.

By the time Tony exited the car and had jogged around to the passenger side door, Ziva was already trying to get out, ignoring his outstretched hand. He knew better than to offer his support on their walk up to the fourth floor, but Tony was there, just behind her, in case her personality suddenly changed and she admitted to needing assistance.

She opened her door, flicking on the light as she entered. Tony took a quick look around the apartment he had never been invited to, and walked past Ziva, heading (he hoped) towards her bathroom.

Ziva stood in her doorway and watched as he made his way down the hallway. A minute later, she heard the faucet in her tub start. She waited a few minutes before uprooting herself and shuffling to the kitchen to get something to drink.

Tony appeared in the doorway when she had refilled her glass for the third time and watched for a moment at the stiff way Ziva held herself.

“The bath is ready when you are”, he spoke softly.

She turned around at the sound of his voice, slightly taken aback by his appearance. Cuffs rolled up to his elbows, tie discarded somewhere, top button undone. She looked at him long enough to make him a bit nervous; he knew he was wildly overstepping, but god damnit, he wasn’t going to be intimidated tonight.

“You did not have…” Ziva started and was quickly cut off.

“No, I didn’t. But I wanted to”, his voice rose slightly. “Please stop fighting me at every single turn, Ziva”, he pleaded. Ziva looked down, slightly ashamed, slightly annoyed, but overwhelmingly exhausted.

“Thank you”, she said, looking back at him. He smiled sadly at her.

“Come on. I set the water to boil. Get in while it’s hot”, he pivoted slightly, holding out his arm as if to say ‘after you’.

As Ziva made her way down the hallway, she stopped, realizing Tony was following her into the bathroom.

“Where do you think you are going?”, she asked with a bite to her tone. Tony, again, was unphased.

“I’m going to help you get into the tub”.

“Oh no you are not”.

He stood there and crossed his arms. “Tell you what. If you can take off that jacket and shirt, I’ll leave you be”, he challenged. Ziva’s eyebrows rose. “Go ahead. I’ve seen you in less”.

“Tony…”, she started, but he shook his head.

He knew she couldn’t lift her arm. She had been holding it by her side awkwardly all the way back from the ship. The same arm, he was angry to realize, that she had busted up in their car crash and didn’t allow to heal.

She huffed knowing full well she could not move her arm well enough to get out of her shirt. Her jacket, probably, but not her shirt. She had been planning on cutting herself out of it when she shut the bathroom door. It wasn’t like there weren’t knives in her bathroom. She avoided eye contact with Tony as he stood there, waiting. She felt like a child.

“Ziva”, he said, his tone kinder than it had been all day. “Please. Let me help you. I know you can do all this on your own. I know you don’t need or want…my help”, he stumbled over his words slightly, “but please, let me make this just slightly easier for you”.

She looked up at him, teary-eyed. He was reminded of her near-breakdown just before she boarded a plane to Israel. Finally nodding, she turned around and walked into the bathroom.

Tony got to work, first carefully removing her jacket, and putting it on the sink. He then lifted her shirt up partway, stopping to stretch it enough for her good arm to go through. As it hung across her abdomen, he got his first look at the bruises and contusions littering the small portion of her body he could see. He took a breath and continued to maneuver the shirt, first over her head, and then down her arm.

“Ok?”, he asked, making sure she was still with him, and that he hadn’t exacerbated her injuries. Ziva pinched her eyes shut and nodded.

“Ziva”, he carefully put his hand to her cheek and lifted her face, so she was forced to look at him. “It’ll be alright”. She nodded again and closed her eyes.

Tony walked around her to undo the clasp of her bra, noting for a moment that this is not how he ever envisioned undressing her. He maybe should have, considering how often she got pummeled, but this wasn’t the way he wanted it to be.

He carefully pulled the straps of her bra down her arms, once again making sure her bad arm didn’t move.

“Shit”, he breathed out. For a fleeting moment Ziva hoped he was cursing for lustful reasons. But when she opened her eyes, she saw what he meant. Bodnar had gotten more than a few good chest blows in. Ziva’s chest and torso was black and blue, the tops of her breasts an angry red.

“Does it hurt?”, he asked, keeping his hands lightly on her shoulders. She nodded slightly.

“Yea, stupid question”, he sighed. “Do you want me to keep going?”. Taking off her top and bra was one thing – taking off her pants and underwear? Something entirely different.

“I do not...”, she started, then cleared her throat. “I do not think I can bend”, she admitted as tears leaked out her eyes.

“Ok, don’t worry”, he assured her, bending down to gently kiss her forehead. She leaned slightly into the touch, and Tony was tempted to indulge in just holding her. But she was in pain, and she needed to get into a hot bath. And he was still angry.

He undid the button on her jeans and eased the zipper down. Was it just him, or did her breath hitch? As he slowly peeled away her pants, he noticed the bruising to her hips and thighs. There wasn’t an inch on her that wasn’t black and blue. When he pulled her jeans to her ankles, she leaned forward slightly to brace herself by holding onto his head as she stepped out of her pants. He chuckled.

“Your shoulders are too far away”, she reasoned, a hint of a smile on her lips.

She stood there, nearly naked, shivering. This was humiliating, embarrassing, emotionally painful.

“Hey, Ziva, look at me”, Tony said when he noticed her eyes had closed again. She did, still leaning with her good arm holding his head.

“I promise it’ll be ok”, he whispered as he pulled her underwear down, and removed them from her feet, holding eye contact the entire time. He’d probably kick himself later, but right now she needed compassion more than anything. She needed to know she was safe. And that he was safe.

Without breaking eye contact, he stood up and put his hands on her shoulder, turning her around gently. “Ok, in you get”, he instructed. He held out an arm for her to brace herself with as she stepped into the tub. Despite her best efforts, a groan escaped her throat. When the second leg was lifted over the tub, she actually whimpered.

“Easy now”, he coached as he held her steady as she made to sit down. A hard breath was released, and she gritted against the pain. Bodnar had really done a number on her.  

She sunk into the tub slowly, every muscle protesting, every cut stinging, every bone seemingly cracking on the way in.

“Thank you”, she said quietly when she had settled. He nodded, and turned around, making his way to the door.

“Where are you going?”, she asked before she could censure herself.

“I figured I’d give you some privacy”, he cocked his head, studying her.

She pushed a bubble around the top of the water before speaking again. “You can stay”, she said, meekly.

A small grin graced his face. “Ok. Give me a minute”, and he left the room.

Ziva took a moment to breath in and out, in and out, in and out, trying to centre herself.

Tony arrived back with two glasses of clear liquid. “Vodka”, he explained. They both smiled at that. He handed her a glass and sat next to the tub. From where he sat, he was head-height with Ziva, sitting opposite her.

Ziva downed her vodka in one go. Tony didn’t even bother taking a drink from his. He took her empty glass and gave her his full one, which she promptly hit back.

They sat quietly for a few minutes, Ziva leaning back with her eyes closed, Tony leaning towards her with his eyes never leaving her face.  

“Is it helping?”, he asked quietly.

“Yes”, she hummed, reaching her hand out of the water towards him. No one needed to tell him twice. He gently took her hand in his and ran his thumb back and forth over her bruised knuckles.

When the water began to cool, Ziva opened her eyes. Tony was still holding her hand, but he was leaning his head against his arm on the tub, his eyes closed. He had fallen into a light sleep, and she took the opportunity to study her partner.

Partner.

The word was not big enough to encompass what they were. No man in her life compared to the one sitting awkwardly on her bathroom floor. She wasn’t sure any of the men in her life compared, really. Tony was so much more. More considerate. More dependable. More trustworthy. More brave. More stubborn.

Ziva knew she had treated him terribly since her father died. She didn’t mean to. She was trying to protect him. But now, sitting here, holding his hand, she couldn’t recall any of the really good reasons she had convinced herself of when she started on this blood-soaked path. In the end, she had only ended up hurting him. And got hurt in the process. He didn’t deserve this. She didn’t deserve him.

“You’re thinking too loud”, he suddenly spoke, spooking Ziva. Tony cracked open an eye and smiled at her. “What?”.

“I am so sorry, Tony”, she started, her eyes welling again, her breath hitching ever so slightly.

He squeezed her hand. “Hey, hey. No, none of that tonight. Let’s put humpty dumpty together again first. I’m not going anywhere”.

She gave him a weak smile, then a frown crossed her face. “Is hump-a-dump not that egg?”, she asked.

He started to laugh. “Yea, it’s the egg”.

“Are you saying I am cracked?”.

His face softened. “No. Just that, sometimes, we have to put you back together again”.

They lapsed into silence for a few moments.

“Are you ready to get out?”

“I think so, yes”.

Tony stood up, and then asked “do you want me to wash your hair? I don’t think you can reach”.

“You want to…wash my hair?”.

“I want to put you back together again. With clean hair, if you want”.

She looked up at him, shock evident in her features.

“Okay”, she agreed, looking down.

“Okay. Wait here”, he said as he left the bathroom. He came back a minute later with her mixing bowl, and she eyed him.

“To help wash your hair”, he explained. “Ok, sit up a bit”, he instructed while he turned on the tap and filled up the bowl.

Ziva sat up, crossing her good arm over her chest.

“Ok, tip your head back just a bit”, he instructed. He covered her forehead as he tipped the bowl over her hair, wetting it down. He repeated the process a few times, then set the bowl aside and squirted shampoo into his hands, lathering it up. He began to work the shampoo into her hair, but stopped when she hissed.

“What?”, he asked retracting his hands quickly.

“Hurts”.

He put his whole palms on her head, carefully, and then felt it. “Good god, Ziva. There’s a goose egg back here. Ok, sorry, I’ll be gentle”. He renewed washing her hair, being more careful with her hair than he thinks he’s been with anything else. When her hair was sufficiently cleaned, he took the bowl, filling it with water, and rinsed. He then repeated the process with the conditioner, having remembered once she mentioning how unruly her hair was without it. Why did he remember that?

“Thank you”, Ziva said.

“Happy to help. Ok, I’m going to turn on the shower and help you up so you can rinse off. Ready?”.

She nodded, but was slightly unprepared when he leaned awkwardly into the tub behind her, bracing his forearms under her arms, and lifting her to her feet.

“Let me know when you want to get out”, he said as he closed the shower curtain. She could hear him just on the other side but took a moment to lean into the warm spray.

“Tony?”, she asked tentatively a few minutes later.

He carefully opened the shower curtain, making sure his eyes never drifted from hers. Which, considering Ziva was naked and wet right in front of him, was no small feat. He held out his arms, and she braced herself as she stepped out of the tub. As soon as both feet were on her bathmat, Tony turned around, retrieving the towel he had set aside. He opened it and leaned slightly in while he draped it around her back. She found herself leaning forward, and then she found herself resting her head on his chest.

Tony was surprised at her display of…what? Affection? Exhaustion? But held her close to him all the same, gently rubbing her back.

“I’m sorry”, she whispered into his shirt.

“I know”, he sighed.

Chapter Text

When Ziva began to shiver, Tony kissed her forehead, his lips lingering, before gently pushing her off him, and folding the towel around her. He took another towel from the sink, wrapped it around her shoulders, and began to gently rub her hair dry, careful not to touch her scalp.

Ziva closed her eyes and hummed at the treatment.

After the worst of the water had been dried from Ziva’s head, Tony spoke again. “Hair dryer?”, he asked.

Ziva shook her head. “Too tired”. She’d regret that decision in the morning when her hair was a messy halo of untamed curls, but right now, she just couldn’t muster up the energy to care.

Tony steered her out of the bathroom and into her bedroom. “What do you sleep in?”, he asked.

“What makes you think I sleep in anything?”, Ziva teased, forgetting for a moment the situation, how badly she had screwed up, and how hurt and angry Tony was.

“Humour me”, Tony said, a note of frustration creeping into his tone.

“I will get it”, Ziva replied quietly. She walked around to a set of drawers, pulling open two and taking out a well-worn shirt and a pair of shorts that looked like they were held together by a single thread and some hope.

Tony came up behind her and took the clothes from her. Flinging the shirt over his shoulder, he took the shorts and bent down for Ziva to step into them. He pulled them up under the towel and seated them on her hips. And tried really really hard not to think about the path up her legs and thighs his hands had just taken. He may be angry, frustrated, and hurt, sure, but he was still human. When he stood up, Ziva let go of the towel, letting it pool around her feet. Tony gulped, looking down at the expanse of skin now barred to him. He couldn’t help himself when a finger traced a long red abrasion across the top of her breasts.

Her breath definitely hitched that time.

“What happened?”, he asked. She looked down to see what he was referring to.

“I am…not sure”. So many of the marks on her body she could not specifically account for.

Tony retracted his hand and began to put the t-shirt carefully on her. Once fully clothed, he led Ziva over to her bed and instructed her to lie down. When she did, with his help, he left the room, returning a moment later with the bag from the pharmacy.

Ziva shimmied further into the middle of the bed so Tony could sit next to her.

“I want to clean the cut under your eye”, he told her and waited for her to nod. He laid out what he needed on her bedside table, and got to work, first disinfecting the cut, then applying a thin layer of antiseptic cream. As he was leaning over her, Ziva couldn’t help but stare at him. Sure, she could have closed her eyes, but she just couldn’t bring herself to.

Tony could feel Ziva staring at him. Once or twice he flicked his eyes and found hers, but continued his (admittedly overcautious) tending of her battle wounds.

“There, all done. I think we’ll avoid a scar”, he smiled, but she couldn’t bring herself to. Tony, sensing he was losing her, soldiered on. “Take these. They’ll help with the swelling, and the wicked headache I’m sure you have but will never admit to”. He held out a few pills, and a glass of water, and she took them without comment.

“Thank you”, she whispered. He smiled and patted her thigh.

“I’m going to get going. Your car is at NCIS, so I’ll pick you up at 7:30. Get some sleep and call me if you need me”, Tony explained. With speed he would always be impressed with, her hand shot out and grabbed his wrist. “What?”, he asked.

“Tony”, she started, taking a moment for a calming breath. “I know you are angry with me. And that we do need to talk. But please…don’t go”.

Tony sighed. In any other situation, in any other universe, Ziva asking him to stay would have filled his heart to the brim. But not tonight. Tonight, he was angry. He needed time to decompress himself.

“Ziva, you know I would. But I need to…”.

“Tony”, she cut him off, her grip tightening on his wrist, her eyes pleading with him. “I am afraid that if you leave, it will not be the same in the morning. That I will have broken us, again. Please. Please do not leave”.

It seemed like Ziva dreaded the cold light of day just as he did.

He blew out a breath and put his other hand on the one gripping his wrist. “I don’t have overnight clothes”, he warned.

Ziva let out a shaky breath but did not relax her grip or ridged posture. “I do not care”.

A small grin tugged at his lips.

“Ok. But I need to shower first”, he acquiesced, unable to ignore her pleading, but knowing he needed some time to himself.  

“You know where everything is”, she nodded towards the bathroom, and let go of her vice grip.

He left her then, and she breathed out the breath she’d been holding when the door to her bathroom closed.

Almost half an hour (and a depleted hot water tank) later, Tony emerged from the bathroom in his boxers, with a towel around his shoulders. Ziva watched him walk in, smelling her soap and bath products waft from the steam. And him.

“That’s a nice shower”, he pointed over his shoulder.

“I am glad you liked it”, she smiled.

He stood there awkwardly, not really sure how to approach this. After several moments of indecision, he hung his towel on the back of a chair and drew back the covers.

“This ok?”, he asked, as he settled in on the other side of the bed. Ziva turned her head on her pillow and looked at him while her hand, under the covers, sought out his. When she found it, she squeezed and said “yes”.

Tony shifted slightly closer to Ziva.

“I am sorry, Tony”, she whispered, fresh tears springing to her eyes.

He squeezed her hand. “I am, too”.