Chapter Text
The doors to the elevator had almost shut completely when a hand reached out in front of her and caused them to spring back open.
“Ah, almost missed it,” Tony said, hopping inside with a cheerful smile.
He reached across her to press the ‘door close’ button, and then stood silently beside her for just a beat longer than was comfortable.
“So,” he started, predictably filling the silence with the sound of his voice. “You, uh… You missed our movie night, Ziva.”
The hairs on the back of her neck prickled, and she carefully masked her expression, gazing stonily ahead. She could feel his gaze burning the side of her cheek, a sensation she strove to ignore.
She hadn’t forgotten the conversation she’d been subjected to at the Mossad field office just the other day. Even now, in this elevator, she felt like there were eyes on her, though she knew logically that it was unlikely.
Outside, though… Outside was different. The sanctity and freedom of her new life in America had been irrevocably compromised. There was no telling when and where she was being watched.
“I do not think we can do that anymore, Tony,” she spoke, as dispassionately as she could manage, the words leaving a foul taste in her mouth.
She would not look at him. Not now. Could not bear to know what expression was now on his face as he processed her words. Being inside a metal cube with him traveling oh-so-slowly down to the parking lot was bad enough without his puppy-dog eyes to contend with.
“What? Why not?” he asked, confusion lacing his voice. “I was thinking we could do Godfather 1 and 2.”
“Tony…” she tried.
He wasn’t deterred. “Come on, I’ll even put mini marshmallows in the popcorn the way you like it.”
“Tony, do not make this harder than it has to be.”
After a moment of agonizing silence, he chuckled, shifting on his feet somewhat awkwardly.
“You breaking up with me?” he asked, his teasing tone masking something deeper hidden beneath it.
“Don’t,” she warned, staring determinedly at the doors and counting the seconds until she could escape.
Breaking up implied that there was something defined between them that could be broken, which wasn’t the case. And she didn’t appreciate him joking about it, either.
At last, the metal doors slid open, and the hallway opened up. She set off at a brisk pace, acutely aware of the matching sound of his footfalls only a few feet behind her. She gave a quick, polite nod to the security guard by the entrance, and burst through the doors into the warm evening air.
“Seriously, Ziva, where is this coming from?” Tony asked again once they were outside. This time, his voice betrayed the anger or frustration brewing beneath. “Is it Gibbs?”
“No, it is not because of Gibbs,” she shouted back, not even turning to face him as she spoke.
“Because he’s gone. I don’t know if you noticed, but he left us. Again.”
“I know!” She halted for only a second, but it was enough for him to catch up to her. His fingers caught her bicep and held her there. “Forget it, Tony,” she said, shaking him off. “I just do not think it is… professional, that we continue as we have been.”
The fading daylight thankfully hid whatever pink hue rose to her cheeks at the memory of being confronted by Officer Bashan. She could tell him, sure, that they had been surveilled by the very people she supposedly represented, but she felt bad enough already that his privacy had been so invaded. Telling him would only make things worse.
Better just to put a stop to things. She wasn’t here to make friends. Clearly her father was of the opinion that she had lost sight of the mission, and she knew she’d be hearing from him sooner or later.
“Professional?” he repeated, a hint of incredulity working its way into his tone.
“Yes!” she fired back. He wasn’t deserving of the animosity coming off her, but the embarrassment she felt at being so careless and unobservant had manifested itself as anger and pushed her past the boiling point. “You are my direct superior; it is not appropriate that we see each other outside of work hours.”
“Since when do you care about that?” he asked, his own voice rising in volume as he called her bluff. “You and Gibbs were pretty chummy, if I recall. Don’t think I’ve forgotten who it was that you called when you were in trouble, Ziva. I thought you had finally come around to trusting me.”
That was a low blow. A series of low blows, really.
“It is not about trust, Tony,” she said.
“Then what is it about?” he asked. “I thought we were…”
—No. She can’t hear this right now. Stop, just stop—
“Friends. I thought we were friends,” he finished.
Something broke inside her, and her expression flickered, just for a moment.
“Tony,” she said, her voice carefully lowered to hide the tremor. “I can’t. I am sorry.”
She turned from him and walked, as fast as she could without breaking into a jog. Where she was planning to go, she didn’t know. Her car had been impounded by the FBI earlier in the week, it was either the bus or walking home.
“Ziva, where are you going?” he called out, clearly having come to the same realization as she had.
“Home,” she answered.
“Come on, at least let me give you a ride.”
Her step faltered. Before this week, she would have gladly said yes. She hated the uncertainty that had so quickly settled in. Over the past three months, she’d come to really appreciate his friendship. To have that so suddenly taken away—to be the one forced to make that decision…
“Ziva…” he implored.
She felt herself give in. Just this one final time.
“Fine,” she agreed, avoiding his eyes as she walked back toward him, plucking at a bandage on one of her knuckles. It itched, and part of her just wanted to rip it off and be done with it, but she could practically hear Ducky’s voice in her ear cautioning her against infection.
“That Sacks guy had better not give you any trouble getting your car back,” Tony commented as he led them both toward his sedan. “Thank God you didn’t wreck it.”
-.-.-
The drive to her apartment was mostly silent, probably because he could tell she didn’t want to talk. She was thankful, at least, that he took the hint and didn’t try to engage her despite her sour mood.
The sun had finally gone down by the time he pulled into a parking spot, the subtext of his decision to not simply pull up to the curb to drop her off, obvious.
“I do happen to have the DVDs with me,” he said, tapping rhythmically against the steering wheel and glancing quickly over at her.
She knew he was waiting for an answer to the question he hadn’t asked aloud, and as much as she wished she could tell him to just go away, she found herself unbuckling and silently signaling him to follow.
The sound of the hard plastic DVD cases clacking against each other followed her as she stood up from the car. The driver’s side door shut with a thud.
The damage was already done, she reasoned. Mossad already thought what they thought, and one more night wouldn’t change that.
When they got to her door, it turned out to be a good thing that he’d come. She had forgotten that the key to her apartment was in the same place as her car keys and her work bag: in her red Mini Cooper. Abandoned. Impounded. Of course, picking the lock was always an option, but it was much easier to let him use the key she’d given him a couple months ago.
“Want me to get you some ice?” he asked as he stepped into the entryway, glancing pointedly at her bruised hands and forearms.
“No,” she said too quickly. “I am fine. Just get the movie started.”
He pursed his lips but said nothing, merely walked over to the small TV he’d loaned her out of storage and slid the disc into the accompanying second-hand DVD player—a well-rehearsed dance of theirs.
Usually this was when she’d go change into a sweatshirt and more comfortable pants, but tonight she preferred to delay looking into a mirror and taking stock of all her cuts and bruises for as long as possible. It wasn’t so bad if she didn’t know the full extent of it. Mind over matter, right?
“Popcorn?” he asked as she sat down on the seat cushion next to him, wincing slightly as her injuries protested the movement.
“I’m not really hungry,” she answered. Hadn’t had much of an appetite all week, honestly. For varying reasons.
He nodded and held out the TV remote in front of him, pressing play without another word.
The air felt thick and tense with the knowledge that this would be the last of these nights with him, in some capacity something more than just coworkers. She knew, even if he didn’t, that this had to end. How much longer would her father allow her this assignment? What was the point of building a friendship like this one, when her time here was temporary? She dreaded the next time she would have to speak to her father, and dreaded even more the day he demanded her return home.
Beside her, Tony settled in, crossing his arms in front of his chest and propping his feet up on the coffee table as the introductory scene rolled.
Fleeting. Comfort and stability is fleeting, she reminded herself, looking at him instead of the screen.
It had been foolish to grow attached. First to Gibbs, and then to Tony. She had only set herself up for failure.
She forced her attention back to the movie, but soon found her eyes drooping shut.
Tony’s mellow voice cut in every few minutes to share a fun fact about whatever scene was playing, and the familiarity of it lulled her into a peaceful state—the first time she’d been able to relax since the explosion on the street the other day.
Guilt ate at her. Shame.
She could berate herself for growing soft later. For now…
For now, she closed her eyes, and let herself drift away.
-.-.-
He wasn’t surprised when she conked out on his shoulder less than an hour into the movie. After the week she’d had, she had earned some rest.
It was something of a relief that she felt comfortable enough to do so with him still there, considering everything she’d said in the elevator and in the parking lot. She’d had him worried. It had come seemingly out of nowhere, and didn’t sound like her at all. At least, not like the Ziva he’d gotten to know over the summer.
It looked like the second movie in their double feature would have to wait for another night. That is, if she let him come back here at all. He still wasn’t sure what was going on with her, but he hoped she’d just been overreacting earlier. He’d come to care about these movie nights more than he’d like to admit. The thought of going back to what he’d been doing before was somewhat depressing to consider.
Carefully extracting himself from the couch, he crossed the living room to retrieve his DVD and put it back in its case. He snapped it shut and set it on the coffee table while he debated waking her and telling her to get those wounds cleaned up before going to bed.
His eyes drifted over her body, marred by bruises inflicted by the woman who had tried to frame her. Peeking out of one of the pockets in her cargo pants, he spotted what looked like the corner of a piece of paper, folded in on itself. Curious, he gingerly approached her and pulled it the rest of the way out of her pocket. Shockingly, she stayed fast asleep, mouth gaping open in her characteristic droning snore.
Casting a wary glance at her, he unfolded the page and took a look.
His stomach sank to his feet.
In his hands, he held a singular photograph, taken using what must have been a long lens, likely from a great distance. Still, even in the low light, the subjects of the photo were visible, clear as crystal.
Himself and Ziva, standing outside her apartment at night. A couple months ago, if he had to guess.
He wasn’t stupid. He knew what it looked like.
Only for a moment did he wonder who might have taken it, and why. She hadn’t been here long enough to make enemies—not the kind that would stalk her and send threatening messages. He knew very little about her family, and even less about her work with Mossad. But this had Israeli intelligence written all over it.
Mossad. If there was one thing he knew about them, it was that they had eyes everywhere.
And their motive for surveilling her was obvious. Can’t imagine daddy director would be happy to see her getting too friendly with the Americans, after all.
It seemed she suffered from the opposite kind of bad father he had grown up with. Whereas he had been frequently left alone or sent off to boarding school by Mr. Anthony DiNozzo, Sr., she had a father whose M.O. appeared to be watching her like a hawk, exerting his control over her every move.
Debatable which would be worse. Maybe they could call it a tie.
On the couch, Ziva let out a startling snort, shifting slightly in her sleep. The sound jolted him from his deepening thoughts, spurring him into action.
With great care, he folded the photo back into its original configuration and slipped it back into her pocket, just the way he’d found it. Perched in front of her on the coffee table, he watched her for a moment more before tapping her lightly on the knee with the back of his knuckles.
“Hey. Wake up,” he said in a hushed voice. “I’m headed home.”
She sat up straight in an instant, like a sleeper agent awakened by some kind of code word.
She blinked, her eyes adjusting to the lamp light. “Huh? Okay,” she said, sounding a little groggy, but quickly bringing herself to full consciousness.
He grabbed the DVD off the coffee table and stood, deciding to leave the sequel here just in case she felt like giving it a watch sometime.
“Up,” he ordered. “You need to clean those cuts again before you go to sleep. You never know where that motel room has been.”
She sighed, standing to her feet in front of the couch and instinctively shoving her hand in the pocket he’d fount the picture in, seemingly satisfied with its undisturbed presence there.
“I can take care of myself,” she said, as if he needed the reminder.
He sent her a small smile while he bent to tie his shoes back on.
“I know.”
Taking one more look around the room, he resignedly stepped toward the front door. He had a feeling he wouldn’t be welcome here again, but now he at least knew why.
“Ziva…” he spoke.
“Tony, do not start with this again,” she warned.
“I know, I’m not,” he said, appeasing. “I just wanted to say good job today.” Compliments of this nature didn’t come naturally to him, but he was trying. She had done good work, made smart moves and thought like an agent. It was crazy to think how far she’d come in the short time she’d been part of the team.
“Hm,” she hummed, glancing down at her feet as if she didn’t buy his sincerity.
“Y’know, recording her confession,” he continued, “that was… I’m impressed.”
The barest hint of a smile formed on her lips, and she shook her head.
“If the next words out of your mouth are something about me ‘blossoming into a good agent,’” she spoke, “I might hurl.”
Ah, there was the witty Ziva he’d come to know. Fine, he’d suspend his honesty and praise for now.
“Okay, okay,” he said with a laugh, his arms raised in surrender. He stood there a moment more, taking in her mussed hair and tired eyes. Her strength captivated him. This wasn’t the first, and certainly wouldn’t be the last time he’d see her covered in scrapes from a physical confrontation, but each time he found himself amazed at her handling of it, as if she wasn’t even phased by it.
“Is there something else?” she asked, obviously wondering what he was doing still standing by her door and not halfway down the hall by now.
“No. No, I’m just glad,” he said, shrugging. In truth, there was something that had been bothering him for days. The way she looked up at him now, he found his tongue loosening. “I was afraid you’d—”
“Killed her?” Ziva supplied, brows raised expectantly.
Her complete misinterpretation made him huff out a laugh. “No, actually, I was going to say I was worried you were in that safe house when it blew up. I’m glad you’re okay.”
“Oh,” she said.
The distance between them now was noticeable. Not the physical distance, but something else. He felt a pang somewhere in his chest, unfamiliar and unwelcome.
“Next time you’re in trouble, give me a call, okay?” he asked. Please, he thought.
“And risk your job?” He could feel her withdrawing even further, and felt nothing but frustration at the fact. “There is a reason I called Gibbs, Tony,” she said, her voice rising a little.
Man, she could be so stubborn, sometimes. She really didn’t get it, did she?
“The job isn’t always—” he started, biting back the rest of that sentence after thinking better of it. “Look, the point is, I would have liked to know what was going on. That’s all,” he said in a measured voice. “Let me worry about my job.”
He could tell by the look on her face that she wasn’t listening to a word he was saying. Nothing he could say on this matter would get through to her. It was like they were back at square one.
“You did not have to stick your neck out for me,” she said lowly, avoiding his eyes.
He stepped closer, his own voice dropping to match her tone. “Yes, I did,” he said. “We’re partners.”
This time she did look up at him, a flicker of sadness in her eye as she did. “No, we’re not.”
Her words were clipped, and hurt more than she probably intended them to. She reached for the doorknob and turned, swinging it open in silent gesture for him to leave.
“Not anymore.”
-.-.-
The next weekend, the TV and DVD player Tony had loaned Ziva appeared in a cardboard box outside his front door without warning.
At work the next Monday, Ziva found the spare key she’d given him in the top drawer of her desk.
No words were spoken. No notes exchanged.
The Godfather 2 DVD never did make its way back into his possession.