Disclaimer: I don't own that which I write fan fictions about. Onward..
Picking up Tony on a rainy night, Ziva levels with Tony about more than just the current woman in his life, but what she knows he deserves.
Leveled
xxxxx
It had been a long day. Ziva David stepped out of the shower and dried herself off with a plush pale blue towel before proceeding to get dressed in casual clothes. She had nowhere to go of note, so jeans and a plain shirt would suffice. It was already five in the evening anyway, and she wasn't feeling a night out on the town. She instead settled on a frozen dinner, quiet music playing just to satisfy some background noise.
It was almost seven pm when her phone rang, and she expected it to be her boss, Special Agent LJ Gibbs. It had been a quiet evening thus far, the first of two days off that she didn't expect to enjoy the whole of. The life of an NCIS agent, while interesting, dangerously edgy and occasionally monotonous, did not leave much time off, even on weekends.
"David," she chimed, her voice half business, half melodic in the cadence of deadly Israli assasin turned American-crime-fighting badass.
The voice on the other end made her eyes widen. It wasn't Gibbs.
"Where are you?" She asked, albeit hesitantly. Something was obviously wrong.
The voice on the other end of the call was punctuated with a gulp of something the woman knew wasn't orange juice. "I don't have my car," He tried not to slur. "Need to get home."
"You're drunk, Tony." It wasn't a question. Before she could ask - and he really did not wish her to, it was the reason he was calling anyway, he answered.
"She cheated."
And with that, Ziva David felt the gravitational shift and the complete backwards three-sixty that was Anthony DiNozzo's current state. "Where are you?" She asked again, slightly more gently, though she didn't quite agree with his choice of coping techniques. He had become way too attached to this E.J. Barrett, and despite Ziva's intense glares and not-so-subtle hints that she loathed the blonde woman for being what Tony could've been (and possibly regretted not being) if he had gone the other direction at the proverbial crossroads of life, and for an aura that Abby said consisted of "bad ju-ju."
He stumbled into a response that had one too many consonants attached to the end and she had already left her apartment, taking to the stairs with the gusto of a ninja about to raid her enemy's hideout. But then again, she was Ziva David.
xxxxx
The late spring air smelt of mild exhaust fumes and recent rain, Ziva's senses told her as she took to the streets in her newest acquisition. Earlier in the day, after her routine jog and workout, she had gone to a car dealership. The salesman's fake charm was hardly appetizing to the Israli-American woman, who needn't so much as threaten him as her glare and badge had acertained her an impecible deal on a blue chevrolet, a mercury blue colored Camaro with barely five miles on it and a supercharged engine.
The custom interior had been a nice perk too, but it paled in comparison to the shade the salesman had turned when her eyes met his and she declared that she was taking the vehicle.
New tires made a slight scratching sound on the drying pavement as she pulled up in front of the hotel an hour and a half outside of D.C. It had only been a little over an hour, and he wasn't expecting her just yet. She figured he was still inside, and called him to instruct him to come out.
He did, shoulders held a notch lower than usual.
Most people who weren't blessed enough to truly know one Tony DiNozzo would assume his ego was bruised, and he'd bounce back almost immediately, no true emotional commitment attached. But Ziva David did, and she knew his heartstrings had been plucked once too many for him to just let it go. Deep down, he was more of a puppy dog type than McGee, though he'd go to the grave before his beloved Probie knew anything of the sort, much less acknowledged it publicly.
"Nice wheels."
And so it begins, Ziva mused, no jokes, no movie references, no American-ism corrections, only strained conversation.
"Thanks, Tony."
His eyes were steely, their green obscured by three too many drinks. At least. "I don't want your pity."
"I'm not giving you any."
"Okay."
His eyes returned to the passenger side window, staring out into the dark, rainy night.
"This sucks," he managed finally, surprising Ziva by still being awake. She figured he'd be asleep, or at least groggy from the alcohol. Apparently this was too sobering of an issue.
She hummed her agreement, not sure whether to pry, or leave him to his own devices. "How'd you find out?"
He sighed, the sting of his former girlfriend's actions playing out before his eyes. "It was like a bad chick flick, and I was the chick with the posh-jock boyfriend that had another much more attractive version of myself on his arm. Except with gender reversal and all that jazz. Another sigh.
"You deserve better," She finally said, when his words had settled into a painful silence. Her eyes briefly left the front windshield to meet his face, unmasked for the sheer reason that he wasn't figuring Ziva to meet his gaze. "I mean it."
"And that's for you to judge?" He scoffed, bitterness overcoming his secretly surprised reaction. Ziva was not one to concede even half that much. "Considering your blossoming relationship with the Miami Heat-"
She cut him off deftly. "You mean the e-mails and text messages that he sends me while his girlfriend bitches because she trusts no member of her own sex, much less her own boyfriend? Ray is a kind man, but he is not my type, Tony. Get that through your head."
He didn't quite know what to think, and his head was throbbing from the situation at hand, plus his binge that had begun far too early in the day. He tried to change the subject. "So how'd you get this ride? Sign your life on the dotted line, Zee-vah?"
She laughed. "Hardly."
"Threaten him within an inch of his life?"
"My gaze did more than enough," she smirked, her smile almost as deadly as the knife he knew was strapped to her ankle.
Silence came over them again, this time slightly less forced, and a touch more comfortable. They had begun to hit the outskirts of the city before they spoke again.
"Why do you think you deserve less," Ziva probed, her tone softer than Tony had heard in a very long time, "You are one of a kind," she continued, her voice a touch above a whisper.
Tony stayed quiet a moment - shocking Ziva as he thought before responding. "Why do you insult me when I'm flying high, and compliment me when I'm low? Shouldn't you be adding insult to injury right about now? I'm not exactly the best specimen with you and your ex-lovers."
"You didn't love her," Ziva said, matter-of-fact like. "If you did, you wouldn't be this sober."
"Again sweetcheeks, like you would know?"
"Do you doubt me?"
"Leave it to you to answer me with a question," he mused aloud.
Ziva pulled over in front of his building and put the car in park, hearing the doors click unlocked. She locked them and turned on the master-lock before Tony to evade the entire situation. For being astoundingly sober, his breath smelled of cheap vodka and a hint of Gibbs' favorite, bourbon.
She grabbed his hand, successfully diverting his attention from him becoming a hostage with the former Mossad agent. "The Anthony DiNozzo that I know, that I have come to know, is sometimes over the edge-"
"You mean top, over the top."
"Don't interrupt." She took a breath. "You are a goof, and nothing but trouble sometimes, but I've come to realize that you'd do anything for someone you really care about, even me. And I've never really told you that I'm grateful for that. But I am, and I'm sorry I have to tell you now." She squeezed his hand. "You went all the way across the ocean for me, and you didn't even think I'd be there. If she's stupid enough to throw away a loyalty, a love like that, than she doesn't deserve you."
Tony, realizing her words, took advantage. "You mean E.J. or you?"
"Both of us," She finally conceded. If she felt any emotion, her blazing brown eyes didn't reveal it just yet. "But I know better than to let myself - much less any other bimbo take what you bring to the counter for granted. Insert Rule 8 as necessary."
"You meant table," Tony corrected, mind still not through processing everything she said. "Bring to the table."
Ziva huffed. "You know what I meant. Forgive me for not stepping in the second I got the idea that she would be less than suitible for you."
"Zee-vah?"
"Yes, Tony?"
This time, it was he who leaned over and pecked her on the cheek. "Thank you."
A rare, genuine smile graced her face, and she unlocked the doors after another moment. "You are welcome, Tony."
Much to her shock and risking the chance of death by means he didn't dare think about, Tony took the keys out of her brand new ride, and got out of her car, Ziva persuing with a speed that would rival lightning.
"What do you think you are doing?" She asked, anger edging her words.
Tony looked over his shoulder for only a second. "Getting you to come in and watch a movie with me. It's comedy night, I'm too depressed for much else."
She huffed in a tone much too angry to be realistic, and followed him.
Which was good for Tony, who locked arms with her as they headed up the stairs to his apartment, noting in his still half-buzzed state to have a conversation with her about those things she conceded about her feelings for him when he was much more charming and a touch more sober.
xxxxx
Thanks for reading. - JL