Another little one-shot after Eli David's death except this time with more Tiva! This is not a follow on from my last one-shot although it probably could be if you wanted it to (I'll leave that up to you) For all my British fans or anyone where NCIS has just started, what did you think of the opening episode? That's all ~ NGUH2
He breaks into her apartment one night, picking open the lock as swiftly as any good operative. He needs to find out how she has been, how she has been holding up. From the looks of the place, she's not here. Tony sighs, her flight landed three hours ago. But in a way, he wasn't expecting her to be here. Suddenly, there is a gun pressed against his head, "Move one inch, and you die." comes the threat from the raw but well-loved voice of Ziva David.
Tony puts his hands up, a sign for surrender. "Ziva, it's me, Tony." He cries and that's enough for her to remove the gun from his temple and flick on the light. It's a pale light, but Tony can still see the dark circles under her eyes, the red-rimmed flesh of her eyes and the blotchiness of her face. She puts the gun back to her waist, her hands fumbling a little, something which Tony is sure has never happened in her life.
"Tony," Ziva whispers, her voice low and hoarse with continuous crying, "Why are you here?"
The question makes Tony flash back to a time three years ago, when they were in Somalia. Ziva had asked the same question then, both filled with the same despair, the same hopelessness, the same feeling that tomorrow will not be better, will not be kinder but instead much harsher, much crueller.
"I came to see how you were holding up." Ziva looks confused so Tony switches his words, "How you were coping. If you had gotten back okay?"
"I am fine Tony." She states simply. Tony was expecting those words. She wasn't going to bare her soul to him. There were to many skeletons in her closet, too many secrets, too many painful scars that would never heal.
Tony looks behind Ziva. She must have been having dinner when he interrupted for there is a half-eaten plate of pasta on the table behind her. He side-steps her, sitting opposite her chair. Ziva sighs wearily, coming to sit opposite him. "Eat." he commands. She picks up her fork and takes one mouthful of the spaghetti but spends the next ten minutes toying with the food on her plate. During those ten minutes, he is able to determine two things;
1) Ziva didn't eat much in Israel
2) She's not fine, at all.
"Ziva," he begins and she drops her fork with a clatter and looks up at him. He brown eyes full of sorrow, full of pain. "How are you really?"
He's expecting the same answer as before, the same answer that Ziva always gives. But instead she looks down at her congealing spaghetti and whispers, "awful."
She focuses on the spaghetti until it starts to swim before her eyes, turning into worms, blurring and swirling. There is no words for a long amount of time and it's only when Tony notices a tear making it's descent from her eyes and dropping onto her plate that he speaks.
"Ziva, I know it's hard, you are going through the worst possible thing right now. One day, it will get better, one day all of this will seem like a bad dream but right now, you need to deal with it, you need to deal with the pain."
Ziva jumps up, pushing her chair back so hard that it falls onto the linoleum. The sound ricochets of the walls of the apartment, then the only sound is Ziva's heavy breathing. "I DO NOT WANT TO DEAL WITH THIS!" she yells and Tony winces and his choice of words, "I CANNOT DEAL WITH THIS!" and then she slumps to the floor, sobbing.
His heart bleeds for her, Ziva shouldn't look like this, Ziva's an assassin. She's the one woman in his life who he has been scared of, the one person who always has an angry retort on her tongue. He walks over and carries her bridal style to her sofa. He sinks back on it, keeping Ziva in his arms the whole time, not letting go. She presses her face against his shirt, feeling the soft fabric cool against her hot cheeks. She knows she is wetting his shirt but she doesn't care, there is nothing left to care about.
After a while, the sobbing does subside and Ziva peeks her head out shamefully. She finds a worried face looking into her eyes and she stand up, brushing herself off. "I am sorry for my outburst Tony, I did not mean for you to see that." Her voice is raw and hoarse.
"There's no need to be sorry Ziva, it's my fault, I used the wrong words, all I meant was that you have to push past the pain, push past it until the memories of your father bring joy instead of pain. Though I can't see what good memories you would have of him Tony thinks bitterly.
Ziva watches him curiously. "He was still my father Tony, there was some good times." She says, answering his silent question. He sits up and she sits herself down next to him, feeling that there is more words to come.
"There was a time, when I believed my father was the best man in the whole world. He would pick me up and sit me on his shoulders, when I was at least five or six, when Mossad was only a distant dream. There was a time when my childhood home was filled with the sound of laughter, of my siblings and I. There was a time when I had a family, when my mother and father would look at each other and I could see the love pass between them. There was a time Tony."
"Ziva, he left you do you not remember that?"
"Of course I do, I will never forget. It has been carved onto me!" she cries, holding out her wrists. Tony can see the thin silver scars that go up each arm, disappearing under her shirt. "But he was still my father, he still brought me up."
Ziva jumps up again, pacing the small living room back and forth. Tony sees what Ziva doesn't want the world to know, that she still craved her father's approval so badly, that it still meant the world to her when he acknowledged her, when he showed her that he loved her.
"I have nobody left. There is no more of the David family, it is only I who remains." She whispers sadly.
"That can't be true Ziva, you must have somebody." Tony objects, standing up and facing her.
"It is true. My mother is dead, my sister Tali is dead from an explosion, Ari is dead by my own hand and now is my father. They were still my family, no matter what people say, and you protect family!" she shouts because she sees the look on Tony's face, the one that comes up whenever Ari is mentioned.
"There was good times with Ari, he was my brother, he wasn't always a terrorist." She challenges Tony, but he doesn't reply back. He's in no mood to argue with her, especially since she's running on rage to get her through the day, there is no way he will win any argument with her.
"It is my fault, I made myself alone."
Tony's head snaps up, "No! Don't you dare say that, you did not make yourself alone, you didn't."
"I did!" she sobs bitterly, "Because I shot Ari, I killed my brother, of course it's my fault, nothing good deserves to happen to me."
"Listen Ziva!" Tony shakes her shoulders, "You shot Ari because he was going to shoot Gibbs. Who you shot was not your brother, he was just a shell of the old Ari, he was not the person you remember. He was not a good guy, do you hear me?" Ziva nods slowly, looking at Tony. He notices her eyes, swimming with tears, full of scars, of horror, of pain. He recognises the look, one he has not seen since Somalia it shows that time has not healed Ziva David, it has just made her more broken.
She falls against him, unable to stand on her feet anymore, unable to take the pain. Tony catches her and the fall to the floor, Ziva still tight in Tony's arms. He scoots back and leans against the sofa, stroking her hair and whispering words of comfort, thinking about what she has just said. It's not Ziva's fault, that two people she looked up to turned against her, that her father and her big brother betrayed her trust.
Tony leans down and whispers into Ziva's ear, "Ziva David, don't you dare believe your alone for one second. You have us."
It's several hours later when Ziva stops crying, her tears run dry. She looks up at Tony, seeing the sunrise along his jaw line, one half in the shadow, the other half in the light. "Where do you wan to be buried, when you die?"
Tony is thrown off by the question, it seems a personal thing but it's good she's opening up to him. "I don't know. Next to my mom I guess, or next to people who care about me." The hand that's on Ziva's back rubbing it in concentric circles, "How about you?"
"Israel." She answers simply and Tony get's the impression that she's thought about this, "Next to all my family."
"Don't you want to be buried here, you're an American now?"
"Yes but Tony, Israel will always be home. It is the country that raised me, it is the home of most Jews, even if they have never been there. It will always be my home."
Tony thought about it, maybe it was like the way Mecca was the home of most Muslims, even if they have never set foot there. But she was right, first and foremost, she would always be that Israeli assassin that had walked into the squad room on that rainy morning, no matter what they law said.
"Why did you organise the funeral so quickly?" He asks, his breath tickling her scalp.
"In my father's life it was always Israel, Mossad then Ziva. I wasn't going to let his death change that." She answers, stifling a yawn. Tony nods but she doesn't see it, she can feel it, in the movement of his chest.
She yawns again and Tony picks her up and settles her on the sofa next to him, so that her head is on his chest, but her feet are tucked underneath her legs. She opens her mouth to say something, sleep making her forget she can speak English, "Ani Ohev Otach."
Tony smiles and kisses her forehead. "I love you too."
Hope you liked that little Tiva thing going on there and if you didn't well… sorry, there's nothing I can do. I cannot stress enough that I have no seen the episode so most of this is probably an AU. Please take the time to review and tell me what you think, the next chapter of Broken will probably be up tonight, thanks : ) ~ NGUH2
P.S. - the title means help/ save me.