Summary: Rift: /rift/ n. A crack, split, or break in something. Tag to Double Blind. Because they are both broken right now and a space exists between them.
This is angsty, fair warning given.
Disclaimer: You know the drill.
Tony sighed.
He rolled over from his right side to his left, willing his mind to let his body sleep.
But sleep wouldn't come easily today. Not with his mind going over the events of the day. While a small part of him worried what would come of his boss after the investigation, the bigger part of him couldn't stop playing the images of Ziva and Adam. Together.
He sighed again, punching his fist into his pillow.
How could she.
It didn't even matter to him anymore that he had no real claim over her. It didn't even matter to him anymore that she knew how badly this had cut into him. What mattered is that he had practically told her, in her own language, that he fucking loved her and that he was there for her, and she'd gone off and jumped into the arms of another man.
And, in typical salt-in-the-wound fashion, introduced the guy to him. Did she think he wouldn't find out?
So here he was. Somewhere past the middle of the night, tossing and turning on an all-too-empty mattress, the images of what things must have happened between Ziva - his Ziva - and another guy.
What was she thinking?
He wondered if she even knew how badly this had hurt him. He wondered if she even cared at all. When he told her that she wasn't alone. When he told her he would give her anything she needed. Anything. He wondered if any of it had gotten through.
Why was she so hard to get through to? Why was it so hard for him to make Ziva understand that he was here? That he would always be here?
He punched his pillow again. He was hurt, yes, but he was also so angry. He didn't understand how she could leave him so easily and head into the arms of someone else. He just didn't understand. After everything they'd been through together. After all of the things he'd shared with her. After all of the things she'd shared with him. Ziva didn't open up easily. And yet, he'd gotten her to do so. She'd put her trust in him. He'd all but told her he loved her and he thought she'd understood. That he was here. For her. For the long haul.
And now this. He felt like someone had just kicked him in the stomach and knocked all of the wind out of him. And honestly, she may as well have, because it might have hurt less if she'd physically assaulted him.
He picked up his phone, wondering if she'd even be up if he called. He looked at her smiling face on his screen, lightly brushing his thumb over her cheek. Doesn't she know after all this time how much I care for her? he thought. He almost dialed but changed his mind.
Why should I be the one to call her? Why should I be the one when she's the one who needs to reach out to me? The one who should apologize for what happened?
He tossed the phone down on the pillow he wasn't using, frustrated. He wouldn't call her. She needed to call him. She needed to call him. She needed to be the one to bridge the gap. He'd still be there for her, for anything she needed. But he couldn't be the one to keep running back to her. It was her turn to put herself out there. It was her turn to be the one pushing down the walls between them and closing the gap.
And after all this, after how he'd finally truly let her in and allowed himself to care for her, truly care for her, he wasn't sure why he should remain so open to this woman. He'd handed her his heart. He didn't tell her to take care of it because he thought she knew.
How could this woman he'd given so much to just turn around and throw it all back at him? How could she. How. Could. She.
And how could he have been so stupid to fall for her?
I should have known better.
He sighed again. Not only had he fallen for his partner, but now it was all out on the table, wasn't it? Everything all out in the open. She had to have seen the hurt he felt. He was past the point where he could pretend he didn't care when she didn't see him the way he saw her. He was past pretending he didn't love her now. No more saving face. No more laughing it off. She knew.
And perhaps that was the worst part, knowing that she knew how he felt and knowing that she so obviously didn't feel the same way. He turned again in the bed, pulling the cover over his head as if that would make his shame go away. Would she pity him now? Could they work together now?
And if she had felt the same way, would she have run for comfort elsewhere?
The answer was no.
He rolled over again, trying to find some way to settle the thoughts in his mind.
He checked his phone again, willing it to ring. Willing her to call him. She had to be the one to make this step. She had to be the one to right this wrong. There was only so much he could do.
But the phone didn't ring, and sleep didn't come.
He'd never felt so alone.
Ziva sighed.
She rolled over to her left side from her right willing her mind to let her body sleep.
But sleep wouldn't come easily to her today. Not with her guilty conscience nagging at her psyche. Not with the images of Tony's hurt face playing over and over in her mind.
He was right. He'd told her she wasn't alone. And then when he trusted her and let her go, she betrayed him at the first opportunity. While she'd felt bad about it right after it had happened, she never expected that he would ever know about it. And she could have forgotten about it and moved forward.
Yeah, you keep telling yourself that it didn't matter, she thought.
She turned over again, grabbing an extra pillow and curling it to her chest. She sighed, realizing for the first time that her actions in Israel had consequences, and that one day, they would come to haunt her. That even if Tony had never found out, eventually, it would have affected her. And she should have known better.
She heard his words again, biting, angry, hurt. She supposed she would never forget the look in his eyes as he told her that he'd meant it when he said she wasn't alone.
Why didn't I believe him?
"I am an idiot," she said into her pillow, kicking the covers off of her sweating form. There she was, everything she could have ever wanted and needed right in front of her, and she couldn't even recognize it for what it was.
Couldn't even recognize Tony for what he was. She'd always wanted that one person to stand beside her and be there no matter what happened, and he was right there.
How had I not seen that?
And now she knew she'd hurt him. She'd tried to catch his eye but couldn't ... save for one fleeting moment before leaving the squad room, when they'd locked eyes for a few brief seconds, and she'd lowered her gaze in shame when she saw the pain register in his. She couldn't even bring herself to say goodnight as she left for the evening, opting instead to leave as quickly as possible.
And here she was, lying alone in bed, tossing and turning restlessly as she worried over the hurt she'd caused him. The one person who had always trusted her, loved her, and she'd hurt him.
She got out of bed and walked to the bathroom, switching the light on as she entered. Blinking as she adjusted to the light, she filled up a glass of water and took a sip, catching her own eye as she did so.
She immediately looked away, slamming the cup down on the counter.
How can I face myself when I have done what I have done? She had killed before, in cold blood. She had followed not-so-moral orders in the past, for what she believed to be a just cause. She'd slept her way to secrets, she'd slept her way out of trouble.
And now she'd slept her way out of the arms of the only man who had ever truly loved her.
Loved her.
She wondered how he could love her, one who had done such as she. But he did. He accepted her for all she was, and he gave her all that he had. How could she have screwed this up so horribly?
And how could she have let the one man who would be there for her down?
She flicked the light switch again and headed back to the bedroom, crawling back into her bed. He'd held her in his arms just a few days ago. He'd danced with her. He'd held her hand. She'd felt whole, complete, and not alone for the first time.
"One day, you will dance with a man who deserves your love," her father had said. He does not deserve me, papa, she thought, he deserves someone who will cherish him. Someone who wouldn't hurt him in this way.
Someone that wasn't her.
And yet, all she wanted was to reach out to him and find a way to make it better. To find a way to take away the hurt. She hated to see him hurt. She hated even more that she was the cause. She knew that they were not together, by anyone's definition, but he had been faithful to her. Why could she not do the same for him?
She reached for her phone, scrolling down to highlight his name in her contacts list. Her thumb hovered over the number for several minutes, before she ultimately decided that she wouldn't call.
What could she possibly say to him right now?
"I'm sorry," she whispered to her empty room, but she didn't know if sorry was going to cut it anymore. She wished fervently into the darkness that he would come to her, but she knew he wouldn't.
She'd never felt so alone.
Obviously I don't want it to happen this way but it could. And I haven't written any good angst in a while. And because there's a lot of feelings to explore here and it just won't be as simple as kiss and make up.
I appreciate the read and of course, the review if you could spare the time.