Disclaimer: I do not own NCIS or any of the characters.

Spoiler Alert: References to events in Season 6 and Season 7

A/N: Each of these chapters can be read as a story that can end with any chapter. For example, Chapter 1 could be considered a one-shot, with a decent conclusion. But Chapter 2 will continue the story, with another conclusion. And so on. REVIEWS ARE APPRECIATED!

He sits on his couch, staring blankly at the widescreen TV in front of him. A recent award-winning movie plays, but other things hold his attention.

Like that moment in the men's room. She had cleaned up, the mixed dirt, blood, and other grime scrubbed from her body, and the tangled hair brushed back into a secure ponytail. Make-up almost completely hid bruises that had yet to fully heal. But...

Somalia and the people there had taken a toll on her. The 3/4 length sleeves and long pants she wore hid the worst of her injuries. But not only did these clothes hang loosely off of bony shoulders and hips, they let some scarring on her forearms show. Her skin had lost its usual tan glow, with the make-up only worsening the fact.

She had said something about him always having her back...and he had listened to every word that came out of her mouth, he had savored the sound of her voice, savored it like he would a lover's soft kiss, but her words hadn't really sunk in...she had just looked so pale, so thin that he could barely think of anything else. He could, however, recall the sincerity in her voice as she said those words, as well as the mixed feelings in her eyes. There had been gratefulness, pain, and...regret? Sure, he had sometimes heard her say that she regretted something, but he had never seen her really display that particular emotion...or, recently, much of any emotion.

And then she had kissed him. Lightly, and on his cheek, but a kiss nonetheless, and one with passion.

And then he, the incompetent, insensitive, and cowardly idiot, ran out on her. He almost laughs in cynical self-hatred. Ran out on her in the most literal sense possible, for he certainly hadn't had a real outside-of-work relationship with her that he could 'run out' on.

Back to the point, sure, he had somewhat returned the gesture. He could still feel her jawbone and soft skin under his hand. But he proceeded to seize upon the idea she had given him and rush from the men's room.

Without conscious thought, he quickly stands up and grabs his car keys from the kitchen table where he had left them. He doesn't even consider the fact that he is dresses only in a too-small white T-shirt and loose sweatpants and no shoes as he heads out the door of his apartment.
"Tony..." a voice calls.

At first, he doesn't hear the voice in his mad rush to the car. But then his sleep-deprived brain finally recognizes the voice and he quickly turns on his heel to face the figure leaning against his doorframe. He runs to her, and stops abruptly, remembering her recent ordeal.

"Ziva, I'm-" he begins to say.

"Shh," she interrupts, placing a slim figure on his lips. "I know."

When she removes her finger, he gently takes her hand in one of his and opens the door with his other hand. Stepping inside, he looks at the condition of his apartment with new eyes. The TV is still on, dishes are piled up in the sink, and various suit jackets are scattered around the living room.

"I was uh…I mean I'll just-" Unbidden, the adrenaline that has been coursing through his system is displayed in the form of nervousness. Giving up on his voice, he strides over to the couch to pick up the remote and turn the TV off, but she beats him to it, appearing in between him and the couch.

"It is fine. I would like to see it. I think you will be quoting it soon, yes?"

He has to smile at that, but does not mention that he hasn't really seen any of it bcause he had been so preoccupied worrying about their actions earlier that day.

"Do you want anything to eat? There's some pizza I can heat up real quick," he says as an answer.

"That would be nice," she replies, and only then does he notice that she is pressed against him with the couch against the back of her legs, and that he can feel her breath on his neck. An odd feeling shoots up his spine, and he acknowledges her statement by turning to the kitchenette to prepare the food.

While waiting for the pizza to heat up, his brain finally catches up to the current events, from the adrenaline rush to the moment by the couch where she had been up against him. What had she been doing outside his apartment? How long had she been there? And what on earth had he been thinking going out to see her in these clothes, and to top it all off, without shoes?

The dinging of the oven jerks him from his reverie, and he snaps into motion. Unfortunately, he has only one clean plate, but it will have to do. He grabs a pot holder and carefully removes the tray from the hot oven rack and sets it on the counter. He puts the pot holder aside, and starts to transfer the slices of pizza onto the plate, but ends up swearing under his breath when his right hand knuckles brush the bottom of the tray.

He walks silently back to the couch with the plate of food in his hand, and sees that she started the movie over. So she was serious about wanting to see the movie.
She had moved onto the couch and is leaning against into the corner of the couch with her head resting on the back cushion. Although she seems engrossed in the movie, some sixth sense alerts her to his approach.

"Thank you," she says when he sits down on the other side of the couch. They eat and watch the beginning of the movie in companionable silence until the pizza is gone.

Then they remain that way until she speaks.

"I should have helped," she says so quietly he can barely hear her over the movie.

"No, it's fine. I may not be a great cook, but I do know how to reheat a pizza."

She laughs a little at that, but something else is clearly on her mind.

"No, in...Somalia...I should have helped. Instead I was a dead freight." Tony ignores her mess-up, his eyes locked on her face as her eyes bore holes in the TV screen. "I...we barely escaped. If not for Gibbs, for Abby, for McGee and Ducky...my body would be rotting in that forsaken place." He wants to ask about himself, but again holds his tongue, sensing the time is not right. "And if not for you, you who has always had my back, I might have died before I even boarded the Damocles."

"Zi...I really am sorry. I-you loved him, didn't you?" He asks quietly. He had almost slipped and insensitively said 'I think it is better that he is gone, however."

She doesn't answer for a few minutes. When she does, it is first with a sigh, and, still without looking at him, she turns so that her back is to him, and slowly lets herself fall onto his chest. It is a bold move, especially for someone with Ziva's past.

"I do not know, Tony. He seemed...permanent...but he was not."

They are silent for a few more minutes as each contemplates his or her own thoughts and wonders what the other will say.

"About earlier," He begins, judging her reaction. She twists her neck to look at him in a sign to continue. He almost doesn't, seeing the barely guarded sad emotions in her eyes. But she is still strong, and will hear him out. "I...I shouldn't have left so abruptly. I just...it probably seemed like I ignored everything you said, didn't it? But I wanted to say that I did listen, I will always listen, and that I will always have your back. And..." he flashes back to that moment when her soft hand had rested on his neck, and her equally soft lips were pressed lightly to his cheek. All that he had done to return the gesture was hold the side of her head in his hand and then rush out.

'And what?' her eyes ask.

"And I never finished what you started," he ends. Leaning down a little, he gently kisses her widow's peak. At first, she tenses, but when she sees that he is not going for her lips, she relaxes somewhat.

Again there is silence in the room, but it is a comfortable silence, the silence of two people each grateful that the other is alive, if not completely well.