Title: Worry (1/1)
Author: Aerial312
Rating: T
Category: Hurt/Comfort
Spoilers/Timeline: Post "Rule 51".
Word Count: ~1317
Disclaimer: I own nothing…I just borrow.
Feedback: Greatly appreciated.
Note: I've rewritten this several times, rewatched the episode and rewritten some more. I wanted to get it in before the season actually kicks off.
The red liquid sloshed over the edge as it was poured into the glass, leaving a small puddle on the black laminate top of the table. She knew she would regret it in the morning when it was a sticky mess, but three-quarters of the way through the bottle of wine, Ziva could not summon the will power to get off the couch and get a towel to wipe it up. She curled her knees up to her chest, and took a long sip.
Her cell phone sat silently beside her. It had not made a sound all night. Ziva dropped her head back against the cushion, and picked it up. Opening it with a flick of her thumb, she scowled. No new texts either.
At the ceremony, she had been disappointed, but there was too much going on to really dwell on his absence. She found out soon enough, when Vance filled her and McGee in. But she had not heard from him. No one had. Later, at the bar with Abby, McGee and Palmer, disappointment turned to annoyance. He could have left her a quick message before he left. Now ten unanswered phone calls, three texts with no response, and more than half a bottle of wine later, she was worried. Very worried. Wherever he was, his phone was off.
She wished she had hung around and waited for him after Vance held him back the night before. At the time all she could think about was finally getting to go home after a long day. She would never admit it to anyone else, but she was nervous about the ceremony.
Ziva gulped down the rest of the wine in her glass, and contemplated pouring more. A glance at the clock on her cell phone persuaded her to set the empty glass on the table. 3:18. While sleep was unlikely in her current state of mind, she at least needed to sober up before work.
Flipping the phone open, she selected his number from the list of recent calls and clicked to connect. It went straight to voicemail again. She snapped it shut with a sigh.
She stared blankly ahead. There was nothing to do but wait. Her gun was pristine. She had cleaned it earlier in the evening to calm her nerves. She was considering beginning the methodical process again when the trill of the doorbell cut through the silence. Ziva jumped to her feet and ran over to the door, taking a second to peer through the peephole before flinging it open. It was unlikely to be anyone else at nearly 3:30 in the morning, but experience had taught her to always double check.
They just stared at each other for a moment. Tony looked like hell. Smears of mud decorated his jeans. His shirt was dirty. It bore the signs of having been worn for 24 hours. There were huge dark circles under his eyes which were dull with exhaustion.
Ziva brought her hand to his stubbly cheek. His eyes closed, as leaned into her touch. He had not slept while he was in Mexico, that was clear. He could probably fall asleep standing right there. Tony's eyes snapped open as she pulled her hand away from his face. His tired eyes suddenly had a nervous look.
He started to open his mouth to say something and hesitated. There was clearly something he wanted to say, but his frazzled brain was too tired to get the right words out. Ziva slid her hand into his and tugged him into her apartment. He stumbled over his own feet, and she could not help but chuckle. His hand remained in hers. She had just enough wine in her system to not question the urge to lead directly down the hall to her bedroom.
"Filthy clothes off," she ordered, breaking the silence.
He looked at her bewildered.
"How long has it been since you have slept?"
"Too long," he mumbled. "I—"
"You will get some sleep."
Ziva released his hand, and set to work on the buttons of his tattered shirt. Other than the weariness and grime he seemed to be intact and unharmed.
Tony yawned loudly, fumbling with his belt. He sighed in frustration. Ziva pushed his hand out of the way, and quickly undid the belt and the button.
"Thanks," Tony murmured, stepping out of his pants. He looked at her questioningly.
"Lie down."
Tony winced as he crawled into the unmade bed. Ziva climbed in to sit beside him, and pulled the comforter over them both.
"Please tell me you did not drive here in this condition."
"Took a cab."
"How come you did not just go home and sleep?" she asked.
Gingerly, he turned his head to face her and opened his eyes. "I wanted to be there. I promised I'd be there. And I wasn't."
Ziva rest her hand on his chest, interrupting his thought process. He caught her hand in his.
"Ziva, I'm sorry."
"Do not apolo—"
"Needed to make sure we were okay." He took a deep breath. He drew her hand to his lips and softly kissed her knuckles. "You're not mad."
He sounded surprised, Ziva noted. He had expected her to be mad at him.
"I was," Ziva admitted, laying down beside him, leaving her hand in his.
"Was?" he asked as he rolled over to face her.
"At the ceremony. When I did not see you."
He pulsed her hand in his. "Not anymore?"
"Vance briefed us on your assignment. You had orders. I understood." That was the truth. A truth. Yes, the director's information had quelled her disappointment. But she had been worried about him too, once she knew what he was doing.
He studied her for a moment. "What's bothering you?"
She had been worried about him. Very worried. And she was not sure that she wanted him to know that, to see that weakness. She let her head rest against his chest, avoiding his searching eyes. "Nothing is bothering me."
"Ziva." His voice was edged with frustration at her evasion.
"You should sleep," she told him.
He sighed, rolling away from her onto his back, and releasing her hand. Ziva inhaled sharply at the loss of contact. Why was it so hard to admit that she cared enough to worry?
"You did not answer your phone," she said, finally.
"I couldn't."
"I know." She curled her head back onto his chest, refusing to meet his eyes. " It made me…worry."
"Worry?" he asked, no hint of mocking in his voice.
The admission had not been as difficult as she had imagined it to be. She answered, "No one had heard from you all day. We had to way to contact you."
He ran his hand into her hair. "It was a long day."
Ziva nodded against his warm skin, continuing to graze her fingertips along his chest. "Get some sleep."
"You keep doing that and…" he murmured huskily into her hair, letting it trail off.
She chuckled. "You are hardly in the condition for anything but sleep."
He tugged her closer, and she threaded her knee between his. "Oh yeah?" he challenged.
Sure enough, she could feel him pressing against her hip. Not quite there, but on his way. She actually considered it for a moment. But he desperately needed a few hours of sleep, regardless of what he thought he needed.
She pressed her lips to his chest. "You need to sleep, motek. We have to be up in two and a half hours." She had not meant to use the term of endearment.
"I suppose you're right. What does motek mean?"
"It is not unkind," Ziva answered quickly, without really answering.
"It didn't sound unkind," Tony smiled. "I'll google it tomorrow."
"Go ahead."
He would forget by the morning, she guessed. And if he found out, oh well.