AN: This is my first story. Please read and review! I know it is kind of long, (okay, quite long) but it just all came out at once (while procrastinating of course.) Tony does act slightly OOC, but its a good one, I promise! And as always, please review. Let me know if I should try and turn this into something more. It's staying as a one-shot for now.
AN#2: Updated 1/13/13, fixed a few errors.
Disclaimer: Would I really be writing fanfics if I owned NCIS?
What goes up, must come down.
That saying followed Tony around his entire life. Although superficially it seemed that he was always holding the right hand, every Ace he was dealt came paired with at least one brick. He'd repeatedly meet beautiful women and have various standalone nights of passion, but each one brought the curse of bringing him a step farther from any sort of romantic maturity he swore to himself that he would develop. A recent blessing: Gibbs had left, retired, and left him as team leader. His newfound authority and pride also brought the burden to his relationships with the team. He'd never been known as the most professional at the office, but being team leader demanded that, and it strained him and his friendships to have to meet that challenge. He'd fallen into the new director's good graces- gained her trust, a professional friendship, and her confidence as a team leader and especially as an agent. Such good graces, it turned out, that she'd started selecting him for a battery of undercover missions. Many small, many random, and now one big one. He'd been briefed earlier that day by Jenny. If successful, he'd permanently have her trust, her ear, and her reference. A big career step. A good thing. Good for him. Good for the country- an international arms dealer's daughter living in America meant that daddy came by often- both on visits and business. He'd seen the director's personal obsession with the case, and wasn't quite certain of it's roots, but it wasn't his job to question her. It was his job to obey, and to be the best field agent to his ability, and to accept her assignments. Any agent would be lucky to be given this sort of trust and responsibility from the fresh director. This was definitely a blessing. But Tony, though he hid it, wasn't quite comfortable with the assignment, knowing that one of the traditional curses to follow his good luck was certain down the road: he wouldn't be in this advancing fake relationship forever, and though he didn't know Jeanne Benoit well, he hardly though she deserved the heartbreak that was coming. Going undercover without his team also meant more curses to come as he had to hide and sneak around them for the next few months. Yes, Tony's blessings always came with strings attached directly to curses, and that was what brought him to knock his knuckles three times on the door in front of him.
"Tony! I was not expecting you tonight." The Mossad officer's door creaked open to reveal a pajama-clad Ziva, who snuck her right leg into the hallway to lean against the doorframe. Her hair was wet, but still wild somehow, and her makeup had been removed. But unlike any other woman he knew, she showed no embarrassment and hid nothing at her state. No reason to, Tony briefly thought to himself. "To be perfectly honest, I have not exactly expected you any of the other nights you have come to visit. You are welcome all the same. Did you bring a movie?" She flashed a familiar smile at the mention of his usual token brought when they were going to spend a night in.
In that moment, Tony wanted nothing more than to pull a movie out of his coat pocket and dive into the ramblings of why it would be the best movie she'd ever seen, whip out his cell phone and call Mama Mia's down the street and order their usual large pepperoni. Tony's delay and loss of a response made Ziva slightly narrow her eyes and inch her head to one side. "Tony?"
"Actually, Ziva..." What was his plan now? He'd sat in the car for forty-five minutes outside of her apartment planning out exactly how this was going to go. They had been seeing each other like this ever since Gibbs left. Initially, they'd just sought comfort in each other as they both tried to close the hole Gibbs had left. Missing the man they both cherished closer than their own fathers, if not used to fill the gapes their fathers had made and left abandoned, it was easy and understood between the two agents that they were there for each other. Very few words needed to be said about the issue. Although he'd known Abby and McGee for longer, he'd feel almost guilty coming to them with his emotional baggage, baggage he knew that Ziva had already experienced. Plus, she was a much better cuddle buddy than the Probie. "Cuddle" might not have been the right word- brief handholding, the eventual act of her falling asleep on his shoulder, and the twice forgiven incidents of them actually falling asleep on her couch together. That was pretty much the extent of the summer. Tony found it hard to admit to himself that although their encounters had been innocent, they brought him much more comfort than any one night stand had in months, even the ones that stayed in his arms until the morning.
"Tony, you are staring." Ziva held his gaze when his eyes snapped back to hers, and made no effort to hide the suspicion in her voice.
"Actually, Zi, I didn't bring anything tonight. I was hoping that we could..."
"Oh! Yes!" The Israeli took Tony's wrist to pull him from the hall and into her small living room. "I still have the information for your NetFlix account saved onto my computer. I know you suggested that I purchase my own, but..." She grabbed his other wrist and met his eyes, her shoulders strong and forward. ".. I only really watch movies when you are here."
It was right then that Tony knew that this upcoming mission was going to bring more than just a curse to his relationship with his partner. All he had worked for over the past year was going to shatter and he couldn't think of anything that would hurt more. This was Ziva. When they'd first met, she spent the first few months treating him as a target, working to seduce him, slithering onto his desk, her hands always lingering too long on his shoulder, back, chest, thigh. Back then, she always had bedroom eyes on when she looked at him, trying to get him on her side, as a tool and a source of intel in a place foreign to her. It didn't make her heartless or easy, it made her a good agent. Her time in the Mossad had trained her head into using sex as an advantage, a tactic for easy targets. But he brushed off her blatant sexuality with humor, or sometimes matched her with lewdness. A whole damn year of trying to get to know and learn the inner workings of the enigma within the enigma that was Ziva David, and it paid off in a moment like this, where she was searching his eyes for an answer or an invitation. No seduction, no games, just love and trust. His loyal companion, his better half in the field, his friend, his ear, his partner. Who deserved all the trust and honesty he could offer. Partner, Tony thought. My partner.
Once again, Tony had not responded for too long. Ziva dropped his arms, and held her own elbows in her palms, crossing her arms. She looked away and took a slight step back. "Tony, tell me what this is. Tell me why you have come." Her eyes were burning holes in her hardwood floors.
"Ziva, let's sit down. Don't get too worked up-"
"What does exercise have to do with anything?" Ziva countered.
Oh boy, now I have to correct her too. She's gonna love me. "Thats work out, Ziva, worked up means emotional-"
"Oh, now I am getting emotional, Tony? You have not said enough words since stepping into my apartment to warrant a response of any kind, Tony, especially not an emotional one." And there it was, illustrated in the tone of her voice, the beginnings of the great warrior Ziva David, beginning to strap on the armor, preparing for battle. A small but forceful metal shield was now resting in her inner warrior's arms.
"Ziva, please. Let's just sit." He pleaded. This was all moving much faster than he had pictured in the car. He planned to come in, hug her, explain that he would be a little distant for the next few weeks, and although he couldn't explain it to her now, come a few months they could get back on track to where they were now. He'd even bribe her with paying for the takeout for the rest of time if she would just please, please, be patient with him for a few months. He was going to softly explain to her that she was still his partner, they would still always see each other at work, and that this wouldn't mean he cared any less. In the car, he envisioned her understanding, and possibly giving him a kiss on the cheek before he left to get some sleep before his first day as Anthony DiNardo. Imaginary Ziva had told him to please not let anything change between them before things were back to normal. Please.
"Tony, anything you have to say to me while we are seated can be said while standing straight. It can also be said on the way to the hospital if you do not spit out the reason that you have come to my apartment, with no warning, with no intention of spending time together." Her eyes now had their familiar Officer David, Mossad Operative David, Interrogator David glint of steel in them. Just what in the hell made you think that she would not fight you? Idiot. Tony chastised himself for his earlier misjudgments. This was Ziva, there was no way she was going to accept no-story bullshit, and there was no way she'd let him leave without getting in a few punches.
"This isn't working anymore."
He'd forced his eyes shut right before he said it, and in the moment of darkness he almost reached for his phone and called the director to tell her she could stick her undercover mission right up her ass. He almost called his old Baltimore buddy to see if they had any openings at the old precinct. He almost threw a childish "NOT!" at the end of his uttered sentence to buy himself more time to get back to the scenario he had prepared. Almost.
"Tony, are you breaking up with me?" His eyes still screwed shut, he was surprised that he didn't hear the over-dramatic tone he'd heard from women so many times before when he'd thrown a bullshit excuse to end what they called "relationships." Instead, he heard a slight mocking tone, and opened his eyes just in time to see Ziva smirking with him. She dropped her shield, and he was grateful that it was all the armor she'd had time to put on. Ziva picked up a previously abandoned glass of wine and plopped herself on her couch. She was no longer on the defensive, and gave a small sigh as if she'd expected this melodrama from him. "Tony, we are friends. You come over and watch movies. There is nothing to be broken."
He watched as she said it all with a smile that did not quite reach her eyes. A small pang hitched in his ribcage, but Tony decided to deal with it later. Everything she said was true. They had not even been friends long enough for anything else to occur. But the weekly visits, the shared bottles of wine, the slightly-too-close-for-co-workers movie nights, would still have to end. Though they highlighted his weeks throughout the summer, he couldn't put her in the situation he'd have to if he tried to continue. His near future held cheesy dates, suave romantic gestures, late nights spent wooing a young doctor he had yet to even see a photo of, much less meet. He deserved a fair warning for Ziva when he did not have the time, the energy, the opportunity to be a good friend. And although her words marked friendship, he knew that he wanted more, and he could not fool either of them when that moment soon came where they had to take the next step. As of tomorrow, he was taken. In a relationship with his job in the most literal sense possible. He could not be there for Ziva, he could not risk his new, albeit fake relationship, that would soon develop with Jeanne Benoit, should she get suspicious as women so often do and find him late night asleep on Ziva's couch. He could not drag Ziva into this. He only wished that he could tell her the complete truth. But another consequence of the commitment to the mission meant secrecy, solidarity with Jenny, and unanswered questions for Ziva.
"I... I still cannot do this." He said, unable to meet Ziva's eyes for the first of many times that evening.
"Tony, what is wrong? There is no reason why we cannot be friends. Gibbs does not have a rule against it, in fact, I think he secretly encourages it. You are part of my new American family." That stung. Here comes the burn. Tony winced. Why could she not make this any easier on him? Didn't she see he was having a difficult time enough. "Tony?" He still could not meet her eyes. "Tony." Her voice lowered as she could no longer spoke his name in a question, but stated it plain and simply, as if hoping for the same from him.
He needed to leave. He could no longer take the guilt over having to crumble this new, not yet cemented more-than-friendship. He wanted out, an escape. The whole situation was difficult for him enough as it was.
"I.. don't want to come over any more." It was out of his mouth before he'd even mentally formulated the whole sentence. Once it was out, he worried if it was convincing enough to hold weight. Before he knew it, Ziva had the shield back in her arms, and a wary look in her eyes.
"You are lying. You enjoy being here. If not, you would not make it a weekly habit, and you certainly would have made a phone call tonight instead of bringing yourself over." She did not look directly at him, instead stared at the red wine she was swirling in circles in her glass. Ziva had a point. His silence all but confirmed her theory. His presence that night did not help his newly adopted theory that he did not enjoy spending time at the apartment. Panic flooded him, and then relief. For all the scenarios that he'd prepared for, he didn't think she would respond like this. He'd prepared for her acceptance. He'd prepared for her indifference. He'd prepared for flat out anger. But he did not prepare for her refusal.
He knew what he had to do. The whole night was meant to be a quick break that could heal more quickly for both of them than the slow burn that was to come if Tony didn't address the situation. He was going to hurt her anyway- temporarily, to be fixed when the stupid mission was over. But she would not cooperate. Her ignorance of his initial wishes gave him a slight glimmer of hope; after all, it meant she cared. If she didn't, she would have let him go before they'd made it into her living room. But the panic creeping up from his stomach left him uneasy. He knew what was coming next. Anything else, Tony pleaded with himself. When he looked at Ziva, she had a small smile of triumph. It pleased her that he wanted to be there with her. Please no. He almost called the director again, his mind wandered to his contact list, did he still have anyone from Philly's number? Before he could answer himself, he'd opened his mouth again.
"I need to focus on other women. Ones I'm allowed to date."
This time, he did not screw his eyes shut, and after a few long seconds that dragged like an eternity, he looked at Ziva once again. The shield was back, with a metal breastplate and sheathed sword to match. She was frozen on the couch, slowly setting the wine glass on her end table. "What..?" She said in confusion, not quite asking, not quite stating.
"It's been real while it lasted, but you know about rule 12. I can't invest in this any more. I need to look in other places." No, no, no. Maybe if he fleshed this lie out, he could start to believe it himself. Maybe this would turn out for the best. She had no response. "Someone who I could be more than friends with." His own soft emerald met not an equally soft brown, but a steely gray. He'd taken the plunge. There was no doubt in his voice now as he deepened the fallacy he'd created for both of their sakes. "Someone I want a future with." She was pulling on a pair of chain-mail gloves.
With a swift movement, Ziva closed the space between her and himself with stealth and speed only she possessed. She grabbed one of his hands. He could almost feel the cool metal as she enveloped his fingers with hers. "Why." Again, a question as a statement.
"You don't need to ask." He started to feel anger in his stomach. Why couldn't she make this easier for him? I can't blame her for this. I can only be angry at myself.
"DiNozzo. Why." She repeated, his fingers losing their feeling as she squeezed the question into them. He could smell her now, a combination of her natural scent and her shampoo. Her hair was wild as always. Her skin was soft even while crushing his hand.
"I don't do friendships with women, Ziva. We're partners and we make that work at the office." He hated to see her in all her armor. Just a week ago, they had fallen asleep on the couch. He twirled her hair for a good thirty minutes as she had been the first to fall asleep. At one point she turned to face him, and entwined her fingers in his. He had meant to find out in the morning, but he never learned whether it had been a conscious move or a sleeping instinct. Minutes later his own breathing had evened out as he fell asleep in the crook of her neck. "I do one night stands Ziva. You know this." Last week, when he woke up, she was not still next to him. Before he'd opened his eyes, his hands reached out gently, hoping to grab some soft curls to enjoy before she woke up and realized that they'd crossed the line once again. But as he should of expected, she'd woken up first. She was watching him sleep over the top of a Hebrew book when he finally opened his eyes. She'd put down the book and given him a small smile, not expressing the regret he'd feared. But that was a week ago. He knew that what he said next was going to be the final bullet, but he used the hand Ziva was not crushing to grab one of the loose, slightly damp locks hanging off her shoulder. He'd left her apartment last week wondering if he'd ever get the chance to wake up next to her. "You've made it clear that is not happening, no matter how long I spend here."
He watched her put on her battle helmet.
Slowly, she gave his hand one final grip, as if causing him pain could end hers. He winced, it really did hurt, but did not fight back. He could give her that much. She released his hand and used it to pry her curl from between his fingers. Her other palm was used to give him a decided shove away from her. The distance seemed more vast than in reality.
"Tisaref." She ordered. She snapped her arm into it's raised position and pointed at the door. It was not a snap, or a bark, or even a yell, just a clear order. Ziva was meant to be in control, and he had been calling the shots all night. Natural balance needed to be rectified. He wondered what the Hebrew command meant. "Go. Now."
He searched her eyes. He did not expect to find much in them, but merely wanted her to pick up on what his were saying. It's for the best, he tried to communicate. All is not as it seems. I would tell you if I could. You mean more than you know. This is all temporary. I want to pick up where we left off as soon as possible. He tried to fit all of the things he planned on saying, that he should have said instead of the current story that painted him as the monster womanizer he'd worked to destroy. For a brief second, he though she understood when a slight softness returned to her eyes. But that softness could have been a hopeful projection of his imagination for all he knew, because as soon as he'd thought he'd seen in, her furiously pointing arm reminded him of his orders. "Go. I will not ask again."
Although he wanted nothing more than to fight for what he'd earned over the past year, which he had destroyed in a matter of minutes, he knew he couldn't fix what he'd broken. He knew there was no going back now, and that there was no scenario where they both left unscathed. There was no option that resulted with a friendship intact, and no world where he could mend the consequences of his lie. But, as he'd done all day, Anthony DiNozzo could take orders. With that, he dropped his gaze to Ziva's floor, and headed down the hallway to the door that began and would end this mess.
It was almost over with. He shrugged on his coat, not letting his mind dwell on what he had just done. He couldn't look back at her. He'd never even had the chance to take off his shoes. Preparing what would now be a long night of drinking, his hand reached for the doorknob and-
"You're just like my father." The words hit his back at a hundred miles per hour, ten tiny daggers. He remembered that no only did the mysterious, beautiful, intense Ziva David have armor... she also had weapons. He turned around to show her the carnage. They may have been partners, but as friend Tony knew of all the missteps and horrors that Ziva's father had inflicted upon her and her family. He'd left a hole that was too big even for Gibbs in his daughters' heart. He wanted to fight back, for his own honor, that he was nothing like Eli David. But when he looked for her eyes, he saw only her back. She'd turned around, she could not face Tony after what she had said. As he turned back and left her apartment, Tony wondered if Ziva was crying. He knew she was not.
I'm going to make this up to you, Ziva. Tony silently swore as he made his way to his car. How long would it take for that to happen? He did not have any opportunity or means in the near future. His spare time would now be filled with the now faceless Jeanne Benoit. He opened the drivers door of his Mustang and sat in the seat. He rested his forehead on his steering wheel. Now out of the apartment, regret and guilt were all he was left with. For a brief moment, he hoped that their friendship was deeper than his lie. He thought he'd saw doubt in her face as he was telling Ziva his elaborate lie. Perhaps, he thought, she knows. Maybe she just knows that you can't tell her. She will come around. It will turn out alright. Perhaps. As he left the parking lot to catch what would be little to no sleep before a long day and his first encounter with Jeanne Benoit, he hoped that there was another small blessing nested with all the curses the day brought.