Deliver From Pain
A/N: Spoilers to Deliverance. Did anyone else notice that Tony was acting a little off throughout the episode? This is just my take (and wishful thinking, let's be honest) on that...
Special Agent Anthony DiNozzo leaned against the wall to the NCIS gym, trying not to be noticed, but to no avail. "Tony," Mossad Officer Ziva David said suddenly, stopping practically in mid-kick as she registered his presence. "What are you doing here?"
"Well, seeing as it is the NCIS gym, and I am an NCIS agent, I was considering working out," he replied sarcastically.
"Do you not have a gym off-base that you go to?" she asked as she walked over to her water bottle for a short break. He shook his head.
"Decided not to join again after coming back from my time afloat," he replied. "I finally figured out it would be cheaper to use the gym here." That and he had discovered that he was getting too old for the kind of exercise that he had once been accustomed to, and he was not ready to resign himself to turning into one of those middle-aged men who spent twenty minutes on the stationary bike while reading the newspaper and muttering about the state of the world. Grabbing a quick workout at the end of a long working day was much easier, and as there were fewer people around—and thus fewer women to try to impress—it was better for his ego. Although walking in to see his partner beat the pulp out of the boxing equipment wasn't really helping in that department. "You don't have to stop on my account."
"I was almost done anyway."
"Oh, come on, I'm sure that punching bag hasn't learned his lesson yet."
She glared briefly at him as she began to unwrap her wrists. "I prefer not to have strange men stare at my ass while I am exercising, Tony. That is why I do not go somewhere else."
"Strange men? We've known each other for years."
She cocked an eyebrow at him. "And from that, I know that you are stranger than most."
"Oh, very funny. Stay a little longer. We can spar."
She raised her eyebrows at that and gave a short barking laugh. "I would not want to hurt you," she said matter-of-factly.
"It's just sparing, Ziva." She seemed to think about this for a moment before she reluctantly nodded her assent.
It took less than ten seconds to remind DiNozzo that he needed to put more time into combatives training, either with a punching bag as Ziva had been doing when he walked in, or with one of the countless rookies who always seemed eager to do anything a field agent asked. Even though they were light-touch sparring, he could tell that she wouldn't have had any problems knocking him to the ground if she so desired. Still, he was unwilling to accept defeat, telling himself that since she was tired from already coming close to completing a workout, that maybe she'd get tired and slip up.
Well, she did slip up, but not quite in the way he expected. He should have seen it coming when everything seemed to start traveling in slow-motion; of course, that could have just been his recollections after the fact. She had put her weight on her left leg to kick with her right, and instead of leaning back as he should have done, for some strange reason DiNozzo leaned forward. Not expecting him to be where he was, Ziva didn't stop herself in time, her foot slamming full-force into his chest.
The force of the blow—and his surprise from it—slammed DiNozzo into the wall a few feet behind his back, the wind completely knocked from his chest. "Tony!" Ziva exclaimed in surprise, her expression a mixture of concern and apology as she stood over him. "Are you okay?"
"I'm fine," he wheezed, grimacing in a pain at the words. He had had some fantastic injuries over the years, from years of competitive sports and a career in law enforcement, but this one ranked near the top on the pain scale. The fact that it had been inflicted by his partner—his female partner—didn't help matters any. She offered her hand to help him up, but he just shook his head, struggling to stand on his own. There was only so far he would allow her to emasculate him. "I'm fine," he repeated, this time with slightly more force. He even managed a shaky smile, but could tell by the persisting expression of concern on her face that she wasn't convinced. "I think I should just go home now," he said. He almost managed to stand up straight as he walked back to the men's locker room.
The large bruise he saw on his chest as he was getting ready for his morning left DiNozzo in a bad mood all day, snapping at McGee about an incomplete message and making snide comments to Ziva regarding the way she was eying the Marines at the firing range. Not that either of those was that unusual, but even he noticed the lack of his typical humor as he did so. And then Ziva had to give that demonstration at the firing range.
He caught the triumphant looks in both Ziva's and Staff Sergeant Medina's eyes as she fired a single shot before declaring that she preferred her Sig, and if it weren't for his bad mood, would have conjured up some pity for Medina; he had no idea who he was dealing with. As she handed the Beretta back to Medina, DiNozzo brought in the target and winced slightly at the single gunshot almost perfectly centered on the target's forehead. As if he needed another reminder of how deadly his partner could be, after the demonstration he had gotten the evening before. He shoved the paper target at Medina without giving it a second glance and followed Ziva out of the building, even more moody than before.
DiNozzo had never made his partner's ass-kicking abilities a secret, but he rarely advertised them when out on a case, and on those rare occasions, always made it enough of a joke that the suspects never took him seriously. When speaking to Popeye and his posse, though, he couldn't bring himself to joke about the fact that he brought 'la bonita' to the 'hood for protection; he was serious. And then after running after Popeye and tackling the gangster to the ground, he found himself annoyed at the fact that Ziva had not only neutralized two rather large and scary-looking gangsters, but did so without a hair falling out of place or a single wrinkle appearing in her clothes. It was nothing he hadn't seen before, but his own evidence of her skills and strength was still painfully obvious to him, and just like earlier, couldn't bring himself to joke about it like he usually did. Hell, he even laughed about it when said ass-kicking abilities resulted in them being knocked unconscious and tied up by armed Marines.
After closing the case, DiNozzo took the long way home, winding through roads he knew were rarely patrolled in order to drive his Mustang to its full potential. He frowned when he felt a slight catch between third and fourth gears; he'll have to remember to take it in to have it looked at. And maybe have McGee handle everything over the phone. He seemed to have done a good job when dealing with his own shop regarding his Porsche; maybe the Probie was finally growing a pair. He probably wouldn't have gotten beaten up by a girl in the NCIS gym.
To his surprise, the apartment that had been unoccupied when he left that morning was no longer so. "Oh, come on!" he exclaimed, annoyed. "First it's the ass-kicking, then the sharpshooting, then more ass-kicking, and now you're picking locks. You're Wonder Woman, Storm, Jean Grey, Rogue, and Catwoman combined."
Ziva David frowned slightly as she rose from his couch. "I do not know what that means," she admitted.
"Well that's just great. I find something I can do better than the great Ziva David, and it's coming up with female superheroes. And villains. Better add Mystique, Golden Glider, and Poison Ivy to the list."
She smiled thinly at his sarcasm. "We already knew that you have a greater knowledge of popular culture than I do," she pointed out. Her smile faded as she took a step closer to him. "You have been in a bad mood all day."
"Yeah, well, seeing a Marine who had bled through a hole in his heart and realizing that my partner can do the same thing without the bullet has a tendency to do that to me."
She nodded slightly but didn't say anything as she took another step closer. They were now inches apart, and she lifted her hands to his collar to loosen his tie. Although he was confused about what she was doing, he found himself powerless to stop her. There was something about having a beautiful—and deadly—woman removing his clothes that tended to impair the speech centers of his brain.
His tie removed, she began slowly unbuttoning his shirt and separated the two halves, revealing his chest. When she leaned forward and pressed her lips against the dark bruise over his sternum, he finally spoke. "Ziva?" he asked, his voice a good octave lower and several decibels softer than usual. "What are you doing?"
"I believe the saying is 'kissing it better'," she replied. They stood there unmoving for what seemed like several long minutes, her hands still clutching his open shirt, their eyes locked on each other. Not really knowing what he was doing, Tony raised his hand to Ziva's chin, lifting it slightly before leaning down to kiss her.
In seconds, that kiss deepened as years of built-up sexual tension came out all at once. DiNozzo felt his shirt slip to the floor, then felt Ziva's hands trail down his chest to begin working on his belt buckle. They separated just long enough for Tony to pull his partner's shirt over her head.
Her eyes met his for a second before again falling to that large bruise on his chest, her fingers lightly brushing that oval shape. "I would never intentionally hurt you," she said softly, her eyes still on his chest.
He again lifted her chin so that her eyes again met his. "I can handle a few bruises," he said. "Bruises, broken bones, even a little internal bleeding every now and then," he joked, the first joke he had made since that sparring session in the gym. His smile fell slightly as his expression became serious. "I'm not worried about the ways you can physically hurt me."
Her eyes widened slightly at the unspoken admission that this was something he was emotionally invested in, that any physical pain she could dish out—which was a lot, judging from that bruise on his chest—was secondary to any emotional pain that could result. Standing there, half-dressed in her partner's living room, with her hand on his chest and his on her chin, she knew she felt the same way. This was her partner, her best friend, the man she worked with and joked with and flirted with—and watched head off to dates with random women and undercover assignments. There was a line that they had never crossed, and maybe it was for good reason.
And maybe it is not, she thought, resolute at the sudden decision. She leaned forward slightly to kiss him lightly before she repeated her earlier words: "I would never intentionally hurt you." She wished she could offer him more, could say that nothing bad would happen, but with their jobs and either of their dating histories, she knew that those words would be false. This was the best she could do.
Apparently it was enough for him, too, as he returned that kiss with the same fervor as before. They somehow made it into the bedroom, murmured words spoken against sweat-soaked skin along the way. It wasn't until they were tangled in the sheets, basking in the afterglow that Ziva was able to decipher what he had been saying:
"I couldn't hurt you, either. We can make this work."