Tony had been through days like this one before. After Kate, after Michelle, after Paula, after Jenny—and now after Mike Franks. These cases were emotionally draining, but this one left Tony on edge. He tried to unwind, and get some rest, since he knew they would likely need him back at the base early the next morning. But with each otherwise inconsequential noise, Tony instinctively reached for his weapon. He'd already jumped at the ice maker in his fridge three times since he'd been home. It wasn't like it was bothering him; he was just hyper-aware.
He was so conscious of what was going on around him that he heard footsteps outside his front door. He looked in the peep hole to find Ziva standing outside.
If he was being honest with himself, Tony had thought about several moments like this one before. Obviously the circumstances were usually a bit different; the scenarios he pictured in his head had never involved the death of an agent. It was a possibility that was just too real for him to include in—he hated to call it a fantasy (it sounded a little perverted to him in that sort of context), but when it came down to it, these imaginary encounters were just that. Fantasies. Dreams.
When Ziva first arrived at NCIS, Tony had a dream that she asked him to come over and fix her broken air conditioner. Dream Ziva opened the door in a revealing tank top and short shorts, covered in sweat. It was like a scene out of a terribly made porn movie. Once he got to know Ziva a little better, the unrealistic, borderline Judd Apatow romantic comedy sex scene fantasies stopped.
Until the Raniers got twisted in the Marine Corps Birthday Ball assassin plot. After Tony and Ziva went undercover together, the dreams became more… intense. She'd arrive at his place after a tough case and after watching a few movies, and drinking a few beers, they would end up tangled between the sheets in his bed.
Now, Ziva was at his place, in the middle of a tough case. But from the minute he opened the door, he knew this was going to be different. Ziva was still shaken, just as he was.
The beginning of the night played out much like another one of the dreams he frequently had during the early years of their partnership. He ordered pizza while she took a seat on the couch. She played with her hands, sitting on the edge of the cushion for awhile before slowly leaning back and letting herself relax a little. Finally, just after the pizza arrived, she slipped off her shoes and tucked her feet underneath her. She sunk back into the couch cushions and propped her elbow up on the arm of the couch so she could rest her head.
The dream (or fantasy) that this arrangement reminded Tony of was one in which Ziva arrived at Tony's apartment looking for a friends-with-benefits type of situation. There were times he wondered what things would be like if he and Ziva ever hooked up, outside of dream land. Obviously his relationship with Ziva was an intricate one. And to further complicate things, while he tried to act unaffected, he very often found himself disappointed when things didn't work out with other women. He did, in fact, care that all of his romantic pursuits seemed to end up in disaster. And he had a feeling that any potential progress he would make with Ziva would end up the same way. It wasn't like he would wish for any hypothetical relationship to fail; history just repeated itself far too often.
The Tony-and-Ziva as friends-with-benefits thing would be much easier to work through if he didn't have to see her every day. Or fly to Paris with her and share a hotel room. Or get stuck in some sort of freaky real-life maze with her. It was like that Judd Apatow thing, but with a dark twist.
Ziva was different. He cared for her in a different way. Even though they constantly tiptoed the metaphorical line that separated friendship and 'something more', Tony knew that once they crossed it, they would never be able to go back to the way things used to be. They'd been through enough as co-workers that their relationship could be very delicate in some areas. If they ever chose to cross that line, it would have to be for good.
But for now, she sat on his couch, staring at the television without really watching it. He wondered if Abby and McGee were having a similar moment at one of their places. Of course, Abby would probably be chattering about anything and everything, just to break the silence. She processed this sort of thing differently than any of the rest of them. But Ziva hadn't said a word since Tony invited her inside. She'd probably already shared as much as she planned to in the elevator, Tony knew that. But it was growing more and more difficult to sit in silence.
The pizza they ordered sat on the table, untouched by anyone but Tony. The similarities between this and any of his fantasies were fading fast. There was no light-hearted banter, no teasing, no flirting. Just silence. He opened the box of pizza, reaching for a third slice, when Ziva finally spoke.
"Am I keeping you from anything?"
Tony shook his head. "No."
He watched as Ziva reached for a piece of pizza and slipped it on to a paper plate. She rested the plate on her lap, picked up the slice of pizza, and then let go of it again. She turned toward Tony. Clumps of mascara had gathered in the corners of her eyes, as though she'd been crying on the way to his place. She looked… lost. Tired. Confused. Scared.
"I do not really know why I am here."
"That's a very existentialist statement for a night like this one." Tony took a bite of pizza.
Ziva ignored Tony's sarcastic remark. "You cannot fix anything. This feeling is not going to just—disappear. And you are hurting, too."
"Gee, thanks for the reminder."
Ziva shook her head. "What I mean is… I have lost many agents. I have seen death before."
"So have I. All of us have. Doesn't mean it gets any easier. You can still be upset, you know." Tony placed his food on the table and rubbed his hands together, allowing any crumbs from the pizza to fall onto the floor. "You're allowed."
He hated seeing Ziva like this. He hated seeing any of his teammates like this, but he especially hated watching Ziva work through her grief. He was used to being the rock when he needed to be, especially for McGee and Abby. But it was incredibly rare to have to be Ziva's support system.
It was weird. It was like a scene out of Invasion of the Body Snatchers, and this was Pod Ziva. The thing about his fantasies was that Ziva never seemed to be affected by much. Of course, Ziva had a background that was much different than the rest of the team, so that was to be expected to a certain extent. But fantasy Ziva was much less… startled.
"I am not really in the mood to talk, Tony."
"You don't have to talk."
"Then you are probably wondering why I came over."
"You just said you didn't know."
"I did say that, yes."
"So, why would I ask you to tell me why you're here if you don't know why you're here?"
"I have no clue."
Tony opened his movie cabinet and pulled out a DVD. He pressed 'play' on the DVD player and took a spot on the couch, closer to Ziva this time. As the opening credits rolled, he turned to face her. "You know, if you… you don't need a reason to come over."
Ziva continued to stare at the screen. She removed her hair from the hair tie, letting her mostly rain dampened hair cascade down her shoulders. He could smell a hint of her apricot scented shampoo, left over from the last time she washed her hair.
A few minutes later, the scent became stronger as she leaned her head on Tony's shoulder, moving herself closer to him. Tony draped his arm around her, running his fingers through her hair.
"Thank you. For… letting me be here." Her voice was quiet and somewhat distant-sounding. She sounded as exhausted as she looked.
"You're welcome, Ziva."
Ziva soon fell asleep, and was still pressed close to Tony as the movie ended. Tony clicked off the television and closed his eyes, attempting to get as comfortable as possible without jostling Ziva. This wasn't anything like his fantasies, but the truth was often stranger (and more complicated) than fiction.