It's the sun that scares him, blinds him for several moments after he stakes stumbling steps off the plane and into the light. It's dawn, the sunrise from the east is scattering rays of warmth over Maryland and the airstrip where they stand.
Ziva is standing behind him, in a worn t-shirt and on shaky legs. She is bruised and battered, but she is still beautiful. He doesn't stare, doesn't allow the flash of guilt to pass through him, he just turns to the sun and breathes.
Where there is light, there is hope.
They go to NCIS, to home, before anywhere else. Tony scrubs the dirt off his face in the bathroom downstairs, and tries to ignore the frantic pounding of his heart. He wonders why the shock of it hits him now, thousands of miles from the place of fear.
McGee looks thinner than normal, Gibbs looks as silent as always, and Ziva looks tired. They wait for him before going to find Abby. Her wrath will only increase if they do not allow her sight of Ziva before the hospital.
Hugs, and applause, incredulous glances later, Tony leads Ziva out of the building and to his vintage Mustang, which Palmer has been guarding in the days that he has been gone. He'll have to thank him tomorrow, or next week, or whenever the hell he decides to come back to the office. He can't think of anything right now, except for her.
Besides, if the tiredness that rests heavy behind his eyes is any indication, he'll sleep for a week. Maybe now, after the torture is over, he'll rest without the threat of nightmares, of waking terrified, sweating, screaming.
Ziva doesn't say a word; Tony doesn't expect her too. He can't find words either, his own are running through his head as if on repeat: couldn't live without you, couldn't live without you. Tony wonders if maybe she knows it's true.
He couldn't live without her, so he went to die for her. I'm sorry, he wants to say. I'm sorry that I killed Michael, I'm sorry for leaving you, I'm sorry for giving up.
But he doesn't say anything at all. There's peace in the silence.
