Hey peeps! This is just going to be a two-shot, I'm already working on chapter two. Hope you guys who are actually reading this like it. It's just some Ziva hurt, then Tony comfort. Refers to drinking (like major drinking), just a little warning. I own nothing, sadly...(sighs). Enjoy!

Dangerous Distraction

Chapter 1- Best Distraction She Ever Tasted, Convinces Her to Get Wasted

All was dark in the little apartment, seeming like no one was home. But inside was Ziva, sitting on a stool at her island. The overhead light was dimmed, only illuminating the bottles in front of her.

Outside, branches scratched violently against the windows and the wind howled. Ziva willed it to stop, for the hoarse, empty voice of the wind reminded her of the dreaded Somalia. There had only been a tiny window high up on the wall in her cell that let in the tiniest bit of light, and the tiniest bit of sound. Over that long summer, Ziva had only heard angry wind blowing through the African desert. The reason why she also liked to sit in darkness was because her eyes had adjusted to the dark dingy cell. She had not told anyone, but being outside in the light, bothered her greatly.

Now after a day at work of relentless questions and interrogations, she sat shaking in her kitchen. Her gaze fell on the first bottle, and raised her finger to the opening. The cool glass calmed her as her fingertips traced its long neck. This one was tall, unlike the other bottle. She uncorked it and knew she should grab a glass, but decided against it. Ziva tipped the bottle back and the red wine poured down her throat. As she shut her eyes tight, his face appeared in her mind. She tipped the bottle back further, forcing the wine down in distress to make the image disappear. But Salim stayed in her mind, laughing at her.

Shivers went down her body and in an effort to stop seeing Salim, she tried to think of something else. She started making a chart in her mind. Three columns. One for hate, one for regret, and one for desire, Ziva decided. She had been thinking about hate and love more and more these days, but it felt good to throw regret in there for all the horrible things she had done. It felt right. With the wine bottle still in her hand, Ziva started to fill the hate column.

I hate…my father. He does not really love me, he only loves Agent David. He is the real reason I suffered. Of course he is, he has been my whole life! Always beating the crap out of me, never even comforted Tali, Ari, and I when Ima died. I do not even think he cared. She was only the bearer of his future successors. Too bad I am the only one left, she went through all that for nothing. So, I hate my father. Who else do I hate? Ziva asked herself. It was getting harder to think, half of the bottle was already gone.

Of course, Salim! That bastard should have suffered more. If it was up to me, I would have done worse than what he did to me. If Gibbs knew what he did, he would have done much worse than just shoot him. A tear trickled down her cheek onto the counter of the island. Her breathing became sharp and her hair fell off her shoulders as she tried to hold the rest of the tears back. The pain Salim had put her was something she was never going to forget. She only wished she could have at least shot him herself. It would have felt like closest thing to closure she could get, just by ending his life with her own hands.

I would have cut of his ear, maybe stab him in the gut. But what I know I would have done was castrate him. He had no right doing what he did to me, and for that he should pay. I would then show him all the scars and cuts he gave me, and give him them back double. I hope he is burning in Hell.

Filled with anger and purpose, Ziva drank more of the dark liquid, making her hands turn clammy, and her head spin. The digital clock on the stove flashed 1:44 at her with its gleaming neon numbers, but Ziva knew the night was still young. She still had to fill two more columns. Overwhelmed, and feeling no control (something she hated, better add that to the hate column too) she forced her mind to not just shut down and sleep. If there was anything she could do, she could finish this list before passing out. Ziva flipped her black hair behind her, out of her way. She knew that her hair had lost its usual gleam, and her fair skin its golden Israeli touch due to the long months in Somalia. So what did it matter if she got wasted, if she looked and felt like crap anyway? The wine not satisfying her anymore, Ziva pushed it away, and took the shorter bottle of beer in her right hand.

Regret? Yes, there are many things that I regret, much to long a list. I guess I regret killing Ari most though. Shit…why did I do that? To save Gibbs you idiot! Yes, but Ari had always been there for me, I could have steered him right. Gibbs was not even a friend to me at the time. Maybe, but look now, he is like your father. Her mental debate continued and she finally decided she still regretted it even if it was to save Gibbs. How I miss you Ari. You would have stopped father from sending me on that suicide mission. Ziva sighed and glared at the beer. Her gaze got lost in the brown colored glass, placing her in a trance. Her ability to stay awake (and not fall over) was waning.

This made Ziva mad and she forced herself to stand. She needed control and she focused on walking over to the window. Ziva stumbled, grabbed the arm of the couch for support, but finally got to the other side of the room. It had started raining and her window was streaked with water. The beer bottle still in her hand, Ziva pressed her head and breasts against the window. She wore only a cami and some Soffe shorts, but she didn't care. The cool window felt incredible on her hot skin, so what did it matter if anybody saw her barely dressed?

Michael…Uhhh. I regret falling for him. I do not just regret it though. Falling for him was a mistake. He himself was a mistake. Never really had a future, only a pawn in Father's game. He was never going to get a higher ranking or anything. Quite worthless. He was such a fake as well. I cannot believe he actually did not love me. It…felt so…real. Filled with sorrow and guilt of her own mistake, Ziva turned around so that she could wash the feelings away. The beer poured down her throat like water and tears welled over Ziva's eyelids. She slid down the window, sitting on her butt.

Ziva now faced into her apartment living room. The couch looked extremely comfy, Ziva finally could finally not move. Only her arm could move slightly up and down to put the bottle to her lips. The chill from the window was leaving, her skin becoming warmer and warmer. It became so unbearable that Ziva forced her hands to move so that she could wriggle out of her shorts. She sat only in her cami and lace underwear, beer bottle in hand.

Her eyelids started to feel like they were carrying 10 pound weights and Ziva was beginning to drift off. Stop that! You…you still need to think of desires. Come on…open your eyes, a voice inside shouted. Like she was always trained to do, Ziva obeyed and started to think about her desires. Only one thing came to mind.

Tony. Mmmm…I desire Tony. I do not just desire him though…I need him. I need him to hold me, kiss me, touch me. God, I need him to murmur my name and I scream his while we make love. Ziva began to moan softly thinking about Tony, and the beer bottle dropped from her hand. It was empty, but there was another barley opened bottle right next to her from last right. This one was whisky. She grabbed it and drank it down quickly. That one was soon empty as well, and Ziva's thoughts soon became deep, deep dreams. Little did Ziva realize that these sweet, sexy dreams were becoming very dangerous as she drifted farther and farther into them.

How was it? You guys like? Tell me what you think! No flames though, those hurt me and make me sad...Well please review anyway!