This is kind of just intended as a oneshot, but I have some other ideas for this so if enough people want it, I may decide to continue this for a few more chapters. Reviews are love!
-Afraid-
The clock read 7:31 AM, and Tony sighed. He was never this early to work, and he didn't even know why he was this morning. He had naturally just risen early and couldn't go back to sleep, so he just drove in to work. As he stared at the empty desks of Ziva, Gibbs, and McGee, he was beginning to regret that decision.
He leaned back in his chair and fiddled with his Mighty Mouse stapler. He clicked it in a steady rhythm unconciously, not even noticing when he began to tap his fingers along to the clicking noise. Soon enough he had a steady beat going, and he tapped his head in time to it.
"Having fun, my boy?" A voice interrupted from behind him. Tony dropped the stapler and fumbled with it, finally managing to place it on the desk and composing himself.
"Hello there, Ducky," he said, averting his eyes and avoiding explaining what he was doing. Ducky eyed him, amused.
"I take it neither Ziva nor Timothy have shown up for work this morning?" Tony shook his head and the doctor sighed.
"If I may be so bold, why exactly are you here so early? I don't recall you ever being here before eight o'clock!" Ducky leaned over the wall and peered at him curiously.
"You know, I'm not quite sure. Couldn't sleep, I guess," he answered honestly. Ducky merely smirked and gave him a knowing glance.
"Insomnia often occurs directly after one experiences a traumatic event," he said matter-of-factly. Tony couldn't repress the scoff that escaped him.
"Somalia wasn't traumatic for me." Ducky raised his eyebrows at this.
"Are you absolutely certain?" Tony looked at him strangely.
"Of course." Ducky just nodded once, casting his eyes downward.
"Well, I must be off then. I believe I have an appointment with a certain dead petty officer this morning!" He said this in such a cheery way that Tony was slightly disturbed. Before he had a chance to comment, though, the doctor was off on his merry way, whistling a jaunty tune. Tony shook his head and turned back to his stapler.
His thoughts ran back to what Ducky had said. The way he looked down as he heard Tony's answer... like he knew Tony was lying. Somalia HAD been traumatic for him, but he wasn't about to go and admit that to anyone. He was scared not only because of the way he felt when he first traveled to Saleem's hideout, but because of the way he felt when Saleem took the mask off the stranger and revealed Ziva, broken and bruised but alive nonetheless.
He'd felt disbelieving at first, because he had told himself that she was dead for more than a month. He had been so set on vengeance that he never considered the possiblity that she could still be alive. Then as he realized in the moments following that she was very much real, he felt not relief, like one would expect, but an overwhelming sense of fear. He'd been afraid that he would fail her once again, that his plan wouldn't work and she really would die. He'd been afraid that she would never forgive him for what he had done to her. He'd been afraid that she had gone through hell and back and didn't have the will to survive any longer, that she was now a damaged soul. His fear had momentarily consumed him, but over the years he had learned to push the fear aside and complete the mission at hand, which he had done a minute later.
The thing that scared him most was that the fear he had felt in that moment of desperation had still not gone away. He wanted to snort at the irony that he was scared of fear. Still, he knew it was serious. He was still afraid every day that he would lose her, physically or emotionally. He realized this was because he cared about her, he always had. They were partners, they had each other's backs, it was impossible not to care about her. The feeling had been there for years, but since the events in Somalia it had intensified tenfold. She'd go to the bathroom or down to see Abby and he'd get nervous, jumping around restlessly in his seat and tapping his fingers until she got back and was in his sight again. She drove home every night and he would follow her, making sure to stay a few cars behind her and keeping to the shadows. He'd watch her as she climbed the stairs to her apartment, putting the keys in her lock and opening the door. He would stay until she was safely shut inside, and sometimes he'd stay until he saw the lights turn off in her bedroom. Then he would go home to an empty bed and stare at the ceiling until exhaustion claimed him, though he knew a restful sleep was out of the question.
He chalked this behavior up to guilt, because it was his fault that Ziva had been captured by terrorists in the first place. In his heart, however, he knew that wasn't completely true. He wasn't stupid, and he knew exactly why he continued his little ritual every night and why he obsessed about her every moment she wasn't there. Yes, he knew, but he would deny it both in his mind and to anyone who asked because he simply couldn't be allowed to love Ziva David.
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