A/N: It's short I know, and I'm sorry, but it will be crucial later on.

Disclaimer: Sadly I own nothing but the story line.

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"McGee is right, Tony. I am broken." Her voice shook betraying the turmoil twisting inside her in a way that her carefully controlled face did not. "I am broken, and I do know how to fix it. I don't even know if I can be fixed."

Before Tony could even think of what to say tears spilled down her damp face. Ziva buried her face in her hands as she tried to regain control of her emotions, but her shoulders began to shake with her soundless sobs. Ziva felt the shame burn in her chest, just as the tears burned her eyes. She was raised to be stronger than this, but perhaps Gibbs was right, the perfect soldier and assassin died in Africa, the question was what else inside her died with it.

Tony watched one of the strongest people he knew fall apart before him. She was trying to control herself, trying to be strong, but her entire body had begun to shake. In a way he was glad to see it, he knew that even Ziva couldn't simply push what had happened aside. No matter how much she wished she could. He dropped to his knee's in the wet grass, it immediately soaked through his dark jeans to his skin sending another cold chill through him. Tony ignored the cold and placed his hands lightly on her knee's. "Ziva look at me."

She didn't recoil from his touch, but she also didn't make any move to do as he asked. Without taking his eyes from her hidden face he slowly rubbed light circles on her knee's. She had stopped shaking, but he suspected she had not yet stopped crying. Her breathing was still jagged, and so he waited.

Time seemed to pass both of them endlessly. They had been sitting for hours or maybe only seconds. Tony's soft slow circles never stopped, and his eyes never left her. Seeing her this way made him want to pull her into his arms and hold her, but he knew she couldn't deal with that. Not yet. So he remained where he was until her breathing slowed, to steady slow breaths before saying gently, "Please Ziva, look at me."

Ziva managed to stop the sobs, but the tears took longer. It was almost impossible to stop them raining down her face. She could feel Tony in front of her, his fingers making tiny circles on her knees as he tried to comfort her. He sat silently as she gathered her self before he spoke again. She had ignored his request the first time, knowing that the tears were still fresh and her sobs uncontrolled. Now, however she took a deep shaky breath and looked up at him, slowly lowering her hands from her face praying that the tears would not start again.

Her failed attempt to mask the anguish haunting her face, was more of a tell than she would ever know, but Tony knew. He knew her. So as she lowered her hands he reached up taking both of them in his, and starred up at her a knot tightening in his chest.

Ziva's hands were like ice, and it was all he could do not to drag her back inside before she got phenomena from the cold. He knew that she would go with him without a fight, but starring into her deep brown eyes that were red and splotchy, he knew she needed more than simple warmth. McGee was right there was something inside her that had fallen apart or ripped from her, but it was gone just the same. She was not the same person he had met four years ago, he knew that NCIS had something to do with that. They had changed her, but she had made that change willingly. This had been forced on her. For all her control and strength he could see the fear and pain from the last few months dancing in her eyes, and he wanted more than anything to make it go away.

He almost told her then. What he had avoided telling her for almost four years. What he thought whenever she walked into a room, or when she walked out. She was everything he never knew he needed until she came into his life. He almost told her, but instead he gently brushed her dark curls from her face. He knew that they were being held against her cheek by tears and rain, and he almost told her so. Almost.

"You are not broken, Ziva." Tony whispered his voice unsteady. "Bruised, maybe, but not broken."

She wanted to believe that he was right, and starring into Tony's soft eyes burning with intensity, she almost did. Almost.

"Let us help you, Ziva. Let me help you." He begged his voice uncharacteristically low, as his grip on her hands tightened protectively.

A flash of half blacked out memories passed in front of her eyes, and Ziva almost told him. She almost told him about the nightmares, the scars, and the pain. She almost told him why she always had lights on in her house, and why she carried her sig with her everywhere. Why in the early morning or late at night she would sit and hold the gun tight to her chest because she didn't know what else to do. Ziva almost told him the truth about the life she had led in the last few months, and how even now she knew that she had not really escaped it. She almost told him the truth, but almost only counts in horse shoe's and hand grenades.

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