A/N: Chapter 3, leave a review with your thoughts as you leave please. Thanks for reading!
Disclaimer: If I owned any of the characters they would not be nearly as cool.
Chapter 3
He follows her into his apartment because in his mind he has to hold the door for her. She gives him a half-hearted smile in thanks. He isn't sure what he is supposed to do or say next, so he offers to take her coat. She hesitates. He can't seem to fathom why. It is only after she gives it to him and he hangs it up in the hall closet that he realizes why. Her hands have been in her coat pockets the entire time. They now hang awkwardly at her sides.
He moves toward her slowly, but he leaves an arm's length of space between them. He begins to ask her if she wants anything. He never gets a sound out. He soon discovers that they are in the same position as they were outside minus their coats. The only difference is the place. This time they happen to be standing in the middle of his living room. He is yet again standing.
He finds that his arms have moved of their own accord. They have wrapped themselves around her shoulders holding her in place. Her arms cautiously settle at his waist. He silently berates himself for not recognizing the fact that his partner is searching for something; something she believes he has the answer to. He tries to concentrate on what that thing could be, but he keeps getting distracted by the feel of her breath across his neck. When he shifts positions she only tucks her head under his chin farther.
"Umm…Ziva?" he hesitates.
"Hmmmmm?" she hums. He jumps out of her reach when he feels her response as well as hears it. Her expression rapidly changes from one of contentment to one of hurt and confusion. He stares at her dumbly. He doesn't know how to make the situation better. She waits for an explanation her shoulders falling farther with every passing second. He can't let her continue like this. It's killing him.
"I…I wasn't expecting that," he tries lamely. Her face contorts into one of amusement as her eyes travel south. He looks down only to slap his palm to his forehead. Only she could take all the confused tension in the room and twist it into a different kind while simultaneously turning it up. He can't think when he is around her; does she really have to make it hard to breathe also?
"The hug, Ziva," he says exasperated.
"Oh," she says in a small voice. Her demeanor deflates and they are back to square one. If he thought it was difficult to breathe earlier he is positive he can't now. The woman who always challenged him, always made him think on his feet and kept him on his toes has truly and utterly changed. She looks small, sad, and fragile. Fragile. He hates that look on her more than on anyone else. She is not supposed to look that way. She can take care of herself after all.
"Hey," he whispers and takes a sure step toward her, "Ziva, look at me."
Her eyes meet his and he raises an arm in silent invitation. He watches her weighing the benefits and risks before she moves. He tries to be a solid form for her. He has no idea when he was given this role. He doesn't dislike it, but he wishes it was someone else. He isn't absolutely positive he can be what she needs all the time. The want…well that has always been a gray area with them.
"What's the matter, Ziva?" he manages to ask her. Her initial answer is in Hebrew. She is trying to get away with answering in a way that he will not understand. She keeps her face buried in his shirt so she doesn't have to look at him. Her English answer follows a few minutes after the silence has stretched on for far too long.
"I'm tired of being strong all the time, Tony," she whimpers against his shirt. He is careful to keep his body relaxed while his face betrays his shock. First, Ziva has whimpered, whimpered. Second, she admitted something he never thought he would hear. She no longer wants to be an impenetrable pillar of strength. This is the one person he thought could never break as though she was hard-wired not to. Turns out, it just took more time than he was expecting. He finds his voice quickly.
"You never had to be," he tells her tenderly. She scoffs as she untangles herself from his embrace. Her arms cross as she begins a rapid pace in his living room. If left to do that for the rest of the night his neighbors below will have an unexpected houseguest. As funny as the mental image is he has to shake it out of his head. What is important right now is in front of him.
"Yes, I did," she finally says. Her voice is strong and determined as if she is stating a fact. "I still do," she adds as an afterthought. Her pace quickens as she avoids his eyes once again. He gives her the space she wants by sitting on the couch and studying the slight stain on his carpet. He idly wonders how to get it out of the carpet completely.
"What changed?" he asks her after some time has passed. She stops pacing and faces him.
"Why did something have to change?" she asks with a sneer. He mustn't have worded the question correctly. Obviously, she took offense. He has to try again quickly, or she may shut him out completely. That is not an option in this battle.
"No one ever told you that you have to be strong," he amends.
"My father does," she says. She has not moved since she stopped pacing. He pats the seat beside him on the couch. She shakes her head 'no' at first. He raises a persistent eyebrow. She gives him an exaggerated sigh, but sits down. Her chosen seat is as far away from him as possible. At least he got her to sit down. Maybe they can figure something out after all.
