A/N: Sorry for the delay. Life and work sometimes get in the way of fanfic, not to mention almost getting my JAW BROKEN by my HORSE. Little bastard. SO I have had a slight head/face ache for the last several days which seems to put a damper on my creativity. So on with the show. Thanks you for all of the support!

Warning: adult activity ahead and spoilers for episodes involving our ninja chick's little jaunt to Somalia.

Not mine, but I wish they were.

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She knows it wasn't his fault. She knows that he is just trying to help her. What she does not know is why she feels so angry at him for asking.

"I am fine, Tony. I have moved on. There is nothing to discuss."

"Nothing to discuss? Ziva, there is everything to discuss."

"What do you want to know, Tony? What happened in Somalia? What they did to me?" She snaps at him. "Do you want to know how fragile the human body actually is, Tony?"

For a moment, he thinks that maybe he doesn't want to know. Maybe he should just leave it alone. A tingle of dread snakes through him as he takes a risk and pushes her further.

"I want to hear your story. I want to hear that you are human. I want to know that Ziva still lives inside of you, even if she is different, because I miss her." What he doesn't say is that he wants to know what he needs to do to make her feel completely comfortable in his presence again.

A dangerous feeling is beginning to percolate beneath what has been a stoic if not serene demeanor since her return from Africa. One foot in front of the other. One day at a time. It is all true, she knows that. Such a cliché, but in her experience, clichés tend to carry a kernel of truth. She risks a quick glance at Tony's face, expecting to see hurt or regret and is surprised to see a bit anger mirroring her own.

Tony holds her stare with one of his own. They have been dancing this dance for months. For all that she is the warrior, he is the interrogator. Seeing a fork in the path ahead, he pursues angry Ziva rather than hurt Ziva as he has attempted so many times in the past. The path not taken. Ziva breaks the eye contact first.

She is drunk and welcomes the freedom of speech this fact allows. Another cliché, but she doesn't care. She curses to herself as her eyes gloss over with a hint of unshed tears. She swallows past the golf ball sized lump in her throat and throws a cheap shot in his direction because if he shows her any kindness, it is possible she may start sobbing right there in the pub.

"Does it turn you on to hear the details, Tony?"

She stands up and pushes back from the table with enough force to almost knock the damn thing over. Grabbing her coat with one hand , she reaches for the last full shot glass with the other, downs the amber liquid and then slams the glass back on the table.

Ziva makes it out the door at record breaking speed, especially considering her lack of sobriety. Unfortunately, Tony must settle the bill and when he finally does step out into the night, Ziva is long gone. He is angry for all of the wrong reasons. He should be angry at the circumstances that brought them to this. He could be angry at Eli David. He would be angry with Saleem. Shoulda, coulda, woulda. He is angry with Ziva.

He assumes that she has gone home, so he walks the few blocks to her apartment. He is only mildly surprised when he finds her apartment deserted. He does not worry because even though she now doubts her ability to protect herself, he does not.

Tony is even less surprised to find her sitting on his couch when he finds his way home. Not a single light is on in the apartment, but the orange hue from the streetlights outside casts a glow across her face. A minute turns into two as he stands in his doorway, daring her to break the silence. Finally, she holds her hands out, palms up, in a gesture of surrender and whispers, "I am sorry, Tony."

He sighs, shuts the door and locks it before turning back to face her. A quick swipe at the light switch and Ziva is squinting warily into the bright light. Grabbing a chair from the kitchen table, he drags it over to the couch and plants it backwards mere inches from Ziva's knees. Tony straddles the chair and rest his arms along the back. He pins her with his best Special Agent DiNozzo stare and once again, she loses the staring contest.

"Tony, I-"

"Stop," he cuts her off with a wave of his hand. "It's my turn."

He's tired. So tired of the dance.

"Let me tell you what I know, Ziva. I know that you were on the Damecles. I know that you made it to land after it sunk. I know that your father ordered you on a suicide mission. I know that you spent months in a prison camp in Somalia. And I know that you sustained considerable injury while you were there."

She continues to avoid his gaze. He pauses for a moment and when he continues, his voice is kinder, softer.

"What I don't know, Ziva, is what happened the other night."

She swallows audibly and her breathing quickens. Squeezing her eyes shut, her mind cues up the unwanted images and replays them without her consent.

It seemed like a lifetime ago, but in reality only a few days had passed since she had arrived at his apartment uninvited but certainly not unwelcome. Tony had allowed her entrance and didn't question her motives. She had seen the concern on his face, yet had chosen to ignore it. Forcing her way into his space, they made it as far as the couch before she kissed him. He had kissed her back, tentatively at first then with growing need as she matched him, move for move.

She had been frantic, and while Tony's gut had sent alarm bells to his brain, he was only human after all. He had followed her lead, somehow convincing himself that as long as he relinquished his control and let her have the power, everything would be all right. She had put on a good show, and his gut had silenced the alarms.

Her mouth had remained fastened to his as she unbuttoned his shirt and pulled it off of his shoulders. She tore at his belt, unzipped his pants and pulled him free with her hand. She broke loose from his kiss just long enough to rip off her clothes then settled herself on top of him.

Tony had imagined that moment a million times in his head since their return from Somalia. He had imagined a nice dinner, a little too much wine, a little seduction. Because even though he had a reputation to uphold as the office playboy, and even though they had already slept with each other, this was Ziva. Because she had suffered, they had suffered' and suddenly he wanted it to be different. He wanted it to mean something more than friends turning to each other in mutual need or comfort.

He had followed her lead and ignored his gut because somewhere in the back of his mind, he had simply trusted that Ziva was capable of deciding what was in her own best interest. She was an ex-Mossad assassin and she knew what she was doing. Or so he thought.

Running her hands over his chest, she had leaned forward and resumed kissing him. His mouth, his neck, his chest. His mind ceased to work as she stroked the length of him until he was hard and hot in her hands. She straddled him and slowly attempted to ease him inside of her body. She froze and Tony was jarred from his lust soaked haze. Something was wrong. Ziva had her lip between her teeth and her eyes squeezed shut as though she were in pain.

"Wait-" he had said to her. She was impaling herself on him. "Ziva! Stop! You aren't ready." She opened her eyes and looked at him as though she couldn't comprehend what he was trying to say to her. He clamped his hands around her shoulders to still her movement, then reached between their joined bodies to confirm his suspicions.

"Ziva, you aren't ready," he said more forcefully. She had opened her eyes but looked right through him as reality settled over the two of them. Tony fought the urge to shake her, jar her back to the present. When she did finally meet his gaze, he saw a sadness so profound it took his breath away. He remained completely still as to not startle her, despite the fact that they still remained semi-joined by his softening erection.

He didn't know how many minutes had passed before Ziva finally pushed herself off of him and bolted for the bathroom. A moment later, the sound of the shower running had filled the apartment. Tony was too stunned to move. As a moment turned into twenty, Tony had finally eased himself off of the couch , dragged himself to his room, pulled on some sweats and began the process of extracting a once deadly Mossad officer from his bathroom.

"Ziva!" he called to her, but he got no answer. Instead of wasting time trying to coax her out of the bathroom, he simply picked the lock and let himself in. The shower was still running and steam swirled around him as her drew back the shower curtain. Ziva sat in the shower with her knees tucked against her chest and her arms wrapped around her legs as scalding hot water rained down on her head and back. Tony reached in and shut off the water as she turned her face up to him and he took in her eyes, red rimmed and swollen.

"Oh Ziva," He whispered to her. He had wrapped her still too-thin body in a towel. He had noticed the scars criss-crossing her back, some even snaking around to her stomach and chest, but he wisely chose to postpone his questioning for a later date and carried her to his bed where he tucked her under the covers then used his own body to sooth and protect her. The shakes came and her teeth had chattered. And no amount of body heat shed by her bed mate could warm the cold that had settled into her bones.

He hadn't asked her any questions that night, and while she was grateful for the reprieve, she knew eventually they would have a conversation like the one about to begin in Tony's living room.

TBC