a/n: I don't have too much to say here. This chapter might confuse some people, but it will be explained.

Enjoy:

Tony's POV:

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-=-

I tell Ziva about the case on the way back to my apartment: how Jones gave up his accomplice and we went to arrest him. He had ambushed us, putting a knife in McGee's arm before being tackled by Gibbs.

"The probie's tougher than I thought, though. Didn't even cry as he pulled the knife out." I explain as we get out of the car.

"How deep did it go in?"

"Bout an inch."

"And you are sure he is going to be fine? An inch is a lot…"

"He looked fine. It's not like he was shot."

"Stab wounds hurt." She says as we reach the front of my apartment building.

Instantly I know she's talking from personal experience and I feel sick. Probably from Somalia… I look sadly at her, trying not to think of the several hidden scars I know mottle her previously pristine skin.

I figured a week would be enough time to get used to that notion… but nope. Still disgusts me just as much as it did before.

How could anyone do that to Ziva? She's too beautiful to be touched.

I scoff at how corny that sounds, and Ziva sends me a funny look as she calls for the elevator.

"What?" She asks.

"Just thinking about what movie you're going to pick out tonight." I lie but she seems to buy it.

"If it means that much to you Tony, you can pick out what we watch."

"No it's fine. I mean, just as long as Hugh Grant isn't in it." I add a smile as we step into the elevator and she hits the number for my floor.

It seems almost normal. Like it's some sort of routine.

"That is too bad. I was hoping to watch Bridget Jones's Diary again."

"I can't believe Abby thought you'd enjoy that."

I distinctly remember the day as if it were yesterday; after a particularly heartbreaking case, Abby had taken Ziva to see a movie in hopes to cheer her up.

Ziva had come rushing to my house immediately after, telling me that she needed to watch The Godfather to cleanse her system.

"Yes, well, I might have mentioned that I liked a movie that… you would call it a chicken flick, yes?"

"Chick. Chick flick."

"Yes that."

"And the movie was…" I say, as the elevator doors slide open and we step out.

"Legally Blonde." She mutters quietly and I feign disgust.

"Oh, Ziva!" Maybe I'm not actually faking it that much. "Legally Blonde? The one where the playboy bunny goes to Harvard Law? Just when I was starting to respect your taste in films…"

"It was clever!" She defends, and we laugh our way into my home.

God, this feels good.

"Okay, you go pick a movie while I get dinner started. I'm trusting you here, Ziva."

"We can pick it out together. Let me help you cook dinner."

"These are DiNozzo's famous quesadillas; just let me cook them for you."

"I can not even get out the materials?"

"Nope. Tonight, you do nothing." I say it with a smile.

She frowns back.

"Please just let me help."

Ziva has that flustered look on her face. The one where if she doesn't get what she wants, someone will end up on the ground.

"Ziva… I'm just trying to be nice."

"No one has let me do anything recently!" She says, and I cringe at the genuine anguish filling her features. "It is like you view me as incapable of performing simple tasks!"

"We know you're capable, we just…" I stop, realizing I don't have a good way to finish that sentence.

"I am sick of feeling weak. I know you have the best intentions, but please just let me help you."

"Look who's talking. When have you ever let anyone help you?"

Why did I say that?

"What do you think I am doing right now?"

Why did I flippin' say that?

"Having dinner with a friend."

She's silent.

What the hell is wrong with me?

"Excuse me." She says softly and I watch her walk towards the bathroom.

I feel the need to give myself a Gibbs slap.

Or seven.

-=-

I am just finished making the quesadillas when Ziva finally resurfaces, eyes red and swollen.

Has she been crying? Since when does Ziva cry?

Damn it.

"You want anything to drink?" I ask as I hand her a plate.

"Water."

I'm tempted to ask her if she wants to get it herself but I keep my mouth shut. I really don't want to make things worse.

"So, you uh… decide on a movie?"

"Actually I am feeling tired. I think I would rather just eat and then go home. Or, to Abby's, really."

"Look, Ziva, I'm sorry. I didn't mean to offend you."

"You did not offend me Tony." She says before taking a bit of her dinner. "These are good."

"Yeah, they're great." I say flatly. Maybe it's best not to push the issue. "You sure you don't want to watch a movie? Even Legally Blonde?"

"I am sure Tony."

"Ziva-"

"Please. I am tired." Her voice is plaintive so I shut up.

"So…" I don't like silence. Particularly not when the silence is created by Ziva's hatred of me. "How 'bout them Cowboys...?"

"What Cowboys?"

"It's just something… never mind."

We eat the rest of our meal in silence. She only speaks again to tell me just how good the quesadillas are.

Damn it.

"Would you like a ride home?" I ask as she finishes her meal. I've hardly touched mine.

"No, I think I will just take the metro."

"Ziva."

"Tony."

Why are we both so stubborn?

"Goodnight." I say finally, picking up Ziva's plate and bringing it to the sink.

"I will see you tomorrow." She says, and I don't look up as she leaves.

I really need to stop screwing things up like this.

-=-

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Short chapter, but the next one will be longer.

This was important to move the plot forward though.