Tony stared through the glass as the once constant beeping from the monitor went silent. He stood there, praying, hoping that he was hallucinating, wanting so badly for the sound of the beeping to begin again. Strange how on other occasions, the sound had annoyed him. Now, he'd never long for anything more than he longed for that sound.
He couldn't explain his feelings, not in the least. He'd fallen in love – yes, love – with a woman who he'd only seen on television, who had only known him for the span of twelve hours. A bystander would have said it was infatuation; Tony longing for a woman with real class after the fiasco with the barista. Besides, Dana Hutton was all of the beauty and professionalism Tony claimed he wanted.
But reality was much more simple than that, much more sterile. The fact was that she was a beautiful woman who needed help and Tony, ever the knight in shining armour, could not resist the urge to try and help her. The nobility was in his nature. He could play off his one night stands as totally meaningless, and to him they really were. But if any of those women had ever truly needed his help, he would have, while kicking and screaming, gone to the rescue, regardless of the possibility of failure.
Tony thought to himself as he stared through the windows were the doctors who had made Dana Hutton's final hours so peaceful now detached the various machines hooked up to her. What a stupid formality. They knew she wouldn't last the night; she didn't need to be hooked up to all that crap. Well, DiNozzo old boy, you've done it again. This is becoming a bad habit: we gotta stop opening ourselves up for heartache. You always seem to be the one to get screwed. You're getting too old for this boy.
Tony was growing angry with himself the more he pondered, a self-loathing welling up inside of him. He hated that all the women he saw himself having anything resembling a chance with ended up leaving him somehow. He also hated the fact that he kept trying to fill that void with one night stands, constantly putting himself out there as a playboy, unwilling to commit. What he really wanted was someone to really love, someone to love him. He hated being afraid of commitment. Ziva was right: What could I possibly offer the professional, beautiful woman I dream of when all she'll see is a playboy sprouting gray hairs? God, I'm becoming my father. He was at the point where his mind was about to explode in a fit of anger and sorrow when he felt a presence next to him.
"What are you doing here?" he almost spat. He was beginning to lose the fight with self-control. Luckily for him, Ziva decided to ignore his rudeness. In fact she was expecting it.
"I came to see how you were you doing." she said, also staring through the glass. The doctors were making final notes and preparing to transport the body to the morgue.
"How am I doing? Geez Ziva, that woman just died and you care more about me? You know, I was beginning to think..." he cut off shaking his head.
"What?" she asked, her voice low but combative. She could take so much of Tony's nonsense.
"Nothing." he muttered.
"Say it. It'll obviously make you feel better. Go on, say it!" she said, knowing that whatever would come would hurt, but she was willing to endure. Tony gave in, his anger turning him into an ugly monster.
"I was beginning to think that maybe you weren't heartless, but I guess the warrior in you won't allow it. You're just as stoic as ever. No feelings, not one. Death doesn't affect you does it?" he responded in a harsh whisper staring through the window as the gurney was rolled out. He didn't follow it with his eyes; he couldn't.
Ziva on the other hand, was trying very hard not to scream at him. She was prepared for his words to hurt, to cut her, but that still didn't make the pain any less. He is obviously not thinking clearly, because if he was and he was responsible for his words, I would have killed him already, she told herself taking a deep breath.
"I came to see if you were okay and wanted to talk about it. I under-,"
"Understand? You don't understand. How could you possibly? You don't know what it's like t-t-t-to love someone you've never known and then never have the opportunity to." Tony knew he was being cruel and insufferable, but he didn't care. He was angry and it was going to get out somehow. He expected some sort of angry response from Ziva, but what he didn't expect was a smack to the back of his head. The difference between this and a Gibbs slap was that Ziva had hit him with something soft, not her hand. He turned to look at her. Her eyes were flashing with suppressed rage, but her voice remained a whisper.
"You know what DiNozzo? I am going to leave. When you are ready to talk, my door is open. But do not, do not dare, say that I do not understand." she snarled. She shoved the soft material into his chest making him step back and with a final glare, she was gone.
Tony looked down at what she had given him and swore aloud. In his hands was a bright orange beanie.
Later
Tony stood staring at Ziva's door, unsure of what to do. It was late, really late. He'd been mentally running over everything he'd said to Ziva and concluded two things: The first, he was a complete asshole. The second, Ziva was probably plotting to kill him. In fact, he was surprised she hadn't disposed of him at the hospital. Heck, she could have made it look like an accident on the spot. Or maybe she wasn't scared of prison and she would have elicited as much pain from him before ending his little life. You're rambling DiNozzo.
Screwing up courage from somewhere, he knocked on the door softly. He waited. And waited. And waited. No response. He sighed, ready to turn away when something she said popped into his head. "When you are ready to talk, my door is open." Hoping and dreading the idea of her door being unlocked, Tony tried the handle. It gave, allowing the door to swing open.
A soft flowing sound wafted over Tony as he stepped into the apartment. The sound was that of the piano, playing softly. The notes were at first soft and rapid. Gradually, the volume swelled and the intensity grew. The notes were still fast, though now the piece had reached its full height, like a wave just about to crash onto the shore. In a rapid sweep of motion, the wave crashed, raining down in arpeggios and scales, the crescendos and decrescendos easing the flow of sound. Finally the music was calm again, singing softly into the night, its intricate melodies fading into sparse chords, each important and unique in its own way. Finally, nothing. Tony stood still for a moment, the magic of the music still ensnaring him. It was when another, more familiar piece began that Tony found the courage to walk forward.
Tony didn't speak but rather sat down on the easy chair located in Ziva's family room turned piano room. She continued playing the Moonlight Sonata, not looking up, but Tony was sure that she knew he was there. He simply sat there, basking in the sorrowful chords that washed over him, working him over. Each chord was like a gear slowly unwinding him. He felt tension that he'd been building up since being at Gibbs' house, tension he didn't even know he'd acquired, seep out of his muscles. The relief allowed his emotions to well up instead and before he could stop himself, tears began to eek down his cheeks. He couldn't help it. Furthermore, he wasn't sure he wanted to.
As the piece came to an end, he began to wipe his face with his hands. The room was dark, but Ziva could see the tears reflecting in the moonlight.
"It is okay to cry Tony," she whispered, placing her hands underneath her thighs on the piano bench, looking down at the keys.
"DiNozzo men don't cry," he muttered his voice thick. Ziva couldn't help but smile softly at his ever present stubbornness.
"You are allowed to Tony. I promise I will not tell McGee." she said. Tony chuckled, his cheeks still wet, but the tears slowed. He sniffed as his red rimmed nose sought to betray him.
"You know, when I was a kid, I used to get in trouble for crying. My dad would always tell me to take it like a man or stay out of his sight while I acted "like a sniveling little girl". And well, I was six years old. I wanted my dad to love me." Ziva's heart broke with pity over her friend's demented childhood. It was incredible, the similarities between their lives.
"I know what it feels like to want, to need to be loved by your father." she said, empathizing completely with him.
"I bet you never cried thought, right? You're Ziva, the Mossad warrior ninja princess." he said looking at her. Ziva shook her head, a sad smile gracing her features.
"No Tony. I cried, though I learned that such displays of weakness always came to the attention of Eli David. So, I found times and places where I could cry alone, away from the world. Tony, I still cry."
"You've never cried in front of me before." he pouted playfully. It was a sorry attempt, because his tears made his voice break and sound thick. Still, Ziva played along.
"What, and risk you seeing my face all blotchy?" she replied.
"The term is splotchy. I'm sure you look beautiful when you cry though." he said, a shade of the typical DiNozzo smile peeking through.
"Now you are buttering me up Tony. I do not think you will succeed. Tell me what happened at the hospital tonight Tony." her tone grew serious at the last statement and Tony was rendered back to pitiful puppy mode.
"Ziva, I'm so sorry. I was an ass back there." he started. However, she interrupted.
"That was not the question I asked Tony. We will address that I am sure, but first, what happened at the hospital?" she asked firmly. Tony let out a deep sigh.
"I stayed with her for several hours. At first, she told me stories of going overseas to pursue stories. After a while though, she got tired, so I started talking instead. I told her stories about us, the team at NCIS. I told her about Ducky and Abby and Palmer. I just kept talking. After awhile, she was unconscious. That's when I decided to leave her in peace. I went to wait outside the room. And then you...showed up. I said some awful things." he said, glancing up at her. She nodded slowly.
"Why Tony?" she pressed gently.
"I was mad at myself. For always falling in love with girls I can't have. I just...I dunno Ziva. I was so mad that she was dead. Like Kate, like Paula, like Jenny. And well Jeanne? I'm dead to her. And you, you almost -" his tears were falling again. Ziva turned to face him, their knees almost touching. She took his hands in hers.
"Tony," she said softly. He looked up sniffing, looking defeated.
"I am alive because of you. Now, I am sorry, but that is all I can say about that. I am not ready to talk about Somalia yet, but, because of you I will have that chance. Oh Tony." she said. She placed his hand softly on his cheek. At this point, Ziva's kindness was overwhelming. He began to cry, sobs shaking his frame. Ziva pulled him into an embrace. Tony buried his face in the crook of her neck and just cried. Ziva held him, rubbing circles into his back. After a while, she began to softly hum a lullaby, one that her mother would hum to her the few times she was allowed to console her daughter.
After what seemed like years, Tony finally sat back up. He gave Ziva a slightly watery smile.
"I should probably head on home. It's like, two in the morning." he said. Ziva shook her head.
"No. Stay." he raised an eyebrow at Ziva suggestively. Ziva lightly smacked his arm. "On the couch DiNozzo. I guarantee mine will be good to your back." Tony smiled as Ziva stood.
"Thanks Ziva." he said, truly grateful. Ziva smiled.
"Any time Tony."