A/N: Hope you all enjoy this one! I got so carried away that I broke this into two parts, so that I can post the beginning now and the rest Tuesday or Wednesday (as soon as I finish it). I am hoping that the next part is going to rock and be so sweet and loving and revealing….working on it, anyway!

Previously… Ziva is clearly starting to take care of herself in efforts to reclaim who she is and get off desk duty. And while her team is re-interviewing widows, Ziva discovers that the killer is identifying his victims through a support group. Gibbs won't let her check out the support groups, but mentions he'll consider sending her out the next day.

While Ziva heads home for the evening, disregarding Tony's invitation for dinner, Gibbs talks to Jenny about whether to put Ziva back in the field, and McGee and Abby have a heart to heart. Later, Ziva is plagued by another flashback, which causes her to slip and hit her head in the shower.

Chapter 10

Tony's face was staring back at her, magnified through the door's peephole.

"Come on, Ziva! Let me in!"

She felt shaky and leaned against the door, the flashback replaying over and over in her mind. A knot was beginning to form where she had hit the back of her head, and her vision felt slightly blurry.

"I've got pasta and garlic bread and salad and my special homemade sauce…"

"Not tonight, Tony," she called back.

"My lock picking skills might not be as good as yours, but I'm pretty sure I can pick this one. It might take me 10 minutes, maybe 20, and I'll need to run down to my car to get the kit, but…"

The door swung open. She was wearing just a towel, hair dripping wet, and looked tired, worn, like she had taken 50 steps back from where she was today.

He wanted to ask her if she had a flashback, but he knew where those conversations usually ended up. So instead, he went with a different tactic. "This case is really stressing me out. I could use some company."

And she stepped back, allowing him in. Arms full of food, he crossed the threshold and began laying out dishes as she watched. He thought about cracking a joke, something about the fact that she was only wearing a towel. But again, as he was realizing, not really appropriate right now.

"I'll go get changed," she said quietly, leaving the room.

…

They sat at the table in silence, Ziva pushing food with her fork. Plate full. "The food is great," Ziva started, attempting a cool, casual tone when she caught him looking at her. "I just, I am not very hungry." She finished, setting her fork down on her plate.

"Do you want to talk about it?"

She looked at him flatly, knowing very well where he was trying to direct the conversation. Why does everything have to be turned into something, she thought. Must I always uphold an endless dialogue of flirtation with Tony? Can I just be tired or have a headache and not have it turn into more than it is?

Because frankly, she really was just tired and nauseous and longing for her bed. Yes, she had a flashback, one that seemed to tear her apart as it was happening, but to her surprise, it didn't leave her feeling as shaky as they normally did.

And then it hit her – she felt vomit begin to rise from her throat, and she pushed back from the table and sprinted toward the bathroom.

"Uh, Ziva," Tony said confused, following her only to be greeted by a locked door and the sound of her retching. "I know my cooking isn't great, but I didn't know it was that bad."

Ziva tuned out his rambling as she lay her forehead on the cool tile floor. Her insides hurt. Her head hurt. She wanted to bury under the covers and fall asleep, but she could not. She had Tony at her door, had an act to uphold, something to prove.

So once more that evening, she pulled herself from the floor, sitting on the toilet as she brushed her teeth, gripping the counter as she splashed water on her face.

She opened the door and hit Tony lightly in the nose, as he had been trying to jimmy the lock. "Ow!' He exclaimed, bringing a hand to a nose and making a show out of checking for signs of blood.

"Hmmm," she forcefully teased. "Perhaps you wouldn't have been able to break into my apartment, after all."

He narrowed his eyes at her, recognizing the armored jokes, but simply followed her back to the table as she began to clear the plates.

His brain racked for a good topic, fearful that she'd ask him to leave at any moment, and dreading the conversation where he'd have to refuse. Something is wrong with her.

"So, that was a good lead you discovered on the case today."

She stopped rinsing her plate and looked at him funny. "Lead?" she asked, as if he had just sprung some American terminology at her that she had yet to encounter.

He gave her a confused, worried stare. "The support group, Ziva?"

She set the plate down, turning her back to him to grab yet some more ibuprofen from the counter. "It's been a long day, Tony, thank you for coming over but…."

And then he was behind her, turning her around, hands on her shoulders.

"What's going on, Ziva. You're confused, dazed, throwing up and I've seen you rubbing the back of your head all night."

She weighed the options in her head. Stay silent and let Tony think her incapable, weak, or tell him she hit her head. She opted for the latter.

She shrugged her shoulders. "I knocked up my head earlier."

God, Ziva. Tony thought, astounded at how nonchalant she was. Whether a concussion, torture, crippling flashbacks or god knows what else, Ziva simply would not, would never, stop acting like none of it was a big deal.

So his words were dry. "It's banged up. And you probably have a concussion."

"It is fine, Tony." She slipped from his grasp, returning to the plates she was drying.

"So I assume you won't let me take you to the hospital." She tensed at his tone.

"Not needed."

"Great." Was his only reply, as he headed toward the bathroom, locking himself in. He flipped open his cell, hitting number five on his speed dial.

"Ducky, it's Tony."

"Well, hello, Anthony," the coroner greeted him.

"Listen, I'm sorry to call you so late at night, but I have a…..well, a personal question."

"And what is that, dear boy?"

"I'm with a friend, who I think might have a concussion," started Tony, being careful to remain gender neutral. "Headache. Confusion. Nasuea."

"And did this…friend….hit his or her head?"

"Yes, but refuses to go to the hospital."

"I see," replied Ducky. "That sounds like someone we both know."

Tony felt his cheeks burn. "What do I do?"

"Watch her, Anthony. She really should go to a hospital, but if she refuses, make sure she stays up for several hours, and then you'll need to wake her every hour thereafter."

….

Ziva was cursing herself as she slipped the slick plates into the dishwasher. Why did I open the door? DiNozo would never have been able to pick MY lock.

And now, I don't just have to worry about proving to Dr. Nicholas, to Gibbs, that I can go back in the field, but I've got Tony back on my case. Again.

"All right, David." Tony entered the room. "Here's the deal. If you don't give a damn whether you go to sleep and never wake back up, think about me."

She looked at him blankly. He wasn't really sure what kind of reaction he was hoping for. Does she care about me, after…after Rivken? Would she care if she fell asleep and never woke up…is she still prepared to die?

So he continued. "If I go home I'm going to be worried all night about you," he added a bit of dramatic flair to his voice to lighten the mood, "And if something happens I will have to live with the guilt forever."

"Nothing is going to happen."

"Great, so we can have an enjoyable evening."

She pursed her lips as she considered. He was relentless. "All right, Tony. One condition."

"I'm listening."

"Do not tell Gibbs."

"Done." Agreed DiNozo, thinking that Ducky would likely take care of it for him. "So Ducky said that you need to stay awake for several hours, and then…."

Ziva exploded, coming to stand before him and jabbing her finger in his face. "Ducky?"

"Oh, yea," Tony replied, sheepishly. "I may have called him to see what I was supposed to do here…."

She turned on her heel away from him, and pushed the dishwasher rack in with such force that dishes rattled and Tony heard the sound of breaking glass.

"Um ok. So…"

Ziva cut him off, not wanting him to repeat the instructions she was supposed to follow. Not wanting to be told what to do. She spoke through clenched teeth. "It's still pretty early. Movie. Board game?"

I see what you are doing, David. Taking the initiative so that I don't get to order you around.

"Game? What've you got?"

Ziva racked her brain. She didn't play games, but McGee did give her one for her birthday last year…

She returned from the hall closet with an unopened Monopoly in her hands, holding it out to Tony for his approval.

"All right, David, but I have to warn you. I always get Park Place and the Boardwalk."

"The what?" She crinkled her face, completely confused as to what Tony was talking about.

He rolled his eyes playfully. "Of course you've never played Monopoly before. I don't suppose they have a Mossad version where you buy assassins instead of property and land on mines?"

She narrowed her eyes at him and threw the heavy box into his unsuspecting arms.

For the next hour, he taught her all the rules. They played competitively, both getting into the game, and Ziva threatening physical pain each time she landed on one of Tony's many monopolies. The tension that had surfaced over Ziva trying to hide her injury, or 'weakness' as she liked to think of it had dissipated.

Tony…well, he was thrilled to see Ziva laughing and enjoying herself. When he had first walked through her door this evening his heart broke a little bit. Today she had seemed so much better than she had in weeks past, but then her appearance this evening had once again caused his own flashbacks of operation Rescue Ziva.

But maybe it was just the concussion. Maybe she was just tired from a long day. Because whatever it was that had greeted him at the door was starting to melt and he loved the familiar Ziva that appeared underneath. So much so that he took her outrage at losing the game in stride.

So when it became clear that Ziva, down to her last ten dollars, was going to lose, she leaned back in her chair and looked at Tony.

He looked up from counting his money. "If you ask nicely maybe I'll give you some." He offered a twenty.

She flicked the colored money from his fingertips. "What's going on with you and McGee?"

Tony chuckled, his own armored defense mechanism. "No idea what's going on with the little probie."

Ziva leaned her elbows on the table. "I am not buying that."

"I don't really want to get into it Ziva," He said, sorting the play money as he put it away.

She gave him a teasing smile. "Come on, Tony. It will make you feel better, no?"

He sighed. "Do you really want to get into this Ziva?" His voice was serious.

"It's about Somalia, Rivken."

Her face fell.

Chapter 10 to be continued in the next day or two…