"Knock knock." Tony called. He stuck the extra key that he'd taken earlier into the door, and let himself in quietly. He could hear water running in the master bathroom. He quietly tip toed through and secured the apartment, locking all the windows and the sliding back door. Then he went into the master bedroom. The door to the bathroom was closed, and he could hear the shower still going. On Ziva's bed were two stacks of neatly folded clothes- what she had worn earlier today, and running clothes with sneakers, both set at the foot of the bed, which smelled like she had just run. Between the bed and the wall next to the bathroom door was a table, on which was a long sleeved shirt, sweatpants, and underwear. He could hear Ziva singing in the shower. He smiled. She was good. Then the water stopped and he panicked. Since he wasn't keen on being killed, he left the master bedroom and went to the kitchen. Seeing no dishes on the counter and, after a quick look, none in the dishwasher, he decided to make some food. He scrounged around in the cupboards until he found a box of pasta. He took a few more moments to find a pot large enough to make food for two. The crashing that occurred when he pulled the pot out scared Ziva.
"Who's there!?" She snapped. He could picture crouched behind the bed or table, gun ready and knife within reach.
"Honey, I'm home!" There was a second before she answered.
"Tony!?" She sounded surprised. And definitely NOT happy. He flinched a bit at her tone. It was stony cold.
"The one and only." He replied, filling the pot with warm water to boil. "I'm making us dinner." He called loudly over the water. He could have sworn he heard her growl.
"Why the hell are you here!? It is Sunday night! At almost eight 'o clock!" He grinned. She was back to her lively self.
"As I said, dinner." He heard her come storming through the apartment, muttering what were no doubt Hebrew curse words. By the time she had entered the kitchen, he had just put the pasta on to boil. He turned around. Mostly to make sure he didn't get stabbed in the back. He preferred to face his death head on. But what he saw made him take a step back in shock.
"Ziva, I was just here about two hours ago!!" Ziva self consciously touched her deep purple cheek bone.
"It's not nearly as bad as it looks." He looked at her hard, maintaining eye contact. Finally, he sighed.
"Fall running again?" He questioned sarcastically. She nodded and pushed past him.
"What are you doing?" She questioned looking in the pot of pasta.
"Uh, cooking. What else would I be doing in the kitchen?" She walked to the cupboards and pulled out two plates, two wine glasses, two forks, and two knives. "You're not planning on stabbing me, are you?" She smirked at him, flinched, and rubbed her bruised cheek. Tony turned to grab a dishtowel and grabbed a fistful of ice from the freezer. He handed her the ice pack. She went to put it on the counter, but he grabbed it and held it to her face. "Keep it on. It doesn't keep the color away, but it can take the swelling down and numb it a bit." He gently pushed on her back, mindful of her bruises, and steered her towards the table and pushed her down in one of the chairs.
"How would you know what would bring down swelling?" He grinned and started setting the table.
"I've had my fair share of facial bruises." Ziva laughed.
"I have rarely seen you with your face bruised. Twice, tops." Tony pulled a bottle of wine out of the fridge and poured two glasses. "And who said you could drink my wine!?" Ziva snapped. Tony rolled his eyes.
"I don't care what you say about your wine, I'm drinking some of it if I have to spend the night with you. Unless you have beer?" Ziva's head snapped up to glare at him.
"What do you mean 'staying here tonight'!?" Tony was debating whether he should run for his life, or tell her that Gibbs said he should be here. Instead he simply shrugged and pulled the boiling pot off the stove. He found a wooden spoon in a drawer and put some on her plate.
"Eat up." She glared at him. He grinned. "I'm not saying anything until you eat everything on your plate. Then we talk. About everything." He said the last sentence more threateningly, as he set her plate down. She turned, about ready to argue, but Tony held the plate in her face, and after one smell she simply nodded. He felt a little guilty for not thinking of feeding her earlier- she'd probably only eaten breakfast today, if that. Tony turned to look at Ziva, to ask her if he'd given her enough to eat. She'd already finished the plate.
"Want more?" He asked her. She shook her head sleepily and tried to get up. He ended up giving her a hand. Once she was up, she shoved him away and walked to her room, to collapse on the bed. That worried him- she was getting exhausted so quickly lately. Instead, he tucked her in for the second time that day and went to do the dishes. If he was going to be here all night, he might as well do some of the chores. And sleep, he thought, as he yawned. Once he was done, he decided to crash on the couch after he'd checked on her.
He went into Ziva's room to check on her one last time before going to sleep. She was sleeping on her side, back to the wall. She wasn't smiling, but she looked peaceful and at rest. He sat on the edge of the bed and brushed hair away from her bruised cheek. He fought the sudden impulse to kiss her and make it better, the way his mother had when he was little. He kneeled on the ground and rested his hands on his folded arms, which were resting on the bed. He stared at her face. She must have been truly exhausted to not have woken up by now. Those were his last thoughts before he drifted off to sleep.