A/N: A reminder about the warnings for this: This story contains very mature themes and adult content.

Tony walked into the bedroom, saw the light on in the bathroom and almost decided to lie down on the floor and sleep. But Ziva's threats were like a physical object choking his throat so he moved across the room and raised a hand to knock on the door.

She opened it before he had the chance.

And he was floored by her transformation.

The light makeup was gone from her freshly scrubbed face—and so was the anger. With the annoyance and accusation gone from her eyes, all that was left was pain. Tony was shocked to see that her eyes were red-rimmed from crying and his partner suddenly looked… soft.

She raised a hand to the cheek she had slapped, letting her thumb rest gently on his healing split lip.

"Forgive me?"

It was all he could do not to break down himself at the remorse, sadness and fragile hope in those whispered words. He wrapped his arms around her and pulled her close.

"Of course, Ziva," he whispered into her lavender-scented curls.

They stayed that way for a long time.

When Ziva finally pulled away, she left a hand on his arm, as if needing the contact to ground herself. "I am really tired," she said, moving toward the bed and sliding under the covers. "Your dinner was wonderful. I should have told you earlier…"

She trailed off, looking at him with an ocean of sadness in her eyes.

He knew it wasn't because of her poor manners so he just smiled. "Thanks. I can't cook much, but that's one thing most people don't run screaming from."

She smiled, tentatively, as if trying to remember how. "Family recipe?"

He was glad his back was to her as he sat on the edge of the bed—because for a moment all he could see was bloody bathwater and carefully filleted flesh. "My mother's," he said quietly. He kept his back turned until he could shove down the memories and school his features into something that couldn't be described as haunted. "Do you want me to sleep on the floor? I don't mind."

She shook her head quickly. "Stay," she said, staring straight into his eyes. "How did she die, Tony?"

"My mother?" he asked, unnecessarily and because he was uncomfortable.

Ziva nodded. "I know you were young, but I am ashamed that I never asked you about her."

He frowned at her, confused. "It's okay. I don't really like talking about her much anyway. She drowned, accidental." He figured that was true enough. For all he knew, she could have drowned in her bloody bathwater before actually bleeding out from the self-inflicted wounds, right? He watched Ziva watch him, and he suddenly wondered how thorough those Mossad dossiers had been—and how thorough his father's lawyers had been, too. Before she could say anything, he said, "I should apologize to you. I haven't seen your new apartment—I never even asked if you'd found one, didn't know you had until Abby mentioned your plants."

He stopped, realizing he had admitted to his eavesdropping.

But Ziva just smiled wanly. "Did you really think I did not know you were listening?"

His cheeks went red and he smiled back. "Ninja-chick."

She nodded, her smile growing stronger as her eyes roamed his body.

He looked up into those eyes and asked, "Did you mean it? All of it?"

She knew exactly what he was talking about and didn't bother to pretend otherwise. She didn't hesitate. "Yes."

But he did hesitate.

Even when she turned out the light, even when she slid under the covers and wriggled out of the robe so her bare skin was pressed against his clothed body, even when she moved a hand under his t-shirt, setting his skin on fire with the contact—still he hesitated.

"Ziva," he whispered, knowing the microphones couldn't pick up his whisper-soft voice. "What do you want? Really?"

"You," she whispered back huskily—again with no hesitation. "Please?"

His eyes closed at her pain. He opened them again and sought her eyes in the darkness. "Why, Ziva?"

"To feel normal again," she answered. A tear slipped down her face but her whispered voice stayed strong. "To know that I am something more to someone than an animal to be used for his pleasure."

He kept the tears that came to his own eyes carefully checked as he dipped his head and pressed light lips to her quivering ones. He could feel her hunger and he pulled back. "You're in control of this," he said as firmly as he could while still whispering. "You want to stop, we stop."

She nodded and then kissed him again, this time slowly and carefully. He felt her tongue skim his damaged lip and felt fresh tears slide down her cheeks.

"Shhhhh," he murmured against her soft mouth. "It's okay, Ziva."

She nodded again and buried her face in his shoulder, her hand slipping into his boxers. He felt her flinch at finding him half-hard already and he whispered, "We can stop whenever you want." Another part of his body practically shrieked in protest, but he ignored it. This was going to be ten times more painful for her than for him—no matter how far they got. Or didn't get.

She shook her head, and he felt her reach for him again, this time tentatively and gently—so much differently than when she had gripped him hard enough in the bathroom for the pleasure to border on pain. She stroked him into aching hardness and he pressed his lips to hers to mute his moan.

Her hand stilled and he waited for her to flinch away from him. But he looked down to find her smiling. She nodded toward the corner of the room. "You have no problems doing this on camera?" she asked teasingly.

And he suddenly realized exactly what she meant about feeling normal again.

"Not like we haven't done it before," he teased back, thinking about their escapades in that hotel room so many years ago. "And Gibbs told us to put on a show if we thought we were being watched."

He watched some dark emotion flick through her eyes and wondered if she was going to mock him for always listening to Gibbs—or if she felt like they were lying to their boss, too.

But then she said, very seriously, "I want this, Tony. You are not taking advantage of me."

He was stopped from answering—and thinking—as she turned him onto his back and sat astride him, her wetness warm on his belly. The blanket still covered him, and half of her, but Tony felt a flicker of unease that both Gibbs and McGee were watching this.

She leaned forward, kissing him softly and then pulling back slightly, her voice puppy soft. "I am on the pill and I was tested after…"

He felt her tense and said, "I haven't been with anyone since…"

Her eyes widened slightly but she just nodded, their eyes answering the mutual unasked question. He was glad he didn't actually have to say the pretty doctor's name, and he tried not to think about what it meant that Ziva clearly knew who he was talking about. Those thoughts were erased when Tony saw, heard and felt Ziva's deep breath, and he suddenly wondered how badly she had been hurt by the animals who had captured her. He wondered if he should stop this, but the look in her eyes froze him in place. Anything he said, he knew she would see as rejection—as proof that she was damaged goods.

So he just shut his mouth and tried not to moan at the sweet torture of her easing herself down onto him, inch by painfully blissful inch. He realized his eyes were closed at about the same time she stopped moving, having sank down until his rock-hard length was buried to the hilt inside her. His eyes opened and he reached slowly for her hips, the tears streaming down her face reaching into his chest and ripping his heart out.

He opened his mouth to speak but she leaned forward, muting his words with her mouth. Her lips moved to his lobe and she whispered, "I am fine. I just need to go slow."

He nodded. "Take your time," he whispered, trying not to pant with his need. He nudged her jaw with his chin and smiled up at her. "I'm not going anywhere."

She smiled back even as more tears streamed down her face. She saw the questions in his eyes—the ones that had been there with all of her kisses—and she shook her head. "You do not scare me," she said, repeating her earlier words to Abby. She met his eyes. "I know you do not love me, but I also know you would never hurt me."

She kissed him again, not letting him respond. Not that he could have, anyway, as she started slowly rocking her hips against his. He could hear her breath catching in her throat, but when he looked up at her, he saw only pleasure in her eyes. She leaned forward and picked up the pace of her grinding and before he knew it, she was burying her face in his neck and moaning, low and long, as he felt the tiny explosions of her orgasm in her quivering flesh.

He felt her tears soaking into his t-shirt and moved his hands to her hips again to try to get her to stop. As soon as his skin touched hers, small hands locked around his wrists and he stared up into her wide eyes. He watched, unmoving as she shook off the momentary panic and gently pushed his hands above his head, pinning them there as she started to ride him again.

"Okay?" she whispered, keeping his wrists locked in place.

He nodded. "I know you would never hurt me," he whispered back.

She smiled, the expression moving from soft to teasing as she leaned down again and breathed directly into his ear. "Bet I come again before you do."

He almost laughed out loud, but he was too busy trying to call up the memory of his hideous fourth-grade teacher, Mrs. Higginbotham, so he could help Ziva win her bet.

And she did.

He came a moment later, the sensations blocking out everything else so he barely noticed that Ziva had frozen on top of him. When his shuddering finally stopped, he did notice—and he kicked himself hard for not even considering how she might react to feeling him spurting out inside her. He stayed just as stone-still as her, trying not to spook her more with his movement.

She finally slid from his body and made her way to the bathroom, leaving him wondering if he should follow. He gave her a moment to clean up and then went and knocked softly, the door swinging inward as he did. The sight of her, curled up in the white robe against the tub again, made guilt give him a swift kick in the gut.

He moved carefully to her side, wholly surprised when she went willingly into his open arms to cry quietly against his chest.

"I'm so sorry, Ziva," he said, maybe a thousand times. Even if it were a million, it still wouldn't feel like enough. "I shouldn't have done that," he whispered, hurting for her in a way he hadn't known possible.

She shook her head against him. "I thought… I think…" She stopped, burrowed tighter into his embrace and began to sob, her harsh cries ripping him in half and making confetti of his soul. His guilt was like acid burning in his throat and he swallowed it, willing himself not to throw up.

He realized she was speaking softly, sometimes switching among the many languages she spoke, but he could figure out enough to come to understand that he hadn't known the half of the torture she had suffered at her captors' cruel hands.

"… touching me… hurting me… drinking canteens of water in front of me… laughing… until my face was throbbing… dirty Jew… his boot in my ribs… shoved himself inside me… broken… damaged…"

She finally stopped talking and he realized she had also stopped crying. She looked up into his anguished eyes and whispered, "They hurt me."

He swallowed the bile, the tears, the vicarious suffering for what had been done to her. "I'm so sorry, Ziva. That they hurt you. That you have to live with those memories. That we just assumed you were okay. I'm so sorry, Ziva, that we left you there. You didn't deserve that. Any of that."

She put her head down on his chest again, too exhausted to move. And he was glad for it. He didn't want her absolution—because he didn't think he deserved it.

Tony gathered her up in his arms and lifted her from the hard floor, feeling her tired body melt against his. He carried her back to bed, covering her with the soft, warm blanket and watching her curl up. He sat beside her, stroking her hair until she fell asleep.

He settled down onto the hard floor without a thought about his aching back. He wished there were a test Abby could perform to tell him if he had done the right thing. He honestly had no idea.

He still wasn't sure why he had done it, and he found himself wishing he could get captured, beaten, tied to a chair and shot up with truth serum to find the answer.

He could have told himself it was because he had heard Ziva tell Abby that she needed him, needed to feel normal again. He could have told himself it was because he had slept with friends before without much thought about it. He could have told himself that it was because he had always wondered what it would be like to be with her. He could have told himself that it was because he had wanted it, too.

But he could not figure out which of those statements were true, which were half-truths, or wishes, or outright lies.

All he knew was that he had looked into those pained eyes, saw the absolute need in them, and hadn't been able to deny her anything she wanted.

It seemed like an eternity ago that she had looked up at him with that shocking vulnerability and asked him to forgive her. And he had, easily.

He just hoped she could forgive him, too.

Gibbs left his shift with McGee and headed straight for the only place that made sense.

He almost growled in frustration when he found Jimmy instead of Ducky in the chilled air of the autopsy suite. He tried not to glare too hard at the amiable young man and said, "You're here early, Palmer."

Jimmy grinned. "Well, most people wait until after work to 'crack open a cold one'," he said, "but we like to get an early start around here."

Gibbs bit back a smile and said, "Ducky'd smack you silly for disrespecting his guests like that."

Jimmy went pale. "I…" He sighed. "I guess I need to work on my sense of humor, Agent Gibbs. I'm sorry."

Gibbs lifted a shoulder. "Not me you should apologize to."

Even the corpse on the table had more color than Jimmy. "He's right behind me, isn't he?" he asked nervously. At Gibbs' nod, he continued, "How do you two do that? Is there class, or something? Maybe I could take it and… Sorry, Agent Gibbs, Doctor."

The longtime friends shared an amused glance as Jimmy slunk out of the room.

"Young Mr. Palmer fancies himself a comedian," Ducky said, the glint in his eye unmistakable.

Gibbs shot a glance at the table. "Think he needs to work with a more responsive audience."

Ducky chuckled. "Indeed," he said. "There once was a famous ventriloquist… though his name slips my mind… but curiously, he had only one hand—"

"Ducky," Gibbs said in warning.

"Oh, right," the doctor replied, nodding. "May I have three guesses as to what brings you down here so early?"

"You'll only need one."

Ducky nodded again. "Ah, yes. Anthony and Ziva."

Gibbs waited a fraction of a second. "And?"

"And who?" Ducky asked, a mischievous look in his eye. "Those two have enough trouble to kill a herd of wild zebras without inviting a third into their tryst. And our Timothy hardly seems the type. Now Abigail, perhaps—"

"DUCK!" Gibbs shouted, drawing a somewhat contrite look from the doctor.

"Ah, I know," he said, leaning back against an empty table. "But you look like you are about to explode and I thought maybe—well, never mind. How about you tell me what's on your mind, my friend?"

"Be quicker to tell you what isn't."

"Now, Jethro," Ducky scolded gently. "I know you aren't exactly a chatterbox, but you are going to have to speak actual words to tell me what is bothering you."

Gibbs cracked a smile. And then he sighed, feeling bone-weary. "I was right that they're sleeping together. Ziva admitted it in full view of one of our cameras," he said, suppressing a shudder, "while she was giving Tony a good feeling up. And then I had to sit next to McGee and watch the two of them going at it like teenagers in bed."

Ducky grinned. "At least that explains why you are so distressed."

"This isn't funny," Gibbs growled, starting to pace. "They're in that house because they're baiting a killer. They should be worried about their covers, not when they'll get their next chance to screw each other."

"Aren't they undercover as a married couple?" Ducky asked innocently.

Gibbs just glared. "They aren't supposed to put on a show—and that was not just for show, I've been married four times so I know—unless they think they're being watched. No one got within 50 feet of that house with me and McGee watching from every possible angle. They're in danger and they need to realize that and stop playing games."

"So they knew you were watching over them," Ducky said slowly. "And you never called the bedroom phone as arranged to tell them they were in danger."

"Dammit, Ducky," Gibbs exploded. "Why are you defending their boneheaded moves?"

"Calm down, Jethro," Ducky said. "I think I should advise you to remember the pot and the kettle?"

Gibbs turned furious eyes on his friend. "This is not the same…" he ground out before he realized it actually was pretty similar—as if he hadn't been thinking that all along. He huffed out an angry breath. "Hell, Duck. I told Tony yesterday that I understood the pressure they're under."

"So what changed?" Ducky asked gently.

Icy blue eyes skittered away and then returned slowly. "What I didn't tell him," Gibbs admitted softly. "Ziva doesn't love him and he's only going to get hurt."

The doctor's eyes went sympathetic. "You really have grown to care deeply for him," he said, almost to himself. He raised his eyes to meet Gibbs'. "I find it rather interesting that you aren't professing the same fear for Ziva's heart."

Gibbs ignored the first statement—because he didn't like to admit even to himself how much Tony had come to mean to him. "I've read her jacket. She's handled scores of undercover ops like this."

"Ah," Ducky said. "And Anthony got his heart badly broken on the one he handled."

Gibbs ignored that, too, because his guilt was still too strong, his guilt that he hadn't seen through Tony's lies and given him the support his agent had desperately needed. He forcibly shoved aside images of a charred corpse in a burned-out Mustang. The old regret gave way to a fresher one and he found himself saying, "And I'm starting to doubt if Ziva is up for this kind of thing yet. I doubt we know the half of what she went through in captivity."

"Why do you doubt her ability to handle this?" Ducky prompted.

Gibbs ran a hand through his hair. "My gut."

Ducky waited.

"She had a nightmare and ended up screaming at Tony and punching him in the face."

Ducky waited.

"The way she's flaunting that they're having sex as if she doesn't care about getting caught."

Ducky continued to wait.

"She gave DiNozzo painkillers for his back even though she knows how he gets on them."

"And how very illegal it is to share controlled substances," Ducky said, frowning.

"Least of my worries, Duck."

Ducky nodded in agreement. "The biggest issue there is why they both would do such a thing." He paused. "How bad is Anthony's back? He must have been in quite a bit of pain to accept the pills in the first place."

"He's hurting," Gibbs said, feeling increasingly frustrated, but unable to put his finger on exactly why. "I don't know what he did to it, and I doubt it's serious, but he's definitely in pain."

Ducky thought for a moment. "I don't recall him mentioning having an accident of any sort in which he could have caused damage."

Gibbs rolled his eyes. "Like he'd tell us if he did." He saw Ducky waiting for something. "And I know Ziva's fine. The dayside agents told me about a neat little trick she and Tony pulled off flawlessly to taunt our suspect. Right before they were locking lips in a parking lot in full view of that suspect."

Ducky studied his friend for a long moment without speaking. "All right," he said, flipping his hand a few times in the air. "Out with it."

There was a long silence, but Ducky waited patiently.

Finally, Gibbs said, "He lied to me."

Ducky frowned hard. "So did she."

Gibbs just stood there in tight-lipped silence for a moment. "He admitted it. Hell, he sounded upset about it."

"Anthony hates lying to you, Jethro. He respects you too much to lie to you as easily as he lies to everyone else."

Gibbs knew that. It didn't make any of this any easier. And it didn't explain the nagging that still lingered in his gut.

Ducky sighed. "Come on, Jethro. Out with it," he said again.

Gibbs turned on his glare again.

"The rest of it, Jethro," Ducky said, exasperated. "What else is bothering you?"

"That's just it, Duck," the agent said, staring at the corpse on the table. "I have no idea."