A/N - Thank you all so much for the favorites and sweet comments! It's keeping my muse going strong! :)
Go Even Against The Flow
Tony busied himself in the kitchen with preparing the food, his eyes occasionally glancing to the doorway to see if she had ventured back into the room. He tried not to focus on thoughts of Ziva's breakdown, of what it might mean. He tried not to make assumptions or judgments on her, instead focusing on the delicious smell of the food he had heated. With the plate balancing on his hand, and two beers in his other hand, he walked back into the sitting room to find her.
Ziva sit perched on one end of the couch, book in hand, and her eyes flicked up to meet his with a meek expression. "It smells good," he said with a hint of wariness, sitting on the other end of the couch.
She said nothing, and took the offered drink with a grateful smile, twisting the cap from the bottle, she flipped it in her hand and sat back. The book was placed on the table next to the couch, and she pulled her knees up to her chest and faced him. She could feel the edges of the cap pushing into her skin sharply, and couldn't help but clench her fist just a little harder. She watched Tony take a bite, his eyes flicking to her with a smile, and he savored the taste with a grateful moan. "Taste good?" she whispered.
Tony nodded emphatically, watching her take a long pull from her beer, her eyes focused solely on him. She placed the bottle on the coffee table and wrapped her arm around her knees. The bottle cap remained in her hand, pushing lightly against her sensitive skin making a mark against her palm. Her fingertips pressed it tighter to the rhythm of her measured breaths. "So, have you slept with your new partner, yet?" she asked, her voice light and airy as if she were asking him the weather.
Tony's reaction however, was less than graceful as he aspirated a piece of salmon at her question. He almost dropped the plate on the floor as he leaned forward, coughing violently. The fork clanked against the dish, and it landed precariously on the coffee table as Tony tried to breathe again. He coughed loudly and leaned forward on the couch, tears streaming down his cheeks. Ziva reached forward and gave him a friendly pat on his back, moving to sit beside him. Tony's eyes remained closed as he swallowed what he was able to clear from his lungs, and looked up to the ceiling. "Jesus, Ziva! Are you trying to kill me?" he rasped, taking a quick drink from his beer bottle.
"No," she answered honestly, gently running her hand over his back. "I'm sorry," she whispered gently. "Are you alright?"
"I will be as soon as I get my dinner out of my lung," he rasped with a sharp tone of agitation. "Why would you ask me that?"
"She was attractive, I just thought..."
"She's also married, and a little young, and frankly, I'm not exactly convinced she's got a full deck up here," he said, swinging a finger around his head.
"She's married," Ziva said, nodding her head as if telling herself not to be concerned.
"Yes," he nodded, clearing his throat. "I'm not seeing anyone right now." He coughed again and gave her a withering look. "Even if she wasn't married, Ziva. Why would you assume that I was sleeping with her?"
"I don't know," she said, pushing back into the corner of the couch, she waited for him to look toward her before she shrugged. "When you saw me," she trailed off.
"That was," he started, pausing after a moment. "That was a moment I am not particularly proud of. I panicked. Fight or flight response, nothing else." He reached for the plate again, sitting back on the couch, he moved to the other end and faced her. "Of all the gin joints, in all the towns, in all the world, and you had to walk into mine." He quoted clearly, his eyes dancing with amusement, but his expression was serious. "You were the last person that I expected to be stepping off the elevator, Ziva. I was surprised, that's all."
"Okay." Ziva nodded her head and watched him for a moment, and after a warning glance, he began to eat again. "What is she like?"
Tony looked up and lifted an eyebrow, carefully swallowing his bite of salmon. "Who? Bishop?" She nodded her head slightly, and he shrugged as he poked at the food on his plate. "She's fine. Sometimes a little green, definitely a probie. She's kind of cat like." He shrugged, trying to figure out if that was a good way of describing her.
Ziva let out a laugh. "Cat like?"
"Yeah," he nodded. "You're kind of cat like too, but in more of a svelte, sneaky, feral cat kind of way. She's more like a pampered tabby that jumps up on the counter, eats too much, and insists on attention constantly… and when she doesn't want attention, it's like you don't even exist. It's definitely different, and she's definitely not you." The comment came out very breezy and casual, as if he had actually put thought into the description.
Ziva's eyebrows lifted and she nodded. "So I have been missed?"
Tony glanced at her and his eyes sparkled with mischievousness at her question. He moved to put the plate down on the table, and tugged at her foot. "You were gone?" he teased, looking around. "You mean you weren't living here in Gibbs' basement this whole time?" She moved so that she was sitting down next to him, and gave him a sharp poke in the rib with her elbow. His smile was bright and happy, and it only widened when she laughed, wrapping an arm around her, dropping a kiss on her temple. He watched as her eyes sparkled for a moment, then they dropped to her hands in her lap. He could sense that she was retreating from something when her smile disappeared. He kissed her temple again and gave her another friendly squeeze. "Yeah, you were definitely missed."
Tony was about to ask her what was wrong, when she abruptly stood and grabbed for the plate on the table, and dropped the bottle cap beside her bottle. It was clear that she was trying to keep busy. "Hey, where are you going with that? I wasn't done."
She looked down at the nearly empty plate, and then back to Tony. "You left all of the carrots," she said of the vegetable medley on the side of the plate.
"I was saving the best for last," he replied, reaching for the plate. She moved to hand the plate back to him, and he grasped the plate, and her wrist. He put the plate on the table, and pulled her into his lap in one quick move, feeling her body tense as she landed against him.
"Tony!" she exclaimed, feeling his arms encircle her tightly. "What are you doing?" She tried to sound stern in her admonishment, but couldn't help the laugh that erupted at the sudden change of venue.
"Trying to get you to talk to me," he said, burying his face in her neck. She wiggled against him and tried to pull away. He expected her to get angry with him, to fight back against his wandering lips against her skin, but instead she only pushed herself further into him. "Talk to me, Ziva."
Ziva sighed and rested her head on his shoulder, pulling her legs up onto the couch so that he was practically cradling her. Her gentle sigh against his shirt was listless and loaded with avoidance. "I do not know where to start."
"The beginning is a good place," his voice rumbled in his chest, and she looked up into his eyes. She expected to find amusement there, happiness. She expected to see the soft crinkles of laughter at the edges of his eyes, but all she saw was exhaustion.
"Tony," she whispered, pressing one hand against his cheek, and the other on his chest. She could feel his heartbeat quicken beneath her touch, and a flash of pain in his eyes. She rested her forehead against his, and watched him close his eyes and breathe in slow, measured breaths.
"Don't say my name like that," he whispered. "Please."
Her response was a tender kiss to his nose, and his cheek. "Tony," she whispered, trying to gain his attention. When he refused to open his eyes, she continued. She kissed the corner of his mouth, his chin, the small wrinkles beside his eyes. "Tony," she said again, her voice deeper, huskier. She kissed the other side of his mouth, his other cheek. As she went to whisper his name again, his finger moved to touch her lips. She smiled against his finger and she watched the corner of his mouth turn up slightly. His finger then moved from her lips, to his. She smiled softly at his still closed eyes, and that devilish smile beneath his finger. "Tony," she whispered again, leaning forward to kiss his finger, she was not surprised when his finger moved, and she found her lips on his.
The kiss was soft and sweet, a tender testament to her return and the promises that it conjured. She tilted her head slightly and deepened their touch for just a moment before pulling away. His eyes were open now, spilling the secrets of the past year at her mercy. She could see the wet sheen of tears that he refused to acknowledge. "Welcome home," he whispered huskily.
Her lips turned in an enigmatic smile, a rogue tear trailing down her cheek. "It is good to be home."
