Tony glanced down at his watch and swore quietly under his breath. He pressed his foot down harder on the accelerator, dodging the other cars edging forward on the congested road.

He parked haphazardly in the hospital car park and reached behind him to grab a bag of the mound piled up on the back seat. He slammed the door behind him and hurried through the familiar corridors, clutching the bag. He swung into Ziva's room and beamed at her, delighted by the sight of her sitting up unaided, except for the doctor's shoulder on which she was leaning, on the edge of her bed.

He walked over to her and raised his eyebrows questioningly. 'Ready?' he inquired softly. She nodded, her mouth remaining closed.

She was able to move, but not to walk, to groan and scream in pain, but not to talk. Her progress was slow and frustrating but she was coming on and for that small mercy Tony was inherently glad.

He moved over to her side and took the doctor's place. 'Thank you,' he murmured, having finally forgiven the doctor for sedating her.

A nurse knocked politely on the door, pushing a wheelchair. 'Miss David,' she greeted jovially. 'Are you ready to go home?'

Ziva smiled blandly, her face weak and sore. She gasped as she was lifted into the wheelchair by Tony and the doctor.

'Come on, Ziva,' Tony comforted. 'Let's go home.' He pushed her out along the corridors, retracing his daily walk from sitting at Ziva's side. He had walked through these same halls every day for over a year but this would, hopefully, be the final time. Ziva was going home with him.

He had been dreaming of this moment for fourteen months and, now that it had come at last, it was sweeter than he had ever imagined. All the nurses he passed nodded and greeted him by name, waving to Ziva and smiling back at her. His hand was on Ziva's shoulder, soothing her and reassuring her. He was the one who had come to pick her up and it was his home she was going to.

The day before, the whole team had ferried Ziva's belongings from her hospital room and from the storage locker to Tony's apartment. The undertaking had been masterminded by Abby and directed by Tony. He smiled as he recalled the shouts and laughter that had ensued as Abby shrieked orders and stamped her foot while McGee tumbled down the steps, boxes flying everywhere and Gibbs sighing resignedly. Nothing could ruin the exhilaration they all felt now that Ziva was coming home.

He pushed her out of the hospital and into the car park. She stopped him with her hand and coughed, a rasping hack that made Tony wince uncomfortably as he held her hand. Once she had done, she nodded and he continued the path to his car.

The task of shifting Ziva from the wheelchair to the car was a delicate one and Tony was sweating profusely by the time Ziva was reclining in the passenger seat. Grunting, he folded up the wheelchair and stuffed it into the trunk, before hurrying round and climbing in beside her.

'Ready?' he asked again, excitement laced into his question.

She nodded silently, her only form of positive communication.

'Home,' he announced, starting the engine.

Driving along the main road at a snail's pace, he tried to alleviate the tense silence with a disjointed monologue. 'Perhaps it's a good thing that you can't drive,' he reflected. 'You would have killed us both by now in this traffic.' He laughed softly at his own joke, making up for her inability to laugh without crying afterwards at the pain in her chest and face. 'I brought your weapons to my house,' he informed her conversationally. 'But I locked them up.' Her face remained passive. 'I have to go to work tomorrow but I'll come back as soon as possible. Gibbs won't keep me for longer than necessary.' His voice dropped and became gentle and caring. 'We all missed you, Ziva, and everybody is excited that you are coming home.'

She sank back further into the soft cushion of the car seat and Tony gave up his futile attempt to draw her out of her shell. She was angry and aggravated with herself and the world and she would retreat from her guarded shell when she was ready, he comforted himself. She had been locked up inside a nightmare for a year and now she was a helpless rag doll with no strength or confidence. It would take time for her to become Ziva again.

He drove carefully through the traffic as if he was driving a milk float laden with fragile glass bottles. He parked just as cautiously and helped her slowly back into the wheelchair she would be confined to until she found the potency to walk or stand. Until then, she was an invalid.

The lift up to his apartment was jerky and slow and, trapped in a small metal box together, the silence became unbearable.

'I cleaned,' Tony assured her, his voice oddly loud and echoing. 'All your stuff's there,' he continued, disregarding the lack of response he got in return.

He wheeled her out of the lift when it finally arrived, and paused at the front door, struggling to find his key. She rolled her eyes and reached her own trembling hand into his back pocket, retrieving the key quickly, though she paused almost imperceptibly with her fingers cupping his ass. His eyes widened at the unfamiliar touch and he swallowed, wondering if he felt right. He took the keys from her, his own hands shaking slightly, and opened the door.

He had been telling the truth; the apartment was tidy and dustless. She nodded approvingly, the reminder of their old sexual tension evaporating her depression momentarily.

The rest of the evening passed uneventfully, both minds preoccupied with thoughts. As Tony pottered around the kitchen making dinner, he tortured himself trying to decide whether she had lingered in his pocket, enjoying the feel or whether she had just innocently been helping him out in her impatience. Ziva was imagining the next few weeks with her sitting useless in the wheelchair while Tony dashed around doing everything for her like her prison bitch. She hated being powerless and hopeless, inadequate and worthless. Her eyes rested on Tony's busy body and she wondered what he was thinking of her; whether he felt she was a burden or whether he was pleased to help her out in her time of incompetence.