A\N: Let's say that this, the previous chapter and the chapter before that are a three-part, shall we? The first one was from Ziva's point of view, the second from Gibbs', this one is from Tony's. And then a little Gibbs in the end, but that's not particularly important.

DISCLAIMER: I do not own NCIS.


"If You Give Up Now" – Hands On Approach

III (TONY)

How many times had they gone through this? For how many years had they been partners? How many times had fear overtaken them, and how many times had they had each other's backs and pushed that fear aside and moved on?

It stood to reason that this was just going to be one more time that Tony and Ziva, or to anyone else in the house, I've never seen a pair of partners with such a need to do it already!, would prevail and move on and laugh it off and forgive and forget. (At least his optimistic self said so. His rational self was trying to tell him about the complete and total lack of any possible escape plan, because no one, and literally no one, knew where they were, where they had been going, or, for Heaven's sake, that they were even missing. It was the middle of the night, and even Gibbs would be asleep, an- LALALALALALALA, sang the optimistic self, and the logic moodily shut up).

But, still, while they'd eventually get over this (of course), it was never fun in the mean-time. And Ziva was way past freaking out.

And, also still, while his inner coping mechanism was joking around like there was no tomorrow (and who guaranteed there was?), maybe he was getting to the freaking out stage as well.

Because he was cracking the wrong cracks at the wrong moments, and Ziva was, besides past freaking, also past simple tears, and he just wanted her to be okay, and he wasn't able to do that properly at all. But he wouldn't give up. Not on her. Everything but that. Every time they'd had together, even if it hadn't been all he'd hoped for, counted for something. And he wasn't willing to hand that over so easily.

So he still tried, still took her hand, still hoped to make her warm and make her forget that they were never getting to tell each other what it was that they were tired of pretending, and that yes, he did think about soul mates, all the time, all the time he was with her.

And, yes, before it was asked, it did occur to him that he still had time, still could, even if rushed, tell her about all the things he wanted to tell her, but, but, when had they (Tony and Ziva, Ziva and Tony) ever made things easier for themselves?

So he kept silent, but that didn't work for her. No, his little assassin ninja that he'd likely never see again after this (while hope is the last, one's optimistic self is first to die), she was the one that threw easy to the winds, and he went right along with her.

And when the noise came, when that sound that warned them of their impending doom, and Ziva exhaled that little unconscious whimper against him and ignored it in favor of keeping up the feverish attack on his lips, he followed her lead and focused on her too. Right after he managed to stand up and take her with him and make his back face the danger while his arms tightened around Ziva (he was unfair with his body parts, but so was life with everything else).

He didn't want to think about the fact that he was about to be turned into the human equivalent of the product of a junk yard. He didn't want to think that maybe, with a little effort, he could have had what he had right at that moment for a lot longer than he was going to. He wanted to think about what she'd said to him, and he wanted to feel delighted that she had, and not depressed that she never would again. He wanted to think about Ziva, and Ziva alone. So he did.

And he braced himself. That was all he could do.


Tony watched the sun rise with the trepidation proper of someone who hadn't slept all night and had every intention of ignoring that it was now day and not the time for rest.

He looked away to a far more welcoming sight.

"You did say something about worshipping me?"

Underneath the blanket, similar to the one he was wearing himself, Ziva pulled a face at her partner.

As if sensing danger, Gibbs' gaze switched from Ducky, zipping up their suspect's body-bag (McGee with the save, indeed – God bless him and his perseverant heart, because, without his call to Gibbs and lonely venture into the sight he'd tracked the killer to, there was no way his two coworkers would still be alive), to Tony and Ziva, with a warning look that was lost on the sappy staring match the glaring had turned into.

Their boss only hoped the two of them didn't have enough time to get to love declarations until Gibbs had been able to interrupt their intimacy inside the metal box, which was now evidence of a kidnapping charge and of something soon to be forgotten.