Disclaimer: NCIS is still on my Christmas list. Until Santa makes my wish come true, it's not mine.
Author's Note: Fun fact--It's after midnight and I have Bio II lab at 9 am tomorrow morning, yet here I am writing and posting this. That is how much I love you guys.
And here it is. The chapter you've been waiting for. I swear, if I don't wake up to some seriously awesome reviews tomorrow, Ziva shoots Tony and Gibbs and runs away with David forever.
...Just kidding.
But seriously, guys, review the shit out of this. I would LOVE LOVE LOVE LOVE to reach 200 reviews, and you've only got a couple more chapters to make that happen. I know you can do it!
Anyway, I'm off to dream world I will edit mistakes for 11 and 12 tomorrow during my break.
GOODNIGHT AND HAPPY READING!
That night was one of the longest of Ziva's life. And now that she could remember them, there were a lot of long nights to compare. Despite the fact that she didn't get into bed until after zero-five-hundred, the hours until it was acceptable for her to be awake again passed dreadfully slow.
David asked her to sleep with him and though he meant strictly sleeping, she knew she had to refuse.
"Have I done something wrong?" David asked.
"No," Ziva replied, reassuring him.
"Is there someone else? Did you remember that you're married?" His attempt a humor fell drastically short.
"I promise to still be here when you wake up."
She knew that it wasn't enough. He knew that it had to be.
Her promise proved much harder to keep in practice than in theory, however. She slept little more than an hour, tossing and turning in the sheets as her mind raced with memories of her past, trying to reconcile them with recent weeks.
It wasn't as if she had just slipped back into her old mindset, fully capable of dealing with her past. Her wounds were real, as if they happened days ago, instead of years.
She woke up in tears over the loss of Tali, her broken childhood, her father's lack of compassion.
She escaped into the solace of the shower, hoping to wash away the evidence of her weakness with the water. But the shower dial would not turn hot enough to cleanse her of Ari's death; the loofah was too soft to wash away all the blood.
Her hands shook as she slid down the tile wall, curling into a ball at the bottom of the tub. The sounds of David moving through the apartment caught her attention, but only to make sure he wasn't trying to get into the bathroom.
She sat waiting for the water to get so cold that her teeth would chatter, snapping her out of her headspace and forcing her brain to focus--turn off the water, grab a towel, get dressed. Unfortunately, the water only ever reached a luke warm. No source of water was freezing in Egypt during the summer months. Nor in Israel. That particular expectation was entirely American, where most of the country, with the exception of a few southern states, had such a temperate climate that the water could turn bitterly chill in any season.
The disappointment that welled inside her forced her to move, turning off the shower and following her routine as she got out. Rather than following her nose to the kitchen in search of breakfast, however, her feet directed her back to 'her' room.
Even in her mind, she could no longer recognize what was David's as her own. Not when she had memories of her own belongings.
Her own car, her own gun. Her own apartment, which had been blown apart after Tony killed Michael.
…And she was back to square one.
For the first time, she turned the lever under the door handle, turning it until the lock clicked into place. A basic sitting chair sat in the corner, one which she had placed her clothes on several times. Removing a shirt from the seat, she moved the chair toward the window, seating herself and looking out onto the busy Egyptian streets.
Egypt.
They were not very far from Cairo.
Where she'd met Jenny. Where she'd saved Jenny.
How in the world was she supposed to deal with this?
When a traumatic event happens, a person grieves and eventually moves on. They draw on their experiences, the strength of others--whatever it takes to survive.
Some people are stronger than others.
But no one was ever meant to grieve a lifetime of pain in a single experience.
For the first time, she truly understood Gibbs' decision to 'retire.' He'd just been severely injured, lost his memories and regained them again in a very short time. Immediately, he called up his sense of duty to try and save lives. When he failed, there was nothing left but the pain of a lifetime's losses.
Moving to a secluded beach to drink beer and be alone with one's thoughts seemed like a spectacular idea.
Only instead of having to stop a terrorist attack, Ziva had to make an impossible decision.
Should she go back to America, to the man who killed Michael and the NCIS that believed she'd betrayed them? Should she go back to Israel, where her existence was being denied by the agency she'd given her childhood, her pride, and very nearly her life to protect? Or should she stay with David, a man who'd shown her nothing but kindness, yet knew nothing about her?
Baja was starting to seem more appealing than ever.
She'd lost track of time until a sharp rap on the door broke her from her thoughts.
"Yes?" she called out, her voice rasping from lack of use. She turned her head toward the door, blinking to adjust her eyes in what was now a pitch-black room.
"I know you want to be alone right now and I respect that," she heard David answer through the wood. "But someone left a package out here addressed to you. DiNorzo, I think."
Ziva's knees popped as she stood, moving them for the first time since she'd taken position in the chair.
"DiNozzo," she said, opening the door to see David with a small box in his hands.
"What?" David asked, furrowing his brow.
Ziva cleared the crackle from her throat. "His name is DiNozzo. Tony DiNozzo."
David pursed his lips. "Ah."
Their eyes met and Ziva could see the questions forming on his lips before her ever spoke them.
"You said he left something for me?" she said, cutting him off before he could ask her something she couldn't answer.
"Oh, yeah," he said, distractedly, handing her the small box. "Here."
Ziva offered him a tight smile as she took the box. "Thank you."
She held the box in her hand and David made no move from the doorway. A stagnant pause hung over them, prompting her to act.
"I am sorry," she said quietly, slowing moving to pull the door closed once again.
David's face fell. "I understand," he replied as she closed the door, leaving her alone once again.
She flipped on the light switch and sat on the bed, pulling the tiny box onto her lap.
It was wrapped in a cheap gold paper with a matching bow. An envelop was attached to the top, which she removed, setting it aside as she lifted the lid.
Her eyes froze on the small golden star, it's delicate chain sparkling in the room's reflective light. Taking the envelope, she broke the seal without looking, only moving her eyes to the paper once it was out and in her hands.
She recognized the handwriting immediately. Large portions of the letter were heavily crossed out, so thoroughly that she could not make out the writing hidden beneath them. Her eyes moved to the writing that was legible.
Ziva,
I noticed you didn't have your necklace last night. You always wear that thing, and considering what happened… I kinda figured you probably didn't have it any more. I know this isn't the same and I'm sure the last had some sentimental value that you never explained.
Gibbs would kill me for this, but the hotel address is scribbled inside the box. He says you still don't remember, but if that changes and you want to talk, that's where I'll be.
I never meant to hurt you, Ziva.
Tony.
Ziva pulled the necklace free of its packaging, removing the cardboard from the box entirely. The same script was scribbled onto the bottom of the box, an address she recognized as being several streets over from the market.
She bit into the inside of her cheek, staring at the address as her mind warred over the decision.
After a moment, she dropped the box back on the bed, slipping on a pair of shoes and grabbing the sweater she had tossed off the chair earlier.
She still had the knife David had given her tucked into her waistband, but she stalled over the SIG, foregoing it's protection to turn the lock swiftly under her hand and walk into the living room.
"Ziva?" David asked, looking up from the couch.
"I am going out," she said simply.
His left eyebrow twitched. "W-Would you like me to go with you?"
"No," she replied. "I am certain of where I am going."
"You're sure."
"Yes."
"Alright," he said, giving up. "The door will be open when you return."
"Thank you," she replied, moving toward the door. She stopped before she closed it behind her, calling him name to catch his attention once more. "I mean it," she said sincerely. "Thank you."
He nodded and she pulled the door shut, leaving the apartment complex in route toward the address ingrained in her mind.
She reached the shabby hotel, not bothering to check in with the sleeping guard at the front desk. Taking the stairs, she walked the three flights up, stopping in front of room 3B.
Raising her hand to knock, her eyes caught on the glint of gold in her hand. She paused, opening her fist to realize that she was still holding onto the necklace. Drawing in a breath as the started at the golden star, her fingers only shook slightly as they undid the clasp, sliding her hands up and refastening it around her neck.
The weight of the tiny charm was heavy on her chest, but she adjusted it appropriately, raising her hand to the door once again. This time she didn't give herself time to pause as she flicked her wrist forward, rapping her knuckles on the wood twice.
A loud crash and a muffled growl sounded behind the door before it was flung open.
"Dammit," the voice on the other side said. "Stubbed my fuggin' toe."
The scent of alcohol made her reel back before she could even see Tony's flushed face.
"Ziva?!" he asked incredulously, yelling slightly.
"Shhh!" she said, shushing him. "You do not need to be so loud."
"What are you doing here?" he asked, this time whispering through the child-like grin that formed on his face.
"I came to speak with you," she replied, before giving him a good once-over. "Though perhaps this is not the best time…."
"No!" Tony said, yelling again as he sensed her reluctance. She glared at he grimaced apologetically, moving to open the door and beckon her in. "Don't leave. Come in. Please."
She hesitated, knowing that they needed to talk and Tony was clearly in no state of mind to carry an intelligent conversation. But the hopeful sparkle in his bloodshot eyes went straight to her heart, compelling her to nod and step forward.
Tiny hotel bottles of alcohol littered the counter and nightstand. There was no couch or chair set, leaving the rumpled bedspread as the only place to sit.
Tony stumbled slightly as he hastened to straighten the covers, only managing to pull them even more askew in the process.
"Sit," he said, his arm flinging out from his side to gesture at the bed. "Make 'urself comfy."
She did sit, though it was much more prim than his ungraceful flop.
"Where is Gibbs?"
Tony shrugged. "He got some room on the firs' floor."
Ziva nodded, fixing her eyes on the cracked television screen across from her.
"So what brings you here, Zee-vah?" Tony asked suddenly. "Decided you dun' hate me after all?"
Ziva sighed, knowing the blatant reaction would be lost on Tony's drunken state. "I do not hate you, Tony."
"You sure?" he asked, narrowing his eyes suspiciously. "'Cause it sure seemed like it."
"You hurt me, Tony," she said, putting more feeling into the statement than she would, were he sober. Even if Tony did not remember any of this in the morning, at least she would have the comfort of having expressed what she wanted to say. "I felt betrayed."
Tony sighed, falling back onto the bed and covering his face with his hand.
"Never meant to hurt you," he mumbled, his voice muffled. "Jus' trying to help."
Her hand went to her neck, rubbing the star between her thumb and index finger. "I know," she replied, looking away.
Tony pulled his hand away from his face, his eyes going to her hand. Ziva watched as his eyes glazed over and focused before a dawning recognition appeared on his face.
"You wore it!" he said excitedly, sitting himself up. The sudden movement threw his inebriated body off balance, causing him to fall forward toward Ziva.
Rather than bump heads with him, Ziva fell back, bracing herself with her elbow on the bed. Tony continued to fall, bringing him flush with Ziva, his face mere inches from her own.
"I'm really glad you wore it, Ziva," he whispered, the scent of cheap liquor wafting over her so strongly that she felt it might intoxicate her as well, if the heat from Tony's body didn't do it first.
She didn't reply, couldn't, the sudden rush of adrenaline and warmth taking away her words. Her gaze locked onto Tony's face, noting his unshaven stubble, the part of his lips as his breathed, the lean muscle in his cheek that flexed as he shifted.
"You're real pretty this close," he said, his eyes focused somewhere between her Cupid's bow and her upper lip. "Extra pretty."
She lay still, watching with wide eyes as his lips gently parted and closed, his warm breath tickling her cheek before his eyelids fluttered closed. Hers stayed open even as his lips pressed forward, the gentle pressure prompting her to respond without any awareness from her functioning brain.
Her toes curled, hands clutching the material of the blanket as her eyes slowly shut. Tony's kisses were gentle, his lips a smooth warmth than sent shivers down her spine. They fumbled slightly as he suckled her lower lip, his drunken sloppiness forgotten as her back arched underneath him, years of tension between them and weeks of her pain melting away. She knew it was wrong--they should be talking, not kissing--but every touch was making it harder for her to care.
"Tony," she panted as he finally broke from her lips, moving to trail kisses down her neck. "We should not. You are drunk."
She wasn't sure that he heard her as his tongue swirled over a particularly sensitive tendon at the base of her neck. She bit back a moan, tilting her head to the side even as she continued, "You will regret this tomorrow."
"Nuh uh," he murmured into her neck.
"Tony…."
"Could ne'er regret this," he said, scraping his teeth gently over her jugular and earning a stifled moan from Ziva. "Wanted you for a long time, Zi…."
Ziva surrendered as his hands slid under her back, his calloused hands meeting her warm skin. Arching upward, she threaded her fingers through his hair, pulling his head upward so she could find his lips once again. He tightened his grip, pulling their bodies closer together and sealing their fate.
Even as the flutter in her stomach told her it was a bad idea, she lifted herself up as he struggled to remove her shirt, settling back down as his hands roamed her body. She pushed the doubt away from her mind as he teased her with his fingers and tongue, making sure that he could her as she spoke her last coherent sentence.
"If you forget this, I will kill you, Tony."