Chapter Twenty-Eight
Early the next morning finds them dressed, breakfasted, and standing in the entryway.
"Ready?" he asks, giving her a quick squeeze around the waist with one arm and picking up his car keys with a free hand, and she nods bravely.
"This is ridiculous." She swallows. "I have been outside before."
She had ended up in a meltdown the last time she stepped out, but he doesn't remind her of that. Instead, he simply hums in agreement and opens the front door, not giving her a chance to back out. She takes a hesitant step forward but then stops, nervousness shining in her eyes.
"Tell me they won't see it, Tony," she says, much more as a plea than a command.
"They won't." He holds out his hand, and she crushes the life out of it. He tries hard not to wince. "Really, with my hot-looking ass in these expensive-as-hell jeans, no one's gonna pay attention to you."
That makes her smile before she shakes her head. "You are an idiot."
"So you tell me." He grins. "This piece of ass is hot, though."
That, apparently, still elicits the same reaction from her as it would have two years ago, and he takes advantage of her distraction to pull her out of the apartment. He lets her bury her head into his shoulder as he locks up and ignores the passing neighbour, but Ziva jumps and draws back when the woman accidentally bumps into them, and the neighbour sends a couple of raised eyebrows their way.
Ziva closes her eyes. "Um. Nothing."
He gathers her into his arms, lowering his head and whispering, "Hey, strawberry blonde over there just has eyebrow issues, okay? Ignore her."
His partner chuckles. "'Eyebrow issues'?"
"Yeah. Her mum never taught her not to make funny faces at people, so her face kinda froze that way … ignore that," he mumbles as Ziva shoots him an odd look. "It's just something we say, okay?"
"Okaaay." She sucks in a deep breath. "Is this what you will be doing all day, Tony?"
"Only if you want me to," he answers, knowing that she's referring to his eccentric distraction techniques. He pauses, about to ask her if they're too much when she nods and shakily grabs his hand.
"Lead the way, please."
He does.
xoxo
A little more than two hours later, they are home.
She is tired—he can tell. Even though they had only gone to two places and she had managed to keep her anxiety at a controllable level for almost the entirety of the trip, it had still taken a lot out of her; she is currently curled up on the couch with a book, but the haunted look in her eyes suggests to him that she is not actually paying any attention to the literary material.
He sits down next to her, holding up his hands when he makes her jump. "It's just me," he reassures her, and she makes a noise of annoyance.
"I knew that."
"Did you?" he teases. "You seemed pretty engrossed in your book."
She shoots him a sharp look. "I wasn't, and you knew that. That's why you're here."
"That's true," he admits, surprised at the easiness with which she confesses to her distraction. "What's wrong?"
Her hand comes up to touch her much-shortened curls. "Nothing," she whispers. "Go do whatever you need to do, Tony. I am fine."
"Got nothing to do," he answers, repressing the urge to tell her not to start with the I am fine already. "I'm supposed to be at work, remember?"
She rolls her eyes. "Go to work, then."
"No can do. I took the day off, and I intend to make the most of it."
She smiles faintly at him, a move which he suspects is meant to put him off guard more than anything else. "Why don't you go watch a movie then, hmm?"
"I prefer to hang out here," he replies cheekily, and she sighs.
"What do you think of my hairstyle?" she asks abruptly, and he blinks. Of everything he had been expecting her to say, this hadn't been one of his guesses.
"I liked the old one better," he answers honestly, reaching out to touch her arm as she lowers her eyes, "but this one is good, too."
"Really?" she asks sceptically.
"Really." He studies her quizzically, bewildered by her question—despite her fear that her life experiences can be read from her physical appearance, he is absolutely certain that Ziva is not a vain person; in fact, he'd thought that a haircut was what she'd wanted.
"It just feels strange," she eventually says, "to think that I might have to keep my hair this short for the rest of my life now."
"What do you mean?"
"It is the only way to keep away the bad memories, yes? By not giving them the opportunity to overwhelm me."
Oh. He reaches out to rub her cheek. "The memories will fade after a while, I bet."
"I have never been held back by my limits before," she presses out through gritted teeth, suddenly frustrated with herself. "I have never had to cut my hair for such a reason."
He shifts closer to her and holds out his arms; she settles into his side. "You still look beautiful," he tells her softly, tucking some stray curls behind her ear. "You know that, right?"
She shakes her head. "It's not that. It is simply that … my whole life, I have been an officer. I was taught that I could use my sexuality as an advantage—that I could keep my hair in a certain style or walk in a certain manner to capture men's attention and get what I needed. And I was very good at it. But now, I am not. Now, I am restricted by what I fear, and that means that I can no longer do what I used to do." She stares desperately at him. "I don't know what to do anymore, Tony. Everything I believed in has changed."
"I haven't changed," he offers lamely, even though he knows it's a poor substitute for losing a piece of self-identity. She laughs bitterly.
"Oh, trust me, you have." She sneaks an arm around his waist. "It is not so bad, though."
He kisses her curls. "Maybe we could just find you something new to believe in."
She sighs. "I am tired of having to rewrite my life."
"I know," he replies, and she remains silent. His lip trembles. "But giving up is not an option." Right?
She doesn't answer, choosing instead to lean around him and retrieve the remote control for the television. "James Bond or the Pirates of the Caribbean? I will let you choose."
He chooses the latter and emphasizes it with a firm kiss to her temple, if only so as to extinguish any doubt in her heart that she is well-loved.
I cut her hair T.T I CUT HER HAIR. You wouldn't even believe how melodramatically upset I am over this :P
-Soph
