She wasn't at the funeral and it bothered him a lot. This wasn't like Ziva. Especially because she had a big soft spot for Mike. There was a lot about Ziva that had been bothering him the last few days and he didn't know where to start.
Where was she instead of Mikes?
Why did she keep acting like everything was okay when she all but broke down on him the other night?
She was hit in the head, kidnapped, and acted like it was nothing.
And most of all, why had he been more worried about her going missing than his girlfriend? Surely there's got to be something wrong with that. Right?
He's had a few drinks with Tim and some others at one of the bars in town, in Honor of Mike and maybe that's the thing that gives him the courage to just turn up at her place. He knows that it might be stupid, considering the last time she was dating someone and he just went to her place without warning. That hadn't ended well, for sure. It was definitely the alcohol that made him stupid enough to do it again.
He probably should have been with EJ at a time like this, she'd just lost Levin and been kidnapped herself. But again, here he was. At her door. His life had to be a never ending story of the same disaster and he wonders if they'll ever change. After this many years, he doubts it.
He knocks. Nothing. He knocks again. And why not, again and again. He knows he's being a persistent ass, but when it comes to Ziva sometimes he just has to be. His chest pulls tight as he finally hears footsteps. Judging by the fact they are faint and soft, they likely belong to a ninja. Definitely Ziva and not CI-douchebag-Ray.
When the door clicks open its dark in the apartment and the only light spilling in is from the bright protruding hallway he stands in. The brightness hits her eyes and she squints hard at the sudden assault on her senses.
Her eyes are red like she's been crying.
They stare at each other for a long moment and he is surprised she hasn't asked why the fuck he is here after all. It's been a long time since he's been at her place, especially since Ray came on the scene. After a while she opens the door further and lets him in.
There has always been a lot communicated between them without needing to say anything. She knows damn well why he's here. He's concerned, he's upset, he's tired, he just needs to be here. With her. Like all the other times.
The fact he's allowed in, tells him that Ray isn't here any longer. Thank God for that. He was so frustrated today when they found her and Ray was the one to make sure she was okay, Ray was the one who attempted to provide her with comfort in the form of a hug. The thing with Ray was, he clearly didn't know Ziva well enough to understand that generally that's not the comfort Ziva will seek. He knows of course, she doesn't do hugs, Ziva doesn't tend to take the soft comfort route.
That's another thing that has been rattling Tony's brain, because she hugged him the other day when she broke down. She's never broken down like that with him before. Maybe things have started to change. But when she walks down to her bedroom and climbs back onto the bed before lifting the whiskey bottle off her bedside table and taking another sip, he thinks that no, maybe things haven't changed.
He follows her into the darkness of her room, like the loyal partner he is, always having her six. A small lamp illuminates in the corner, the only source of light.
She stares at him, still not saying anything and holds out the bottle towards him. He removes his jacket and places it on the handle of her wardrobe before slipping off his shoes and taking a seat on the other side of her bed. His hand grips onto the bottle, his fingers brushing hers. He takes a large swig.
It's quiet and for the life of him he doesn't know what to say. They normally don't talk much when this happens, when one of them initiates an emotional drinking session, where things happen. He had to think hard about when the last time this happened. Then he remembers when he missed her citizenship ceremony, or rather he didn't remember because he had missed it. That had been the last time.
"Are you okay?" he finally breaks the air, however he doesn't turn to her. He's too nervous. Things are different now, she belongs to someone else. Surely this won't be the same as how it used to.
"Are you?" she returns, without missing a beat. That's when he turns and meets her gaze. It's harsh and honest. Of course like usual after a storm of shit has landed on their laps she's not okay. And she's not wrong, because he's not okay either. That's always how they end up like this.
She takes the bottle back from him and this time her fingers linger over his. He swallows hard when she runs a finger along his softly, like fire burning his skin, before she takes hold of the bottle and takes another drink.
She will know why he's not okay, just like he knows why she isn't. But for some fucked up reason they just act like drinking their thoughts away together does a better job than actually talking about it. They've never been good with talking and he wonders if that will ever bloody change.
He wants to bare his fucking soul to her and just confess everything, he always does. But he can never bring himself to do it, and that's his weakness.
He takes another drink. Then she does. When he goes for another she takes the bottle and puts it on the nightstand. It's suddenly too hot in here and he thinks he should leave. He shouldn't be in her bedroom, on her bed drinking liquor with her.
She's not his, she never has been.
She gets on her knees and moves over to him and starts undoing his tie. He knows exactly what she is doing, it's not the first time. He swears this behaviour is why their relationship is so destructive. He doesn't understand how they still function as respectful adults with each other at work after all their shit. It's like they decided to put both their hearts and brains in a blender and not give a damn about the consequences.
But after six years, could they even take it back? He knows he can't. Clearly by the fact she is undoing the buttons on his shirt, neither can she.
"Ziva" his voice is a warning and he locks his hand around her wrist to stop her. They can't do this. Or is it they shouldn't? Something inside him is telling him that this time it's not a good idea. Not with Ray and EJ on the scene.
She belongs to somebody else. And him? He's really just trying to fill the void. He knows EJ is just another woman that's not her. Has he mentioned that he's an asshole yet?
"Don't Tony" she stares at him and there's something in her gaze that breaks him. She needs this and she doesn't give a damn about what he has to say to stop her. She doesn't want to hear it, whoever wants to spite her for her behaviour can, because she clearly doesn't care.
He guesses they'll at least have each other when they burn in Hell for this.
He slowly lets go of her wrist and just gives up, because he cannot help it. Her eyes thank him for a moment, before that sensation is gone and her hands are back on his buttons. She moves to straddle his legs with hers and his hands come up to her hips.
He's breathing heavy as he starts to smell her perfume mixed with that flavour that was purely her. He hasn't been this close in far too long. Her hands touch his bare chest and pull on his hair there, just enough to give him that painful erotic sensation he needs. She knows of course, just like he knows exactly what she needs.
To forget. To feel this bliss that makes them numb and forget their problems, if even it's for a short while. It's enough, when it's them.
She bites his lip and he thinks he tears her bed shirt at some point. The clothes go and that rush of pure nirvana comes, and they do forget. Because when it's like this the only thing that suddenly matters is her skin on his, and his lips on hers. They both come hard and everything is a sweaty mess of tangled sheets and tender hearts. Like it always is.
And like always he holds her close, wrapped around her like he's never going to let her go. But one of them will, it's always the way. He sometimes thinks the pain of walking away like it never happened is far worse than the feeling he gets when he's with her. But of course, he knows that's not true.
He doesn't rest, but he knows she does if it's even for the briefest moment. He hears her snores softly fill the room and it makes him smile. She's reached her peace. He cannot help but fight the sleep, more than ever he wants to tell her they need to wake up and stop being stupid. They can't keep doing this. But he knows that conversation will never happen.
He could never confess to her, simply because he doesn't want to lose her. That's his biggest regret, that he's a coward. How many times has he almost lost her but he still cannot tell her how he feels?
She stirs in his arms and he knows his time is almost up. She rolls and turns slowly to face him, looking up at him. He runs his fingers down her spine, soaking in the feel of her. She shivers at his touch, but she doesn't dare tell him to keep going.
She leans in and kisses him, always soft and definitely sweet. The goodbye never changes, the only difference is who delivers it. She sits then, building her mask back up. He has fixed her broken soul and it seems to be the only thing he's good at when it comes to her.
She places a hand on his bare hip while looking away and he knows this was it, she would stand up and disappear to the bathroom or the kitchen and he would slip away like nothing had ever happened. Just before she goes to stand he places his hand on hers and her head turns and she looks at him.
"Ziva" he whispers. It's just her name but the weight of what he didn't say is there, she knows. He doesn't have to say it aloud for her to know.
"I know Tony" she sighs with a heavy heart. Maybe this whole thing was weighing on her more and more, like it had with him over the years. The fact they are still here doing this, even though this time it was more wrong than ever, tells him it probably won't stop.
She goes to slip her hand away and stand, but he grips her tighter. If he never says anything, it'll always be the same. If he'd said the right things in the past, maybe they wouldn't have ended up here. She stares at his hand, not meeting his eyes because she knows he's going to say more and cross the invisible line they don't ever talk about.
"I can't walk away next time" his voice barely a whisper. He watches as she takes in a shaky breath.
"I know Tony" she repeats, voice cracking in the dark silence of her room. This wasn't just hard for him and there's a reason for that. She doesn't meet his gaze and he knows that she doesn't want him to see what's behind her eyes, they could never shut up when they looked at him.
She kneels back on the bed and leans over him, placing a kiss to his forehead. He doesn't want to let her go but he knows he has to and so he does. He lets her disappear somewhere deep in her apartment and he dresses before slipping out into the cold lonely night.
He knows that this wasn't the first time and it won't be the last. He tries to tell himself that next time it'll be different, but he knows it won't. They were too good at pretending, they always had been.