"Tony, no level of persuasion or trickery is going to convince me to sing," Ziva bluntly responded to the question he was just about to ask.
"How did you know-?" Tony spluttered at her unamused expression.
She just raised an eyebrow at him. He gave her a suspicious look that had absolutely no effect on her. Not that he was expecting it to.
"McGee blabbed, didn't he?"
"It does not matter how I became aware of your plans only that you are aware that they are pointless," Ziva said in a dismissive tone.
"He was meant to be on my side," Tony grumbled.
"Can you not just accept that I am not going to do it?" She asked, an exasperated tone edging into her voice.
That was never a good thing.
"Maybe if I knew why," he stressed pointedly. "I thought we were past keeping secrets," he added, trying to guilt trip her.
She didn't fall for it. Of course not. She was like a master of emotional manipulation, a clumsy attempt on his part was not going to break through her defences.
"This is not a secret. I just have no wish to sing," she said firmly.
He really should just leave it, Tony knew that. It wasn't like he was getting anywhere and wasn't going to get anywhere so he should just stop, right? Not wanting to do it was a perfectly fine explanation after all, especially in relation to karaoke. Well, if it was anyone but the person right in front of him. There was something that was telling him that she wasn't telling him the full story, that she was narrowly avoiding the truth and skirting around a lie. It would be cliché to say that it was something in her eyes but it was.
"But I know you like singing," he said stubbornly. "And you're good."
"I never said I liked singing," Ziva retorted. "I just sing when it is needed for a case or an Op. It is just another bow in my arrow."
"Arrow in my quiver," came the automatic correction and then Tony frowned. "That's not true. You do like singing."
"I like a job well done."
Tony made a frustrated noise and resisted the urge to pull at his hair. Why was his partner so frustrating? Ziva looked on with a carefully blank look on her face. She was hiding something; he knew his partner.
"Ziva."
She gave him a sharp look over that tone. He knew she didn't appreciate it but tough, he wanted answers. Something was up and he didn't like it. Stubbornly, she looked back down at her work. He didn't have long to sort this out, Gibbs was God knows where and McGee was still out getting lunch. Tony had decided not to join him when he saw Ziva returning to her desk. Not that he knew where to go now that she'd shot him down.
They sat in not exactly comfortable silence. Ziva pretending to do whatever she was working on and Tony staring intently at her. What on earth was going on in her head?
A heavy sigh came from her. His eyes narrowed.
"Tali enjoyed it."
Tony sharply looked up. "What?"
Ziva chewed on her lower lip and repeated, "Tali enjoyed singing. She wanted to do it professionally."
Oh. Oh. Tony suddenly remembered the conversation they had about Tali and opera. He smiled; it had been nice to have Ziva open up. Something that he was hoping she was going to do right now.
"I remember you telling me," he said gently. "Opera, right?"
"That's what she was trained in," Ziva explained then her bottom lip wobbled. "Or was being trained in." She blinked rapidly and composed herself. "But she enjoyed all singing. You would always find her humming some tune."
There was a sad, wistful sort of smile on her face. An expression that Tony had on associated with Tali.
"So that's why you don't like singing? It reminds you of her?"
"I do like singing," Ziva corrected, giving him a guilty look. "I just-" she took a steadying breath. "It's different if I don't have a purpose in mind for it."
"Like a case."
"Exactly."
Tony tilted his head a gave her a puzzled look. He was confused. If she liked singing, why did she prefer to sing for a case?
"Tali always wanted people to sing with her," Ziva said quietly.
Ah.
"And singing reminds you of that."
Ziva nodded mutely, blinking rapidly. Ah, crap. He got up from his desk and went to lean against hers. He had the urge to be closer to her, to shield her from any inquiring eyes.
"If it is for a case, I can put the case first but otherwise, " she trailed off and shrugged. "I just do not like to."
Ziva David's good old compartmentalisation techniques that shoved everything into a box and then never opening said box.
"Is it any song or ones that she particularly likes that are hard?" Tony asked hesitantly, touching her on the shoulder to let her know he was here for her.
She just shrugged, looking helplessly frustrated.
"Any song. All songs. I, I don't know," she said, rubbing her hand across her face and chuckled weakly. "She didn't even like pop songs but I still..."
"They remind you of her."
"Yes."
She gave him a relieved look, glad that she didn't have to explain herself.
"Ok."
"Ok?" She turned to look up at him, frowning questioningly.
It was Tony's turn to shrug this time.
"I understand," he told her earnestly. "And I won't push you to sing."
"You won't?"
It was kind of adorable that she could look confused, grateful and suspicious all at once. He very sensibly decided not to voice that opinion. He wasn't suicidal.
"It's something you haven't processed," he said gently instead. "Maybe you'll get there someday and you'll actually enjoy singing again but there's no rush."
"I should be over this by now," she said, frustrated with herself.
"Hey," he squeezed her shoulder. "There's no deadline on grief."
She just stared at him with no emotion on her face. Tony couldn't help but feel anxious, had he pushed too much? Was she pushing him away?
Almost before that thought was finished, he was ensconced in an extremely firm hug that rivalled Abby's. Ziva was hugging him. He blinked, looked down and, not one to look a gift horse in the mouth, wrapped his arms around her and reciprocated. He could feel dampness soaking through his shirt. Dammit, she was crying.
He looked down at the top of her head, curls askew due to her running her hands through them. Her shoulders were shaking but her sobs weren't audible. She needed this.
All to soon she pulled away from him, eyes red but no longer looking as stressed. He wordlessly passed her a tissue from her desk. She closed her eyes and took a deep, steadying breath. Wiping at her eyes, she smiled at him. It was good to see that again.
"Thank you," she simply said. "I did not know that I needed to talk about it."
"Funny how that actually works," he said with a self-deprecating smile.
She twisted her mouth into what could be a smile, "We should do that more often."
They both knew that won't happen any time soon. Not without their usual struggle. It definitely wasn't healthy but they were working on it. No one was perfect and they used to be a lot worse.
"Does this mean you'll do karaoke at some point?" He tried, ever persistent but putting enough humour in his voice to let her know that he wasn't serious. Mostly.
Ziva chuckled weakly, her voice still sounding a bit wet.
"No."
And with that she leaned into his embrace again. Oh well, it was worth a shot. He looked down at her and smiled, always glad to make her happy. His arm snaked around her automatically.
He could always try again some other time.
"So, did you convince Ziva to sing?" McGee asked curiously when he returned from lunch.
"What?" Tony jerked out of his thoughts as the takeout bag landed in front of him and then processed what McGee said, replying defensively. "No!"
McGee raised an eyebrow, "She injured you, didn't she?"
"No," Tony said, trying not to pout. "I just decided that it wasn't important to know any more."
He added an airy wave of his hand to make himself appear even more uninterested and unconcerned. Opening the takeout bag, he rummaged through it for his lunch. Oh, they toasted the bread this time. Nice.
"Uh huh."
Yeah, McGee didn't look to convinced. It didn't matter. Tony wasn't going to say anything. Nope. He took a large bite of his sandwich instead.
McGee gave him a long look before chuckling as he sat at his desk. "She so injured you."
Tony made a rude gesture that definitely would have gotten him a head slap.
