A/N: I am the farthest thing from a medical professional, so in this chapter, please forgive me for cheerfully ignoring modern medicine. Never thought I'd write 5,000 words based solely on "knowledge" gained from watching fifteen seasons of Grey's Anatomy!
The rest of the day goes in flashes for Tony, blurry, dull numbness interspersed with short scenes of agonizingly sharp clarity.
He feels his heart break in an irreparable sort of way at Ziva's last words; he doesn't have to speak the language to know what she's saying to him and to understand instinctively how deeply she means it. He almost wishes she hadn't said it, though, because it feels like saying the words was the action that signed her death warrant. Watching the life leave her eyes, he feels the life leave his, too.
Then the paramedics from the ambulance are there. They pull him away, gently at first and then more roughly when we won't let go. They load Ziva onto a stretcher and get her out of the warehouse, into the ambulance; one starts CPR as soon as they separate her from Tony while the other gets vitals and calls a hospital. "Incoming GSW to the abdomen," he's saying urgently. "No pulse, no BP. She's lost a lot of blood. ETA 8 minutes. She's a federal agent shot during a hostage rescue." Tony has followed them outside, wordless and expressionless, and that's all he can hear before they close the doors and the ambulance tears away from the warehouse, sirens blaring.
He wants to go with them, wants to keep Ziva in his line of sight as if he can possibly protect her, but he can't move, can't speak.
The paramedic's words echo repeatedly in his ears, long after he can't hear the sirens anymore. "No pulse," the EMT had said.
No pulse.
No pulse.
All at once, his vacant emotions slam back into him, knock him to his knees, steal his breath away and then give it back with force. The scream that tears from his throat is inhuman, devoid of anything but raw, animal grief.
He doesn't stop until Gibbs, kneeling next to him, pulls him into a rough hug. It's part comfort, part straight jacket, because Gibbs can tell that Tony is absolutely losing it. The last time Gibbs heard a noise like that, it was his own yell as he shot Pedro Hernandez and had to really and truly accept his wife's and daughter's deaths.
A very sober McGee takes over the necessary crime scene duties, making sure they've covered everything that needs covering to tighten the case. There can be no screwups on this one, not when this case has resulted in the abduction of one agent and the potential death of another. Like Gibbs, Tim holds himself tightly together to get the job done. He'll fall apart later.
One of the Baltimore cops drives Tony to the hospital; he kindly does so with his sirens on, making sure the grieving agent can get there as soon as possible. Of course, it's a game of hurry up and wait. No one can tell Tony anything, even when he flashes his credentials—there's nothing to tell yet. Ziva has been rushed into emergency surgery, but it doesn't look good.
Everyone hopes desperately that the doctors can somehow bring the Israeli back, but no one says it out loud.
Tony sits in a chair in the waiting room for an indeterminable amount of time. People walk past him, talk to him, and he doesn't see them at all. He answers questions robotically, unaware of what he's saying. He's lost in thought, lost in memories.
Somewhere along the way, Ziva has decided that Tony needs to learn to cook. He's reluctant at best, but she insists that he's a grown man and should have the skills of one. It turns out that despite his unwillingness, he's relatively competent at it once he actually tries, and Ziva delights in teaching him new recipes. He can be fairly grumpy about it, but she catches him smiling often and knows it's just for show.
That's true until she tries to teach him some Israeli recipes. Falafels are an easy first, hard to mess up. They're doing fine up to the point where it's time to roll the chickpea meal into balls.
"Ziva!" Tony whines. "It's slimy!"
She elbows him, chuckling. "It is not slimy, it is simply moist. That is how it is supposed to be."
"No, it's slimy, I can't touch it." He looks so uncomfortable that she cracks up.
"You are such a child, Tony!"
"Am not!"
"Yes, you are!" The look on his face is still killing her and she just can't stop laughing. His expression is sort of reminiscent of the videos she's seen of babies trying lemons for the first time—horror, disgust, betrayal. He's really, genuinely grossed out by the chickpea meal, and it's so funny because he regularly runs headfirst into danger without any fear.
Feeling evil, Ziva catches his eye and pops some of the paste in her mouth, making Tony gag.
"What was that?"
Tony looks up to see a stranger in a waiting room chair a few down from his giving him a weird look, and he realizes that he was mumbling "slimy" under his breath.
He brushes the woman off with a vague apology and turns his body away, wishing that he had more privacy.
Tony doesn't know how long it is before Gibbs settles wordlessly down next to him, and he turns away again. He doesn't want Gibbs looking at him any more than he wants a stranger staring. He just wants Ziva back, and barring that, he wants to be left alone with his thoughts.
"Ziva, slow down!" he yelps, clutching onto his seatbelt and the passenger side door for dear life.
"We do not want to be late. You know Gibbs will be angry if we are!" she counters, swerving around someone who is merely going 15 miles over the speed limit. Tony thinks they may have a repeat performance of the first time he rode in a car with her, a traumatizing experience that ended with him throwing up on his own feet.
"We're gonna be really late if we're dead," he informs her waspishly, the sarcasm in his voice hindered by breathlessness as he watches his life flash before his eyes.
"Dead? You know, this kind of driving would save your life in Iraq," she informs him. It's terrifying how absolutely conversational she's being, talking casually as if they're not hurtling down the interstate at more than a hundred miles an hour.
"We're not in Iraq," he reminds her. This conversation is so reminiscent of that first time, too. He's not sure he'll survive this version.
"No," she agrees, "because you would have matured much more quickly if we were."
"Cute, Ziva."
If only he had known that day what he would give later down the road to get the chance to be nearly killed by her driving just one more time. He would have enjoyed it more if he'd known. There are a lot of things he did with Ziva that he would have thrown himself into with far more abandon.
At some point, Gibbs leaves for a few minutes and comes back with two coffees. He hands Tony one, who takes it unenthusiastically. "Drink it," Gibbs commands, the first words he's said since arriving at the hospital.
"Not thirsty," Tony mutters.
"I didn't ask if you were. DiNozzo, have you looked at the time? It's almost noon. You've been up since yesterday morning and you've been abducted, knocked out, interrogated, and shot at in that time. Unless you want to go home and sleep—"
"I'm not leaving," Tony growls.
"Then drink the coffee," Gibbs finishes severely.
Begrudgingly, Tony does.
"Are you ready? Shalom," Ziva says slowly.
"Shalom," Tony confidently repeats.
"Good! And that means…?"
"Hello, goodbye, or peace," Tony recites.
She's giving him informal Hebrew lessons as they wander through Target, ostensibly grocery shopping but really just killing time on a lazy Sunday afternoon. "Okay, here is another easy one. How do you say thank you?"
She's definitely said it to him before, and it only takes him a moment of thinking before he has an answer for her. "Toda?"
"Yes, that is it!" She beams at him, and it thrills him that something so simple is making her so happy. He considers for the first time how lonely it could get to have no one to speak your own language to, and he resolves to put real effort into these impromptu lessons. He knows she speaks many languages and has no difficulty communicating with her friends in English, but he also knows that it must not be the same. "Do you know how to say you are welcome?"
"No, I don't think so."
"You can say bevakascha or al lo davar." He tries those out and despite his best efforts, he butchers them both. It's worth it to hear her laugh, and she repeats them so he can try again. He does better the second time.
"Well, toda for teaching me, Ziva," he tells her.
"Al lo davar," she replies happily.
This time, Tony's musings are interrupted by a doctor in a white coat, and he and Gibbs get to their feet immediately. "You're the family of Ziva David?" the man asks them.
"Yes," Tony replies quickly, and Gibbs nods. They are her family, blood-related or not.
"I have news. Come with me, please." He leads them to a smaller, more private room that seems to be made for these discussions. When he gestures for them to sit, they do so; Tony's heart is thudding so hard he can hear his pulse in his ears.
He wants to ask, to prompt the doctor to share how Ziva is, but he's too afraid to say the words. Luckily, the doctor only waits 'til they're settled to speak. "I have good news and bad news," he begins. "Her heart stopped before she got here and the good news is that we were able to restart it. We were also able to successfully stop the bleeding in her abdomen and remove the bullet fragments, but we had to replace almost her entire blood volume." His expression turns sympathetic and he pauses briefly before giving them the bad news. "Unfortunately, she had no heartbeat for close to half an hour. There's a chance that if she wakes up at all, she'll have significant and irreversible brain damage. You need to prepare yourselves for that."
Tony's going to need some time to take that in, so he looks at Gibbs for help. His boss, recognizing that the younger man doesn't know what to say, stands up again and holds out a hand for the doctor to shake. "Thanks, doc," he says quietly. "Can we see her?"
"You'll be able to shortly. A nurse will come get you once you can go back." He gives Gibbs his pager number in case they have questions. Then, with a sympathetic smile, he leaves them alone.
Gibbs sits back down and claps a gentle hand to Tony's shoulder. "DiNozzo."
Tony looks up at Gibbs; everything about him says how lost he is right now, and Gibbs sighs. "DiNozzo. She's alive. Let's take this one step at a time. She's alive, and that's a win."
Tony swallows hard a few times, trying to find his voice. "Alive, maybe," he croaks finally, "but you heard the doctor. She's probably never going to be Ziva again. She might not even wake up!"
Gibbs purses his lips and points to the door the doctor just left through. "All that man knows is statistics. He doesn't know Ziva, and he doesn't know the future." He lightly shakes Tony's shoulder, urging him to listen. "Have faith in her. She's always had faith in you."
Tony laughs at that, and it's a dark, angry sound. "Her faith in me is what landed her in that hospital bed to begin with, boss! If it wasn't for me, she'd be having a normal Sunday, not laying in there by herself, fighting for her life!" His voice breaks a few times, but he gets through what he wants to say.
"She was doing her job, DiNozzo, just like you were! She was following my orders and you were following the director's. You want to blame someone? Blame the Frog. Blame Jenny Shepard. Hell, blame me. But this is not on you, and if you're taking an assignment this personally, you might as well hand over your badge and gun right now, because you're not fit to be an agent."
It's an empty threat and Tony knows it, but it does make him drop the subject for the moment. Gibbs seems to understand that Tony doesn't want to talk, and they sit in silence until a nurse comes to get them.
Ziva's in the ICU, hooked up to what seems like dozens of wires and tubes. They can hear her monitors beeping before they see her, a steady, rhythmic set of tones that sound too robotic, not human enough to be comforting. Tony knows those sounds represent the fact that she's alive for now, though, so he relishes them all the same.
It's hard to look at her, especially because she looks so… normal. Besides the bullet wound itself, she didn't sustain any injuries in Tony's rescue. Her face is unmarked, and like the old cliche, it really looks like she could be sleeping, not lost to a coma. Tony is uncomfortably reminded of seeing Kate in the morgue—she, too, looked like she was asleep on the slab once Ducky covered the hole in her forehead.
This isn't like Kate, though, Tony tells himself. Kate's death was instantaneous, certain, absolute. Ziva's situation is precarious, but Gibbs is right. They aren't completely without hope.
Tony settles in a folding chair on one side of Ziva's bed and Gibbs does the same on the other side. They don't talk.
Careful to avoid tweaking her IV, Tony slips his hand into Ziva's and squeezes it. Its warmth is comforting, but he aches to have her squeeze back. The love for her that he's had to keep contained for weeks swells again and, overcome, he leans over to kiss the hand he's holding. She's right here, but he misses her.
After a few hours, McGee rushes in. He stops short abruptly when he sees Tony and Gibbs sitting calmly. "How is she?" he asks softly, his eyes falling on Ziva's prostrate form.
"No change," Gibbs answers. "Finish everything that needed doing? Got the case all wrapped up?"
McGee nods, but he doesn't look entirely pleased. "Evidence was processed, bad guys were put in holding, scene was secured."
"But?" Gibbs says, correctly interpreting what McGee isn't saying.
"But we didn't get René Benoit. He wasn't on the premises."
"What?" Tony demands, speaking for the first time in hours.
"Tony…" McGee says, a half-formed apology in his voice.
"All that—all that—and we didn't get him?" He's floored, beyond angry.
"When did you last see him?"
"It was…" Frustrated, Tony hits one hand against Ziva's hospital bed. "I don't know. Didn't have a clock, you know?"
McGee nods and Tony knows he hasn't been helpful. Infuriating. He's caused Ziva's injury and he can't even give them any useful information to bring down the arms dealer that started all of this!
McGee seems to sense that Tony isn't ready to talk much more, because he focuses on arranging the flowers he's brought rather than trying to make conversation. Then he leaves and comes back with another folding chair, joining their silent vigil.
There are more visitors as the day passes on; Shepard stops by, as does Ducky and finally Palmer. Abby comes and stays a while—she's the only one to try to cheer Tony up. Everyone else knows better than to try to engage him. For once, he's absolutely silent, nothing to say. The room fills with bouquets and their scents start to give him a headache.
Toward the end of the day, Gibbs is the only one left besides Tony himself, and eventually, he stands to leave, too. "Don't you want to go home and get some sleep?" he asks, already knowing the answer.
Tony shakes his head.
"I could stay with her. She wouldn't be alone."
Tony still says no, and Gibbs nods, expecting this. "Call me if she wakes up, then," he says, and leaves Tony to it.
It's a long night. Tony dozes on and off against the side of Ziva's bed, but the nurse comes in often to make adjustments and take vitals and the beeping of the monitors is never ceasing. He has short, troubled dreams, most of them involving trying to chase a Mossad liaison officer who's always just out of sight. Every time he wakes and sees her lying still on the bed, he falls a little deeper into the depression that's had a hold on him since Ziva was shot.
In the morning, Gibbs comes back with coffee. "Go home, DiNozzo," he orders quietly.
"No." Tony's voice is rusty with disuse and he takes a big sip of the coffee he's been handed to clear his throat.
"It wasn't a request."
"I don't care. I'm not leaving."
"Tony…" Gibbs' use of his first name makes Tony really look at his boss and what he sees sobers him further, somehow; Gibbs is smiling slightly. "If she wakes up while you're gone, I'll tell her how badly you wanted to stay and she'll look forward to you coming back. If she doesn't, no harm done."
"I'm not leaving her."
Gibbs makes an exasperated face and draws out his handcuffs, holding them threateningly at his side. "Go home, DiNozzo!"
Tony laughs, bitter. "You going to shoot me if I don't?"
"No, but I might arrest you."
Gibbs won't and they both know it, but they both also know that Tony's doing no good for Ziva or for anyone while he remains sitting here, sleepless and emotional. He needs rest, he needs to recharge, and he needs distance from this terrible thing that has happened. "You'll call me if she wakes up?" he demands.
"You know I will."
Tony nods, still uncomfortable with the idea of leaving. "And you'll stay with her the whole time I'm gone?"
"Won't leave her side."
"What if we get a case?"
"There are other teams that can handle it. Shepard will understand. Go, Tony."
Tonycan't find another objection, so he looks down at Ziva one more time, getting ready to leave. He wants to say goodbye to her but isn't sure how to do so with an audience, so he merely leans down and kisses her forehead, walking out before he can change his mind.
It's a long drive home, but he uses the time to clear his head. Exhausted, he falls into bed without showering, despite the fact that he still has a dusting of flour in his hair. He tosses and turns for hours before finally falling into a fitful sleep. He gets in a good four hours before he wakes up and can't get back to it. Hopefully, Gibbs won't shoot him if he returns to the hospital.
Return he does; he showers first but doesn't take the time to shave.
Unfortunately, all is as he left it, and there's no change in Ziva's state. Gibbs looks perfectly content to sit indefinitely, but Tony wants some time alone with Ziva.
"You're back," Gibbs says wanly when Tony walks in. "You get some sleep?"
"Some." He still doesn't quite have it in him to smile, but he gives Gibbs a nod that he means to come across as reassuring. "Your turn now."
"You sure, DiNozzo? I can stay."
"I'm sure. Don't want you passing out on me, boss."
Gibbs seems to believe Tony, because he doesn't protest. He brushes Ziva's hair back from her face and murmurs "rest well, kid," before heading out.
Tony takes his old seat next to the bed and settles in. It occurs to him that maybe he should start thinking about eventualities that don't rely on Ziva waking up. He should make a plan that doesn't involve him sitting indefinitely, watching her sleep. He should, and he will… tomorrow.
They're somewhere in the late hours of Monday night—he doesn't care enough to check the clock. For tonight, he'll sit beside his love and will her to pull through this. Tomorrow, he'll start considering what happens if she doesn't.
Now, without an audience, he slowly starts to talk. He's sort of talking to Ziva, sort of talking to himself, sort of talking sequentially and sort of rambling on whatever topics come to mind. Before he gets in a groove, his words are superficial, but the more he goes on, the more natural it feels. Before long, he's confessing to everything he's done, said, or felt over the last few months. The dark quietness of the hospital room feels like a confessional.
He talks himself out eventually and finds himself feeling a little more at peace; it's not like him not to chatter and it feels good to tell Ziva what he's been thinking.
He's leaning down against the side of her bed again, wondering if he's likely to fall asleep again, when he hears a quiet, strangled noise. He sits up quickly and sees Ziva's face twitching. She looks uncomfortable and his hands flutter uselessly, wondering what he can do, before it hits him-she's uncomfortable. She's uncomfortable, which means she's awake!
Hurrying into the hall, he grabs a nurse and urges her to follow him inside. She's equally shocked to see her patient awake, and when it becomes clear what's bothering Ziva, she calls a doctor in to see if it's possible to remove the breathing tube.
Tony's ushered outside of the room, but he doesn't mind a bit, willing to do whatever it takes to help Ziva. It's more than an hour before he's allowed back in, but he watches through the window. The doctor takes the tube out, working slowly and carefully as Ziva gags. Then there's a long period of rapid neurological tests, working out just how much of a deficit the lack of oxygen left on Ziva's brain—Tony can only hear bits and pieces. It sounds to him, though, like there's little wrong, if anything. No disrespect to modern medicine, he thinks, but he'd like to conduct his own tests, so to speak.
Eventually, the doctor and two nurses emerge from the room and Tony is allowed back in. They warn him to be gentle with her and to have patience.
When he steps in, Ziva's still laying in the same position she was in while she was unconscious, but she's wearing a wonderfully annoyed expression on her face. It's so Ziva, so unlike the silent and passive woman who's laid in the bed for what feels like so long.
"How're you feeling?" Tony asks her hesitantly. Everything's been so intense for the past few days that he suddenly feels he doesn't know how to talk to her. He's still standing by the door, awkwardly posed with his hands in his pockets.
Ziva groans in answer. "I have been better," she tells him, her voice very hoarse, and he grins widely to hear it. "That is not a good thing," she informs him grumpily upon seeing his expression.
"It's not?" he asks, the wattage of his smile increasing rather than decreasing. "I'd say that's a damn good thing, Ziva David."
"Why?"
"Because it means you're alive."
Her irritated expression softens significantly at that, and she gives him a little smile. "Yes, I suppose that is a victory." She gives him a look he can't decipher. "Why are you standing all the way over there?"
"What? Oh, I guess I—"
"Come," she tells him, and he's happy to comply. He takes his seat next to her and after only a split second of debating with himself, he takes her hand.
"I'm so unbelievably glad you're awake," he shares softly, rubbing the backs of her fingers with his thumb. "No one was sure you ever would be again."
She feebly squeezes his fingers. "I suppose I am glad, as well."
"You suppose?"
She gestures weakly to her abdomen. "It must have hurt less when I was sleeping."
He gives her a look that says he means business and she doesn't understand it until he hits her nurse call button. "Hi, can we get some pain meds in here? Officer David isn't feeling so well."
"Tony," she protests, frowning, once the tinny voice of the nurse says she'll be in shortly. "I neither want nor need medication."
In answer, he pulls out his phone. "Hey, look at this thing McGee sent me while you were unconscious."
Not thinking, Ziva tries to sit up to see whatever he's showing her, and she cries out in pain when the move troubles her already sore abdomen. "That's what I thought," Tony says softly. For once, it's not gloating—he's genuinely worried that she'll let her pain get unbearable by not accepting the medicine when she needs it. "Why don't you want the drugs, Ziva?"
"Because I do not wish to feel incapacitated," she tells him shortly, looking away. "If I do not have a clear head, I cannot defend myself."
It's so typical Ziva that Tony can't help but laugh, and he feels his heart aching in the sweetest way.
"Do not laugh! I—"
"Ziva, I'm not laughing at you!" he protests. He somehow finds the courage to lean in and brush his hand lightly along her face. "I'm just…" He has to pause. "Ziva, I'm right here. You don't need to defend yourself—I'll do it."
She looks torn, but between what he cannot say. She nods, though, and when the nurse shows up a few minutes later with morphine, Ziva doesn't protest. It leaves her tired and woozy but less sore, and Tony takes up stroking her face again. She doesn't protest that, either.
After a few minutes, her eyes are heavy. She doesn't wish to sleep, so she catches his hand. "Tony?"
"Yeah?"
"I need to apologize."
"For what?"
"I eavesdropped on you."
To her surprise, he laughs loudly at that. "What did you hear?"
She gives him a suspicious look but tells him anyway. "I heard you talking to Director Shepard about Jeanne Benoit."
"Oh, yeah?" He's still grinning—it doesn't make sense. He should be angry with her. "That all you hear?"
"...no."
"What else, then?" When she hesitates, he gently frees his hand from her grasp to go back to petting her face. "Come on, Ziva, no secrets among friends."
"You are going to make me fall asleep," she grumps, but doesn't stop his hand again.
"Ziva?" he prompts after a moment.
"Yes?"
"What else did you hear?"
"Oh. I, um, I heard…" Closing her eyes makes this easier, and morphine makes her want to talk. "I heard you talking to McGee. It was about me."
"And what did I say about you?" He's still calm, soft, touching her oh-so-gently, and she doesn't know what to make of it.
"You said you thought… you thought you might be in love with me."
"And you're sorry for hearing that?" he wants to know.
She cracks an eyelid to look at him. "I am sorry that I broke your trust and listened when I knew you were not talking to me."
"That's alright," he assures her. The smile is still on his face, but it's soft and tender now.
"You are not angry?"
"No."
"Did you mean what you said to McGee?"
"I did."
There's a pause while her medicine-slowed brain tries to figure through that one. "You do?"
He smiles down at her, and when she fully looks at him again, he's closer than she'd realized. "I do." There's a muted hope in her expression that makes it easy to find the courage to say the words he has owed her for a long time now. "I love you, Ziva." There's a time when this would have made him panic, the threat of imminent commitment hanging over his head like a guillotine… but if he'd had any lingering doubts before yesterday, they disappeared when he almost lost her.
Ziva struggles to force her tired hand up to touch his face, mimicking the soft movements he's still making against her cheek. There's a lot she wants to say, ranging from the sappy and romantic to the sarcastic and sassy, but what comes out of her mouth is neither. "Why are you not surprised at what I told you?"
He laughs at that and catches the hand on his face to kiss her palm. "Because, Ziva David, I'm more clever than you give me credit for. I'm not just a pretty face, you know, even though I'm obviously also a pretty face." He winks at her, and when she still seems a little confused, he shakes his head. "You've had a hard weekend and a lot of drugs today, so I guess I'll give you a pass on this one. I'm not surprised you overheard because that was my plan all along."
Ziva's brain flashes through Tony's behavior around that period. The call, the conversation with McGee, the way he had suddenly started taking her on "dates" again... "So when you called me from the director's office…"
"Yep, that was on purpose."
"Not a booty call?"
"Butt dial, Ziva, butt dial!" He can barely contain his laughter at that one, but this is too important to get off topic now. "And no, it was not. But I needed you to think it was."
"I got in trouble for that, you know," she tells him grimly.
"You—what?"
"When you were abducted, Director Shepard was very curious about how I knew you were on the Jeanne Benoit assignment after she had made it very clear that you were not to tell anyone about it. I implied that I listened at her office door to intentionally learn information about your classified mission."
"But why?"
"Because I did not want you to lose your job."
Exasperated but touched, the only real response he can come up with is to lean down and press a long, tender kiss to her cheek. "Ziva, I never would have asked you to do that," he murmurs against her skin, and then pulls back to look at her again. "I'm sorry you got in trouble. I didn't mean for that to happen."
"I know. What about your conversation with McGee?"
He shrugs a little. "I was already on the Benoit assignment and I had already realized that ending our arrangement, that… that hurting you… well, it was the wrong thing to do. Once I figured out how I really felt, it was too late to back out of the op, but I didn't want you to give up on me. I didn't want you to think I didn't have feelings for you."
"You did not wish for me to move on and date someone else, yes?" Ziva concludes.
"No, that's not what I—" he sighs. "That wasn't my motivation. It would have sucked if you'd started dating someone else, but I would have been happy for you."
"Now you must understand how it felt for me to watch you date Jeanne."
He nods unhappily. "Yeah, I get it. And for what it's worth, I'm sorry. I handled all of that really badly."
"Never mind that," she says, shaking her head. "You tricked me! If I was not feeling so weak and if I had my gun, I might shoot you for it."
That pulls a little laugh out of him, but her next words sober him right back up.
"If you had feelings for me, why did you accept an assignment that required you to date someone else?"
"Because I'm an idiot. Because I was afraid of how I felt about you. Because I don't know how to have a serious relationship and it scared me that I wanted to try. Take your pick."
Her face is unreadable. "Do you still wish to try?"
He nods, nervous.
She lets him stew for a moment before grinning. "That is good, because I love you, too, even if sometimes, you are an idiot."
He's never heard sweeter words.
"Ziva?"
"Yes?"
"Can I kiss you?"
He's still holding her hand to his cheek, so she pulls his face toward her. She isn't capable of much force at the moment, but he gets the idea, and he swiftly leans down to kiss her, gentle as could be.
Suddenly, getting kidnapped feels like maybe it was worth it, after all.