A/N: Brought to you by the "interminable and constantly-crashing coronavirus Zoom meeting" era of 2020, here's chapter 25! Everybody ready for a fight?
After Tony fails to answer her call, Ziva puts her phone on loud and hops in the shower, hoping he'll call back and she'll hear it. When she checks for notifications after getting out, though, her phone doesn't have any new missed calls to report. Still trying to stay awake so she can hopefully catch him when he calls back, she painstakingly plaits her hair and changes her sheets.
She's just pulling out a load of laundry when she hears a slightly less expected ringtone—it's not her phone, it's her computer chirping with an incoming Skype call! Even better. She settles on the couch, rearranges her laptop, and presses the answer button.
Unfortunately, the call starts awkwardly on both ends.
Ziva's video feed won't load, so while Tony can hear her, he can't see her.
Meanwhile, Ziva's entire application gets caught buffering; everything Tony says reaches her in unintelligible clips of garbled voice and his face is stuck in a strangely donkey-like expression.
They both spend a few minutes fiddling with things here and there to fix the connection, and while Tony finally manages to change a setting that fixes the problem on both ends, Ziva has long since stopped paying attention. Tired of fighting with the damn thing, she has given up and is instead pressing the heels of her hands over her tired eyes. From her mouth comes a long string of increasingly inventive curses in nine languages.
Despite his anxiety, sadness, and general vexation, Tony observes her for a minute or two, entertained and not unimpressed. Every time he thinks she's about to stop, or at least pause to breathe, she seems to get a second wind and powers through. He clears his throat to get her attention once she's reached what he thinks is Pashto.
She stops cursing abruptly and uncovers her eyes, peering at her screen. "Ah," she says meekly. "There you are."
Tony isn't much in a mood to laugh, but he does smile a little. "Here I am," he agrees.
"It is nice to see you." This is offered almost shyly, out of character for Ziva on a normal day. It somehow feels, however, that behaving normally today would be almost disrespectful. Whom or what it would disrespect is not clear, but the feeling is hard to shake.
Tony purses his lips and nods for longer than absolutely necessary. "And you," he replies eventually, and Ziva realizes that the continuous nodding was a placeholder for something he doesn't know how to say.
Now it's her turn, but she feels just as lost. She opens her mouth and closes it again, trying without success to find words in any language to express herself. Finally, she decides to stop trying to force things and just say whatever comes out of her mouth first… anything to cut through this unbearable silence. Unfortunately, it seems as if Tony has the same idea, because they end up talking over one another.
"Tony, I wanted to talk to you about—"
"Ziva, can we please just—"
They both stop talking.
"You can go first," Ziva offers, because this is agonizing and one of them needs to take charge.
"Okay, sure." Tony opens his mouth to say whatever's on his mind, and Ziva's screen promptly freezes again. This time, there's no sound or movement at all, and it only seems reasonable to flop backward on the sofa, put a pillow over her face, and yell. It helps.
Unfortunately, when she has yelled herself out, the screen is still frozen, so she abandons it, figuring she'll hear when it comes back on. Prior to the call, she'd been doing some post-travel chores, and she decides to set up a laundry sorting station near the computer to attempt some productivity while she waits.
She's been working for a few minutes when the video feed suddenly unfreezes, and with no warning, she's able to catch what Tony's saying. She instantly wishes that she still can't. "...wouldn't have killed you to send me an email or two, would it? For all I knew, you were dead! I'm pretty sure I deserve better than that after flying halfway around the world to cheer you up two weeks ago, but I guess you don't agree."
Ziva surmises that much like she did a few minutes ago, Tony has been taking the forced break in the call as an opportunity to get some of his frustration out without hurting her; she tries very hard not to hold it against him, because though the anger in his voice makes her uncomfortable, she knows it's justified.
She turns the clunky laptop around, her expression determinedly neutral, and waits for Tony to notice that she's there. It only takes him a moment, and he breaks off talking immediately. "The screen was frozen, but now it is not," she points out helpfully, gesturing vaguely in front of her to the technology that she only barely knows how to work. (She misses McGee and his ever-useful computer knowledge!)
"I can see that." Tony considers her for a moment and then slaps the back of his own head as if it's Gibbs that he has offended. "Sorry, I didn't mean for you to hear—however much of that you heard. I wasn't really talking to you, I was just..."
"Venting?" Ziva lets a half-smile rise to her lips and fall again; while she appreciates that he's trying to keep from lashing out at her, it seems fairly clear that there are things he needs to say. Maybe it'll be better for both of them if he just comes out with it. "Perhaps you were not talking to me, but you were speaking about me, yes?"
Tony shrugs a little. "Yeah, maybe." He can hardly deny it.
Ziva nods. "I am all eardrums," she tells him. "Whatever is on your mind, please say it. It might help to clear the air."
Tony's face twitches in a way that tells her she made an English mistake, but he doesn't correct her. Now is not the time for technicalities. "You sure about that?"
"I am."
"So you're ready to talk."
"Yes."
"After disappearing for more than a week."
"Yes."
When Tony senses her honesty, he nods, and some of the tension in his body seems to deflate. "Where've you been, Ziva?" he asks, running a hand through his hair and looking, frankly, old and tired. If he means to make his voice sound angry again, he fails, but somehow his tone of absolute exhaustion makes Ziva feel worse than if he'd shouted the question.
"I know this will sound… simplistic, yes? But I was working."
"For eight days?" Tony asks with a snort, unable to entirely avoid being snide.
"Well… yes," Ziva agrees awkwardly.
Tony starts to say something but stops, and the ghost of a smile floats to his lips. "I guess I could believe that, if you were with—"
"Eli," they awkwardly finish together, and they both laugh quietly, each subdued for their own reasons.
"I believe I may have… won some respect from him, though it is hard to say for certain," Ziva offers, somewhat hesitant. It's true, and she doesn't know what to make of it, but the real issue causing her hesitation is that she's trying to figure out how much to lie. Her father's threats still seem very real, and it may very well be that he's placed bugs in her flat. It wouldn't shock her, and the more she thinks about it, the more she suspects that he's probably done it. "He seemed pleased with my performance this week, and surprised by it," she adds.
"Good to hear," Tony replies, and though the words are the right ones, his tone is a little lacking.
"Are you alright, Tony?"
He rubs his temples and lets out a deep sigh, but he nods. "Yeah. Yeah, I'm fine. It's just been a… well, a rough week, I guess."
"Because you could not reach me?" Ziva guesses, a slight apology in her tone.
Tony gives her an unamused half-snort and shrugs. "Can't say that it helped, honestly. But it wasn't just that."
"I am sorry, my love," Ziva answers sincerely, not sure what else she can say to him if he's not in the mood to talk. She feels more distant from him now than she did during her silent week in Europe.
Tony shrugs again, looking uncomfortable, and casts about for a change of subject. "Can I ask you how your week was, or is that kind of… need to know?" He seems to have already decided what she's going to say, having moved past anger and into defeat, and that makes Ziva's tired heart clench.
"No, you can ask," she answers, giving him a little smile in the hopes of getting one in return. "You can always ask." The implication, of course, is that while he can always ask, she might not always be able to answer. Again, neither points that out. They've talked about it before, and Tony knows Ziva will do her best.
"Alright. How was it, then?"
"It was… mm. 'Productive' is the word to use here, yes?"
"More office work?" Maybe Ziva's hearing an accusation there because she's afraid of hearing one, but it sounds a little like Tony has his own suspicions about how she spent the week.
While that's not surprising—he's very intelligent, and making deductions is a large part of his job—she half-wishes he would just ask about what he wants to ask about… even though her Eli-imposed restrictions are still in place and she'll have to craft an answer. "No, not this week."
"No?" Tony raises his eyebrows at her answer. "Did Eli finally let you out of the doghouse, then?"
"Doghouse? No—Tony, he does not have a dog." This is one idiom that Ziva actually knows and understands perfectly, but she also knows he enjoys correcting her mistakes. Though she'd never tell him or admit to it if asked, she sometimes intentionally slips up on English phrasing to make him laugh. Maybe doing it now will help move their conversation into a more normal place.
Tony does laugh a little, and since it sounds only mostly forced, Ziva's counting this one as a win. "No, not a physical house for a physical dog, it's more like...when you get in trouble, you go to the metaphorical doghouse, right? And then when you talk your way out of it or serve your time or whatever, whoever is mad decides to let you back out of the doghouse. Get it?"
"Oh, yes, I understand. It is like when a man says something rude and his wife makes him sleep on the sofa. The sofa is in the doghouse?"
Tony laughs again, and though it's stilted, it lifts Ziva's spirits. She finds that it's worth playing a little dumb once in a blue moon, just to hear that sound. "Sure. Close enough."
"And when you say 'talk your way out of it', you are speaking from experience, yes?" Ziva gives Tony an attempt at a smug half-smile. For a second, he gives her a look of guarded affection, clearing any signs of worry or grief from his expression. For just that moment, she's reminded him of what their relationship is like when things are normal.
That feels better than receiving Eli's too-hard-to-earn pride, any day of the week.
"Something like that," Tony agrees, his voice finally infused with a hint of warmth. Maybe this is working. "So, Eli let you out of the doghouse?"
"Temporarily, perhaps," Ziva concedes. "He sent me on a single mission. He told me that he would reevaluate my future at Mossad pending the outcome of my assignment, so he meant it as a test, but if I was fired, I have not been told yet."
Tony snorts and makes a gesture to wave away that silly suggestion. It's a little stiff, a little forced, but they're both loosening up slowly as they converse. "Nah, he couldn't run that place without you."
"He did for two years when I was in America," Ziva argues, smiling a little.
"Must've been why he was so eager to bring you back," Tony concludes. "So where did he send you on that 'single mission'?"
Here's where the lying starts, because short of playing the "need to know" card, Ziva can hardly tell the truth. Do not make the mistake of going behind my back again, Ziva David. "Eastern Turkey," she invents, forcing Eli out of her thoughts. "Near the border with Syria."
Tony lets out a low whistle in response, and Ziva genuinely can't tell whether he believes her or not. "Was it safe?"
"Ah, I was probably the safest one there." She fakes a smirk and holds up her pocket knife as 'Exhibit A', making it very clear what she means.
"Well, I certainly wouldn't bet against you," Tony announces, his inflection suggesting that it would be ridiculous for anyone to do otherwise.
That makes Ziva smile. "Nor would you go against me yourself, I hope?" she teases. Keeping her tone lighthearted is easier this time.
"Not in a million years, sweet cheeks," Tony assures her with a smile. He, too, seems to be feeling more like himself, and Ziva's about to breathe a sigh of relief when that illusion is shattered. "So, no Europe this time? Just Turkey?"
"Tony, Turkey is in Europe," she argues reflexively.
"No, it's in Asia."
"Yes, and in Europe. Turkey is considered to be a part of both continents."
"I don't believe you. I'm going to look it up."
And just like that, they're play-arguing about something that doesn't matter at all. It feels like a bullet dodged. It's not a permanent fix, but it'll do for now. Bickering relaxes them both.
Once the Turkey argument is settled (with Tony sheepishly admitting that Ziva might have been on to something), a mildly uncomfortable silence falls again. Ziva wonders about the motivation behind his 'no Europe' question. "Just Turkey," she announces after the quiet becomes hard to bear.
"Hmm?"
"I only went to Turkey this week," Ziva clarifies, drawing Tony's attention back to the question that started their 'argument' in the first place. "Nowhere else in Europe."
"Oh." Tony's face clears, and Ziva correctly deduces that he's been trying to figure out how to ask the question again without making the conversation even more awkward than it already is.
She realizes all of the sudden that he's trying to figure out if she was in the Netherlands or not. She had temporarily forgotten about his complicated history with Jeanne Benoit, and she suspects that he wants to make certain that she's notthe one who assassinated Jeanne's father.
Of course, she is, but Eli's threats become a guarantee that she won't tell Tony. Luckily, he seems to believe her this time, and she muses on just how easy it is to lie when she's lying to protect someone she loves with all her heart.
"Why?" she asks lightly after waiting for a moment to see if he's going to say anything else.
"Why what?"
"Why are you asking about Europe?" If they were in the same place, she'd be nudging him—the more annoyingly, the better. She learned from the best that making jokes is sometimes the only way to get through something difficult. "Is there somewhere in particular that you want to go?"
Her teasing works, because Tony gets a cat-that-ate-the-canary grin and shrugs. "I was thinking maybe Israel."
That answer makes Ziva beam at him, and it's not faked or forced at all. "Israel is not in Europe, and you are very, very idiotic," she tells him lovingly, making him laugh in triumph. "And there is a place for you here any time you would like to visit."
"That's my girl."
She's suddenly extraordinarily glad that they're catching up, regardless of how many awkward moments they're experiencing, because her life just doesn't have nearly as much humor or affection without him in it. He feels essential to Ziva, like her hands or her gun, something she relies on and would struggle to survive without.
It also occurs to her that even though she really shouldn't (and doesn't want to) ask, knowing it might bring attention to events she can't talk about, it's her job as Tony's partner to get him talking about the things that bother him. "So," she starts, mustering up all of her considerable bravery. "You heard about my week. Now tell me about yours."
Tony's bolstered mood visibly drops again, and he sighs. "I'm assuming you heard that the La Grenouille case is officially closed."
Ziva nods, feeling her heart start to beat faster but working not to show it. "Jeanne?" she guesses sympathetically. She knows she doesn't need to say any more for him to understand what she's getting at.
"Yeah." Looking away for a moment, he picks at his sleeve, his mouth set in a hard line as he tries to decide what to say. "She's… grieving. I hate that she got mixed up in this, that I made her get mixed up in this."
"Tony, none of it is—"
"My fault?" he interrupts, finishing Ziva's sentence with a bitter, disbelieving laugh that makes her heart ache. "Is that really what you think? When we saw the BBC report today, McGee and Abby and Bax looked at me like I might jump off a bridge… or maybe they just thought I should."
Ziva grimaces, deciding not to argue for now because she knows Tony isn't ready to listen to reason. "Have you spoken to Jeanne?" she asks instead.
"Yeah. I went to her apartment as soon as I heard, and… well, I'm the one who ended up giving her the news. She hadn't been notified yet."
Swiftly, Ziva realizes exactly why Tony looks like he's aged overnight, why he seems so tired and so beaten down. She had already gathered that his involvement with Jeanne caused some conflicting feelings about La Grenouille's death, but the weight she can now see settled on his shoulders is something different. His feeling of failed responsibility must not be entirely self-inflicted.
"How did she take it?" she asks in a murmur, though the answer is clear in the hard lines of Tony's expression; she wants him to talk about it but isn't sure he will.
"Not well." That's all he seems willing to say.
Ziva nods, aching for him. "Give her time, Tony. She is simply... hurting. She has no reason to blame you—she is aware that you were dragged into this mess by Jenny Shepard. Eventually, she has to remember that."
"I know," Tony replies. His voice sounds too hollow for Ziva to believe him, though, and she suspects that he just doesn't want to face the effort of arguing. "Listen," he goes on, "do you have any intel on what happened? I promised Jeanne that I'd get to the bottom of it all for her, but last I heard from McGee, NCIS doesn't have any information yet. Please tell me Mossad knows more."
"No," Ziva fabricates quietly. "When I returned to my office, I heard the news, but… details are scarce, it seems, even for us. The common theory at Mossad is that Benoit was taken out by the Dutch security service. I am sorry that I cannot help more."
Tony sighs. "It's okay. If you learn anything else, will you let me know?"
"If I can."
That makes him pause, and he gives her a look. "What happened to you being more open about what's going on at work, hm? I thought we were pretty much past the whole secrecy thing."
Ziva looks away, crossing her arms. It's all she can do not to wince. "This is not about Mossad," she says. "It is about you." Pursing her lips, she makes herself look back at her boyfriend.
"What exactly d'you mean by that?"
It's obvious from his tone that he thinks she must have decided he's untrustworthy, and she feels her face harden for a moment, remembering their last big argument. "It is not what you think."
"That's not an answer, Ziva!" Tony shoots back bitterly. "It would be great if you could stop speaking in riddles for five seconds, though. Maybe you should give that a try!"
"Enough, Tony!" The resurgence of his anger provokes Ziva's own resentment. She gets an idea, though, and before she can say something she shouldn't, she whacks the 'end call' button using more force than strictly necessary. Tony's face instantly vanishes from the screen.
Full of aggravated energy, she snatches her cell phone from the coffee table and marches to the bathroom. She turns the shower on full blast once the door is shut before sitting on the lid of the toilet to make another attempt at her talk with Tony; she's relying on the idea that if there are bugs in her flat, the sound of running water will keep her voice from being picked up by them. She still needs to avoid saying anything too blasphemous, but this will make her gag order slightly easier to work around.
Hoping he won't be too angry to answer after she abruptly ended their video chat, Ziva dials Tony's number.
Luckily, he answers after a few rings. He doesn't say anything, however, instead waiting in stony silence for Ziva to explain herself. She hastens to do so. "Hi… I am sorry for hanging up on you. My laptop was not properly charged and I did not realize that until it died," she fibs.
He sighs roughly, accepting her excuse. "It's fine. But I still think we need to talk."
"I agree."
"Good. Then what'd you mean when you said 'it's about you'?"
"I meant that there may be things I simply cannot share. It is not that I do not trust you, Tony. It is out of my hands."
"Bullshit. You just said this isn't about Mossad. You also told me weeks ago that you were alright with giving me information because you knew I wouldn't rat you out! Either it's about me or it isn't, but I'm sick of hearing half-truths from you."
That inspires Ziva to let out a vehement and colorful Hebrew curse, something Tony has heard enough times to comprehend. "I understand that you are frustrated, but I am walking a wide line here!" she barks, fuming. Then she clenches her fist and lowers her voice again. "Please do not turn this into something it is not."
"This is what it's always been, Ziva—ever since you walked into NCIS on day one! You have to decide who you're loyal to before you alienate everyone on both damn sides. Now please, can you tell me why you're suddenly censoring yourself again?"
The way he's speaking right now—infuriatingly arrogant, demanding things of her when he doesn't fully understand the situation—sends Ziva to her breaking point. She's suddenly heated enough to tell the truth: "Because I am afraid!"
Whatever Tony expected her to say, it wasn't that, and some of his irritation gives way to confusion. "Of what?"
"Of something happening to you, you fool!" Despite the depth of her emotion, she keeps her voice low; she can't forget what's at stake.
"What are you afraid will happen to me?" Tony asks, softening now that she's finally being open with him.
Ziva, however, isn't quite done snapping. "I told you I was working this week, but do you know why I did not send a message to tell you I was busy? Have you thought about why I never once got in contact?" She doesn't give him a chance to answer, continuing immediately after only a breath's pause. "It is not because I did not want to talk—it is because Eli took my phone before I left Tel Aviv, and I could not stop him! He knows about your trip to Israel, Tony. He knows. I knew he would find out and that he would punish me, but I did not know what he would do." She stands up to pace the length of the bathroom as she talks.
Now that she's started talking, she can't stop, and so much of what she's been keeping contained spills out. "This time," she presses on, "it would not be enough to scold and belittle me for behaving against his wishes—no, not for the unforgivable crime of loving someone else! Eli did not yell at me or suspend me. What he did was worse: he manipulated me into leading a mission he thought I could not do. He wanted me to fail and lose whatever autonomy I had left. Even that did not satisfy him, though! He also chose to threaten you. What would you have me do, Tony? Risk your life? I refuse to do that—not for anything, but especially not just to soothe your ego!"
There's only static on the other end of the line as Ziva catches her breath, and just as she's about to check if the call is still going, Tony finally speaks. "I'm sorry," he says evenly.
"It is not enough to be sorry," Ziva replies roughly, feeling all at once like she's taken on the weight of the world as her own personal burden. "You have to trust me. If I say I cannot tell you something, it is because I cannot. If you cannot trust, then you will only have yourself to blame, and..." She trails off with a sigh, leaning back against the sink and pinching the bridge of her nose to fight an impending headache. "I cannot keep convincing you of my loyalty," she finishes finally. She's so tired of trying to keep her right foot in one world and her left in another without leaning too much to either side and falling; the balancing act is both draining and unsustainable.
Again, Tony pauses, and when he speaks, he sounds contrite. "I'm sorry for yelling at you. I know I shouldn't have. All that frustration, all that… I don't know. It all built up when I kept trying to talk to you and couldn't get through. And I didn't really mean to restart that old argument."
"Then what were you trying to do?"
Ziva can hear the fabric of his sweater brush against his phone as he shrugs. Then he actually answers, his words forming slowly as if he's still working through his thoughts even as he speaks them. "I'm not sure I was trying to do anything. It wasn't really about the secrecy, Ziva, or about not hearing from you."
"No?"
"No," Tony decides, and when his tone switches to something more peaceful and less temporising, it's evident that he's come to understand something. "It was about the uncertainty of everything happening all at once, I think. I finally felt like we were on solid ground before all of this happened, but then you disappeared and restarted the whole secret thing as soon as you were back in touch."
"Tony, I—"
"Hang on, Ziva, I'm almost finished," he interrupts gently. "You don't have to tell me everything, okay? If I don't need to know, I don't need to know. That's not what I'm asking for. Just… please don't keep changing the rules on me. I don't want you to feel like our relationship is unstable, but I also don't want to feel that way myself."
Ziva waits to make sure Tony is actually finished, and when it seems like he is, she exhales deeply enough to draw most of the tension out of her body. "That is… fair," she answers, and she means it.
"I'm glad you think so."
"Tony?"
"Yeah?"
"I am sorry for yelling, too. I know I was harsh. What I said stemmed mostly from Eli, like it usually does, and I felt trapped between his threat and your anger at what he made me do."
"Actually, you didn't."
That nonsensical reply throws Ziva out of apology mode by confusing her. "Did not what?" Surely he's not correcting her when she says how she felt.
"Yell."
She laughs then, and Tony does, too. "Actually," he elaborates, "you were impressively quiet to be giving such a… passionate speech. Were you doing that thing where you get softer and scarier the more I piss you off?"
The question brings a smile to Ziva's lips—maybe he knows her a little too well. "No. I was trying not to be heard."
"Who's there? Aren't you home?"
"Yes, I am at home. There is no one here but me. I think, however, that Eli may have bugged my flat."
There's another suspiciously long pause before Tony speaks again. "He did what?" he asks, his tone darker than it was when they were quarreling.
Ziva sighs. "You seem angry on my behalf, and while I appreciate the show of support, this is not the worst thing he has done… not by a tall shot."
"Long shot," Tony corrects, but his voice still sounds off, like he's holding himself back. "Ziva, just because he's done awful things already, it doesn't mean he should get away with more!"
"I know. This is the least of my worries right now, though."
"Alright. Just know that I'm pissed, even if you're as cool as a cucumber."
Ziva chuckles. "Thank you, Tony. Anyway, I cannot prove there are bugs here—I have not found one, at any rate. I may just be paranoid, but I have a gut feeling."
"Ah, the ol' L.J. Gibbs Biological Barometer."
Ziva can tell Tony's making an effort to repress his outrage with Eli, and she feels a burst of affection for him. He may not be perfect—and they may butt heads like so many dueling rams—but to his credit, he's wonderful at being supportive, whether that means flying to Israel or just backing down from a fight at her request. "That is the one," she murmurs back, realizing that she hasn't said anything in some time.
"You alright, Ziva?"
"Yes." She sighs. "I was just thinking…"
"Ouch, that's never a good idea."
"I was thinking about Mossad ops. I think Eli will send me on more—if I can be useful to him, he will eventually make use of me. I proved this week that I work better in the field than at a desk, and I work better in the field than many other officers of my rank."
"Oh, yeah?"
"Yes. And the reason I was thinking about that is… I cannot guarantee that he will not demand my phone again when sending me on assignment. I am not sure how to let you know that I am alright if that happens—I do not want a repeat of this week."
Tony answers warmly, clearly less concerned about it than she is. "Eh, we'll figure out some kind of Bat Signal. It'll be fine." As she had originally predicted, he lost his ire when he realized her lack of communication was Eli's fault; now he can at least guess what's happening if the same thing occurs next time she leaves.
"I am sure it will be," she agrees, the thought punctuated by a massive yawn.
Tony hears it and sighs. "Sweet cheeks, go to bed. It's got to be—" he interrupts himself to check the clock and then groans— "um, way too late for you."
"I am about to," she assures him, "but before I do, I need you to tell me— did we talk about everything we needed to? I do not want another fight somewhere down the road just because we never finished this one."
"Actually, I feel really good about it all. We were both a little wrong, we were both a little mean, we worked out a compromise, and now we're both a little happier. Did I miss anything?"
Ziva's laugh turns into another yawn. "I believe that covers it."
"Good. Anything else you need to get off your chest?"
"My bra," Ziva answers honestly, thinking of true relaxation after eight days of stress.
Tony snickers. "Why do I get the feeling you're not talking about sexy time?" he asks rhetorically. "Go on now, Z, and set those beautiful breasts of yours free. Get some rest—it sounds like you've had a busy week."
"Alright, alright. I am going. Good night, Tony."
"Night, Ziva. Love you."
"Love you, too."
Ziva spends the next day at work completing a highly detailed mission end report, always partially focused on Eli's office door. Despite knowing that she handled herself well on the Benoit case, she's more than a little apprehensive about the 'performance review' her father promised.
As the afternoon passes without seeing him, though, she starts to suspect that he's not going to be in today, and her attention eventually drifts. She's still working on her lengthy report, but it's more of a menial task than a thought-provoking one, leaving her mind to wonder.
She realizes that she answered Tony incorrectly last night when he questioned whether she had more to talk about. She had intended to talk to him more about his guiltiness in regards to Jeanne's grief—or more importantly, his lack thereof—but the long day caught up with her and she simply forgot to bring it up again. She needs to find some other way to remind him of his innocence, because he can't keep walking around trying to get rid of blood on his hands that's not really there. Guilt can drive a person crazy.
As the hands on the clock approach the number that marks the end of Ziva's typical work hours, she starts idly thinking about what she'll do for dinner. She decides that she'll get takeout instead of cooking tonight because many of the ingredients in her fridge went bad while she was gone. Maybe Italian?
The thought sets off a metaphorical lightbulb above her head, and she logs back into her computer to put in motion the plan she just formulated. Five minutes later, she's done… shortly after Tony gets home from work tonight, he'll be surprised with a large, unhealthy pepperoni pizza—his favorite. So long as the pizzeria follows her instructions from their online order form, Tony will open the box to find the words "I am sorry, and it is not your fault" written inside.
She knows damn well that the way to his heart is through food (or sex) and hopefully, he'll internalize the message she's sending him.
When she arrives at home just shy of an hour later, though, she has to laugh.
On her stoop are two packages, and though they have Israeli return addresses, she knows who they're from. The first is a temperature-controlled box holding a bouquet of flowers, and the second contains two bottles of Italian wine. Apparently, she and Tony think a lot alike.
She brings the boxes inside and finds a printed note that she missed at first in the one from the florist. She picks it up and flips it over to read the message.
Z,
Consider this our first Bat Signal—but instead of "you're okay," I hope you'll read it as "we're okay." Love you, miss you, and sorry I was an ass. Now go drink some wine and drunkenly send me sexy pictures, please.
XO,
VSAAD
The typed-out signature—which she assumes is an abbreviation for Very Special Agent Anthony DiNozzo—makes her smile the most. She really does miss his ridiculousness; she never thought silliness could be so endearing.
Knowing he's still at work due to the time difference, she sends him a text instead of calling to thank him for the unexpected gifts. Thank you for the flowers and the wine, VSAAD! That was a lovely surprise to come home to.
Shortly after, she gets a reply. R u drinking the wine & taking pix?
Not yet. Please pull your mind from the putter and get back to work. As soon as she shoots off that message, though, she sends another one. But I promise pictures later. ;)
Tony sends back only three winky faces and the word gutter in reply.
Last night's call put Ziva mostly at ease, but when she lays down tonight, sleep will not come.
Her brain is busy, refusing to shut down no matter what she does. At least at first, she can't identify any one trigger that's making her restless, and she thinks she's just feeling today's lack of exercise. Still in the yoga pants and NCIS shirt she laid down in, she gets back up and goes to her building's basement gym for a treadmill run.
It doesn't help, though, and by the time she has showered and gotten in bed for the second time, she's feeling even worse. Her heart is beating too fast, racing along with her directionless thoughts, and she feels almost clammy. Maybe she's getting sick. Maybe she picked up some kind of bug when she was in Europe, and once her immune system catches up, she'll be fine.
She figures out that she's wrong when she starts to see the same image playing on the inside of her eyelids every time her eyes shut. It's not an illness she's experiencing, and it's not a shortage of exercise. No, what she's feeling is guilt.
This isn't something she's ever experienced in the context of a work assignment. She's killed before, many times, and she always moves on with nothing more than a sense of accomplishment. Though she knows she sometimes seems it, she's not heartless or emotionless, and she doesn't enjoy killing. She just knows that the work she carries out is on people who deserve it; by killing, she preserves life. That hardly seems something to mourn over.
Why, then, does she see René Benoit's body falling in slow motion every time her eyelids shut? It really isn't hard to suss out the reason.
It isn't Benoit himself for whom she feels guilty; no, he told her just before his death that he didn't regret destroying some lives and ending others. Ziva has little doubt that without his impending mortality coming to call, Benoit would continue living his life in exactly the same way for a very long time. He needed to die, less as a punishment and more as a preventative measure.
It's also not La Grenouille's daughter who Ziva feels guilty about. She likes Jeanne well enough, she appreciates the friend the other woman has been to Tony in the past, and she knows very well the pain of losing a parent. On a purely pragmatic level, though, Ziva also knows that one woman's grief is a drop in the bucket compared to the collective grief of the families who lost loved ones to La Grenouille's arms empire. Genetics dealt Jeanne Benoit a cruel hand, but it's no crueler than the hand she herself was dealt.
No, it's Tony. He's the reason that she can't quite catch her breath tonight and she can't sleep.
Tony has two very different sides to him—there's the one most people know and the one he hides. The public face of Tony is gregarious, equal parts charming and off putting, and walks around quoting movies to people who don't care about movies. The rest of him, though, is considerably more vulnerable. That side of him takes her on dates to orchards so they can pick apples to bake with. That Tony sat with her in the hospital for as long as visitors hours allowed until she was discharged. The Tony that lives close to her heart flew six thousand miles to spend four days with her.
The Tony that most people don't get to see feels things deeply, and that is the Tony she hurt.
Though she considers herself a rational person, she can't find the utilitarian benefit to Tony's suffering. His pain should weigh equally to the related grief of Jeanne's that Ziva just dismissed, but to her, it weighs more. There's a little part of her that thinks it might be worth it for more people to hurt if it meant Tony didn't have to. While the rest of her is aware of how senseless that line of thinking really is, the little thought is a loud one.
It's completely irrational.
There may be something to Gibb's rule ten after all: never get personally involved on a case.
Ziva knows, however, that no matter how much she hates this feeling, she must never seek absolution. This secret is one she'll have to carry with her to the grave, because Tony can never know what she did in the Netherlands.
If he's already dealing with this much misplaced guilt over simply following orders, she knows he'll feel much worse if he realized the indirect role he actually played in the assassination; if he hadn't convinced Shepard to bring in Mossad to share investigations, Eli probably would not have discovered the clue in Washington that led Mossad to Serbia. If she hadn't defied Eli by welcoming Tony to Israel, she likely would not have been assigned the mission, and someone else may not have found La Grenouille at all. The mental gymnastics of it all is exhausting, but she thinks it through over and over again til she wants to scream.
On a more selfish level, she thinks that if Tony knew what she did, he would never forgive her, even if he forgave himself.
Ziva pictures him giving Jeanne the news, and she pictures Jeanne taking everything out on him when he did. She can see the way he would flinch almost imperceptibly if Jeanne yelled at him, and she has no doubt that he would stand there and be a punching bag if necessary. Anything to help his friend and anything to soothe his own sense of responsibility, both things Ziva can relate to.
She can also see Tony laying alone in his bed in Washington, though, staring up at his bedroom ceiling the same way she's staring up at hers now. It's so effortless to picture the grimace on his face that'll come once he's alone and public Tony is gone. The regret on his features, the waves of lapping remorse keeping him awake, and the apology on his lips are easily visible in her mind's eye; maybe those things are so straightforward to visualize because they're on her features and leaving her lips, too.
"I am so sorry, my love," she tells her empty flat.
With that, she tries to push Tony from her head and she cries herself to sleep.