This takes place during Double Blind, the night when the Ziva and Adam situation came to light. Tony feels angry and betrayed, Ziva feels guilty and sad, and they both need to talk about it. Normally, this type of deep conversation isn't something they would have, but the new them, the post elevator them, are bearing their souls, telling each other about the things that matter, and this definitely matters.
Tony gets home late, as usual. When they weren't working on a case, getting home before 7:00pm was abnormal, but when they have a case in addition to an investigation and apparent sabotaging of their team, he was surprisingly lucky to walk into his apartment at 11:20pm. He throws his keys onto the table near the front door and grabs the fish food. "Hey Kate," he says as he untwists the cap and starts to sprinkle a little food into the bowl. "How was your day? I can almost guarantee it was better than mine." His voice is dripping with irritation and he practically slams the food back onto the table.
He aimlessly throws his bag into the living room as he turns into the kitchen, grabbing a beer and the box of pizza leftover from last night. Thinking back to last night, he wonders how he could be so naive. Boy how a day can change you. Last night he was looking forward to him and Ziva starting to work on their relationship again. After Eli dying and her obsession with catching Bodner and all the heartbreak that came with the past few months, it had taken a toll on her, on him, on them. Nevertheless, they had grown closer in that time. Actually, it might have been because of the past few months that he felt ready to move forward with them. Whatever "them" meant, whatever moving "forward" was for them, he didn't know, but he did know their relationship had moved past coworkers past partners past friends and maybe even past best friends. At least it had for him, and last night he could have sworn she was on the same page. Tonight, though, tonight he wasn't so sure anymore.
He took a big bite of the pizza. Pepperoni and ice cold. Normally, he would put the pizza in the oven a little bit to warm it up. Tonight, though, tonight he was going to sulk in his misery and cold pizza seemed like the perfect start for that. After the first slice he opened his beer and took a sip. He was honestly proud of himself for demonstrating enough restraint to wait to eat before drinking, but either way he knew that was the last shred of restraint he had left in him today and in about two hours he would be drunkenly passed out on the couch with a movie still playing on the TV. After all the restraint he showed today, in staying calm with Ziva, in not demanding answers in the way he wanted, in not completely breaking down when she left him in the interrogation room or frankly at any other point during the day, he was exhausted.
When he finished the second slice of pizza, he drinks what's left of the beer before grabbing another and the pizza box, heading to the living room. Plopping down on the couch, he reaches for the remote and is about to turn the TV on when he hears a knock at the door. He knows who it is because of course he does. What he doesn't know is if he wants to answer, if he wants to have this conversation right now. It's late and he's tired and they have a big day tomorrow dealing with Parsons and his sham investigation. Despite all this, he gets up and walks towards the door because of course he does. Even with all the restraint he could possibly muster, he could never resist her.
When he swings the door open he's met with Ziva, just as he expected. She is in leggings, a t-shirt, and sneakers. Her hair is down but looks like it was taken out of a pony tail very recently, still straight like it was earlier but with slightly more curl and frizz. He uses his master investigative skills to determine she just finished a run, which isn't surprising in the least. Whenever something bothers her, really bothers her, she runs. Sometimes she runs away and sometimes she just runs wherever her legs take her. It seemed like tonight she ran towards him, strange considering that he is her problem right now and she isn't usually one to confront issues head on.
"Hey," she says, quietly but loud enough. He can hear the uncertainty and the nerves in her voice, unsure if he will let her in, if he'll speak with her, if he even wants to see her. Tony turns back into the apartment, leaving the door open, which Ziva takes as an invitation inside. She enters tentatively, still not certain what the rest of the night will entail and somewhat wanting to turn around and run away, but that is not her anymore. That is not them anymore. So she closes the door behind her and walks to the living room where Tony is entering from the kitchen with a beer in his hand which he gives to her. She accepts it without a word from either of them. She's slightly concerned with how casual he's being, but he has not looked her in the eyes yet, so she knows he isn't as unphased as he wants her to think.
Tony resumes his position on the couch and successfully turns the TV on this time, flipping through the channels to find some midnight movie. Ziva never understood why he does this when he has at least three hundred movies in his collection not fifteen feet away from him. She doesn't question him as she might had the tone of the night not been so serious. She instead sits on the other end of the couch and takes small sips of her beer, waiting for him to decide on something to watch. Though she knows they will end up pausing the movie when the conversation turns serious, she also knows that this is his process and if a movie will make him more comfortable so be it, she'll let him pick a movie.
After a few minutes of Tony channel surfing and Ziva waiting patiently on opposite ends of the couch, he settles back and picks up another slice of pizza, taking a large bit. Ziva also decides to take a slice, thinking that she will need all her strength for what will inevitably be a heart wrenching and exhausting discussion.
Another twenty minutes of silence, besides the James Bond movie on the TV, goes on before Ziva works up enough courage to start the battle. "Tony," she whispers as she turns towards him, not wanting to break the tension in the room too drastically.
He pauses the movie and looks at her, meeting her gaze for the first time tonight. She sees the anger in his eyes, anger combined with hurt, hurt that she knows she caused. He waits for her to continue and when she doesn't he responds, "Yes?" clearly not letting her off the hook with this one.
She takes a deep breath before continuing. "I would like to talk about today. About Adam and me and about…" her eyes dart around the room, suddenly scared to look at him, to look at the pain she has caused him. "Well about everything that means, I suppose," she finishes with her eyes landing on her hands placed in her lap.
"Oh now you want to talk?" he snaps. "Where was that a few weeks ago?"
"Tony, I—I am sorry. I am so sorry." Her eyes slowly, self-consciously lifting to meet his, hoping to find the comfort he has always provided her. Instead, she can only see seething anger, possibly rage at this point, and she quickly darts her eyes back to her lap.
"Yeah, Ziva I get that. I know you're sorry. But that doesn't change what happened. That doesn't change your choices." His anger boiling over now, and she's sure that if she were to look at him she would definitely see the rage. She didn't have to see it, though. She felt in, in his stern yet shaky tone, in his heavy breaths, in the energy pouring out of him. She knew, but she wished she didn't.
"I specifically told you that you were not alone. Hell, I told you in your own language! Do you know how hard it is to learn Hebrew?" His tone is dripping with cruel sarcasm and a coarse laugh escapes his mouth. He takes a moment to swallow the lump forming in his throat before continuing, "Ziva, I just—I was there for you. In all the weeks leading up to your father's funeral, which I told you I wanted to go to. I told you I wanted to support you but you refused. I showed you that you weren't alone over and over. I feel like I've showed you for the last eight years! The last eight years, but especially this year. But over and over you pushed me away and then you—" his voice cracks and he's shaking but he goes on, "you still chose him."
Heavy tears fall down her face and into her lap where she still doesn't dare meet his gaze as she knows it will certainly break her. He is right. He did show her time and time again that he was there, that he had her back, that she was not alone. She knows she should have let him be there the way he wanted, the way she wanted him to be. Yet she did choose Adam, and she has regretted it from the moment it happened, but it is not something she can simply take back. And Tony's trust is not something she can easily regain.
On the other side of the couch, Tony is staring directly at Ziva, silently begging for answers. His body is shaking and his heart racing from the rage and hurt and heartbreak from the betrayal of their…friendship? Not friendship, it was more than friendship, but it wasn't something easily categorized. All he knew was that it was them, but different from them a year ago. It was the post-elevator them, and Ziva had broken the unspoken boundaries of the post-elevator them. He takes a deep breath, trying to calm himself to whatever extent possible because he's pretty sure the rapid beating of his heart isn't too good for him health wise. "Ziva." He says sternly and matter-of-factly. "Why?"
Still she doesn't respond, just shakes her head and he's pretty sure her shoulders slump over slightly more. He doesn't like seeing her this way, but at the same time he needs to know. This isn't something he can just sweep under the rug and forget about. Plus, she's the one who came over to his place, so she obviously wants to talk, making it even more frustrating that she's not.
"What can he give you that I can't? Why? Why—" again, his breathing shakes as he prepares to ask the question that's been rattling in his brain for years. "Why am I not enough?"
That garners a reaction. Her head immediately swings up and looks directly into his face. He sees the puffy, red eyes, tear stained cheeks, and quivering lip. He knows she doesn't break easily, especially in the company of others, and every part of him wants to close the space between them and hold her. But he doesn't. He needs answers and if she can't give them to him, he can't keep doing this, throwing all that he has at someone who does not reciprocate whatever this feeling is.
"Tony," she says so softly he barely hears her. "You are more than enough."
She says it so sincerely and directly that a small part of his anger melts away to make room for the massive amount of relief flooding his body. "You are more than I deserve." She says before a choked sob she has been holding back the last twelve hours escapes her throat and inundates the otherwise silent room. Tony feels a painful twinge in his chest at the sound, but still he does not move from his position on the couch, wanting her to continue. He does, however, let his own tears fall down his face in contrastingly silent streams. He has to look away from her now, for the first time since they started this conversation, because now it is him who cannot bear to watch her. He tilts his head to the ceiling, willing the strength he had just possessed to come back.
When Ziva reaches a point where she can talk without her words being engulfed by her cries, she continues, desperately trying to win Tony's trust back. "Tony, I—I was scared. I was scared of losing you. I have lost so many people that I let in. Tali, Ari, Michael, my father. I—I care about you. So much. And I am terrified that I will destroy you, too." Her voice collapses on the last word, seemingly losing her ability to keep talking. After a few seconds she resumes, "I know that I am not alone. I know that you will always have my back, but…I felt that this was—" She struggles to find the words, her eyes searching the room as if the answer was hidden somewhere around them. "different." She settles her eyes on his. The weight of the word is not lost on him. Both had stopped their tears at this point, but were still on the verge of breaking down again at any moment.
"It is different, Zi. But I thought that we were different, that we were changing." It was a statement, but with the possibility of a question mark at the end if she disagreed.
"Yes. Yes, we are changing." She admits, both to herself and Tony. Of course she knew they were changing, but it had been a realization she tried not to think too much about in case it was ruined like they were ruined so many times before. In the spirit of admitting things, she adds, "I was weak." An admission she probably has not made more than three times in her life. "I felt so detached. I wanted to feel…something. Anything. You were not there and Adam was." It was blunt, to the point, and another blow to Tony.
"But I wanted to be." He confessed yet again.
"I know." She responded lightly, as if she were ashamed of the words flowing from her lips.
"If I was there? What would you have done?" He asks, just as straight-forwardly as she had done previously. He wasn't sure what he wanted the answer to be, but he wanted to know nevertheless.
"I—" She cuts herself off, considering the answer, seemingly searching for it in Tony's eyes. And once again the tears start to fall, only a few this time, but enough to make her feel physically exposed in addition to the emotional vulnerability this night was composed of. "I do not know exactly what I would have wanted in that scenario. But, I would not have gone to Adam."
He was relieved at her confession, nodding briefly before turning away, towards the TV. He rested his elbows on his knees and held his face in his hands, trying to let everything that had just been said sink in while she waited anxiously for his next move.
She swirled the now warm beer around in the bottle, focusing on the tiny whirlpool controlled by her hand rather than looking up at the wreckage around her. When she hears him loudly sigh, she lifts her head. He stares straight forward as he says, "What about now? Will you let me be there for you now?" He turns his head to face her and sees the corners of her mouth twitch slightly upward.
"Yes. If you still want to." She replies, not wanting to assume he has forgiven her.
He nods and shifts his gaze towards the floor before scooting himself over on the couch so that he is now mere inches from her. Ziva was not expecting the sudden movement and was a little taken aback, but happy that he was closer to her. Tony lifts his head to meet her eyes, and then alters his position so he is facing her, his right leg is sitting on the couch, bent almost underneath of him, while his left is resting on the floor. His hand reaches for hers in her lap and she opens her palm, thinking back to the car ride home from Berlin. His other hand moves to cup her right cheek, softly brushing away the remaining tears with his thumb. She leans her head into the touch, so relieved that he does not seem to hate her.
"Ziva," he starts, "I'm scared, too. But I want…" he stumbled over the words, hesitant to be too honest. They have been dancing around the truth for so many years, it seemed daunting to start now. Yet, he decides to say what he really means, "I want you more than I'm scared."
"So do I." She says gently, not knowing exactly what she's committing to, but knowing that if it's with Tony, she wants it.
They hold their eye contact for a few moments more, not wanting to fracture the sanctity of this moment. Never had they been this open and vulnerable with each other. In fact, Tony doesn't think he's ever divulged as much of himself to anyone the way he has with Ziva. It was wonderful. He used to dream that she would talk to him like this, and while he wishes it was under better circumstances, it's at least a start, an opening for more conversations like this, minus the betrayal part.
Despite wanting to know more, Tony decides they have done enough soul bearing for one night. He pulls her into him, enveloping her body with his arms, the hand on her check moving onto the back of her head and the other wrapping around her waist. Ziva buries her head into his chest and wraps her arms around his neck, gladly accepting the embrace because, frankly, she didn't know how much more talking she could do tonight. She was tired and sorrowful and desperately needing to feel close to Tony again, feel as if she hadn't completely ruined everything between them.
She inhales the smell of his shirt as he gently runs his fingers through her hair. It was amazing how he could comfort her so confidently despite everything she had done to him. She really did not deserve his affection and trust in the way he so readily gave her, but she also decided she was not going to resist it anymore. If he wants to take their friendship, partnership, whatever kind of ship it was, further, then she was going to try and reciprocate that.
It may have been seconds later, it may have been minutes or hours, he didn't really know, he pulled back. Moving his hands to hold her face, staring at her from mere inches away before leaning in, placing his lips on her forehead. He didn't want to push their relationship any further tonight, afraid of how fragile it was right now, but confident that it would be built back up again soon. When his gaze returns to her face, he detects a soft smile, barely visible on her mouth but undoubtedly glistening in her eyes. He returns her faint smile, letting her know that they were going to be okay.
"I should go. I have to finish up the background on Parsons for tomorrow." She says, recognizing that it would be best if the night ended here, before it got out of hand and harmed the progress made tonight.
"Yeah, yeah okay." Tony agrees.
She stands to leave and he follows suit, walking her to the door. "We're going to get him, Ziva." He adds, "He's not going to get away with this."
She looks at him, her expression filled with tenderness and warmth. "I know," she whispers, patting his chest right above his heart a couple times before stepping back, going towards the door.
"Goodnight, Tony." She says before leaving the apartment.