Thanks to all who have read and reviewed. I appreciate all of the kind words!

Disclaimer (which I forgot in the first chapter. OOPS) They do not belong to me and I make no money from writing about them.

Tag to Masquerade 7 x 14

Spoilers for seasons 6 and 7

"I have seen firsthand what happens when convenience wins out."

"You never talk about it."

"What is there to talk about?"

"C'mon, Ziva."

"What Saleem did was bad enough. Becoming like him would be worse."

And there it was. I did not mean to bring it up. Tony was right. Things were not so black and white when splattered with red, especially when the red is my own blood.

We processed the scene. Bagged and tagged. Labeled and categorized. Collected more fingerprints than I cared to count. All the while, we carefully avoided the topic of my time spent as a guest in a terrorist camp in Somalia. I have to hand it to him. He wants to ask, to push me, to tip the balance and disrupt the façade. He wants to know why I have not spoken of it. He is wondering what role he should play if and when I ever do choose to tell him what happened. Friend? Partner? Lover? The problem, more for Tony than me, is that he is not sure he actually wants to know what happened.

It is not that he does not care. He does care. More than is appropriate for a partner. Even a close partner. But then we have not been "just partners" in a very long time. Our relationship is complicated. Or maybe it is just that I am complicated. Loving me can not be easy.

I had focused on the blood. My blood. In pools on the ground. I had imagined processing the scene as an investigator. Collecting data. Seeing myself as a black and white crime scene photo. Then I stared at the stains when the liquid had dried into dark crimson. Day after day, until I could no longer distinguish my blood from the blood I had spilled of others. No matter how many drops of my own blood spilled onto that dirty floor, no matter how many times my skin split open, or how many times burns blistered my skin, it felt justified. When he used my body for his own pleasure it somehow felt justified. Atonement for the blood on my hands. Their blood mingled with my own.

As my captivity stretched into weeks, my sanity became more than a little questionable.

In the end, I did not fight him. I was him in a prettier package. After all, what kind of monster kills her own brother?

The offspring of a man capable of sending his own child on a suicide mission.

Being tied to a chair in a dark dusty room was a most humbling of experiences. I can not begin to describe in detail what happened in that camp. Not even to myself. Not yet.

I feel Tony behind me. He presses a soft kiss on the side of my neck. A soothing touch. It is the only way he really knows how to comfort me. His gift is his patience. He offers me the sweetest side of himself when we are alone. He makes no demands and for that, I am grateful.

I am no stranger to Tony's bedroom, nor he to mine. Both of us having found comfort and relief in the arms of the other in years past. And while there has always been something between us, something we denied after each encounter, it was never like this. Currently, we are more intimate with each other than we have ever been, even sharing a bed, and yet it has been over a year since we have had sex with each other. I just can not face sex, yet. Tony deserves a medal. I hope to eventually be able to make it up to him.

"I think that's everything, Ziva."

I nod and flash him what I hope is a warm smile. He smiles back.

We pack the car and I make no move to fight him for the rights to the driver's seat. He looks at me for a moment before starting the car. I meet his eye. He wants to ask me again, but does not give in to the urge.

He simply nods, gives me smile and starts the car.

For all of our bickering and teasing, Nora was right. We do make a good pair. We might be broken, particularly me, but we are a good fit.

Several minutes pass before I break the comfortable silence.

"Thank you, Tony. For everything."

After all, loving me can not be easy.

TBC.

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A/N: Ok, writing from Ziva's POV was MUCH harder than I anticipated when I started this chapter. I agonized trying to get the tone correct. Hopefully, it worked. Writing in the first person and not using any contractions in very difficult. Hopefully, I didn't miss any. =) As always - thanks for reading!