I started working on a scene from Jack Knife, but then I thought maybe Tony would like to have a POV regarding the scene in the warehouse. I see Ziva as very stoic and it seems logical that she would down play everything. I'm letting Tony feel in the gaps a little. I think I might have used a bad word or two.

Disclaimer: Not mine, but I wish they were.

Tag to Masquerade 7 x 14

Spoilers for Season 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. That look that softened her features. Showed her vulnerability. Maybe a plea for understanding. Whatever it was, I felt it in my gut. And right now, my gut feels a little like I had some bad sushi for lunch.

Back to work she went. Just like that. Just like she hadn't brought up a topic the entire team had been avoiding like a land mine for months. Just like she hadn't spent the summer in a terrorist camp enduring God knows what. Well, Ziva has always been good at getting the job done. No matter what.

We processed the scene. Bagged the evidence. Snapped the required photos. I stole a glance at her every so often. She concentrated very, very hard on not noticing. Finally, I just stared at her. Childish, I know, but she's used to it.

Finally, she sighs in exasperation. She looks over at me and gives me that look again. So I went back to work. I could push her, trap her, trick her into spilling her guts. She would talk if I pressed hard enough. I am an interrogator, after all.

The problem, well there are so many problems with this scenario really, but the problem I am most concerned about is the aftermath. Maybe if I hadn't seen her face when they removed the bag from her head. Maybe if I hadn't seen the blank look she wore for the entire journey back to D.C. Maybe if I hadn't seen the scars crisscrossing her back. And maybe, maybe, if I hadn't witnessed the severity of her anguish that night in my apartment, I might be willing to push her.

She had only been home a few weeks when she appeared in my apartment in the middle of the night. Yes, in my apartment not at my apartment. How many times can a lock be picked before my key stops working? Rain had been falling for hours, beating against the panes of my windows. I'm not sure what exactly caused me to wake up. Just a feeling, I guess. I grabbed my gun from the nightstand and silently made my way into the living room.

She was dressed in running clothes drenched from the rain, her hair soaking wet and plastered to her forehead. Her cheeks were flushed and her breathing was labored.

"Ziva?" She dropped to her knees in the middle of my living room. I took a step toward her, but she held a hand up as if to stop me. So I stopped.

"Ziva," I whispered again.

She didn't look at me, but simply said, "I can not run."

"You can't run?" I had asked, confused. Finally, she looked at me with that same haunted, lifeless stare she wore on her face when we rescued her in Somalia.

"My body is too weak."

"But it's two in the morning, Ziva. Why were you running?"

But she didn't answer. She didn't move at all. She just continued staring. It was freaking me out a little.

I slowly moved in her direction and knelt beside her still form. Words started tumbling out her mouth as she tried to explain that her body didn't work any more. I didn't understand most of what she was saying because she switched back and forth between languages. I think she was spewing a mixture of Hebrew, French and English.

I have to admit, she scared the shit out of me. I had briefly considered calling Gibbs, but quickly ruled it out. According to Abby, Gibbs wasn't on Team Ziva, yet. Then I considered calling Ducky. At least he was a doctor. The problem with including anyone else in the drama unfolding in my apartment is that Vance had not yet approved her agent status. This would have been baaaad for the psych eval.

So I did what I do best: I made it up as I went along. I practically carried her into my bedroom. I stripped off her wet clothes and wrapped her in a quilt. I hadn't seen Ziva naked in a very long time. Her body was particularly thin, but what was more disturbing were the scars. All over. Everywhere. I sucked in my breath and before I thought better of it, I reached out and gently traced a scar on her shoulder with my fingertips.

"Oh. My God," I barely whispered. That flipped the switch. She started crying. Heart wrenching sobs that shook her entire body. I scooped her up and climbed into bed with her. Immediately, she curled into a tiny ball. I held her until her sobbing stopped and the shaking started. I didn't let go. Finally, she succumbed to sleep, her breath still ragged as I continued to hold her, trying to make sense of what I had just witnessed.

That was the last and only time we discussed anything regarding Somalia. And by "discussed" I mean, she had a meltdown and I just hung around like an idiot trying to do the right thing but secretly worrying that maybe I should call for back up. Neither of us pretended that the episode at my apartment didn't happen, though. We didn't discuss it but we had a silent understanding. Words spoken in looks and touches. Totally chick flick material, but it's the truth. Some may have chosen a different route, but this was Ziva. She has a way of being able to just keep putting one foot in front of the other until things appear to be normal. She's no Princess Buttercup in need of rescue, but then again, I'm no Wesley.

I glanced at her again. She's staring into space and it scares me a little when she looks like that. Coming up behind her, I gently kiss the side of her neck. It's the only way I know to comfort her. It seems to work. Nora was right. We are a good fit.

"I think that's everything, Ziva."

She nods and gives me a small smile. I smile back. Silent understanding.

We pack the car and she doesn't even try to fight for the keys. I look at her again before starting the car. I could ask her. Push her. She might talk. She might tell me what happened. But I chicken out and start the car.

We drive in companionable silence until she says, "Thank you, Tony. For everything."

Loving Ziva David isn't always easy, but it's worth it.

TBC.

A/N: Just so no one is confused - most of these chapters could stand alone as one-shots, but all of the chapters are based of off dialogue and include the same story arc. For example: I had them behaving romantically in Paris in the first chapter and that story still holds true for the next chapter, et cetera. Just wanted to clarify.

As always thank you for reading. Reviews are always appreciated.