Having someone else in her living quarters usually set her on edge; she was typically unable to sleep fully, on alert at every noise, and defensive about everything she did.
But knowing the other person in her home was Tony, somehow caused those fears to disappear. They had a level of comfort with each other that, in spite of their recent rift, still had her feeling protected in his presence.
Even when that presence snored. Loudly.
It was the lack of that snore that let her know he had finally roused from his nap.
She was curled in her bed, the white and cerulean blue quilt that had been a Welcome Home gift from Ducky, pulled up to her waist. Her knees were bent slightly, the book she was reading propped open against them.
Her eyes flicked up to her doorway, finding him leaning against the frame, obviously still sleepy. She couldn't help but grin at his bedraggled appearance. His hair was sticking up slightly and his boxers had slid lower on his hips.
"Did you rest well?"
He nodded. "Should prolly head home or I'll fall back asleep and not move until morning," he replied, yawning as he spoke.
She merely cocked her head at him.
"Thanks for the loan of your sofa. And Shower. Girly soap and all."
She chuckled and returned to her book. "Your clothes are right there," she said, motioning to the arm chair next to the empty side of her bed.
His clothes, were neatly folded on the chair, a laundry basket filled with her own clothes on the floor beside it.
"Thanks," he said as he approached the chair. He looked down at her delicates in the basket and couldn't help but swallow. "Did you wash my clothes with yours?" he eeked out.
"The laundry detergent does not smell 'girly,' Tony. I believe your clothes are safe," she replied.
"That's not – I mean, Ziva, that's kinda an…" he searched for the right word, unable to come up with anything less clinical. "intimate thing, isn't it?"
She snickered. "Tony, it is not as if I was wearing them while they got washed. It is just laundry."
"But-"
She sighed. "Tony, next time I do your laundry I will be sure that my bras and panties do not touch them. I am sorry that you are so afraid of my coobies," she was clearly exasperated at his reaction to what she thought of as helpful.
"Cooties," he corrected without thinking and then chuckled, realizing he hadn't heard that particular word in many years. "And I don't think you have cooties," he replied.
"Then what is the problem?"
"Nothing," he replied, realizing he was truly being an idiot. He scooped up his clothes and moved towards the bathroom.
Ziva sighed, closing her eyes and slipping a bookmark into her book before closing it. "Tony," she said, causing him to stop and turn. She took a steadying breath, knowing that this awkward tension caused by laundry was not a good tone to part on.
"Thank you," she said sincerely. "For coming here tonight."
He shook his head, moving back towards the bed. He sat on the edge which was clearly not 'her side'. "No – I'm so sorry I missed it," he said, his tone soft, but his eye meeting hers and showing his sincerity. He didn't have to speak the words for her to know what he meant when he spoke; missing her citizenship ceremony would be a raw spot for him.
"I know you are," she said. "But you would not be who you are, if you were not willing to do everything possible to protect your friends."
"But its times like these that I wish I was the guy who could tell Vance No."
"If that is who you were-" she paused and sighed. "Tony, the reason you are the man you are is because you go to the end of the world for those you care about. You do the stupidest things and put yourself at risk just to do the right thing. I have met many people in my life – but people like you are rare."
He dropped his gaze to the quilt, not used to taking praise from anyone, especially her.
"I do not tell you that enough, do I?" she asked softly, twisting and setting the book on the nightstand before shifting up on her knees closer to him.
She hooked a finger under his chin, and pulled his gaze to her.
"I do not tell you that enough, do I?" she asked again, her voice a bit softer, but her words just as intense.
He chuckled slightly, in the self-depreciating way that he had. "You don't have to tell –"
She placed a finger over his lips, cutting off the words she knew held no truth. "We all deserve to know how we touch the lives around us," she said, more profound than she usually allowed herself to be. "You especially."
"Why 'me especially'?" he asked.
She smirked. "Because you are the first to see the good in others and the last to see the good in yourself."
Ziva let out a breath she didn't realize she had been holding. She leaned forward and very gently traced her lips across his in a ghost of a kiss.
"I see the good," she said softly, pulling away. "I have experienced the good in you. I just wish you could see it, too."
He blinked at her, not having expected the kind words nor the kiss. And he wasn't sure which was more surprising.
"I-"
She shook her head at him. "Do not feel as if you have to go home for my sake," she said, moving back towards her previous position on the bed. "You are welcome to stay and catch up on your sleep," she deftly motioned to the empty side of the bed. She reached for her book again, opening back up to the marked page.
She kept her eyes firmly planted on the page, not able to truly absorb the words.
She waited for him to move towards the bathroom and redress. She waited for him to walk with purpose to the front door. She waited for the flinch of rejection that would come when the door clicked closed behind him.
While she was offering nothing more than a bed and pillow, she was baring a part of herself that he knew she never shared.
The bed shifted and she stilled herself for the cut she expected to come.
When the blankets tugged and the mattress dipped under his weight, she felt the quick rapid fire staccato of her heart beat come and leave quickly in the only expression of nerves that she allowed herself. For it was the only expression of nerves that he couldn't see.
She flicked her eyes over the same paragraph for the sixth time before a hand obstructed her view. He gently pulled the book from her lap and reached across her, setting it on the night stand.
"Tony-"
He flicked his fingers over the lamp switch, plunging the room into that shade of darkness that was only caused by moonlight through curtains.
"You're exhausted, too," he said, his voice raspy with sleep. "Even ninjas get sleepy."
She felt him move back out of her personal space to 'his' side of the bed. He slid down the bed, resting his head on the pillow and letting out a small grateful sigh of contentment.
Ziva couldn't keep the small grin off her features and she didn't truly fight it, knowing he couldn't see it in the dark anyway. She slid down into the covers, resting her own head on the pillow.
He reached his hand out, finding hers in the dark as if their fingers had magnets. He tugged gently, pulling her onto her side so they were face-to-face, though what seemed like miles of mattress still separated them.
"Sometimes I see it," he said, his voice barely a whisper. When she didn't reply, he continued, squeezing her fingers. "But it's only because I look at you and I get a reminder."
"Tony-" she started again.
"You remind me to be a better person," he said softly.
She closed her eyes and willed herself not to tear up. She tightened her fingers against his, squeezing tightly. "You do not need a reminder. You do what you do because your heart tells you to."
"That's what I said," he said quickly and smiling slightly when he heard her breath catch as she processed his words.
I am his heart? She couldn't fathom the depth of his statement and she was too cautious to allow herself to try.
She squeezed his fingers again, her thumb tracing his knuckles gently. "You know," she paused and cleared her throat. "You may not have been my first American hug. But you were my first American kiss. And I think that is more important, don't you?"
"Yeah, sweetcheeks," he said, knowing the grin was evident in his tone. "It's definitely more important."