Several of you posted really thoughtful comments – THANK YOU! I hope most of you can see some of what you liked and/or your suggestions in this next chapter.

Previously…After finding out that Ziva would likely be suspended after skipping her appointment with the department shrink, McGee steps up to the plate while Tony's with Gibbs and brings Ziva to her appointment. Ziva opens up slightly, and after finishing the session runs into Tony. He tries to get her to stay for dinner, but she declines.

This chapter takes place later in the day, where you'll see that Ziva has….reconsidered.

Chapter 7

Today had been….rough, thought Ziva, as she balanced Chinese takeout in one hand and a stack of movies in another. She felt uneasy about opening up her seeping wounds to Dr. Nicholas. She felt uncertain about her future at NCIS, sure that she'd be yanked out of the field, fearing suspension.

And tonight she needed….well, she needed a distraction. She needed to escape the visions of a dark cell, the feel of fists on her body. She needed to connect with something that felt solid, safe, familiar.

And so she was here. Sliding through the building's well lit halls, she stopped when she reached his door. Lacking an extra hand to knock, she gave the door a few swift kicks before it swung open.

"Ziva!" Tony exclaimed, surprised to see her standing on his doorstep. Even more surprised to see a familiar smile, and if he wasn't imagining things, even a twinkle in her eye.

She held out the Chinese and movies. Solid, safe, familiar. It overwhelmed her and she spoke with a smile. "May I come in?"

He grinned, "That depends. What do ya have in mind?"

"Plenty," she grinned mischievously, pushing past him into the apartment. She emptied her hands, turning to him as she studied his apartment. "I'm not…interrupting anything, am I?"

"Just a little wine, a little Sinatra, and a little bit of victims four, five and six," he indicated toward the open files. "So nope, I much prefer this."

She gave a relaxed smile, trying to sound as nonchalant as possible. "Good. I thought, perhaps….we could eat dinner…unless you did indeed eat at the office. Maybe watch a movie. I brought a few that I had lying around and…"

He had to hide his smile. Ziva in his apartment. Ziva eating. Ziva joking and rambling. "Only if I get to pick…let's see what you brought here," he said, going over to examine her movie selections. "You know, taste in movies really says a lot about a person's character."

"Hmmm…" she murmured, as she began flipping through the open case files. He reached over her and flipped them closed. "Let's forget about work for one night."

She held up her hands in a mock surrender. "All right, Tony."

He pretended to sift through the movies for a moment, watching her pull lo-mein, fried rice, a meat dish of some sort and soup out of the bag. He was having a hard time digesting Ziva's presence. What happened hours ago seemed like forever; Ziva having flashbacks, a panic attack. What was happening now seemed to reenact pre-Somalia days.

What was tonight? Why was she at his doorstep all smiles and flirtatious jokes? Was it an act? To convince him that she was all right? No, Tony thought. This seems too genuine. And even if she is pretending, still hurting underneath, she's at least making an effort, eating, too. That has to count for something, right?

He grabbed the movie – Pulp Fiction – and followed her with the food into the living room.

…..

Ziva turned toward Tony, seated next to her on the sofa, watching him watch the movie. Normally, she would twist his arm for adding sound effects and citing lines along with the characters. But today…today she was grateful for Tony's discretion. For allowing her to be, without treating her like splintering glass.

She watched as he softly mouthed the words along with Samuel L. Jackson, "You, flock of seagulls, you know why we're here? Why don't you tell my man Vincent where you got the shit hid at?"

She really needed tonight. For the past hour she had forgotten about everything. She felt human again. But now, her thoughts started to drift back to Somalia. She thought about the first time her clothes were torn off and she was violated. It had been by Saleem, but it certainly wasn't the last time he or his men raped her.

NO! Exploded in her head. Stop thinking about it….

"Tony…" she leaned toward him, placing a hand on his chest, angling for the one distraction that she was sure would overpower her memories of torture and rape. The one distraction that would prove that she was indeed, not broken. He turned to look at her. "Ziva this is the best part…"

She kissed him. Just like that. And he responded, slipping his tongue inside her mouth as a soft moan escaped her throat. She felt her insides heat and flutter, and she melted just a little as his thumb began to move in delicate circles on the back of her neck.

In a second she was on top of him, her legs straddling his hips, pressing against his hard on. God, she thought, it feels so good to…feel. Her hands ran up his stomach, underneath his shirt, just briefly before moving to his jeans.

She hadn't been with anyone since Somalia, and she needed to know that she could still…

…..

Tony moaned as she pressed her center against him, grabbing fistfuls of dark curly hair, wondering what she would look like and taste like down south.

As they continued to kiss, tongues darting in and out in a hurried, passionate dance, he felt her move to his belt buckle. Her pace quickened and she began to breathe harder, her fingers working quickly to undo his jeans.

"Tony," she began, "Do you have a…"

And then it hit him. This was going too fast, too far.

"Ziva, stop." He circled one hand around each of her tiny wrists, breaking their kiss. "We can't do this."

It was as if someone had slapped her. She struggled to break free of Tony, shamed to realize that she didn't have the strength.

"It's not that I don't want this. You know I do." He looked deep into her eyes, searching for what she was thinking, feeling. "We just can't do this…now. I'd be taking advantage of you."

She tried to kiss him, to stop his words, but he held her back. "I won't break, Tony."

Oh, how could he tell her? How could he say the words Ziva, you are breaking. He saw her shoulders slump in front of him, and somehow the dark circles and hollowed cheeks seemed more prominent, more painful.

She lowered her eyes. "It is fine Tony. Let me go." She tugged her wrists, still in his grasp and tried to shift her body off of him.

He held her still. His voice came low. "Ziva, stop running."

And she stopped. How intimate his voice, his touch, it scared her. Yet at the same time, she felt. Something other than pain, something better than what she had thought sex would do.

So still straddling him, she sat motionless on his lap. He released her arms, but cupped her face in his hand and ran a thumb over her lips.

"Talk to me, Z."

Her lips parted slightly, as if she was about to speak. But she stopped herself. The words seemed stuck in her throat; she was afraid they'd come out jumbled. Make her look weak and stupid.

So she slid off his lap, but stayed close, wanting to hold on to this intimacy that Tony offered; this closeness that surprisingly didn't involve sex. Leaning against him, she slowly lowered her face till it was touching his chest, placing one hand awkwardly on his hip.

He knew this was hard for her. If not opening up verbally, opening herself up emotionally. She felt stiff against him, as if she was prepared to flee or fight at any moment.

But he just let her…..be. He stroked her hair and gradually, he felt her relax, sinking into him. No longer on edge. They sat like this for awhile, the movie still playing in the background but neither paying attention, both deep in thought. Eventually Tony noticed that she hadn't eaten as much as she normally would. He leaned forward and she shifted with him, as he picked up the lo mein and chopsticks.

Her head still on his chest, she looked up at him as he caught a bunch of noodles and lowered them to her mouth.

"Here, Z," he whispered. "You need to eat more."

Her whole body pulsed as she opened her mouth, taking the noodles he fed her. Again, he brought another bite to her lips.

As she chewed, he felt her start to shift, and he feared that he had crossed the line, that she was uncomfortable or intimidated or leaving.

But she only sat up, curling her legs against him. Their eyes stayed locked as he continued to feed her, until she finally held her hand up, surrendering to fullness.

And she curled into him again, becoming more comfortable with the idea of being held, of trusting Tony's arms. As he continued to rub her back, stroke her hair, he wondered what tomorrow would bring. Would Ziva take care of herself, would she joke and flirt and function? Or would she once again panic, have flashbacks?

Honestly, Tony didn't know. And it scared him. But he knew right now that he held her; was holding her as tight as he could so that she wouldn't, couldn't fall. He knew that while he was feeding her, peace and trust radiated from her face. And he knew that he was in love with her.

And they continued to sit, together on the couch, one leaning on the other. The movie ended and the screen turned black, darkening the half lit room.

And they fell asleep.

….