Berlin Confessions
A/N: Just something that began banging around in my head after watching "Berlin" with Ziva's bittersweet memories of her father. Could have happened.
Tony was woken out of his light doze by the sound of sniffling. It took him a moment to come to remember where he was and who he was with. He was in Berlin and he was with Ziva and Ziva was...crying? That rocked him back quite a bit. She had only cried a couple of times in the eight years they had known each other. What got her now?
He rolled over to see her back facing him. It was shaking. He reached out a gentle hand and placed it on her shoulder. She stiffened and silenced her small sounds immediately. "What's wrong? Talk to me."
Her voice was thick with tears when she answered. "I am fine, Tony."
He wasn't buying it at all. "Ziva, we're going into what could possibly be a dangerous op tonight and you need to be honest with me. Is it your hip? Because I noticed you'd been favoring your left hip since we got off the plane. How bad does it hurt?"
In part, Ziva was found out, only in part. "It hurts. One of Saleem's leftover gifts. He fractured it. It never healed right. Now it hurts if I sit too long, or it rains."
Tony took the pillow from under his head. "It rains a lot in D.C. Place this between your knees and that should help." He was surprised that she accepted his help. It must hurt more than she was letting on. "But that wouldn't make you cry, Ziva and I know you were; you still are. Talk to me."
Ziva was silent for a long while before speaking. "It's overwhelming, Tony. I keep thinking about my father and how he was when I was growing up and the man he finally was. He was still my father, but not. In many ways, he was a man I no longer knew. But I remember so many things from my childhood. I remember so many loving things. He taught me to throw a baseball, did you know that? He taught me to cook, not my Ima, he did. 'Ziva, if I teach you nothing else in this life, I will teach you this: do not eat garbage, do not drink garbage and for God's sake, do not cook garbage'. He taught me to shoot my first gun. And then I think of the man I argued with, who sent me after Ari, who made me into a cold, heartless killer and who sent me on a suicide mission, his own child, his last child, and sent no one to find if I lived or died when I failed to check in. And then I cycle back to the papa that pushed me on the backyard swing for hours at a time. I do not know if I am mourning him or hating him. I just do not know anymore," Ziva said, her voice cracking as she began to cry again. This time she didn't hide it from Tony.
Tony had to do something to try and comfort her, even if she'd whack him good for trying. He scooted over on the bed and gently spooned her, his left arm sliding tenderly around her waist. Instead of pulling away or doing him bodily harm, he felt her lean back into him, curling her left arm over his and holding it tight, obviously taking comfort from his touch. She began to cry harder. He kissed her head and rested his head next to hers on the pillow. "Let it out, sweetie. I've got you."