A/N: This was originally 2 chapters, but I didn't want to go too fast, so it's now been split into two. This chapter was kind of upsetting to write, but you will be okay with the ending of the next chapter, and the story itself (which will continue for two or three more chapters). Enjoy, I don't own anything.

By the time Ziva arrived home, she'd had enough of NCIS to last a life time. Between Charlee complaining about his FBI team being taken off the case (by Gibbs personally) and Tony's refusal to talk to her, she'd simply wanted to go home and shut out the world. This, however, seemed to be an impossible thought.

Though it was pouring rain when she'd left NCIS, she heard no rain now. As she put her bag down carefully on a small end table by the door, and reluctantly allowed Charlee to follow her in, Ziva allowed herself to review the day.

Get to work. Kiss Char to make Tony jealous. Have Gibbs get pissed, etc. Paperwork. Listen to Charlee insult Tony with no reply, but pay only a little attention. Paperwork. Lunch. Research, paperwork. Listen to Charlee complain about Gibbs, about Tony, about Ducky and McGee and Abby and Palmer. Research.

Listen to the rain pound on the window outside, and finally get up to leave, realizing I have no jacket. Stare at Tony for a second and see him reach for his jacket and then seemingly change his mind. Ride down the elevator with Charlee (still complaining) behind me. Have him not offer me his jacket, which is okay, and have him follow me home in his car. Be forced to let him in. And now I'm here.

Her tired eyes drooped as she made her way over to the couch, listening for a 'click' to signify that Charlee was officially in her house and had closed the door. It sounded only a few seconds after she'd begun to walk away. His bag fell to the floor with a thunk somewhere behind her, and the sound of his footsteps alerted her to his following her exact trail towards the living room.

Later, she'd wish she hadn't let him in at all.

Thankfully, it wasn't far to walk.

Ziva's feet felt like iron weights. She pushed herself to believe that this was the strain of work, but if it hadn't been for Charlee's insults and Tony's silent treatment, she probably wouldn't be tired and feeling like one of the dead bodies on Ducky's autopsy table. She was so lucky she'd never been a body on anyone's table, that was for sure; alive and well as she was now.

Mossad training, Mossad itself, NCIS and Somalia. All posed new challenges that had nearly gotten her killed each time. She forced herself to think about something other than the last three options. All were somehow connected with Tony.

Still. She'd pushed herself the last few months to reach a physical level she'd never made before, but her aching bones always reminded her that nutrition was just as good as training, that her body had limits. It was hard to admit it, but even now, she was not as strong nor as fast as Ziva David before Somalia.

The Israeli woman allowed herself to fall onto the couch into a relatively comfortable position, allowing some room for her 'boyfriend' (lover was far too strong, but even boyfriend felt like too much right now. Fling?) to sit beside her feet. Right now, she was unsure as to what there was for her to do. Sitting was simply too much.

Charlee smiled at her, that smile that made her ache inside and think of Tony, and she instantly wished he'd stop. "Hey, baby, mind moving over a bit for Daddy?"

Daddy. Baby. She shuddered and drew in a deep breath to control her frustration with such words used in association with her, with him. "Alright."

Her feet drew back only a little bit and he sat down, taking what he could. "Are we going to finish what we started earlier?"

"Earlier?" Ziva questioned, staring at him with confused eyes. Then it hit her. He wanted to continue the fake kiss she'd started earlier. The one where his hands automatically went up her shirt.

"Yeah," he purred, leaning dangerously close to her face.

"I… Charlee, I believe I am far too tired," she tried but his smile just broadened.

"Oh, come on," came the plea. "Some physical activity is good for you."

"I said no," she growled in reply, swatting his wandering hand away. "I have had a long day, Charlee."

"Excuse me?" he asked, and she instantly saw a change in him. Fear flickered in her eyes despite herself as she watched him stand and glare at her. "Excuse me? Did you just say no? Well, for your information, no one says no to me."

"I believe I just did."

Later, she'd wish she just kept her mouth shut.

He was angry. She could tell that, and now more than ever she wished that she'd pushed herself harder if possible to get her strength all the way back. His arms shot out suddenly and gripped hers hard against her chest. Fear flickered in her eyes again. He seemed to enjoy it, smiling even broader if possible.

Later, she'd wish she'd seen this coming earlier.

She fought him, but could not move from under his weight. He flipped her onto her stomach and held her hands against her back with one hand, reaching for a rope with the other. "Ziva, Ziva, Ziva," he purred as he tied a tight knot too far up her wrist.

"Damn you," she growled, attempting to kick out but finding no escape. He flipped her back over and wrenched her off the couch, pushing her into a wall. Behind her back, Ziva's hands tried desperately to reach the phone in her pocket.

He winked at her and tied her feet together, as to keep her from trying to kick again.

"I thought you were FBI," she spat at him.

He grinned again. "No agency's perfect. Nobody can resist me anyway. It's not like I get denied much anyway. The women who do, though, get pretty much the same treatment as you."

Her hands slipped into her pocket finally and she flipped the phone open, glad it was on silent. The time she'd spent with Gibbs had allowed her to memorize the position of the numbers without looking, in case of emergency. And as he begins to force her shirt over her head, she hits two buttons.

Number one. And call. Tony's speed dial.

She prays that he'll pick up soon, but after a while the phone vibrates in her pocket to let her know that he hasn't. She's afraid, in spite of herself, of the man in front of her who's still trying to figure out the shirt. Ziva's hands dig out the phone again and she dials Tony. She's forced to put the phone in her pocket so that Charlee doesn't see it, but she lets the part that takes in sound (she'd never learned the name for it) peek out over the top of the pocket so he could hear everything.

"Come on, Ziva," Charlee murmured, "You know you can't resist me."

Her shirt was off now, and it only took moments for his to be discarded too.

There's still fear in her eyes.