The first place he goes is Ziva's room. There is not much thinking involved in this; his feet automatically carry him in that direction. It's already six in the evening but he has yet to speak to her today, since he left with Gibbs right after they finished in the cafeteria. He wants to check on her and make sure she's okay, but also, he has to know whether or not she remembers their conversation from last night.

If she does, he is terrified and exhilarated and somewhat lost about where they go from here… and if she doesn't, she is back to believing that he lied to her in Somalia (which he still can't get his mind around- did he not sound sincere? Did she forget that he had been given truth serum?).

No matter the fears associated with it, Tony is hoping for the former so bad it almost hurts.

He stands outside her door and doesn't hear any voices inside, but he knocks anyway. She calls for him to come in; he does, and finds her sitting up with a tray of food in her lap. Her IV and heart monitor are gone, her face has been cleaned, and her hair appears to be damp and brushed out.

"They fix you up with a luxury bath?" he asks with a small smile.

Ziva unwraps a plastic spork with her teeth. "I would not call it 'luxury', but it did feel nice."

He tries to remember the last time he showered, then realizes he can't, and that he hasn't changed clothes in over a day. Pulling his trusty chair up to the side of her bed and sinking into it, he says, "Do you think they let visitors take baths?"

"I was wondering the same thing," she replies, taking a bite of vanilla pudding. "You are smelling a bit… ripe is the word, yes?"

Tony's jaw drops in mock outrage, though he is afraid there is truth in her claim. "Ripe?"

She makes a big show of leaning over, pushing her nose into his shoulder, and inhaling deeply. A mass of dark hair is in his face and the smell of hospital shampoo is assaulting his nostrils. "Yes," Ziva says, her lips moving against his shirt. "I would at least consider some deodorant."

"Alright, I got it," he says, gently pushing her back. "I'll go home and work on my hygiene tonight, after you and McGee go to sleep."

"I went to see him and Abby today."

"They let you out of here?"

"No. When they decided to take all the wires off, there was nothing keeping me in bed." She shrugs and ignores his eye roll. "You were correct about McGee getting the worst of it. He was in pain; Abby kept pushing the morphine button until a nurse told her to stop."

The mental image of the world's happiest Goth being chastised by a middle-aged woman in scrubs makes him laugh- and then his laugh cuts off suddenly, because her wording has registered in his mind: you were correct.

She remembers.

Something in his face must have changed, because she is looking at him strangely. "What's wrong?" she asks seriously, not understanding that something is actually very right.

"Nothing," Tony replies. At her skeptical expression, he insists, "Nothing. Come on. Eat." He watches as she obeys. Once she has finished, the hand not bound by a sling lays limply beside her, and he takes it. There is no resistance, not even a surprised glance, and now he knows for certain: she does remember that line they crossed last night, that for now, at least, they are on the same page. They know where they stand with each other. Neither one of them is a chapter ahead or behind.

The full implications of this remain to be seen, but today… today, it means he gets to hold her hand.

"Where were you and Gibbs? Abby said you left to meet him this morning and never came back to McGee's room."

With a slight pang in his stomach, he makes a mental note to drop back in before he leaves tonight. Gibbs might have told them about Dearing, but probably just assumed Tony would. He should call Palmer, too.

It's unsettling having to be everybody's news source. Usually, they're working right alongside him, whether in the field or the lab, and they are all up to speed. Right now, Tony is the liaison between Gibbs and his coworkers, something he has never had to be before.

He also appears to be failing at it, if Gibbs' anger is any indication.

"We took down Dearing," he says, and watches Ziva's eyes widen.

"What? So quickly?"

Of course he explains what happened, how Dearing had turned himself in, how it had turned out not to be a trap after all, how it had only taken one anticlimactic shot. He purposely leaves out the fact that he was on outside surveillance when it happened, because then she would know that Gibbs is pissed at him, and then she would want to know why, and he would rather she didn't.

While he is speaking, Ziva looks down at her lap. Even though he cannot see her face, he knows she is listening intently. The muscles in her shoulders tighten a little more with each word he utters, and when he is done, she is quiet. Tense.

Two more long seconds of silence pass before she swallows audibly. "That man is a monster," she says shakily. "Just as I said. There is always another one."

Resting his free hand on the back of her neck, he maneuvers his head so that he can look into her eyes, which have suddenly turned empty. "Was," he corrects gently. "He was a monster. He's gone now. He's gone, and we're not. We won, Ziva."

"Look around, Tony," she says, not harshly- just matter-of-factly. "Look at where we are. Harper Dearing got what he wanted."

And yes, Tony has to admit that much is true. People have died; the Navy Yard is a wasteland. The terrorist wreaked havoc and left them to clean up the mess.

But the mess will get cleaned up, and they will recover. Of this, he is certain.

Just as he is about to tell her this, her head snaps up, and those empty eyes have turned wild. They are drilling right into his. "I want out of here."

"What? You haven't been cleared."

"I don't care," she hisses, picking up her mostly full tray and putting it on the bedside table. She then attempts to swing her legs over the side of the bed, but he holds them down. "He put me here. I will not remain where he dictated I go."

"Zi-"

"Tony."

The intensity in her voice forces his list of reasons why this is a bad idea to fly right out of his head. All he sees are that her eyes have shifted yet again- now they are the sad, broken eyes that hurt him so much.

It seems as if all the strength has been zapped from her as she sinks back into the pillows and takes her hand from his so she can lift it to her face. Huddled up in the bed and swimming in her oversized hospital gown, her shoulders begin to shake, and Tony finds himself carefully enveloping her in his arms.

0000000000

The nurse won't give Tony the discharge papers without first asking a billion questions, then using the answers to determine that he needs a long lecture on how to take care of Ziva. He has decided to take her to his place- it isn't essential that she stay in the hospital, but it would also be hard for her to be home alone and unassisted- so he does need the information. However, he did understand how many antibiotics she is supposed to take a day the first time he was told.

Once the lesson is over and the papers are signed, the nurse goes to prepare Ziva for her departure. Tony says that he will come meet them in a minute, then heads toward McGee's room. On the way, it occurs to him that he is disobeying orders (again) by bringing Ziva to his apartment, but he can't just leave her here. He'll have to take his chances with Gibbs.

He discovers that both Abby and McGee have fallen asleep, and he doesn't blame either of them- one is injured, one was likely up most of last night. Only briefly does he entertain the idea of waking Abby; in the end, he grabs a pad of paper and a pen and scrawls a quick message: Ziva's being discharged. Taking her home with me. Call me when you can, Abs.

When he finishes, signing AD JR. with a flourish at the bottom, he sets it down on McGee's bedside table. There is a soft snore that almost sounds like a response, although he can't figure out who it comes from.

Alright! Here's that! This story is about to pick up speed, so stay tuned!

Thanks so much for continuing to read this story! It means a lot to me!