The sun is shining through the bedroom window when Tony wakes up. He covers his face with an arm, then realizes that it is the phone ringing in his pocket, not the light, that awakened him. It takes his fingers a moment to cooperate, but he eventually manages to lift the phone to his face and mutter, "'Lo?"

"Tony!" yells Abby; he winces and holds the phone away from his ear. "I just woke up and got your note! Ziva's out of here already? Is she with you? Is everything okay?"

"Um, yeah," he says, rubbing his bleary eyes as he swings his legs out of bed. He glances over his shoulder on his way out the door; Ziva is still sleeping soundly. "Yeah, she's here, she's alright. Listen, what are you doing?"

She sighs into the phone. "Calling you like you said to!"

Tony wanders aimlessly around the kitchen, turns on the coffee maker, slowly recalls the news he has to share. "Right. Okay. I just wanted to let you know that Gibbs and I took down Dearing yesterday."

"Really?"

"Yeah."

"Why didn't you tell me before?"

"You were asleep when I came in to tell you."

There is a long silence as she considers whether or not to forgive him. Inevitably, she does. "Well, okay. Should I tell McGee?"

"If you want."

"I will," Abby says, and he's sort of glad that he doesn't have to repeat the news yet again. "Are you going to come back to the hospital today?"

He hesitates, thinking of Gibbs, who he has not heard from since sending the text last night. This does not necessarily mean Gibbs is angry; he has written all of five text messages in his lifetime, and he only calls if there is something to say. Right now, Tony has no idea where he stands with his boss.

Then he thinks of McGee, all those wires connected to him, stuck in a room with Abby while she tries to make him watch soap operas and TLC, and realizes that he is going to the hospital today, and it isn't because he's afraid of Gibbs.

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It is a couple more hours before Ziva wakes up, and by then, Tony is so absorbed in Mean Girls (which he does not own, for the record; it just happens to be on TV) that he doesn't even notice when her snoring ceases. She announces her presence by standing behind the couch, staring at the back of his head, until he turns around and jumps upon seeing her.

"What the hell?" he gasps, refraining from pressing a hand to his chest- he's got to maintain some dignity. "Good morning to you, too."

Ziva smirks and walks to the front of the couch so she can sink down beside him. "Jumpy, Tony?"

He narrows his eyes at her until they land on her shoulder. Abandoning their banter, he skims his fingers across the bandages bulging beneath her t-shirt. "How's it feel?"

"Not bad."

"Want some coffee?"

She considers it, but ends up wrinkling her nose. "Coffee does not sound very good right now." Slouching so that she can comfortably rest her head in the crook of his neck, she asks, "What are we watching?"

"Um." Tony fumbles for the remote as one of the girls in the movie declares that on Wednesdays they wear pink. When he finds the remote, he quickly changes the channel to ESPN. "That was… I wasn't really watching it."

Ziva hums, unconvinced, but doesn't push it.

"So listen," he says, allowing his chin to rest against her hairline. Damn, he likes this… this simple, relaxed act of just being together, occupying the same space and being content with it. "I gotta run up to the hospital, just to check in with McGee. Will you be okay here on your own for a couple hours?"

"I want to come."

"What?" He recalls how just last night, she had been desperate to leave. "Are you sure?"

"Yes." Ziva sits up, and he immediately misses her warmth. "I would like to see Abby and McGee again. This time, I will be going there on my own terms; yesterday, Tony, I just could not… stand to lay in that bed any longer."

Their eyes meet. Tony would rather not take her back there, but he also knows that he cannot keep her from their team- and that if he did try it, she would find some way to get to the hospital herself, even if it meant driving all the way there with one hand.

First they go over to her apartment, where he opens the door with his key because she left hers at his place. Inside, she digs a duffel bag out of the back of her closet and takes all of five minutes to fill it with clothes and toiletries. Tony wanders around with his hands in his pockets, looking at the prints on her walls and inspecting her small (but growing) DVD collection.

"Tony?" she calls, a note of hesitance in her voice. "Could you come here?"

"Yeah." He saunters down the hallway and pokes his head into her bedroom. Ziva is standing inside in a pair of her own pants and the hospital's shorts are abandoned on the ground, but she still wears the hospital's t-shirt. "Did you change with one hand?"

"Yes, but I cannot… get my shirt by myself." Chewing on her lip, she nods at a gray shirt of her own laid out on the bed. "Could you…?"

Unlike last night, she is seriously asking him for help changing. Tony swallows hard, his hand giving a nervous twitch, though he doesn't know why. It shouldn't be a big deal; after all, that undercover operation years ago had left nothing to the imagination when it came to each other's bodies. But that had been a show, and they had barely known each other back then; there was little implication for their relationship because at that time, it had been virtually nonexistent. Now, any intimacy they forge would be on the basis of a strong partnership, and there would be consequences.

Not necessarily bad ones.

But consequences nonetheless.

And really, as he reaches behind her neck to undo her sling, his fingers brushing the nape of her neck, there is no better word to describe it than intimate.

"Keep your arm held up," Tony murmurs, setting the sling on the bed. "Okay… take your good arm and pull it out of the sleeve."

She does as he says. Silence settles over the room, causing their breathing to sound louder than it is while he takes the hem of the shirt and carefully lifts it over her head so that only her shoulder is still covered. The revealed bra is definitely not courtesy of the hospital; it is purple and lacy and-

Stop looking, stop looking, he chastises himself, focusing intently on bunching the shirt up in his hands and carefully working it past her bandages and down her arm. Then it is off, laying on the floor with the shorts, and Ziva is standing in front of him in her pants and the bra. As he turns to grab the new shirt, he finds her staring at him. Their eyes lock on each other.

He isn't sure how it happens or who initiates it; all he knows is that in the next second, their lips are together. They kiss softly, just barely moving their mouths, her skin searing his fingertips as he reaches up to cup her face. But then she puts her good arm around his neck and presses against him and he loses all pretenses of self-control, coaxing her mouth open and meeting her tongue with his. Desperate to be as close to her as possible, Tony moves his arms to wrap them around her, but forgets to be careful- she jerks away a second later, gritting her teeth as she holds onto her shoulder.

"I'm so sorry," he stammers. "You okay?"

"I am fine," she grounds out, swallowing hard. She picks her shirt up off the bed and holds it out to him, avoiding his eyes. "Help me put this on."

Slowly, he does, only touching her bare skin when absolutely necessary. Once the shirt is on, he allows the sling to cradle her arm and fastens it back behind her neck. "Okay," he says nervously. "You're good to go."

Ziva's face is pale. He isn't sure whether it's because of the kiss or the pain.

Could be both.

As she reaches for her duffel bag, he waves her off and picks it up himself. "I got it. Are you ready?"

She nods and waits for him to leave the room first. They walk all the way back to the car with her behind him, and he hates not being able to read her mind.

Thank you for reading; hope you enjoyed!

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