Title: Picking up the Pieces and Filling in the Gaps

Author: ChelseaDaggerCinderella

Summary: Tony and Ziva spend the four months between 'Hiatus' and 'Shalom' strengthening their partnership…and their relationship, but Tony still winds up working undercover for the Director, and Ziva has demons of her own to deal with. Can they come together to make everything alright again?

Disclaimer: I don't own NCIS, although I'd like to. No infringement intended, Mr. Bellisario.

Author's Note:

I want to thank you all for the great reviews and for the Birthday wishes I got—they were wonderful.

So, this chapter we start off in flashback, but by the end of the chapter…you all are going to be very pleased.

Enjoy!

"Are you going to tell me where we are going exactly? Or are you just going to continue leading me around by my toes?"

"It's nose, Ziva, and no, I'm not telling you where we're going. Like I said, it's a surprise."

"Surprises usually only work out for the one doing the surprising, Tony!" Ziva used her free hand to tighten the scarf around her neck before tucking it back into her jacket pocket, wishing in vain, once again, that she had remembered to grab her gloves when Tony dragged her out her front door.

Tony shook his head and shot her a half-smile. "Well then, Zee-vah, you're just going to have a little faith in me, aren't you?" His smile indicated that he was being playful, but something in his tone struck a familiar chord in Ziva who had been actively trying to get Tony to realize that the insecurities he had regarding his ability to be counted on were whole-heartedly unfounded.

Ziva tugged on his hand, pulling him to a stop. His smile faltered for a moment but he recovered quickly, bringing Ziva's two cold hands into his own and attempting to warm them. "Ya know, stopping usually impedes one's ability to get to the surprise."

"Tony—"

"I know, you don't actually want to get to the surprise, so stopping is a good—"

Ziva put her index finger over his lips, effectively cutting off his ability to finish the sentence. "I want you to listen to what I'm about to say and I want you to hear the absolute certainty in my voice it when I do so."

Tony shifted now uncomfortable. "Ziva—"

"I have faith in you, Tony. I have incredible faith in you."

Tony spun, trying to end the sentimental conversation he knew was coming, but Ziva's fingers tightened over his own, even stronger this time. "Ziva—"

She released his hand just long enough put both of them on either side of his face, forcing him to look at her, and more importantly, to listen to her. "As my partner, as my friend, as my…" she gulped and looked at him, unsure as to what to say or how he would react. His eyes were filled with trepidation—his commitment-phobia in full force—but he also had that look that was quintessential Tony; and she wouldn't let his ego flail in the wind in order to avoid the awkwardness of the conversation they'd silently but unanimously decided not to have. So she took a deep breath and kissed him full-on the lips, and then looked him right in the eyes. "As my partner, as my friend, as my lover—there is no one in this world that I trust more, or have more unyielding faith in. Know that, Tony! Know it."

He nodded and brought his gloved hands up to cover her nearly-frozen ones on his face. He gave them a quick pat and then took them in his own. "I know it." He started taking off his gloves.

"Do you?"

He smiled. "I do," he said, sliding his gloves on her hands and holding them close in between their bodies. "I know it; I do." He kissed her sweetly for a few seconds. "And hearing you say it…" She hugged him close and smiled when she felt his arms go around her. He cleared his throat. "Hearing you say it—" means the world, he finished silently.

"I know," she said, hugging him closer. "I know." They kissed again. "Now, where's my surprise?" she said with a wink.

He laughed outright and threw his arm around her shoulders as they made their way down the snowy street. "Well aren't you singing a new tune, Miss David…"

"What can I say?" she asked, putting her head on his shoulder and throwing her arm around his waist. "I trust you…"

"I trust you…"

"I trust you…"

"I trust you…"

"I trust you…"

"I trust you…"

Tony's eyes snapped open as the dull morning sun peaked out from behind his window shades and focused on the clock just a short distance from his face. 5:54am. He'd been waking up right before his alarm a lot these days, his brain over-thinking things throughout the night and forcing him to deal with the realities of his past with Ziva—a past that they'd both thus far avoided talking about. And it's getting harder to avoid the landmines, he thought with regret. He shut off his alarm and swung his legs over the side of the bed, running a hand through his hair, yawning loudly, and stretching his arms out wide. He shook off the sleepiness that permeated his very being and decided to throw himself in the shower.

He'd been dreaming a lot lately—mostly about Ziva, too—which worried him because most of his waking thoughts were spent analyzing his screw up with Jeanne, the Director, and Gibbs. So why is it that I deal with Ziva in my sleep? He leaned his head against the shower wall dismally, unable to answer his own queries, and baffled as to what the last dream meant.

He remembered that night vividly, remembered how happy he was and how happy Ziva had been—and how sure she sounded when she told him that she trusted him. And then I went and broke that trust. Hell, I trampled it, ran it over in a car, and then threw said car into reverse to run over it again—just in case I'd left any single piece of it intact… But that wasn't necessarily true. Tony was concerned about Ziva, mainly because she had a rightful beef with him…and she'd yet to let him have it. In fact, she'd been acting quite contrary to what he expected as well as quite contrary to what he deserved.

She'd picked his sorry ass up in the middle of the night, wiped puke off his face as he purged the alcohol he'd consumed from his system, offered him her bed even though he knew that it made her uncomfortable and weary, drove him to and from work until he'd made arrangements for a replacement car, and of course, she'd stood there in the elevator and listened to him tell her all about his incredibly difficult and emotional conversation with Jeanne—all the while supporting him when he thought the pain of the entire Jeanne-ordeal would overwhelm him. She'd been acting the martyr, and it worried him—because Ziva was a fighter, and so far, there had been no fight from her; and he couldn't for the life of him understand why.

Tony exited the elevator at Abby's lab and entered with a flourish, presenting brand-spanking-new evidence for Abby's approval. "Presents for you, Abby," he announced, placing the evidence box on the table in front of him.

Abby turned with her usual perkiness, and smiled at Tony. She was completely in the know as to what had gone down between him and Ziva, and she ardently believed that not only were the two headed for an eventual reconciliation, but that the sooner Tony realized what he had in front of him the better everyone's lives would once again be. She loved Tony and she loved Ziva, and although she knew all about what Tony had done, she still smiled him. I just can't stay mad at him, she happily rationalized as she signed for the evidence Tony had been gracious enough to bring her.

When she put down the pen though, and began inspecting her newest project, she felt a shift in the mood of the room; when she looked up at Tony she understood that the sudden melancholy-doldrums vibe she was getting was emanating from him. His eyes were a little glossy and he was somewhere over the rainbow from the out-there look on his face. Ziva-trance, she had dubbed it. But this wasn't the same type of Ziva-induced deep thinking that she'd witnessed thus far; no, this had a tinge of regret that was painfully displayed on Tony's face—though she was pretty sure he didn't realize it. "Tony?" she asked gently, snapping him out of wherever he was.

He recovered quickly, smiling and covering the strange moment with a joke, an impersonation, and a movie reference, but now that she knew what she knew, there was no fooling her. She moved to his side and placed a comforting hand on his arm. "You wanna talk about it?" she asked.

"Talk about what?" he asked, alarmed for a moment, before playing it off once again.

"The it that's got you so…" sad, she thought. "…preoccupied," she finished instead.

"Abby, I'm fine," he said, waving her off, but not leaving the lab. "Really," he stressed, nodding his head in affirmation. She just stared him down until he shifted awkwardly, sighed, and broke his happy-guy façade in lieu of a more pensive, how-do-I-phrase-this face. "I'm worried, Abby."

She nodded once, and then moved to half-sit, half-stand, leaned up against the evidence table, her hands folded calmly in front of her. "About what, exactly?"

Tony shifted again, second-guessing his decision to bring this up. This is a bad idea…

"Hey," she said with a nod of her head, getting his attention, and looking him dead in the eyes. "You can tell me anything, Tony; you're here for me, and I'm here for you." He still looked unsure. "Look, if you really don't want to talk about it, whether to me or to anyone, then that's fine. Good friends don't push when they don't have to; but if there's a chance that you want to…let it out…then I'll listen, Tony."

"Well," he began, his hands in his pockets and his face still trying to play off his worries as just nothing. "It's been a while since my fabulous undercover-blunder was revealed," he said, his tone very much the epitome of self-flagellation, which earned him a stern look from his friend. "…And people are treating me differently—some I expected, but others…I don't know."

"Well, you had to expect that to a certain degree, Tony; but I can't imagine that things are that far off, right? Who wouldn't love you no matter what?" she asked, deliberately baiting the hook and planting the seed at the same time.

Tony scratched his eyebrow, "True enough in most cases?" Abby arched an eyebrow, silently asking for explication. "Well you seem to have forgiven me, Abs, and for that I can't thank you enough." She gave a little bow. "And Ducky seemed to have forgiven me the moment he realized that it wasn't me who was open on his table down there." He coughed. "Gibbs on the other hand—well, I lied to him repeatedly and ducked out and missed work. Let's just say that there's less respect in his voice and more aggravation in his slaps these days." Tony rubbed his head instinctively.

"And McGee?"

Tony waved it off, "Probalicious just looks at me cross-eyed and thinks that I don't notice." He hesitated for a moment. Should I even go there? It's chancy—but it's Abby. "It's Ziva that I'm worried about," he forced himself to blurt out before he lost his nerve or talked himself out of it.

"What do you mean?" she asked, grateful that one, he had taken the conversation in the direction she had wanted him to go, and two, that she had a really, really good poker face.

Tony hesitated long enough to wonder how much to tell Abby. "Let's just say that of all the people to rightfully lay into me about what went down, Ziva's right at the top of the list—but she hasn't done anything. As a matter of fact, she's very—supportive—when she's not being all business-as-usual…and it worries me."

Abby scrunched up her face, debating with herself about the level to which she was about to breach Ziva's trust. But Tony wasn't seeing what he needed to see, and he was right—there seemed to be some reason to worry about Ziva lately because she was hurting (as she'd witnessed from the other night's conversation as well as Abby's continued observations) and it was time that someone helped push things in the right direction—no matter how "forbidden" those things may or may not be.

So she took a deep breath and then started to talk really fast. "Well, I guess if I had begun a secret affair with my partner only to have him ditch me repeatedly and then break it off altogether, then get the honor and privilege of seeing said partner date a mystery someone, who in the end—as it is revealed to me by my estranged and untrustworthy father—is in fact his mission, as she's the daughter of an international arms dealer who managed to piss off my boss's boss—a woman whom I've worked with and respect—and then on top of all of that I get to witness said partner/paramour explode before my eyes and have to work his murder case before he suddenly pops back into my life alive and well …" Abby trailed off, finally taking a breath in, "…then, yeah, I guess I'd be in denial for a while, too."

Tony just stared at her, his mouth agape.

Abby smiled evilly and picked up her Caf-Pow, taking a noisy sip before offering it to Tony innocently. "Caf-Pow?"

They sat together in the back room of Abby's lab as she waited for him to say something. "How long have you known?" he asked, his voice horse and his demeanor that of pervasive misery.

"Not long," she said cryptically.

"She tell you?" he asked, not meeting her eyes, choosing, rather, to stare at his entwined fingers. Abby assumed the she to whom Tony referred was in fact Ziva, but that didn't stop her from trying to lighten the mood.

"Tsk, tsk," she chastised, "I have incredible powers of observation and deductive reasoning, Anthony DiNozzo; you don't think I couldn't figure out something like this?" He just looked at her sternly until she caved, shrugging her shoulders and switching to a more serious tone. "She needed someone to talk to—and I offered." He didn't say anything, and Abby was wondering if it was because he didn't know what to say, or if he was just too angry to say anything. "She's hurting, Tony; don't be mad at her for needing to let it out."

"I'm not!" he said, a little too loudly for her liking right now. But then his tone softened and he reassured her by shaking his head and looking her in the eyes, "I'm not, Abby; really. I just, ugh," he groaned and ran his hands through his hair in frustration. "I don't know what to do, here. I've already caused so much devastation, I'm afraid I'll just do her more harm than good right now; ya know?"

Abby nodded sympathetically. "I do know," she said. "I get it, Tony, I really do; but you need to talk to her. You two need to talk—let it all out; no more secrets! An all-out spew session designed for getting the two of you back to—to the old Tony and Ziva," she finished, wondering which incarnation of 'the old Tony and Ziva' would appear—the dutiful partners, the caring friendship, the loving relationship; or maybe, just maybe…all of the above. "You owe it to each other and you owe it to this team."

"And how am I supposed to do that?" he asked, frustration evident in his voice as well as on his face.

She put her hand over his in an empathetic gesture. "Just be honest." He guffawed and patted her hand in return. "And if all else fails," she said, smiling at the irony. "Just follow your gut."

Ziva put the pot on the stove and stirred the contents, babying it, and bringing it back to life. She let it simmer lightly on the stove while she reached over and poured herself a glass of wine from the bottle that sat next to the sink. Then she went over to her cutting board and sliced up a few pieces of the French bread she's stopped to buy fresh on her way home from work. She'd always gone to great lengths with her food; she took pride in her ability in the kitchen and she enjoyed having such hearty food—even if it was only her.

She sipped from her glass, savoring the flavor and appreciating the chance she now had to decompress from the day's events. She carried the glass with her into the bathroom as she set the water running. When it was at the perfect temperature she placed her glass down next to the sink, stripped down and stepped in, rinsing the day from her weary shoulders and lathering her hair vigorously. Being around Tony all the time was slowly but surely wearing her down. There was only so long she could keep on pretending like none of what had occurred bothered her now. In truth, it did a lot more than just bother her—it was killing her…inside. She spent so much of her time now trying to ignore the squeezing in her chest, or the way her throat constricted when she thought about Tony, the way the two of them had been, and how they had ended up. Ziva didn't know what she was madder about: what had happened, or the fact that it made her so emotional.

She shook herself from these thoughts as she stepped out and toweled herself dry before slipping into the warmth of her extra thick sweatpants and a plain long-sleeved shirt. She squeezed the excess water from her hair and decided to leave it down while she finished cooking.

She took her wine glass back into the kitchen, gave the pot another stir, noting that her timing was perfect, and set her place at her small kitchen table. It was just as she was placing down her bowl and setting out her silverware that someone knocked on her door. She looked at the clock on the wall—8:03pm—an early night for her. She sighed, really not wanting to have to deal with people right now, and begrudgingly made her way to the door, sweeping her Sig up on her way—just in case. One can never be too careful, she reasoned rationally.

She peeked out the peephole in the door and wished she had just ignored the knock. She shook her head, put her Sig down on the hall table and opened the door with a glare. Tony splayed his hands out in front of him and cracked a small smile, trying to lighten the mood. "I come in peace," he said, hoping she'd relent a bit. She just rolled her eyes before leaving the door open and making her way back to her kitchen, confident that he would find his way.

Tony closed the door behind him and took off his jacket, throwing it gently over the arm of the loveseat by the window. He loosened his tie a little bit and undid the first button, stretching his neck out to give him some more breathing room. He inhaled slowly and smiled at the familiar smells of Ziva's cooking. "Smells good," he noted as he stepped into the kitchen.

Ziva gave the pot a final few stirs before turning off the stovetop and covering it with the lid. She pulled a second wine glass down from the cupboard and set it down in front of Tony, who, she noticed, seemed to be scrutinizing her every move. She lifted the bottle and extended it to him in question. He nodded and she filled his glass up half way before freshening her own. She lifted her glass to her lips and noticed Tony air-toasting her before sipping from his own glass. She swallowed stiffly and gave a small nod, not able to or really wanting to say or do anything more than that. She pulled a bowl down from the cabinet as well, and opened a large drawer to remove a fork and spoon. She carried them and her wine glass over to the table, setting it like she had her own, and was surprised to see Tony hefting the pot off the stove and setting it in the center of the table for her. Surprised…and a little unnerved at the familiarity of the gesture. She took another sip of wine…and then another.

They ate in tense silence, Ziva trying very hard to forget that he was there—and staring at her—and Tony sitting completely amazed at the woman before him. He'd come there to talk to her, to figure out what she was thinking and to work out how they were going to proceed with their lives—because they couldn't keep up this nothing-happened charade forever. But even though he knew why he'd come, and he knew that they really did have to talk, all that he could focus on right now was the way her hair stuck to the back of her shirt (where the wet tendrils had dampened the material); how her long eyelashes fluttered faster the more she tried to ignore him; how the large shirt she wore slipped off her left shoulder enough to bare the tanned skin of her neck to his eyes (specifically the spot he knew drove her insane when kissed); and most of all, how all he wanted to do right now was kiss her and hold her like he had before—when everything was easy with her…when they could just be together without the trials and tribulations of the pain he'd caused them both getting in the way.

They both said absolutely nothing during dinner, and when they were finished he helped her clean up (as he had so many times before), packing up any leftovers, washing dishes, and, cleaning countertops. He'd taken dish duty while she packed up what she wanted to save, so he'd rolled up his shirtsleeves and soaped up every dish or pot she brought him. The two wine glasses were the last thing to get washed, and as he handed the last one to Ziva to dry, their fingers touched for the first time throughout the entire night. He'd noticed that she'd been careful to avoid any and all contact, so it surprised him when he felt her fingers brush over his as he passed her the delicate glass.

It was like an electric shock to Ziva's system—a jolt—but a good one…and a bad one. It took only a moment, but she knew what would happen if she let herself feel what such a large part of her wanted to give in to. A huge part of the weariness she'd felt lately had come from her waning will power; she'd been fighting the urge to constantly just go to him, like she used to be able to do. Having him here in her kitchen, with no one to see them, no one to judge them, and no one to stop them—it was far too tempting. And she couldn't give in to temptation—she just couldn't.

Tony swallowed hard, removed the glass from her hands, as well as the damp dishtowel, and placed them on her freshly cleared kitchen counter. Her breathing was faster now and her eyes told him that she was being very wary—but she didn't make a move to step away from him. So he made a move towards her, their bodies having already been pretty close, there were just millimeters separating them now. She shook her head no but it was completely non-committal. She closed her eyes, scared of what she'd see if she looked into his hazel orbs. She felt him take her face in his hands like he had done so many times before. "Tony…" she whispered breathily as his mouth closed over hers and she succumbed to temptation.

She felt something click inside her instantly, as if they were made to be like this forever. She brought her hands up to clamp behind his head, urging him forward. She opened her lips wider as his tongue traced the contours of her mouth. They held on to each other fiercely as they gave themselves over to the overwhelming need that had built up in both of them. His lips were hot on hers and she'd never felt so alive before.

Tony couldn't seem to stop himself; from the moment she'd opened her door that night all he wanted was this moment—all he wanted was to feel her in his arms, to have her body pressed tightly up against his own. He could feel her urging him on, and every fiber of his being raced to bend to her wishes. He dropped his lips from hers as he brushed her hair out of the way. She moaned in protest for a moment but the moan quickly morphed into one of pleasure as his lips finally made contact with the plane of skin he'd been craving all night. She threw her head back in a sensual moan as he sucked on the spot she knew he knew drove her absolutely over the edge. "Tony…" she moaned again, her thoughts absolute nonsense as her body hummed like one giant and exposed raw nerve. He bit a little harder and suddenly she arched her back, practically screaming his name as she came with the sheer adrenaline of the build-up she'd long been denied.

Tony didn't waste any time after she'd peaked. He scooped her up and planted her on the kitchen counter, attaching himself to her lips once again as she pulled at his tie, and slipped it from its place around his neck. He returned his attention to her throat as he splayed his fingers out over her stomach, inching her shirt up along the way. His fingers were cool on her hot skin and the contrast only fueled the fire burning between them.

As he toyed with the skin of her lower abdomen and kissed his way along the column of her neck, she started pulling buttons from holes, and urging the shirt off his shoulders. The moment his shirt was off he sent her arms up in the air as he pulled hers off as well, and tossed it on the kitchen floor somewhere next to his. Then their lips were on each other again, Tony's tongue probing her mouth as Ziva took one of his nipples between her thumb and forefinger, and rolled it between her digits—eliciting a shiver from the man standing between her legs. She laughed a little and smiled a truly bright smile that, for the first time in many months, actually did reach her eyes. It made Tony smile back at her just seeing it.

He reached behind her and undid the clasp of her bra, baring her to his eyes for the first time in too many months. Perfect, he thought to himself, devouring her with his eyes. She attached her mouth to his again, and wrapped her legs around his waist, completely giving up the ghost on self-control. Ziva knew they shouldn't be doing what they were doing, and certainly not what they were about to do, but she just couldn't manage enough self-control to stop herself from doing something that felt so right to her.

The second her legs locked around his back Tony lifted her up and carried her down the hall to her bedroom, kicking the door shut behind him.

So, was this chapter worth the wait? I know there was a long lag in between chapters, but the chapters from now on are, if I do say so myself, so worth it. But that's really up to you all, right? So, what are you waiting for?—me to shut up? Okay then…REVIEW!