Chapter 3: Hide and Seek
His resolve to handle this with a quiet maturity rarely associated with the name DiNozzo lasts through his drive to the Navy Yard, through the scan of his ID, through his morning flirtation with Estelle, the first floor cleaning lady. It lasts through his wait for the elevator and through the ride to his floor.
It does not survive the sight of her.
And how could it? When she's trading pleasantries with McGoober like it's any other morning? When there's no flicker in her expression that gives her away? When they're here, in real life, but her hair is still down, and all he can think is that he loved her last night?
His resolve was dependent on the hypothesis that Ziva was running scared, when maybe she she was just running away.
His new maturity begins to lose to old insecurities.
oOo
He will not even look at her. Is it because she stayed too long, or because she did not stay long enough? She does not know, and she understands that her current misery is entirely her own fault, but that does not temper the thought that crosses her mind- she could waterboard the truth out of him.
Ah, the old days. Life was easier when sentimentality did not stand a chance against practicality and efficiency.
Except that it was not, not really. And now, Tony will not look at her, and it reminds her of the not-so-distant past when she found herself right back in a life devoid of feeling. He gave her another chance after that, defying all logic and sense of justice.
She is not yet American enough to believe that one is given an endless supply of chances.
Her thoughts lead to panic, similar to that which she experienced the night before. She prides herself on her steadiness, on her refusal to show weakness, but her pride is having a difficult time standing tall against everything she has to lose.
She stops listening to McGee and his summary of his new book. She is breathing shallowly and casting looks at Tony, willing him to meet her eyes. To see that she is sorry, for whichever transgression he chooses. Her partner, though, focuses on his computer screen, transparently refusing to see her. And McGee, well, he is not an idiot. He is busy casting worried glances between the two of them, making pitiful jokes in that way he does when he senses something is off- in the manner of a powerless child, trying to make mommy and daddy like each other again.
This situation is not sustainable, and it might have been brought to some sort of resolution, but Gibbs appears out of nowhere- in that way that he does, and they have a case. Gear is grabbed, and the hair she had left down (just in case) is twisted into a tight, non-scene-contaminating bun. She is panicking, but she is also a professional.
She has always excelled at multi-tasking.
oOo
Right now, he can't really remember why he even bothered to get out of bed today. It's not like he didn't know from the moment he heard Ziva walking away that it was going to be shitty. And here he is, standing in the cold rain, watching all of his evidence wash away.
But he did get up, and he did leave his maturity somewhere in the elevator this morning, and he is still reeling from the sting of rejection, as well as hurt that goes a little deeper, so who can blame him for being low on patience?
His team, if you could judge by the number of Gibbs' head-slaps and the ferocity of McGlower's stares. And then there is Ziva, practically cowering from him, casting him wounded puppy-dog looks. What the hell is that? Seriously, what kind of game is she playing? First of all, she is the one who did all of the wounding in this scenario, and second of all, Ziva does not cower. So not only is he pissed at her, he's worried about her, which only serves to make him really pissed at her. She looks so fragile standing there in the rain with her little evidence flags, that he's already gone through the events of last night and this morning three times just to make sure he didn't, in fact, do anything wrong.
All he can think of is that he didn't let her finish the stupid Bollywood movie, but no one ever finishes those things, right? They're a million hours long. A million hours long and full of group dance numbers. That couldn't be held against him.
So, yeah, Ziva shouldn't get to stand there all sad-eyed. Pathetic isn't a look that becomes her.
He feels another sharp sting to the back of his head, and that is it. He pulls a fist, and it is pure instinct. Thankfully, his brain jumps into action just in time to prevent that fist from making any sudden moves.
"I said, we're heading out," his boss looks him over carefully, then cuts his eyes toward the brunette responsible for most of Tony's bad days. "Fix it."
And fuck it, he just doesn't care anymore. "She started it."
His boss remains as indecipherable as the Sphinx. "Yeah, DiNozzo, but I'm telling you to finish it."
He allows himself a daydream in which his fist actually connects with his boss's face, because who doesn't have those dreams every now and then, before he dutifully follows him back to the van. Gibbs is driving, and neither McGee nor Ziva is riding shotgun, each having claimed his or her own bench. Tony has his pick, and since when push comes to shove, he's always been one to follow orders, he climbs in beside Ziva. He sees real happiness flash across those wounded eyes of hers, and suddenly the day is looking up.
He whips his head around, spraying her with icy rainwater. She gasps, and he grins. Revenge.
TBC (one more chapter to go, and it will be up before the premier)