A/N: What do you know? I DID have time to update! And now I have more time than I thought I did. Thank you so much for all the reviews/alerts/favourites. Keep 'em coming!
The afternoon had become depressingly overcast as Tony trudged the few hundred yards from Ziva's building to the police station. It had been sunny before. Hadn't it? Or had he not noticed?
He stuffed his hands into the pockets of his coat in frustration. There was a pain inside of him. And it was barely excusable – it was not like she had rejected him. She simply had higher priorities. That was one of the worst parts, too: he did not and probably would not know if she shared even a hint of his infatuation.
She was hard to read. It was clear even from the short encounters he had had with her that she put up a tough barrier to the rest of the world because she was afraid of getting hurt. And he understood that. In fact, he often found himself doing the very same thing. Certain people just...don't get along with the world. Fate's cruel. She lost her parents at a young age, dropped out of high school because she had a sister to take care of. From that information alone it was clear that, behind that wall, she was prepared to make incredible sacrifices for her little sister. She had a large capacity to love.
And here he was thinking about how she could love a person. She, Ziva. The woman that he had met only days earlier. His thought process was a complete mess by this point. This woman, he had learned, was only kind when she had to be. Or, at least, that is what he had gauged. Had she really sent him away because "she didn't have time for a Tony DiNozzo" in her life? Or, had she spared whatever feelings she felt may bubble to the surface if not eliminated? Had she given him an excuse so no one was hurt? Why would she? They were practically strangers.
Strangers and still, he walked the empty streets thinking about her. Across the road from the station he decided that he wasn't done thinking about her. And he circled her block again, because she had sent him away. Once this walk was over, thinking about her could no longer be an indulgence. It could no longer pass his time the way it had for the past 48 hours or so. If he were to think about her then he must only think about ways he can help her. That was his promise, was it not? Unbeknownst to her, of course. She would never let him.
She would have stopped him from helping her, had she known. Even though action had not yet been undertaken.
Did that mean he shouldn't? Did her resistance mean he should stay away and leave a struggling young girl and her little sister buying nothing but time with meagre funds and waiting to be kicked out on their asses.
No. No, of course not. He saw too much of that every day at work. It was even one of the reasons he moved out of narcotics investigation. These girls, barely of age to even be doing the things that they do for small bills, get brought in, their wrists tightly bound by cuffs. And most people wouldn't see past the flashy outfit and the makeup. Past the long legs and the heels. But it didn't take long for Tony to start seeing a new side of these girls. He could see that this was the outfit that brought them the attention they didn't want, but so sorely needed. It would always be worn, torn, ripped. Their hair sometimes was matted and dirty. They had names. He would always learn them. They deserved that much, even if they didn't believe so.
Some of them would shake from whatever drugs they had ingested. Their once beautiful faces would lose shape, and become pale, tight skin stretched over their cheeks. They would cough and gag and wheeze. In the winter and the spring it was always so much worse. And he couldn't take it – these girls had committed offences but he knew throwing them into a tiny cell would not even save them from the hell they had created for themselves. He couldn't help them and that was always the worst part. Well, it was the worst part other than having to talk to them with that barrier in the way. The way they each spoke of their individual decline. They take off their clothes for a picture, then a video, then a crowd. And eventually, just looking at their bodies isn't enough, men have to be able to touch. They dance. And it just grows into more and more until these girls are so violated that they have no sense of self. No sense if purpose or drive or esteem.
And here, he knew a girl stuck in such a vicious cycle, telling herself that she would get out, not like the others. Despite the fact that every girl in that situation tells herself she is not like the others. Maybe Ziva really wasn't. She was certainly different than any other girl that he had encountered before. But even so, no one can do it alone. He'd seen enough "alone" in his few years at Baltimore PD to make him know that, and that no one with as much potential to be as great at life as Ziva deserved it. He would get her out of whatever rut she was stuck in, and he would do it as fast as she could. If not for her, then for her sister. A little girl, anonymous to him or not, should not find her big sister and only companion in the world missing if she wakes up in the middle of the night.
He still had half a block left.
Think about her, he told himself. This is your last chance before it becomes immoral. From now on, she's just someone you are going to help.
He thought about that cup of coffee that never was. And he thought perhaps of the timeline that the said cup of coffee led to. Maybe a real date. Dinner. He could meet her sister. He could kiss her and she could kiss him back and he would feel great that she was kissing him for pleasure and not for cash. He could drive her little sister to school, and he could get her a good job and together they could put food on the table.
What was he feeling? What emotion was this that made him want to become so domesticated? And why had it taken a girl who really did not seem all that domestic at all?
And there it was. The station had popped up in front of him again. The train of thought was well and truly over. He daren't think of wanting to kiss her or hold her or see past that wall she put up. He daren't let himself think such ridiculous things any longer.
What she had said to him could only move him forward. And he'd feel good about himself for helping her, in the end, right? He'd feel glad that she didn't end up another one of those girls that haunt him at night.
And even if he never had that coffee with her, it wouldn't really matter, right?
Right?
...
"Dude," Danny said once he was finally back. "You were gone for a while, what the heck was goin' on back there?"
"I had to talk to that girl," Tony answered simply, trying to push past his partner to his desk.
"Why? You know her?" Danny simply followed him.
"Yeah...sort of."
"Whaddaya mean, 'yeah, sort of'?"
"I mean," he hesitated. Tell or not? "She's kinda the stripper from McGee's bachelor party?"
Danny's eyebrows shot up. "The stripper? You've gotta be kidding me here, DiNozzo. I hope you're paying the bill."
"It's not like that," Tony snapped, somewhat ferociously.
"Then what is it like?"
Tony pursed his lips. That was a really good question. "Nothing. We just got to talking. I thought I'd say hi."
"And?"
"That's it."
Danny scoffed. "Okay, Tony. Don't let her fool ya, though."
"Believe me, I don't think that'll be the issue"
...
Groceries. After hours of thought, he was sure that was his answer. He'd seen her cupboards and her refridgerator. They'd been very nearly empty. Mostly full of foods with a long while till their expiry date. Canned things and frozen things, mostly.
Straight after work, he headed to the store. He bought them a whole cart full of stuff that they might need. He avoided fish and nutes just in case maybe either of them were allergic. He passed the magazines and nearly picked himself up a GSM, then thought over how it might go if he were to show up to the apartment of a stripper with a magazine like that and then claiming he'd "like to help her out." Yeah. Not good.
He bought sauces, sausages, pasta, soup, apples, bananas, and oranges, vitamin supplements for the both of them, four gallons of milk and plenty of cereal and bread for breakfasts, orange juice, snack foods for her sister to take to school. The list when on and on, and he felt more domestic by the second. Often he found himself questioning whether this was a smart idea. But in a situation like theirs perhaps smart does not get one very far. That was always his answer to himself. It seemed to work.
Thank God they had fixed the elevator by the time Tony arrived. In his car were three heavy crates of groceries, which he hauled into the elevator and then into the fourth floor hallway. He gave three knocks on the door of her apartment and then bent over to catch his breath.
A small girl with Ziva's curls answered the door.
"Hello?" she said unsurely. Clearly she had her sister's trust, too.
"Hi, I'm Tony. I'm a...friend of your sisters."
"She isn't home right now," the girl said, holding onto the frame of the door shyly.
"Well, that's okay," Tony said, smiling. "What's your name?"
"Tali," the little girl answered.
"Well, Tali, maybe you can help me."
"With what?"
He held up a bag and pulled out a packet of chocolate biscuits. "You like these?"
She nodded excitedly.
"Plenty more where that came from, kiddo." He gestured over to where the boxes were in the hallway, and watched her little face light up as she saw them. This was that feeling – the feeling of knowing he had gotten it right.