Author's Note:
Content warning: Some of their discussion gets pretty dark. There are mentions of suicide ideation, torture and violence, and implied sexual assault. At one point, Tony graphically imagines how a particular scar was given. Please only interact in a way you are comfortable with.
Then lay your hands upon me now
And cast this darkness from my soul
You alone can light my way
You alone can make me whole
Once again ~ Crossroads, Don McLean
Tony had never expected to end up so out of his depth as he'd found himself when he'd first started picking at her out of sheer curiosity and instead of the bickering match he'd expected, ended up with the harrowing confessions of her time in captivity. If anything, he'd predicted they would have fought, followed by Ziva unceremoniously claiming the bed for herself and leaving him to the cramped confines of the couch. Truthfully, if it had meant ending the odd silence between them, he would have gladly accepted this fate. But now, in the wake of this latest confession, her words hovering on the edge of tears, he finally knew what it was he could do to ease some of it for her.
"Stand up," he instructed, suddenly confident. "Come here, right in front of me."
"What?" Confused, she obeyed anyway. He spread his knees, motioning her forward until she stood right between his feet. "I know you are trying to help, but I am in no mood for games." She fixed him with a warning glare that lost some of its usual ferocity when she looked that uncertain.
"No games, I swear. But I do think this will help, well I hope anyway." He held his hands up innocently, genuine innocence, rather than the "who me" look he assumed whenever McGee discovered he'd been glued to the keyboard again. "Can I touch you? Your skin, I mean," he asked, nodding towards her middle.
She considered this for a moment, her eyes narrowed. "Go ahead," she said finally, with a distant shrug that told him she felt like she had nothing else to lose.
Her shirt still hung open, the sides hiding the worst marks; she looked almost unscathed from this angle. Cautiously, he spread his fingers, slipping his hands beneath the fabric and laying them on her bare waist. The skin under the heels of his palms was warm and smooth, but the small ridges of scar tissue beneath his fingertips told a different tale. She flinched as he made contact.
"You okay? I'll stop." He lightened his touch but didn't pull back all the way.
Ziva blew out a long breath and shook her head. "It does not hurt, physically, at least." She was still tense but pressed his hands back down, avoiding direct contact by keeping hers over her clothes. "This much is okay," she confirmed softly.
He waited, making soft, wide, circles with his thumbs on her stomach as she settled into his touch. "Okay," he said after a minute, feeling the tension leave her abs. "You still with me?"
She hummed in agreement. "What is this, Tony?" she asked.
"I just wanted to know you were a hundred per cent going to take in what I'm about to tell you," he said. Her hands had stayed over his the whole time but drifted down to his wrists now, completing the circle of connection between them. He took a second just to appreciate the sense of having her there with him again, alive and trusting him enough to put his hands on her like this after all she'd been through.
"You are NCIS Probationary Agent Ziva David, and you are one hell of an agent. If you want, you could wipe the floor with half the field teams we have on the payroll right now. You love your job and your teammates... well, most of the time anyway and we love you right back. You're not reckless, you're decisive and you don't chase revenge, you chase justice. You're loyal to the very end. And even if you took too long to trust that we really do have your six, you worked it out, and that's what counts. You'll always know where you stand with us." Tony paused for breath as Ziva's thumbs began mirroring his, drawing the same patterns on his wrist that he traced on either side of her navel.
"I always thought you were pretty great, just as you were. But if you need to be someone different, I'm gonna be right here waiting to see what that looks like. But no matter who you end up, I think some things will stay the same. You like to drink red wine with dinner, even when it should be a white and eat enough garlic to keep you safe from vampires for a century. You sing to yourself when you don't think anyone can hear you. You always use a bookmark, you never fold the pages down. You make really bad cookies, I'm talking awful." For a heartbeat, her belly hitched under his hands in the smallest laugh. "But your homemade hummus is good enough to be considered a form of world currency. You're the only person in the world who taught me to play the piano without hating it and you can quote an awful lot of movies for someone who doesn't own a TV. And this next part, I don't just think. I know..." Here, he slid his right hand a little further inwards, moving her shirt and deliberately exposing the scar he had shied away from before, but continued holding eye contact as he let her adjust to the new sensation.
"You are brave and strong. Smart and funny. And you are beautiful, Ziva. All of you. But, most of all, and this is really important, so trust me here." He dropped his gaze back to that hateful word, taking it in fully, as steadily as the way he'd held her eyes. "This is not who you are, it never was."
Slowly, Tony skated his hand upward, over the base of her ribs until the mark was framed between the L made by this thumb and forefinger. "It doesn't matter what it says, Ziva," he promised. He brushed his thumb over it, feeling the swoops and angles in the script, the jagged edge where her skin had torn rather than sliced cleanly. He wished this action was enough to erase it from her body entirely, as simply as swiping a smudge of dirt away.
"Don't, Tony." Ziva's voice tightened, fear creeping in. "I cannot, I just told you..." Her hand clenched on his wrist.
"Hey," he glanced up again, lightening his touch to just his fingertips. "I didn't mean it like that. My hands aren't going anywhere else, I promise."
She regarded him with suspicion. "Then, why?"
"I let you down before," he said candidly, still ashamed of his reaction. "You trusted me with this and I turned away after I said that anyone worth your time wouldn't mind. I was the first person who should have cared enough about you not to care, and I blew it. But I was trying to make it right now instead. Not to clear my conscience, but because you deserved better than that."
"Oh..." her eyes and grip on his arm softened. "I do not know what to say to that."
"You don't need to say anything, Ziva," he replied, shaking his head. "Just listen. Can I keep going like this or do you need some space? I swear, I won't touch or look at anything else, just the scar."
Ziva let out a shaky breath. "This is fine, but I meant what I said. I cannot do that," she said. "This is the most anyone has touched me since the medical team cleaned me up." She spoke quickly, and he wondered if she was getting the words out before she lost her nerve.
Tony nodded, cupping her waist again a little more firmly. "I heard you loud and clear. Nothing funny," he promised. He waited for her nod, before resuming his careful attention, this time, she didn't cringe at his touch. "It won't always be so bad. Even if it never really goes away, it will get better. But with it or without it, you are still the most beautiful woman I've ever seen. And one day, you'll come back to Paris, a year from now, maybe ten, maybe fifteen, I dunno. But you'll be back here someday and remember this moment and you won't even recognise yourself, because all of this-" he tapped his index finger lightly against her, "is nothing compared to how incredible you'll be by then. Because you are so much more than that scar, whatever it says."
Pure instinct took over for his next move. He'd been so used to the unspoken, flirty touch-me-not-no-wait-actually-do-touch-me game they'd always played before their world had turned on its head that he'd had to be very deliberate in the way he'd limited his physical contact with Ziva since their talk began. Yet the urge to make sure his message really hit home, to seal his words with something meaningful and take away her pain overrode the hyper-careful attitude he'd taken on. Before he knew what he was doing, he'd tugged her close, leaned in and pressed his lips against the scar.
Awareness returned as Ziva gasped sharply beneath the kiss and he froze, understanding the enormity of the boundary he'd crossed. She dropped his wrists, her breaths coming short and fast, but when he went to pull back, ready to apologise and put as much distance between them as she needed, her hand landed on his head. He winced preemptively, expecting a well-deserved slap, but instead, she pushed down, stilling him before he could retreat.
"Don't move," she ordered tersely. In the corner of his eye, her other hand formed a fist and she pressed it hard into her thigh, working the muscle repeatedly in an anxious massage that matched the timing of her breaths. Her skin prickled into tiny beads of sweat under his hands and he realised with horror that she was on the verge of panic.
"Do you want me to-?" He hadn't even withdrawn far enough to break contact with her body before she'd stopped him, and when he spoke again his lips still moved against her skin.
"No." The voice that answered him barely sounded like her. Her hand pressed more firmly onto his head and her breathing grew more ragged, whimpers escaping on every exhale.
Tony felt certain that staying put was the exact opposite of what he should be doing. He'd never accidentally triggered a panic attack in anyone before. Not to mention, he'd certainly never done it by kissing a woman who'd just confided that she'd been hurt in that way and that he was the first person she'd trusted enough to touch her, but he was sure that being close enough to taste her sweat and feel her erratic pulse was not where he should be. Yet, something in her voice told him it would be worse if he moved, although he wasn't sure which one of them she was protecting with that command. Mentally kicking himself for getting so caught up in playing the hero that he'd taken it too far, he waited.
Ziva kept up the rhythmic motion with her fist, gradually unfurling her fingers and slowing down as her breaths evened out again. The rush of heat beneath her skin cooled too and with a final, shaky sigh, the tension left her body.
"I never should have..." he whispered, still mortified, as she softened again although her hands still trembled. "I'm sorry."
"I know," she replied in a hoarse whisper. The pressure on his head changed and he went with it as she drew him in, turning him until his cheek rested against her stomach. She stepped into his embrace a little closer and nudged his arms, encouraging him to wrap around her waist entirely. When his hands came to rest, on her back this time, he didn't even feel the scars, just her.
"We are okay," she reassured, still quietly. He could tell it was as much to reassure her as it was for him. She settled in a little further, one hand cupping the cheek that wasn't pressed against her, her thumb stroking idly over the start of stubble, the other on his head, raking softly through his hair.
He closed his eyes, not sleeping but at ease now that the storm was truly over, the sound of her breathing above him even and peaceful. He knew better than to return the soft caresses she offered but let himself enjoy the warmth of having her so close, hearing the steady thrum of her heart and how deeply relaxed she seemed, even with this much body contact.
They stayed quiet like that for a long while but finally, Ziva spoke. "I use my laptop," she announced out of the blue.
"What?" He had to break the contact to look up at her face.
"To watch movies, I use my laptop," she elaborated. She stepped back, buttoning her shirt quite naturally. "You said I know too many movie quotes for not having a television. That is how."
"Oh," he let out a relieved laugh at how normal and unrelated that seemed. "Are you okay? I thought I could fix everything all at once. It was stupid."
"Hmm." She nodded, although her eyes were bloodshot. "I know you meant well. But it will take a long time for that kind of contact to feel safe again, to not go to that place where it was an attack. If you had been far enough away to swing at..." she faded, shaking her head. "I did not want to hurt you when I knew you were trying to help."
So she had been protecting him, even while worrying about herself. He smirked with disbelief over the duality in her actions. "Well, thanks for not clocking me, I guess. Even if I earned it."
The answering smile was like a balm for his soul, even if it was delivered with less than half her usual brilliance. "I am sure you will give me another reason before too long."
"Hah, yeah. Me and my big mouth." Self-deprecating humour was always a safe zone. "Look, I meant what I said, though. You're bigger than all of that."
Ziva tensed again, turning away. "I need to take a shower," she said quickly. "I may be some time. Do not wait up," her tone was clipped, almost brusque.
He did a double-take, surprised by the sudden shift after the way her mood had lightened. "You showered before we left for din - oh. You need to go cry, huh?" Understanding struck mid-sentence. She nodded silently, still not facing him. "You know I'd listen to that too, right?"
Ziva nodded again, talking over her shoulder. "I know. I need to be alone. Take the bed."
"You sure? I'll be fine on the couch. Or we can share, I won't touch you."
"I do not think I can share." Her voice was tight, already teetering on the edge of sobbing. "Just have the bed," she insisted, strained.
Tony held his hands up, surrendering before she broke completely. "Anything you want, Ziva." He made for the contentious piece of furniture, clearing the path between where she stood and the bathroom, giving her a clean getaway without letting him see her tears. Respectfully, he engrossed himself in the room service menu until he heard the taps turn on.
Notes:
Do I know that Ziva can't bake? No, but I head canon it. She loves cooking dinners, but I imagine that she's not so great with cookies and cakes.
And yes, those 10 and 15-year return to Paris intervals Tony suggests *do* line up with her going back to them in Season 17 and about the time the NCIS spinoff will air, however, did you guess?
