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.
So, there's no need for turning back
'Cause all roads lead to where we stand
And I believe we'll walk them all
No matter what we may have planned ~ Crossroads, Don McLean
Although he was convinced he wouldn't fall asleep until Ziva was safely tucked in, Tony went through the motions of getting into bed. The flight and intense conversation had taken their toll, however, and the next thing he was aware of was the sound of the bathroom door and the overhead light being exchanged for the softer glow of a lamp as she returned from the bathroom. He could hear her moving around a little and the rustle of fabric, presumably she was setting up her bed. He didn't bother letting her know he'd woken, figuring she'd turn in soon anyway. Things went quiet after a minute or two but the light stayed on. He wondered if she was reading again, so he carefully took a peek to see what was up.
Adjusting his vision to the low light, and scanning the room, he found her. She stood, naked from the waist up in front of the full-length mirror attached to the back of the door that led to the hall, clutching something across her chest. She was at an odd diagonal, neither fully in profile nor with her back to him, but even from this perspective, it was clear she hadn't been lying about the damage. Her hair covered a lot of it, and the poor lighting hid more, but despite that, he could see signs that it was healing, more of the skin was fresh and pink rather than old scarring.
He couldn't see her reflection clearly, and he was fairly sure the angle of the mirror wouldn't let her see back onto the bed where he lay, but she seemed to be staring herself down, holding a fierce battle of wills. She was talking softly to herself and once looked away entirely before shaking her head crossly and meeting her gaze again with a new air of determination.
Finally, she tipped her head, staring up at the ceiling, rolling her shoulders back and shifting her feet nervously. He found himself reminded of a high diver standing on the edge of the board right before they jumped except he couldn't work out what exactly she was preparing for. He wondered if there was something he could do to make whatever it was easier, but she was near-silent, trying not to draw his attention, his input wouldn't be welcome.
The answer came when she loosened her arms, dropping what she held. For a long while, she stared at whatever it was, pooled at her feet, arms still folded across her chest. Then, with an exhale he could hear, she looked up again, reluctantly peeling her left arm away from her body and lowering it to her side, the right one staying in place. Tony suddenly realised what she had been covering as he watched her shudder, her shoulders moving in even but forced, breaths and keeping her eyes turned firmly forward, before angling her left side closer to inspect the scar that caused her the most pain.
He held his breath, not wanting to disturb the moment, as she turned a little, letting the light catch it at all angles, remaining utterly silent the whole time. Her earlier confession that she could not look at herself in the mirror lately came back to his mind, and he wondered if it was the first time she'd really let herself see it since her rescue.
Ziva continued her slow exploration, eventually moving her hand to brush her fingertips over the glass surface, touching the mark on her mirror self. Tony's heart sank as her shoulders did and he knew without telling that she was pondering the meaning all over again. Her forehead wilted against her reflected one and she thumped the side of her fist on the glass angrily. A second thump followed, along with something Hebrew that he took to be a curse word escaping her lips at a volume that was far less careful of her supposedly sleeping partner. He knew, too, that any kind of audience feedback, however well meant, would have her shut down right now. The only thing he could do was bear witness to her defeat and listen to the fresh sobs that filled the room. Suddenly finding his own throat aching at the raw, broken sounds she made, he bit back the urge to whisper something encouraging or repeat his affirmations that it didn't define her but hoped she could hear his thoughts, or at least remember what he'd told her anyway.
Whatever it was, something worked, although it was five long minutes before she grew quiet and lifted her head again. She wiped her eyes and reached for her reflection once more, but paused, bringing her hand back to her body, this time running her fingers over her skin tentatively. Maybe it was the first time she had touched it intentionally too, he thought.
The cheer that rose up in Tony's throat nearly burst out, but he managed to divert it into a grin of pride that made his cheeks ache. He still couldn't make out any fine details but the way her arm moved suggested she had begun tracing each character carefully. It had never occurred to him that she probably knew how to write, as well as read it, even before the likelihood that she'd memorised every stroke as it had been made the first time. He pushed that renewed wave of pain and anger on her behalf away to focus on what she was doing instead. Ziva repeated the action slowly several times over, whispering something as she did. Straining to hear, he learned it was Hebrew, but with each pass, her shoulders squared a little more firmly and her chin lifted higher.
Ziva was countering whatever that word said, he realised, tracing over it with different ones. Whether they were something he'd given her or new ones she'd found within herself, he didn't know; and even if he could have heard her, the Hebrew was far too advanced for him to translate. It didn't really matter anyway, the effect on her body language was clear, it was helping. She was literally rewriting the script.
By the time she'd gathered herself enough to meet her own eyes directly again, she seemed to have run out of words and fell silent, just watching her face in the glass. Still laying quietly, Tony waited to see what would come next. After the extreme emotions when she'd broken down a few minutes earlier, he half expected something proportionally dramatic to mark her success. Instead, Ziva simply inclined her head at her reflection, a brief, almost imperceptible little nod, as if acknowledging herself for the first time as an equal rather than a victim or any of the far worse definitions she had offered.
She broke eye contact with the mirror decisively, without a glance backwards, then stooped and collected the mystery item she had used as a shield earlier, slipping it over her head. The oversized t-shirt fell loosely around her, soft beige fabric floating against her skin, but as she turned to switch off the lamp, Tony caught sight of the bold, black screen print of a road intersection on the front. The text below it was too small to read but he immediately recognised the location regardless — Highways 49 and 61, the iconic Devils Crossroads. The legendary spot where a man was said to have sold his soul to the devil at midnight for unmatched musical talent.
The odd parallel wasn't lost on him: Ziva, meeting her own demons late into the night, far away from home, in order to become a better version of herself and determine her future. Only, unlike that long-dead guitarist, she seemed to come out the all-around winner, shedding the past that haunted her, coming out better for it and keeping her soul into the bargain.
For a second he almost laughed at himself, wondering when he'd managed to get so deep and poetic when he realised that rather than settling down on the couch, she'd stealthily crept around behind him to stand next to the other side of the bed.
He made a show of a giving sleepy grunt and nestling into the pillows a little further, letting her choose to leave what had transpired unspoken.
"I know you are awake, Tony." Her tone was matter-of-fact but unconcerned as she called his bluff.
Of course, she had. In hindsight, that would explain why her right arm had stayed across her chest the entire time. It had been insurance that he wouldn't see anything she didn't want him to. He thought for a second about the right thing to say, an apology for watching such a private moment, praise for her courage, outright denial or maybe a kind of half-fib he'd kept his eyes closed?
Nothing seemed to fit right, so instead he rolled to face her. The digital clock behind her, now the only light in the room, silhouetted where she stood, pillow in hand.
"Do you need to talk?" he asked softly. She didn't reply, simply turning back the covers and climbing in beside him. His eyebrows raised silently, surprised at this new turn of events after the way she'd insisted they sleep separately. Ziva offered no explanation but set her pillow in place and settled down in silence, her back to him. There was no denying the standoff she had held in front of the mirror, but discussing it was clearly off-limits. "Okay, no talking, got it." He rolled over too, making sure there was more than a socially acceptable amount of space between them.
He was just drifting off again when he felt her shift towards him and prod him gently in the back. "What you said about Paris, Tony. Do you think it will feel different next time?" she asked.
He turned again, less gracefully this time, his limbs heavy from the sleep that had just begun to flood his system. "Sure I did. You love to travel. This was just the first big trip since everything happened, of course, it's gonna feel weird." He shrugged with the shoulder he wasn't laying on. "Besides, you wouldn't have your big-mouthed colleague picking at wounds until the dam breaks either."
"It would have happened at some point, whether here or back home. I could not stay stuck in that limbo forever." She smoothed the pillow down as she spoke. "You just got to the heart of it faster than I would have alone. Out of everyone in the world who could have found me, it had to be you."
The first words she had spoken to him in that dusty cell were surprisingly welcome, especially when they weren't phrased as a question but rather a fact. "Told you a long time ago Ninja, I got your six," he replied easily.
"You do." Her hand bridged the distance between them, lacing their fingers with a grateful squeeze. "Just so we are clear, this has not been some magic fix. I am not healed, not by a long shot. But I feel as though I am on the right path now, thank you." He squeezed back, quietly pleased when she didn't let go.
"Well, if you ever need someone to point the way again, you know where I live... and where I work, and go to the gym, and where I bank, and my favourite restaurant and how do you know so much anyway? That's way beyond the lines of professional boundaries, Probationary Agent David!"
It was Ziva's turn to shrug. "What was it you said? That I am one hell of an agent? I know how to find information. Besides, you do not go to the gym!" she quipped, a genuine smile flashing briefly in the dark. "But really, thank you. And for giving me something to look forward to as well. I like the idea of coming back here one day," she said more seriously.
Tony yawned, the late hour was beginning to wear on him. He had no idea how she hadn't passed out from exhaustion already after the huge emotional journey she'd been on in the previous couple of hours. "Tell you what, Ziva. Whenever you're ready to take on Paris again if you haven't found someone you want to go with, I'll take you," he offered.
"I think the sleep deprivation is kicking in," she teased, dropping his hand to pat his cheek patronisingly. "I am not good company."
He scoffed quietly. "You're not so bad, David. At least you don't get motion sickness like McGee," he said. "But I'm a man of my word. You know that. I told you it'll be different next time, and it'd be a shame to see all that hope go to waste if you haven't found someone who's crazy enough about you to make sure it happens."
"Crazy does already apply to you, at any rate," Ziva snickered. "At least I will be halfway there if it comes to that."
"Well har dee har har, Miss Comedian," he grumbled sarcastically, pleased she was bright enough to make a joke now. "I mean it though, however long it takes, say the word and we'll come back and do this trip on our own terms."
"Thank you." Without warning, she closed the gap between them, curling herself into his chest and tucking her head beneath his chin.
"Whoa, okay." Surprised, he moved automatically to accommodate her, feeding his lower arm under her neck, the other over the top of her and pulling her closer. "What's this then?"
One of her knees slid between his, her foot hooking on the back of his calf muscle. "Just this," she replied. "Physical contact. I panicked before, I know. But this feels safe, it is nice." He smiled quietly, it seemed her bravery knew no bounds tonight.
"You got it," he agreed. "Nice" was a distinct improvement on "fine" as far as words of praise from Ziva went. They settled into each other, breathing synced, slow and steady and he ran his knuckles down her spine, enjoying the way her weight increased slowly as she relaxed into him.
Maybe it was how comfortable it was, or a sense of needing to repay her honesty with some of his own, he wasn't sure, but something made Tony speak one last time before sleep claimed him entirely. "I might be a little bit already, you know?" he murmured.
"A little what?" she asked sleepily.
"Crazy about you," he said as though it was the most obvious thing in the world.
There was a quiet hum and her fingers ran along his bicep thoughtfully. "I might be, too," she confessed softly.
He smiled into her hair. "Well, you know the drill, say the word and I'll make it happen."
Ziva laughed softly, her breath tickling against his neck. "Goodnight, Tony," she replied pointedly.
"Night, Zi." The kiss he pressed on the crown of her head was just as instinctive as the first one he had given that evening, but this time, she didn't flinch.
A/N:
The blues guitarist Tony references on seeing Ziva's sleep shirt is Robert Johnson, who legend has it, met the devil at the intersections of Highways 49 and 61 in Clarksdale Mississippi. and sold his soul in order to learn to play the guitar His career was brief, but iconic, going on to be recognised as one of the most influential musicians of the 20th century. Like many musicians of his era, he did not truly become famous until after his death at age 27, allegedly after being poisoned by the vengeful husband of one of his mistresses. (Why yes, you did uncover another niche interest I hold.)
Although a different song to the inspiration piece, one of his most famous recordings is the blues standard Crossroad recorded in 1936.
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