Chapter Text
It was easy to forget how young Ziva really was. She spent so much of her time proving she was mature and collected that the fact that she was only twenty-six often got overlooked. Only twenty-six years old.
When he was her age, he had just gotten out of Peoria and started working as a cop in Baltimore. He had survived the months of trying to figure out what his life looked like outside of basketball. It wasn’t pretty but he made it out alive. He stumbled into law enforcement in a way that even surprised him. It was never the plan. You don’t talk your way out of that many minor in possession tickets only to end up writing them yourself.
By all accounts though, he was still a child.
At twenty-six, he was still trying to figure out his own life, the kind of person he wanted to be.
At twenty-six, Ziva was sitting on his kitchen counter, slowly eating a bowl of spaghetti in his t-shirt that hung off of her tiny frame. The bruises still covered her body, probably would for awhile. The scars would be there for years if not the remainder of her life. She was just a child and yet they tortured her mercilessly. God knows what else they did to her.
He still hadn’t built up the nerve to ask.
“Why are you staring at me like that?” She mumbled around her fork without looking up.
Nice to see her senses weren’t dulled.
“I was trying to find the words to apologize for feeding you marinara from a jar. My Nonna is rolling in her grave at this injustice.”
“You didn’t have to make me anything. I had dinner earlier.” She answered guilty.
“What sort of Italian would I be if I didn’t feed you when you came over?!”
“You didn’t used to feed me when I stopped by.”
“Yeah well that was before.” The words slipped out before he could stop them. He didn’t need her to know that he was so acutely aware of the change in their dynamic, in her personality, everything. Not when she was clearly trying so hard to be fine. When they both were so engulfed in pretending.
“You mean before I got taken prisoner?”
Her eyes met his and they were that new blank she had picked up in their summer apart. He hated it. Ziva was a lot of things but unreadable was never one of them. Maybe to other people, but never to him. It was something he took a lot of pride in, being the man who could see behind the curtain. Not anymore, at least not fully. He could see she knew she had caught him in a conversation that he was avoiding.
Not for the first time, he wished she was not so blunt but after meeting other members of her family, he realized that it may have been an inherited behavior.
“I’ll have you know that I got very connected with my roots this summer! I have a puttanesca that would bring a lone tear to your eye!” It was a weak diversion but she was kind enough to take it. Both of them sought comfort in the retreat. The corner of her mouth briefly turned up in a hint of a smile before it quickly faded away.
He had to keep reminding himself that progress wasn’t linear. Just because she had laughed her way through Planes, Trains, and Automobiles the night before on his couch, did not mean that she was “healed.” It had only been four days since she had gotten back to DC.
She came over every night to use his shower, knocking on his door a little before 10:00pm. Each night she would fall asleep on the couch, only to be gone by morning. There was a persistent ache in Tony’s neck from continuing to sleep sitting up but he just couldn’t leave her, not so soon after he had gotten her back.
As most things with Ziva were, it felt unsustainable, like any minute she would just fade back into the shadows if she got spooked. Tony often joked that he liked a challenge but he was out of his depth here. He finally understood there was something huge to lose. When he had a free minute at work, he was researching on how to best support someone recovering from trauma. All the articles and hotlines said the same thing above all else, time.
He was trying his hardest to keep the anxieties to himself. She didn’t need the added burden of his worries to weigh her down. Not when she was still processing surviving. She had a history of shutting people out when they got too close.
He would not be kicked out this time.
“I will have to try it some time.”
“Do you want to watch a movie? I’ve got The Mummy all queued up. Some of Fraser’s best work!”
He was grasping at straws here. He knew he had messed up but he didn’t want her to leave. The more she sought him out, the more it felt like he was healing himself. Just seeing her alive, having her curl into him in her sleep, all of it started to settle the anxiety that felt all consuming at one point.
He didn’t know if she felt the same but she kept coming back. His narcissism told him that he was helping. His negativity told him that he just had nice water pressure.
His heart was just happy she was around.
It was ridiculous to think about his pain when Ziva was staring up at him through blackened eyes. This summer, though, he had danced with grief in a way that he hadn’t felt since his mom passed.
He thought the break up with Jeanne was bad. That “misery” would have been a welcome change over the summer he just had.
He was getting off topic in his own mind. Judging by the way she looked at him, she could see it too. It was both refreshing and terrifying to spend time with someone who knew you so well. He just wished he could return the favor.
“I should be going. I look at an apartment in Georgetown early in the morning and I do not want to be late.” She wouldn’t meet his eyes. Her standard move when she didn’t want his opinion on something.
“Do you want me to check it out with you? We aren’t on any active cases right now. I can be late to work.”
“No, I can take care of myself.”
“Never implied you couldn’t. Just want to help.” She finally met his eyes. She softened briefly as if she could hear what he was clumsily trying to say. That he loved her and would do literally anything she asked.
“I know, Tony.” Her hand rested on his cheek and he tried his hardest not to melt into the touch.
He failed.
Sleep did not come easily that night despite being in his own bed.
Ziva didn’t come back the next night either.
He knew he was being a terror at work, snapping at Abby, yelling at McGee. He couldn’t stop. He knew he was tired and taking it out on his coworkers was not going to make him feel more rested. The constant tossing and turning for the past two nights, jumping at every sound, wondering if it could be her, put him so far past the edge. The train had already left the station though. It wasn’t coming back.
In an act of kindness that was so strangely unfamiliar, Gibbs sent Tony home. Gibbs’ knowing eyes told him that he understood Tony's pain, that loving someone who was hurt, potentially beyond repair, was soul wrenching work. Without even putting up a fight, Tony grabbed his backpack and silently walked out of the squad room.
Tony stepped out of his shoes and dropped his sport coat on the floor, not even bothering where it landed. Without even opening his eyes, he stumbled to his kitchen and poured himself a glass of wine. Four in the afternoon wasn’t the best time for a drink but it certainly wasn’t the worst.
He drifted to his bedroom, putting the wineglass on his nightstand. He fell face first into his mattress and immediately fell asleep.
His body felt sleep warm and tingly when he eventually woke up. He had no idea how long he had been asleep but he could tell the sun had long set.
“You don’t snore as much as you used to.” Ziva whispered, not intending to startle him but falsely assuming everyone had the same sonar skills she had.
Tony jumped slightly but instantly relaxed because it was Ziva. It didn’t matter that she absolutely broke into his house and made herself comfortable in his bed while he slept. He smiled at her sleepily and his heart tripled in size when she shyly smiled back.
She sipped slowly out of his wine glass in another one of his shirts. He had no idea where she kept finding them or how she even got in but she looked at ease with her legs tucked underneath her, leaning on the headboard. Her hair was a little wet which was the most shocking part. She had showered without him at the door. This was what progress looked like.
He ignored the voice in his head that reminded him she would leave again when she didn’t need him anymore.
She would always leave him.
“How was the apartment?” He asked quickly to distract himself.
“Too far.”
“From work?”
“From everything.” The twinkle in her eye as she took another sip dared him to hope that his bed was included in that everything.
Good. He needed her close. He needed to look out for her.
She was only twenty-six.