Chapter Text
When Ziva began to shiver, Tony kissed her forehead, his lips lingering, before gently pushing her off him, and folding the towel around her. He took another towel from the sink, wrapped it around her shoulders, and began to gently rub her hair dry, careful not to touch her scalp.
Ziva closed her eyes and hummed at the treatment.
After the worst of the water had been dried from Ziva’s head, Tony spoke again. “Hair dryer?”, he asked.
Ziva shook her head. “Too tired”. She’d regret that decision in the morning when her hair was a messy halo of untamed curls, but right now, she just couldn’t muster up the energy to care.
Tony steered her out of the bathroom and into her bedroom. “What do you sleep in?”, he asked.
“What makes you think I sleep in anything?”, Ziva teased, forgetting for a moment the situation, how badly she had screwed up, and how hurt and angry Tony was.
“Humour me”, Tony said, a note of frustration creeping into his tone.
“I will get it”, Ziva replied quietly. She walked around to a set of drawers, pulling open two and taking out a well-worn shirt and a pair of shorts that looked like they were held together by a single thread and some hope.
Tony came up behind her and took the clothes from her. Flinging the shirt over his shoulder, he took the shorts and bent down for Ziva to step into them. He pulled them up under the towel and seated them on her hips. And tried really really hard not to think about the path up her legs and thighs his hands had just taken. He may be angry, frustrated, and hurt, sure, but he was still human. When he stood up, Ziva let go of the towel, letting it pool around her feet. Tony gulped, looking down at the expanse of skin now barred to him. He couldn’t help himself when a finger traced a long red abrasion across the top of her breasts.
Her breath definitely hitched that time.
“What happened?”, he asked. She looked down to see what he was referring to.
“I am…not sure”. So many of the marks on her body she could not specifically account for.
Tony retracted his hand and began to put the t-shirt carefully on her. Once fully clothed, he led Ziva over to her bed and instructed her to lie down. When she did, with his help, he left the room, returning a moment later with the bag from the pharmacy.
Ziva shimmied further into the middle of the bed so Tony could sit next to her.
“I want to clean the cut under your eye”, he told her and waited for her to nod. He laid out what he needed on her bedside table, and got to work, first disinfecting the cut, then applying a thin layer of antiseptic cream. As he was leaning over her, Ziva couldn’t help but stare at him. Sure, she could have closed her eyes, but she just couldn’t bring herself to.
Tony could feel Ziva staring at him. Once or twice he flicked his eyes and found hers, but continued his (admittedly overcautious) tending of her battle wounds.
“There, all done. I think we’ll avoid a scar”, he smiled, but she couldn’t bring herself to. Tony, sensing he was losing her, soldiered on. “Take these. They’ll help with the swelling, and the wicked headache I’m sure you have but will never admit to”. He held out a few pills, and a glass of water, and she took them without comment.
“Thank you”, she whispered. He smiled and patted her thigh.
“I’m going to get going. Your car is at NCIS, so I’ll pick you up at 7:30. Get some sleep and call me if you need me”, Tony explained. With speed he would always be impressed with, her hand shot out and grabbed his wrist. “What?”, he asked.
“Tony”, she started, taking a moment for a calming breath. “I know you are angry with me. And that we do need to talk. But please…don’t go”.
Tony sighed. In any other situation, in any other universe, Ziva asking him to stay would have filled his heart to the brim. But not tonight. Tonight, he was angry. He needed time to decompress himself.
“Ziva, you know I would. But I need to…”.
“Tony”, she cut him off, her grip tightening on his wrist, her eyes pleading with him. “I am afraid that if you leave, it will not be the same in the morning. That I will have broken us, again. Please. Please do not leave”.
It seemed like Ziva dreaded the cold light of day just as he did.
He blew out a breath and put his other hand on the one gripping his wrist. “I don’t have overnight clothes”, he warned.
Ziva let out a shaky breath but did not relax her grip or ridged posture. “I do not care”.
A small grin tugged at his lips.
“Ok. But I need to shower first”, he acquiesced, unable to ignore her pleading, but knowing he needed some time to himself.
“You know where everything is”, she nodded towards the bathroom, and let go of her vice grip.
He left her then, and she breathed out the breath she’d been holding when the door to her bathroom closed.
Almost half an hour (and a depleted hot water tank) later, Tony emerged from the bathroom in his boxers, with a towel around his shoulders. Ziva watched him walk in, smelling her soap and bath products waft from the steam. And him.
“That’s a nice shower”, he pointed over his shoulder.
“I am glad you liked it”, she smiled.
He stood there awkwardly, not really sure how to approach this. After several moments of indecision, he hung his towel on the back of a chair and drew back the covers.
“This ok?”, he asked, as he settled in on the other side of the bed. Ziva turned her head on her pillow and looked at him while her hand, under the covers, sought out his. When she found it, she squeezed and said “yes”.
Tony shifted slightly closer to Ziva.
“I am sorry, Tony”, she whispered, fresh tears springing to her eyes.
He squeezed her hand. “I am, too”.