A/N: So the line, "Why can't you just hate me?" Has been stuck in my head for a week and I needed to write a oneshot about it.
This oneshot is playing with a conversation Tony and Ziva need to have. I'm making the assumption that the team saves her from Somalia and leaves Mossad but no spoilers other than the fact that she was captured there are included in this story.
She hadn't been back for long when he brought it up.
He hadn't said a word, but he didn't need too. She could see the questions in his eyes, the pain inside as he looked at her, wincing at each visible scar and knowing there were more that he couldn't see.
They stood in the middle of the street, across from the team's favorite coffee shop. Hot September rain was falling from the nearly black sky above them. They were about to walk in when thunder began to roll.
He looked at her.
"I am fine," She said, knowing what he would ask if he could find the words. She began to walk once more.
"Are you?" He asked, not caring about the rain drenching his brand-new-too-small suit. He asked it so calmly, so softly.
She spun on her heel turned back at him. "No, actually I'm not," She said, her voice irritated.
"I didn't want to kill him," He said quietly, his eyes never leaving her face.
"Then why did you?"
"I didn't want to die either,"
"Well then I hope you are happy, because none of it was real. He was playing me,"
"Well I'm sorry to disappoint you, but I'm actually quite miserable right now. Have been for four and a half months," He said, his voice still calm and not wavering.
"Oh really, that long?" Tony shrugged and just looked at her.
"I am sorry that you got hurt,"
"These scars will heal," She defended. "Others will not,"
"I wish they would,"
"You caused them!" She cried.
"I know I did. I didn't want to. I was looking out for my partner. Everything I did I did for you," He said honestly.
"Why can't you just hate me?" She asked in wonder, her eyes burning like fire despite the rain around her.
"If there's one thing Gibbs ever taught me is simper fi: always faithful,"
"Then explain your actions with Michael,"
"I have. You need to accept that,"
"What if I don't want to?" She asked, taking a step forward, enunciating every syllable in frustration.
"Then you're not the agent any of us thought you were," he said seriously.
"I am not an agent,"
"You're not a Mossad officer either," His statement was almost a challenge.
"None of this was supposed to happen," She said. Her make-up was dripping down in the rain, and her previously straightened hair was growing curlier by the moment. It was then that he noticed her neck.
"Your necklace is gone," He commented.
Her bruised hand flew to her neck, feeling for its absence.
"In Somalia?" She didn't reply, looking away then just past him off into nowhere, keeping her stoic facial expression. "Well I gotta say, finding you was the easiest part,"
"Why did you?" She threw at him.
"You never called,"
"Neither did you," She said, recalling the previous summer apart.
"I should have," He said after a moment.
"Just like I should have been there for Michael,"
"You did what I had to do. Just like I did,"
"You had to kill him?" She asked, her expression changing to one of confusion, desperation, hurt, a struggle to stay strong.
"I had to live," He said, taking a step toward her. "For you," He whispered, touching her cheek gently with the back of his hand. She looked into his eyes, searching. Her eyes filled with tears. Tears of anger and pain began to fall. She threw a punch at him. One. Two. Neither caused him to fall, much less stumble. They were weak, due to her injuries and lack of trying for who knows what reason. In that moment, she fell into his arms, crying, grasping at his shirt. He stood there, his arms around her.
The moment didn't last long, but it didn't need to.
They had somehow made it out alive.
Now they needed to stay afloat.