This story is set pretty much in real time, and assumes Ziva was raped in Somalia, which I think is a more than reasonable assumption, unfortunately for her. As far as the season finale goes, this is set after that, and all the clean-up that I imagine is coming in the season 8 premiere. And yeah, that's about it. Thanks for reading, thank you in advance to anyone who reviews, and enjoy.
A/N: I've been sick, so I had time to write this (and watch NCIS reruns, yay), my next NCIS story might not be for a while, since my schedule is going to be miserable in the fall.
It was late when she finally managed to get herself in front of his door, probably too late to visit, but in all likelihood he was still awake. She wondered what movie he was watching.
"Ziva?" He frowned, looking sleepy and confused. Like a lazy puppy.
"Tony," she answered, to his deepening confusion.
He scratched his head, and with a shrug, opened the door further to allow her entrance. She sashayed in, hips swaying with a confidence she didn't feel, but had learned to fake at a very young age. Tony shut the door, and the simply stood, waiting for her to say what she came for.
"Were you already sleeping?"
"Not intentionally, fell asleep watching a movie."
Ziva glanced at the TV, recognized Sean Connery in his Bond years, and turned to him, faking horrified surprise, her voice high. "Bond put you to sleep? Are you ill?"
Tony chuckled, and walked over to her. "Not sick, just a little sleep deprived."
Suddenly she turned serious, frowning, studying him with concern. "Why? What's wrong?"
"Nothing," he said quickly. "Just not sleeping well lately."
"No. Not for a while."
Her mouth opened. "You are ill."
Tony rolled his eyes. "Since when did you become my mother?"
"What's wrong, Tony?" She dodged the question.
"Nothing, now tell me why you're here, or I'm putting Bond back on."
Ziva looked away, suddenly losing her nerve. Her heart was thudding in her chest in a way it hadn't even during her first assassination. The only man who had have made her so frightened was her father, and that was a completely different kind of fear.
"Ziva, what's wrong?" Suddenly, his hand was on her arm, his touch gentle, caring, worried for her.
She straightened her back, facing him again, determined to say what she needed to, determined to conquer her last fear left from Somalia. "This time last year I was tied up on the floor of a small, concrete cell in the middle of the desert."
The tension in Tony's body seemed to relax at that, not increase as she expected. He sighed, heavily, wearily. "Why do you think I can't sleep?"
Instead of answering, Ziva frowned in question.
"I feel like if I close my eyes, I'll wake-up and find that the past year was a dream. You won't be at work, you'll be dead again. You know how amazing it was to find you alive, Ziva? Out of all the outcomes I hoped for when we left DC, that one was so unlikely, I hadn't even considered it."
She raised her hand to touch his face, fingertips brushing the beginning of stubble on his cheek. He still looked clean-shaven, but she could feel the hairs just starting to come in again. "I am here, Tony. I am not going to disappear."
He nodded. "I'm afraid to trust that."
It was probably the most candid conversation they'd ever had, and she was grateful for that. She needed him serious, she needed him to understand, and now she believed that he would. "Then we will learn to trust again together."
"What do you mean?"
A breath trembled down her throat. "When they had me, they did…things. It was worse than the torture, and I have not been with a man since…and the last man I was with before was Michael, and he hurt me in other ways."
Tony swallowed, his adam's apple bobbing, but said nothing, his green eyes watching her intently.
"Being intimate with a man, it frightens me." She slid her fingers down toward his jaw, trailed them lightly over his soft lips. "I do not want to be afraid of you."
He pressed his lips into her fingertips. "You don't have to be."
Ziva leaned forward then, not to kiss him, but to initiate an embrace, wrapping her arms around his neck, and leaning her head on his shoulder. Tony put his arms around her waist and kissed her head. Her heartbeat was rapid, nervous, but not really frightened, Not yet anyway.
"I must be dreaming," Tony whispered against her ear.
Ziva smiled. "If you were, I think we'd already be naked or I would be in some ridiculous costume."
"Who told you about that dream?" He joked.
"You are not so mysterious, Tony."
He chuckled. "Actually, it's a Bond quote, what he says after Pussy Galore introduces herself in Dr. No."
She laughed through her nose. "Of course, it is." Ziva nuzzled in closer to him, holding him tighter, before pulling back enough to press her lips to his.
Tony didn't disappoint, but he didn't push her either, and kept his hands in the same spots on her waist. He'd give her the lead. The quintessential ladies man had taken off his goofy playboy mask, and exposed himself to the one person that he needed like oxygen. What he did do was covertly shut off the DVD and TV, and direct them toward the bedroom.
Ziva was trembling. She never trembled, not for anything, and certainly not for sex, but it was hard. Part of her was waiting to be hit, to feel the burn in her scalp and the painful tug in her neck as he head was roughly yanked back, and to feel the ache of fear in her belly and pain in her chest as her heart beat in a furious panic when he yanked her legs open, fingers digging painfully into her thighs to maintain his grip.
None of these things happened.
Tony asked her permission with a simple look before each article of clothing was removed. He gradually let his hands travel new places, from above her shirt on her waist, to the skin beneath, to her back, when he unhooked her bra to her stomach and up to her breasts. His lips traveled too, over her jaw, around her neck, down to meet his hands at her breasts. And, she trembled, uncontrollably it seemed. Her breath hitched whenever he hit a scar, of which there were many, but Tony didn't seem bothered by them.
When they were both down to their underwear, Tony's finger trailed underneath the lacy waistband of her panties, and she unintentionally stiffened. He immediately removed his hand, and pulled back, green eyes searching hers.
"It is okay, Tony."
"We don't have to do this now, we can pick it up at a later time, Ziva, when you're ready."
"And, waste all this foreplay?" She teased.
He smiled. "It's a good first step. Maybe tomorrow or next week we finish this, maybe tonight we just snuggle."
"You would not be disappointed?"
"I don't want to rush you. I can wait."
Ziva studied him. She wanted this, she wanted him, and she wanted to gain that part of herself back. "Yes, well I can not."
With that, she shimmied out of her panties, kicking them to the floor with everything else. She felt incredibly vulnerable, to be completely naked with a man above her, but when it really came down to it, she did trust him.
Tony leaned down and kissed her then, and keeping with his slow, cautious pace, touched her with his hand first. She gasped and began to tremble again, while arching her body into his. Tony gasped then, as she rubbed against his erection. He pulled his boxers off then, tossing them in the same direction as her panties, and looked into her eyes once more for permission.
When he slid himself inside her, Ziva didn't scream, or cry, or force her mind to check-out and pull away from the situation. She inhaled gasping, and tightened her grip around his shoulders. She worked her body in rhythm with his, marveled at the familiar burn between her legs as he moved inside her.
It could still feel good. She'd been so afraid it never would again, that she'd never be able to have sex with a man and not feel pain or fear. But, this was different than in Somalia. This felt good, this felt like being loved.
When the rhythm quickened, and he used his fingers on her, Ziva began to scream. Not stop, not help, not don't, or curses in a half a dozen languages. She screamed his name, she screamed for more, she screamed for the overwhelming pleasure of it. She was still coming down when he finished, pressing a last kiss to her lips, and leaning his forehead to hers as he tried to catch his breath. When he went to pull away, pull out, she held him there, not quite ready to give up the feeling, not quite ready to give up the euphoria.
For the first time in a year, she didn't feel broken or damaged.
When he did finally move, he flopped down beside her and entwined their fingers together. Tony stared at the ceiling only a few moments before turning to her and wiping off tears she didn't know she'd shed. "About that snuggling thing-"
Ziva cut him off mid-sentence, rolling over, pressing her body against the length of his, and nuzzling her head into the crook of his shoulder.
"Well, that answers that," he commented, his voice light with amusement.
"Do not snore," Ziva directed him, closing her eyes.
Tony rolled his eyes.