Detective Burris bid the pair good night, and they were left in the parking lot in silence.
"Get a drink?" Tony asked, turning to his partner.
She was staring off into the distance. "Hmm?" she blinked. It was obvious she hadn't heard the question.
He repeated patiently, "Want to get a drink?"
A beat of hesitation, then she answered, "Not tonight."
"After the day you've had, you don't need a drink?"
He watched her waver again. "I am not in the mood to go out tonight."
"We could drink at home," he suggested.
She cocked an eyebrow at him.
"Your place, mine, whichever. We could watch a movie."
She shook her head. "Tony, I am exhausted."
He nodded, not sure whether to push her or not. He didn't want her to get mad at him for being stubborn, but at the same time maybe she wanted him to push tonight-
She took his hand. "I just need to get some sleep tonight. I'll take a…a…" she snapped her fingers trying to come up with the word.
"Raincheck," he supplied.
"Yes. I'll take a raincheck for the drink."
He squeezed her hand and grinned. "Promise?"
The corners of her mouth curled up as she answered, "I promise." She kissed his cheek. "Good night, Tony." She released his hand and opened the door to her car.
"Night." He watched her drive away before getting in his own car.
While he was glad Ray was finally—completely, and without question—out of the picture, he wished it hadn't come at such an expense to Ziva. That asshole had trampled all over her heart after she'd let him into it. This whole thing had shaken her a lot more than she'd ever admit, and it pained Tony to see it.
He meandered home. A quick stop at the liquor store for some beer, then chatting up some of the guys sitting at the bar at the pizza parlor while he was waiting for his pie to bake. He was in no rush to get home, so it was nearly an hour later when he finally walked through the door of his apartment.
She was lying on the couch. Possibly she was asleep, possibly just zoned out, but either way she did not acknowledge him. Frozen in the doorway, he watched her for a moment. Definitely asleep. And wearing his favorite sweatshirt. And a pair of his boxer shorts. She must have rolled the waist several times to get them to stay up. The result was that the hem barely fell below the sweatshirt, and he had a lovely view of her bare legs down to her sock-clad feet. God, her legs were spectacular. Long and toned. Beautiful. Even more beautiful because she was wearing little more than his sweatshirt. So hot.
He admired the view for another minute, then set the pizza and beer down on the coffee table and headed down the hall to his room to change. The clothes she'd changed out of were lying on his bed. Huh. Logically it made sense, she had changed. But, there was something so domestic about seeing her pants and sweater—and bra—lying there on his unmade bed. The thought made him smile. He changed into sweats and a t-shirt and trod barefoot back to the living room.
She was still asleep, and he sat carefully in the center of the couch. He wasn't going to wake her, not after she'd flat out told him she was exhausted. Her feet grazed his thigh, but she didn't wake. After turning the TV on—volume low—he ate a slice, and then another, sipping his beer.
"That smells good," Ziva murmured, eyes still closed.
"Have some," Tony smiled, giving her feet a squeeze.
She squealed and yanked her foot away.
"Ticklish?" he chuckled, as she sat up.
She growled and reached across him to grab a slice. "How many kinds of meat are on this?" she laughed.
He shrugged. "Three or four. It's good."
She took a bite. "It is."
He opened a beer and handed it to her. They sat in silence for a while, eating. Ziva finished her slice, and laid her head on his shoulder.
"One is plenty," she told him.
He grabbed himself another, and sat back, wrapping his arm around her shoulder. She curled into his chest.
"When did you change your mind about going home?"
"Before I was out of the parking lot," she sighed.
He chuckled. "And you didn't call?"
"I thought you'd be home shortly after I got here."
"I stopped for this," he gestured the pizza and beer.
"I see that. I waited a few minutes, then let myself in—with my key," she smiled.
"That's what it's for." After so many times of her picking his lock, he'd finally given her a key.
"You look comfy," he smirked.
"I like this sweatshirt."
"I know. So do I."
She laughed. "I got it first."
"It looks good on you. Really good," he said before his brain caught up with his mouth.
"Yeah?" Ziva tipped her head to look up at him, and curled her legs—her bare legs—over his lap.
Was he allowed to touch them? Cause his hand was halfway there. He let it land gently on her knee, tracing small half circles. She purred softly against his chest.
"How are you doing?" he asked, a few minutes later.
She sighed loudly. "Can we please not talk about it?"
"There is nothing to talk about. Ray lied, repeatedly—"
"He hurt you."
"And I want to put it behind me!" She started to pull away from him, but he held on.
"Okay, okay. We don't need to talk about it…" She relaxed against him as he ran the palm of his hand up and down her arm. "I just want to make sure you're okay."
"I am getting there," she admitted. "Not quite there yet. But, I don't—"
"Want to talk about it," he finished.
"Right," she confirmed. "Is that okay?"
He nodded. "I'll stop asking. But I'm here if, you know, you want to."
"I know," she yawned. "You always are."
He smiled, glad she knew that. "Tired?"
"Go back to sleep," Tony told her.
"I'm not very good company tonight."
He shrugged. "I wasn't expecting any."
"You do not mind?" she asked, eyes closed already.
"Why would I mind a beautiful woman wearing my shirt, asleep on my chest?"
She chuckled softly into his t-shirt.