The tension lasted mere seconds before—

Thunk.

Ziva's knees hit the floor.

Tony stood, backed against the bed, clutching sheets moist from his own sweat between his fingers. He swallowed, opened his mouth, and then froze altogether, his heart pounding furiously. He could hear absolutely nothing; the rush of the blood past his ears was too loud. Pangs of fear continued to strike him as Ziva knelt on the floor, trembling all over.

All he could see in the darkness was a frizzy mass of curls that seemed to rattle back and forth through the air in time with her gasps. In mere seconds, Ziva had gone from a state of murderous rage to one of utter devastation. Tony knew exactly how to combat a bloodthirsty assassin, but he found he had no answers for this broken woman.

"I almost snapped your neck," she spoke abruptly, softly, her face still hidden in the darkness. There was a dull slapping noise against her skin as Ziva yanked the chain of her necklace free.

Tony neither dared to speak nor move. Finally, Ziva lifted her head, gazing at the now-broken necklace she held between her fingers. After a moment, she closed her palm around it, and slowly, rose to her feet.

She looked at him, her charcoal gaze empty, quiet, yet disturbingly peaceful. Tony shivered. He felt as if he were staring into the eyes of a corpse.

"Could you—" she began hesitantly, looking at him from underneath her pale eyelids. "Could you get me a glass of water?"

Nodding, Tony sped towards the bathroom like a soldier under fire would dash towards a foxhole. His hands shaking, he reached out and turned handle. The water that ran from the lip of the faucet was silent; Tony's own thrashing heart still overpowered any other noise.

Ziva was sitting on the edge of the bed, staring at the limp necklace chain in her hand. She did not look up as he sat down beside her.

"Thank you," she whispered as Tony handed her the glass of water. She had turned the bedside lamp on, and now, he could see her face in the light. Dried blood was caked to her skin where she had hit her head on the bed stand.

"Zee-vah," he murmured. He had somehow managed to block the dizzying panic in his throat from escaping into his voice. "Your face… You're bleeding."

"It is fine," she replied simply. She continued to sit there, cradling the necklace in her hands.

With a breath of courage, Tony moved closer, insisting to her, "No, it's not fine. You are not fine."

"Hm," she said. "Perhaps you might get me a wet cloth then… Tony?" She added his name, a small shudder quaking her form as she did so. It was as if she was terrified to speak it out loud.

Again, he retrieved what she asked for. When he returned bearing the wet cloth, however, Tony stopped short. She was staring ahead towards the wall and he could see clearly into her eyes. And once more, he was rendered stupefied, aghast by the expression, or lack of one, he saw in them.

"Zee-vah," he said again, this time more firmly, and sat down next to her. "You need to let me help you." Tenderly, he reached out with the cloth to wipe the blood from her face.

"It is pointless, Tony," she stopped him, his fingers halfway from her cheek. She continued to stare straightforward towards the wall and spoke with as much gravity as if she were telling him not to bother searching for a secret exit in Gibbs' basement. "I have no need nor want of comfort from you. There is nothing else you can do for me."

At first, he winced, stung by the indifference in her voice, and then, a stroke of anger lashed through him. Tony stood up off the bed abruptly.

"Pointless," he echoed her opinion. "Wow, would I love to be you sometimes, to live inside Ziva David's little box, where nothing gets in and nothing gets out."

Ziva said nothing; she merely watched him, perhaps raising her eyebrows a little, and accepted the onslaught she knew was about to come.

Tony began to walk choppily back and forth, like sloshing water slapping against its constraints. All the pent-up emotion began to spew from his mouth, uncontrolled and erratic.

"I can't believe you. You think like you just operate in a vacuum, like you can go around and screw with whomever you like. You come back from Africa and you just act like nothing happened, like nothing's changed. Of course, you've got everything under control, but don't you get how it affects them—Abby, Ducky, McGee, Gibbs, everybody?!"

He whirled around, fury engulfing him as he again met Ziva's empty stare. Gone was any urge to speak cryptically.

"Don't you have any idea what you're doing to me?!" he screamed. Surely, this would make her respond, would make her care about what he was feeling. Surely, this would make her infuriated enough to scream back at him.

Yet her face remained limp and unresponsive.

"Who are you?!" he hissed, the fury in his voice melting into a strained anguish. "The Ziva I know wouldn't let me scream at her. She would yell back, she would punch me, she would kick my ass—she would fight back."

"There is nothing left worth fighting over, Tony," she whispered. "I am not worth fighting over."

In an instant, before Tony even knew he was moving, he was crouched in front of her. They were chin to chin and a small something passed through Ziva's eyes. His jaw set with anger, Tony spoke: "Don't you ever say that again. You are worth fighting over."

Ziva's lips parted and he heard the sharp zip of air as she sucked a breath into her pink mouth. Moving breathtakingly close, Tony's gaze hardened, his hazel eyes penetrating her black ones.

"You are not alone," he whispered, his own eyes now stinging. If his words could not puncture her, if his eyes could not draw her forth, his touch—Tony grasped her bare shoulders and smiled as if he had never felt anything so precious as the warm, smooth skin beneath his fingers. "You're alive, Zee-vah."

And suddenly, that something rushed forward, flooding color back into Ziva's face. Tony grinned, his mouth open so wide that he was almost laughing. Joy sang through his veins as Ziva looked up at him with those wide, expressive eyes swimming underneath her lashes. He could feel her hot breath brushing his nose and her body moving against his hands—

"Tony," She spluttered.

The sound of his own spoken name like that stabbed him and Tony's smile fell.

Ziva gazed up at him. He now realized what the movement was: her body was trembling so violently that the bed itself was shaking.

"When you touch me," she whispered, her voice cracking. "I-I am so afraid."

Tony drew back immediately, fumbling as he began to apologize one, two, three times—

But Ziva lightly pressed a finger against his jaw.

"Never apologize: it is a sign of weakness," she said. Her lips split into a small, hesitant smile. "And, you are right. Death is not something I can hope to prevail against, but fear is something I can fight…yes?"

He nodded, and his heart, though not from fear, was again fluttering quite rapidly in his chest. He perhaps pressed his face into her touch, hoping for a fleeting second to feel her hand cup his cheek.

Ziva pulled her hand back, fighting the tremor that had begun to crawl through her skin.

She turned her face from him and said, "But it will take time. And for now, I-I would like us both to sleep soundly."

They both walked towards their respective halves of the bed and stopped, sharing one last look.

"You do know…" Tony began slowly. "I've got your six, Zee-vah."

She glared at him through the darkness, her eyes smiling. They climb into the bed, Tony quirking a brow as he waited for her retort. They lay propped against the headboard, side by side, when Ziva said:

"What if I do not want you to have my six, Tony?"

"Then…"

He trailed off and Ziva drew her breath in sharply. He had grasped her hand, threading his fingers tightly between hers. They both stared ahead in the darkness, neither saying a word. Moments later, when the first snore came forth from her chest, humming in Tony's ears, he never thought he'd heard any sound more gratifying.

--

Okay, let me calm you all now and reassure you: NO, this is NOT the end. There will be a new chapter up as soon as I can get it to you. It will most likely feature a heavy dose of Gibbs, Ducky, and Vance, as I need to wrap up that part of the story. Nor will this be the last important conversation between Tony and Ziva.

And I apologise to anyone who's upset at the romantic hints at the end of this chapter. I tried to make them as subtle as possible, but I can't help if they slip through. This is how I interpret Tony and Ziva's relationship and this is a little like how I imagine whatever encounter the audience missed in 'Jet Lag'. Perhaps, not all the same drama/screaming took place, but the simple gesture of comfort in holding hands is something I definitely see. Let's face it, something definitely happened to soften the tension between them. Also, how did you guys feel about the way this chapter played out, with the heavy drama throughout up until the lighter ending?

IMO, I thought they needed a return to the playful, ambiguous banter that's so characteristic of their relationship at the end . Thoughts? Ehm… I'm worried: was it cheesy?

And I apologize for the delay in updates!

~Em