Title: Trust
Disclaimers: NCIS, the rights to the show and its characters do not belong to me. No money was made by this.
A/N: English is not my native language. So please forgive me my grammar and spelling mistakes.
Spoilers: the never-ending mystery that is the night in that hotel room in Paris is touched briefly
Pairing: Tiva, what else?
Summary: "This time, his ninja has finally met her match and is losing the frantic struggle against the whacko."
A/N2: Written for the no-safety-pin challenge going on on lifejournal. I don't have an account and won't create one simply for this, so I am posting this piece here.

It's just another day at the office. They talk, snap at each other, banter. Thought their jokes are a little more harsh than they are funny, and there's that extra little ounce of pissed-off in their eyes that has McFearsome scrambling down to the lab the first chance he gets. And then there's that serial killer on the loose and a stupid silver-haired man decides she is going to act as bait, and he bites his tongue so hard it bleeds when she accepts the assignment with a confidence that he did not witness that night in Paris. But maybe, he thinks, maybe his judgment is clouded and the screams that tore from her throat that night had all been in his head. But he can still feel the soreness in his arm where she had bit him when he tried to wake her from her nightmare, can still see her trembling in the far corner of the room, sobbing and heaving, and he still knows that feeling in his soul when he was unable to touch and comfort her because whenever he so much as moved his hand where he sat on the other side of the room, she would whimper and try to melt into the wall. No, he hadn't imagined that, but a look from her shuts him up. He assigns himself as her guard on the site, and there's no mistaking the relief in her eyes, either.

It takes three nights and days of hard whispers and insulting jokes that aim and land well below the belt until the killer finds her. He has said something stupid to McKnowsitall, and she says she'll take a trip to the bathroom. Her voice carries that certain 'come with me and die' threat, and so he doesn't move. He also doesn't notice that ten minutes tick by, but when a new glass of root beer is placed in front of him, he is suddenly well aware that Ziva has been gone far too long. He runs into the ladies room, his gun already drawn, which is a good thing because this time, his ninja has finally met her match and is losing the frantic struggle against the whacko. Her shirt is torn, her skirt hitched up, a small trickle of blood running down her neck where Psycho managed to nick her baby-soft skin with his knife. Judging from the bullet wounds he puts into him, the nut job gets what he deserves.

She insists that she is fine and does not need a trip to the hospital but a warm bath and tea [possibly spiked with as much liquor as the cup can hold]. Ducky tells her to leave the bathroom door unlocked, in case she loses consciousness, and they don't even share a single word on who is going to watch over her that night.

As soon as the door to her apartment is closed, he stats yelling and hit the wall because he's so damn frustrated and mad. At the Psycho that tried to kill her, too take her away from him, at Gibbs because he asked her to go and knew she wouldn't say no, at her because she didn't say no to the man who's losing it, at McUseless because he didn't tell him how long she had been gone. But most of all, he is mad at himself, for letting her take the assignment, for leaving her in Israel, for killing Rivkin, for believing she was dead. That, and he is so scared that one time, there won't be an almost.

She waits, patiently, until his words slow, and his pacing ceases, and then she touches his arm and thanks him for having her back. She is wearing NCIS sweats from her locker, her hair is loose and curly, and the white band aid on her neck is a stark contrast to her caramel skin and her voice is low and so soft. And something just drops and he pulls her to him and kisses her, hungry and needy and demanding, and she responds just like that, desperation creeping in, before she lets him dominate the kiss, allows his hands to roam over her clothes and slip under her shirt before returning to the surface and tangling in her hair. She lets him kiss her until their lips are bruised and swollen, and when he lets up on the intensity, she nips at his bottom lip and her hands are gently running through the short hair at the nape of his neck.

He buries his head in her neck, takes shuddering breaths and nibbles on her skin, inhaling her scent while trusting her to put the pin he just pulled back into the grenade while he feels her steady pulse soothing his fearful soul.

Review? Pretty please?

A/N3: Why, yes, I like taking random lines from my stories and putting them out of context as the summary.