Chapter 11: Dance, Dance

Disclaimer: I do not own NCIS and make no profit from this story. The lyrics to "O Children" belong to Nick Cave.

She peeled back his bandage, lips pursed, dark eyes narrowed.

"You have pulled a stitch," she said. "I may be able to suture it. There is a first aid kit in the bathroom. Can you walk?"

"I can try," he said, rising slowly from the bed with Ziva's help. She put one hand on the uninjured side of his chest, the other hooked under his armpit. He was extremely surprised she didn't make some comment about the sweat gathered there. Moving in a way that reminded him of a three-legged race, they made their way to the bathroom. He was seated carefully on the toilet, and Ziva removed his blood soaked bandage, discarding it in the nearby trashcan. She then handed him a paper towel. "Put pressure on the wound," she instructed.

"I know," he said, rather snappishly. "I had first aid training, too."

"Which I'm sure was nothing like the course I took," she replied. She dove into the first aid kit, rifling through things quickly, finding whatever she was looking for. It was a small suture kit. "Yes, here - I'll be able to suture it back together. This will hurt, I warn you."

"Sweet cheeks, I've been shot before, I think I can deal," he said, voice ragged. God, everything was getting fuzzy.

"You were grazed before, not hit directly in the chest," she said, eyebrows knitting together as she began to work on his injury. He didn't know what she was doing, because once he saw the sewing needle come out, he nearly lost his dinner. He stoically gazed up at the ceiling as Ziva set about her work. As she managed to close his wound once again, he started to become more coherent. After a few minutes, she nudged him gently. He looked down at her. She was patting a fresh bandage down across his chest. "There. You should be fine, though you really need to limit your movement as much as possible. If this tears again, I am not sure that I will be able to fix it."

He let out a deep sigh. "Thanks," he said honestly, and he meant it. If Ziva hadn't been able to fix him up, he would had to have gone to the emergency room, and who knows how much blood he would have lost in the mean time. Not to mention the fact that man, he really hated hospitals. Especially hospitals he wasn't used to. Ziva rose to her feet, washing Tony's blood off of her hands in the sink. "Guess I'm not going back to sleep."

"What time is it? I did not bother to check."

"It's a little after four. I've had eight hours of sleep, I'll be fine," he assured her, carefully standing up. His balance wasn't great, but he could probably walk on his own now, his body slowly beginning to recover from his blood loss.

"I will stay up with you," she said as she dried her hands. "I doubt I would be able to fall back asleep, anyway," she told him honestly.

"Awesome," Tony said, smiling at her as they walked back into the main part of the hotel room. He settled down on the loveseat, and Ziva sat down next to him. "So, what do you want to do first? Braid each other's hair? Paint our toenails? Talk about boys? Did you see that new tie on McGeek, wow..." He whistled comically loud. Ziva laughed in spite of herself. He stood up for a moment, moving forward to turn on the television. He decided to just settle on a music channel instead of going for a movie, since he had already seen all of the ones currently on paper view on multiple occasions.

Peaceful music played in the background, and he returned to the loveseat, leaning his head on the back. "It's been a crazy couple of days, huh?" he asked, the best conversation starter he could think of.

"It has been," she agreed. "For all of us."

"I feel bad for putting you guys through all of this. We've had a rough year, me getting shot on top of all of it is like the cherry on top of the crap sundae," he said, frowning slightly as he stared at the ceiling again. This would be the perfect opportunity to tell Ziva... they were alone... the hotel room was semi-romantic, minus the blood stained blanket on his own bed...

"Did you wake up yesterday knowing you were going to get shot?" Ziva asked, giving him a glare that held no actually animosity behind it. "Do not blame yourself, Tony. We were all very worried about you, that is all."

"I'm sure you were all leaning over my sickbed, crying hysterically, talking about what a wonderful person I was, and how the good always die young-" he was interrupted by Ziva covering his mouth with her hand.

"I love this song," she said, holding a finger in the air as she listened to the music.

"Pass me that lovely little gun, my dear, my darling one. The cleaners are coming, one by one, you don't even want to let them start."

"Pretty," Tony attempted to say, but it came out completely inaudible through Ziva's hand. Not enjoying his forced silence, he licked the palm of her hand. She withdrew with a muttered 'ugh' and punched him lightly in the shoulder.

"You are such a child," she said.

"Oh, you love me for it," he replied, grinning at her before rising from the loveseat. Ziva looked up at him, confused, and he offered his hand to her.

"They are knocking now upon your door, they measure the room, they know the score, they're mopping up the butcher's floor of your broken little hearts."

"Come on, Zee-vah. You said you loved this song. I've got groove." He swung his hips to prove his point. She looked at his hand for a long moment before hesitantly taking it. She stood up, and he placed his free hand on the small of her back, bringing her closer to him so that there was only a half an inch of space between their bodies. He smiled down at her as he began slowly moving them around the room in a circle, swaying with the beat of the music.

"Be careful not to-" she began, glancing down at his still bare chest and the fresh bandage over his wound.

"I know," he said quietly, hushing her worried protest.

"O children, forgive us now for what we've done, it started out as a bit of fun. Here, take these before we run away, the keys to the gulag."

He lost himself in the music, his eyes never leaving Ziva's. In the faint light of the one lamp that glowed warmly from his bedside, her brown eyes looked almost golden. Her dark locks were a mess, but he couldn't help but remove his hand from hers long enough to brush a stray strand from her eye. Instead of taking her hand again, he placed his hand on her hip. She put her arms around his neck, drawing him closer.

He could hear her breathing, her scent was the only thing he could smell, and with their bodies pressed this close he was half-sure that he could hear her heart beating as well. The time was now.

"There's something I've been meaning to tell you for awhile," he said quietly.

"O children, lift up your voice, lift up your voice, children. Rejoice, rejoice."

"And what is that?" she asked, tilting her head up, looking at him like she was trying to read his mind through his eyes. He took several deep breaths. God, why was this so hard? Why was his heart thumping in his chest like a timpani? I've jumped out of airplanes, been shot, kidnapped, tortured, survived the plague and kissed a transvestite - I can do this.

"We've been partners for almost eight years now," he began carefully, his voice still low as he swayed gently, Ziva in his arms. "And you should know... you mean a lot to me, Ziva. I don't think I'd be able to get by without you. I..." He leaned his forehead against hers, their noses brushing. "And the past few days have made me realize that I'm running out of chances to tell you this, and I don't know what the hell I would do if it was too late."

"Too late to tell me that I 'mean a lot to you'?" she questioned. "I already knew that, Tony. You mean a lot to me as well."

"Here comes Frank and poor old Jim, they're gathering round with all my friends. We're older now, the light is dim, and you are only just beginning."

"That's not what I'm trying to get across here," he said slowly. "There's something I should have told you a long time ago."

"Tony..."

"I love you."

He waited, holding his breath. She said nothing.

"We have the answer to all your fears, it's short, it's simple, it's crystal clear. It's round about and it's somewhere here, lost amongst our winnings."

His heart plummeted to his toes at her pointed silence, but he continued to turn with the music, gently brushing his thumb over the small of her back. He closed his eyes, deciding that he might as well enjoy his own rejection. At least she was still willing to dance with him. He supposed he should have expected this - perhaps she had been catching onto all of his hints, but had chosen to ignore them.

Or maybe he had just been too late, like he feared.

"O children, lift up your voice, lift up your voice, children. Rejoice, rejoice."

Then, suddenly, he felt a warm pair of lips pressed firmly against his own. He opened up his eyes, as if to make sure that what he was feeling was real. Two golden-brown eyes stared back at him. A feeling of warmth spread through his wounded chest, he closed his eyes, and he placed one of his hands on her neck, tilting his head and opening his mouth to deepen their kiss. Ziva reciprocated.

They continued to turn with the music as they kissed. He mapped out her mouth, trying to reaquaint himself with every concave and convex from their undercover mission so many years ago. Almost eight years later, in another city, and another hotel room, they were kissing again. Honestly, this time, he felt like they were both completely different people than what they had started out as.

"The cleaners have done their job on you, they're hip to it, man, they're in the groove, they've hosed you down, you're good as new, they're lining up to inspect you."

He broke the kiss for a split second, just to look at her for a long moment and say the words that were still struggling to burst out. "I love you, I love you more than anything, and I want to be with you, and I don't why it took me so long, but I'm here now, and I'm saying it, and-"

He was cut off by another kiss, a tender one which only lasted for a few moments.

"O children, poor old Jim's white as a ghost, he's found the answer that we lost. We're all weeping now, weeping because there ain't nothing we can do to protect you."

She pulled back, and she placed her hands on either side of his face. He was surprised to find that her eyes were swimming with tears. "I love you too, Tony," she whispered, and he was soaring.

He returned to her mouth, his passion increased this time. By God, she loved him - she loved him back and suddenly everything that could go wrong, everything that had gone wrong, all of the hurt feelings and secrets and baggage and issues all disappeared in one beautiful second, and it was just himself and Ziva, in each other's arms, still swaying, their lips locked, and he was half convinced that maybe he had actually died when he took that bullet for McGee. Maybe he was really in Heaven.

"O children, lift up your voice, lift up your voice, children. Rejoice, rejoice."

For an indeterminable amount of time, they hung their, enwrapped in each other, letting all of their feelings finally show in the best way they knew how. The song that Ziva loved ended, and as the next few played. they moved to her bed. He laid down carefully, and she straddled him, hands on his shoulders. She leaned down, and he let his hands roam over her body hungrily as she occupied his mouth completely.

To his dismay, when his hand reached for the clasp of her bra, she halted him, pulling back from their kiss. "We cannot do this." Before his lips even had the chance to descend into a frown, she amended her statement. "Not tonight. I do not want to risk ripping open your wound again."

He thumped his head back against the pillow with a sigh. Unfortunately, he knew that she was right. There were certain activities that a gunshot victim should not get up to for at least a few days. "I am so getting payback on McGee for this," he said, and Ziva laughed, genuinely laughed. Carefully, he put his hands on her hips and flipped the two of them over, so he was on top of her. "I'm pretty sure bleeding to death is worth it," he said with a smirk, leaning down to kiss her again. Ziva broke it after a few moments.

"We could still sleep together," she offered. "Actually sleep," she added pointedly. He smiled warmly.

"I'd like that, but that runs the same risk," he said, nodding towards his bandaged chest. She ran her hands over the uninjured portion of his chest, leaning forward to place a light kiss on the bandage.

"You sleep," she said, looking back up at him. "I'll watch over you."

He laid down next to her, still holding her in his arms. "Just like an angel, huh?"

"I'm not sure that I'm much of an angel," she replied, and she kissed his forehead. "Just sleep, Tony. I will make sure that you don't toss and tear during the night."

"Toss and turn," he corrected automatically before reaching up and touching his lips lightly to hers. "I love you," he said again, easier the third time.

"I love you too," she replied, and he was pretty sure he would never get sick of hearing that. She laid down her head on the good side of his chest, snuggled into his side, and he played with her hair absentmindedly with his hand as Ziva's rhythmic breathing next to his ear lulled him to sleep.

He was awakened by the blazing spring daylight streaming through the tall windows of their hotel room, shining on his face and forcing his eyes open. He checked the time. Nine thirty. He had gotten another few hours of sleep, and with a warm body next to him, he had slept like a rock. He felt well rested and content as the memories of the night before entered his mind. He turned slowly to face Ziva, who, to his amazement, was still awake.

She was looking down at him, her head propped up by her arm, a slight smile playing on her lips. "Good morning," she said softly. He grinned at her.

"Morning, sweet cheeks," he replied, blinking the sleep out of his eyes. "You stay awake all night?"

"I told you I would watch over you," she said, as if that explained everything. He nodded dimly, running a hand up her back and lazily leaning his head onto her shoulder.

"Mhmm," he muttered, sighing and losing himself in the peace of the moment. He realized, of course, that he and Ziva would have to talk, they would have to both discuss what they wanted out of this relationship - which he realized he couldn't actually deem it that yet, since they hadn't discussed whether they were actually together. There would be challenges, there was rule twelve to overcome, and there were all manner of nightmarish things that could go horribly, horribly wrong, possibly ruining their friendship and their working relationship in one fell swoop.

He considered all of these things as he matched his breathing with Ziva's, placed a soft kiss on her shoulder, and closed his eyes again. His life wasn't perfect, and it never would be. Maybe he'd never get the dog and the yard, the perfect little family unit. But you know what? He was okay with that. Because if he'd learned anything over the past few days, it's that nothing was ever perfect, and you have to appreciate what you've got, because any moment you could lose it all.

He had his family. Gibbs, McGee, Ziva, Abby, Ducky, Palmer, Vance - all of NCIS. He had the family he loved, the woman he loved, the life he loved, no matter its trials and tribulations. Laying there with Ziva, he was just happy to be alive. He decided that, unequivocally, he would make the same choice he had made in the Crossroads Cafe over and over and over again, because this life was everything he needed.

He wouldn't have it any other way.

-FIN-