author's note. I didn't set out to write a Poor Tony. Don't get me wrong, I enjoy a DiNozzo-whumping as much as the next gal, but that's not what I usually write. However, it looks like this story is leaning that way because here is the traditional closing scene in the hospital. Oh well.

I originally conceived the story as a one-shot; I thought Tony deserved this.

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Three nights later, when he is finally awake, Ziva pays him a visit. He is staring out the darkened window, trying to piece it together, when she appears in his doorway. "Shalom," she says, smiling faintly. "Can I come in?"

Tony is in no position to argue, so he wordlessly watches her cross the linoleum floor to a bedside chair. She sits, dressed in a robe over sweats. The sleeve of her robe falls away when she drags the chair closer to the bed, and Tony sees a hospital bracelet on her bruised wrist.

He finally speaks, through cracked lips. "Should you be up, Officer David?"

"I'm fine," Ziva says, and it is mostly true. With dark hair cascading around her pale face, she looks like a pre-Raphaelite painting. "Just a little bonged up."

"The term is banged up," Tony informs her - good, she thinks, that reflex hasn't been injured.

"I'm going home in the morning." Ziva crosses her feet at the end of Tony's bed. "I couldn't sleep."

"Nice slippers," Tony says dryly. "Goth bunnies. Cute."

"Abby lent them to me," Ziva explains, as if this isn't obvious. There isn't much room - seventy-four inches of DiNozzo pretty well fill the bed - so she rests her feet on top of his. It's a strangely affectionate gesture, and he feels her warmth seeping through the thin blanket.

He is still cold.

"So -" They both begin at the same time. Tony chuckles, tilts his head towards her. "You first."

"Do you remember anything?" Ziva inquires, folding her hands, interlacing her assassin's fingers.

"I remember going in to make the bust," Tony recalls, "and then I woke up here. The rest is pretty fuzzy. Were we tied up or something? They won't tell me."

"Oh, yes." Ziva displays her wrists. "Duct tapes, ropes, the whole nine feet."

"Nine yards," Tony corrects.

"Does it make a difference?" She's glad that they're playing the game again. She hadn't liked seeing him so quiet, before.

"Oh, it does." Tony grows serious, recalling the past victims they have seen. "Those guys were hard core. They didn't… hurt you, did they?"

"You tried to stop them." Ziva's eyes flick guiltily over his bandages. "That's when they did this to you."

"I did?" Tony smiles a little, pleased with himself. "I didn't think I was that kind of guy."

Ziva returns his smile. "I didn't either. So, you really don't remember anything?"

"No." Tony's grin spreads slowly across his face. "Did we make out?"

"We talked," Ziva enunciates.

Tony groans. "Talking is never a good thing."

"That would be why you don't get many second dates, Tony."

"Did I tell you anything embarrassing?" He's a little frightened by the fact that he doesn't remember a thing.

"Are you kidding?" Ziva snorts. "You wouldn't even give up your middle name."

"Gibbs trained me well." Tony grins, recalling his boss's closemouthed tendencies.

"We talked about Kate. And Ari."

His face clouds a little. "Why would we talk about Ari?"

"I'm telling you, because you deserve to know." She leans in, takes a deep breath, and speaks abruptly. "I was the one who killed Ari. I shot him."

"You did?" Tony shows no sign of recollection.

"Yes, and he was my half-brother." Her face betrays only a hint of sadness, but it is enough.

"Oh," Tony says. He favors her with a drugged smile. "Did I tell you I had the plague?"

They are bound now, tied together by their shared experience. Ziva squeezes Tony's fingers where they protrude from the cast. "You're a good friend, Tony," she says.

the end.