Can't…stop...tagging…

I started writing this inside Tony's head, and Ziva just kept butting in until I gave up and switched to her POV. I sometimes feel like I don't have quite as good a handle on her voice as I do Tony's, but hopefully I've done her justice.

I know.

Tony's assurance to Gibbs was quiet and calm, even if his eyes were anything but. She could see it - which meant Gibbs could see it too - but he still waved them off towards the elevator to collect their suspect.

Ziva was reeling. She had honestly believed that she knew everything important there was to know about Anthony D. DiNozzo, Jr. What he didn't announce to the world through his unabashed, loud (and ofttimes obnoxious) mannerisms, she had carefully cobbled together over seven years of observation and unguarded moments. She wondered how - with all they had been through together - he'd never before told her about this boy that he'd rescued or this girl that he'd lost. Why she'd never recognized the need to delve deeper when she had asked him years ago about his reasons for becoming a cop. His answer at the time had been simple: to piss off my father. No stranger to twisted logic when it came to fathers and career paths, she had accepted it as truth.

She felt a sudden and baffling surge of disappointment with Tony for never telling her. An even more unexpected wave of jealousy chased on its heels as she wondered who else had known. Gibbs clearly; had Wendy? Probably not Abby, obviously not McGee. Perhaps Ducky...she overheard Tony once - quite by accident - tell the wise old Scot that he still woke up to the sounds of her screaming sometimes. It wasn't too long after Somalia - a time that had provided enough fuel for a thousand nightmares - and she'd rather vainly assumed he had meant her. Now she was not quite so sure.

The swell of emotions passed almost as quickly as it came, leaving a gritty layer of guilt to settle into her skin. Yes, Ziva hated being left in the dark; but she was not a hypocrite, and she recognized that there were so, so many things in her own past of which Tony was still blissfully ignorant. He was just her partner after all; that did not make her privy to every deeply personal moment of his life.

For some reason, her silent self-admonishment left a bitter ache at the back of her throat.

"Ziva?" his voice was so quiet that she jumped, startled from her musings, and looked up to see Tony holding the elevator door open with a curious and slightly concerned expression. "You coming or you just gonna wait for the next one?"

"Sorry," she mumbled, stepping in after him as he allowed the doors to close.

As the elevator began moving, he shifted towards her instantly, instinctively; barely a hairsbreadth between his shoulder and her back. It was nothing new; they had trounced the concept of personal space from their first meeting, but with that closeness now, she could feel the tension rolling off of him. She struggled with what to say, to reciprocate the surprisingly sage words of wisdom he had offered lately while her own life imploded. If she told Tony that, he would - of course - plaster on a smile and throw out a flippant remark that it was a result of her pervasive difficulties with English as a fourteenth language. But the truth was that there were simply no words to comfort a man who couldn't forget the screams of a dying child.

She leaned forward to press the emergency stop, but Tony's fingers shot out from behind her with surprising alacrity, closing around her wrist as if he had been anticipating her move all along.

Her head snapped up as she looked over her shoulder, and any words she had managed to rally were suddenly scattered.

"Tony -"

His expression was so carefully neutral as he shook his head, dropping his hold on her. The air against her skin felt too cold after the warmth of his hand. "Can't," he said simply. "Got a job to do." His gaze drifted away from hers, but she continued to study him, could clearly see the fissures growing in his calm facade.

She sighed silently, facing forward again as the elevator continued its descent unhindered. Her thoughts wandered back to this unnamed girl, so young and so innocent, who had no idea that she would be the first in a long line of people that Tony would try - and too often fail - to save. A familiar, grinning face flashed unbidden across her mind, and she wondered suddenly if Jason's little sister wore her hair in two braids down her back like Tali.

"You have saved so many, all because you lost her," Ziva whispered, as much to herself as to him. Including me, she added silently and she knew - she knew even with her back to him and staring ahead at the sleek metal doors - that he heard it anyway.

He was trying to collect himself, and she hadn't wanted to make it harder for him, but it seemed to be what he needed to hear. He allowed one deep shuddering breath, the air ghosting out across her neck. Close as he was, she could feel the tension vibrating throughout his body; could feel as it ebbed away just a little, just enough. "I know."

She nodded, once, and pretended that the momentum of the elevator stopping at the garage level was reason enough for her hand to swing back an inch, her knuckles brushing across the side of his hand. She chanced a glance at his face as they got in the car and could see that he'd managed to pull his mask firmly back into place; just as he needed it to be. Perhaps they would talk about it after the case wrapped - huddled together in their favorite corner of their favorite bar. Or perhaps they wouldn't mention it again for years. But she knew they would talk about it someday. And so, for now, it would be enough.

Have a lovely weekend! :)