Chapter Text
She knew, of course. She knew the second he sauntered into the bullpen, and that in itself was downright freaky because a quick look assured him that EJ wasn't even here yet.
But Ziva, bless her instincts, just had to take one good look at him, and halfway through her greeting her eyes narrowed and she breathed in and the cheer trickled out of her voice.
She merely blinked, though, and finished her line, and that was it. No one else would have noticed any difference about her after that, except that she didn't talk to him all that much and left most of this morning's water cooler talk to McGee, but that could have just as easily been attributed to their work load.
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Three hours into the day Tony found that he couldn't deal with this strangely subdued Ziva too well. The grunts and non-committal gestures she gave him in response to both teasing and genuine questions bothered him far more than they should, really, and he refused to try and figure out the reasons for that on his end. He concentrated on getting a reaction out of her instead, and by now he didn't even care all that much what kind of reaction, just as long as she gave him one.
Part of him knew that this was a stupid and possibly suicidal idea. The part of him that felt vaguely guilty about sleeping with a coworker, but never his partner -- that part tried to cover up the failure. And since Anthony DiNozzo knew only one way to accomplish that, he did what he did best for the rest of the day: he was his most annoying self.
*** *** ***
He didn't think McGee ever noticed anything was off, and Tony wasn't sure if that was because the Probie was just so damn oblivious at times or because Ziva did such a good job at covering up while other people were around. Probably a bit of both. And really, Tony mused while he studied her unnaturally tense profile, he probably wouldn't have noticed anything himself if he hadn't become so obsessed with her minute reactions over the years.
It felt wrong on so many levels, true. But as long as he was having an honest moment with himself here, he could also admit that all the women in the world would probably never cure him of that.
*** *** ***
He breathed a sigh of relief when Gibbs told them to grab their gear because that meant something else to focus on besides the strange calmness that had overtaken his partner. Only when her gaze flicked to the desk across the hedge for a heartbeat he realized that EJ hadn't been in all day.
Suddenly he was no longer sure how this morning would have gone down if she had.
Her phone buzzed a few times. She read the texts, but it took three messages until she sent a very short reply of her own. The buzzing stopped after that, and Tony couldn't help the perverse pleasure that got out of him.
She wasn't just monosyllabic with him, it seemed. And two letters couldn't have been a yes.
He didn't do that often because he preferred doing it in the morning and then showering at home, before work, just so he could start the day all fresh. Sometimes, though, when it was too hard to shake something, he grabbed his stuff even if it was insanely late and ran until his mind had settled down and he could go home feeling less confused, less constricted.
He ran almost up to the point of exhaustion, but even while he crept back to the Yard like a beaten puppy he knew that it hadn't worked today, that his skin still did the uncomfortable thing and itched as if it were one size too small. And yeah, Ziva-thoughts kept nipping at his heels and mocked him, too, and it wasn't too big a stretch, even for him, to realize that he didn't want things to be like this between them. But he had no idea how to make it not-this, and his head still wasn't clear enough to even attempt to figure out what this was.
He pulled off his OSU sweater with a tired sigh and dropped it to the locker room bench. His thoughts buzzed up again, nagging and chiding him, and suddenly he just wanted to close his eyes and groan and slap his own head until it all went away. And then he'd drink himself into a stupor, just for the sake of old times and for shutting down his too-noisy brain.
The skin right between his shoulder blades itched like mad, but he fought the urge to scratch it and turned towards the gym.
He watched her back for longer than seemed prudent while she kept hammering away at the sandbag with short, precise moves. The white singlet she wore drew his gaze. It seemed too private for a public workout, and he found himself staring at the way her muscles jumped hard with each forceful blow. Her skin was shiny with sweat. Her hair was pulled back into a tight bun, and he wasn't sure if the urge to run his fingertips up her neck and into the tiny, soaked curls at the nape of it was a healthy one. Most days, it would not be a good idea to touch your partner like that. At least he had enough common sense left to know that.
"If you're going to stare, at least make yourself useful," Ziva said just then, pulling him out of his thoughts, and he blinked, confused, caught.
She had stopped her blows to the leather sack and was watching him out of the corner of her eye now, her head half-turned towards him over her shoulder, but not facing him. Her hands flexed at her sides, and he watched her arm muscles bunch and relax again with the movement. No gloves, just bandages to protect her knuckles. Seemed like she needed to feel the force of the impact.
She didn't look at him when he came closer and circled her to get to the other side of the bag. He saw her swallow though when he almost brushed her shoulder, and that simple reaction, that tiny flaw in her mask of indifference made his skin tighten.
He grabbed the sides of the bag, holding it steady for her, and when she finally turned towards him, she looked him up and down, and something flickered in her eyes. It was gone as fast as it had shown, but it was there, and he had seen the way she'd looked at him, how her gaze had dropped to his bare chest, how her eyes had darkened for just a few heartbeats. His own eyes narrowed, and he watched her face so intently now that he almost forgot to lean into the sandbag when she began hitting it again.
By the second blow, all her walls had been firmly pulled back up and she concentrated on her task so hard that she seemed almost oblivious to Tony's presence. He knew that she wasn't, though.
I saw that, his mind kept cheering. I saw that look, and now I know you're not immune, and I know you feel... something.
He watched her features tighten as she clenched her jaw, and he knew that his scrutiny made her uncomfortable, but he couldn't help it. He had to keep staring at her, had to try and figure out what was going on between them, because if he didn't he'd never know if he had already screwed this one up or if there was any chance of--
He blinked in surprise when she stepped back hard suddenly, her eyes meeting his with a strange expression that he couldn't place. Something halfway between anger and genuine confusion.
"Why are you here?" she asked, panting, her cheeks flushed, and his fingers itched and made him want to reach for her and run them down her neck and push the singlet down her shoulder so he could see more of her skin.
And yeah, when her words sank in he had to admit it was a damn good question, actually. One he didn't know the right answer to yet, if there was such a thing as right in this scenario. Maybe 'sane' would work, for a start.
"I was itchy," he replied carefully, going for honesty instead, and that made Ziva snort and turn away from him.
"What are you doing here, then?" she asked and bent down to pick up her bottle of water. "You should ask your girlfriend to help with that."
He watched her shoulder muscles jump under the sweaty fabric of her shirt. She unscrewed the bottle forcefully and knocked back a big gulp of water, and he knew it was not one of the good urges, again, but he wanted to shake her now and make her look at him again. Because the longer she turned her back to him, the more of her he lost.
"She's not my girlfriend," he heard himself say. There was a note of surprise to his voice, and he wasn't entirely sure if he was still sticking to facts here or not. He had, truthfully, no idea yet what was going on with EJ. What he wanted to go on. He was always just flying by his gut, he wasn't one to analyze things to death. If it worked out, hey, nice. If it didn't, one could always tackle problems when they showed up. Or, well. Avoid them.
His words didn't have the effect he'd been going for. He saw Ziva's body tense up even more while she clenched the bottle in her hands, twisting the cap almost violently. "Of course," she said then, and Tony found himself frowning at the strange calmness of her voice that stood in stark contrast to her body language. "You just fuck them. I forgot."
His pulse jumped to a harsh, angry beat instantly. Her words rubbed his skin raw as if she had gone back to hitting things, only this time she hadn't aimed for the sandbag.
Ziva didn't do this. She was never blunt like this, never this rude. And never this open.
"You kiss your boyfriend with that mouth?" he pressed out angrily, because it shouldn't matter, really, it should be no skin off his itchy back. But it did, of course, because in this freaky corner of the universe it mattered what she thought of him, after all.
Her breathing was flat and fast suddenly, and she did the same thing she had done before, turned her head just enough so she could watch him out of the corner of her eye.
"He's not my boyfriend," she said, and yes, she had said this so often now that he should start believing her, but somehow he still couldn't. Because there was no way in hell that could be true. What kind of idiot would be content to just be friends with a woman like her, to never lay a hand on her?
He watched her profile, and her features were still so eerily calm that he felt his eyes narrow and annoyance rise in his gut. Annoyance that she had decided brushing him off like that was a good idea. Annoyance that she still wanted to pretend there was nothing going on, even if he wasn't quite sure if it meant between them or between her and her non-boyfriend. And, yes, annoyance that she wanted to be a bitch about this, too.
"Right," he pressed out, and he knew it was childish and destructive before he even opened his mouth, but he couldn't keep the words from tumbling out. "He's still alive."
At first glance he didn't get much of a reaction. Just a tiny shudder ran through her, and he saw her nostrils flare while she tried to keep her breath from hitching. Then she turned, suddenly, but she didn't look at him, just moved past him in long strides.
Her face didn't tell him anything. Her expression was completely blank now, and that was how he knew that he had just hurt her badly. And fuck, yes, he instantly wanted to apologize, wanted to make it up to her. Make her look at him again, and then maybe start this whole conversation all over.
"Ziva," he said, reaching out to grab her arm, and part of him expected her to just shrug his hand off, or maybe give him some angry words or even throw her water bottle at him.
He did not expect the explosion of movement the moment his fingers touched her skin. Before he knew what was going on she had whirled around and hit him hard in the chest with the heel of her hand. He gasped for air as both the impact of her hand and his back hitting the wall knocked the breath out of him, and he wanted to do something to stop this, but he had no idea what to do with a Ziva who was so angry that she lost it, physically, except ride it out. It had worked that way before, at least.
Her hand came up to his throat, not choking him yet, just keeping him in place and pressing down, and Tony stared at her with wide eyes while hers narrowed. Jesus, she was half his size, but she kept him down with nothing more than a simple touch.
Well. At least it had seemed simple. But that had been before she'd slammed him into a wall and his fucked-up brain had decided that this may have been what he'd needed from her the whole time.
"What do you want from me?" she hissed into his face, and his skin itcheditcheditched under the thumb she pressed to the base of his throat. His pulse jumped so hard suddenly that a shudder ran through him, and yes, he knew it was stupid, but he couldn't help it, he had to get closer, had to lean into her and down to her.
That turned out to be the thing that got a real emotion out of her after all, even though he wasn't quite sure yet what he saw in her eyes as she backed away from him. He followed her movement, though, grabbing her, and whatever game they were playing here, it had turned into some perverted kind of tango by the time he spun her around and slammed her hard into the same wall in return. And yeah, he should have felt bad about this, because dammit, one just didn't do this to women, but she was Ziva, after all, and she had started this. And since words had never worked too well between them, maybe this would.
Her left hand came up to his chest, clenching on his flesh, and while her lips parted and she tried to get some air back into her lungs, he couldn't help but crowd her even more, lean into her until he could have kissed her easily. And not too long ago that would have meant he was willing to risk a slow and agonizing death.
But not this time, apparently.
Because, yes, her eyes were wide and shocked now, but there was also something else simmering in them, some glimpse of what he had seen earlier, when she had stared at his chest and his mouth and the hands that held the sandbag for her. Something that wasn't as carefully neutral as the face she had shown him all day. Something that reacted to him after all. And for some purely selfish reasons he suddenly felt greedy for that tiny piece of her that had slipped through her tight control and back into his grasp. The piece of her that, despite everything, still wanted him.
"You're jealous," he breathed into her face, and his heart suddenly hammered against her palm because his gut just knew he was right. His skin tightened as her gaze dropped to his mouth and something flashed across her face, dulling her eyes until he was sure she would push him away any second now.
He expected her to deny the accusation, just like he always did, just like they had never acknowledged the fucked-up spark that was between them, and so he merely stared at her, stunned and confused and openmouthed, when she eventually took a slow breath and said, "That is no longer your business."
And that was when he realized that she had stopped playing their usual game. That somehow, at some point, she had made up her mind and changed around the rules and hadn't bothered to tell him about it, and as a result she was looking at him all distant, with just the barest hint of emotion hidden behind the shadows in her eyes.
Her grip tightened on him in clear warning when he leaned into her again, and he slowed his approach, just enough that she wouldn't push him away. Because he just couldn't leave things like that, he had to keep pushing her now, and he needed to shake her until she gave him more than just that quiet sadness. Because he couldn't take that. He couldn't stand spending his days with her and not-her at the same time. And because he really, really needed a reaction out of her now. Something genuine. Something that reminded him why he was doing this, all of this, in the first place.
His hand, settled on her hip, pressed down on her flesh, and his thumb dug into the soft, inner curve that tempted him to slide his hand under the waistband of her sweats, or maybe grab her ass and drag her closer. Her pulse sped up, reacting to him so easily, and he could see her heartbeat pound, could see it in the vein in her throat, and he had no idea how it happened, really, but suddenly he found that he was pressed up against her and slid his thigh against hers, and that was a rush of madness that could get him kicked so hard he'd never have kids. But by now he didn't care all that much, he just needed to get her to react, needed to shake her up and get her old self back. The one that looked at him like she really wanted him to cross that line.
The sharp itch of a blade low against his throat reminded him that she had another hand, one that wasn't trapped against his chest, and for a moment he froze, staring at her with wide eyes, and his own pulse was going through the roof for all the wrong reasons.
Something swirled in her eyes, though, and he couldn't help himself and raised his left hand to press it flat against the wall beside her head, supporting his own weight while he tried to ignore the knife and bent his head down.
"Don't," she warned him, and for a heartbeat he stilled against her, thinking. And while he stared at her, at her mouth and her neck, while he imagined sucking on that neck and biting down on it, Ziva watched his face, and whatever she saw there, it seemed to be enough of a trigger for her that her body betrayed her and erupted in sudden heat.
He felt it, of course, felt her reaction because he was so close to her now, and that did strange and dangerous things to his mind. His heart tried to jump out of his chest with every beat, and when he stared at her mouth, her tempting lips, he found that he really didn't give a damn. That he almost wanted to feel the bite of her blade. Needed to feel it, even, because maybe it would bring him back to feeling right, too. To feeling anything at all. Anything that wasn't totally screwed up.
She didn't move when he closed the last of the distance between them. She neither drew her hand back nor pressed the knife into him more insistently. And yet, he felt his skin give at one point, felt the sharp sting of steel and the slow trickle of blood on his skin that followed it. Felt some of his itchiness seep out with it, because it was just a few drops, but it was... enough.
His muscles trembled with the effort it took to keep his full weight from crashing into her because he knew she wouldn't retreat and she wouldn't push him away, she'd leave all the pushing and pulling to him. And so he was once more stuck at the point where he was confused, and distracted, and not sure what to do now, except stare into her eyes and lean into her and will her to change the rules yet again.
She blinked, eventually, and while she slowly lowered the hand that held the knife, her eyes first dropped to his neck and then started flicking all over the place until she turned her head to the side and swallowed hard. "What do you want from me?" she repeated quietly.
And he still had no idea what to say to that, really.
"I'm not sure," he murmured against her cheek, and it shocked him to find that it would be so easy to kiss her now. That he was close enough to run his mouth down her neck if he just leaned into her a little more. And that she hadn't stopped him yet.
Then he caught the sad little smile that ghosted over her face, and he couldn't help his own frown, couldn't help the urge rising again to shake her and make her say things so he wouldn't have to.
"You never were," she said eventually, and when she turned her head back to him, her lips were close enough to brush his, and that made his body jump to sharp, painful attention. Because yes, she was still able to get a reaction out of him, anytime. Just like that.
"Ziva," he pressed out, and she cocked her head and stared at his neck again as if something had just caught her attention.
"You're bleeding," she stated what should have been obvious, and he felt his muscles begin to shake because he really had to keep himself from crashing into her now, from forcing things, from going way past the boundaries of the game they had once started. The one they weren't playing any longer.
But her hand was so hot against his chest, scorching him while he contemplated a lame joke about kissing it to make it better, and he had no idea what to do now. What buttons to push. How to stay like this and yet, not.
And then Ziva suddenly leaned forward because she'd read his goddamn mind again, and oh dear god, that was her tongue on his skin, licking, drawing a slow line up his chest and to his neck in a way that made him gasp and left him half hard in a flash. He knew that he should feel sick and disgusted now, possibly angry at himself for letting things get out of hand like this, but just then she closed her mouth over the cut they had made and sucked on his flesh, and his body shook against hers as he fell into her with a low moan.
Her hand clenched on his hip as she dug her teeth into his flesh suddenly and made him jerk against her hard. His thigh slid between hers out of its own accord, and he felt her take in a deep breath, felt her tense against him, ready to draw back and bolt on him because now she realized what she was doing, and he couldn't let that happen, couldn't let her stop now. His hand came up to the back of her neck, keeping her right where she was and making her suck him that much harder until his body strummed with the pain-pleasure of it. He gasped into her neck by the time she dug her teeth into his flesh, and he scrambled to get his hands under her shirt and the fabric to ride up so he could feel her skin against his own.
She didn't stop him. Didn't even tell him to stop. She tore his mouth from his neck instead and pressed out a curse when he closed his hands around her breasts and shuddered against him, and that was it, that was what he'd been looking for the whole time. That was her, unraveling, finally.
Her blade grazed his side, and part of him really wanted to worry about it, but the way she threw her head back now and pressed her eyes shut made thinking too hard for him, and so he just went with his gut again and pressed his lips to hers and shoved his tongue into her mouth.
She moaned into his mouth when he jerked his hips against her hard, pressing into her, letting her feel how hard he was, and suddenly he found himself drowning in her heat. Her skin was getting all sweaty again, and her pants were soaked by now, not just from sweat. Oh, yeah, he could feel her reaction, could feel her heat erupt all around him, against him, and that and the sharp copper tang of his own blood in her mouth made his head spin and his mind reel, and no, this wasn't right, not at all. But the knife clattered to the ground just then, and her hand came up to dig into his hair, and her tongue chased his while she breathed his blood, his life, back into him.
His skin tightened again, and he needed more of this, needed to feel her, needed to keep her right where she was now, so out of it and lost in sensation. She gasped again, and he felt the sharp bite of her nails in his neck when he slid his hand into her pants and touched her. Her mouth suddenly got desperate on his, as if he had flipped a switch, and god, this was it, this was really her, all wet on his fingertips, her heat scorching him, her body straining to get closer to his, and oh yes, fuck, this had turned into all kinds of hot... and wrong. Maybe.
She tore her mouth from his, her head falling back against the wall. Her body shuddered hard, and Tony stared at her in amazement, watching her face while he stroked her, slowly.
He could feel the strength of her reaction, could feel her pulsing against his fingertips and god, he wanted her so bad right now that he couldn't think straight, that he just wanted to rip down her pants and shove into her, and he couldn't do that, of course, not with Ziva, she wouldn't--
He swallowed hard and forced the question out because it needed to be asked. "You want me to--"
"Yes," she interrupted him, her eyes still closed, her body arching, tense, and he really wanted to wait for more of an approval, wanted to make sure, but in the end he pushed two fingers into her before the simple word had stopped ringing in his ears. She pressed out a strained groan, and he twisted his fingers inside her, rubbing his palm against her while he pushed deeper. She jerked hard against him, her hands clenching on his hip and his neck, urging him on wordlessly to give her more.
And he did as she asked, of course. He watched her intently, watched her face as he got her off, and yeah, there was no doubt he was doing just that. This was it, this was so far from controlled, from safe and sound. This was what was underneath her skin, just that, the raw stuff she never let him see. The stuff he needed so desperately.
It didn't take long until he felt her tense in that telltale way, and her body tightened around his fingers as he curled them inside her. She didn't cry out or groan. She barely made a sound, but he saw her bite her lip hard, and that was when he felt her come, felt her heat rise until she was burning up around him, and god, he really had no idea how this had happened.
His own body screamed at him, and he couldn't remember the last time he had felt so hard and hungry, almost starving. But he couldn't do anything about it right now. It seemed so much more important to watch her face, maybe because he knew her. He knew that there would be a change in her soon, and he needed to be prepared for the moment her walls would come crashing down again and slam him out. He didn't dare to move, and it was almost painful to keep his body this immobile because he still wanted to fuck her senseless and see that face she had just shown him over and over again.
His left hand, curled around the back of her neck by now, betrayed him, though, and moved out of its own accord. His thumb brushed along her temple tentatively, barely there, just enough of a sensation to make her open her eyes and turn her head until her nose touched his. And that was when he realized that he had already missed the moment. That her walls had already been rebuilt, brick by brick, while he'd still been busy trying to figure out what would happen now. He wasn't sure how this was possible -- to be so close to someone, physically, that he could feel her thundering pulse in his fingertips and still have all the distance in the world between them.
He rubbed his nose along hers because he couldn't help it, and Ziva blinked, watching him warily. "I'm sorry," he murmured. Very carefully he slipped his fingers out of her and then his hand out of her pants, and the whole time she just watched him quietly, the slightest frown forming on her face as if she tried to make up her mind about something puzzling. She didn't move, didn't even pull her shirt back down, and that looked vaguely obscene with her all sweaty and her body so much more relaxed than her head was.
It took some effort to step away from her, and his body yelled at him angrily for the mere thought. Ziva breathed out slowly when he moved, and her eyes fluttered halfway shut. Then she simply said, "I'm not." He had to admit later that this shocked him much more than what had actually happened between them.
She sighed when she saw his expression, and for a second she looked at him as if she wanted to shake her head in frustration. Then she pushed herself off the wall instead and followed his step when he backed up instinctively. Her palm, unexpected and warm against his cheek, was just a fleeting touch, but it was there and it made his eyes widen because he wasn't sure he deserved that particular kind of softness.
"You need to stop punishing yourself," she murmured. The she finally reached up to pull her shirt back into place and restore the impression of normalcy. There was a streak of blood on her singlet and some more smeared around her lower lip, and Tony wanted to point that out to her. Instead, he just blinked, still searching for words while she already turned away from him and picked up her stuff. She moved a little more stiffly and there was a different set of tension to her shoulders now, but other than that she looked as if nothing out of the ordinary had happened. And he had no idea how he felt about that.
He stared at his own image in the bathroom mirror.
The cut wasn't that deep, really, but it had turned into an angry red reminder. There were distinct tooth marks around it and a dark shadow of bruising underneath that made it stand out even more. Yeah, she'd gotten him good there. Good thing it would be easily covered up. He'd have found it hard to explain when he couldn't even pretend to understand it himself. Not when his body still thrummed with need at the mere memory and the visible evidence of Ziva marking him like that.
He wasn't sure how long he stood like that, just staring at his mirror image. Eventually he forced himself to clean the cut so it wouldn't become infected.
He thought about showering for a moment, but then he found that washing her scent off him could wait for just a little while longer.