#me writing angst? only liv to convince me tbh

[indestinatus]

Come Home to Me

I don't really write angst but when @sweetsouldhavernas asked me to, I just couldn't say no <3 We partnered up to create a headcanon for her amazing gifset, which you can see here.

// After a fight with Tony, Ziva drowns her sorrows at a nearby bar. 

↳ read it on AO3 

As she downed another shot of too weak liquor, Ziva tried her best not to cry in that bar full of strangers. She asked for another one, wishing they had something stronger, at least to make her forget the bitter taste of her own words. Her heart felt numb but her mind was boiling, streams of good comebacks she could’ve given replaying in her head.

It didn’t make sense. He wanted her to make her own choices, but when she did that, he would blame her for it? What was the point of building a relationship with someone if they didn’t trust you enough to let you live your own life?

She knew she was cold - more than she knew it was healthy - but he was no example either. No, he always tried to stir up some reaction from her, thinking she was this lifeless robot who just didn’t feel enough. Well, he was wrong.

And he had won because it had been her the one who had stormed out of their apartment to seek shelter in the closest bar she could find.

“I know what you’re doing,” said Tony. “Don’t.”

“Yes? And what am I doing?”

Heat burned her face and made her not see clearly, but Ziva stormed out of the bathroom nonetheless. Tony followed her close behind, his presence awaking her senses to this acute attention, one she was used to. It had always bothered her, how helpless he’d made her feel.

“Pretending,” he accused. “Like you’ve always done.”

Ziva huffed. “Pretending what, exactly?”

“Not to care.”

“I do not remember you caring when I asked your opinion on it.”

She could remember quite clearly how vague his reply was to her new job proposition, one that would make her leave NCIS. There were pros and cons to it, like every other change in life, but a position of power in an organization such as the U.S. Committee for Refugees and Immigrants wasn’t something she could simply ignore.  

“I was trying to let you make your own choices,” Tony retorted.

“All my life is built around my own choices,” she bit back. “I do not need your help with that.”

“Clearly,” he scoffed.

Bile started to taste on her tongue. “We both knew this was important.” Well, at least it was important to her , she didn’t know if it mattered to him. She thought it did, it would change their routines completely, but apparently, he didn’t really care.

“So you could blame me when you regretted your own decisions?” Tony scowled, a frown marking his forehead. “I don’t care about what you do all day, as long as you’re home when it ends. It’s been two days, Ziva. I haven’t slept in two days.”

She needed some time alone. She knew it had been a mistake not telling him she had taken a few days off to think about it, but she thought it wouldn’t matter much. She could take care of herself and the thought of having to depend on someone else on a daily basis wasn’t something she could easily stomach.

With each passing day, though, it felt like an impossible task not to rely on him. He felt like an addiction, this question mark always hovering over her head like it was the one piece she couldn’t figure out. Wasn’t love supposed to complete someone? Why did it feel suffocating sometimes?

She had never felt like this, thinking more about someone else than herself. She tried to remember how her parents lived, but the memories of constant fighting and too loud screams made her want to forget. It felt like treading water, being that vulnerable. She really wasn’t looking for another heartbreak, but it felt more important this time. As if more were at risk.

Ziva needed time to breathe.  

“Playing the victim does not suit you as you think it does,” she replied.

“I don’t know if it’s important for you, Ziva, but we’re together now, okay?” His words stung as if she was drinking her own poison. Didn’t he know how much she cared?

“I have the right to know,” said Tony.

“To know what, exactly?” She snapped without thinking. “Every second of my every day?”

“Yeah, exactly that.” Tony scoffed, “I forgot you were unfamiliar with the concept of being a couple.”

“And you are? A man whose definition of commitment is a three day weekend?” Ziva should’ve sensed it coming, but only when she felt her cheeks wet did she realize she was in fact crying. She tried to remember when that had happened last.

“I am surprised we’ve come this far,” she let out before she could stop herself.

Tony gestured to her in accusation, “With you making everything ten times impossible, I’d rather we hadn’t tried at all.”

Ziva tried to stop crying, failing. “Then why are you still here?”

“I was here!” he snarled. “Where the hell were you?”

His words still rang on her mind hours later, making her nauseous. She downed another shot, suddenly recognizing the feeling at the pit of her stomach.

Regret.

Ziva had turned down the job offer almost immediately. She hadn’t told him that. Some selfish part of her wanted him to fight her to stay, even if for such a petty reason. When Tony hadn’t replied like she thought he would, her defenses overpowered her. It felt better to break her own heart than to have her heart broken by him. She had had too many losses for a lifetime.

Ziva looked at the phone screen again.

No messages. No calls. Nothing.

“He’s not worth your tears, sweetheart. Whoever he is.”

She looked up to meet the bartender’s eyes. It belonged to a middle-aged woman with dark skin, a faint smile as if she knew exactly why Ziva was crying. She hadn’t been good at keeping it in as she’d thought.

“The worst part,” Ziva chuckled bitterly, wiping her cheeks, “Is that he is. He’s the real deal.”

Ziva didn’t really know why she was telling her that, but she felt too tired to care. The woman narrowed her eyes, then nodded as if she knew it was better not to question any further. She placed a new glass in front of Ziva, pouring another type of liquid. Old whiskey, from the color of it.

Ziva downed that one too in one go, feeling it burn down her throat.

She wished nothing had even happened. She wished it still was two days before when they were laughing about laundry mistakes and arguing about movie choices. She wished she hadn’t spoken a thing. About the job, about her doubts, about anything. None of it had been true, the lies that her brain had conjured.

Ziva did care, she was just afraid. Terrified, for that matter. Not for her, but for losing him. She knew that what she felt for him was too strong, it was this unbreakable bond that had happened when she wasn’t expecting, one she had never felt with anyone else. She had never felt compatible with anyone, and now that she really wanted this to work, she couldn’t risk it to lose him.

She also didn’t feel like she was the person he deserved. What she didn’t show of her feelings, he showed it too much, his impulsiveness making it spill everywhere. She knew he loved her, and sometimes way too much. She wasn’t certain she could match that type of love, one that raw.

But then again, she couldn’t stop thinking about him.

Ziva pressed the side of her phone, seeing the empty screen light up again.

What did it mean? Was chasing her a waste of his time? She had stormed out of the apartment without looking back, but it hurt nonetheless. How he hadn’t asked her to stay. How he was waiting there for her still, only for her to show up eventually, guilty and clearly the wrong one between them.

She wished she was better at this. Relationships. Having no good examples in her life had really screwed up her training. She had asked for space, and he had given her and now she sat in a now emptying bar wishing his voice filled that silence.

How could she mess up something that felt so unbreakable?

Ziva sent the text message before her pride could stop herself.

Come take me home?

Her heart was in her throat while she waited for the little gray bubbles to appear next to his name, but nothing happened. Bitterness started to ache in her chest at the same time tears blurred her vision again, now any public shame forgotten. She couldn’t breathe.

The bartender put a glass of water in front of her, and Ziva tried to stop the stream of tears.

“If he really is your one, honey,” she smiled softly, “He wouldn’t want to see you crying.”

“No, he would not.”

Ziva felt her heart stop and then restart again, way too fast. She blinked away the tears to see Tony standing right next to her, his hair disheveled as if he’d stayed the last couple of hours running his hand through it. She thought she saw his face as puffy as hers felt, but she couldn’t confirm before throwing herself in his arms, not waiting for an invitation.

Almost immediately, he embraced her, letting her wet his shirt. She clung to it as if her life depended on it, listening to his heartbeat inside his chest. At that moment, it didn’t really care what he thought of them, she needed to show him how much she needed him.

It felt suffocating, but it also felt like breathing. It was as if he was the answer to a question she had never asked, the one puzzle she could spend a lifetime trying to solve and still be surprised from time to time.

He needed to know that. He needed to know she was terrified but also had never been as certain of something in her life as she had been of this.

"How did you know I was here?" she asked.

"One would think the sneaky Ziva David would choose a better place other than the bar around the corner to drown her sorrows, but I, unfortunately or not, know her too well."

She chuckled despite herself. “I declined,” Ziva inhaled deeply, swallowing the crying. “The job offer. As soon as they did.”

Tony didn’t react at first, as if he was picking his words with care.

“And why did you do that?”

“It wasn’t for me.”

She drew back then, meeting his eyes. She saw the sequence of worry, relief, and then calmness in them, and knew he’d caught the meaning behind her words.

That he was the one for her.

Tony nodded slightly, his hands cupping her cheeks. His thumbs wiped her tears before they settled on her temples. He tilted her face downwards to kiss her forehead.

“Let’s go home,” he said, visibly relaxing.

And with those words, Ziva knew she had finally understood.

What home really meant.