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"You have driven me home. You can go," Ziva slammed the car door.
"Not how it works. Boss told me to make sure you got home okay. Got to at least see that you've gotten into your apartment in one piece," Tony shut his own door with far more respect and hurried up the stairs in her wake. "C'mon Zi. You took a beating today."
"I have had worse. Right now, I want a bath, a beer, and to be left alone," she called over her shoulder. Tony quickened his pace, caught her front door before she slammed that too, and followed her into her apartment.
"Ziva, you wouldn't even let Ducky clean you up. At least let me see," Tony cajoled softly. She'd done precisely enough to clear a basic neurological exam. Once Ducky had confirmed no concussion, she'd left the morgue without another word and had kept her hair loose across her forehead ever since. He grabbed her wrist as she headed for the bedroom, pulling her to face him. "I saw you go down. Got an idea how much that hurt."
"I will be fine," she flinched away when he tried to tuck the hair behind her ear. "If you know how much it hurts, do not touch it!" she raised her hand defensively and slapped him away.
"Easy, just moving your hair," he tried again slower, trying not to cringe at what he revealed. The egg on Ziva's forehead was already bruising, the cut in the centre oozing a trickle of congealed blood. In addition, she sported a long scrape on her jawbone and a swollen lower lip. "That needs to be cleaned up before you do anything else."
"That is exactly what I intend to do, now if you would kindly leave!" Ziva yanked her wrist out of his grasp and turned for the bathroom. Tony stayed behind her as she opened the mirrored cabinet above the sink, pulling out disinfectant and an array of dressings. "I may not know all of your American customs, Tony, but I am fairly certain that it is considered common courtesy not to follow a co-worker to their bathroom!"
Tony laughed sarcastically. "Tell that to the probies you scare out of the men's room almost daily!"
Ziva growled in her throat, frustrated. "Their private bathrooms at home, especially after being told you were not even welcome in the house," she clarified as she bent to the lower cupboard and found a small bowl and some cotton swabs.
"Hey," he held his hands up innocently, "just trying to do my job." Ziva leaned closer to the mirror, inspected the gash on her forehead and rifled through the box of dressings, selecting the appropriate size.
She turned on the sink taps, checked the temperature, and met his gaze in the mirror's reflection. "This is not your job. Go home, Tony. Or to a bar, or back to work for all I care, just leave. I promise I will be back at work tomorrow frightening fit."
"Fighting, Zi. But you are scary," Tony watched as she filled the bowl and added a splash of the disinfectant, ignoring his English lesson. He waited until she was busy, sweeping her hair into a bundle at the back of her head, and took advantage of her hands being full to dive in and seize the bowl and the other first aid supplies she'd laid out on the counter. "On my six, David," he said, and headed back to the living area, eager to get onto the carpet, figuring that his now clearly irritated partner would be less likely to tackle him on a surface that was harder to clean if he spilled the bowl.
Ziva gave an annoyed growl, following him back through. "There are more than paperclips in this apartment," she muttered as he laid out the items on the small side table next to the couch.
He chuckled low in his throat at her warning. "Threaten all you want, but Gibbs told me to take care of you. Sit," he gestured to the end cushion.
Ziva crossed her arms, "No, he said to make sure I got home. I am home. You are not."
Tony made an impatient gesture. "Wouldya quit arguing already? I just want to help you get something on that head wound," he moved around behind her and shoved her toward the couch.
"I am perfectly capable..."
"Yeah, yeah, I know. Scary Mossad Agent. You probably dressed your own wounds using leaves and mud from the Dead Sea or something," Tony rolled his eyes and pushed again until she grudgingly took a step or two forward. "Spare me the MacGuyver tale and park your butt," he moved his hand from her shoulder to the small of her back with another shove.
She spun, snatching his fingers and bending them until his knees did too. "Any lower and it will be the last thing you ever touch."
Tony gave a grunt of pain, "Hey, you can't get first aid if you break my fingers."
"I do not want your first aid to begin with," Ziva relented despite the complaint and released him. He straightened quickly, getting into her personal space until she moved backward, her calves brushing against the edge of the couch.
"Let me do this, and then I'll go?" he bargained with his best disarming smile. "Just wanna make sure you're okay."
"Fine," she sat heavily, and reached for the switch on the lamp beside her. Pleased with this outcome, Tony knelt and reached for one of the swabs, dipping it carefully in the warm water and aiming it at her forehead. Ziva flinched before he made contact, causing him to connect harder than planned. "Ow! Be gentle!" she hissed.
"Then stay still!" she dodged a second attempt, the swab catching her ear as she moved. "Fine, if you want to play hard to get..." Tony dropped the wet cotton back on the table and pulled her to her feet, turning them both until his back was to the couch. Still holding her hands, he sat down and tugged her forward until she had to spread her feet to fit around his knees, then reached for her hips and pulled her to sit on his lap.
"Tony!" Ziva protested. She braced an arm on the back of the couch and pushed away, trying to stand as he bent her knees and lifted her further onto the cushions, straddling his legs, one knee on either side of his thighs.
"Next time you move, I'll sit on you," he warned, tilting her chin for the best angle with one hand and resuming his medical attention with the other.
Ziva accepted his ministrations with an unimpressed scowl. Tony worked quickly but carefully, cleaning the dried blood from her face and wincing with sympathy when she made it clear that the disinfectant stung. While he waited for her forehead to dry, he turned his focus to the scrape on her jaw, carefully removing the grains of dirt he could see from the broken skin, and for good measure, aimed one last swipe at the dirty smudges on her nose and chin.
"Are you done yet?" Ziva enquired impatiently. She could tell he was just trying to mop her up and dodged his efforts again until he set the dirty swab aside.
"Open this," Tony instructed, handing her the dressing. Given that he still had one arm around her to keep her steady, the backing strips were easier to manage by someone with two hands. He applied it tenderly to her swollen forehead and discarded the wrappings on the table.
"Now?" she queried in a tone that implied even less patience than before.
"Not quite, just gotta..." He turned her head slightly to the side and carefully smoothed the edge of the dressing before leaning forward and planting a kiss on a spot of unmarked skin. "There, good as new!" He declared proudly, fixing her with a smile.
Ziva stiffened and pulled back at this last gesture, "That was not part of the job description in any way." She pushed with one hand off the arm of the couch, attempting to stand, but he wrapped his arms around her back, keeping her exactly where she was.
"Haven't you heard of kissing it better? All good first aid ends with one," Ziva raised a sceptical eyebrow in response. "I may not know all of your Israeli customs, but you've gotta know the magical healing powers of a kiss?" Tony echoed her words from earlier with a teasing smile.
"Of course, I have heard of it!" she seemed mildly offended he'd doubted her. "But that is for children, Tony. Now would you please let me up?"
"It can also be for federal agents with bruised egos," he ducked the not particularly serious swipe she aimed at his head. "Don't lie, I know it helped a little."
Ziva's first response came in the form of an inelegant snort. "And if it did not?"
"Magic only works when you believe in it," he answered with a shrug. "You know, every time you say you don't believe a fairy dies?"
Ziva rolled her eyes, "I have read Peter Pan. Besides, you have the quote wrong. It is when you say I do not believe in -"
"Shh!" Tony clamped his hand over her mouth hurriedly, his eyes wide and pretending to look scared. "Don't say it!"
"Oh, please," she ducked her head away from his hand. "You know that is a fairy tale for children, much like the idea of kissing it better."
"Ahh, but it didn't make it worse. You would have killed me if it had," he said, shifting his legs so she wobbled slightly, leaning forward to brace her arm on the back of the couch again and bringing her closer to him.
"Well... no, it did not," she admitted reluctantly.
He tucked a stray curl behind her ear and ran a finger underneath the side of her jaw that wasn't scraped up, "So it did help then?"
Ziva gave a disbelieving scoff and batted at his hand. "You are so full of yourself!"
"And yet, you're still sitting on me," he pointed out with a grin, tightening his grip around her back a little more.
"You are still holding on," she glanced down at his arms.
"We both know you could've got up by now if you really wanted to. With or without injuring me in the process," Tony said with a shrug, an inarguable point. Judging by the annoyed huff from Ziva, she knew it too. "So, tell me. Do I get a second chance?"
Still leaning forward, Ziva tilted her head curiously, "A second chance to what?"
"To prove that magic is real. You said it didn't work the first time," he reiterated. "But, you've got to keep an open mind. Give it a chance. Magic is all about believing, Ziva. If you don't believe it'll never work."
She leaned back against his arms, looking impatient and cross. "Magic is for children, and a kiss will not take away my headache."
"In the words of Antoine de Saint-Exupéry 'All grownups were children once,'" he said simply. Surprise flashed across her face for a second before the tension in Ziva's body melted away, and her eyes grew wide and more gentle as she studied him with a new appreciation.
"But few of them remember it... that is the second book you have quoted this evening," she murmured thoughtfully. Another beat passed before her shoulders dropped and with them, her guard. "Okay... show me then. One chance."
Tony shuffled her backwards till her feet hit the floor so she started to stand and he rose too. "Nope, you're not going anywhere. It's just easier if you're standing," he instructed. He caught her wrist as she went to move away, pulling her gently until she was facing him. "Now, close your eyes. Don't think. Feel. Believe."
"Tony..." Ziva whispered uncertainly. She closed her eyes as instructed, but he could see her tense up again when he lay his right hand on her cheek.
"Here." Not breaking the contact with her face, he reached with his opposite hand, guiding her left hand up to touch his wrist. "You're in control. You can make this stop whenever you want. Okay?"
She adjusted her grip, shuffling his shirt sleeve a little so she was in contact with his skin, and nodded. "Okay," she breathed and blindly reached for him with her right hand too.
Tony opened his palm to let her fingers land and smirked when she relaxed, knowing it was not about the tenderness in the gesture but that she wanted to know exactly where he was. "Trust me, and remember, you believe in magic," he whispered, drawing circles with his thumb on the back of the hand he now held.
Slowly, with her hand following him, he lightened the touch on her cheek to just his fingertips, drawing a line up her cheekbone and in a slow arc across her hairline. He skirted the very edge of the dressing where it sat above her left eye, then traced softly across each of her eyebrows in turn. Her hold on his wrist eased until it was no heavier than the touch he used on her face as he drew his fingers slowly down the bridge of her nose. "Sometimes, a kiss isn't always a kiss," he whispered, letting his index finger rest in her cupid's bow for a moment.
"You said..." she began, her breath warm on his finger. Her eyelids twitched uncertainly for a second but didn't open.
He gave a low chuckle, tapping the end of her nose gently. "I said I would prove magic is real." He ran his thumb tenderly along her bottom lip, careful not to press too hard where it was swollen, and watched as her lips parted slightly in a quivery inhale. Her touch on his wrist followed him again as he moved back to her temple and she let him lift his left hand too, increasing the pressure to a gentle massage with the tips of his first two fingers on each side of her head. He kept this up until her grasp on his wrists dissolved entirely, floating down to his elbows, still holding on but no longer keeping herself ready to pull him away. He slid his fingers down under her ears, repeating the same circular action on the hinge of her jaw until the tension in her chin melted away too, then followed the splay of her eyelashes across her cheeks with his thumbs, and they fluttered softly against his skin as he did. "Keep your eyes closed," he reminded her in a whisper, not wanting to break the spell.
She nodded and curled her hand around his arm, lifting her chin invitingly as he traced his fingers along the unblemished side of her jaw. Her fingers tightened when he leaned closer, bringing his mouth alongside her ear, "Half the magic is waiting for the reveal." He drew back, catching how her tongue rolled over her bottom lip for a second and studying the tilt of her chin, still adorned with a streak of dirt he'd missed earlier. Her eyes remained closed, and her expression was soft and trusting. Although she held herself upright, she was otherwise totally relaxed and simply leaned in when he slid his left hand around to the back of her skull and pulled out her hair tie. He pocketed it quickly, before feeding his hand back into her curls, working his fingertips gently against her scalp, trying to ease the tension in her neck. It worked and a moment later her head lolled against his touch. She didn't flinch when he made a featherlight swipe across the bandage with his right hand or gently pushed her hair back and leaned in to press his lips against her forehead.
Tony felt her take a deep, shuddery breath as he made contact, marking a row of chaste, almost imperceptible kisses across her brow, leaving his fingers resting against the covered wound. One of her hands was on his cheek now, not pushing him away but following his actions, much like she had with his touch earlier. He lowered his hand, cupping it tenderly over the scrape on her jaw, not touching it, but simply hovering. He left another line of kisses along her cheek right beside his thumb, letting the heat from his hand substitute for directly touching the raw skin, stopping when he reached the corner of her mouth and her bruised, swollen lower lip. The pressure on his face increased slightly, a clear hint. He brushed the swelling gently, and she shifted, turning into the touch and pursing her lips the tiniest amount against the pad of this thumb.
"Impatient," he huffed the word with a soft laugh. Her answering, slightly self-conscious chuckle rippled against his hand. He watched as her eyebrows raised lightly in anticipation and knew that behind the closed lids, her eyes were still directed at him, waiting for his next move. Drawing out the moment a little longer, he traced the circumference of her face one more time in a slow clockwise circle. A smile bloomed beneath his hand as he stroked her cheek with the back of his knuckles on the way down. Completing the circle, he avoided touching the sore spot on her jaw as he rolled his fingers slowly under her chin and lowered his mouth to hers.
As with her forehead and jaw, he touched the injury on her lip only with his fingers and carefully aimed his kiss to land just beside it, still on her mouth but off to the side. The air left her lungs in a rush, and the suspense in her body unwound, and she relaxed against him, stepping closer and bringing their chests flush. She inhaled a shaky breath around his mouth before she let go of his face to pull his hand away and turned into him more fully. He let her deepen the kiss only incrementally, moving his lips with hers three or four times before pulling away. "Sometimes a kiss is only a kiss," he murmured and brushed his mouth over hers one last time. "So, tell me, did it work? Do you believe magic is real?"
Ziva's eyes opened slowly as he rested his forehead against hers, one hand still behind her head. Her eyes were thoughtful but calm, and he felt rather than saw the way she bit her bottom lip, tasting what was left on her mouth. "Yes, I think, perhaps, that I do." She let go of his hand to stroke his cheek tenderly. "Thank you."
"Good," he kissed her forehead again with a smile and released the back of her head. "But just in case you don't... what's that behind your ear?" He drew out the nickel he'd kept palmed the entire time with a flourish.
The spell was broken, Ziva's eyes widened in disbelief, and she swatted his chest with a snort. "You're an idiot, Tony!" Her face creased into a genuine smile, followed quickly by a laugh that he could tell came from her soul, and felt, to him, even more magical than her quiet trust a few moments earlier. She flopped onto the couch, still laughing.
"You feel better now, right?" he asked with a grin, joining her. Her body still shook with laughter, so hard the couch almost shook.
It took her a full minute to catch her breath, wiping a tear from underneath her eyes. "I do, thank you." She reached over and patted his knee, still smiling.
"Good. This means my job here is done. You said something about a bath and a beer, so I'll leave you to it."
"Tony," she reached for his wrist as he went to stand. "There are two beers. The bath can wait." She rose instead, making a path for the fridge. "I think you owe me a story about how you can quote The Little Prince." She sat back down beside him and handed him a cold bottle.
He took a swig of the beer and raised the arm closest to her. "I'll do you one better and tell you the whole story itself. Scoot over." Ziva gave him a curious look, then shrugged and obliged, tucking herself against his side and drawing her feet up on the couch. He waited till she was settled, wrapped his arm around her, and tapped the necks of the bottles together in quiet cheers. "Once when I was six years old..."