AN: Thanks to all who continue to read my various little attempts at stories. I truly enjoy hearing from each of you when you review. The reviews go straight to my cell phone and, as I work in a VERY stressful job, I can't tell you how fantastic it is to hear my phone buzz with a new review. Honest - it makes my day so much nicer.

This may or maynot have a 2nd chapter to it. :-/ We'll see!

The Snyder case had taken all week. Tony'd been in the field with Gibbs, leaving Ziva and McGee to man the bullpen.

Vance had extended Ziva's visitor's pass with no known expiration date, but still her role on the team was limited.

Desk work only. No direct contact with suspects or evidence.

Before Damocles, she would have been so impatient, she would have bitten McGee's head off by the second hour stuck in the office. But it was to Tim's sad surprise, that the new Ziva seemed to not waste her energy on her anger.

Her fire was gone.

When Tony and Gibbs headed down to the parking lot, her eyes didn't follow them with envy or hope. There was no sign that she was eager to join them. She merely sat at her desk, her hands demurely in her lap until Tim gently mentioned their course-of-attack with data retrieval for the case.

She didn't think on her feet or take initiative.

She merely sat. And waited.

It seemed to Tim as if she was merely glad to be present, never mind a participant.

Tim cradled the phone to his ear as his fingers flew across his keys. "Yeah boss," he said. "Yeah, we're almost finished the reports and then we'll head out," he said before hanging up. His eyes barely left his screen as he turned his attention to Ziva.

"They're on their way back- should be here soon. Gibbs said we can go home once the reports are done," he said to her, offering a gentle smile across the aisle.

She grinned. "My report is done and you sound as if you are almost done with yours."

"Yep," he said simply. "Can't tell you how happy I am to be going home before midnight. I've got a date with my typewriter and some jazz music."

"Sounds…thrilling?" she said with a polite chuckle as she watched Tim finish typing with a flourish. "And what is going on these days in the world of Agent Tommy and Officer Lisa?"

McGee hit the print command, shouldered his bag and stood, heading past her desk on his way to the elevator.

"I don't know," he replied with a mischievous glint in his eye. "The story hasn't unwrapped that part of the plot yet."

"I believe Officer Lisa," Ziva said with an emphasis on her doppelganger's name, "will head down to the gym. She is overdue for a workout."

Tim smiled good naturedly at her as the elevator doors shut.

She tried to keep her elbows tucked to her sides, but the desire to hunch over and collapse her ribcage in a defensive posture became overwhelming. Maintaining her fighting posture was a conscious effort instead of the second-nature it had been for as far back as she could remember.

It was frustrating.

And where frustration used to fuel her, now frustration brought the gentle burn of unshed tears to the corner of her eyes.

Which made her even more frustrated that her emotions were dictated by something so out of her control.

She brought her arm out again to connect her fist with the large bag in front of her. The shock of impact traveling up her arm was a familiar jolt.

She struck again. The bag swayed from the force of the kick.

Her arm punched again. The bag swayed.

And again.

Only this time it did not sway.

And she pulled her eyes away from the center of her target where she had clearly imagined Saleem's face on the bag. She had become so engrossed in her world where she was punching him, that she had neither heard nor seen someone join her in the gym.

She looked up to see his warm eyes regarding her with a mixture of concern and amusement.

Ziva managed to look somewhat abashed at his sneaking up on her twice in as many weeks.

"I think your ninja skills are on the fritz," he said with a friendly twinkle in his eye.

"Or yours have just improved immensely," she countered, punching the bag again, grateful of Tony's hands settling the movements.

"I doubt that," he said, moving his hand out of the way at the last moment as she swung wide, almost taking out his knuckles.

She grinned a bit at his reply which disguised his praise. "How did the case go? Was Pulaski easy to apprehend?"

"There was running involved," he said simply, watching as she shifted her weight and began to relax more into the motions of her workout. "I think I'm out of shape."

She flicked her eyes at him, taking in his face- not his physique- and offered a half-smile. "Less beer, more running perhaps?"

She's been thousands of miles away and yet she's still got you pegged, DiNozzo.

"Know anyone who wants to go for a run every week?"

Ziva shifted on her toes. "Perhaps. Let's see if I actually am staying on with the team before making long-term plans, Tony."

"Long term plans and the team aren't one and the same, Zi," he said simply, not noticing how the nickname rolled off his tongue so easily.

"Oh?"

"Its not like we're going to shun you if Gibbs won't let you back on the team. I mean, shun Gibbs? Maybe. But you? No."

She lifted her left hand to block position, covering her face, and struck out hard with the right, causing the bag to sway slightly even in Tony's grip. "Shunning Gibbs sounds like a dangerous choice, Tony."

He chuckled, watching as she shifted her weight to try a round-house kick. "Probably is. But that doesn't mean that you're not worth it."

The gentle weight of his words knocked her balance of center and she felt her foot twist and slip, her body falling towards the floor.

She felt the mat impact her fall, but her head rebounded and snapped back, blurring her vision for a hot minute just as the wind got knocked out of her. She couldn't tell if she should try to force her body to blink or breathe.

He scrambled to her side, resting his hands on either side of her face and he gently called her name, watching as she blinked hard, trying to focus on his face.

"Ziva? Hey… Ziva?"

She felt his breath, hot on her face and his body looming over hers.

The hands positioned on either side of her face. His chest so close to her own. His hip touching hers.

The panic set in without any conscious thought from her.

She was in another place, only a short time ago. And her body rushed, everything on high-alert as she scrambled to find a way out from under the oppressive, torturous grip of Saleem.

Her eyes went wide, but were unseeing. Her breath came quickly but she felt deprived of oxygen. She was crushed by his presence.

Her body was conditioned – when they were in her personal space, when they used their larger bulk to force her into place, when they hovered over her, their breath hot against her face and their unshaven cheeks rough against her skin as they grunted into her…. Her body was conditioned.

And while the 'fight' response had been beaten out of her, the 'flight' response had not.

And she shimmed, shoved, and pushed her way up and away from him on the gym mats.

As soon as he recognized the unseeing look for the panic attack that it was, he moved out of her arm's reach as quickly as possible, giving her the space her body craved. Though, if anyone had asked, all he wanted to do was hug her and protect her from her demons. And that was only second-place to the overwhelming desire to resurrect Saleem and kill him again.

Ziva's back came to rest against the brick wall of the gym, her chest heaving as her mind finally caught up with her body's reaction. This wasn't that nasty building that stunk of mildew and rot. Tony wasn't Saleem. She had slipped, not been thrown to the floor after a vicious beating.

She had slipped.

And for a moment, her embarrassment at an all-too-human mis-step, overwhelmed her embarrassment for her panic attack.

And it caused a sardonic chuckle to cross her lips.

Her arms came up and crossed her chest, folding in - an unconscious gesture to protect oneself.

"Hey," he said, tentatively moving across the mat to her side. "Ziva? Um…"

"Can you leave?" she managed to mutter through her gritted teeth.

"What? Are you nuts?" he said, air sliding through his throat in a disbelieving chuckle. "I am not leaving."

"Please, Tony –"

"No," he said firmly, coming to kneel at her side. "No," his voice softer this time.

"I would like to have my nervous breakdown in private, if you do not mind."

He blinked at her honesty. "Sorry, Charlie, no can do. I'm staying right here."

She looked up, the embarrassment from her panic attack no longer enough to keep her curiosity at bay. Why was he still here? After everything she had done, he still was at her side during all of this.

"Is your ankle ok?" he asked, his voice barely a whisper.

She nodded, a lock of dark curls falling in her face. Before she could move to tuck it behind her ear, his fingers delicately placed the offending lock back into place.

They both paused and regarded each other with a knowing smile when they realized the simple touch had sparked no panic at all.

"My ankle is fine. I think it is the rest of me that is broken."

"Not broken," he said softly. "Maybe just a few dings."

"Vance said I was damaged goods."

"Vance is an ass."

She let the corner of her mouth curl into light smile. "Yes. But perhaps he is right."

"We're like the island of misfit toys, Ziva. You're one of us now."

He had settled back against the wall, shoulder to shoulder with her, and spent the better part of thirty minutes trying to explain the "misfit toy" reference before they both agreed that merely watching the old version of "Rudolph the Red-nosed Reindeer" would be better than trying to explain the entire movie.

When his knee began to ache from being tucked-under him on the floor, he stood and gently held out a hand to her.

After a mere heartbeat's pause, she put her palm in his and allowed him to haul her to her feet.

The stood toe to toe.

Tony sighed and cautiously, gently, pulled her to him - just as they had done many times in the past. He was relieved when she returned the embrace and tucked her head under his chin.

The gentle fragrance of her shampoo tickled his nose and Tony couldn't help but smile against the top of her head at the familiarity of the embrace.

"Do you wanna talk about it?" he managed to ask, his voice ever-so light and gentle.

She remained silent for a few moments before her voice could be heard, though muffled against his chest.

"No, I do not want to. But I suppose I should."

"Do you want to talk to me about it?" he asked again.

Ziva stepped back and allowed their eyes to meet. "Yes."

"Ok."

"But only if you are comfortable-" she started before he cut her off by closing his arms around her again.

"Let's go get some dinner and talk about whatever you want."