A/N: So, I was sort of entirely blown away by the lovely response to the first chapter of this. It was originally meant as a one-shot, but I was struck by inspiration, and I don't like to upset my muse. I do think this is really the end, though, so I hope you like it! Oh, and the chapter title is the name of another Explosions in the Sky song. (:

-x-

"I think we should talk about it."

It has been two weeks since they were rescued from the mine, and one week since what he has begun to refer to as The Incident. He wonders absently what she calls it, if she calls it anything at all. Maybe it's just The Mistake to her.

"There is nothing to talk about, Tony." She says this so matter-of-factly – so 'drop this now, or I will hurt you' – that he would let it go if it were anyone else. Or about anything else.

But it's not and it isn't, so he says, "You can't really believe that."

"I can." She tips her chin up defiantly, daring him to question her.

"Ziva–"

"It was nothing."

It's that same damn tone that gets to him. He will never understand how she can shut her emotions off so quickly, so easily, so completely. And so he snaps, words sharp and bitter. "Oh, I forgot – Mossad practically encourages partners to sleep with each other, so a kiss was probably nothing to you."

"Tony." Her voice is just as icy, and his name cuts through the space between them. "You are not only my partner. You know that."

"Then don't stand there and tell me it didn't mean anything, Ziva. You were the one who came to my apartment."

"Tony, this is like riding a dead horse." She sighs, deflating as the air leaves her. "It does not matter what you – or I – would like it to mean. It will have to mean nothing."

"Ziva," he begins, but she is gone, turning faster than he would have thought possible, slipping down the corridor and back to her desk. He is left alone with a loud silence and the knowledge that he has nothing but a mound of paperwork to look forward to.

"Beating a dead horse," he mutters finally, his words fading to nothing almost instantly.

And he follows Ziva's path back to his desk, it takes all of his self-control not to break the nearest object. (This restraint happens to be a godsend for McGee, who walks by a moment later.)

-x-

This is how it happened –

He is released from the hospital, told to take some time off to rest and heal. Apparently, broken ribs and internal bleeding are 'not to be taken lightly' – at least according to Dr. Taylor, a middle-aged man who dislikes levity almost as much as he dislikes ninja patients who sneak out of their rooms before being released.

Tony only takes one week instead of two; he has always been too impatient, too restless, to enjoy vacation time when it's mandated. If he's not getting out of something he doesn't want to be doing, it doesn't count, and to be honest, even desk work is better than feeling so utterly useless.

But, since he still has to take seven days of time off, he mostly stays on his couch, a drink in one hand and the television remote in the other. (He fits a slice of pizza into the routine occasionally, too.) His ribs protest any movement, but his movie collection is up to date enough that he's not that bored until about the fourth day. McGee and Abby stop by every once in a while, usually uninvited but never unwelcome. Ducky stops by twice, and even Gibbs comes by once to remind him that just because he's accident-prone, it doesn't mean he gets to slack off when he returns to work.

By Sunday, though, he's still one ninja short from having seen the whole team during his 'vacation.' But just when he's accepted that he won't see her until he's finally back at work the next day, there's a knock at his door. It's around eight, and the pizza delivery man is never this early (Tony would know), and there's no way it's anyone but her.

He opens the door, trying to convince himself that the feeling in his stomach is just his ribs beginning to ache again.

"That's funny," he drawls, leaning against the frame, the picture of nonchalance, "I thought my pizza came with a free order of breadsticks, not a complimentary assassin."

She scowls at his remark, but makes no response other than, "May I come in?"

It's not like she really has to ask, but he responds with a "sure" all the same. He backs up to give her room to walk inside, then shuts the door behind her. He turns to face her in the hallway right before the living room, waiting for her to speak.

"Gibbs said you will be coming back tomorrow."

"Yeah, just for desk duty. It'll be a little longer until I'm cleared for fieldwork."

The silence that follows his words is deafening, built up tension and what happened in the mine hanging heavily between them.

"Ziva, you didn't come all the way over here to make sure I'll be at work tomorrow." It's not a question.

She shakes her head before taking a step toward him. "Tony," she begins, "last week–"

He doesn't wait for her to finish, doesn't really need to hear what she's going to say. She's here, after all, so he has a general idea. Besides, he has other plans that don't particularly include talking. In one motion, he pulls her close to him.

And then they are kissing. His hands in her hair, hers wound tightly around his neck. She tastes like years of broken promises and almosts, of having phone sex?, of I'm tired of pretending, of couldn't live without you, I guess.

And then the doorbell rings. They snap apart like they've been electrocuted, her hair a mess and his ribs a little worse for wear.

"Um. I ordered a pizza," he says lamely.

Ziva tucks a curl behind her ear. "Then you better answer the door," she replies, and the lack of emotion in her tone sets warning bells off in Tony's head.

He turns and opens the door, but before he can say anything else, she pushes past him and disappears. Tony shoves too much money at the very confused delivery man, grabs the box, and then slams the door with more force than technically necessary.

And when he shows up for work the next morning, she says hello like she hadn't kissed him less than twelve hours before.

So, yeah, that's how it happened. And Tony's pretty sure he never wants pizza again.

-x-

When he finally gets the go-ahead for fieldwork, he wants to jump on his desk and cheer so the whole building can hear. He refrains, though, afraid of what Gibbs might say if he were to walk in on Tony standing on all of his newly completed paperwork.

Unfortunately for him, however, their next few cases are open and shut ones. Easy to solve, without any of the excitement that Tony has been craving. It's a jealous wife, then a abusive husband, then another jealous wife. No great, big mysteries there. (And what this really means is that there is nothing to take his mind off Ziva and The Incident.)

"You okay? You're looking a little out of it," McGee finally says, catching him staring off into space for what feels like the hundredth time. "Maybe you shouldn't have come back to work so soon – you were hurt pretty bad."

"Don't worry, McRib, I'm fine." He smiles, but, considering McGee's answering frown, it must look as fake as it feels.

"If you say so, Tony."

-x-

And then, just because he spent so much time complaining about the boring cases, they get one that almost goes horribly wrong. It's a husband and wife team on an officer shooting spree that comes complete with a chase through the city that ends in nothing less than a shootout in an abandoned, powerless warehouse.

"It's like they think they're a modern-day, middle-aged version of Bonnie and Clyde," Tony mutters as they move through the shadows.

He hears Ziva chuckle behind him, and he's about to commend her for actually knowing the reference, when the first shot goes off.

And after that, it all goes to hell. The husband and wife – Mr. and Mrs. Robert Norton – fire off round after round, and in the darkness of the warehouse, it's nearly impossible to tell where the shots are coming from. They wait, crouched behind barrels of god knows what, until finally, finally, Ziva is able to sneak around to where Mrs. Norton is crouched with her gun. Of course, Mr. Norton takes this as his cue to come out of his hiding place for the sole purpose of pointing his gun at Ziva while her back is turned.

It's stupid and reckless, but Tony wastes no time at all tackling Ziva to the ground, consequences of jumping in front of the gun be damned.

The bullet misses his head by a fraction of an inch.

Neither the husband nor the wife ends up being quite so lucky.

-x-

He's ready when Ziva arrives at his apartment later that night, and he has the door open almost as soon as she begins her insistent pounding. She moves past him without waiting for an invitation this time, then rounds on him. He shuts the door and waits, half-amused by and half-afraid of the look on her face.

"What happened today is why we cannot do–" She waves her hand between them, frustration all but radiating off of her.

"Do what, Ziva?"

"Whatever this is, Tony! It is too dangerous," she snaps. "You cannot save me at the cost of your own life."

He shrugs. "It didn't cost me my life, seeing as I'm still breathing." His re-injured ribs are actually making that a little difficult, although he's not going to bring that up right now.

"You are missing the point."

"Or maybe you're failing to make one."

"Impossible man," she scoffs.

"You're not much better, you know."

Ziva lets his words hang between them for a few moments before she finally responds. "It is not a good idea, Tony. It would likely end in us both being hurt."

"Well, I've always been a glutton for punishment."

"Tony."

He thinks she probably meant it as a warning, but he takes it as an invitation instead. And when she doesn't pull away from him, he thinks maybe that's what it was all along.

-x-

"Do you think Gibbs knows instinctively when one of his rules is being broken?"

"For both of our sakes, I hope not."

"Maybe he has an alarm that goes off. Or some sort of sixth sense."

"Tony, if you want to be thinking of Gibbs right now, perhaps I should come back another time."

This effectively shuts him up.

-x-