Ashleigh Anpilova


Set during and after Jet Lag.

Ziva has nightmares and DiNozzo wants to find a way to help her.

A first time story.

Written: April 2010. Word count: 500.



The noise, almost inhuman, wakes him. Before he's even fully conscious, he has his gun in his hand and is scanning the room.


He hears the noise again; it's coming from the bed where Ziva is asleep. In the broken darkness he can see her tossing about; the noise is coming from her throat.


Dropping his gun onto the couch, he moves towards the bed. "Ziva," he calls quietly, fighting the almost over-whelming urge to just pull her into his arms and hold her. He doesn't touch her, nor does he get too near.


But she doesn't seem to hear him. She just goes on making the inhuman sound; the sound of pain, of fear, of distress, of total loss. He can't bear it any longer. Catching both her wrists with one of his hands, he puts his arm around her shoulder. "Ziva," he says a little louder. "It's all right, you're safe. I'm here."


She jerks awake and for a moment fights him, but he holds on, ignoring the pain as she kicks him. "Ziva," he says. "It's me, Tony."


"Tony?" She sounds surprised. "What are you doing in -"


"You're not in Somalia," he says softly. "You're safe. We're in Paris."




He nods and sees her remember. "You're safe," he repeats, now stroking her hair. "Settle down and go back to sleep."


She nods. As he's about to go, she catches his hand. "Do not go," she whispers. "Stay. Stay with me, please."


He hesitates for a second before getting into bed with her and gathering her into his arms. The next second he finds her mouth on his and her body moving against his. He wants to stop her. It's not the way he wants to make love to her; it's not how he imagined their first time to be. But her need is so clear; her body screams out what she wants, and he loves her just enough to give her what she needs.




"What do you want?" She stands holding her apartment front-door tightly, clinging to it like someone clings to a life-raft.


"To talk," he says softly.


She shakes her head and glances away from him. "There is nothing to talk about."


"Yes, Ziva, there is," he says, his tone still soft. "We have to talk about Paris."


Now she glares at him. "We had sex, Tony. That is all. There is nothing to talk about." She tries to close the door.


But strong as she is, he's stronger. He catches the door and holds it steady. "What I wanted to talk about were the nightmares." She gasps. "You need to talk, Ziva. You need to talk to someone about what happened in Somali. I'm here. Talk to me."


"Somalia is the past. I do not need to talk about it."


He looks at her and sighs softly. "Okay, see you then." He turns and begins to walk away.


"Wait," she calls. He stops. "Do not go," she whispers. "Stay. Stay with me, please." 



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