Chapter Text
Ziva David didn't believe in soulmates.
The idea that out there, somewhere, there was someone born for the sole purpose of spending their whole life with her made no sense. Even worse, the thought that she, of all people, had come into this world in order to be the other half of someone's poor soul was even harder to believe.
Ziva was a soldier, an officer trained to fight, persuade and even kill. Now that was her life's purpose. She was born to serve her country, show loyalty to her family and her fellow Mossad officers.
There was no time nor space for distractions, for feelings. Ziva couldn't let anything get in the way of a mission. Not love, not hate, not pain. Not even death. Yes, she was ready to sacrifice her life if it meant the fulfillment of her purpose.
Ziva had been first introduced to soulmates by her mother when she was nine. Sure, she had noticed a few foreign scrapes here and there on her body, but despite her age, she was instructed to push through and not to complain. About anything. So Ziva just blamed it on her constant drills and exercises.
That night, Ziva had noticed a dark bruise on her palm.
"Does it hurt?"
"Yes, because I know that my soulmate is hurting and it hurts to seen the people you love suffer"
"What is a soulmate?" Ziva was a soon-to-be assassin, but not even that could take away the pure curiosity and the innocence of a kid.
"It is the person you are destined to be with. Your other half"
"So you and father are soulmates?"
A beat. A small hesitation.
"Yes"
Ziva's natural lie detector wasn't that sharp yet and she didn't see the small glimpse of insecurity in her mother's eyes. But she was already clever, too smart for her own good. Soon enough, she noticed how the injuries that occasionally showed up on her mother's skin didn't match the ones her father had from old missions.
During a quiet family dinner, little Ziva had decided to breach the subject.
The night ended with one of the infamous screaming matches between Eli David and his wife. A scolding for exposing his precious daughter to such nonsense.
As Ziva lied in bed, listening to the argument through the thin walls of her house, she couldn't help the guilt that crept in her chest and threatened to suffocate her. She swore she would never talk about it again. Her father was right after all, she was going to be a Mossad officer, Ziva surely had no business in showing interest in something so mundane, something adults made up for children.
The concept of soulmates was something abstract, far away from the reality she had grown up in. Ziva kept hearing about it through voices, rumors coming from classmates or friends. Like that time when her best friend kept saying that Ari was her soulmate. Yeah, as if.
Still, sometimes she couldn't help but feel a pang of disappointment every time she saw the evidence of love in the world. A couple kissing in a corner, two sets of eyes lingering on each other, speaking without the need of words.
And faint cuts and bruises showing up on her body. On her cheeks, arms and ribs, adding themselves to the ones she already had because of her intense training. Ziva knew what they meant. Whoever her soulmate was supposed to be, he or she surely was one trouble maker. Probably used to getting into fights.
Either way, it was nothing compared to the injuries they were going to be covered in because of her.
At first, it was just scraped knees. The first time it happened, Anthony DiNozzo Jr. burst into tears.
He was six, wearing shorts and sitting on the couch with his mother. It was a sudden and sharp sting, as if he had just dragged his knees through gravel. It made him clutch his legs and cry out, curling himself against the warmth of the woman holding him.
When Tony showed her the scratches that littered his legs, she just smiled lovingly. "Oh no, don't cry, baby. This is the most beautiful thing that could ever happen to you"
His mother told him everything that very night. She told him not to worry about bruises and scars appearing on his body because it meant that his soulmate was out there, fighting hard to get to him. But he had to do the same.
"Are you daddy's soulmate?"
It was the innocent question of a little kid. Fair and direct.
"Of course. And he's mine"
A white lie, told in order not to destroy the hopes of a child.
Truth was that Tony's mother was never luckily enough to feel the sting of a cut mysteriously appear on her skin. She kept hoping and praying until she met Anthony DiNozzo Sr.
He too didn't have a soulmate, or so he kept saying, and that's why they had hit it off.
However, it wasn't long before she caught the signs on his skin. Nevertheless, she kept quiet about it, never mentioned it, partly because she knew she would've never been lucky enough to find someone else willing to love her even though they weren't soulmates. And although Senior knew the meaning of those marks, he never cared enough to let go of the perks of being a good-looking and rich businessman. By perks he meant women.
There were arguments about it. Tony's mother knew he kept cheating, looking for something she didn't seem to have, much to her dismay. She had been the only woman to ever fall truly in love with Anthony DiNozzo Sr. And suddenly she didn't like it anymore.
Fights had become a common occurrence at the DiNozzo household. Fights that dissolved into nothingness, that ended with empty promises, the sound of a door slamming shut and a scared kid seeking shelter in his room, tiny palms pressed against tiny ears.
His mother would find Tony like that and hold him until he stopped trembling and crying.
"If soulmates argue so much then I don't want one"
"Don't say that, my love. Daddy and I argue but that's because we love each other so much"
With time, Tony's mother stopped calling her husband out on his late night escapades to focus on her son. Even when her health began to waver, she was always by Tony's side until the very last moment. She died without regrets, knowing that in the end, her true soulmate was the blond-haired boy that she had loved so much.
As the years went on, Tony kept collecting scars as if they were Pokémon cards. He often wondered what kind of predicament his soulmate was in. Every day, there was always something new.
Most of the times, the worst thing that showed up were scrapes and cuts on his knuckles. They came silently, their presence signalled by a small twitch of the nerves in his hands. A spasm that made him look down and sure enough, there they were. Red, angry, sometimes bloody, but fleeting. Small tears in his skin that usually disappeared within a week.
It was worse when Tony woke up with a pounding headache and his eye circled in a dark and almost panda-like kind of black. When that occurred, it frequently was accompanied by a bloody nose and a series of other bruises around his torso and generally everywhere. Now that really hurt.
Sure, Tony wasn't the only one whose soulmate earned him quite a lot of marks, but this was way too much.
Even when he was younger, he would be forced to show up at school looking like he had just boxed with a brick wall. Once, tired of all the stares, Tony told a friend that he had took on the toughest bully of the school. Unsurprisingly, the news spread quickly and by the end of the day, Ziva caught her reflection in the mirror and found herself with another black eye.
"Idiot" She had muttered.
The worst came when Tony was twenty-three.
Police academy was already kicking his butt and every bruise he got while training was amplified by the ones he already had. By that time, Tony had come to the conclusion that his soulmate either practiced martial arts or they were a wrestler. Another option, his soulmate was always in trouble. Even better they were the trouble.
Either way, as Tony went through his usual morning drills, he couldn't be prepared for what was expecting him.
He was sparring with another trainee, Tony had always been a discrete fighter. Maybe not very skillful, but he was able to hold his own. Moving quickly, he delivered a strong jab to his opponent's chest. The other recruit retailed with a kick than landed at the height of his left hip.
But it didn't feel like a kick. Not at all.
The pain Tony felt was unlike anything else he had ever experienced. Intense, sharp and immediate. Like a blade slicing through his skin, burying itself in his flesh. It squeezed the air out of his lungs, tore a pained gasp from his lips.
He went down, his back hit the training mat as Tony clutched his side and curled up slightly. Eyes squeezed shut and teeth gritting as he tried hard not to cry out.
An instructor, tall and intimidating made his way over, his imposing presence compelling Tony's opponent to back away.
"I swear I barely touched him!"
His words fell to deaf ears, no one listened to his justifications as a couple of medics pushed through the crowd that had began to gather. There was a flurry of people fussing over Tony, everybody was wondering what could've caused him such pain. Some even said that he was pretending.
But then they saw it. Everybody did.
The long, thick scar that expanded just above his hipbone. Red and jagged, looking as if it was just a second away from opening. It wasn't going to tear open of course, but the pain was very real. So real Tony's eyesight had started to blur, his head was hazy and he knew right away he was going to pass out very soon.
When Tony woke back up he was lying in his cot. There was no one around him, there was no need. His injury wasn't treatable. His injury wasn't even an injury, but the result of his soulmate's dangerous but frequent... He didn't even know how he could define whatever was going on.
That night, Tony couldn't fall asleep.
His side still stung, every wrong movement caused the pain to flare up again and Tony was starting to feel his limbs go numb after laying in the same position for so long.
Moving carefully, he shifted to lie onto his back while biting his bottom lip, trying no to let out any sound that could wake up the other recruits. With a quiet sigh, he pulled the covers away from his body and immediately felt the chill of the night biting his skin. But he didn't mind. Using an uncharacteristical amount of care, Tony lifted his shirt to reveal that scar.
It was clearly deeper than the other ones. The oldest bruises had faded, they always did. But some scars, the worst and most painful ones, remained embedded in his skin. And on his soulmate's skin. His back was littered with small, almost invisible cuts. There was a small but quite deep scar just under his chin and Tony probably couldn't remember how his knuckles used to look before all the scrapes had begun to appear.
But this new one... It was long. So long it almost circled his side completely, from his abdomen to his spine. Tony's index finger ran along its length, feeling the swelling of the scar tissue as the pain made him wince again.
Somewhere around the globe, someone just had a pretty close brush with death. And that person was supposed to be Tony's other half, the one with whom he was supposed to spend his life with.
What if they had died?
The question crossed Tony's mind. He brushed it off at first, but he soon realised that might've been a very concrete possibility. Something shifted inside of him, his stomach dropped leaving behind a void.
But what did he care anyway? He didn't want a soulmate right? He didn't want to end up like his parents, fighting all the time while their child hid in his bedroom. Scared and alone.
Still, as Tony turned to look out of the window, wandered if somewhere around this infinte globe, his soulmate was okay and looking at that same moon that shone so brightly up there.
Four months later, Tony was in the changing rooms, redressing after a shower.
The scar on his hip didn't hurt as it used to do. It wasn't as red, as swollen. But that did very little to ease his mind.
In those four months, there hadn't been any new marks. No scars not scratches or bruises. Nothing at all.
At first Tony thought it was because they had been in the hospital, recovering. But after a while, he began to lose hope. Maybe they were really dead.
And he was alone.
Tony was about to pull his shirt over his head, but he stopped as his eyes caught sight of it. That scar above his hip. It was still there. Again, he let his fingers trail along the mark, his mind scrambling to find an explanation, a reason for all those scars. He couldn't find any.
Something pricked the skin of his shoulder.
Instinctively, Tony flinched and his palm immediately went to his arm as if to shoo away a mosquito. It wasn't something unusual, especially in the scorching heat of the academy. But as Tony glanced at his shoulder, looking for an insect bite, he found something else.
Something that brought a smile to his lips as soon as he realised what it was.
A scar. Shallow and thin. But present.
Tony couldn't explain the feeling of relief that spread inside his chest.
Ziva stood in the bedroom of the safehouse. It was her first mission since she almost... Well, it was over. Forgotten, in the past.
The only thing that reminded Ziva of that disastrous assignment was the atrocious amount of scar tissue above her hip. The one she was looking at in the full-length mirror, while one of her hands held her shirt up.
The scar was long, still slightly red. It would hurt from time to time, especially after one of her targets managed to land a kick or a jab right over the injury. Like it had happened today. It would sting whenever she traced its edge with the tip of her fingers. Pull if she moved too quickly. And sometimes, just one look was enough to make it burn.
Those looks mostly came from her. Her eyes would fixate on that imperfection, unreadable and almost unexpressive. Ziva would feel her jaw clench involuntarily, as if it was a spontaneous reaction to that sight. She would look and look and look at it, as if her stare could make it disappear. She hated it. That reminder of her failure, her incapability of completing such a simple mission.
But in the first place, those kind of looks came by her father. He was the first person Ziva saw once she woke up. She had lost a lot of blood and her head still spun slightly, but upon her father's entrance, Ziva felt a pang of relief. She felt the security of a familiar presence in the same room after spending months away from her home because of that damned mission. Eli David didn't waste time in pleasantries, probably didn't even notice she was awake. No, he just pulled the covers off her body and lifted the hospital issued t-shirt and let out a sigh.
Despite the effects of the anesthesia that still lingered, Ziva could see the look on her father's eyes. It bore disappointment, unsatisfaction. All directed towards her.
"You will do better next time"
It wasn't an encouragement. It was an order.
Ziva just closed her eyes, feigning sleep until she heard the door fall shut. Letting out a shaky exhale, she brought a hand up, her thumb and index finger pressing against the corners of her eyes. She was not going to cry. Mossad officers didn't cry. The daughter of the director didn't cry. Not alone, not in front of somebody. Her father was right, she has failed and she was going to have to do better on the next mission.
What's more, Ziva should've considered herself lucky. Other agents didn't get away that easily after a failed assignment.
Still, as she stared at the mostly healed scar in the mirror, Ziva didn't feel lucky. Everything felt off, wrong.
Her gaze roamed over her own skin, passing by other, older scars. Some weren't hers. Now that Ziva thought about it, someone was now bearing the marks of her failure. It made her sick, it made her sorry. And she was never sorry, about anything. This whole concept was so messed up in Ziva's eyes. People had to live with the pain of the scars, the anticipation, waiting years to find their soulmates. Besides, she already had her own, why did she have to deal with someone else's scars too?
Ziva asked herself the same question a few years later.
Pushing thirty, she was one of the youngest officers in Mossad and just like her rank, her father's expectations had gotten higher and higher. She was constantly under a great amount of pressure, while most women her age went out every night and got married. But it was fine, right? She wouldn't be the strong and independent person that she was if it wasn't for that pressure.
It was one the few night Ziva had to herself and she was spending it sharpening her knife and making up a plan for her next mission. She was sitting on the couch, poring over blueprints of a warehouse she was supposed to break into when a sharp ache in her leg made her lean forward, her knife forgotten as it clattered on the wooden floor. She had to grit her teeth in order not to cry out while one hand clutched the spot just above her knee.
That's when her training kicked in. There was no time to dwell on the cause of that pain, the only thing that Ziva could do was take a look. Quickly. She didn't waste a second as she bent down and retrieved her knife from the floor. With skilled and practised hands, she guided the blade through the fabric of her right pant leg. When the slice was big enough, she tossed the weapon on the cushion beside her and used her fingers to make the tear larger.
There, the fabric fell open, revealing a round patch of burnt skin mixed with scar tissue.
Ziva relaxed, knowing she wasn't in any danger. Nevertheless, she let out a course in her native language as she realised her idiot soulmate had just gotten shot in the leg. With a sigh, she almost felt bad for whoever it was, she knew how painful that kind of injury could be, especially if delivered from such a short distance as the burnt skin indicated. Ziva had never experienced it firsthand, otherwise her soulmate would've known, but as a trained assassin, she had always been taught about the human body and in particular its weakest spots. In order to execute her job properly, her father had deemed it necessary that she knew by heart which wounds caused the most pain. And that, on a scale from one to ten, was a solid eight.
Since she was around ten, Ziva's soulmate seemed keen on getting into scuffles, fights. She had never gotten too many scars from him. Mostly bruises and cuts that eventually had faded. Later, she started to get more serious injuries, almost everyday. Ziva knew, those were the marks of a training. A training not as harsh as the one she had to endure, but still respectable. It used to make her wonder if this soulmate was like her in some ways. A fighter. A... Killer? Whenever that thought crossed her mind, Ziva hoped he or she wasn't like that. She could barely bear the complications that came with her line of work, let alone deal with a double amount of those. And anyway, soon those thoughts stopped invading her mind. She became too busy, too occupied.
What very few people knew, was that illnesses could leave a mark on people. The most grave and dangerous sicknesses that pushed bodies to their limits and could affect them even after the recovery.
Ziva had been trying to track her brother, Ari, for months when she suddenly fell ill. It was sudden, completely unexpected especially since Ziva wasn't one to get sick very easily. Still, something along the lines of flu or even pneumonia made her bedridden for almost a whole day. Of course it wasn't anything to worry about, she didn't even inform her father or call a doctor, Ziva just dealt with it on her own like she had always been used to do.
Months after that, Ziva was in the Navy Yard, sitting on a chair as she stared at a very charming but apparently not very smart American. No, wait, italian-american. She had spent hours studying his file, studying everybody's files in order to accomplish her mission: stop the NCIS from killing Ari. And, if it was needed, kill him herself. Not that she was okay with it. But it had to be done, she had no other choice but to follow the orders her father had given her.
With time, the Tony DiNozzo revealed himself to be smarter and more intelligent than she had anticipated, but he still remained an idiot most of the times. Despite that, Ziva found herself growing more and more comfortable around him, with all the teasing and the mocking and friendly banter. She had noticed the scars on his knuckles that reminded her of her own, but they couldn't be the same. Tony was known for being a bit of a hothead and he had been in the academy, who knows in how many fights he must've been in.
The revelation came just after a few months. During Ziva's first undercover mission. With Tony.
Strangely enough, it didn't happen during those many moments they spent together in a hotel room bed. They were both too focused on pretending and, most importantly, on not giving in. Because despite not having known each other for long, there was something simmering just below the surface. Something that was probably too dangerous to be be revealed.
So Tony's hands ran up and down her arms and back and he had to force himself to stay away and to not ask questions that would blow their cover. He went on, reminding himself that they were being watched even when his fingertips grazed over the slightly swollen lines that made her breath hitch. And Ziva deliberately ignored all those ridges on his skin that reminded her of her own marks.
Until she couldn't ignore them anymore.
They were tied up together, his back pressed against hers as the man they were supposed to be arresting, Marcos Siazon, sat across the room from them. Tony's shoulders were slightly hunched as he looked around the room, probably scanning the space and seeking anything that could get them out of that situation. Ziva, on the other hand, she was sitting straight, her back perfectly still, chin high and gaze fixated ahead, listening and praying that Tony didn't do anything stupid.
Evidently, her prayers didn't work well.
"Two, never threaten the people who employ you" The man's warning was met with one of Tony's remarks.
"Should I be writing this down...?"
That's when one of the bodyguards struck. A well-aimed punch hit Tony on his right cheek, his head tilting sideways as he gritted his teeth and pushed through the pain.
"I take that as a no"
Ziva almost shook her head, trying to keep herself from telling Tony to shut up, to stay silent until backup arrived. Either way, she was the one they were going to kill if none of them spoke.
"If they resist, shoot the woman"
As Ziva decided that they weren't going to reveal anything, she felt a sudden ache in her right cheek. Almost as if she had been... Punched.
No.
No, no, no! Not him! Why him?
It couldn't be, it couldn't be him.
Tony DiNozzo couldn't be her soulmate out of seven billion people. He couldn't be the person who had had to bear with the scars of her past since he was just a child. Questions filled her head. A lot of whys and hows that filled her thoughts like a broken record.
It wasn't him, Ziva was sure.
Nevertheless, her belief faltered as the pain in her face intensified. A bruise was surely already forming on Tony's cheek and she would soon end up the same way.
But he couldn't know. Even worse, their captors absolutely could not know.
"Where's the disk?"
Ziva was quick, anticipating Tony. She couldn't risk another one of his comments.
"What disk" Her voice remained even, her gaze still on the wall in front of her, determined not to give away any sign of uncertainty.
But her plan didn't work. The sound of the bodyguard's hand connecting with the skin of Tony's face once again was defeaning, almost made her jump.
"Where, Mrs. Ranier"
A sting on her left cheek.
"What makes you think we have it?" She needed a distraction. No, even better, she needed a reason. A reason to get them to stop with the hitting and the punching otherwise her secret would soon be uncovered.
"We spotted you back at the restaurant. On some level you must've know this was gonna happen" The man's voice was frustratingly calm, almost smug. If Ziva wasn't bound to a chair, she would've already punched him.
"Observant. How much is out disk worth to you?"
Another hit.
This time, Ziva had to inhale deeply so as to stay calm. It was clear that they were not stopping and soon the bruises would start to mar her face too. The pain was spreading, from her cheek down to her jaw and her nose too. Tony was probably bleeding.
"I have a better question" Marcos stood up and walked up to them. It couldn't mean anything good. "What's it worth to you?"
He crouched down in front of her. "Out of professional courtesy, I've had Mr. Cord go lightly on her husband"
If that meant lightly, Ziva didn't dare think about how things would turn out if they didn't give Marcos what he wanted. She could imagine it, picture it. After all, she had studied the many ways to get a person to talk, but thinking about Tony in such position made her stomach clench.
"And I appreciate that" Came his voice from behind. She could tell he was struggling, feel his shoulders rise and fall with every uneven breath against her back. Ziva didn't understand how Tony couldn't speak in such a way when they were on the verge of... Death, most likely. Of course, she knew his defiance and humor were just a way to hide his fear, his insecurity. Either way, she wished he would just accept the situation as it was and at least try not to make it worse.
"Unfortunately, we're running out of time"
"If you let him go, I'll tell you where the disk is" A futile attempt, but it was the only choice Ziva had if she didn't want him to know about their bond. She could be alone with Marcos and however it ended, when Tony would see her again with her faced bruised and bloody, he would think she had been treated just like he had.
"You'll tell me either way Mrs. Ranier" One of the butlers stood and opened a briefcase, heading it to Marcos. He pulled out a blade, one that would've had Tony sweating and squirming for his life, internally at least. "I'll give you two a moment to consider your options"
And with that, they left.
She heard Tony letting out a breath before he turned to look at her as much as he could. His chest was still heaving slightly, his bottom lip was split and blood had trickled down his chin and onto his sweater, staining it.
Ziva mirrored his position, feeling his head tipping backwards and leaning against the top of hers.
"I might have a plan"
"What?"
"The Raniers obviously stole something they want, we're gonna give it to them"
Great, he had gone crazy.
"We don't have it" She gritted.
"You're gonna tell them it's in out hotel room, the only way they'll fing it is if you show them. McGee shoul be waiting for us in there" Tony sighed deeply, as if speaking so much had required a great effort. He turned again, his head leaning more heavily against hers.
He was almost completely stained. Her face hurt badly now, speaking was almost painful and if it was that way for her she could imagine all too well what Tony was feeling.
"Good plan, except for one, minor drawback"
"What's that?"
"When I leave, they'll most likely..." God why couldn't she just say it? "Put a bullet through your head"
"Oh, well, I didn't say it was a perfect plan"
Ziva's eyes widened, struck by his willingness to give up his life. Of course Ziva knew he was a damn good agent, she had learnt that, but still...
There was no way Ziva was letting him die. She was going to find a way to save them both. He might've given up, but she hadn't. But she didn't have the chance to reply because Marcos and his associate stepped back inside the room.
"The Peruvians make blades so sharp you can't even feel the first incision" Marcos hand suddenly clenched around her neck, not too tight, but uncomfortable.
"Stop. The disk is in our hotel room"
"Don't—"
"Where?"
"She has to show you" Tony was calm, more composed than before.
"Not what I asked" Marcos grip tightened, preventing Ziva from speaking.
"You'll never find it if you kill us"
There was a moment of silence, it settled over the room like a drape over a painting, waiting to be removed to reveal what was underneath.
"Untie her"
Tony felt relief spread through his chest.
"Clear the room, I'm on my way up with the girl" He spoke over the phone, but Tony didn't even listen, too busy to relish in the fact that his plan was working and Ziva would soon be safe.
As soon as she was free of her restraints, Ziva rubbed her sore wrists and stood, wanting to leave before the bruises began to show up.
"If I'm not back in five minutes. Kill him"
Ziva stood in front of the door, her hand on the handle. She couldn't help stealing just another glance in Tony's direction. Only then she saw the extent of his injuries properly. It was believable, right? The pregnant wife giving her husband one last loving look.
She couldn't know that as soon as the door clicked shut, the bodyguard picked up the knife and walked up to Tony with a smirk.
In the hallway, Ziva and Marcos were going up the stairs slowly and steadily, careful not to make any wrong move. She was in front of him, knowing he was watching her, waiting for her to try and escape. With a calculated move, she pretended to stumble, her ankle twisting and her heel almost breaking. She let herself fall backwards, her body colliding with Marcos' as they both tumbled down the flight of stairs.
Marcos didn't even have the time to react and Ziva was too quick for him. As soon as they hit the floor, she turned and snatched the weapon from his hand, before pointing it at his chest.
Just then, Gibbs and McGee appeared at the top of the stairs after hearing the commotion. They lowered their weapons when they saw that she had it under control. When she turned towards them, they saw the first hints of bruises quickly beginning to spread on her face.
By the time the three of them finally got back to Marcos' room, Tony was still bound to the chair which now was in a corner. On the ground, Marcos' associate, unconscious and his face bloodied.
Tony sat there, his feet barely inches away from the man's head as he bent slightly forwards, breathless. His comprising position left no room for questions about what had just happened in there.
Gibbs holstered his gun and Ziva moved to Tony, who hadn't noticed their presence yet. Her hand met his shoulder and his head snapped up. His eyes were wide, wild with something close to anger, maybe even rage. All of that was directed to Marcos and his men who hand bound them, hit him — and her too, apparently.
The look inside Tony's eyes softened as he took in the bruises that had began to bloom under her skin. "Did he—?"
"I am fine"
Ziva answered quickly, maybe a tad too much. The realisation that Tony Dinozzo was her soulmate had left her shaken but one thing was sure: Tony was never to know about it.