It was the smell of his cologne that caused the reaction, not the spray of bullets flying above their heads. That same spicy scent, combined with sweat and adrenaline. The hands hugging her, pulling her down to safety became hands trying to hurt her. The body lying on top of her, providing cover became arms holding her down for torture, preventing escape. The cold American soil became dirt of Somalia. She couldn't help it. There were sounds of shooting but she didn't register it. All she wanted was to get the man with that smell off of her, to hurt him, to kill him. So she fought.

Kicking and yelling, she fought the restraints, not hearing the grunts of pain her hits caused. She fought hard but Saleem still didn't let go of her, fighting just as hard to hold her down. Ziva struggled and finally managed to get in a kick that dislodged her enemy. Rolling over, she scrambled to her legs and backed up until she hit a wall. Shouting curses in Hebrew, her eyes scanned the space wildly, unable to focus on one point, unable to see the alley, seeing instead a dirty cell with only a chair as furniture. The only real thing was the smell coming from Saleem. Breathing hard, Ziva waited. It wasn't the first time she tried to escape, but there was always someone to catch her, always some guard coming out of nowhere and stopping her. After a while she stopped running. Not today though. Today she felt strong enough to finally get away.

Preparing for the battle she knew was coming, Ziva took a deep breath to clear her head. There was a rush of fresh, cold air on her face and Ziva froze. The smell was different. The cologne was still there but it was pushed back by the scent of something else. Frowning, Ziva took another whiff of air, trying to discern it. It wasn't a pleasant smell in on itself; it was just so different from the hot Somalian air that parched your lips, the sweat of the soldiers sometimes mixed with the coppery smell of blood. There was dampness in the air, a promise of rain, the typical smell of dumpsters, rotten food and ratty clothes, but there was also the fantastic smell of fresh pizza and Chinese, the gas fumes coming from cars, the smell off gun residue. Ziva took another breath, and closed her eyes in confusion.

When she opened them again, the cell vanished. Saleem was gone too. She was in an alley, staring straight into the bruised eyes of her partner. There were shouts coming from the nearby street, but she didn't care. She was huddled in between a wall and a container, while Tony knelt several feet from her, palms held up as if he was trying to approach a scared child. Swallowing the whimper that threatened to escape her, Ziva blinked away the last fogs of the flashback.

"Tony?" she whispered and he let out a relieved sigh.

"Thank God," he uttered, hands falling down and cradling his sore ribs. Ziva waited for the tirade to start, for the questions to come, but Tony just looked at her, as if he understood.

"I-" Ziva paused, unsure of what to say. Seeing the darkening bruise on Tony's cheek, the way he held himself up, she knew there were no excuses. "I'm sorry. I don't know what..."

"Flashback," Tony simply said and stood up, cringing. Looking around, he spotted a figure coming from behind the corner. Stiffening, Tony stepped behind the cover of the dumpster and pointed his gun.

"Tony? Ziva? You two okay?" McGee's voice rang out and Tony put the gun down.

"Yeah, we're just peachy. The suspect is down, you might want to call Ducky. What about you guys?"

"We got the other one, alive. You sure you're okay?" McGee asked with concern when he saw Tony's face, and Ziva still sitting on the floor.

"We're fine, McConcerned. Maybe a little bruised and dirty but nothing a hot shower can't cure. Right, Ziva?" Tony looked at her, his eyes watching, silently asking if she was indeed alright now, or if she needed some help.

"Yes, a hot shower sounds good. The sooner we wrap this up, the sooner we can get home," she added and McGee gave a slow nod. He had a feeling something happened but this was not the place or time to ask.

"Okay. I'm gonna make sure Gibbs doesn't kill the other guy, and tell him everything is 'just peachy'," he said with a hint of sarcasm. Tony waved him off and turned back to Ziva, the smile vanishing from his face.

"You sure you don't need someone to check you out?"

"I'm fine Tony," she assured him and decided it was about time to get up. Once standing, she made her way over to him, wanting to check his injuries. She was only a feet from him when the smell hit her and she paused momentarily. Seeing her hesitation, Tony took a step back.

"What is it?"

"N-nothing," she said and made an effort to push back the memories, to bury them. She found that breathing through her mouth helped a lot. Not losing time, she reached for Tony's cheek and looked at the damage she had done.

"Ziva," Tony pulled away, his voice admonishing, asking for the truth. "Nothing's not gonna give you flashbacks in the middle of a gun fight. You don't try to kick the living shit out of me for nothing! So... what is it? And don't tell me it was the shooting, cause we were getting shot at just two weeks ago and you didn't even blink."

For a moment they just looked at each other, one waiting for an explanation, the other unsure if it would be enough. There was a gust of wind blowing through the alley, clearing the air and allowing her to decide.

"It's the smell. When you pushed me down for cover... it was just too strong. You were too close."

"What? I don't..." he stopped before he could finish. Of course! He was close to giving himself a head-slap, but the headache stopped him from it. How could he be so stupid? "It was the cologne, right? That's the only thing that's new... the damned cologne!"

"It's... it's the same one he used." Ziva admitted. "I don't mind it in the office... it was ... you were just too close." she tried to explain but Tony shook his head to stop her.

"I'm sorry. I was stupid, I should've remembered seeing it on the list of merchandise Saleem had shipped from America."

Ziva put her hand on Tony's cheek, stopping the flood of words.

"I'm terribly sorry I hurt you. I thought... I thought you were someone else, that I was somewhere else. I will get this problem fixed, I promise. This won't happen again."

They shared a look, Tony trying to ignore the pain from the bruises, Ziva trying to pretend she didn't see it in his eyes. When Gibbs stormed into the alley, they were ready to get back to work.

Several hours later, Tony arrived home, exhausted and beaten, literally. Ziva was one hell of a fighter when she thought you were her enemy. Grimacing, Tony went straight to the bathroom, pulling off his shirt, ready for that hot shower. He paused with the shirt in his hands. After a moment of hesitation, he took a whiff to the fabric. He smelled the cologne mixed with sweat and dirt from the alley. He didn't mind the smell; after all he bought the cologne so he must've liked it. Smelling of it now though, all he felt was repulsion and nausea. That Ziva could've thought him to be her tormentor, if only for a moment, made him want to throw up. Tony grabbed the small bottle, balled it up in the shirt and threw both things into the waste bin. He knew it wouldn't undo the things done to Ziva, but he wasn't about to hurt her again.

Ziva walked out of her shower, her skin red from rubbing. She walked over to the table and pulled out a small business card. It was the one Abby had handed her when she returned from Somalia, saying that she should use it when the memories become too much. Closing her eyes, Ziva took in a deep breath, taking in the smell of her apartment, of comfort and safety. There was a rush of doubt. Maybe she didn't need help. She was sure Tony wouldn't wear the cologne anymore, so there was no risk. She was about to put the card back when her eyes paused on her bruised knuckles. They were bruised because she hit her partner so hard it split skin. Shaking off the hesitation, Ziva reached for her cell phone. It was time to solve the problem.