He steps off the plane and tugs at his sweater as if it can rid him of the growing tightness in his chest. A feeling dampened momentarily by the tiny hands pawing at the fresh scruff along his jaw and chin. He smiles at the child in his arms, his daughter - his daughter, Jesus! - and blinks a couple of times to stop his eyes betraying him. Tali grins and pokes her finger in his nose. Tony doesn’t know if he’ll ever get used to this, being responsible for this tiny person - his daughter, he corrects himself again. The daughter he shares - shared? - with Ziva. He breathes deeply and wonders if he can figure out how to unfold the stroller if it ever makes its way onto the carousel at baggage claim…
He’s walking through the streets of Paris and pointing things out to her as if she understands the significance of this place. Does she feel it too? They stood on this bridge, they bought pastries at that boulangerie, stayed in that hotel, in that room, in that bed. It was the job, of course. Nothing more. At least that’s what we told ourselves. What we always told ourselves. And now she’s gone, your mother. But she loved this place. Can you feel her?
It’s cold for May but there isn’t a wind and he wonders vaguely if the car exhaust fumes are lowering his life expectancy. He has to think about these things now, being a father and all. A father, Jesus!
Days pass and he marvels at Tali’s patience with him. He wonders absently if Ziva somehow prepared her for his oddities. “I’m not very good at this,” he tells her, a self-deprecating smile crinkling his face. Tali nods solemnly and feeds him a mouthful of mushy food from her own spoon.
He shakes off the feeling, not for the first time, that he’s being watched. He bounces Tali on his hip and points to the city sights - an excuse to use his very special agent skills to scan the crowds. But he sees nothing. His own words, come back to haunt him - there wasn’t a body.
He takes Tali to the cafe where he ate breakfast with her mother. It’s getting late though and darkness creeps in, taking him unawares. Tali is asleep in her stroller, the occasional sleepy sigh escaping her lips. The city is still busy though; bike messengers weaving through traffic, couples walking hand-in-hand, the sound of a cab door being closed somewhere nearby. He finds the rental that he double-parked - there’s a ticket on the dash - and he lifts his daughter - daughter - into the car seat and straps her in. He’s terrified she’ll wake but she only stirs a little and he smiles when her head bobs to one side as if her neck was too tired from a very long day of being a toddler.
He senses her before he sees her, convinces himself it’s the ghost of her he feels. He doesn’t turn around. She’s gone, he knows that.
Now he has to turn, because even if it’s all in his head he has to confront the ghost that’s chasing him. But she’s there and she’s whole and he feels like the wind just got knocked out of him. He tries to say something, to fill the electric silence between them, but her presence has him stunned. She looks at him; her eyes sad, scared and hopeful all in one. His hand is shaking and the anger hits him like the force of an 18 wheeler. She sees it and he knows that she’s seen it, and he watches as she braces herself for its impact. He stares at her for a long time and the anger mingles with grief and something else… something a little like hope.
“You didn’t tell me,” he croaks.
“You could have called… I would’ve -”
“I didn’t want you to put your life on hold,” she interrupts. “Not for me. I couldn’t… do that to you.” She glances at her daughter, asleep and oblivious to the world. “I didn’t know how you would feel… about her… I left you… let you go… how could I?” she falters, looking down, her jaw working furiously. “By the time she came, Tony, all I could think about was protecting her.”
He smiles a little because her answer is so ‘Ziva’. When she looks up at him again, he holds her gaze and he wants nothing more than to cross the distance between them and take her in his arms. But he is Tony and she is Ziva and neither of them moves, the current buzzing between them.
“I am sorry,” she says eventually. And her head moves so forcefully with the words that he knows she truly means it, is desperate for him to understand. He does. He understood the minute Orli left him with Tali, he just wasn’t ready to accept it then.
“We have a daughter,” he says.
She smiles softly. “I know,” she replies.
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