a lot of love, a lot of loose ends
summary: a fic pulling together the threads of 13x24, Family First, after the confirmation in Daughters that Ziva definitely faked her own death. follows Ziva and her sending Tali to DC, Tony spending time with Tali, and just why Tony headed to Paris, complete with many many feelings.
note: still rusty with this lot, hopefully the voices felt right. this gets kinda sappy and is pushing 10,000 words, bc i couldn’t get through all this in the detail it deserved in just 1k.
She's woken by the telltale noise of a mortar soaring through the sky. She's lived in war zones throughout her life, so it's not an uncommon noise to her, but the fact that she's hearing it here, now, in the middle of the country in her father's old safe farmhouse, is an immediate concern.
In a second, she's out of bed, racing toward the other wing of the house, screaming out her daughter's name. She runs toward Tali's room, faster than she's run in years, and tumbles into her little girl's space, seeing her sitting up in bed, frowning worriedly, hair rumpled from sleep. Ziva shuts the door, races toward Tali and cradles her close, but before either of them can say a word, the blast hits, and the building around them falls to pieces.
*
She groans in relief as the car pulls up into the forest, finally. Tali is a sleepy heavy weight in her arms; the go-bag on Ziva's shoulder, stuffed full of as many of the little girl's things as she could grab, just the same.
The car door thunks, and Ziva tugs it open, sliding into the car.
"You look worse than you said on the phone," Orli remarks, and Ziva looks the way of her sort-of-friend, eyebrow raised.
"Thank you," she deadpans, shifting Tali on her lap to get the little girl sat more comfortably on her, before the car eases away slowly, winding through the forest once more. "What have you learned?"
Orli sighs, eyes darting down to Tali in sympathy.
"We believe it to be the CIA." Ziva mutters a curse under her breath, but Orli keeps going. "The news has reached major outlets, it is being reported that Eli David's farmhouse has been hit. Currently they have little information to go on, but word is spreading."
Ziva gnaws on her lower lip, knowing what Orli isn't saying. Where that word will spread. "It will reach the US."
"If it hasn't already. And with it, the CIA and other agencies." One of which they both know too well. Ziva sighs, runs a hand through Tali's hair, mind running. Her little girl sighs a happy breath against her, soft, at ease, very unlike her mother at this very moment.
"Orli, what did they want?" she asks, tired and lost. "What purpose is there by eliminating the farmhouse so many years after Eli's death?" The event itself scarred them all enough, they both remember that well, but this kind of hit so many years later makes so little sense. Ziva is out of NCIS, Eli is dead, there is nothing there worth targeting anymore. And yet her house is gone, and she has nowhere to go, no place to be.
Before her, Orli shrugs slowly, sadly. "It is hard to know right now. The place was well known as Eli's. Perhaps they were trying to eliminate something, files or information, or trying to send a message..." She trails off, discomfort and tension in her frame.
Ziva raises an eyebrow once more, less sarcastic this time and more concerned. "What kind of message?" What isn't Orli saying?
"Ziva..." Orli swallows, looks down at Tali again, and Ziva clutches her little girl closer instinctively. "It may not be safe for a while. If they are trying to destroy Eli and his legacy..."
"They'll go after his blood," Ziva completes, squeezing the bridge of her nose and trying to stem the inevitable headache. It's no use; she feels it blooming regardless. "I could go into hiding if necessary, but--"
"Not with Tali, I agree." They both nod, staying in silence a few moments until Orli asks the obvious, unsaid, question. "So what are you going to do?"
Ziva gulps down a breath, trying to think of what she once would have done in these circumstances. Strangely enough, not just her Mossad training prevails, but her NCIS training, too. She could go dark right away, or blindly seek out those responsible, or she could be more thoughtful, considered. Clever.
"Is the news reporting any casualties?"
"As there were none, no," Orli says, and Ziva nods, thinking it over, piecing it together.
"Put out word that there was one casualty, me, killed in the explosion. The CIA know me, I've met... too many of their agents." A list of names and faces flits behind her eyes, and she's suddenly glad once more that she walked away from a man who almost pulled her into that world. "They are not unlike Mossad-- they would not accept me living, if they wished to bring down everything Eli once built."
"And Tali?"
She sighs, running a hand through her daughter's curls again, wishing for just a second that she'd wake, let Ziva see those eyes so much like her father's. Those eyes that bring so much comfort.
"Nobody knows about her." She pauses, bites her lip, but she knows what she has to do, what the best course is, the only course she wants to follow. And, honestly, it's due. "Take her to Tony."
Orli freezes, eyes wide. "Ziva, are you sure--"
"Yes. He'll protect her-- NCIS will protect her. And he deserves to know, they deserve to have each other. For now, until the CIA back down..." She spares a thought for Tony, Gibbs, her once-family, knowing how all of this could impact them. So much at once, so overwhelming, her supposed death and then Tali coming into their lives too. But she doesn't know what else to do to keep the threat against her down, and keep Tali protected. She sighs. "If you go to them, you can tell them I was killed but Tali survived. If Tony asks, about her... Just tell him anything, Orli. I know he would never turn her away, but--"
"I understand," Orli says, reaching out and squeezing Ziva's arm. "And after?"
Ziva pauses, thinking on that. Because hopefully this will be over soon, and even if it isn't, she's not sure she can leave her daughter for more than a few weeks, a month, at most. And she can't just waltz up to Tony's apartment and demand her daughter back because she's not actually dead, thank you very much, and then disappear back to Israel again. This requires more care, kindness, and frankly just a better plan. As she searches her brain for an idea, suddenly, the very thing she'd done so Tony could find her here those years ago, comes back to her, and she blinks.
"The, um, the go-bag," she starts, and Orli reaches for it. "There's some photos in it, I grabbed them when we were escaping. The black-and-white one. Make sure that it stays in there and Tony gets the bag and can find it. He will know what it means."
It had taken him a while, before, to put together the photo she'd sent him of her and Ari as children, smiling innocently at the camera, and realize she was staying at the house she'd grown up in. She hopes Tony makes the same connection this time.
Orli rummages around a moment before pulling out the correct photo, and the older woman smiles a little softly at it. "Oh, Ziva, you did love him,"
She smiles a little, runs a hand through Tali's hair. "I still do."
And she hopes that, if he finds her clue, if he knows what she's leading him to do, if she sees him again, she can tell him that in person. She just needs to hope he finds his way to Paris.
She clutches her little girl closer, wondering how she'll cope with being apart from her for the first time in so long, but she knows surely within her heart that Tali will be safe with Tony. Will be happy, and well with him. Finally. She should have told him so long ago, she knows, but she couldn't find the right way to uproot his whole life, when she wished to stay in Israel, and she'd just hurt him so much in not following him home. Once a week, if not more, she's contemplated calling him and letting him know, rather than keeping his daughter from him, but she couldn't work out how, and days turned to weeks which turned to months, until right now, when she just can't keep away anymore. Her little girl's safety depends on it. Their little girl's safety.
She just hopes Tony will be okay before she finds him.
*
He sits back down as the rest of the team slowly move into the conference room, make their way toward the sleeping little girl across the table. His little girl. Tony's. His and Ziva's daughter.
He slumps back, tries to process... everything. Orli by his side, Tali opposite him, the image of her mother. And Ziva, dead, apparently. He doesn't know which is more overwhelming: that he has a daughter with the love of his life, or that the love of his life is dead, and he's found out both of these things in the space of a day.
When they'd seen the fire on the news, he'd been so sure Ziva was alive, he'd felt it in his gut. She couldn't be dead without him knowing. He'd always felt that the moment she left this earth, he'd know, he'd sense it. Years ago, a lifetime, when Gibbs had given the news about the Damocles, Tony had been so stunned because he just couldn't think that Ziva could have been dead for months without him knowing. That he'd been carrying on his life and she'd been gone.
The moment the hood had lifted before him, he'd known he was right.
And yet this time it seems to have happened again.
Tali sighs out a sleepy breath, shifts again but stays out of it. He doesn't blame her; Tony rather wishes he could sleep the day away, too.
He has a daughter. And he has no idea what to feel about that. Obviously, love, instinctual love for his own child, the child he made with Ziva, who lets her live on now. That's a given, he can't even help it-- the moment Orli had explained who Tali was he just felt love rushing through his blood.
But Ziva didn't tell him. She never let him know he had a child, halfway around the world. He wasn't lying to Orli minutes ago; if he'd known Ziva was pregnant, oh, he'd have been there. He wishes he'd been there. By her side, to hold her hand, feel every little kick, hit every milestone, let her curse and scream him as Tali was born, to hold their little girl for the first time, see those eyes like his and the features like hers... Ziva didn't let him have that.
And he knows he should be angry with her, could so easily be, but he can't. Not just because she's dead, no, but just because she's Ziva. He could never hate her. He's frustrated, sure, to have missed out on all that, but he knows her so well, he always has done, he knows how scared she would've been to tell him, he knows how much she struggles with giant emotional things like this, he knows she would've worried what he'd thought and been concerned he'd give up his whole life to be in Israel with her. Which he would've done.
As Tali shifts again, Tony wonders absentmindedly quite when he'll be able to think of Ziva in the past tense. He's not sure he ever will.
"She's so like Ziva," Abby murmurs softly, and Tony snaps out of it, sees his team still around Tali, cooing and smiling like she's the cutest little thing. She is. Jimmy hums in agreement.
"Really, Tony, she's adorable," Ellie says, turning back to him with a grin, and he sniffs a little, wondering if he should make the DiNozzo joke about such genes being expected and inherited, or stay stoic as this monumental event necessitates, or neither.
In the end, Tali makes the decision for him, stretching out and yawning audibly, clearly waking. One of her eyes peels open, and she frowns a little, brow furrowing incredibly like her mother's does, and Tony realizes she's probably incredibly confused. In a brand new country, new place, surrounded by complete strangers apart from maybe Orli, with four people very close and staring right at her. The frown gets deeper, the tiniest quiet whimper coming from her, and Tony's standing before he realizes it.
"Okay, here we go," he murmurs, for Tali and her only, immediately swooping round the conference table, stepping past McGee and Ellie, and stepping before Tali, lightly lifting her up out of her stroller and settling her on his hip, mumbling reassurances and bouncing her a little. She sits, practiced, and Tony tries not to think about how many times Ziva will have done this with her. He wonders if she ever thought about him doing it, too.
Tali looks at him, blinks once, then relaxes, settling into his grasp and looking around the room, less warily this time. She seems completely comfortable in his arms, like it's the most normal thing in the world. Except it's not.
Tony can't help but realize this is the first time he's ever held his daughter. Earlier, in the director's office, he'd just crouched down and offered a tight smile, to which she'd blinked, and then she'd crawled into her stroller and fallen asleep before they'd made it to the conference room. This, now, is the first time she's been in his arms, her father's arms, his daughter. Somehow the sensation is more overwhelming than just looking at her, even learning of her, feeling this real, tangible moment, a milestone. He wishes to god he'd been able to do this when she was just minutes old, but now, here, feels pretty monumental too. He shifts her on his hip, pulls her a little closer.
His daughter. He has a daughter.
As she looks around at the team again, Tony forces himself out of his thoughts once more, something he senses he'll have to do a lot-- to his knowledge, children don't allow much thinking time, or moments for introspection. Clearing his throat, he smiles Tali's way. She smiles back softly, adorably.
"Guys," he says to the team. "This is Tali. Tali, this is the team,"
Everyone coos again, steps closer, Abby taking one of Tali's tiny hands in a baby handshake, Ellie running a finger through one of her curls, McGee making a quiet introduction, Jimmy just beaming from the side, and Tony tries not to stand bemused throughout it all, wondering what on earth has just happened to his life. But when they stop, and Abby gets a text from her lab about blood work, something shifts in Tony, and he realizes that he's not going to be able to stay in NCIS with Tali forever, today. He'll have to take her home, he supposes, as her only living guardian, have to stay with her, raise her, take it all on within a day. She's his life, now, his future. He suddenly thinks he understands Senior's parenting issues. It's a whole lot to handle when you're not prepared.
Clearing his throat, he steps back. "I think me and the little lady are gonna head home for the day, guys, get out of everyone's hair."
"Take all the time you need, Tony," McGee says, with a comforting brotherly pat on the shoulder, and Tony nods, then looks across at the Director of Mossad, still sat at the table, watching everything.
"Is this everything?" he asks, gesturing to the stroller, the chunky well-filled go-bag underneath.
"You can take the car seat we brought her here in, too," she says in her usual low tone, and he sends her a tight smile. Everything Tali has is in one bag. Just one. Her whole world has been destroyed in fire and her entire life is now in one bag. He can't ignore the sudden urge to go buy her a million things- - not just practically, though that too since she'll need more clothes and every day things, but a billion toys, useless items, things just for her, for fun. So she can have fun. He thinks she more than deserves it.
"Thanks."
Orli rises, heads his way, and passes by the still-watching team to hand him a slip of paper. "If you need anything, any assistance..."
He's far more likely to contact the people around him than Orli, he knows, but he still appreciates her effort. That she's not storming through his life, handing him a child, and leaving unreachable again. And who knows, maybe he'll need Mossad's assistance, or at least a contact in Israel, at some point.
"Thanks," he murmurs, taking the card and slipping it into his pocket, before looking back at Tali, mustering up a goofy grin for her. She giggles at him, reaches out and pats his cheek with a tiny hand, and he grins a little more authentically this time. Maybe this won't be so hard, sometimes. "Alrighty, Tali, let's go home. You can meet my fish, I think you'll like 'em."
And so, with quick goodbyes to the team, he heads out, Tali still in his arms while he pushes the stroller one-handed, and he heads down to the parking garage. As he does so, he wonders idly if he should call his Dad. Four hands might be better than two, after all, even if neither of them have the slightest clue what they're doing.
*
Senior comes back not long after Tali had started napping on the couch, faithful Kalev in her arms. If she hadn't looked enough like her mother, Tali had been pure Ziva when getting fussy and wanting her little dog. But she's got him now, and she's happily sleeping again and Tony's determined not to wake her. And so the moment he hears the click of his door, he rises, heading over just before his father steps inside.
"She just went down," he says quietly, and Senior closes his mouth, previously open in speech, before nodding.
"I got plenty of things for her," he replies, lifting the bags in his hands, stuffed full of clothes and toys and food, all of which Tony is grateful for. Under Senior's arm is a pop-up toddler bed, the best either of them could think of at such short notice. In time, he'll get Tali a proper bed, a proper room, but he's hardly equipped for housing an almost-two-year-old right now, so quick and easy solutions are going to have to suffice for the moment. As Senior steps into the apartment, Tony takes a quick look around his home. It's funny, he loves this place, and he's lived here for years, but he somehow can't imagine raising a child in here. It just doesn't fit, in his mind-- there's hardly any room, and for Tali to have her own room he'd basically have to do a whole lot of renovation. He'd always thought that when he had children, he'd buy a house, move in there, a place with plenty of space, room for the kids, maybe a basketball hoop by the garage, probably one of those separate little rooms solely for like, a washer and dryer, that only houses seem to have, a big master bedroom where him and Ziva could--
He swallows. For so long now, he'd only thought about that kind of future with Ziva. Now he has it, but by no means in the way he'd always dreamed. Now, she isn't by his side. He tries not to think of the scent of her, still so pronounced in that scarf.
Clearing his throat, he steps into the kitchen, Senior following so they can talk well enough without waking Tali. As the older man sets his purchases down on the counter, Tony leans against it, looking out at his sleeping daughter.
"How was she?" Senior asks, and Tony shrugs.
"Good, we watched some TV and she played a little before knocking out. Thanks for watching her earlier, stupid office messed up my leave paperwork."
Senior waves a hand, shrugging him off. "Of course, Junior, you know that. Besides, she's quite the sweet kid."
"I know," A joke is on Tony's tongue about not knowing where Tali got her frequent quiet, calm disposition from considering his constant energy and Ziva's constant... Ziva-ness, but he swallows it down again. Ziva's gone, and such jokes aren't really funny. Besides, the Ziva he'd left in Israel was quiet, and calm, and thoughtful and introspective to a heady degree. He'd known for years that she could be like that, of course, weighed down in feelings, but often she pushed that side of her away, let herself be the wild flirty assassin she was trained to be, or at least pretended to be that, instead. Tony wouldn't be surprised if she was sometimes quiet and calm with Tali, though. Either way, from the brief time he's spent with his daughter, he knows Ziva did a hell of a job in raising her. She's fun, and kind, smiley and happy, content with him despite being torn from her mother. She's a brilliant child. He’s lucked out with her, really.
"And how are you doing?" Senior asks suddenly, voice lower and more serious. Tony has been expecting the question since his father followed him to NCIS and witnessed his not so brilliant "all hands on deck" moment-slash-breakdown, let alone the whole Tali situation on top of it all. But, as he'd noted earlier, having a child around leaves little time for introspection, conversations. Tali takes up everything, and right now, trying not to think about Ziva, Tony's pretty glad for it.
Shrugging, he runs a hand over his face. "As good as I can be, I guess. I, uh... I found Ziva's scarf in, in the go-bag. It--" He cuts himself off as his voice starts to break and his eyes start to burn for the billionth time.
"It smells like her, doesn't it?" There's a knowingness to Senior's tone, so much Tony doesn't need him to keep going because he knows it's just gonna hurt, but he continues nonetheless. "I did the same thing with your mother, that big white sweater she loved."
Tony gnaws on his lip at his father's words, trying desperately not to let the tears fall. Because he'd always sworn, as a child, that he'd never become like his father. Never become a sad man mourning the love of his life, never getting over her, lonely and by himself, left with a child he doesn't quite know how to care for. But here he is.
Except now, Tony swears, now he'll be better. He won't get over Ziva, no, but he'll be the best father he can be. Senior might be trying now, but neither of them will deny his failures when Tony was young. But no, Tony will be there, for Tali, he'll be by her side, he'll spoil her, care for her, fight for her, try and try. He'll be better than Senior, he promises. Because it's what Ziva would want. And, he hopes, what she knew he could be.
He clears his throat again, turns to the bags stuffed full of toddler things.
"Okay, I gotta put this stuff away before she wakes up," he says, blinking away the mist in his eyes and pulling out the groceries. As he puts them away, though, he can't shake the thought that these things won't be here for that long. The more he thinks about it, the more he wants to take Tali somewhere else, to a new home, a proper home.
*
She lets out a sigh of relief when she finally sees the familiar contact pop up on her phone screen. Although she hasn't been waiting long, really, and she knows her friend has been busy and unable to contact her, she's still found herself incredibly impatient. She can't help it, she's a mother away from her child.
"Tali is fine." Orli says, the moment Ziva picks up the call. Clearly, Ziva muses, she's spent enough time with the woman that she knows exactly what her first thought would be. She breathes out a sigh of relief at the news. Although she'd sent Tali to America solely so she would be safe, and she had faith in Orli to get her there safely and in Tony and the others to keep her safe and secure, she couldn't help but worry. She hasn't spent this long away from her little girl since she was born, after all, and having her so far away is somewhat terrifying.
"Thank you," she says, then moves into the issue next most pressing to her. "And how is Tony?"
"Heartbroken," Orli replies, plain and swift. Almost removed, but not entirely, there's a hint of sadness in her tone, which just leads Ziva to wonder quite what the usually stoic, impassive Director saw to make her feel such sympathy for someone she doesn't know.
At the word, Ziva can't help but sigh, closing her eyes and biting her lip. God, she hopes this is worth it, she really does. This extent, these lengths solely to keep them safe. Is it worth hurting Tony this much? She wonders if he'll ever forgive her when he finds out the truth.
"Do-- do you know if he is coming to Paris, has he found the photo?"
"He said nothing to me," Orli says, somehow a shrug in her voice, and Ziva sighs again. "However, he has my number. If he needs to contact me, he can, and I believe he will if he wishes to."
Ziva slumps back in her seat, worrying a thread on her shorts. She really hopes he wishes to. Since she can hardly force that, right now, she asks the question next most pressing to her.
"How was he," she mumbles, voice a little caught in her throat. "With Tali?"
Orli laughs, softly, briefly. "Wonderful, Ziva. Scared at first, of course, he hardly knew how to react-- when I first told him he was so confused," There's light humour in her voice, but Ziva can't quite find it in her to smirk. It's not funny. Tony shouldn't have had to be confused, he should have known he had a daughter. She should have told him. As much as she can't undo it, now, Ziva knows she will always regret her choice. Orli chuckles again, continuing. "But while we spoke, Tali fell asleep, and some of his team members came in to see her-- they all adored her, of course-- but then she woke, and the moment she started to fuss over all the people looking at her, Tony rushed right in and picked her up. Ziva, he was perfect with her. And she was so comfortable with him."
Before Ziva knows it, tears are springing from her eyes, rolling down her cheeks. She wishes she could've seen it-- Tony, with their daughter for the first time. Calming her, comforting her instinctively. Tali, content with him, relaxing in his presence. She wishes she could've seen both of them, the two people she loves most in this world, together and happy. She just wants to be with them. Swallowing, her throat sticking as she does so, she sniffs, and Orli clearly catches where her head's at.
"I have no doubt that they will be fine together, Ziva, but I am also sure he will find your photo. He will come to you."
Oh, she hopes so. More than anything.
Since she's done all this for a reason, though, she moves onto the pressing issue keeping her from her daughter at all. "Have you heard more, about the CIA?"
"Ah, yes, well your Agent Gibbs and his team are investigating, of course. It seems that one man in particular is responsible, an Agent Kort."
Ziva raises an eyebrow at that, surprised though not stunned. Her mind flashes back to being on a rooftop, rifle in hand, to The Frog, to eyeballs in ice cubes, conversations with Tony that got interrupted. "We have all had run-ins with Trent Kort before, although I am not sure why he would have targeted me or my father."
"I heard from some of the agents-- unofficially, of course--" Of course, Ziva muses. Orli is sneaky like that. "That he was looking to destroy your father's private files from his time as Director. He could not just ask Mossad, apparently, since we have the only remaining copies. NCIS is hunting him down-- I doubt he will remain alive once he is found. Nobody is feeling merciful around here, Ziva."
She swallows a little. The team potentially avenging her isn't that unexpected, really, she worked with them long enough to see how they reacted to the deaths of other agents. She tried to stop them avenging Kate, after all, then ended up pulling the trigger herself. But of course, she isn't dead, right now, and she should feel guilty over an innocent man dying for blood he didn't spill. However, it's blood he almost spilled. He didn't kill her, but he could've done, he almost did. If she hadn't ran to Tali's side of the farmhouse, Ziva would've died. Tali would've been left alone, in a burning building, scared and by herself. If the strike had been a meter off, Tali could've been hit herself. Either way, Kort still fired on her, still sent the strike her way, all for a few files, with no regard for the potential casualties. Even without that, at the most basic level, he almost hurt her little girl. To Ziva, that alone is enough to make him need to hurt, too.
"I see. So, you think that I would be safe?"
"If you come out of hiding for Tony, yes, I do," Orli answers, completing the query Ziva had left unasked. "This seems to have been the CIA and their lack of subtlety, nothing more personal, and nothing about you."
She sighs in relief, the feeling better than she could've imagined. The tension she's been holding for days leaves her, lightness sitting on her shoulders instead. Sending Tali away might not have been necessary, now, but it's a precaution Ziva's glad she took, just in case.
And she also knows, now that she's definitely safe, Tali too, that if Tony doesn't come to Paris in the next few days, she's going to go to him. She's going to find him, and her daughter, and be with them, together, finally. For all their sakes. This situation reminded her of how much she loves him, but also how Tony would think of her, know of her, if this all happened for real, and how Tali’s life could be so easily altered. If Ziva really had died, she'd be leaving Tali alone forever, leaving this all on Tony for the rest of his life. She thinks, idly, of something his father had said to her, once. That Tony's mother was the love of his life and he never got over her after she died. And how that impacted Tony, as the child left behind. If she really had died, like he thinks she did, then she would just turn him into his father, in so many ways. So no, she has to go to him, has to change things, make things better, if he doesn't come to her first. She's hiding no more.
She promises herself: if he isn't on his way to Paris in a week, she's getting on the next flight to DC. She'll deal with the fallout from her leaving and her 'death' then.
And yet, she still finds herself hoping he finds that photo. Paris has always been theirs.
*
He finds himself rushing home after leaving the woods. Gibbs and the others had assured him they had the scene, and he didn’t need to rush his statement. His boss had dismissed him with a brief, but soft, “Go be with your daughter” before turning back to Trent Kort’s bullet-ridden body.
It had felt good to kill him, Tony thinks. But not as good as he’d expected. Something had felt a little hollow within him, pointless, about the whole thing. Maybe it was the little girl waiting for him at home, all smiles and cuteness and murmured “Abba"s. She alone was why he hesitated before following the team to Kort’s location; looking at her soft, innocent smile, Ziva’s necklace around her neck, he’d suddenly realized just how easily he could be taken from her. If Kort was armed, fought back, Tali would have nobody, essentially. He already knows now that in the next few days he’ll be heading down to Gibbs’ basement, leaving NCIS behind, being there for Tali all the time, as much as he can, as safe as he can be, all for his little girl.
But that wasn’t the only reason killing Kort hadn’t felt overwhelmingly good. The strange feeling stirring in Tony’s stomach contributed to that, too.
He doesn’t feel like Ziva is dead, he hadn’t felt it when she died, or supposedly died. He’d been right before, he could be right again. And there’s a very specific photo of them in Tali’s go-bag. She’s been less subtle in hints before.
And so, he leaves the scene, heads home as quickly as he can, and he feels relief and a strange contentment wash over him as he turns the key in the lock, steps into the apartment, and sees Tali sitting on the couch, Kalev in her arms, a cartoon on the TV. She’s kicking her feet in excitement. He sees his Dad in the kitchen, smells something cooking in the air. The whole place feels like home, missing just one piece. Ziva.
As Tony closes the door, Tali turns his way, evidently at the noise (Tony doesn’t think it a wild guess that good hearing is another thing she got from her mother), and her face melts into the sweetest widest grin ever.
"Abba!” she calls, leaping up off the couch and running toward him. The word sends something rushing through him, love and warmth, just like it did the first time and the few times she’d said it between that and when he left to meet the team. Now Tali’s said it once, she seems unable to stop– it’s like she was just waiting for the right time, for it to feel right and for her to feel comfortable enough with Tony for him to earn the title. Tony doesn’t think the novelty will ever wear off. He’s her dad.
She tackles him into a hug, leaping up just as he crouches down enough to catch her, and he scoops her up into a cuddle, squeezing her tight.
“Oof, hey there cutie-pie,” he says, and she wriggles happily in his grip. He pulls back a little and grins down at her. “Did you miss me?” He boops her nose and she giggles, and he takes that as her answer. She isn’t really saying much in any language, anyway, but he’s not sure how much English she really knows, how much of it Ziva spoke around her. So far they’ve gotten by fine on gestures and signals, and of course, the odd Hebrew term. They can work out the rest later on.
Senior walks in from the kitchen, wearing an apron and smiling softer than Tony thinks he’s ever known. He figures his dad probably expected this moment– Tony, home from work, greeted happily by his little girl, cuddling her in his arms– even less than Tony did himself, at times. He knows how disappointed the older man was when he’d realized how lonely and solitary Tony deliberately lived his life, not even a double bed to share with someone, a plain sophisticated apartment devoid of much warmth or love, save for a fish. This scene, right now, seemed beyond possible at times.
“Junior,” the older man says, nodding. “How are you?”
Tony hears what’s unsaid: how was it? “I’m fine.” He shifts Tali up a little, tickles her side. “It’s done.”
Senior nods. “That’s good,” he says, but Tony just shrugs, tickling Tali again, focusing on her happy squealing laughter rather than the life he took. She wriggles again, and he chuckles down at her, runs a hand through her hair. Looking at her, he knows he can’t put off what he wants to do any longer.
“I, um, I just gotta make a call,” He bounces Tali a moment, nods his head toward her then looks back up at his dad. “Could you take this jumping bean for a minute?”
Laughing softly, Senior steps closer, takes his granddaughter as Tony hands her over. “Of course!” Tali goes happily, and Senior must sense what Tony’s wanting– space–, for he takes her into the kitchen. “Now, little one, let’s check on dinner…”
Slumping onto the couch the moment they’re turned around, Tony loosens his tie, tugs it off, undoes the top button on his shirt and shoves off his jacket. As he rolls up his sleeves, he leans forward, looking again at the photo on the coffee table. Black and white, smiling faces betraying feelings still so newly realized. Paris, a lifetime ago, memories of a night of warmth and love and healing from summer-long hurt. And now, Ima and Abba.
He swallows. It has to mean what he thinks it does– right? She’s sent the same message before, it would make sense, and he can’t shake the feeling that he’s right. But maybe he’s not. Maybe he’s just a wounded, mourning lonely man, suffering under the weight of too much at once. A loss and a child. Death and life. Maybe he’s going mad, losing his mind, too wracked with sorrow and pain to realize it. But then, if he’s questioning it, surely he’s perfectly sane?
Shaking his head, he pulls out his phone and the small slip of paper in his pocket, too. He’s kept it on his person every day since just in case, but now he thinks he knows why Orli gave it to him. He hopes, anyway. He types in the number, lifts the phone to his ear.
It rings three times before she picks up, despite the time difference.
“Orli.” she states, and he takes a deep, steadying breath. Now or never.
“How much d'you think flights for two to Paris are nowadays?”
“You are better than I gave you credit for, Agent DiNozzo. I thought it would be another week at least before you figured it out.”
His stomach falls to the floor in the best, excited, anticipatory way. Hope takes hold, steadfast and unrelenting. “So she’s–”
“Tony, this line isn’t secure.” Orli interrupts, hushed, and he swallows back his words, a little. Except that wasn’t a no, that wasn’t a what are you talking about? Hope grips tighter.
“But…"
"Do not tell your team– but yes.”
Oh, thank god. She’s alive. Ziva’s alive. She’s okay and she’s safe and alive and in Paris waiting for him, for them. For him and Tali.
And he might have a billion questions and he might wonder what happened to make her pretend to die and he might miss her like hell and he might be frustrated still that she never told him about Tali and he might wonder if she ever thought about the emotional impact this last week has had on him and he might want to talk to her for months about everything he’s missed and he might be curious why she doesn’t seem to want the others to know she’s okay in sending such a subtle clue just his way and Orli instructing him not to tell but god, Ziva David is still alive and that is the best damn news he’s ever, ever, heard.
And he fucking knew it.
He lets out a tearful, joyous laugh, uncontrollable, and hears Orli chuckle softly across the line, just once. “I gotta get to Paris, I gotta–”
“You will, I can help with that,” she says, voice still removed and calm, business-like. “But first, I recommend you come here. Several of Ms. David’s possessions were recovered and saved from the fire that destroyed her and her home.”
Although he hates to delay even another second, he knows there must be a reason to go to Israel, a reason Orli wants him there. Perhaps it really just is to get more of Ziva and Tali’s things and take them to her, perhaps there’s more, but he knows he’ll go, since Orli’s words suggest she’s about the only person who knows the truth about Ziva, and it’s not knowledge to even be spoken about. Besides, he doesn’t mind taking Tali back home, too. She clearly knows Orli, and though she’s adjusted remarkably well here, Tony’s keen to keep her around people she knows, too, keep her calm and grounded.
Clearing his throat, trying to slow his racing pulse just a little, he nods although Orli can’t see it. “Of course.”
“Then, you can proceed to Paris. I believe you know which accommodation to book?”
He frowns momentarily, before logic clicks, and he tries not to smile again. Ziva had left the photo from Paris, where they’d spent a significant night in a certain hotel room, and so that’s where they’ll meet this time. “Got it.”
Thinking of it, he suddenly knows he really will have to go to Gibbs and resign, leave everything here behind, for Ziva, for Tali. Just to get to Paris, leave for an unspecified amount of time, be with Ziva while the team still thinks she’s dead and gone. Maybe Ziva intends to come home, tell them she’s alive herself, but maybe she doesn’t, and maybe they’ll stay in Paris. Once upon a time the idea would’ve terrified him, made him feel sick at just the idea of leaving his father-figure, his family. But he has another family, now: he has a daughter, with Ziva, and she, and them, are the most important things he can think of in this world. He’ll leave anything if it means being with them, safe, happy.
Leaving will be tough, but for them, it’s worth it. Justified. To get to be safe, anew, with Ziva and Tali.
“If that is all, Agent DiNozzo? It is late, here,”
“Yeah, yeah, sure.” He clears his throat, sobers a little. “Thank you, Orli. Thank you."
He hopes she knows what he means. That he’s thanking her for this phone call, this confirmation, but for trusting him, for caring for Ziva, for carrying her message to him, for bringing Tali safely to him, for making his life complete in the way it’s suddenly become. Sniffing a little, he hears her hum.
"Goodnight, Tony,”
With that, she hangs up, and Tony sets his phone down, letting out another disbelieving teary laugh. He can hardly believe it, and yet, he can. He never felt she was dead, after all. Running his hands through his hair, then over his face to wipe away the tears– oh, such joyous tears, after so many tears of pain and loss this week– he stands, turning around and finding Senior in the kitchen, Tali wandering by his heels and babbling to herself.
“Everything okay?” His father asks, eyebrow raised.
Tony laughs, rushes in and scoops up Tali. “More than okay. Perfect. Perfect.” He smiles a goofy grin. “Oh, Tali it’s just perfect isn’t it?”
She just blinks at him, his eyes behind Ziva’s face, and babbles out a sentence he’s pretty sure is a mix of five languages, and he can’t help but think how much he loves this little girl, and how much he loves Ziva. So much is still uncertain, so much is up in the air, but they’re okay, and Ziva is okay, and that’s truly all that matters.
Senior raises an eyebrow. “Okay,” he says, tone a little confused but a little knowing, too, like he thinks he knows what’s just happened solely by his son’s happiness, but doesn’t know if he should voice it. He turns to the oven, pulls out a bubbling casserole dish. “How about we dig into this Mac and Cheese and we can talk about it all?”
Chuckling at his father’s sudden domestic god side, Tony brushes a kiss against Tali’s temple, swings her around into her high chair and ruffles her hair as she giggles over and over, and helps his father serve up dinner, brimming with excitement and happiness the whole time.
*
The moment she’d got the call from Orli her heart had stopped racing, her restless anxious stomach had calmed, and her fear had faded. Until she’d thought for a minute, and immediate worry had swarmed her, all over what Tony will have to say to her. Orli had assured her he sounded happy when he’d called her, having worked out Ziva’s clue, but happiness over someone not being dead can easily ebb away, replaced by anger that she’d never told him about his only daughter, that she’d kept that from him for over two years, pregnancy included. That while he was in DC, likely struggling over leaving her– she knows him, or she used to, at least– she had discovered she was pregnant, and chose not to tell him. Not to seek him out. And apparently was never going to until she had to fake her death, which she made him think was real, made him mourn.
And that is the truth. Ziva had always intended to tell him, sure, but she’d been intending to since she took the first pregnancy test. She just couldn’t work out how, kept putting it off, until she was three months pregnant, six months, a week away from her due date, until Tali was born, then it seemed too late, like every occasion and milestone would just rub it in even more, how long she’d kept it from him. She was seriously planning to find him when Tali turned two so soon, she knows, but she could have put that off too when the time came. And while he might be glad she’s not dead, Ziva has no idea if Tony will care enough still to want her, want to be with her, if he’ll care enough to forgive her for the past two and a half years, if this is something they can get through, or something that will always prevent them from being anything ever again.
But he’s coming to Paris, she knows that.
He’d left NCIS. That was the first bombshell Orli had informed her of last week. He had taken Tali to Israel for a week, visiting places and collecting the things Ziva hadn’t been able to save from their house before fleeing to the forest with Tali. While there, he’d let Orli know of his departure from the agency– permanently. When Ziva had found out, she couldn’t stop the guilt that rushed over her, sudden and immediate. NCIS was Tony’s world, his family, his home for so many years after moving from assignment and job, place to place, dream to dream, and he’d finally settled, just like she’d wanted to do once. She’d never wanted him to leave it for her, that’s why she’d insisted so so much on him returning there those years ago, even after the night they’d spent together. Yet, on the phone Orli had told Ziva that Tony was perfectly happy with his decision, that he’d said it felt right, to leave, have no obligations other than raising Tali. He’d said something about being everything to her, apparently. While the guilt had ebbed, Ziva’s still not sure what to make of his decision, really. It’s something she’ll need to talk to him about, find out exactly why he did it, and perhaps comfort him with it if he needs it, if he’ll accept it from her. Leaving it all, leaving Gibbs, that can’t have been easy even if Tony wanted to go.
The other bombshell came earlier today: the moment Tony and Tali’s flight had left for Charles de Gaulle, Orli had phoned Ziva with their landing time and their room number. The hotel, Ziva had already presumed.
It had been easy to get into the room, simply saying at reception that she was a good friend and sending a sweet smile at the young girl, wearing a Stagiaire / In Training badge, behind the desk, and Ziva had gained a key. She’d slipped in, smiled seeing the pop-up cot on the floor already for Tali, and looked around the oh so familiar room. That night here with Tony might’ve been so many years ago, but she remembers it clear as day. How soft and loving he’d been with her, how strong his arms had been around her, just how much he’d helped her heal. That night, and his last night in the farmhouse with her, are ones she’ll never forget, not a single detail. Few things have changed here; not the wallpaper, the crack in the marble vase filled with a fake fern, the wide space of the mirror, the plush thickness of the carpet beneath her feet, the curve of the curtains and the way the sun creeps between the buildings outside the window in the late-evening. It’s all the same, and all of it is burned into her mind.
Checking her watch, she clears her throat, knowing that Tony and Tali should only be fifteen minutes or so away, if their arrival at the airport went smoothly, which Orli’s intervention should have helped with. Nodding to herself, Ziva shifts her bag on her shoulder. She hasn’t brought many things with her, here, just her routine-driven usual spare shirt for Tali, sippy cup of water, and a few packs of snacks along with things Ziva keeps in her purse daily anyway. More of her own things, her clothes, belongings, aren’t on her person, but in the apartment she’s been living in since leaving Israel in hiding after the attack on the farmhouse. She’s just renting the place here, and there’s enough room for Tali, and Tony too if he wants that, but she’s been looking at more permanent places in the area, too.
A place to call a home. If Tony wants that, too.
She hopes he does, prays he does, but she knows it’s uncertain. All she knows for sure is that he’s coming here, soon, and she’ll get to see him for the first time in years, the first time since they’d kissed a painful goodbye on the tarmac, Tali barely beginning inside her, unbeknownst to both of them. And she’ll get to see her little girl for the first time in a few weeks, which hasn’t been quite as painful or hard but still extremely difficult.
Checking her watch, and knowing they’ll be here soon, she takes a deep breath, allows herself a look at the peaceful Paris view from the window one more time, and, since she doesn’t want to ambush both of them before they’re even through the door, she heads into the bathroom.
They’re early.
The lock clicks just a few minutes later, and Ziva hears Tali’s familiar babbling before the door is even open. She stands up, watching from the bathroom entryway, heart pounding faster than she thinks it’s ever done so before. It’s been similar, at times, her first kill, the moment the hood was lifted in Somalia, her first kiss with Tony in Israel, the moment her water broke, but never this fast, this wild. She swallows, makes herself breathe, as the door pushes open and Tali toddles in happily, Kalev in one tiny hand, oblivious to what’s about to happen in this room. A moment later, a figure follows her, and Ziva feels her heart leap into her throat as she lays her eyes on Tony for the first time since that moment on the tarmac. He looks older, a little weary and tired, and slightly crumpled from the flight, but otherwise just the same. Just the same man she adores, the man who fought for her, the father of her child, the man she’s put through far too much the past few weeks.
She doesn’t know if he doesn’t sense her or if he’s just preoccupied with Tali tearing through the room toward the rather wide window, but he turns away, back towards her, to close the door rather than immediately looking at her, and as the lock clicks again she steps forward, clears her throat.
Tali looks around first, just by a second, bursting out into a wide wide grin that Ziva’s always known is most definitely from the DiNozzo line. “Ima!” she almost shouts, diverting her run from the window and toward Ziva, instead, throwing herself at her in a giant, ferocious hug. Ziva laughs tearily as she pulls her little girl in close, presses her face into her soft little neck and her mass of curls and takes a deep breath. Tali cuddles her back just as tight, saying fast words, scraps of hebrew, and Ziva takes the strength she knows she needs, from her little girl’s grip. After a few moments Tali loosens her grip, and Ziva pulls back to smile at her, murmur a hello and kiss her soft cheek, to which Tali beams.
But then, as she must, Ziva lets go, stands up, keeping her eyes on her daughter a few beats longer than really necessary, until finally, finally, she looks up.
And there, across from her, eyes shining and the tiniest hint of a smile on his lips, is Tony DiNozzo. She loves him more than she thought possible.
He makes no move to get closer to her, just stands, looking, staring, and she swallows, wiping her hands on her thighs nervously. She smiles his way, finding her eyes shining too.
“Hi,” she says.
And just like that, he’s striding towards her, breathing heavy and ragged, eyes open and teary and full of warmth, and when he meets her his arms wrap around her tight and her knees almost give way at the feeling of being in his arms, finally, the strength the comfort, the love.
She hugs him back, so tight, presses her face into his shoulder and sobs and she feels him do the same, leaning into her hair, tears dripping onto her neck. She murmurs words against him, fears and hopes and nonsense, and he just keeps clutching at her, hands moving to different spots to hold her even closer, nearer, like he’s checking she’s really here, real and tangible beneath his hands. They stay that way for seconds, minutes, until Tali babbles below them, tugging on their legs, and they slowly pull apart.
He smiles down at the little girl, their little girl, but Ziva finds she can’t take her own eyes off him, wondering what he’ll do next, what he’s thinking, how their future will unfold. She sees as he looks up at her again, and a smile blooms on his features, softly, warmly. His hands come up to cup her face, thumb swiping away continuing tears, and she breaks as he looks at her the way he always used to: love, warmth, everything.
“Tony, I’m–”
“Hey,” he interrupts, lifting a shoulder. He shakes his head minutely, not dismissing her, she knows, but just letting her know, that’s not his biggest concern right now. Everything can wait. “You’re– you’re okay."
Whether he’s telling her, or confirming it to himself, she’s not sure. She thinks maybe it’s a bit of both.
Either way, she sends him a watery smile, nods, and a grin spreads across his lips. Tali’s grin. As if he knows where her mind’s at, he reaches down, scoops up their little girl before she can tug on them even more. He reassures her quietly as he stands and sets her on his hip, and Ziva’s mouth goes dry at the sight of her daughter in his arms, the arms of her father. Somehow it looks more perfect before her than she’d ever thought.
More tears spring in her eyes, matching ones reappearing in Tony’s, and she can’t help but laugh, giddy, overwhelmed with happiness. Tony does the same, slipping an arm around her waist and pulling her closer again, and Tali, looking between her parents, both of them, giggles too, and Ziva tickles her neck lightly until the little girl squeals in delight.
The moment is so, so perfect, Ziva just leans in, brushes her lips against Tony’s smiling grin, softly, briefly. His stubble brushes her skin, his scent fills her, the same spice and warmth as always, as years ago, decades. He kisses her back in the brief moment before she pulls back, and she rests her head in the crook of his neck, breathing everything in. His arm around her squeezes her waist gently, and they watch Tali grinning at them both, listening as she starts to talk at them both. And there they stand, in the middle of a Paris hotel room, a family for the first time.
They still have a lot to figure out, where they go from here, Ziva explaining things to him, telling him everything about Tali, Tony talking about the past few weeks, and years, at NCIS, working out their future, especially his with Tali, being open about their feelings, finally, and they both know it. Everything is uncertain and murky, and they can’t stay wrapped up here forever, they will have to address it, they must.
But somehow, in Tony’s arms, their daughter by their side, Ziva knows, they’ll be okay.
