Chapter Text
Ziva is dead.
He chanted the words over and over like a religious mantra, willing himself to believe them. Despite the fact that she had nearly died so many times — despite the fact that she did not think she would live to be thirty, let alone thirty-three — he had always assumed he would go first. That age and bad diet and actuarial statistics applied to them.
He had forgotten that no statistics have ever applied to him or to Ziva, let alone to him-and-Ziva.
He remembered his promise to her years ago in Saleem’s camp, his words open and bare and honest: Couldn’t live without you, I guess.
Now, he would have to try.
The night had been long, sleepless, tear-filled. From the inside out, Tony felt raw. He’d been staring at a blank space above the coffee machine, willing it to brew itself, when his phone rang. “DiNozzo!” Gibbs said, his voice low and gravelly. “The director needs you to come in.”
“Gibbs I’m really —”
“Not a request.”
“Gibbs, really, I think under the circumstances the director can shove —” But the bossman was already gone. Sighing, he ran a hand down the stubble on his jaw, scratched the nape of his neck, jammed the on button on the coffee machine as he went to shower and shave.
He’d added enough ground beans for a pot and figured he’d need all of it.
Stumbling through the bullpen, the fluorescent assaulting every sense, he said a few words to McGee and Bishop. Headed up the stairs. He’d be back soon, ready to help (or at least feel needed).
The director’s assistant, Kimberly, was crying, dabbing tears away from the corners of her eyes, when she signaled him to go in. He pushed the door open.
And then he saw her.
She was there. Alive. In the flesh. Her jeans and tunic top was loose, but probably expensive; Ziva had always had quietly highbrow tastes when not in the field. She was tanned and looked like she had generally (with the exception of today) been leading a lower-stress, higher-sleep lifestyle. Lines he thought had permanently etched themselves onto her face had been removed, as if with an eraser; she looked younger than she had looked since the earliest days of knowing her (she was twenty-two when they first met, which had always seemed extraordinary to him). Her makeup was minimal, the only jewelry she wore were tiny gold studs (he should give her the necklace tucked in his breast pocket like a talisman). Curls swung over her shoulders just the way he liked them, though they were tucked under a stupid-looking fedora.
And, oh yeah, she was holding a freaking toddler .
He put two and two together, and got four.
(He'd always been a damn good investigator.)
“Ziva,” he exhaled, almost unable to say or do anything else. So he settled on asking the easy question: “Since when did you start wearing hats?”
She looked taken aback for a second, then smiled. He knew in that second everything would turn out fine: The ice had been broken, that she realized he could never actually be mad at her over what was going to transpire (though he knew they both knew there would be plenty of yelling over the next forty-eight hours). “There is a lot of sun in Israel,” she said, her voice falling back into the clipped, half-annoyed cadence she used when he was distracting her at a crime scene. She raised her eyebrows, tucked her chin in a flirty challenge, hid a smile. It was three years ago again, and the two of them were just exasperating Gibbs and the director, and nothing had changed. “I acquired a hat.” Stupidly, he realized it was probably also for blocking her face from security cameras in airports or traffic stops.
“And a kid,” he nodded at the child, who was pretty freaking adorable. Gibbs had taught him not to believe in coincidences.
“And a child,” she confirmed. “Tali.” She turned to the director and Gibbs, both of whom had impassive, but stunned, expressions on their faces. “Can Tony and I speak alone, please? There are many questions to answer.”
They shifted, looking at each other. “Alright. He’s not the only one with questions,” Vance warned.
“I know,” Ziva said. “I understand that; believe me, I do. But Tony is owed the story first, yes?”
Vance nodded, a sharp, short, single jerk of his neck. “You can use the conference room.”
“Thank you,” Ziva said, and tipped her head tremulously in the direction of the door. “Shall we?”
“Ima, lemata,” the child — Tali — commanded, and Ziva reluctantly let her slide down her body to the ground. Her eyes were bright and mischievous; he could already imagine her giving them — Ziva — a run for her (their) money.
“ Iti, tatelah ,” Ziva cautioned. Then, likely for Tony’s benefit — “Slow down, Tali.”
“Ziver,” Gibbs said, before she could get too far. Ziva turned, and Gibbs kissed her temple. “It’s good to see you again.”
“Thank you, Gibbs,” she said, resting her head briefly on his shoulder to gather strength. “Next time, I will call first.”
Since her mom had been detained by Gibbs, Tali ran up to Tony. “ Ani Tali ,” she introduced herself, palming her chest proudly.
He squatted next to her and held out a finger. “I barely speak Hebrew, kiddo,” he said. “I can tell your mom she’s not alone, and that’s about it. Your name is Tali, huh?”
“Natalia. Inspired by her aunt, whom she will never meet, but a little more … Italian,” Ziva said, suddenly very close to him.
“You haven’t lost the damn ninja senses, huh?” he asked, as he straightened. She tilted her head down to Tali with a firm shake no . “Seriously? If she doesn’t speak English how the hell is she —”
“DiNozzo, go talk,” Gibbs interrupted. “Ziva, do you want me to take Tali?” He drawled the name, Tolly , not the sharp crack of Tah-li Ziva always used that Tony had always tried to emulate. The syllables had always tripped over his tongue, a reminder of the cultural gulfs separating the two of them.
“That’s alright,” she replied. “She is in, ah, how do you say it? Stringy phase.”
“Clingy phase,” DiNozzo corrected. He’d missed this. She’d probably regressed. This would be fun.
If she stuck around, of course.
(She had to stick around, right?)
“Thank you. And she is learning English too, aren’t you tatelah ? What’s kelev called in English?”
“Doggy,” Tali shrieked, her voice much too loud. Tony smiled in spite of himself. She looked so thrilled at getting the word.
“The conference room, yes?” Ziva said, holding open the door.
Tali trotted out at a fast clip and he grabbed her instinctively before she went too far, with a “Easy lion!” as he caught her arm. To keep from startling her, he swung her up further, without thinking, onto his own hip. Something scary immediately turned into something fun, and she clapped at his nose. He laughed, and she laughed at having made him laugh.
“I thought it was easy tiger ,” Ziva said, eyes pursed into a smirk, as she opened the door. The squint disappeared as she made a funny face at Tali, passing by in Tony’s arms.
“You remember that, but you say ‘stringy phase’?” he rebutted, setting her down in a chair and pulling her shirt (dress? She had shorts under the top but it was long) down.
As he got her settled, Ziva pulled a coloring book and some crayons out of her bag — they still operated smoothly, as a team — and plunked them in front of Tali. “She will be out soon, I think. It is late in Israel, and she has not napped yet,” Ziva mused, sifting her fingers through Tali’s curls. She put the stupid hat down next to Tali, and the kid snapped it up and put it on her own head. “She has had quite the journey.”
It took a few minutes for the coloring to distract Tali — she had to hold up each crayon and name the colors in Hebrew, and Ziva responded with the English words — but once he was convinced that the kid was immersed in her crayons and wouldn’t have any lasting Mommy and Daddy Are Fighting scars, he turned back to Ziva. “So. Been busy these last couple years.” She looked down, and sighed. “And, you know — you didn’t go radio silent. Abby would’ve killed you if you did. Gibbs would’ve sent troops after you if you didn’t check in monthly. We Skyped a few times. Hell, I remember a few birthday cards. So … you just kind of forgot to mention this? Kind of a big deal, Ziva.”
“I know. I —”
“And then yesterday? The hell, Ziva? I thought you were dead .”
She hesitated, then dove in. Her faked death was an easier starting point than the two-year-old child, apparently (he didn’t blame her; he agreed). “Tony — of everything that has happened, please believe me when I say I have no idea how that message was communicated to you. I am so, so sorry. Orli and Mossad, not knowing who was behind the attacks or for what reason, purposefully put out that misinformation for my protection. But they should have sent a different official word to NCIS. When the house was attacked —” she paused, then went back a bit in her retelling, “— It does not sound, from Vance, like I was necessarily the target. And there were only a few people within Mossad who knew where to find me. And you, of course.” She licked her lips. “But I knew you, of course, had nothing to do with it. Mossad — there is a lot of water below the bridge with Orli now, so I did not think it was her — but the rest of the agency? I was not sure. Word could have slipped out that way. But you. I knew you had nothing to do with it … So I came here. It was my first thought, and I knew we would be safe.” She paused. “I was able to contact Orli, who had her private plane ready within the hour. I had a pair of new identities at hand, just in case. You know, responsible parenting,” she smirked. “Always have a clean backup identity for your baby.”
He smirked too, almost involuntarily. “If you didn’t know who was behind the attack, why did you call Orli? Why didn’t you lie low?”
She nodded. “I could have done that, yes. I should have, actually. My first thought was to send Tali to you, with a few clues, that would lead you to Paris, and meet you there. Tali needed to leave, and certainly going overland to Europe would be safer for me. But the difference was small, if we were able to use Orli’s private plane and leave immediately. I know I should have done it because it was safer, but I didn’t want to leave Tali — it seemed cruel. I suppose that was selfish, though. And finally —” she paused, biting her lip. “Tony, I’ve made you chase me across the world twice already. I never made it easy for you. I had no doubt you would do so again and I knew you would find me but I … I did not want to make you do so a third time unless I absolutely had to.” Her face was earnest, raw, open. It was a good look on her. Her eyes flicked down to Tali again. “It seemed … selfish. And I have clearly been that far too frequently with you.”
He nodded, processing. At some point he wanted to hear about the water “below the bridge” with Orli — that sounded way too interesting to pass up — but now was not the time. “Ziva David,” he said thickly. “It is never selfish to call me. You don’t ‘make’ me do anything. I wanted to find you; I wanted to find Saleem. Hell, I needed to do both those things.” He licked his lips. “That's what … That's what partners are .” He had almost said that's what love is , but while pretending there were any other feeling felt silly, it also felt like a step too far.
She straightened. “It is good to see you, Tony. I missed you.” She chuckled at her words. “That seems hardly sufficient, and it is unfair, but it is my prevailing emotion. You were a limb, Tony. I felt like I had lost a limb, because I chopped it off. And I missed you.”
“You could have called,” he looked at Tali. “You should have called.”
“I know. In trying to atone for my sins, I committed a very big one.”
“So she’s …”
“Yes. Of course,” she said quickly. “Her birthday is July 4th, right before yours. The American Independence Day, which seemed fitting. So she is two in two months. We were not always the best at remaining … exclusive to one another over the years, but … you were there, Tony, in Israel, in the house, in the orchard. You should know there was nobody else.”
He nodded. He had known, the second he saw the child, that she was half him, half Ziva. “I know.”
Her entire body visibly exhaled, the tense wire running through her spine snapping. “Thank you.”
They stood in silence for a few moments. “But that begs the question, Ziva —” and she tensed up again, her face pale and scared, preparing for a long-overdue (and much-deserved) fight. Before he could finish (or really begin), three knocks cracked against the door, which flew open to reveal Abby, McGee, Bishop, and Palmer.
“Is it true? It’s true! Oh my god, Ziva, we thought you were dead ,” Abby squealed as she rushed into the room to crush Ziva into a hug. Tony realized that he had not yet touched her since she re-entered her life twenty minutes ago. The other three, however, had noticed what Abby had not, and waited, slack-jawed, behind them. “And — oh my god. Gibbs didn’t mention this . Is she —”
Ziva looked at Tony, indicating that he should say something. He raised an eyebrow to say this one’s all yours, Sweetcheeks , but she raised an eyebrow higher, saying I know you want a role and I’m giving this to you because I want you to have a place, too , and he lost that battle. “This is Tali,” he said, clearing his throat, finally getting the delicate pronunciation of the name right. Finally fitting together with Ziva. “Our daughter.” At her name, Tali peeked up from her coloring and held up a crayon to Ziva, who took it with a cluck.
“What the hell?” That was McGee.
“Nobody said you two dated!” (Ellie, obviously.)
“You two had sex ?” Palmer yelped.
“How did this happen?” (Abby.)
“Well, Abby, Jimmy there answered your question,” he cracked, because that was easiest, and Ziva poked his side in disapproval.
But then she inhaled, deeply, and provided one of the clearest and most direct answers to a question that he had ever heard from her: “When Tony found me in Israel, we had a … very fond farewell. Tali is the product of that.”
The four stared at them numbly for several seconds, and Tony stared back at them, arms crossed, daring them to say something. Ziva, a hand on a hip and an eyebrow cocked, did the same. It was nice, to be back on her team, to be her partner in something. Even if it was explaining the only-in-soap-operas appearance of a presumed-dead woman and their love child.
Tali played obliviously between them.
Palmer finally took the bait. “Well, if anyone was going to, you know, have this happen the first time they, you know — and as they thought they were saying goodbye for forever — it's very modern-day Casablanca , in a way.”
Well, that was an awkward assumption. “Actually it wasn't the first —” he started, feeling like the jig was probably up, as Ziva said, “It wasn’t goodbye forever.” Then she stopped. “Oh, we're telling them the whole story now?”
“You two had sex before … this?” McGee blurted out.
Ziva gasped, mostly faux-annoyed, and made a move to cover Tali’s ears. “There's a child in the room, McProbie,” Tony said, using the old nickname for Tim’s discomfort. He looked at Ziva, who gave an eyeroll and a nod. “We had a connection, let's just say. You all knew that.”
“I didn't,” Bishop piped up. “Not at the time, anyways; I was actually in college for a lot of that. But if you always did this in sync thing, I'm not surprised.”
“They did,” Palmer assured her. “You've heard the Somalia story, right?”
“Kind of romantic, in a twisted way,” Ziva volunteered, mostly (he knew) for deflection.
“My type of grand gesture,” he added, for the same.
Tim wasn't letting them off the hook that easily. “So if you had a connection — which I had to witness for eight years, so, you know, I get answers — when did you first connect ?”
Well this was awkward. He looked up. Ziva looked at Tali. He looked back at Tim and Abby, who were half-pissed, half-curious. “The night Gibbs went to Mexico,” he finally volunteered.
“Remember, we all went out?” Ziva said. “You all went home.”
“You guys went to get falafel ,” Abby said accusingly.
“And then we went to Ziva’s.”
“That was two thousand and six ,” Abby said, still scandalized. “That was ten years ago.”
“How frequently did you connect ?” Tim asked.
“Well, there was a lot of connecting that summer —”
“—But then there was Jeanne, so not for a while —”
“—Really not until after Jenny died —”
"When the team got broken up —"
"That was when I thought it was goodbye forever."
“Me, too. But then we were separated and with everything — not until —Paris —”
"After Ray and EJ. After Eli died, all that winter, basically ... Berlin.”
“—You know, I kind of thought we were going for it, right then.” The stars had finally felt aligned.
She smiled sadly at him. “That probably would have been the smarter thing to do, yes. Certainly easier.”
His heart skipped a beat, then he turned back to the line. “Anyways, you get the picture."
“And then Israel, of course,” Ziva said, touching Tali’s curls.
He was pretty sure his coworkers’ eyebrows would never return to their original position. “So you two were connecting , off and on, for eight years, and Gibbs never caught on?” McGee clarified.
“Rule 12,” Tony shrugged. “Though really, we never broke the rule. Just skirted with most of its technicalities.”
Ziva nodded. “Right, we never … We did not use labels or names or anything like that. And we did try and keep it removed from the office. We rarely … Connected when we were both under Gibbs’ rules.” Never date a coworker . “But it’s Gibbs. I am almost positive he simply … turned a deaf ear.”
“Blind eye,” he corrected. She really had regressed. “Are you in charge of teaching Tali English? Because I would like my kid to grow up actually knowing how to speak the language.”
“So you’re back, right?” Abby asked, her voice insistent. “You’re back for good? I don’t care if you don’t come back to work — I mean, of course I would prefer that, but you have Tali now, I get that — but you’re back in the States, right?”
Uncertainty flashed across her face. “I am here, now, Abby,” she reassured softly. “Otherwise, there is much to work out.”
With that non-answer, McGee touched Abby’s elbow. “We should go. We still have to catch Kort.”
“Actually, I should go, as well,” Ziva said. “Tali needs to take a nap.”
“No nap!” Tali said.
“Oh, great, she’s stubborn too. Definitely your kid, Tony,” Bishop said.
“Because Ziva is the definition of easygoing,” he replied, eyebrow raised, and Ziva had the grace to blush. He turned to her, digging in his pockets for his keys as he did so. Brandishing them, he said, “Here. You should go to my place.”
“You are staying here?” she checked, stepping close to him and his looping a pinky through the ring.
“You should go, Tony,” Gibbs said, appearing in the doorway.
“No. We need to catch —”
“We’ve got this. You two … have some talking to do.” He looked at Tali. “Have her take a nap, talk, yell, work it out. I'll see you both back in four hours.”
“Because that’s enough time to settle everything,” he muttered.
“Tony,” she said, putting an arm on his bicep gently. Touching him finally. “Let's go. Thank you Gibbs.”
Quietly, and with as much dignity as he could muster, he followed her out of the room.