Work Text:
There’s a muted ache throbbing somewhere in Tony’s chest as he looks around the delivery room, seeing the genuine joy on everyone’s faces. Not that he isn’t happy for Jimmy– if anyone is going to be a perfect father, it’s Palmer. Tony knows that Jimmy will be the dad to take his daughter to those Daddy-daughter dances, and will have no reservations about having tea parties with her (glitter wands and fairy wings included), and will sit in the front row of her dance recital, beaming up at her the entire time. If anyone deserves parenthood, it’s Breena and Jimmy, and Tony’s truly happy that it could finally all work out for them.
And Tony’s been in delivery rooms before. Most recently, it was when his cousin Anita had her first kid a few years ago, and he drove out to New York to go visit her in the hospital.
But this is the first time that Tony’s been here– in the presence of deliriously overjoyed new parents, complete with gurgling infant wails echoing down the hall and the ever-present scent of baby powder and sterilizing alcohol– that he’s having trouble visualizing this particular scene unfolding in his own future.
Sure, it always seemed distant, and it wasn’t something he always wanted, either. But when all of his friends from college started getting married and having kids, he reevaluated his feelings on the matter. Babysitting Vance’s kids with Ziva was the first time it truly seemed tangible. He could picture it, maybe even in the not-so-distant future.
As it turns out, a huge portion of that fantasy was Ziva. She was the one who made it palpable, wisps of a dream that could maybe coagulate and shape up to a reality. He never admitted to her (or, for that matter, to himself) that his visions of fatherhood were always tangled up with her– her singing quiet lullabies in a mixture of Hebrew and English, their children having hair as curly and untamable as hers and inheriting his film obsession.
And that’s part of the problem, now, isn’t it? Ziva’s gone, and as it turns out, he can’t really picture any of thewhite picket fence with two point five kids gig without her.
This is the first time he’s looking around at the smiles and pastel colored balloons that it seems completely out of reach for him. But he doesn’t want his own bitter envy to surface. Jimmy and Breena deserve better, they deserve Abby’s level of enthusiasm, bubbling over and reverberating through the room. He stuffs it down, knowing it’ll definitely resurface later, but for now, he’ll focus on the genuine happiness he feels for the Palmers and their mini Ducky baby (and isn’t that just so typically Jimmy, to name his kid after Ducky. Tony would be disgusted if it weren’t so in-character and, okay, maybe a bit sweet).
He completely forgot that he’d texted Ziva when he found out that Breena was in labor, so when he feels his phone vibrate in his back pocket, he thinks it’s probably an update on the OSU basketball game that’s happening tonight. Her name on the screen makes his stomach lurch, because she’s what’s missing from all of this, and somehow, her responding directly while he’s standing here and missing her so much that it’s a physical weight in his stomach… yeah, it kinda stings. She should be here.
He opens the text, though, and Abby must see his small smile because she takes a step toward him, wrapping thin fingers around his wrist, asking quietly, “Is it Ziva?”
Even though Abby kept her voice down, bless her, the question still manages to cut through the chatter around them, and silence falls as the team waits for Tony’s answer.
He straightens and flashes a grin, decides to paraphrase rather than reading it directly, and addresses Jimmy, who perked up when he heard Abby’s words.
“She says congratulations on your ‘little nugget,’ and she’s sending something in the mail for you guys.” He huffs a laugh. “She won’t tell me what, because she seems to think I can’t hold my tongue.”
“Well, whatever on earth would give her that idea?” Ducky chimes in from Breena’s bedside, effectively breaking the quiet and eliciting chuckles from around the room. Tony thinks he may even see a corner of Gibbs’ mouth turn upward, but he’s probably just seeing things, with the fluorescent hospital lights and all.
When visitation hours are drawing to a close and everyone says their goodbyes, Tony slathers on the charm, giving Jimmy a congratulatory hug and slap on the back.
But maybe he didn’t really fool everyone. When he and McGee go out to a local pub after, Tony doesn’t really think twice before he downs two whiskeys within a ten minute timespan. Tim’s always the perceptive one anyway, damn him and his author-ly habit of analyzing people. When Tony comes back with his third drink, McGee looks at him a bit sadly, knowingly.
Tony just grits out, “Don’t,” as he tips his glass back. Thankfully, Tim nods and changes the subject, and Tony’s never loved him more for it.
xXxXx
A few weeks later, Jimmy finally returns to work.
His schedule as Ducky’s assistant means that he comes in later than the gang anyway, so when Ellie spies his car through the window from her desk, McGee calls Abby to let her know that Palmer’s back. Ellie raps her knuckles at the window as Jimmy’s about to come through the front door– he’d normally take the elevator down, but through some frantic gesticulating, she’s able to successfully convey the message for him to come up to the bullpen before he starts his work day.
Ten minutes later, back in his scrubs, he does. His sleep deprivation is obvious from the bags under his eyes, but he’s beaming from ear to ear. Tony’s waiting for rainbows to appear above the man’s head, or for him to jump up on the desk and start singing, or something else equally Halmark-esque.
Of course, Abby is the first to worm her way through and hug him, asking about his time off with Victoria and Breena. There’s zero sarcasm in Palmer’s voice as he recounts how he and Breena barely slept at all the first week, and the havoc that was the attempt to take Victoria along for a dinner out at a restaurant. After a few minutes, Tony notices the package tucked under Jimmy’s arm. Jimmy must see him staring at it.
“Oh, yeah! I got a package from the mail room. It’s from Israel. I waited to open it until I was with all of you guys!
Abby and McGee step closer, excited, and Ellie runs to fetch the scissors from her desk before crowding in with everyone else. Jimmy cuts through the packing tape and opens the small box. He takes out an envelope, and conceals the rest of the package.
“'Dear Jimmy and Breena,’” he reads, “'I wish you all the joy in the world with your precious new daughter. Tony showed me a picture and she is beautiful, like both of her parents.’” He pushes his glasses up on his nose, and Tony thinks he can detect the beginnings of tears in Jimmy’s eyes.
“'I was crocheting this blanket long before I knew if she was a boy or a girl, so I ended up going with green and yellow. Hopefully, it won’t clash with your nursery.’” At the mention of a baby blanket, Abby actually squeals aloud. McGee’s eyebrows shoot up, and he glances over at Tony, mouthing, “Did you know she crochets?” Tony just shakes his head, slightly dumbfounded.
“'I hope to meet little Victoria someday. Send me lots of photos! Send my love to everyone, and tell them I miss them all. Xoxo, Ziva.’"
Jimmy sniffles a little, clearing his throat, then seems to remember the box he’s cradling to his chest. He unfolds a green and yellow blanket, and Tony can see that in the corner, Ziva stitched Victoria’s initials. The border is yellow, zig-zagging all the way around the mint-colored interior. Jimmy passes it around, and everyone marvels at how soft it is, how professional it looks. Ellie quirks the corner of her mouth at Tony wryly, saying, "She’s even more talented than all of you gave her credit for.”
The group breaks up when McGee’s desk phone rings, and Abby declares she has to get back down to Mass Spec. As everyone drifts away, Jimmy calls Tony over, digging at the bottom of the box.
“There’s a letter for you, here, too. She wrote in her post script that she was sending it along with Victoria’s blanket to avoid the cost of mailing two things from Israel separately.” Jimmy gives Tony a soft smile, and Tony fights the impulse to make a snide remark to lighten the mood.
Instead, he reaches for the letter and says earnestly, “Thanks, Jimmy. Welcome back.”
He sits at his desk, about to open the small envelope when Gibbs saunters in.
“You sure that doesn’t have the plague?”
Tony snorts and Ellie looks back and forth between Tony, McGee, and Gibbs. “Is there a story there? What am I missing?”
McGee’s eyes widen. “You mean Tony didn’t tell you about the time he almost died from the plague?”
Gibbs chucks car keys at McGee, grunts, “Tell her on the way. Dead officer in a pharmacy, let’s go.” Tony slips the letter into his desk and grabs his gear, hoping it’ll be a brief interviewing process and that there’s no grieving widow on the scene. It’s the first time in a while that he’s praying for a short workday.
xXxXx
It’s much later by the time he finally gets to Ziva’s letter. He managed to resist the urge to rip open the envelope when he got out to his car, vowing instead that he would do it once he was sitting down in his apartment, settled in, so he could really pay attention.
Now, he’s sitting on his couch, unfolding her letter, and he smiles, immediately recognizing her handwriting, some of the black ink smeared across the page, and he knows exactly how it looks smudged on her pinkie finger.
Dear Tony,
During my time here, Aunt Nettie has taught me how to crochet. As it turns out, it is quite therapeutic. My first finished project was a scarf, because that is the easiest, but… I am in Israel. It is far too hot for a scarf. I left it on Abba’s gravestone.
Victoria’s birth has me thinking, about my future, and what it may hold for me. Maybe, for us.
Tony swallows around the knot in his throat.
I never thought I would miss the birth of Jimmy’s first child. I never thought I would end up back here in Israel again at all. But, I do not plan to stay here for forever.
I hope you get to spend time with Victoria. As I recall, you do not know how to change a diaper. It’s time you learned, yes?
Hope all is well. Ani mitga'a'ga'at lecha.
He knows the phrase without having to check, because it was one of the first he looked up after they parted in Tel Aviv. Sometimes, when they talk on Skype and it’s late in Israel, she murmurs it to him quietly before she hangs up, her voice a bit choked, her eyes soft and sincere.
“I miss you too, Ziva,” he says aloud, hoping that somewhere, she can hear him. Hoping that someday soon, he'll have cause to look up how to say it in past tense, to say it to her in person.