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Chapter Text

The middle seat on an airplane was always suffocating. Strangers on either side, the inability to rest one’s elbow anywhere because it felt like everything belonged to the people in the aisle or on the window. 

But when that middle seat is on a flight to a place that was supposed to never be seen again, to a place that was pressed into the deepest parts of his memory because if he allowed it to be at the forefront he would have fallen apart more than he already did, it was made worse. 

He wouldn’t have sat in a middle seat on two flights for a total of fifteen hours for anyone else. 

Tony thought of all the empty liquor bottles and the dirty glasses in his sink that he let pile up night after night until the only thing that made him wash them was that he needed a clean one to start the cycle over again. It was the same for every household chore, no laundry until he had nothing to wear. When he lived in the frat house in college, it might have been cleaner than he was keeping his apartment; the current state would have sent anyone running, himself included, but he kept living in his hovel of an apartment unable to do any better because she was not there.

The person next to him, in the window seat, shifted just slightly bumping him and Tony watched on as the person remained asleep. He wished for the same, but he knew he wouldn’t get it. No matter how tired he was, his mind would not quiet enough to allow him the rest that sleep could offer. 

And what was new anyway?

The phone call came as he packed up his backpack for the night, shoving random things from his desk into it, giving the bag some kind of purpose. The number had flashed on his phone screen as unknown. Typically, he would have let that go to voicemail, it was probably spam, except his gut told him he needed to pick up. Even in his sadness, he had long since stopped hoping for a call from her. It had been nearly ten months. If she had wanted to call, if she had changed her mind, she would have done it already, would have responded to one of his many voicemails. But his brain followed his gut and told him to listen, told him to pick up the phone and see who this unknown caller was. 

The voice on the other line was one he recognized instantly, even with such little interaction. 

“Adam?” 

“Tony.” 

“What happened?” There was no question in his mind that if Adam Eshel was on the line, choosing to call him from, he assumed, Tel Aviv, that there was a damn good reason and there was only one reason. 

“I should not be doing this,” Adam started. “But you need to get here.” 

“Tel Aviv?” 

“The soonest flight you can.” 

“Why?” 

“Just get here. Text this number when you land.” 

The phone went silent on the other end and for a moment Tony was frozen in place, stuck behind his desk holding his backpack. Just get here.  

There had been a red eye out that night. It was close to emptying his checking account to purchase it, but that was a problem for another time, for a time when it didn’t feel like his life was hanging in the balance because someone had called him back to her and it wasn’t even Ziva herself. It was a friend of hers who did not like Tony and he imagined, would have done anything else he could have other than call him. 

Now stuck in the middle seat of this overnight flight with no hope of sleep, Tony rewound the tape in his brain and started over all the possibilities for why he was doing this. Was she dead? Was she close to dead? Was her life in danger? Was his now by proxy? 

Those same options floated through his head again and again and again as they made their final descent into Tel Aviv. 

The air was so thick with summer outside of the airport, that Tony could feel the heat seeping into his skin, the sweat immediately trickled from his forehead and down his back. All of the bodies, busy arriving for vacation, only made the arrivals area warmer. 

He had texted Adam, like he was told to, and Adam sent him back an address in language and symbols that he did not understand, but was assured that all he needed to do was show it to a cab driver when he caught one at the airport and they would understand. He was right and the older gentleman, who looked at Tony with sympathetic eyes after he read the address, was now passing through the city center, at the wheel. 

He thought about the way the older man looked at him, the way he instantly felt as if he needed to sympathize with this American man who had just arrived. Tony wondered if it was because of his appearance, the stubble that had come in overnight, his bloodshot eyes that Tony could feel how bad they looked, the disheveled clothing he pulled from the back of his drawer and thrown on as he fled out his apartment door, with his go bag in his hand. Or was it where they were going? Tony did not want it to be the latter, but he had no way of knowing, the language barrier was too big to try and ask. Besides, he did not want this perfect stranger to be the one to deliver him bad news, if that was what he was driving toward. Let that be Adam’s job, even though he was not much less than a stranger to Tony, he was at least a good friend to Ziva, an important person in her life. 

The shadow on what was to come lifted when the taxi pulled up to a curb outside of a large, tall building. The cross on the side of it, a universal indicator, made Tony’s heart drop. 

It was bad. 

He had gotten on a plane in nearly the middle of the night to fly to Tel Aviv to a hospital where he could only assume Ziva was because he hadn’t talked to her. 

It had to be very bad. 

“Sir?” The driver’s voice interrupted the thoughts racing in Tony’s mind. 

For a moment, Tony only looked at him, unsure of how he was supposed to proceed. 

“Right place?” 

Tony could do nothing more than answer him with a shrug. He did not know any better than this man who had read the text, if they were in the right place. He wished desperately to tell him it was the wrong place, to turn around and go back to the airport or to tell him to go to the farmhouse instead, that address was permanently engraved in Tony’s brain because he thought if he ever needed to find her again that would be where he would do it. Not where he was now. 

Tony handed over a wad of shekels that he had leftover from the last time he was in Israel, months earlier. He thanked his fractured mind for remembering that before he left DC or else he would have been left begging this man for forgiveness, though the still soft look in his eyes, told Tony that it would not have taken much. 

Even after paying, it took Tony a moment to remember how his legs worked, how to haul himself out of the back seat. The man never rushed him, but eventually the pressure of someone waiting for him to make a decision pushed him out of the car. This man, who had nothing to do with anything, did not need to be some kind of weird emotional support; he was just doing his job getting him from point A to point B. 

Adam’s text also included two words in English for his benefit, the directions that were meant for him. Ground floor. 

With no other guidance, no idea what wing he was supposed to be in, Tony had to walk in assuming that Adam would be waiting for him and he was. However, he had not anticipated the addition of Orli Elbaz, dressed in casual attire and not a matching suit, to their little Tel Aviv shindig. What a shindig it was. 

“Tony,” Orli said his name as if this was the start of a meeting, like they were sitting in the conference room at NCIS, when she had been there during the nightmare that was Eli David's death. She did not sound like a woman who was about to change his life. Perhaps, that had been why she was here, the diplomacy that had gotten her the job of director of Mossad, would work well in this situation, too. 

Even with no idea what was to come, the familiar faces of these people made Tony feel even a little bit better. He would not fall apart alone.

“What happened to her?” 

“I think we should sit,” Orli pointed toward the rows of seats in what was seemingly the lobby of this hospital. 

“What happened?” Tony outright ignored her suggestion. 

Orli took a deep breath and Tony could see the contemplation behind her eyes, as she worked to gauge how she could possibly start this conversation. The longer she waited the more Tony braced himself for the worst, there was nothing else for him to do.

“She is out of surgery,” Orli started. 

Tony heard her words and worked to process them. Something bad enough happened that she needed surgery, but she made it out of that. If she hadn’t, he was sure that Orli would have worded it differently. 

He could strike dead off the list in his head. Such a morbid relief.

“Ziva did not know how to tell you. She was not trying to hurt you, I believe that,” Orli was avoiding.

“Did not know how to tell me what?” Tony could hear the sharpness in his own voice, though it hadn’t been his intention. 

“Ziva was pregnant.” 

Pregnant. 

The word echoed in his head. 

The prickling sensation of numbness washed over his entire body.

Pregnant. 

For a moment Tony was certain that he had misheard her, that Orli must have said something else to him. But he was met with silence, Orli allowing him the time to decipher how Ziva being pregnant could have involved him enough to be called across an ocean. 

She was pregnant.

They had not been careful in those hours that turned to days in the farmhouse. That was not their first thought or their second or maybe even their last. Those days were to fulfill the needs they both had carried since those fateful summer nights when the sticky heat wasn’t even comparable to the suffocating temperature outside. Tony did not spend months of his life searching for Ziva, to have the forefront thought of their intimacy be contraception. They were adult enough to know better and yet, they did nothing about it. 

Tony would be lying if he said that he had not pictured Ziva pregnant. And he did not mean that stupid photo of her in the bright yellow shirt that said ‘Bun in the Oven’ from the time she went undercover. He meant it in a much deeper sense. The idea of sharing the more intimate moments of pregnancy with her because sharing those would mean they were doing it together. The sonograms and the first kicks and the bickering about what color they would paint a nursery. Tony wanted to share every second of that with her and in their post elevator haste, he had found himself nearly longing for the time when their relationship could grow to include those experiences. 

Instead, he left her crying on a tarmac in Israel. 

What he had left her was pregnant.

She was pregnant. 

“What do you mean was?” He urged. “She was. What does that mean?” 

“There were complications,” Orli said the last word softer than the rest, as if that would somehow make it seem less worrisome. Tony watched as yet again she had to search for the right words to continue with. “When she got here, they rushed her into an emergency cesarean section. They had to deliver the baby right away.” 

“She had the baby?” 

Tony’s mind attempted to ransack the little knowledge he had about pregnancy. How long had it been since he was there? Nine and a half months. He could only recall that because the date he said goodbye to her was forever scarred into both his brain and his heart. That was long enough for a baby to grow. In fact, from the limited understanding he had, that was the exact right amount of time. 

“She did have the baby,” Orli confirmed with clear, concise words. “But there was much bleeding and it took a while for the doctors to stabilize her. They only just let us know that she was in recovery.” 

The seat that Orli had suggested he take earlier, felt like a better and better idea as he stumbled backward toward an empty chair. If he did not sit, he worried that he would somehow end up nearer to the ground on terms that were not his own. It felt like his body collapsed into the cushion. 

“Tony?” 

“She never told me.” 

“We know,” Orli spoke on Adam’s behalf as well. 

“She didn’t even try.” 

“You were an ocean away. It’s not exactly an easy conversation to have over the phone,” Adam spoke for the first time since Tony’s arrival at the hospital. His words protected a woman that he had known longer than Tony had and he had been with her through this. 

If Tony was not so delirious, he would have punched him square in the jaw for seeing pieces of Ziva that Tony could only wish for. 

“I would have been here in a second.” 

“She knew that. She knew you would drop everything for her, for them, and she could not interrupt your life like that,” Orli interjected. 

Tony scoffed. “What has ever stopped from interrupting my life?” 

He thought of that young Mossad officer that walked into the bullpen, muslin fabric wrapped around her ponytail, cargo pants swaying perfectly at the hem in time with her hips, that were a direct taunt toward him. She came into that room to interrupt him and she had done it so successfully, that by the end of the exchange, he was nearly thanking her for showing up. 

Tony could only imagine the ways he would have thanked her if she had chosen, just like that very first time, to interrupt him with this kind of news. There would not have been enough words. 

“A baby is a big interruption.” 

“And if she thought she couldn’t, then she didn’t know me.” 

“It is not that simple,” Adam suggested, as if he was an authority on the subject. 

“Oh really? Enlighten me, Adam. What was so complicated about it? What was so damn complicated about picking up the phone and telling me? Or asking me to come here? Or her coming to me? Or for god’s sake, she could have sent a fucking carrier pigeon, if that was her choice. But please tell me why it was so fucking hard for Ziva to tell me she was pregnant?” 

The last word tasted badly on his tongue as it came out of his mouth. 

Adam started toward him, apparently in defense of Ziva, but Orli’s arm reacted instantly and blocked him from bombarding the American man whose anger had no one else to be directed toward. 

“It is too late to change it. You know now, Tony, and they need you.”

They. 

Adam took a deep breath. “She made a mistake, but I did not call you here to fight.” 

“Then why did you call me?” Tony shifted in the chair and rested just on the edge, as some of the feeling returned to his body. He ran a tired hand down his face, as if that would somehow help. 

“Because I think you deserved to know.” 

“Really?” 

“And because she would never admit that she needs help and she is going to need help after this.” 

Adam’s words were genuine. Tony could believe that he would do this for Ziva. He cared deeply for her and if she was too stubborn to help herself through this situation, whatever it was, as Tony still had limited details on what exactly was happening with her, then Adam was going to do what he thought he had to. Whether or not Tony had his own feelings toward Adam Eshel, aside, he owed the man. 

“I guess I owe you?” Tony directed his question at Adam. 

“Just go see the baby. Be there for them.” 

Orli guided him down a long hallway, she had told him to follow and he merely was doing as he was told, even if his feet were still a little numb. If he had been in the headspace to do so, he would have made a joke about going to see the wizard, but even he did not find that funny in the moment. 

The sterile hospital smell seemed to grow more and more intense as they made their way further into the building; it felt stuck in his nostrils and the very scent made him want to vomit, though he wasn’t sure if that was only because of the smell or due to all the other factors that were presenting themselves to him. Either way it was unpleasant. 

Eventually, Orli stopped at a desk and grabbed the attention of another woman, maybe a nurse if Tony had to guess. Their exchange was in Hebrew and Tony could not decipher a single word, even though he tried. 

The nurse’s kind eyes reminded Tony of the cab driver from earlier. Everyone was oozing with sympathy for him and he still wasn’t sure of enough to know why he deserved it. 

“Abba?” The woman asked, kindly. 

Tony just stared at her. Unmoving. 

Orli and the nurse exchanged glances, as if agreeing to offer Tony a second more of contemplation given the circumstances. However, when the silence continued to settle around them, the unknown woman tried again. 

“Dad?” The English translation felt like the same punch Tony wanted to lay on Adam earlier. 

The word hit him so hard it felt like all the air had been knocked straight out of his lungs. For a few seconds, he was sure he forgot how to breathe. 

“Tony?” Orli reached out a gentle hand toward him, just grazing his bicep. 

Dad.

He was dad. In this very case, he was the dad they were in search of. Abba . 

He had gone from lonely special agent, drinking himself to sleep in hopes of forgetting the very place he now was, to dad, father, in mere hours. The trajectory of his life as he had known it had been turned upside down, inside out and thrown around for good measure before it morphed into this unrecognizable reality where his only option was to step up to the plate. The alternative let too many people down that were now seemingly counting on him. 

If responsibility was a weight, he now felt a million pounds of it on his shoulders. 

“Tony?” Orli tried again. 

He nodded. “Yeah. Umm… yes. Dad.”

“If you are ready,” The nurse was steady with her words, as English was not her first language, but she understood it was how she would best communicate with this entirely terrified first time father. “I can take you to the baby.” 

If there was one thing Anthony DiNozzo was not prepared for, it was going to meet this baby, his child, and yet he found himself agreeing to go with the nurse, leaving Orli behind. Tony had almost wanted to ask if she could come, this woman who had altogether ruined Ziva’s family, but seemed like an ali now. Though she made it clear that she was taking a step back and allowing him the room he needed, even though it was not the room he wanted. 

Tony washed his hands in the sink that he was told to and then found himself sitting in a little room with glass front doors, offering no privacy. The nurse had disappeared after settling him. He could hear, outside of the little cubicle, the sounds of crying babies. Was one of them his? Theirs? He could have been listening to his own child cry and he wouldn’t know it. The very thought sent a shiver down his spine. 

When the now familiar face of the nurse returned, she was not alone. 

The clear, small bassinet with silver, metal legs, rolled into the tiny room easily. It’s occupant didn’t even budge, wrapped in a plain white blanket, so snuggly that they looked like a little burrito. Suddenly, Tony felt guilty for comparing his baby to a food item, but there was no better description for the way they were swaddled.

“This is your daughter, Abba.” The nurse smiled at him, as she so easily scooped the baby up. 

A girl. He had a daughter. They had a daughter. 

Without a single thought toward the hesitation he might have, the nurse maneuvered the baby into Tony’s arms. His whole body went stiff at the little weight he now held. 

“Umm… I…” 

“It is okay. She will not break.” 

But she was so little, surely he could break her if he was not careful. 

“You can relax,” he was advised. 

Tufts of dark hair slipped out from under the little hat she wore and Tony wondered instantly if she would carry on Ziva’s unruly dark curls. He certainly hoped so. Just like he hoped, though they were closed, that her eyes would be the same dark ones he had spent so much time staring into. The ones that told him so many things her mother could not. The ones that he once told her could not shut up. The shape of her mouth might have reminded him of his own, maybe she had a little bit of his nose, but all he could wish for was for her to look exactly like her mom. 

The warmth of her tiny body seeped through the fabric of his thin t-shirt. Her head turned toward him, as if to snuggle in closer. 

Tony wondered if his heart would burst directly out of his chest. 

How wild it was to love someone so fully that you have only known for such a short while. Only even known of for minutes. 

Tony didn’t even realize he was crying, until he watched a stray tear fall from his cheek to the little white blanket, making a droplet sized stain on its otherwise clean surface.

Chapter Text

The muffled rustlings of sounds she did not recognize permeated the sleepy fog that Ziva felt even before her eyes could open. 

Her body felt heavy, her eyes heavier. 

Ziva’s eyes opened so briefly that nothing of her surroundings registered. She could still hear the sounds that had first woken her up, but they were no more decipherable than they were seconds earlier, maybe minutes. Time passing was just as unclear as the sounds. 

The faintest smell of antiseptic wafted to her nostrils. That and the scent of something else unfamiliar to her, but similar to clean sheets, however more sterile and not like the comforts of laundry done at home. Those things gave little clue to where she was and maybe if she was more awake, less obscured by the ravenous fatigue that held tight to all of her body parts, she would be able to make out the scents, tell where it was that she was residing. 

There was a sudden sound somewhere closer to her. It was like a chair scuffing the floor or someone’s shoe doing the same. It was only just loud enough for her to register, but no more noise followed it and perhaps she had just been hearing things. 

It took a long moment, but Ziva mustered the strength to tear her eyelids apart. She was able to take in maybe four seconds worth of the room she was in. Mostly white paint, dimmed lights that still hurt when they hit Ziva’s eyes. The angle she laid at, nearly flat on her back, only elevated to a small degree, left her with not much to look at, mostly the seam where the ceiling met the wall. She needed to move if she wanted to see anything worth looking at, anything that would tell her where she was. 

She pressed her palms flat down into what she realized was a bed and tried to scoot herself up for a better view, but the searing pain that shot along her abdomen at the attempt, made her inhale so sharply she was worried she would choke on her own air. 

Her hand fumbled through a layer of blankets draped across her, eyes left open just a crack, and reached toward the site of the pain. There was a layer of fabric over her stomach, thin and flimsy, through it she could feel evenly placed bumps. It was sore to the touch, even her careful examination made her flinch. 

It felt like she was solving a math equation that made no sense to her, numbers that were not adding up to the answer she was supposed to get. She was barely conscious enough to be frustrated and yet she found her mind berating itself for not being able to clearly make out what was going on. She knew better, she was trained better, both by Mossad and NCIS. The fog that she had noticed as soon as she was conscious enough to, still remained and it was no help to her shortcomings. 

Where was she? 

Ziva tried again to push herself up, expecting it to hurt this time. Her jaw clenched the moment her hands pressed down and the mere centimeters of movement she garnered from her efforts came at a price. Even through gritted teeth, she could not stop the groan that felt like it echoed in her own head. 

She heard the noise again, the scuffing on the floor. It was clearer this time, not any closer than before, but easier to make out. She was certain she was right about what it was, but of the things she needed to know more instantaneously, that was not high on the list. 

With just a little more leverage, a little bit more to see than white nothingness, Ziva strained her eyes opening them once again and this time could see, even if for a brief second, the top of a white board. The Hebrew symbols spelled out two words she could process fast enough to translate: patient and provider. Her name was listed next to patient.

Her body sank back into the bed, eyes shutting. 

Ziva sent her hand back down to the sight of the pain. It felt no different than before, her hand could not any better decipher what was underneath it. She slowly investigated the rest of the area. Where it had once been hard, where there once had been responsive kicks from a little, as she liked to call them, stowaway, there was now nothing more than softness. Still swollen, but no longer firm, no longer filled. 

The pieces slowly started to reassemble in her mind. 

She called Orli. 

When she felt the trickle roll down her leg, she thought her eyes were deceiving her. The contractions had been on and off for a couple of days, but that morning they were starting to become consistent. Ziva could watch the time and anticipate how many minutes she would have between each one. There were only so many rooms in the farmhouse and she seemingly found herself in the kitchen, hands trained to her lower back between them and hunched over the limestone countertops during them. 

Ziva vaguely remembered barely standing up before the blood rolled down the inside of her thigh. It was a deep red against her overly tanned skin, darkened by the summer sun she found herself in often as she awaited the arrival of her little secret. 

Orli answered after only two rings, the older woman had been patiently waiting for some kind of signal from Ziva. They were in the final days and she knew that anything could happen at any time. But the frantic cries from Ziva had shocked her. 

“There’s blood.” 

“Ziva, what do you mean? What does that mean?” 

“Orli, please,” Ziva’s voice shook and the staggered breaths around her words made her harder to understand. “There’s blood. There’s… I am bleeding.” 

Adam arrived with her, the only other person who knew of Ziva’s pregnancy. The two of them had found her on the floor of the kitchen, back pressed against the lower cabinets. She was conscious, but the blood dotted the floor and had started to leave a puddle beneath her legs, under the flimsy cotton sundress she wore. It was a sight neither person who had come to help would forget. 

The sterile scent that she had tried to decipher earlier, was replaced by that of iron and salt, the way the kitchen smelled when they arrived. The way it smelled when Adam hauled her off the floor, into his arms and nearly ran her to his car, parked outside. Just the thought made Ziva feel nauseous. 

From there the pieces were too broken for her to put them all back together. She could recall the car feeling like it was flying down the roads, turning sharp and fast. Adam drove, Orli sat in the backseat with her. 

It was not how she pictured it going, it was not the plan. Though, she should have known better. The first casualty of life is the plan. Ziva had been confident in her choice to deliver the baby at the farmhouse, the privacy of limited intervention and only a midwife to assist, was appealing. It all was a secret, something she kept to herself for months and after she could no longer conceal it, something she only shared with three other people. It was meant to stay small and secluded, not turn into a scene. However, the only option had been to make that call to Orli. Her first real decision as a mother, she did what she had to do and she could not, nor would she, change that. 

There was the sound again of something against the floor. This time it seemed closer to her, maybe because she was slowly becoming more aware. It sounded like it was coming from the side of where she laid, to her right. She mustered the strength to pry open her eyes again, this time easier than the last, and turn her head just enough to see a figure, a man standing about ten feet away from her. 

Her brain assumed it was Adam for just a second, but the longer she looked through her haze, the more obvious it became. 

The sandy blonde-brown hair. The soft gaze from green eyes, that was both reserved and begging to come closer to her. The stubble that was almost too long to be stubble anymore. The slope of tired shoulders that were being pulled up by sheer will. A small not quite smile, but something that trajected upwards, tugged at the man’s lips as his eyes looked her over. 

She felt like she was seeing a ghost. 

“Hey,” It was a whisper from him, but she could still make out the faint crack in his voice. 

She remembered the last time he showed up like this, unannounced and at the exact moment that she needed him. That sand covered hovel that wreaked constantly of stale blood and the alcohol that the men who bombarded her little cell drank every night after they were done with her. She could still feel the way the clothing that was not hers, that came from a place she knew nothing of, but was dirty, pricked her skin with the things that clung to the fabric. She was constantly covered in sweat, the heat of Africa, much like the heat of the Israeli summer, cruel and unabashed in its tortuous temperatures. But she would never forget the relief she felt when that black bag was ripped from her head once more and the person sitting across from her was the same man who was staring at her from mere feet away. Couldn’t live without you, I guess. The comfort she garnered from his presence still remained even five years later and in very different circumstances. 

But what did she do with him now? 

She may have been still trying to drag together her thoughts, but she was aware enough to know he was not standing in a hospital room in Israel without some knowledge of the very thing she was trying to keep from him. 

Her secret was certainly no longer secret. 

Tony remained unmoving, not wanting to crowd Ziva after what she had been through and when she had been awake for only a few minutes. He had to imagine that waking up in the hospital after emergency surgery was frightening enough, without the added addition of a man who she had written out of her life almost a year earlier. 

The internal battle of how hard to push her waged behind his eyes and Ziva watched it as she was unable to tear hers away from him, even though she wanted nothing more than to stop reading his thoughts through his irises; she had to imagine, now, that an unspoken anger lay behind the sympathy and anxiety that were at the forefront. 

“Zi,” He softened around her nickname. 

What was she supposed to say to him? There was no excuse for what she did and even if there was, she hadn’t had the time to come up with one because the last time she was cognizant enough to think about it, she had been watching the blood tickle onto the floor and the idea of Anthony DiNozzo finding out about their baby was a nearly impossible suggestion. 

The longer she remained silent the more she watched him fight the urge to reach out. 

But she did not know how to address him. She did not have any words concocted in a way that would not have made her seem like the villain in the story. Though, maybe she was. He would have every right to think that of her. 

“Zivs, please.” 

She dropped her gaze, unable to look at him when she asked, “Who called you?” 

Ziva thought she could make out a sigh of relief from Tony when she finally spoke to him. 

“Adam.” 

Ziva did not necessarily need to be told that. Of her two confidants, Adam was the one who had tried to convince her to tell Tony in the first place. He was not a fan of the very special agent, yet Adam had still vouched for his character, trying to insist to Ziva over the months that their child grew inside of her, that he deserved to know and more than that, he would have wanted to know. This had been his chance to go around her and do what she did not have the courage to. 

She might thank him for it one day. 

In an attempt to distract herself from Tony, Ziva was reminded for the first time since she woke up of the reason either of them were there. Her baby. 

Their baby. 

The ache in her abdomen, still sharp and present, even as she was still, reminded her that there was a reason she was staring at Tony. There was a reason her exhausted body was laying in a hospital bed. Somewhere, she hoped, but had no certainty, there was a baby that was theirs, that she had yet to be acquainted with. 

“The baby?” Her question was soft and quiet. 

She watched as a real smile played across Tony’s lips and whatever he had been feeling toward her, was replaced by something happier. “She’s okay.” He knew that was what she wanted to know. “She’s fine, Zi.” 

“She is?” 

“Pretty perfect, actually.” 

“You saw her?” 

He nodded. “And held her.”

The instant tremble of her chin at the exchange was so many things. 

That she had been right the whole time, it was a girl. There had never been a wavering thought in her mind that the baby was anything but.

That she was okay. Any other news about her would have broken Ziva. Many, many things were already her fault. Many consequences were already forcing themselves upon her. If it had been added to those that her body had betrayed not only her, but her baby, she was not sure how she ever would have forgiven herself. 

Most prominently it was the idea that Tony had met her. Their baby had already been his arms, comforted by the warmth of his body. Ziva knew what it felt to be held by Tony, to be loved by him and if there was any relief at all in the situation, it was that their daughter had been granted that luxury already. Regardless, there was a guilt attached to that. It was not her doing that he and their daughter had shared that moment. She could try to explain to him that she had pictured it over and over again, watched it play out like a scene from a movie in her head. That first meeting, what it would be like to have his support in the wee hours of labor when she questioned whether she could do it or not and the way it all became worth it when she could watch him cradle a little being that was a perfect combination of the two of them in his arms. Not telling him of his impending fatherhood had not stopped Ziva from daydreaming of what it would be like to share it with him. Those thoughts just hadn’t been enough to make her change her mind and feel less like the very thing she could see bringing him joy as he tiredly stood an ocean away from his own life, was a responsibility she had to take on herself, by herself. 

“I have to do this alone.”

When she had spoken those words to Tony on the Tarmac, Ziva had not yet realized what she was taking on by herself. The only thing she knew at the time was that she had to depart from her life in Washington. She had to stop being the reason Gibbs’ life and career were a battle. She had to do something different or the cycle of everyone she ever loved being hurt by her would never cease. What she had come to terms with in those months before Tony found her ended up being the very things that fell to the wayside when what she was left alone to do was have the baby of a man she couldn’t bring herself to tell. 

She certainly wasn’t alone now. 

Tony approached her bed, still reluctant to get too close, but tired of standing at such a distance that he felt detached from her. 

“The nurse asked me to hit the call button when you woke up,” Tony told her. “Is it okay if I… if I do that?” 

Ziva nodded and Tony hit the little button on the side of the bed. 

When the nurse arrived, Tony excused himself, leaving Ziva alone with a stranger as she checked her incision and other various things. Tony felt like he was invading, like this was the kind of thing that required some privacy even if he had already seen every part of Ziva David imaginable. This was a different thing altogether and after they had only spent a grand total of ten minutes together in nearing ten months, it didn’t seem like the time to stick around. 

So, he almost literally twiddled his thumbs in the hallway to keep himself occupied, to keep his thoughts at bay, while waiting to see if Ziva even allowed him back in. He supposed she had every right to tell the hospital staff to send him away. What right did he have to be in there with her? Maybe he could see his daughter, but there was nothing forcing Ziva to allow him back in. 

The very thought made him shudder. She had already sent him away once, what would stop her from doing it again?

Finally, the same nurse from earlier, with the kind eyes and the sympathy, came trailing down the hallway, a familiar bassinet being pushed in front of her. The little burrito baby, a name he would not yet share with her mother, was once again sound asleep, unaware of the little trip she was on. 

Tony felt the stupid grin that pulled at his lips. He could feel himself ogling even from feet away, at his daughter. The nurse kindly stopped and granted him a few moments to stare, before pressing her way into Ziva’s room, the door shutting with a thump behind her. 

A few more minutes passed, before Tony contemplated where he would go. If he could charge his dead phone just enough to call Adam or even Orli, maybe they could suggest him a hotel for the night. For the day? Tony's sense of time was beyond warped and he just needed a place to sleep and shower before deciding on his next move, whether that be coming back to the hospital or booking a flight, if that was the only option Ziva left him with. 

“Abba?” The nurse's head peaked out from the door, interrupting his planning.

This time Tony recognized the title and understood it was directed at him, rather than receiving it with a blank stare. “Yes?”

“She asked for you to come back in.” 

She asked for him. A wave of disbelief hit him and then a crashing wave of relief followed.

Tony felt like he was tiptoeing as he re-entered the room, but he was worried that in an instant, Ziva would change her mind. As if her request had been confused and she did not actually want him back, but instead the look on her face when their eyes met again was blissful, a look he was not ever sure he’d seen from her. 

On her chest, slipped underneath her flimsy hospital gown and the blankets that had been layered on her before, was their daughter. Ziva’s hands wrapped protectively around the baby. The warmth of her little body felt like something she had always known, as she felt the rise and fall of the baby’s chest against her own. 

Tony stared at her in a way that made Ziva feel as if he was taking it all in still. He was processing this thing that she had known would happen for months, but he had only had hours to adjust to and was still contemplating if what he was seeing before him was real. She held no judgement for the way he surveyed her and their daughter from a distance; she, herself, would have kept a distance from someone who felt as though the only option was to keep something from her, when in reality the phone call months earlier would have been far easier. 

For Tony and Ziva, so many things could have been solved with communicating, with a few simple words, with a few more honest truths than they were ever willing to divulge to each other. They could share a summer of forbidden moments, where they physically saw more of each other than coworkers should, but left little to be desired in the actual talking through of their feelings, the very thing that had led them there to begin with. She could wake up in a panicked terror from the nightmares that no one other than Tony, because of the proximity that sharing a bed created, knew about and he would be the reason she could fall back to sleep more soundly than she had in months. He could track her down when she least wanted to be found and he could open up to her, even if that simple little action could not be reciprocated by her. They could side step, take two steps forward, one step back and the little dance they choreographed haphazardly would always lead them to the same ending: heartbroken and no closer to what they both knew they wanted: each other. 

Ziva struggled with the feeling of unadulterated happiness that came from meeting her daughter, from holding her and the profuse whats ifs of being able to understand how much simpler this moment could have been. She had to wonder if Tony felt the same internal battle when he had embraced this itty bitty personage that turned his world on its axis. Did he also wonder if it could have been a little sweeter if it was expected?

So, Tony’s long, fixed stare that was unmoving from her and their daughter, though it made Ziva feel desperately guilty, like she needed to think of a million ways to say sorry, while also keeping him at arm’s length because this was never her plan, was one that she had to accept. 

“See what I said about her being perfect?” The question rolled off his tongue in such a DiNozzo way, the awkwardness of the whole thing could not stop him from being the Tony that Ziva recognized, the same one that charmed her enough to put them in such an odd predicament. 

“She is,” Ziva agreed, continuing her inventory of all the baby’s features. 

The longer she held her, the more Ziva’s disbelief grew. Her mind shifted away from whatever it was that was happening between her and Tony, while her focus zeroed in on the idea that she had woken up, in a post surgery haze, a mother. An Ima. And the baby girl who had bestowed that title on her so quietly acquainted herself to the woman who had carried her for nine months. Seemingly, for Ziva, this meeting was much easier than expected. Any fear of detachment disappeared. It was certainly her daughter. It was certainly the owner of the feet and elbows that she had become well acquainted with as their form of communication. It was certainly the little lips she’d seen on the only ultrasound she received during her pregnancy, one Orli insisted she have just for peace of mind, whether that was hers or Orli’s hadn’t really ever been determined. But this baby girl was hers in a way that was hard to comprehend. 

“I think she might have gotten a little bit of my nose though,” Tony over dramatically sighed in his continued effort to break the ice that had frozen between them. “Poor girl.”

Ziva let the little tug on the corner of her mouth make a small smile. “Worse things could happen.”

Chapter Text

The car seat, occupied by their daughter, hung at Tony’s side, as he stayed a few steps ahead of Ziva, who was being pushed in a wheelchair, that she had tried to flat out refuse, even if she was dreading the long walk to the car, but had been convinced that it was her only option under the hospital policy. 

Seventy two hours confined to the likes of one room had made her stir crazy, but the idea that they were now being released to go on with life like she somehow inherently knew exactly what to do with a newborn, and a man who only knew of said baby for about four days, made her contemplate how bad it really was to stay in a square little box where there was constant help. 

As they proceeded down the hallway, Ziva watched as Tony's eyes would constantly drift down to stare at Tali, as if he was checking to see that she was still there. 

Tali. 

When the woman came in to fill out the baby’s birth certificate, Ziva had found herself in an utter panic over how she was to take care of this piece of paper when there was suddenly an additional entity that she had counted on not counting in the decision. There had been so few words shared between them, far more time spent passing their daughter back and forth, that nothing had been spoken about her name -- Ziva knew what she was naming her from the moment her mind decided it was a girl, yet that became an instant betrayal to the man who she’d already betrayed. What would Tony think if she simply went along like he did not exist in the very room this thing was happening in, other than feel as if he was once again not supposed to overstep his bounds. 

But, Tony, being Tony, had simply nodded to her when her fear filled dark eyes searched for his after the question was presented, “First name?” The answer after all was not a surprise, Tony would have to have been utterly dense for it to be. 

So, little Tali was snuggly tucked into the carseat, carried by her Abba, whose gaze kept wandering downward. Ziva knew, even from behind him, that the look on his face was one of adoration. It was the same one she had been silently studying every time she snuck a glance at Tony when he held her. 

For a moment, Ziva’s mind wandered to the alternate reality that had once been her very real reality. If not for Tony, someone else would have been carrying her daughter out into the world for her. Orli or Adam, she supposed. While both of those people would have been careful and tactful in their approach of that responsibility, she would have watched from the same distance and found herself contemplating what it would have looked like if instead, Tony was doing it. If she was a braver soul, she would have told Tony as much, shared with him the ease it gave to her to watch him have that job, rather than someone else. Instead, she would keep those thoughts to herself and watch in silence. 

Her 1999 Land Rover Discovery was waiting at the door for them, delivered to the hospital some night before by Adam. Tony had pulled it to the front just moments before they made their final escape from the hospital room. She did have to wonder for a second, when Tony clicked the car seat into place in the backseat as if he had done it every day, when he had the opportunity to ready her vehicle for this homecoming. Except she didn’t ask and added it as a tally to the list of things she’d needed Tony for, but never knew. 

When the farmhouse came into view nearly forty minutes later, Ziva muttered, under her breath, a thank you to a god she rarely spoke to. The ache of the seat belt around her had been manageable for about five minutes and the other thirty five minutes she spent wishing that Tony would drive faster. Though, how could she blame the new dad, neither of them have ever driven with such precious cargo. Tony also was not as familiar with the busy streets of Tel Aviv and the art of defensive driving. Whatever combination of factors, when Ziva heard the gear of the car shift into park, she couldn’t release the seat belt fast enough. 

Tony peered at her from the rearview mirror, reading the discomfort on her face, even as she leaned over Tali, checking on her; the grimace across her lips was hard to miss. 

He exited the car first and made quick work of reaching the back door before Ziva could open it herself. However, he hesitated when she stared at him unsure of how she was supposed to respond to his eagerness. 

“Do you?” It was half a question, as Tony stuck both of his hands out, palms up for her to grab. 

Ziva began to shift without his help, only to quickly realize if she wanted down and out of the SUV, she would have to accept this thing Tony was offering. 

“Here,” Tony gently clasped his fingers around her hands when her palms met his. 

She was slow and methodical in her movements from the back seat of the car to the front door. Tony walked no faster than she did and made no point of calling her out when she felt unsteady enough to reach for his bicep, the one opposite the hand that held Tali, and had to pause for a moment to get her footing. What should have taken thirty seconds took minutes and Tony was the ever so patient hero of her voyage back inside her home. 

Tony held the front door open for her, following behind and shutting it. The air was stale and hot in the house. 

Ziva had made a very brief mention that he could stay there, but Tony felt weird invading a space that was not his, that was Ziva’s. Instead, he stayed the couple of nights in a hotel much nearer the hospital, partly because he did not have a vehicle at his disposal and in case of emergency, he thought being closer was better. 

Taking a few steps past the threshold, Tony gently placed the car seat on the wooden coffee table in the middle of the living room. The infant was fast asleep, not making a single peep, the car ride had lulled her off to dreamland. 

Tony looked between the baby and Ziva, who remained where he left near the door. “I guess I’ll get the other stuff,” He said, referring to their bags in the trunk of the car.

“Okay,” Ziva nodded. 

The dad returned, dropping the luggage by the sofa and checked again on Tali who had not budged in the entire three minutes he was absent. Ziva had taken a few slow steps closer to the baby; there was about five feet separating her and Tony, a safe distance.

The stale summer air started to mix with the uncomfortable silence and if the house had been stuffy before, it was only worse now. It was so quiet, Tony and Ziva could hear each other breathing, monotonous exhales as they both ignored the growing awkwardness between them, but wrestled with it in their own heads.

Ziva thought about thanking Tony for driving them, for unloading the things, for being as uncomfortable as she was. But it crossed her mind that she might be suggesting that was all she needed him for, like he could be dismissed now and she would take it from here, which was far from the case. She could not get herself out of the car, let alone be expected, she supposed by her own self, to take care of a newborn. However, any other thoughts for how to break through the quiet evaded her and instead she remained still, lips shut tight. 

Tony’s eyes shifted to give Ziva a sidelong glance and see if he could read anything from her other than discomfort, both physical and mental, but most of what he saw was the same look of tired, soreness that she had seen every time a nurse made her get out of bed or she shifted too quickly or for most of the car ride home. He wanted to offer his assistance, do whatever it was that she needed and make her recovery as easy as possible and he wanted to start it right then. Except, would she want it? 

He had to assume that she was filled with regret over the decisions she made. What else could be the reason for her need to be so quiet, so reserved, so unwilling to remember that he was just Anthony DiNozzo, the NCIS agent who she accused of having phone sex the first time they met? If she was not filled with worry about how angry he was or was not, then what else was eating at her? Outside of the whole becoming a parent thing, that he found as equally terrifying, but had not told her. Besides, he was so preoccupied, Tony hadn’t even dug up an actual ounce of anger after the first conversation with Adam and Orli. Even then it was so minimal compared to the thing he was supposed to be angry about. 

When it felt like minutes had ticked by, Tony finally cleared his throat and put his eyes on their daughter. “What do we do now?” 

Ziva looked at him as he spoke and her eyes widened, as if the question was much deeper than he had actually intended it. 

“They don’t really send you home with an instruction manual,” Tony continued. “Like do we just leave her like that?”

He watched a deep exhale escape Ziva, as she grasped that his question had simply been about the baby and not an overarching examination of the rest of their entire relationship, as she had first thought. Her brain was wrought with exhaustion and worry and she found herself far more skittish about sharing an uninterrupted room with Tony than she cared to admit. 

“I do not think we should disturb her,” Ziva answered him softly. “She will need to be fed soon, I imagine. I think we just let her sleep.” 

Tony used her willingness to speak to him, in more sentences strung together than he had earned from her since he arrived, to push a little further. “What do you need? Anything?” He added the last word to allow her an answer of nothing if she so chose that, so it didn’t feel like it was the wrong answer. 

Ziva shrugged, but she looked like she was contemplating saying something, so Tony kept his mouth shut. 

“I’d really like a shower and something to wear that does not still smell like hospital.” 

It was more of an answer than Tony had bargained for and he first had to let it sink in that she was still willing to speak to him in complete, full sentences, before processing what she had said. 

“Do you want to do that now or…? “

“I think I should wait to feed her, she will be awake soon and then I can go, as long as you will stay with her?” 

What a stupid question for her to ask. If he will stay with her? There wasn't anywhere else he wanted to be. 

It was the price they were paying for her choices. Had they been together, had they prepped for this life changing thing together and were they not stumbling around awkwardness that they had almost never shared with each other, then she wouldn’t have had to ask. Ziva wouldn’t have to confirm that Tony was still willing to be a parent now that it was just the two of them and there was no audience watching. She had to make sure that he was not going to finally decide that she needed to lay in the bed she had made for herself. 

He would never do that. 

But she would have to keep checking, for the guilt that was growing in her, wouldn’t allow her not to. 

When the inevitable cries from Tali filled the room, Tony expertly unclipped her from the car seat and used his free hand to help Ziva situate herself on the couch to feed her. He left them alone for a few minutes, placing her bag in the downstairs bedroom that she would stay in, as trekking up and down stairs was a nearly impossible ask. He returned just in time to take the baby back, burp her and take the same white blanket from the hospital that they had been sent home with, to swaddle her. 

Ziva watched as he never flinched, never questioned what he was doing and instead handed her back a perfectly snuggled baby. 

“You are very good at that.” 

Tony felt like he might blush at the compliment. “Only because at least three different nurses showed me how to do it multiple times. Not a particularly fast case study.” 

“That does not make you less good at it now,” Ziva tried to offer him a soft smile. 

Tony changed the subject. “I’ll turn the shower on for you and come back to grab her.” 

Just as Tony was about to step away, foot mid-air, Ziva spoke again. “Tony?” 

“Yeah?” 

“Can you…Would you mind staying with me? Umm… In there? The bathroom? I’m not sure…” 

Tony cut her off before her timid rambling made him do something that would be strange in the moment, like hug her; it was so absurdly out of character. “I’ll stay, Zivs. I can do that.” 

And so Tony found himself, sitting on the closed toilet lid, a half awake Tali in his arms and Ziva standing under the hot water of the shower. An interesting way to spend their first evening as a family, yet Tony could not come up with another place he’d prefer to be. 

When the water turned off, Ziva opened the pale cream shower curtain just enough to peer out at Tony and Tali. The dad was making goofy faces at her, Tali’s still blue eyes that would likely change color, followed every movement of his face. Though she was too little to react back to him, Ziva could only imagine the little smile that would come from their daughter every time Tony made one of those stupid faces. Soon enough, a gummy smile and coo would answer to the silly and somehow, Tony might become even more smitten with his baby girl. 

Sensing her staring, Tony lifted his eyes. Ziva met his glance with a small smile she couldn't help. “Can you hand me the towel?” 

Tony did as he was asked and stood from his throne. “You think she’ll be okay if I put her down?”

“Why do you need to put her down?” 

“I just kinda assumed you needed my help getting dressed, but if you’re fine.” 

Ziva looked over at the cotton pajama shorts and t-shirt she had fished out of her dresser drawer to put on and he was right. She hadn’t been able to slip on the loose fitting, shirt dress she’d worn him without the help of her nurse. If she tried hard enough, she could do it herself, she would had to have if not for Tony being there. The idea of losing ten minutes of her life to the struggle of pajama shorts was so unappealing, though, that Ziva was willing to stand naked in front of a man who had last examined her body so carefully and expertly in a very different set of circumstances. 

Tony left and returned in under a minute, carrying in his hands the entire bassinet that he had taken note of in the bedroom earlier -- he’d ask later who put it together -- and set it down in the doorway. Tali, much to her mother’s surprise, was quiet and mostly unconcerned by her father’s antics. Perhaps, sharing half his DNA made her immune to the ridiculousness. 

Tony saw the disbelief on Ziva’s face and tried to quantify his actions. “Look, she’s only four days old, I don’t think she can be left alone in a room by herself. Maybe when she’s a week old, but not yet.” 

Ziva forced her eyes not to roll at him, knowing that the alternative to his over-caring was worse. 

“Shirt or shorts first?” 

“Shirt,” Ziva answered. 

Tony took the towel from her, folding it into a square and resting it on the edge of the sink. He could see the way Ziva nervously pulled into herself, as her body was put on full display for him. It was not the same presenting way she had taken her clothes off, or he had, the last time he stayed in the farmhouse. He tried desperately to not let his eyes wander over her, but before he could stop them, he was taking in the whole of her. It was the incision on her still swollen stomach that he lingered on. 

Ziva wanted to run away from his gaze, until she saw how soft his eyes were, the something that resembled sadness that coated his green irises as he looked at the line stapled together along the lowest part of her abdomen, and she remained where she stood.

“It’s not that bad,” She tried, but the edge to her voice was unconvincing. 

“Well it’s not that good either.” 

“She was worth it,” And she meant that. 

Tony took a deep breath and pulled his eyes up to her face. He wanted so badly to thank her, right there, while she stood naked in the bathroom. He thought better of it, knowing things were already strange enough. 

Ziva lifted her arms and Tony pulled the shirt over them, then her head. She felt like a toddler being dressed by their parent. 

“You know,” Tony bargained. “This is not something I ever imagined we’d be doing.”

Ziva scoffed. “You mean you never thought you would be helping me into an adult diaper?”

Tony chuckled at her comeback; it felt very them . An exchange that was not strained or uncomfortable, just the way the two of them had almost always been. For a moment it didn’t feel like the unfamiliar, it felt like the thing that had made it so hard for Tony to leave her on that Tarmac. 

“It’s okay,” She continued. “This is not exactly what I had in mind either.” 

“Here,” Tony crouched down and helped guide her feet into each leg of her shorts, Ziva using his shoulders for balance. “Someday maybe we’ll look back and laugh at it.” 

“I cannot wait for the day that I am laughing about this,” Ziva inhaled sharply as she made a final tug on her shorts. “Because right now this is not that funny.” 

“I know it isn’t, Zivs.” Tony sighed, wondering if now was the moment to mutter his thanks or to press that gentle kiss to her forehead that his lips were twitching for, but instead the beginnings of what would turn into cries, came from the bassinet in the doorway. “Seems you have a customer. Where are we going?”

“Bedroom.” 

Ziva gently laid Tali down on the comforter in between her outstretched legs, the baby half asleep, milk drunk and needing to be changed. She made quick work of the altogether ridiculous number of snaps down the onesie Tali wore. Tony had done all the diaper changes since they’d arrived home, not because she couldn’t, but it was faster and less work. He was maddeningly capable of this entire father bit and while she did not find herself incapable, his ability to seemingly pick it up on a moment’s notice did not lend itself kindly to the inadequacies she was already facing. She could handle one simple diaper change, even if it meant Tony bringing her all the supplies she needed and the change of clothes for their daughter. Still, it felt better than watching as Tony did it in record time and with little fuss from the baby. 

Tali, redressed and slowly slipping toward sleep, yawned. “Oh, what a big yawn,” Ziva cooed. “Such a sleepy tinok,” She swept an index finger down her cheek. 

“Is that baby talk, from the Ziva David?” Tony chastised. 

She narrowed her dark eyes at him. “How else am I supposed to speak to her, Tony? She is a baby, yes?”

“Yes. I am just surprised that you, a former assassin, after all, is making baby talk, even if she is a baby.” 

“Oh Abba thinks he is funny, motek,” Ziva whispered to Tali, loud enough, though, that Tony could hear her give back the very thing he had dished out. 

“And Ima thinks she is slick.”

“I am when I am trying to be,” Ziva cocked an eyebrow in his direction. 

Tony sat just on the edge of the bed, watching as Ziva returned to her conversation with Tali, one that he was seemingly not invited to participate in, but Ziva had yet to tell him he could not watch. The mom slipped in and out of Hebrew words Tony did not recognize, as she rambled at the baby. Even if they were half shut on their way to sleep, Tali’s eyes stared at her mother’s face intently, as if she was trying to memorize the woman who had carried her for nine months, but was nothing more than a voice until four days ago. Another yawn and another fuss was made by Ziva. 

“I talked to her constantly when she was in my belly,” Ziva started. “She was always answering with her little kicks,” Her hands tugged ever so slightly on the baby’s pajama clad feet. “The book I read said that they can start hearing voices at around twenty five weeks, so I made sure to talk to her all the time and it was not like there were a lot of other people I had to speak with.” 

Tony tried to hide the sadness that abruptly covered his face, but the grief he suddenly felt over missing the chance to teach his daughter his voice before she was born settled before he could stop it. A thing that was taken from him and he hadn’t even known it. Not until it was too late, anyway. 

Ziva caught on to the way Tony’s demeanor changed at the mention of her pregnancy. The realization made her mouth open instantly and she did not think whether or not she would regret what she said, before she said it. “I used to play her a voicemail you had left me. It was all I had, but she would always respond to it, usually kicking me in the ribs.” 

Tony hoped that he was sitting far enough from Ziva that she could not see the tremble in his chin, the way his eyes glazed over. He had to hope that she could not see how much this little thing she just admitted to doing made him want to curl up in a ball and finally feel all the things he had shoved away for the sake of not adding to the load Ziva was carrying, or had been carrying. But he wondered how much a heart could ache as he replayed her words in his head. She shared with their daughter his voice, not just hers. She had the wherewithal to do that on his behalf, but she couldn’t have picked up a damn phone and let him come speak to his baby himself? Part of him wished he was angry, wished that he was furious with her like he knew he should be, but if there was an anger to feel it could not make its way past the sorrow he felt instead. 

The shift in the air was so shocking to both their systems, that any progress they had made between them during the day seemed long gone. 

“Hand me her swaddle?” Ziva asked so quietly, she was almost surprised Tony responded by giving her the little muslin blanket from a package of them he’d helped himself in opening when he found them among the other baby things stacked in the corner of the bedroom. 

“Do you need anything else?” Tony tried to push aside his own feelings for just a little longer, the family would be asleep soon enough. 

Ziva watched him amble toward the door and her heart sank. “You’re leaving?” 

Which she deserved. The way he reacted to her story about the voicemail, she deserved to be left alone by him. Yet, she found the very thought of being alone with Tali for the night absurdly terrifying and she wondered if Tony could hear the terror in her question, because he seemed to soften just a touch and his next step was further back into the room, rather than out of it. 

“I thought maybe I could get a shower and I put my stuff in the upstairs bedroom. I’ll be down here when you need me.” 

Except she needed him not to leave. 

When there was no response from Ziva, Tony understood what that really meant, even if she could not say it in so many words. 

“I can stay.” 

“Please,” She murmured. 

There, once again, any indignation he had toward this woman and her secret keeping, fell further to the wayside than it already was. He saw the vulnerability that she was wearing right out in the open, like it was a piece of clothing on her body, and simply, he couldn’t be upset. 

“I’ll stay.”

Chapter Text

The summer sunrise painted the sky outside the farmhouse in bright pinks and oranges. If Tony had gotten any more sleep, he might even have taken notice of it, but instead he stared at the coffee pot on the kitchen counter taking in every single drop that fell into the carafe, willing it to move faster, nearly praying for it to fill faster. The hot, brown liquid was his only lifeline, a lot of pressure for one drink. 

When his cup was finally full and he had amassed the first few gulps into his system, knowing already he would have to make more, Tony dropped his cup off at the coffee table. His steps down the hall were scurried tiptoes to gather a sleeping Tali from the bassinet before she had a chance to wake her Ima up again, who was just as exhausted as Tony, if not a little more.

“Tali, we're going to need to do a review of last night’s performance,” Tony sighed. His feet were propped up on the coffee table, legs squeezed together and the infant resting on his thighs, soundly sleeping and apparently not very interested in what her Abba thought. “I give it two out of ten stars and that’s generous.”

A small grunt was the response he was given from his daughter. 

“I think we’ll be looking for tonight to be better, sweet pea.” 

Ziva pried her eyes open to the sight of any empty room. Her hand reached out toward the sheets where Tony had been only a few hours earlier during one of their many feedings, but now they were cool to the touch and unoccupied. Through the mesh side of the bassinet, she could also see its occupant, who probably saw less of that accommodation then she had of her parent’s arms overnight, was also absent.

She took a moment to digest the silence, appreciate it, before it was out of her grasp and they spent the day doing what they had done all night. 

It dawned on her, or more accurately ambushed her, the thought of how she would have done this alone. What had seemed like something she convinced herself she could handle, was treacherous when there were two of them. 

It might have been then that she was thanking Adam for calling Tony. 

Her shuffling footsteps alerted Tony to her efforts to make it to the living room by herself, a feat in the midst of her discomfort, not to mention after the night they had. He simply waited, listening, until she came into view. 

“Look at you go,” He encouraged, looking down at the baby. “Ima’s cruising this morning, Tali.” 

“I have seen snails moving faster than I can,” Ziva huffed, out of both frustration and exhaustion. 

Tony shrugged. “That may be true, but probably not if that snail has just given birth.” 

“Have I ever told you you’re ridiculous?” 

“Many times,” Tony answered matter-of-factly. 

Ziva was appreciative of the lightheartedness that Tony was offering her. After the abrupt turn in conversation the night before, she was worried the morning would be marred with the remnants of that. There was always a chance it was coming later, but her half-awake, slow to function morning state was grateful to be discussing snail birth and not the thing that they actually needed to talk about. 

“Coffee?” Tony lifted his mug at her. 

She nodded. 

“Think you can make it to the kitchen?” 

“Eventually.” 

Tony hovered as Ziva inched toward the kitchen, her pace painstakingly slow, but he kept all jokes to himself, not sure they would be taken all that well and in fairness to the recovering mother, she was indeed doing the best she could. Though, the joke about Tali being nearly ready to graduate college by the time she finally sat down in one of the dining table chairs almost fell from his lips. If only Ziva knew the restraint he was practicing. 

“Thank you,” Ziva said, as Tony set down the coffee cup, the perfect amount of milk stirred into hers, as opposed to his second cup of black. 

For a moment, they were lulled into an easy silence. Tali rested in her mother’s arms and neither parent was making any sudden movements while it was quiet. 

“What’s the likelihood that there is anything for breakfast in this kitchen?” Tony pushed himself up from the hard wood chair, feeling the repercussions of his terrible night sleep. “My hopes aren’t high.” 

“They should not be,” Ziva agreed. 

Tony rummaged through the upper cabinets, anyway, where he knew he was most likely to come across something that even slightly resembled breakfast. He considered himself extremely lucky when he found a box of cereal and, after trying a few pieces, came to the conclusion that it was not stale. 

“Can I interest you in one of the finest morning delicacies?” Tony presented the box of cereal, like it was a fine wine and he was a waiter in a five star restaurant. “Generic frosted flakes, not a Tony the Tiger in sight.” 

“The real ones are hard to get here,” Ziva stated, like his little presentation was completely normal. For Anthony DiNozzo, it was. 

“Of all the things, this is what you’re keeping in here?” Tony gathered two bowls, two spoons and the half gallon of milk he’d already used for Ziva’s coffee and assembled the two ingredients in their respective bowls on the kitchen table. 

“You have something against cereal?” 

“Not me. It’s kept me fed for years.” 

Ziva shifted so that Tali rested against her shoulder and started at her bowl, knowing her time was running out before a crying baby was begging for her own breakfast. “I went through so many boxes of this stuff,” She admitted. “It was one of the few things that I could keep down when my morning sickness was…” She trailed off before she went into anymore detail. 

Part of Tony wanted her to keep going. He wanted to know that exact thing: what she could eat when she was sick, what she couldn’t, what she had craved. The other part of him was thankful that she stopped sharing the details of those things that he had missed. He would have bought her every box of cereal in Tel Aviv had he had the chance. 

As predicted, Tali was requesting her next meal before Ziva could finish hers and so the off-brand frosted flakes got soggy in the milk while Tali ate, the first of what the mom imagined would be many disrupted meals. 

“Finish,” Tony nodded toward Ziva’s bowl. “I got her.” 

It had taken less than twenty four hours for them to feel like their hand off skills were well mastered. Tali easily slipped from grasp to grasp. 

The new silence that perched between them took on a similar shape to the awkwardness of the night before as Tony burped Tali. Ziva was cursing her inability to keep her mouth shut about certain things that she should have known would lead to more than the surface level conversations they both were certainly more comfortable with. But he was a confidant. A person with whom she had shared things she otherwise never would have spoken to another living soul. He saw through the walls that she put up and in return she allowed him access to parts of her that everyone else was locked out of. The cereal was just a small thing that had led them once again, three, four, even five steps backwards from the progress they’d made. 

Unadulterated silence. The worst kind. 

Tony felt it boiling, rising up to the surface, about to spill over and make a bigger mess of things. That question that he wanted to ask the night before, but hadn’t had the, he wasn’t even sure what to call it, guts maybe, to press for more. 

Like the hot water from a pot splashing onto the surface of the stovetop, the question bubbled out and crash landed in the silence. “What voicemail was it?” 

There it was. That thing Ziva knew could show up. 

If only she had kept her mouth shut. 

She swallowed hard. 

“Hey Zi, it’s me. Me as in Tony, but you probably knew that already, caller ID. I…uhh… I’m not really sure why I’m calling again. Guess I thought maybe this would be the time you pick up, but no such luck. Just know I’m thinking about you. I know you know, but I am. Anyway, you can always call. I’m always here… Love you.” Word for word she recited the message back to him, eyes looking anywhere but at him.

Tony felt frozen in the time when he left that message. He probably had at least one drink before he called her, the liquid courage he required to be willfully ignored and yet, he did it constantly. Over and over again, he would sit in his apartment, alone, drinking away the memories, while chasing them down on the phone, in Ziva’s voicemail. For a while, he’d thought he would break her down, be so annoying, so consistent that she would finally give in. He believed for a few months that if he could just get her on the phone, she’d have no choice but to come running back to him, like kissing her on the tarmac, sharing a bed with her, tracking her down in Tel Aviv just wasn’t enough and one measly voicemail would be the key to putting back together his broken heart. Eventually when she never picked up and the voicemails became so repetitive, Tony couldn’t stand the sound of his words, he stopped calling. 

But she listened to them. At least that one.

He expected her to give him a vague mention of the one she played for Tali, not a perfect reciting. That was how many times she had played it. Was it just for Tali? His stomach lurched. 

“You could play her that voicemail so many times you have it memorized, but you couldn’t just think to call me back and tell me about her?” 

The question rolled off his tongue like that was the easiest thing she could have done, like how dare she make things so complicated when he was waiting on the other side of the line for her for months and he had every right to. She did unnecessarily complicate the entire thing and yet, Ziva still resented the way he didn’t yell at her, didn’t just explode with the anger he was keeping at bay, and instead asked the question with so much anguish in each word that she could have crawled in a hole to hide from how much more his sadness hurt her than his anger would have.

“That call was from the same night I found out about her.” 

As if it couldn't get worse. 

Ziva remembered her phone ringing, where she had left it sitting in the bedroom, vibrating against the wooden bedside table and she knew who it was. It was two in the morning Tel Aviv time, just after seven in DC; there was only one option. Where Tony was making his nightly call she would not answer, Ziva was in the bathroom, painstakingly numb to the idea that the two plastic sticks in front of her on the vanity, were laughing in her face, making nothing but fun of the way they were desecrating the very reasons she had told Tony she needed to be left alone. 

“I almost called you back.” 

It was not a lie, she had almost called him back. When she returned to the bedroom, tests thrown harshly in the trash because she would not need to double check them to recall what they said, she had picked up her phone to see his name on the missed call list. Not that she actually hadn’t been sure it was him. Still she stared at his name and how easily she could hit one button to redial his number. When she noticed the message he had left, she didn’t call him back but instead let his melancholy words reverberate through her ears repeatedly. She might have played it over and over again for Tali, but that was after she had listened to it too many times to count herself. Each little thing he said cycled through Ziva’s mind as she cried herself back to sleep, knowing she had missed her chance to call him and tell him because how could she?

“But you didn’t.” 

“No,” Ziva crossed her arms protectively across her body, as if that would be enough to guard her from whatever Tony said or asked next.

“Did I do something to make you think I wouldn’t have been there for you, for both of you?” 

The arms were not enough and Ziva felt her heart sink directly to the bottom of her stomach.

Maybe Tony knew somewhere that there was nothing more he could have done or said to Ziva last October to convince her he was serious about them. He had pleaded his case with more effort than he had ever done anything else. There was nothing left for him to admit when they walked, steps in unison, toward his plane home. If he had thought in their eight years of knowing each other, he had communicated his love for her in some way, he knew after their farmhouse escapades, that there should have been little left to doubt. Ziva should have known exactly where he stood. For the first time in their entire relationship, Tony was certain he had expressed utterly everything. 

Yet, he found himself staring at this woman sitting in the chair next to him, holding their newborn, and he had to wonder if there was even one word he could have said differently to convince her that if she had called him that night or any night before or after, he would have dropped all the pieces of his own sad miserable existence in DC by himself and showed up at her front door, probably with flowers and diapers as some ridiculous gesture for how ready he was to do this big thing with her. What singular thing could he have changed to get through to Ziva David?

He could not come up with it, but maybe she knew. 

“You did everything to let me know you would be there, Tony,” It was a whisper at best, but he listened intently. “Everything.” 

“And that wasn’t enough?” 

“You were not the problem. Are not the problem.” 

“Zivs, do you understand how much you hurt me?” 

The lump in her throat ached. 

“McGee started asking me if I needed to go to AA meetings because I couldn’t stop drinking myself to sleep every night. The damn probie was so worried, I think he would have been my sponsor had I asked him. Hell, Gibbs might have offered too, if McGee didn’t. That man was inviting me to sand shit in his basement. Gibbs doesn’t invite people over for fun; I mean he doesn’t invite anyone over for anything. I was a wreck, Ziva. I thought my life had ended here in this stupid house with you. Are you so convinced that you’re such a problem that you were willing to just let me, let us, fuck up the entirety of our lives so you could keep this secret?” 

“I was,” It was honest.

“Now?” 

Now what? She was left with no choice now. She could not erase Tony’s memory, she could not time travel. Ziva was presented with this question and she had only one answer: she knew it was foolish of her to be so insecure in her own imperfections that she would punish not only herself, but the one person she had ever really loved. There was nothing but unrelenting selfishness in her decisions and she was now in a place, no thanks to herself, to see that she made the biggest mistake of her life. 

She was surely thanking Adam at that moment. 

“It was stupid.”

“I think that’s putting it mildly,” Tony shot back at her. 

“Probably. I just…” She just what? “I had already sent you away, I had already put you on the plane and begged you to let me continue my life alone. Then I was supposed to call you and take it all back, pretend I had not been too scared to tell you I loved you back, even though I wanted to? I was just going to pick up my phone and change your life and mine and never think twice about it? I thought a million times about it, Tony, and every time, I knew that I was going to be interrupting your life and bringing you back into something that already hadn’t worked for us. You deserved better than that. You still deserve better than that. If you told me right now you wanted nothing to do with us, I would have to let you go because I know how hard I am to love, how difficult I make things. You should have someone else, someone easier.” 

“Has anything I have ever said to you actually made it through that stubborn skull of yours?” 

“What?”

Tony sighed and shifted Tali, blissfully unaware of anything happening between her parents. “I told you in every way possible that I wanted to be with you, that I did not care how hard it was or would be. I told you that when my ass was tied to a chair in Somalia. I have been telling you this for five years, Zivs. I can’t say it any other way. I flew here on three hours notice, that doesn’t tell you anything? I flew here on three hours notice, didn’t sleep for hours, sat in a hospital room waiting for you to wake up knowing how damn strange it would be when you saw me there and that still wasn’t enough? I could have told Adam to go fuck himself and ignored him when he said I needed to be here. I could have and I didn’t because this was somehow the only way I was going to get back here to you. I’m not sure how many ways or how many things I have to do for you to understand it is this or nothing for me.”

The tears fell before Ziva could stop them, rolling down her cheeks haphazardly, as she stared at Tony. God, she was so dense. 

In an effort to find some kind of reprieve, the distance between them at the dining room table not nearly enough to suit her, Ziva stood faster than she had done anything else in days and paid for it when there was little balance to be found on her feet. Tony’s hand so instantly grabbed her forearm and without standing himself or jostling the content baby in his arms, he held her perfectly still, allowing her the second she needed to find her footing. 

She looked at him, shoulders dropping in defeat, both at her inability to physically keep up with what she needed and because there was nothing left for her to use as an excuse for her reprehensible choices. It simply came down to her being utterly wrong and a coward. Those were difficult things to digest.

“I’m not mad, Zivs,” Tony’s words were gentle. “I know I should be or I seem like I am, but I’m not. I can tell you all these things, but it doesn’t change that I am here with you both and I’ll forgive almost anything for that.” 

She deserved every ounce of his fury. She’d never receive it. 

“I owe Adam,” Ziva admitted, out loud for the first time. 

“Maybe we should get him a nice fruit basket,” Tony smirked. 

Ziva silently thanked the DiNozzo way of bursting through tension like a grenade. For all the many times it was poorly timed, this was not one of those moments. “I am not sure that’s what I had in mind.”

“We can think about it.” 

Tony let his gaze drift down to Tali, in all her unawareness. “Tal, I gotta say, you were really a champ through your first argument.”

“Is argument the right word?” Ziva traipsed toward the kitchen, slow as she had been earlier that morning, and put her used bowl in the sink. 

“For us? That was small potatoes, but I don’t need her to know that. She’s only a small potato herself.”

“If you start calling her potato, so help me, Anthony DiNozzo.”

“I’d love to know what you’re going to do about it.” 

Ziva turned away from the sink, eyes narrowed at Tony, wishing she had just a little more strength, but any threat she made was useless in her current state. “Do not push it.” 

“Look, she’s not a potato anyway. If she was, she wouldn’t have woken up seventeen times last night.” 

“Seventeen is an exaggeration.” 

Tony shook his head. “It absolutely is not.” 

Ziva took a deep breath. While she was grateful for the break in tension, she did not feel like any of her words were enough for the severity of her actions. Admitting to being a selfish fool was a step in the right direction, but it didn’t make up for everything. Perhaps, there was nothing that would be enough. She might have to live with that guilt for an eternity.

“I’m sorry, Tony.” 

His green eyes softened in her direction and a half smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. “I know you are.”

Chapter Text

A noise that could not even be classified as a cry, came from the end of the bed. It was enough, though, for Tony’s eyes to pop open; he was on high alert. That coupled with not having nearly enough time to fall into a deep sleep between feedings anyway, left Tony wondering what kind of solution there was to this problem or if this was just what the next few months looked like. 

He supposed Tali was worth it. (He knew she was). 

The sound that had awoken Tony was an apparent one-off because silence followed and from what he could see, the dad-swaddled burrito baby - he had still not shared that name with Ziva - was unmoving in her bassinet. He knew it wouldn't last, but he warmly welcomed the few additional moments of solitude. 

Awake enough to remember he was not alone in bed, his head rolled to the side, only to find Ziva sharing his pillow, body tucked closely into his as she laid on her back. 

For a moment, he contemplated wrapping an arm around her, gently pulling her in even closer, reminding him of those nights in the upstairs bedroom where he had that kind of permission, where he was allowed to press their bodies together because it was so desperately what they both wanted. He resisted the urge, however, knowing that they were not there. Maybe they were an inch closer to there after their conversation the day before, but they were by no means in a wrapped-in-each-other’s-arms, woken-up-by-a-morning-kiss, unsolicited touching place. Tony hoped it would not take as long as eight years to manage their way back down that road. 

“Is she awake?” Ziva’s words slurred as she buried her face into Tony’s shoulder. Perhaps, he was slower to move than she was, the woman not seeming to think anything of the close proximity they found themselves in. 

“Almost. It’s impending,” Tony muttered back. 

“Someday she will sleep, yes?” 

“God, I have to hope so.” 

Ziva stretched her hands above her head, feeling even just a little more freedom in her own body than the day before. “How much coffee can you make?” 

“As much as the pot will hold.” 

When Tony lumbered back into the bedroom, finally being drawn out by the real cries of his daughter who had to be handed off to her mother, he held two very full coffee mugs, having picked out the two biggest ones he could find and making a mental note to pick up even larger ones the next time they were at a store. He had contemplated filling a bowl and getting a straw, but instead he just promised himself to solve the problem. 

He set Ziva’s cup at her bedside and trundled over to his side, happy to slip back into the sheets even if there was no hope of more sleep. 

Ziva stretched her legs out in front of her and laid Tali in the crook between her thighs. The baby settled easily, eyes alertly watching Ziva as she grabbed her own coffee cup. “Tinok, it is a good thing you are so cute,” She rubbed the baby’s full belly with her thumb, up and down over the soft fabric of her lilac onesie. 

“You know I thought for a minute she might look a little bit like me, but every day she just looks more and more like you,” Tony leaned over and studied the baby’s features. “Nothing. All David, no Dinozzo.” 

“That is not true,” Ziva corrected. “That little scrunchy face she makes when she is trying to decide to cry is all you. I have seen it many times.” 

“Oh wow, thanks Zivs. Exactly what I want to hear.” 

“Well it’s true,” She shrugged as she sipped her coffee. “Better that than nothing at all.” 

“I suppose.” 

“Besides, she is only six days old, Tony. This is not what she will look like forever.” 

“Maybe I want her to. I would certainly rather her be your twin than mine.” 

Ziva knew that was more about her than their daughter. Tony dipping a toe into what they used to be, seeing if he could say something like that and get away with it, not making everything endlessly weird between them, though that was easy to do now. But she accepted what Tony said with a little smile at the idea that he hoped their daughter looked like her. 

“Perhaps she will get your love of movies?” Ziva offered. 

“Oh she doesn’t have a choice. She will love movies. Isn’t that right Tal? We have to get started soon, we’re losing precious time as we speak.” 

“Do you remember when I said she was only six days old?”

“And six days late to the watch party.” 

That did, in fact, earn Tony an eye roll from his co-parent. She could only imagine what the movie would be. Knowing Tony, it could range from The Wizard of Oz to something so obscure, he was the only person who had maybe ever watched it. When they got around to watching The Sound of Music , Ziva would consider joining in, though she had to wonder how much she could avoid any of the watchings when it would be two against one. It appeared her own movie references might also grow; if anything that was exactly what her and Tony’s communications needed, a bolstering of movie quotes. 

Tony continued, halfway leaning over Ziva’s lap to look at Tali. “Maybe we’ll start with Mary Poppins , no one has ever been mad at Julie Andrews and Dick Van Dyke.” 

“Is that where she sings about the sugar spoonful or whatever?” 

“A spoonful of sugar makes the medicine go down.” 

“Why is there medicine they need to go down?” 

Tony sat back up, rubbing a tired hand down his face in response to Ziva’s question. “It’s a song, Zivs. Don’t think too hard about it.”

Silence followed. It settled easily and instead of it creating an intimidating awkwardness between them, as it had been in their recent days together, it simply just allowed a moment of reprieve for the adults to sip their coffee and for Tali to watch between them. It was almost like a glimpse into their future. The weekend mornings where they could slowly move throughout the early hours of the day, just the three of them. The days when they had talked about everything they could and all that was left ws basking in each other’s company. The evenings when those movies Tony mentioned earlier played on the TV while Ziva hogged the bowl of popcorn and Tali hung in his arms, with intense stares at the bright colors of whatever movie her Abba had insisted on. The days where, simply put, they could just be a family. 

The coffee cups slowly started to empty and maybe it was the hot brown liquid finally starting to wake Tony up, but he broke through their quiet with the thing that he knew he needed to do, probably before then, but had been avoiding. 

“I...umm…I gotta call Gibbs this morning,” The certainty with which Tony discussed his daughter’s movie future had dissipated and there was obvious nervousness in his voice at the mention of his current boss and Ziva’s previous one. 

Ziva only nodded in response, stroking Tali’s increasingly chubby cheek. 

“I didn’t tell him much before I left, almost nothing. Just that I needed some time and had to leave right away. He’s probably figured out what it’s about by now, at least the you part of it, but I need to see how much longer he can live without me.” 

Ziva wanted to jump out of her own skin thinking about what Tony might tell Gibbs in this phone call he had to make. She knew they could not hideout in her farmhouse forever, pretending that there was no outside world they ever needed to explain their being to, but she had hoped for more than six days of oddly callous bliss before having to reveal their secret; more like her secret that had morphed into a shared one when Adam called Tony. And if Tony wanted to tell Gibbs about their daughter, then she supposed she had to let him. He had just as much become a new father, as she had a mother, and that was a hard thing not to share with a man who had acted as their father-figure so generously. 

“I won’t tell him too much,” Tony offered as he watched Ziva tense in response to his contacting Gibbs. 

“It is your conversation to have.” 

There was nothing more than muffled words through the closed bedroom door and down the hallway when Tony called Gibbs. He had excused himself not long after his last sip of coffee, thinking that ripping the bandaid off of one of the strangest conversations he would ever have to have would be better than dwelling on it for any more of his morning. Ziva had strained her ears to try and hear even one ounce of the conversation, but it was no use and certainly less use when Tali’s hungry cries marched right into her eavesdropping, reminding her that being interrupted was her new normal. 

“What did you tell him?” Ziva asked, a couple of hours later, as they ever so slowly padded down a path between olive trees in the grove outside of the house.

While her body was starting to protest the exit from the bed, Ziva could no longer take the staring at the walls between feedings and diaper changes. The summer air, while suffocatingly hot, was less suffocating than the stale air inside the hospital and her home. She had to see some semblance of the outside world, practically begging Tony to help her out of this “damn house,” her words, not his. 

Tony did not need her to elaborate on who him was. “I just said we happened to have a baby now and that I needed to be here a little longer.” 

“Happened to have a baby?” 

“Well I maybe didn’t say it in those words, but basically, yes.” 

Ziva might not have heard any audible words from the conversation, but she could imagine exactly the DiNozzo way that Tony described to Gibbs arriving in Tel Aviv to find out Ziva had been pregnant since he left her there and now was a father with a child that he had to think of. She was sure it was comical and had Ziva not been so terrified of whatever judgemental thoughts Gibbs shared, or didn’t share, with Tony, she might have been amused by the entire thing. 

“What did he say?” 

“Not much. Gave me a good ol’ Gibbs half laugh when I said we had a baby, but sent his congratulations and said I could have another two weeks.” 

“Then what?” Ziva’s gaze traveled to Tali, who was slowly falling asleep in Tony’s arms. A feeling of disbelief coursed through her for just a moment, as she watched her baby in her father’s grasp and was reminded that it was their baby, the very one Tony told Gibbs about. A smile tugged at the outermost corners of lips and she let it.

“Then what did he say?” Tony looked to her, but he couldn’t quite grab her eyes away from first the baby and then from the path in front of them and slowly he began to realize “then what” was no longer about Gibbs.

“You can be here for two more weeks and then what are we expected to do? What are you expecting to do?” 

Tony ran his tongue across the edge of his top teeth, contemplating what the correct answer was, if there even was one. “I don’t know,” He wished so deeply to have another, better, more complete response. 

He didn’t know, though. As he saw it, right then, among the olive trees, there were so many ways it could all go. They could go to DC. He could go back to DC alone. The entirety of his life could make its way across an ocean to be in Tel Aviv. Maybe they would both pick up and move somewhere completely unrelated to their own histories, personal and joint. 

The last time they were in the olive grove together, Tony was willing to change everything he had ever held dear, throw it to the wayside and start over. He was willing to do everything Ziva needed for her own starting over. The leaves rustled around them in the fall wind and he was begging, as close to on his hands and knees as he could be, for her to rethink the way she thought of herself. He told her that he was fighting for her and when their lips met, like they had so many times the night before, Tony thought for just a second that his words had worked. He had the briefest feeling of what their future could look like and then there was no bag packed next to his by the front door on the day of his flight. She would not come back with him and he didn’t know that, even if he could, she would have wanted him to stay in Tel Aviv. 

Now they walked through the trees, on the dry and dusty dirt path, contemplating some of the very same things, but for very different reasons. 

“Do you want to be with us?” Ziva was not actually asking if Tony wanted to be with Tali, she knew he did, he had proven that. She was asking if he wanted to be with her after all that she had done to him, but once again her bravery wavered and she did not have courage to ask about herself only. 

“You think I don’t want to be?” 

She finally looked at him. “No, I never said that. But if we are going to do this,” She gestured between them, including Tali, “then we have to have a plan and I do not know how we are supposed to decide what happens when you have to go back to DC and I would rather not and I cannot expect you to move here, but also I do… there’s no reason to stay here either.” 

“We don’t have to decide this all right now, Zivs.” 

“Two weeks is not a very long time.” 

“No, but it is longer than this walk is going to be.” 

“Would you leave NCIS?” The question was abrupt and when Tony thought the conversion was dying down, he had not expected Ziva to come back with the hard hitting question. The very one he had been hoping to avoid until he could contemplate it by himself. 

“Yes,” The answer slipped from between his lips so quickly, even Ziva was taken aback by the clarity with which he answered a question she assumed was not so simple. 

“Because you want to or because you think you have to?” 

“Both.” 

“And you will not resent us? Me?” 

“You think after I begged you to be with me, to come with me ten months ago, that now I am going to resent you or Tali for making it so we can be together? Not a chance.”

“NCIS has been your home for years.” 

Tony shrugged. “And now I have a different home and my own family. It’s a job, Zivs. One I have loved and one that I owe a shit ton to, but I can get another job. I can find something else or I can go find something completely different. I can’t replace you and Tali, that’s more important than NCIS.” 

“What about Gibbs? McGee? Abby?” 

“What about them?” 

“You’ll just leave them behind?” 

“Planes work. They can come to us. We can go to them. Quitting NCIS doesn’t mean I can’t still have them in my life, our lives. I don’t want Tali growing up without them. It’s not like you and I have a lot of other family to offer her.” 

“Do you think they’ll ever forgive me for leaving? For keeping this from them, as much as you?” Ziva would not blame them if they didn’t. Their lack of forgiveness toward her should not, and she imagined would not, affect Tony or Tali. 

“Let Abby take one look at this little thing and she’ll forgive everything. It’s hard to be mad at something this cute. And Gibbs doesn’t hold things against you if he understands why you did it. McGee wants his sister back more than anything. They want you back Ziva, more than they want to be mad at you, I know that.” 

“I want them back too.” 

An honest admission. There were so many moments when Ziva had begged herself to call Tony, but there were so many other moments, sometimes separate, sometimes paired, where she wished she could talk to the entire team. When she was wondering if she was cut out to be a parent, when she was questioning whether she could do something so terrifying, she wanted to hear Gibbs' short answers, that with few words answered everything thoroughly. When she was searching for baby monitors and security cameras for the farmhouse, Ziva wanted all of McGee’s opinions because she knew he would know best. When she was excitedly, maybe the one exciting thing during her pregnancy, buying clothes that were so small it was hard to believe Tali would fit in them; she wanted to shop with Abby, to hear her squeal with glee over footie pajamas and have her suggest baby combat boots that Ziva would never approve of. She lost her sister and mother and father, leaving the people she worked with as close to family as anyone could be. They deserved to be mad, as much as she deserved to have them back. 

“Tali, I am sure that your Abba has lost it,” Ziva gently cooed to Tali, hours after their walk, holding her in bed. A pile of pillows was propped up behind her back and her free hand gently patted Tali’s diapered bottom, an involuntary mom maneuver that she had started doing without thinking about it. 

“I have lost nothing,” Tony huffed, plugging the black cord in his hand into the wall. “I am a creative genius.” 

Ziva gave him a mocking look of misunderstanding. “I do not think that moving the TV from upstairs to downstairs qualifies as creative genius.” 

“It is when I didn’t think of it sooner. All the things we could have watched during those 1:00am feedings.” 

“I wanted to watch the inside of my eyelids, but I suppose it makes sense that you would think about watching movies instead.” 

Tony had gotten his most brilliant idea, nearly ran out of the house to the SUV and was gone with just enough time to retrieve snacks from the local store. Ziva had wondered if he ransacked the place when he came back home carrying in three separate bags, the most random assortment of food items. Popcorn, not so random, more cereal, milk, all kinds of candy, some of which Ziva recognized and some of which she had absolutely never seen, so she was sure Tony never hadn’t either. Additionally,  a bunch of bananas, supposedly for on top of the cereal, though he lost Ziva there and a few other miscellaneous items Tony had deemed important. The next store run, he would not be allowed to do alone.\

“You know you only own two DVDs?” Tony said at the very moment he was slipping the disk into the player. 

“This may be a shock to you, but my life does not revolve around movies.” 

“That’s where you went wrong,” Tony mischievously grinned, as Ziva rolled her eyes in his direction. “I figure since the small fry is here, Pulp Fiction was not an acceptable choice, so The Sound of Music it will have to be.” 

As Maria ran through the mountainside, Ziva shifted Tali between her legs, reaching for the swaddle tossed in the middle of the bed from some previous unwrapping. The baby was teetering on the edge of sleep and Ziva thought maybe they could have even an hour, maybe two, of uninterrupted time if she would continue the baby off to dreamland. 

“I got her,” Tony scooped her up and placed her gently in the bassinet at the end of the bed, before moving back to his spot on the bed. Ziva had replaced Tali with the popcorn bowl, making Tony chuckle. She did not share all that well. 

There were a few moments of silence as eyes stayed glued to a movie they both had seen so many times, when Ziva cleared her throat. “I’ll go back to DC with you.” 

Tony nearly choked on a corn kernel. “You’ll what?” 

“I will go back to DC with you. Not forever, but until you have work figured out, we will come with you.” 

Ziva had contemplated her willingness to travel back to the states with Tony since he told her about the phone call with Gibbs that morning. There was little appealing about being left in the farmhouse by herself. Even in two weeks time, she could not imagine being left alone for an untold amount of time to parent on her own; while she hoped to be much further into her recovery process, she also knew the security that having a second set of hands, especially the hand of her child’s father, was one she would not just give up out of sheer stubbornness. Her stubborn manner had already ruined enough things. It also seemed like it would be rubbing salt into an already large wound, if she forced Tony away from them after all that he had missed already. 

“Are you sure?” 

“Not really,” She admitted. “I want to go with you, I do not want to be here by myself and I am not going to keep Tali from you for all that time. But I do not want to get stuck there. You and I have to be on the same page about not staying there for more than a few weeks. I want to go with you. I want to see everyone. I want Tali to meet them all, but I will not be sucked back into something I do not want.” 

“I can promise you that.” 

“I’m not staying there. And I am not staying here, either. We do not need to decide tonight, but I want a fresh start. For all of us.” 

“We can make that happen,” Tony put a gentle hand on her thigh, skin exposed below the hem of her sleep shorts. He was testing the water and when she did not flinch under his fingers, there was a feeling of moving forward since she’d found him in her hospital room unannounced. 

Without worrying about the recourse, Ziva scooted her body toward Tony. The familiarity of her body fitting into his, was like a well worn blanket wrapping around her. His hand snaked around to her opposite hip and her head fell to rest on his chest. Tony placed a gentle kiss on the top of her head. 

Maria was singing about her confidence, as the couple, for that was as close to the right word for them as one could get now, it seemed,  settled into each other for the night.