Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

"I want... something permanent. Something that
cannot be taken away. Is that too much to ask?"

-.-.-

No one had told him there’d be a girl in the farmhouse. 

His assignment was the woman. A former Mossad officer. An American federal agent. Some files were targeted too, yes, but definitely not a child. Thirty thousand dollars wasn't nearly enough for a child.

His bargaining chip was right there in plain sight, toddling around with a stuffed dog under her arm, her chin lifted to the sky. Her bright, wonder-filled eyes took in the fading colors of the sunset, pointing and babbling incoherently to her mother.

The woman's skills must be slipping, to let the child roam the rows of olive and citrus trees so freely, out of arm's reach. Perhaps she had the illusion of control, thinking 10 feet would be close enough to protect her should the need arise.

It wasn't.

With his finger still on the trigger, the heat of the blast warmed his skin. The woman was instantly enveloped in the flames, knocked forward by the explosion and unmoving on the ground. But she was no longer his concern. 

In the midst of the chaos awaited a lucrative business opportunity, two and a half feet tall, tears staining her cheeks. The granddaughter of a former Mossad director ought to fetch a fair price somewhere, he thought, surging forward, his eyes set on the prize.

The job was done, his obligation to Kort fulfilled, and on top of that, he stood to profit even more than anticipated. Smoke billowed from the charred remains of the house, and, lifting the girl into his arms, he put it all behind him. The child’s screeching would cease eventually, once exhaustion took over. Then he'd use her as leverage. And when he's at least fifty thousand dollars richer, maybe a hundred thousand, he'll disappear, never to be heard from again.

He’s a shrewd businessman, nothing more. And that’s just good business.

Chapter Text

She arrived on his doorstep under the cover of night, filthy with dirt and soot and blackened blood. He’d never seen a living woman look so much like a corpse, like someone whose heart no longer beat in their chest. His own heart had nearly stopped at the sight of her, all hollow eyes and pale skin. There was no light behind her eyes. That spark had died out, replaced by a coldness that sent a shiver down his spine. 

“Ziva,” he breathed, ushering her inside with urgency and instinctively checking that she hadn’t been followed. The moment the door closed behind her, tears spilled forth from her eyes and her shoulders shook with heaving sobs. It was all he could do to sit her down in the nearest chair before her knees collapsed. His name was almost incomprehensible as she spoke it, pleading for something he could not yet understand.

“Adam…” she cried. “Adam.”

That was several hours ago. Since then, Orli had arrived and taken over. From where Adam stood in the doorway, he could see the two of them sitting together at the table, Orli’s hand resting consolingly on Ziva’s arm. The tears had eventually run dry, and now all that was left were red, puffy eyelids and the most lost, dejected expression he had ever seen on Ziva’s face. Even in her most difficult months, he had never seen her like this. Her hands were clutched around a toy, a plush dog that belonged to Tali, as if it were the only thing tethering her to this existence. The singed fur on its floppy ear told a story, one that turned his stomach and filled him with fiery rage.

But she had rejected his comfort. Ignored his attempts to reassure her. Her mind was somewhere else—with someone else. Three guesses who that may be. There was only one person in the world who could reach her now, and if Orli's theories were correct, then they would need to find him anyway.

Their transport was arranged. The director had asked him to come along with them, citing Ziva’s need for protection. Ordinarily, he knew Ziva could protect herself, but since the attack, she was in no fit state to do so. Even so, he knew he wouldn’t receive a warm welcome by a certain very special agent upon arrival, no matter how honorable his intentions. 

“Does he know? What have you told him?” Ziva asked as Orli returned from taking a call, speaking to the Americans in hushed tones where Ziva couldn't hear.

Orli pursed her lips, a pitying frown on her face.

“He has been told nothing. They believe the lie.”

Ziva's chin wobbled miserably as she hid her face, her tears. 

“I am sorry, Ziva,” Orli spoke.

Ziva just shook her head, holding onto the stuffed dog tighter.

-.-.-

The night was hell. 

McGee had tried to help—of course he had—but they both knew there was nothing to be done. His poor friend looked totally exhausted, passed out on Tony's uncomfortable leather couch after hours of listening to him scream and cry and rage. Tony's cheeks flamed at the embarrassment of having been so vulnerable, even in front of a close friend. More like a brother, really. 

But McGee seemed to understand.

He owed him so much—so much more than he had ever given him in return. At some point in the night, Tony must have fallen asleep, because only then would McGee have left his side. He was a loyal friend, that way, undeterred by Tony's lashing out.

What if he'd been more like Tim, two and a half years ago? What if he had refused to leave? What if he hadn't left her there to suffer alone? To suffer and ultimately die alone?

The dark circles on McGee's thin face were prominent as the sun began to peek through the blinds, illuminating the room. Tony knew he must look worse. He hadn't bothered to look at himself in the mirror to find out, but he could use his imagination. If he looked anything like he felt, it wouldn't be pretty.

But McGee would leave soon for work, and then Tony would be alone again, nothing to occupy him in this empty apartment. He tried not to think about it, about how that “alone” might be the forever kind, and not as temporary as he'd fooled himself into believing. 

He made his way into the kitchen, averting his eyes as he passed a photo of himself and Ziva on his bookshelf. Filling a glass of water in the sink, he settled onto one of the barstools, body weakened and dehydrated from the many tears that had been spilled.

The minutes ticked by with agonizing slowness, and eventually, Tony vaguely registered McGee saying something to him before heading out for the Navy Yard. Very little penetrated his awareness until a few hours later, when his phone rang and released him from his spell.

Mossad. Everybody's favorite intelligence agency was in town, and they wanted to speak to him. Too bad Ziva was gone, because she would have really appreciated that bit of sarcasm. It was lost on her aquatic counterpart, who simply stared at him from her tiny bowl.

He gathered his things, splashing some cool water on his face and running a comb through his hair. Hopefully this meant progress—that there was something he could do, some way he could be useful in finding justice for Ziva's death.

There was only one way to find out.

Tony put on a suit, tied his tie. If Mossad kept anything from him—any detail, no matter how small—they'd better be ready.

Because he'll tear them apart piece by piece if they do.

Chapter Text

“Tony, what are you doing here?” McGee asked, watching from his desk as the senior field agent strode into the bullpen. His footsteps were steady. Purposeful. He tossed his backpack onto the floor beside his chair, and then took a seat, tapping at the keyboard to wake his computer.

Sparing McGee a glance, he answered, “Vance called me in. Apparently Mossad is on their way.” And if they were, then Tony wanted to be prepared. He wouldn’t be kept out of the loop—not with something as important as this. He wanted in.

“Mossad?” Bishop’s brows furrowed.

“You know as much as me.”

“They must have information pertinent to the case,” McGee posited, and Tony gave a nod. That was the logical conclusion, yes. He opened his web browser and started typing, searching for something—anything—to explain what had happened.

“Well, when do they get here?” Bishop asked.

“Should be any minute now,” Tony answered.

For all he knew, they could be bringing him Ziva’s ashes in a tiny little box, along with a Hallmark greeting card saying ‘Sorry for your loss.'

Gee, thanks. I’ll just put these on the shelf next to my fish. It’ll really brighten up the place, he thought sardonically.

But that was a foolish thought. What claim did he have to Ziva’s remains? Their informing him of her death in the first place was a mere courtesy. He had no right to expect anything from them. McGee was probably right. They were here because they needed something.

“Tony. Thought I sent you home last night,” the gruff voice of Gibbs spoke, appearing in the bullpen with his typical cup of black coffee in hand.

“Director’s orders,” he explained simply.

Gibbs grunted, then crossed the space between his desk and Tony’s and set a second cup of coffee in front of him.

“Thanks, boss.”

A firm nod was Gibbs’ only response, but it was enough. A silent apology for the way things had ended the night before. Tony took a sip of the hot liquid, savoring the slight sweetness of the added sugar. Somehow, Gibbs had known he’d be here, had thought to bring him his usual coffee order. Gibbs could be tough on him, sometimes, but deep down, Tony knew it came from a place of love. Not to mention that he knew better than anyone here what Tony was going through.

“Where are we with Kort?” Gibbs asked, turning his attention to the rest of the team.

“NSA chatter confirms that he never left the States,” Bishop spoke, clicking a remote to turn on the plasma screen. “A wire transfer shows that he paid this man,” she paused, clicking another button, “Ghazi Farsoun, to carry out the hit.”

Tony looked up at the screen, memorizing the face of the man who had done this. Farsoun’s involvement did nothing to lessen the guilt that would fall squarely on Kort’s shoulders, when they eventually caught up to him. Not only was Kort a killer, but he was also a coward. Tony had never understood Gibbs’ thirst for revenge before now, but maybe that was why he’d been so hard on him. ‘Learn from his mistakes,’ and all that. 

That would be a tough lesson to grasp.

“McGee, contact the field office in Bahrain, tell ‘em to start tracking Farsoun,” Gibbs ordered. McGee nodded, picking up the phone right away.

“What should I do?” Bishop asked.

“Motive. Find out why Kort wanted the farmhouse destroyed.”

“On it.”

“DiNozzo—” Gibbs started, but his words trailed off at the sound of the elevator opening.

Hushed voices murmured in another tongue, their footsteps steadily approaching as they rounded the corner, and then he saw her, looking exactly as he remembered, only he was sure this was a dream.

“Ziva?” he choked, standing from his desk in a daze. The rest of the bullpen went silent, like the whole world around him had stopped moving, and maybe it had. Everything else ceased to exist. 

It was her. Alive. Breathing. A little worse for wear, but undoubtedly real. Tears instantly flooded his eyes, and he didn’t realize how much he had missed hearing her say his name until she said it, the word leaving her lips like a prayer.

“Tony.”

He couldn’t get to her fast enough, nearly tripping over his backpack on his way to her. She stood, uncertainty flashing in her eyes, but it wasn’t enough to stop him from wrapping her in his arms, pulling her to his chest like a life preserver in a vast and roiling sea. She clung on just as tight, and he swayed, his knees nearly buckling in relief.

“Ziva,” he spoke again, murmuring into her neck as he stroked the back of her hair. “God, everyone said you were dead. They told us you were killed.” He could feel her heartbeat in her chest telling him that wasn’t true, but he was still having a hard time believing it. He pulled back a little, just enough to look at her, to inspect her injuries, and his thumb brushed over her cheek. Scrapes and bruises dotted her skin, and a larger cut marked her forehead leading into her hairline. “They said you were dead,” he repeated, and Ziva nodded, biting at her lip.

“That is what they must believe. It is the only way.”

He pulled her in again, and she went willingly, her body fitting against his like a missing puzzle piece. Something squeezed at his heart, and he pressed a kiss to her cheek, sighing as he closed his eyes and rested his cheek atop her head.

“Well then what are you doing here? I could have met you somewhere,” he whispered.

“There is no time for that, I need NCIS. I need—” She choked back a sob, discomfort marring her features as she became suddenly aware of the audience they had drawn. She seemed to shrink under their gaze, slowly pulling away from Tony and glancing uneasily around her.

“What can we do?” Tony asked, forcing himself to focus on her needs and not the pounding of his own heart, or the unsettling gaze of McGee and Bishop and Gibbs or any of the other agents that were working in the bullpen. 

Ziva shifted uncomfortably, and he reached for her shoulders, drawing her attention back to him, pleading for her to stay with him. 

“Ziva, you said it was urgent. Tell me what's going on. Who is ‘they?’ Who's after you?” he asked.

“Not here. I—” She looked around, and oh, he could still read her. He could see what was happening in that beautiful mind of hers. The walls were closing in, shrinking down, the shadows trying to swallow her up. She was exposed out here, unable to breathe. It was too much. He needed to get her away, some place quiet where they could talk.

“Okay,” he spoke. “Okay, come on, let's get you some water. You've had a long journey. God, I can't believe you're here. Boss?” He looked to Gibbs with urgency, and the older man nodded solemnly, an unspoken understanding of what must be done.

As he led Ziva toward the break room, his hand splayed across her back to guide her, he heard Gibbs bark orders to everyone else in the bullpen not to speak a word of what they'd seen or heard. He felt a surge of gratitude to the man, the complete opposite of what he’d felt the night before, but that was all the thought he was able to spare for the rest of the team. It was Ziva that was the priority. He’d burn this whole place to the ground right now if it would guarantee Ziva’s safety.

“Tony,” Ziva moaned as they walked, her voice an aching sound that tore his heart in two.

“Hang on, sweetheart. Let’s just sit down and breathe first.”

She nodded and allowed him to steer her toward the table and chairs. Mercifully, no one else was in the break room, so it was just them. He pulled out a seat for her and helped her get settled before shakily pulling a dollar bill from his wallet and inserting it into the vending machine. A bottle of water dropped to the bottom, and Tony retrieved it, cracking open the seal and setting it in front of her.

As he sat down beside her, he pulled one of her hands into his lap, his thumbs running soothing circles over her skin. Letting go of her for even a second had been unbearable, but he was back now, and this physical comfort was as much for him as it was for her.

She didn’t look at him. She took a breath, as if to speak, and then released it as she began to cry, her shoulders shaking.

“Hey, hey, don't start that or I'm gonna cry too,” Tony said, squeezing her hand once. His throat closed with the heavy thickness of emotion, and he swallowed it back. “Done enough of that since last night,” he tried to joke. “You’re here now. Tell me what happened.”

“You will not forgive me for what I've done,” she spoke despairingly, shaking her head.

“Well, that can't be true. Come on.”

“Tony…” 

And then her eyes met his, covered with a sheen of tears. Her chin trembled as she ducked her head, reaching into the bag she carried and pulling out a photograph to hand to him.

“Who's this?” he asked, looking down at the little girl in the picture.

“Her name is Tali.”

“Tali. And she is…”

“My daughter,” Ziva sniffled, drawing a breath and nodding to steady herself. “Your daughter.”

In an instant, Tony’s world changed. His stomach dropped to the floor, a wave of dizziness flooding his head and silencing his tongue. He looked at the photo again, this time with a more discerning eye, then back to Ziva. 

“Our—”

“I'm so sorry, Tony. I wanted to tell you, but I—”

“Where is she?” he interrupted. This girl, with her wavy brown hair and bright, shining eyes. His child. Ziva’s child. He could barely comprehend the meaning of those words, the reality of them not sinking in. Where was she, if not with Ziva?

“That is why I am here,” Ziva spoke. 

The tears that had steadily been falling became a deluge, and her shoulders heaved with sobs. He set the picture down on the table and pulled her into his arms, a trite comfort, but it was all he could do. This was a lot to process. He had no idea where to even begin.

“They took her. Whoever came for me, at the farmhouse. They took her away,” Ziva explained, gasping for breath.

Tony’s arms tightened around her, nausea stirring the contents of his stomach. Whatever thoughts had briefly passed through his mind of meeting his daughter suddenly slipped away, like running water through his fingers. There was no little girl waiting anxiously around the corner to meet him. Ziva was alive, but this person, this other little being who he hadn’t even known existed, was somewhere else.

“I lost our daughter, Tony,” Ziva cried, her hand gripping his shirt like a lifeline. “She's gone.”

Chapter Text

He wasn’t sure how long they sat there like that, his shirt slowly becoming saturated with tears as Ziva clung to him, murmuring apologies. What was he supposed to think? How were they supposed to move forward? He’d gained and lost a child in the span of a minute, spent the night mourning a woman who wasn’t even dead, and now he had to figure out how to proceed. This wasn’t an ordinary day by any stretch of the imagination, and he couldn’t be expected to act like it was.

“Oh, Ziva…” he whispered, his voice barely audible as he rocked her back and forth, blinking away tears himself. 

It occurred to him, now, that the woman he held was far from the same woman he said goodbye to on the tarmac in Israel almost three years ago. This woman was a mother. She had experiences he couldn’t even dream of. A pregnancy. The birth of a baby. Sleepless nights, nursing, doctor visits, first words. She was not the same Ziva as before, and yet she had come here, to him. To ask for his help.

“We'll find her,” he assured her, summoning all the strength and confidence he could muster. “She's lost, but she's still somewhere. We'll find her.”

The innocent eyes of his daughter stared up at him from her photo on the table, asking if he truly meant that. If he was sure, absolutely positive that the words he spoke were true.

God. He’d known he was a father for less than five minutes, and already he was screwing things up. He reached out and flipped the photo over. He couldn’t look at it anymore.

The sound of someone knocking on the door frame broke through the heavy silence, and Tony stiffened. The unconscious urge to shield Ziva with his body made his muscles twitch, but he remained still. It was only Gibbs.

“Jeez, DiNozzo. What'd you do?” the boss asked, taking stock of the scene that was set before him. His light, teasing tone was far from appropriate for the situation, but how was he supposed to know that? For all he knew, Ziva had survived an attack, and was just shaken up by what had happened. He knew nothing of Tali, of the direction Ziva’s life had taken after she left them. If he did, Tony had no doubt he would be speaking to a very different Gibbs.

He would know soon enough. The idleness of sitting here was starting to get to Tony. He needed to move, to do something drastic if he needed to.

“Get the team. Get everyone. Quickly. MTAC,” Tony ordered, snapping into action.

Gibbs looked at him, and a gleam of recognition flashed in his eye, an understanding of the gravity of the situation. He knew that Tony wouldn’t boss him around like that if it wasn’t serious.

“Tony—” he started, taking a step toward Ziva, but Tony wouldn’t have it.

“Now, Gibbs,” he growled. Gibbs gave a nod and disappeared the way he came. Tony would apologize later. For now, he had other things to worry about.

As soon as Gibbs was gone, Tony turned to Ziva, pressing another kiss to her head and stroking her hair.

“We're going to get her back, I promise,” he said, his eyes meeting hers for the first time since she arrived. His were filled with determination, the deepest conviction that he would do what he said, and he wouldn’t rest until her child was back in her arms.

Ziva searched his face, and he could feel her trembling. He’d never seen her filled with such fear.

“There's so much I should have—”

“We'll find her,” he repeated, even more emphatically than before. “There will be time to talk things over afterward,” he said, “let's just focus on getting her back.”

Ziva, thankfully, nodded, and he let out a breath, grateful to have one less thing to think about for the moment. The conversation they needed to have was inevitable, but it could wait. He pushed it to the back of his mind, focusing on what was right in front of him instead.

“You okay? Do you want to sit this one out? I can go—”

“No,” Ziva interrupted. “I will come. I have… information, you’ll need.”

“Okay.” Tony stood, helping Ziva to her feet alongside him. “But if it gets to be too much for you, you get out of there. We can take it from here.”

“She is my daughter, Tony,” Ziva declared, and oh, there was that fiery spirit she’d been missing. Just a glimpse of it, but still present. “I have already failed her once,” she continued, “I will not do so again.”

Tony pursed his lips, but chose not to refute her. He knew there was nothing he could say that would convince her that this was not her fault. Or maybe it was, a little, because if he’d been there, maybe this wouldn’t have happened.

No. He pushed that thought down. Deep, deep down. He would not blame her for this, or for any of what had happened between them. They’d fallen in love under the most difficult circumstances possible. It was fate, not themselves, that was to blame.

As Tony pushed open the door to MTAC, he thought of the countless times they’d been in there together over the years. This wasn’t the first kidnapping case they’d faced in this room, but Tony had never imagined that one day, he’d be on this side of it. A parent, begging and pleading for his child to be brought home safe and sound.

It was an abstract thought. He had no concept of a home like that, one where a child would be raised in a loving family. He lived alone in a sterile, soulless apartment. He longed for that life all the same, now more than ever. If this was a fraction of what Ziva was feeling, it was no wonder she could hardly stand up straight on her own. He was just grateful she’d come, allowing him to be a part of this. Putting an end to a secret so life-changing, it would take days for him to come to terms with it.

The lights were dim as they entered. Inside, Gibbs was waiting with Director Elbaz and Adam Eshel, the latter having gone unnoticed by Tony until now.

“Adam. Guess you’re not in Belgium, huh?”

Adam suppressed a sigh, and Tony fought the urge to unleash his fist on his face. The man had lied to him earlier on the phone. Blatantly. Loathing simmered just below the surface, and Tony wondered if it was mutual. Hoped it was. How irritating would it be if the dislike was one-sided?

“You must understand why I could not tell you, Tony,” Adam argued, his voice annoyingly calm. 

“This happened under your watch,” Tony accused, turning so that Orli was included too. “They did this to one of your own, and I want to know how they got away with it.”

“I understand you are upset, Agent DiNozzo, but we are not mind readers,” Orli defended.

Tony grit his teeth and spat, “You’re Mossad. You know everything.”

“Unfortunately, that is not true.”

Orli’s stoic demeanor nearly sent Tony over the edge, but a gentle tug on his arm pulled him back. Ziva, silently asking him to let it go.

He seethed, breath coming in pants as he looked between each of the people in the room.

“Alright,” he said, carefully lowering his voice. “Fine. Just—tell us what you know. We’re wasting time.”

Just then, the door beeped and opened again, this time allowing McGee and Bishop entrance, accompanied by a frantic-looking Abby.

“Hey, Gibbs told us to get in here. Is everything alright?” McGee asked. “Ziva, you okay?”

“Ziva!” the forensic scientist cried, and in the blink of an eye, she was enveloping Ziva in a constricting hug, heedless of the other woman’s lack of enthusiasm.

“Ziva, thank goodness you’re alive,” Abby spoke.

Ziva tentatively hugged back, eyes watery and distant.

She was alright for now. Tony forced himself to focus, turning to face McGee with grim determination.

“This is now a missing persons case, Tim,” he announced. “Mossad is going to fill us in.”

“Missing person? Who?”

Before either he or Ziva could answer, Orli stepped in. 

“Ziva's daughter was taken in the aftermath of the blast. We have reason to believe she is being transported to the United States by her kidnapper, the man responsible for the destruction of the David farmhouse.”

“Farsoun,” Tony filled in. 

“That is correct.” 

Hurt flashed on McGee’s face, and Tony could only guess what Abby’s reaction had been, but he heard a gasp. Gibbs merely watched on in silence, the gears turning in his head.

“Ziva, you never told us you had a daughter,” McGee spoke, his voice soft. “I mean—that seems like something you could have shared with us, even just a phone call.”

“Not the focus right now, McGee,” Tony said, his jaw clenching at the effort it took not to echo those same sentiments.

“Right.” Tim shook his head. “Gosh, Ziva, I’m sorry. I’m just—it’s surprising, that’s all.”

“Why would they bring her here?” Bishop asked, her impartiality a much-needed driving force for this investigation. “Why risk it? Why not disappear?”

“Well, because Ziva is reportedly dead,” Orli answered simply. “And given Trent Kort's familiarity with NCIS, we suspect he can guess who the father is.”

Bishop’s brows furrowed. “The father…” she started.

“Me.”

One by one, Tony felt all eyes turn to him, their stares laden with questions he didn’t want to answer. He stood up straighter, refusing to apologize for speaking the truth. He was not ashamed.

“You…?” McGee asked.

“If anyone were to be contacted for the ransom payment, it would be Agent DiNozzo,” Orli continued, ignoring the tension her bombshell news had created. “That can be their only reason for bringing her here. Greed.”

Abby looked at him then, having released Ziva from her hold. Pity, or something like it, played on her face, and what were once happy tears had turned into something else. “Tony…” she spoke, her voice breaking and lip quivering.

Tony reached for Ziva, taking hold of her once again and eyeing the exit. He couldn’t bear to look at the others anymore—not now that they knew just how entangled things had gotten between him and Ziva in their last years together. It wasn’t just an idle flirtation, teasing that had no basis in real feelings, as they may have suspected. He had gotten hurt. Badly. None of them had known just how much he truly loved her, and that was how he had wanted to keep it.

So much for that.

“I'm taking Ziva home,” he announced. “Nothing to do until they call me, right?”

He wasn’t asking for permission, but of course Gibbs couldn’t just let him leave. “McGee. Go with them,” he ordered, nodding firmly in their direction.

“We don't need protection, boss—”

“It wasn't a request. If that call comes in, we need it traced. No room for error here, DiNozzo. That's your little girl, out there.”

Tony’s jaw stiffened. It was a cheap shot, but he couldn’t argue against it. McGee’s eyes briefly met his and then shifted away, looking anywhere but at Tony.

“Maybe you should go to a safehouse,” Bishop suggested. “I'm just saying, if you're trying to maintain cover… if people are out to get you—”

“I hope they try,” Tony said, the words tasting bitter on his tongue. “I hope they do come for me, because maybe then they can lead us back to her. If they want to blackmail me, great. They know where to find me. I'll do whatever it takes to bring her back here safely. Anything.”

He saw the way the team shifted uncomfortably. Maybe they weren’t used to hearing him talk like that, so cold and so spiteful, but he didn’t know how else to act. Someone had messed with his family, and he was pissed off. He didn’t have time to worry about their feelings on top of everything else.

“Ziva?” McGee asked carefully, as if she might be the more reasonable one. Ziva’s eyes flicked from one person to another, and she shook her head, overwhelmed. She hadn’t said a word this entire time, facing unspoken accusations left and right from people she once considered her own family. Like before in the squadroom, they needed to get away.  

“It is up to Tony,” she answered quietly, sighing. “I am just… I have already done enough damage by listening to my own instincts. They are not reliable.”

The self-doubt was like a knife to his heart, reminding him of those last few days in Israel. He’d hoped she’d gotten better over the years, learned to see herself in a more positive way, but if she had, it was clear that this blow had set her back years of growth. This time, he wouldn’t leave her to pick up all the pieces herself. He wouldn’t make that same mistake again.

“Let me come as well, for added protection,” Adam spoke, stepping forward.

“I don't think so.”

“I will not be in your way, but should anything happen—”

“Look, you've done a great job playing the hero, Adam, you really have,” Tony said, looking the man in the eyes. “But I'll take it from here.”

“Tony…” Bishop started.

“Bishop, no offense, but stay out of it. Tali isn't his daughter, she's mine. It's supposed to be my job to protect her, not his.”

“If you want to get her back safely, I think you could use all the help you can get,” Bishop challenged, and as much as he hated to admit it, she was right. 

“Fine. Anyone else? Casa DiNozzo is gonna be pretty crowded tonight, but why not pack a few more people in?” he said, sarcasm making its last stand.

A tapping on his shoulder alerted him to Gibbs, who promptly pulled him aside. Tony prepared himself for the chewing out of the century, maybe a head slap hard enough to give him a concussion, but instead, Gibbs softly spoke, “Take my house instead. If you're really wanting to bait Kort, he won't have to look much harder to find you there, if he wants to.”

His steely-eyed stare asked him to consider it as an option—forced him to think it over carefully. The room held its breath, waiting to see if there would be another outburst, but none came. One look at Ziva, and Tony realized that he hadn’t been thinking clearly. He’d been selfish. Immature. It would be a whole lot more comfortable for her at Gibbs’ anyway, with a real bed large enough to fit an adult. What did he have at his apartment? Bottles of hard alcohol and a trash can full of takeout containers?

For her, he would agree. 

He nodded sharply, and Gibbs gave him a look of approval.

“Good. I’ll loop Vance in. Bishop and Abby and I will stay here, coordinate things with Director Elbaz and the Beirut office. We’ll find your kid, Ziva. I promise you that.”

“Thank you, Gibbs,” Ziva said, the salty taste of fresh tears on her lips.

His hand landed gently on her shoulder and he leaned forward to press a kiss to her hair, reminiscent of old times.

“I’m glad to see you, Ziver,” he whispered, just so she could hear. “Don’t stay away so long, next time.”

Ziva nodded, the tiniest of smiles pulling at her lips.

“Now go on, get out of here,” he said, shooing them away. “Lock the doors, DiNozzo. Stay on alert.”

Tony didn’t need to be told that, but he appreciated it nonetheless. He felt better leaving knowing that Gibbs was in charge, and that he could handle things here, Orli and the field office and anybody else that could help track that S.O.B. down. Tony’s place was with Ziva.

She needed him. He couldn’t fail her now.

“Copy that, boss.”

Chapter Text

McGee had sat through a lot of awkward car rides in his lifetime, but this one had to take the cake.

In the driver's seat: Tony. Chronic bachelor turned father overnight, a man whose romantic life, it turned out, was far more complicated than McGee had ever imagined. He had yet to say a word since they left MTAC, but his hand held tight to Ziva's and hadn't let go, even in front of everyone in the bullpen on the way out. It was strange to see them like that, all forms of pretense dropped. Still crazier—just hours ago, he had believed Ziva to be dead. Yet there she sat in the passenger seat, staring out at the streets that seemed far too bright in the afternoon sun.

The backseat, of course, was shared between himself and Adam Eshel, who he had never actually met, but heard plenty about. Mostly from Tony. Mostly after several drinks in a dive bar after work before McGee drove him home. He knew a little about the charges Tony held against the man. Not everything, but enough to get the picture.

The silence was stifling. He had thought his days of getting caught in the crosshairs of whatever Tony and Ziva had going on were long over, but of course that could never be true. When they pulled up outside Gibbs’ house, he and Adam got out of the car, looking for signs of anything unusual and thankfully finding none. Tony and Ziva stayed put, and McGee could see them whispering to each other, Tony's hand settling over her knee, his attention fully focused on her.

He turned away, feeling that he had intruded on a private moment.

He'd known, of course, that there was something between them. Tony's months-long stint in the Middle East searching for Ziva a few summers ago gave that away pretty quick, and then when he came back…

Well, it was clear he missed his friend. McGee missed his friend too, even though he was right in front of him, still there—physically. Tony was never the same, after that trip. Now McGee knew why. 

Concealing herself with a scarf over her head, Ziva was the next to step up onto the curb, followed quickly thereafter by Tony. The four of them made their way up the driveway to the front door, the dusty walls and floors greeting them like old friends.

“I’ll get my computer set up,” McGee said, his voice sounding loud to his own ears after so long without a word spoken. Tony nodded but stood, looking lost, in the center of Gibbs’ living room. Ziva sat down on the couch, her eyes a million miles away.

“Perhaps I should get a room ready?” Adam spoke, which seemed to wake Tony from his trance.

“I got it,” he said. “You do a perimeter sweep. I don’t want anyone coming near this house without us knowing about it, got it?”

Adam, graciously, nodded and headed for the door. With one last glance back at Ziva, Tony started up the stairs, in search of clean sheets and spare pillows.

That left McGee downstairs alone with Ziva, and he really wasn’t sure what to say. Was it his place to ask questions? All he wanted was to say a proper hello. Hug her. Tell her how glad he was that she was alive. But the words seemed trapped in his throat. He could almost hear the clock ticking, the necessity of setting up his work station nagging at the back of his mind. And anyway, she looked tired. Even as he stood there going over the words in his head, she leaned over on the couch, resting on her side and closing her eyes. The moment of opportunity had passed, and he sighed.

Best to leave her to her rest. 

Stirring himself instead to action, McGee moved into the kitchen, setting his briefcase down on the kitchen table and pulling out his laptop. He plugged it in, turning it on so that it would be ready when the time came. There were programs he would need. Software that needed time to boot up. The little Wi-Fi indicator flashed, its connection failing.

Leave it to Gibbs to not even turn his Wi-Fi router on at home. The man lived like the 90s had never left. While McGee reset the router, Adam finished his rounds, coming in through the side door in the kitchen and promptly locking it behind him.

“All clear,” he said, sheathing his weapon at his side. 

McGee put a finger up to his lips, gesturing for him to speak softer, mindful of the occupant in the other room. “I think Ziva fell asleep,” he explained, nodding in her direction.

Adam peeked around the corner to check, and nodded in return. “Good. She needs her rest.”

“I can’t imagine the day she’s had,” McGee conversed as he tapped at his keyboard. “I’m sure she’s exhausted.” 

That was putting it mildly. A twelve hour flight would be enough to tire anyone out, not to mention everything else that had happened. Adam pulled a wooden chair out from the table, taking a seat across from McGee as he pursed his lips in thought.

“These past years have not been easy for her. But the last day has been worse than anything I’ve seen.”

That statement hung in the air, darkening the already dour mood. It was no surprise to hear, but it still broke McGee’s heart to know that his dear friend’s quest to find peace had been, in the end, unsuccessful.

There was so much he wanted to know. So many questions he had about where it all went wrong, how things had gotten so mixed up. He knew he couldn’t ask either of his friends. Ever since Mossad stepped off that elevator, it had been Tony and Ziva in their own world, separate from the rest of them. They were dealing with a scenario so delicate and riddled with nuance that no one else could begin to comprehend it. To do so would induce a headache of monumental proportions, so instead, he was left wondering.

Perhaps Adam could help fill in some of the gaps.

“Can I ask you a question?” McGee asked, looking up from his laptop.

“Sure.”

“What’s she like? Their kid.”

It was a silly question, probably, but it mattered to him. Like maybe if he knew the answer, the idea of it would sink in. A little David-DiNozzo in the world.

“I mean, if you’ve met her, that is. I’m not sure how often you’ve been around…”

“I have met her a few times, yes,” Adam answered, nodding. “She is a lot like Tony. Ziva always said so, at least.”

“I’m having a hard time wrapping my head around it.” McGee shook his head, trying to picture it. “The two of them, having a kid.”

“It is not so strange when you have seen what one looks like without the other.”

And wasn’t that the truth? McGee had had a front seat to the Tony side of things for the last two and a half years, and that had been bad enough. He could only imagine what Adam had seen. Which begged the question…

“So, you two weren’t…” he started, discomfort preventing him from speaking the entire question aloud. He knew what had happened before, a broken-hearted Ziva separated from Tony by an ocean. He didn’t often think of his friend as vulnerable, but that was what she was, after her father’s funeral. Who’s to say it hadn’t happened again in the time since?

But Adam merely chuckled and crossed his arms, seemingly unoffended by the question. “No,” he answered easily, leaning back in his chair. “I am well aware that Ziva’s heart belongs to Tony. I was only there to check in on her every few months—make sure that she was doing okay.”

Well, that was a relief, at least. One less reason for things to be awkward, though lord knows there were plenty of those left to deal with. Adam wasn’t so bad. He seemed to have Ziva’s best interests in mind, which was admirable. To no benefit of his own.

“I’m sure she appreciated it,” McGee said, trying not to let his relief show.

Adam gave a wry smile, picking up on it anyway. “Not really. But it was good to see her. She is a wonderful mother. I hope you have a chance to see it. Tali is a very happy child.”

He was starting to envision it, the thought of Ziva as a mother serving to lighten the tension in the house. And Tali, too.

“If she's Tony's kid, I'd be shocked if she wasn't,” he said with a small laugh. “I've met his father, and let me tell you, that smile is genetic.” 

Adam’s smile spread wide. “Yes, it is.”

With that, the conversation settled into a mutual silence, the soft sounds of Ziva snoring and Tony shuffling around upstairs the only things to fill the quiet. Everything was set up on the computer. The doors and windows were locked, Tony’s phone charged and ready to receive a call.

“Do you think they'll be okay?” McGee asked softly, voicing aloud the thought that had been plaguing him since all this began. 

It wasn’t about whether they’d find Tali. For some reason, he believed that they would. She would be brought back safe and sound, of that, he had no doubt.

His concern was for Tony and Ziva—whether this was something they could come back from. Pandora’s box had been opened. They couldn’t go back to the way things were. One way or another, a change was coming. Would they survive it?

Adam’s eyes fixed on a scratch on the wooden table, contemplative and honest as he answered.

“I don’t know.”

Chapter Text

By the time Tony finished getting the room ready, the sky had clouded over with the thick, dark cover of an incoming storm, the swirling mass of blue and gray threatening to unleash a blanket of rain on the city. He stepped out onto the front porch, feeling the wind shift and blow in his direction, bringing with it the unmistakable scent of late spring.

“You come out here to escape Adam?” Tony asked, causing McGee to glance over his shoulder at him in mild surprise. The screen door closed behind him softly, the hinge creaking shut.

McGee turned back to the neighborhood street in front of him, which almost seemed to hold its breath in anticipation of the coming deluge.

“Actually, I came out here for some fresh air,” he said, breathing deeply through his nose as he pondered his next words. Thunder rumbled several miles away, and Tony idly counted the seconds. “Computer’s all set up. Is Ziva still sleeping?”

Tony nodded, shoving his hands into his jacket pockets to ward off the chill. He came to a stop at McGee’s side, watching as the churning clouds flashed intermittently on the horizon. With the sudden temperature drop, it was a little cool, but like McGee, he had needed some space to breathe. Just a second to catch his breath, after all that the day had thrown at him.

“So…” McGee spoke after a moment.

“So.”

He’d been waiting for this, knowing it was coming as soon as they were on their own, away from the others. Of all the times he’d wished his nosiness hadn’t rubbed off on McGee, this was the worst. But he knew he had questions. He would too, if their positions were switched. He just might not have answers for them.

“I take it you didn’t know,” McGee spoke, and now Tony could feel his eyes on him, piercing the side of his head with an uncomfortable intensity.

Sarcasm burbled up from his throat before anything else, an unconscious defense mechanism. “No, actually, McGee. I thought about it, and decided I wanted to be a deadbeat dad.”

Guilt gnawed at him, the truth of what he was feeling residing just beneath the surface of that statement, if McGee were to look close enough. Which, of course, he did.

“You can’t blame yourself for not protecting your daughter when you didn’t know she existed,” he stated.

He made it sound so simple.

Tony sighed and paced to the left, leaning forward onto the porch railing and settling his weight against it. The bushes below rustled in the wind, their green an even more verdant hue in the diluted light. 

“I should have been there,” he confessed.

It was a thought he kept coming back to, playing on repeat in his head ever since the moment he’d heard the words “your daughter” uttered from Ziva’s lips. It was life changing, his entire view of the world shifting in an instant. 

He should have been there. He should have stopped them. Would this have happened if he’d known? They could have had the life they both secretly yearned for together if only she’d told him, but now that chance was gone. Their choices had led them here. Both of theirs, not just Ziva’s.

“You had no way of knowing,” McGee argued.

“But if I had just stayed a few more weeks—” 

“Who is it helping, to think about what you could have done?” McGee’s voice was stern, putting an abrupt stop to Tony’s self-flagellation and letting the question hang in the air for a second. “Does it help Ziva? Does it make you feel better? Does it help you get your daughter back?”

Tony sighed deeply again, rubbing his eyes in frustration and exhaustion. He knew the answer, but couldn’t accept it. It seemed like regret was the only thing he was capable of right now, so what good was he to them if it had no purpose?

McGee walked toward him, then, joining him at the railing in silent commiseration with the burdens he carried. He didn’t speak, merely waited patiently for Tony to collect his thoughts. Genuine, this time, the wall of sarcasm crumbling against his persistence.

Tony shook his head, his lips contorted into a pained illusion of a smile as he considered what had become of his life.

“I don't know what to do, Tim,” he admitted at last. “I don't know how to react. She's Ziva and I haven't seen her in almost three years, but… Everything is different now. She kept this from me, and I don't know why.”

It felt good to get it all off his chest, everything he had been grappling with in the last couple hours. Why she didn’t tell him. Why she stayed away. He’d been wrestling with himself, torn between his righteous anger at having been scorned in such a way, and compassion for the decisions she had been forced to make, and the state of mind she had likely been in while doing so. 

He was doing his best to spare her his frustration, throwing himself into providing for her basic needs instead, but McGee, he knew, would not judge him for any of it. He was the one person he felt he could share it with. If the probie was good at anything, it was listening, and supporting his friends when they needed it. Tony was thankful to have him.

But he still didn't know how to deal with the feeling of betrayal.

McGee tilted his head, brows furrowing at Tony's words. “Then why are you out here talking to me instead of her?” he asked.

Tony scoffed. “Cause I can't ask her that. She just lost her daughter. Our daughter. I can't add to that. Not until Tali is brought back to her safely. Until then…” He paused, taking in another breath. “I don't know. I never saw this coming, Tim. When I pictured seeing her again, it wasn't like this. This changes everything.”

And McGee, of course, ever the one to challenge him, responded with, “Does it?”

Tony’s mind reeled.

“What do you mean?” he asked.

“Do you love her?”

“How did you—”

“When a mommy and a daddy love each other very much…” McGee started. “I’m just doing the math here, Tony. There's a kid out there somewhere that's half you. Solve for the missing variable.”

Only Timothy McGee could make the conception of a lovechild sound like a nerdy math problem, but the point was taken.

“Okay, yes. Of course I still love her. It's like breathing, I can't just stop.” And that was the truth. 

McGee nodded, a satisfied smile spreading across his face. “Then what else is there?” he shrugged. “You've both made it through hard times before.”

“Yeah, but this is a doozy.”

A hand landed on his shoulder, McGee’s unspoken promise of support, a reminder that he wasn't facing this alone. “I have complete confidence in you,” he said.

The corner of Tony’s mouth turned upward in a halfhearted smile. “Thanks, Tim.”

As silence once again took over, the first drops of rain began to fall, their patter providing background noise to the jumbled mess of Tony’s thoughts. He watched as they slowly saturated the pavement, bouncing off individual blades of grass in the yard.

“I hate this. Waiting around, doing nothing.”

This time, McGee’s eyes stayed forward, watching the storm roll in, same as Tony. 

“Bishop and Abby are on the case. So is Gibbs. They're looking for her. Besides, you aren’t doing nothing.”

“Yeah? And how am I helping right now?”

McGee answered quickly, somehow finding a simple answer to the question Tony had been wracking his brain over ever since he left MTAC.

“You're taking care of the mother of your child,” he spoke definitively, leaving little room for argument. “She needs you, Tony. Otherwise she wouldn't be here.”

Tony hated the cynicism such a statement inspired in him. “She just needs me so she can get her daughter back,” he countered.

“She could have had Mossad do that for her, if she wanted,” McGee pointed out. “Her ‘playing dead’ act was pretty convincing. They could have kept that up with little to no effort, if that was what they decided.”

Unfortunately, Tony knew that to be true. He mulled that over for a moment, the implications of what that would have meant, to go through this thinking Ziva was really dead. He felt the sudden absence of his heart, wondering if it all had been a hallucination. If she really was in Gibbs’ house, asleep but alive.

McGee’s elbow nudged him.

“Go back inside,” he said knowingly. “Stay with her. If Kort or Farsoun tries to contact you, we'll deal with it when it happens.”

Tony nodded, his shoulders slumping in reluctant acceptance. “Okay.” 

He had pushed himself off the railing and was making his way back toward the front door when McGee stopped him with his hesitant, questioning tone.

“Tony—”

Pausing, he looked over his shoulder, one hand on the door handle poised to enter.

“How long were you… I mean, were you two—”

Tony smirked, ducking his head. He was grateful for the question. It had somehow broken the tension, reminding him of the good old days. The squadroom gossip and all the times they shared there, just the three of them.

“How indiscreet, Agent McGee. You know I never kiss and tell,” he teased.

McGee backed down without argument. “Forget I asked.”

Tony turned back to the door, intent on going inside to check on Ziva, but then he stopped himself. His friend had earned an explanation, hadn't he? Just this once. Not that there was much to explain.

“Israel. Just… Israel,” he spoke, a sad smile attempting to mask the heartbreak within.

“Jeez, Tony. I'm sorry.”

“My own fault,” he said with a shrug. “I could have told her before then. Instead I was a coward and waited until she was trying to get as far away from me as possible. You know how it goes. My romantic timing has never been as good as my comedic timing.”

The dig at his own failures did nothing to lessen the pity he felt coming from McGee, a true recognition of what he had lost.

“Maybe this is a second chance,” McGee offered hopefully. “After this, you might even be a family.”

“And they all lived happily ever after, right, McGemcity?” A wry smile crossed Tony’s face as his eyes met McGee’s sincere ones. “It's a nice thought, isn't it?”

He was trying not to think about it, himself and Ziva and the little girl he'd only seen in a photograph living something that resembled a normal life.

“Don't give up hope,” McGee cautioned. A swell of tears filled Tony’s eyes, his throat constricting with emotion.

“Gotta find that kid first,” he choked.

“We will,” McGee nodded.

“We will.”

-.-.-

He was careful in the way he woke her. Her brows furrowed in her sleep as he sat down beside her, perched on the edge of the couch where she lay.

“Ziva,” he whispered, laying his hand on her shoulder and jostling her a little. “Ziva, wake up.”

She did so slowly, her eyes opening in confusion, taking in her surroundings.

“You're at Gibbs’ house,” he helpfully supplied, hoping to soothe the wrinkle between her brows. “It's alright.”

“Tony,” she spoke, as if it were some kind of revelation.

“Yeah, I'm here.”

She began to sit up, and he helped her, moving so she could set her feet down on the floor. She didn't look at him, but at least she hadn't pushed him away.

“Have they called yet?” she asked, her voice remarkably free from emotion.

“Not yet,” he answered. “There's a room ready for you upstairs, if you want to sleep somewhere a little more comfortable.”

“Where is Adam?”

“Standing guard outside, I think. Looking for signs of trouble.” And then, before she could ask, “So far, nothing out of the ordinary.”

She nodded and stood, brushing off her pants as she glanced around at the room around her. He was sure it must be strange, to be back here suddenly, in a place that was once so familiar. The smell of sawdust and TV static had a way of sticking with you, even when it had been a while since your last visit. In a way, it was the smell of home. An unexpected comfort, at least for him. He hoped it would be the same for Ziva.

“You wanna go upstairs?” he asked when she hadn't moved. “I changed the sheets. There are curtains in there to make it a little darker.”

“You don't have to convince me, Tony,” she spoke softly. “I'll go.”

He pursed his lips at her uncharacteristic compliance, his concern for her deepening. She was so unlike the Ziva he knew. It was like the fight had gone out of her, and that was something he'd only seen a couple times before, most recently in Israel a few years ago. He hated it.

Still, he led her up the stairs to Gibbs’ guest room, where he had the bed ready for her, a small lamp making the space feel warmer and more inviting. Fat raindrops pounded against the window, and he spared a brief thought for Adam, who had probably sought shelter on Gibbs’ side porch by now. McGee would surely be heading inside too, if he hadn't already.

Tony had a feeling they wouldn't be hearing from Kort while this storm passed. The waiting was killing him. He needed to busy himself with something, or he'd start to go stir crazy. He itched to leave from the moment he stepped into the room, conscious of how clingy he'd been since she arrived. 

“You need anything?” he asked as Ziva sat down on the bed. “Water? Something to eat?”

He was offering her space, restraining himself from smothering her and overwhelming her or guilting her for the situation they're now found themselves in.

But Ziva looked up at him with those pleading eyes, and his heart was powerless against her. Anything those eyes asked, he would do. And what she asked him for was so simple.

“Stay, Tony.”

Stay.

God, he wished she'd said that word to him years ago. How things would have been different. His answer now was easy. He didn't even have to think about it.

He sat down beside her.

“Okay.”

Chapter Text

It was strange, Ziva thought, how a few inches could seem a greater chasm than five thousand miles, under the right circumstances. 

That was the space between them now. Mere inches. And yet, somehow, Tony felt as out of reach as ever, the mattress dipping to support his weight as he settled beside her. The pelting of rain on the window thankfully filled the silence, but she couldn’t keep him from noticing when a loud clap of thunder would cause her to flinch. The sound of the explosion at the farmhouse was too fresh in her mind, only a day ago and yet, a lifetime. Her heart began to race, her breathing unsteady as she tried to school her features. 

She hated being this vulnerable around him, but this was beyond her control. His hand landed on her knee, and she closed her eyes, heart torn in two by his gentle touch. There was nothing she could hide from him. Not anymore. She braced herself for whatever conversation he was about to initiate, afraid of what it might hold.

“Ziva,” he spoke softly, urging her to look at him. When she did, he was turned toward her slightly, but his hand stayed right where it was, a comforting weight on her leg. “I wanted to apologize,” he said.

Ziva blinked back her surprise. Whatever she had been expecting, it wasn't an apology. She wracked her brain for what he could possibly be apologizing for, but came up empty. It was she who had many things to be sorry for, not him.

“Earlier in MTAC,” he continued. “I was rude and overbearing. I didn't let you speak. I– I should have—”

“Please don't apologize.”

Tony's hand twitched at the interruption, but he stopped. She couldn't bear to hear this, his unwarranted admittance of guilt. It only made her feel worse.

“You have every right to be angry," she said lowly, her eyes dropping to the floor. 

Tony shook his head. “I was being territorial."

Yes, he was. But Ziva would be lying if she said it hadn't been a relief to let someone else do the thinking, for once. To sit back and let him release the frustration and fear she felt bottled up inside herself.

Catharsis by proxy. Perhaps they still shared that connection, an emotional tether that affected them both, tying one to the other.

“It's fine,” she assured him. “Please. Do not apologize.”

Tony pursed his lips. She could see that he was unconvinced, but he knew when to stop arguing an issue. He shook his head again, then looked away, his hand lifting off her knee and leaving in its wake a feeling of emptiness.

The distance allowed Ziva to take a moment to look at him, though, to take in the changes in his appearance since she'd last seen him. He looked older. More worn down. More mature.

To some degree, she knew that she had been the cause, if not in the last years, then since the bombing. There were dark circles under his eyes that spoke of sleepless nights and bone-deep weariness that wouldn't let go. Her heart tugged sharply, and she found herself reaching out, her fingers tangling in his grown-out hair.

“Your hair is longer,” she all but whispered, not meaning to say it aloud.

She had never seen it that long. A few strands fell into his eyes, and she brushed them back, smoothing them out with a motherly caress. His jaw flexed under her touch, and his stiff shoulders lifted in a sigh.

“You should get some rest,” he said, shooting a weighty glance in her direction. “I need to call my dad. Make sure he got out of town okay.”

Ziva's brows furrowed.

“Your father was here?” she asked, grasping onto that information with interest.

“Yeah, uh. He came when he heard about the farmhouse. He was here when I– when they told me that you were…”

He trailed off there, the words not needing to be said. Guilt settled deep in Ziva's stomach.

“Where is he now?” she asked quietly, her throat suddenly dry and raspy.

“I sent him back home. I figured it might not be safe for him here. Better safe than sorry.”

Ziva shook her head with disdain, wishing for all the world that it didn't have to be this way. That things could be easier. 

“I am sorry he got dragged into this,” she said. “I did not want so many people to get hurt.”

Tony shrugged. “Well, it was nice to have someone here who knew what I was going through," he spoke. “When he lost my mother…”

He stopped himself suddenly, freezing in place and leaving the sentence unfinished. He had said enough, though. Ziva felt tears welling in her eyes, and she willed them to go away.

To think that he considered her death a loss equivalent to a man losing his beloved wife… That after all this time, he might still…

Ziva swallowed back the lump that had formed in her throat, forcing herself to remain impassive.

“He loves you, Ziva,” Tony spoke after taking a moment to collect himself. “He's heartbroken thinking you were killed in that attack.”

It had been easy to forget all the people whose lives she'd touched through the years. Living so far away, she had put them out of her mind, and somehow she assumed it worked the same way for them. But being here now, she could see that she had been wrong. They hadn't forgotten her. Their concern for her hadn't faded away like she'd hoped. Instead, they were stuck worrying for her even on the other side of the planet, without so much as a word from her to let them know she was alright. 

She'd had a unique relationship with Tony's father, once upon a time. It went far beyond what an ordinary partner might have with their coworker's family, but he'd been charming and intriguing and supportive of their relationship, even when there was no relationship to speak of. That meant something.

Sure, he was imperfect, and at first she had resented him for his treatment of Tony, but she watched him make great strides to repair things eventually, something her own father failed to do until they very end.

He was Tali’s grandfather. She hadn't allowed herself to think of it before, but the blood in her daughter's veins carried traces of him, too. The only grandchild of Anthony DiNozzo, Senior. The only remaining grandparent her daughter could have known, and she'd kept them apart.

Ziva cleared her throat, struggling to summon her voice from wherever it had gone.

“Well, after this is over,” she began carefully. “If we finish this, then… he will not have to think that anymore.”

It was a peace offering. While she was not yet ready to discuss the future, this much she could say: that her daughter would know her grandfather. She would not keep them from each other any longer. What had happened was horrific, but it had a way of forcing her to rethink her priorities.

Tali had so few blood relatives left in the world. How had she ever thought it best to keep her away from them?

With a halfhearted smile, Tony glanced at her. The silence that fell was more comfortable than the last, though the shadow of their missing daughter still hung over them like a dark cloud.

“Get some rest,” Tony said again, his voice soft and gentle. How she had missed that voice. “I'll be just downstairs.”

“Tony,” Ziva said, stopping him with her hand clutching his sleeve. He looked down at the place she touched him, an electric shock traveling up her arm. She released him just as quickly. “I'd, um... I'd really rather you stay here. With me, if that's okay.”

Another crack of thunder shook the window panes, and she held his stare, only flinching minutely at the sound this time.

“I do not want to be alone,” she spoke. 

His gaze softened.

“If you're sure,” he said.

She nodded, pulling back the covers on the other side of the mattress for him. He stood, circling the bed and kicking his shoes off before climbing in. She took her place beside him, an invisible barrier keeping them apart even at this close distance.

She turned on her side and closed her eyes, breathing deeply to stem the flow of tears that always felt a hair's breadth away. She wanted his comfort—needed it like she needed air—but she didn't know how to ask. He owed her none. This predicament was entirely her own doing, and he'd been gracious enough to her already, far more than she deserved. 

It was clear, too, that being here wasn't his first choice. At every turn, he had tried to get away, making excuses for needing to leave the room despite her pleas for him to stay. Now he laid there, stiff as a board with his hands folded over his stomach, clearly uncomfortable.

This was why she had sent him away. The kindness she selfishly forced from him, with nothing to give him in return... That was what she'd hoped to prevent.

A stream of tears leaked from her eyes, trailing down her cheek to dampen her pillow. She thought of Tali. Of the burden that she had placed on Tony, not only of a child, but a missing one. Her shoulders shook with the force of the sob that escaped, and she covered her mouth to stifle the sound.

The bed frame creaked and she felt an arm envelop her, pulling her back to rest against his chest. He wordlessly buried his face in her hair, pressing an achingly sweet kiss to the back of her neck before settling in.

She let out a breath, allowing his presence to calm her. He didn't say a word, and neither did she. Perhaps he knew there was nothing he could say. 

But he held her. He held her, his body curled against hers, and she could feel his even breaths on her shoulder, his heart beating in his chest. His hand brushed against her stomach, and she wondered if he could feel the difference there. The softness where there once was muscle.

So much had changed. 

If she closed her eyes, maybe she could turn back time. Maybe when she opened them again, they would be back in the farmhouse, laying just like this in the early morning light, and the last few years would have been a dream.

Maybe.

If only she could be so lucky.

Chapter Text

The sound of a slow wooden creak stirred Tony from his fitful rest, his mind instantly awake and alert as he lifted himself up on one arm, the other protectively draped over the woman sharing his bed. His eyes scanned the shadows for an intruder, eventually settling on a familiar face framed by the light of a dim nightlight.

“Sorry. Sorry, I can just talk to you in the morning—” 

Tony let out a breath, his shoulders releasing their tension at once. He glanced down to see if Ziva had awoken, but miraculously, it seemed she had slept through the intrusion. His hand idly trailed over the warm surface of her upper arm, an unconscious gesture of comfort that slowly brought his heart rate back down to normal.

“You almost gave me a heart attack, Tim,” Tony whispered.

“I know. I’m sorry. I wasn’t sure if you were awake, or— It can wait till morning, seriously.”

“No, what is it? Is it Kort? Did someone call?” He was already awake. Might as well hear what he had come to say.

Even in the dim light, Tony could see the pink rising to McGee’s cheeks. It was clear he hadn’t expected to find his two best friends curled up together in bed, and Tony's question had halted his planned escape.

McGee’s eyes awkwardly shifted between him and Ziva, his mouth hanging open like a codfish. It was quickly becoming clear that he wouldn’t get much out of his friend while still in this disarming position, so—careful not to jostle Ziva—he stood up from the bed, padding over to the doorway, boxers and all.

“What?” he asked impatiently, leaning with one hand up against the door frame, thereby blocking McGee’s view into the room.

“Uh… I was just gonna tell you that Gibbs called,” he started, his focus thankfully returning now that they were on even ground. “Mossad received some reliable intel saying that Farsoun entered the country through illegal channels a few hours ago.”

Tony’s fist clenched instinctively. “Tell me they got him.”

McGee shook his head. “Their sources were a step behind him and lost track of him shortly after. They’re working on hunting him down, it’s just gonna take time.”

We don’t have time, Tony thought, frustration churning in his chest. He didn’t need to say it out loud. McGee knew. He could see the same thoughts running through his mind too. The race against the clock. The statistics.

But this is different. This isn’t like those cases, Tony told himself. He had to keep telling himself that. It was the only thing keeping him going.

“Listen, Tony…” McGee’s voice was soft. Hesitant. Like if he voiced his thoughts aloud, he might speak evil into existence. But still, he persisted. “Are we sure this kidnapping was for ransom? I know Mossad’s intel is good, but what if they’re wrong?”

“They’re not.”

McGee’s eyes quickly turned to pity, but no matter what he thought, Tony knew it was more than wishful thinking. It was logic. Pure, simple, morbid logic.

Kort knew that Tali was worth far more to Tony than anywhere else, especially after what had happened the last time they met in the bullpen. 

“Worried about your girlfriend, DiNozzo?” 

Not for the first time, Tony found himself wishing he had done more than just shove Kort across the room. He should have knocked him to the ground, pinned him in place, put a gun to his chest—

“Tony.”

“They’re not wrong, McGee,” Tony repeated emphatically. “Kort knows. He’ll know she’s mine. He’ll taunt me. He’ll take every penny from me, and use it as leverage to get away with whatever else he has planned.”

“He has to know he wouldn’t get away with it,” McGee argued. “We won’t let him.”

Tony would laugh if he wasn’t so bone tired. McGee knew as well as he did just how slippery Trent Kort could be. He was done underestimating him. They’d have to be prepared for anything. Any possible scenario.

Behind him, Ziva let out a snore, and Tony’s heart fluttered, fighting the magnetic pull back to her side. God, if you’d told him ten years ago that one day, her chainsaw snore would be the most beautiful sound he could ever hear, he wouldn’t have believed you.

He sighed, crossing the room to check on her and leaving McGee behind in the doorway. He perched on the side of the bed, brushing an errant curl from her face with a reverence usually reserved for the dead.

“I missed that snore,” he whispered. To himself, to Ziva, or to Tim, even he didn’t know. His lips pulled back in a small smile, which slipped away just as fast as it had come, darkness casting shadows on his face.

McGee shifted uncomfortably on his feet, again finding himself trapped in a moment he wasn’t really a part of. The seconds ticked by, a darkness permeating the air in the room.

“Did Mossad’s intel say anything about a girl?” Tony asked after a while, not turning away from Ziva even as he spoke softly to McGee. He couldn’t face the answer he knew would come. He took solace instead in her peaceful visage, relaxed in sleep. Just a temporary respite, but it soothed him anyway.

“No,” the younger agent answered regretfully. “They didn’t say. I’m sorry, Tony.”

Tony shook his head, drawing in a steady breath through his nose and focusing on the feel of Ziva’s hand cupped between his. He knew it wouldn’t be easy. A solution wouldn't just fall into their laps, no matter how much they wanted one to. He had no high hopes that Mossad’s sources would turn up anything useful before a hypothetical ransom call came in, but each hour that passed increased the anxious feeling that had taken hold. He pressed a kiss to Ziva’s hand.

“You guys okay?” McGee asked after a moment, watching them with pursed lips.

Tony glanced over his shoulder, offering Tim a weak smile. “As okay as we can be,” he answered. “For now.”

McGee nodded, seeming to understand.

“Good. It’s good you have each other. You both… I think you both needed it.”

Tony let that thought linger in silence, wondering if it was true. If Ziva really needed him as much as he’d needed her—that is, until recent circumstances had forced her hand. He’d probably have to keep wondering, too, until that dreaded conversation where everything would come spilling forth and he’d find out, for better or for worse, what their future would hold.

Putting that cheerful thought temporarily aside, he instead gave a nod to his friend. He’d been nothing but helpful since all this began. “Thanks, Tim.”

McGee nodded back. “Yeah. Of course. I’ll let you get back to sleep. Night, Tony.”

“Goodnight. Wake me if anything happens, okay?”

“You know I will.”

And with that, McGee slowly shut the door, sealing out the sliver of light that had poured in from the hall. Tony turned back to Ziva, sighing before lifting himself off the bed, returning to his own side and climbing in. The mattress shifted beneath his weight, and Ziva groaned, her brows furrowing in her sleep.

“Tony?” she murmured, her eyes peeking open ever so slightly.

“Shh. It’s okay. Go back to sleep.”

“What is it? Is there any news?”

Tony shook his head, readjusting the covers over himself and settling in. “Nothing we didn’t already know. I promise. Just go back to bed.”

She mumbled an “okay,” shuffling closer to him like it was three years ago and there were no more obstacles between them. Like it was ten years ago and she called him Jean Paul and she was Sophie. 

He instinctively opened his arms to her, heart pounding as her head came to rest over his chest, her hand warm against his ribcage. Their legs tangled beneath the blankets, and he couldn’t move, held in place by the even breaths she expelled, already drifting back into slumber. Even if he could move, he wouldn’t want to. This was what he needed: to hold her close. His arms closed around her back, his cheek rubbing against her hair.

There may still have been a divide between them. After all, one of them was already a parent and the other was in a strange state of limbo between parenthood and the bachelor life. He was a father, yet of a child he had never met and might never meet. Ziva, too, was softer around the edges than he remembered, but still just as beautiful. A mother, he reminded himself, I made her a mother.

They would have to talk about it soon—what he had missed, why she’d kept it from him. Should he apologize for knocking her up? Which was worse, not telling him he was a father, or getting her pregnant in the first place and then leaving?

What a mess. What an absolute mess, and that was without factoring in the waking nightmare that was Trent Kort and what he’d taken from them. The conversation was looming ever nearer, though; he only hoped it could hold off until Tali was found.

Closing his eyes, he let himself relax. Ziva’s mouth hung open, her hot breath warming his chest.

I love her, he thought to himself. Please let that be enough.

-.-.-

He woke in the early morning to an empty bed, the sheets cold and rumpled beside him. By the time he made it downstairs, Ziva was already showered and fully dressed, the dark circles under her eyes less prominent than they had been the day before. Sleep obviously served her well.

“You been up long?” Tony asked, heading straight for the steaming pot of coffee he had smelled in the kitchen. 

Ziva's breakfast appeared to be a half eaten piece of toast on a plate and McGee's sidearm, which both sat in front of her at the kitchen table.

“A couple hours,” she spoke. “I told McGee and Adam to get some rest. They were up for most of the night.”

Tony hummed, pouring himself a mug and setting it down across from her. The cabinets in Gibbs’ kitchen were bare, as was the fridge. It looked like his choices were toast, like Ziva, or a bowl of some kind of off-brand corn flakes.

Maybe they'd have to send Adam out for some sustenance, whenever he woke. Then he'd have a purpose here after all.

“How are you feeling this morning?” Tony asked, wincing at the sound of stale cereal falling into his ceramic bowl. He checked the expiration date on the milk and was relieved to see that it was still good.

“Better,” Ziva answered as he sat down opposite her. “I do not remember the last time I slept.”

“You needed it.”

“So did you.”

Tony did feel more alert. Clear headed. Ziva seemed more herself, too. Still withdrawn, but less like she was made of porcelain and one bump away from shattering.

They ate their breakfast in silence. There wasn't much either of them could say that wouldn't lead to at least an awkward conversation, so they opted for a semi-peaceful quietude. 

After he'd finished his coffee, Tony took his gun and checked the perimeter of the house, finding nothing out of place. When he returned, Adam and McGee were shuffling about, making idle conversation while going about their business. Ziva stood by a mirror in the hall, prodding the cut on her forehead.

“Need help?” Tony asked. She wordlessly handed him a tube of antibiotic gel, and he squeezed some onto his fingers, gingerly touching the cut and smoothing the ointment over it until it was covered. Her cheeks twitched in the smallest of smiles, perhaps enjoying letting herself be cared for. He wiped his hands on his jeans and smiled back at her, then peeled open a band-aid.

Time seemed to freeze as the sound of his ringtone reached his ears, his cell phone vibrating across the room on the kitchen table.

His eyes instantly flicked to Ziva's, a sickening feeling pooling in the depths of his stomach. She looked as scared as he was, fingers curling around his wrist like a vice.

The contact spurred him into motion. He turned on his heel, rushing over to the dreaded device with Ziva right behind him. McGee's face looked ashen. He sat down in a hurry, typing furiously at his laptop while Adam watched over his shoulder, standing stiffly in anticipation.

McGee's fingers suddenly stopped typing, the program ready to go. He looked up at Tony and nodded.

Tony swallowed, forcing himself to take a deep breath.

“DiNozzo,” he spoke into the phone.

He knew before a word was uttered that it was him.

“Agent DiNozzo. I hear you've been looking for me.”