Work Text:
Ziva’s fingertips moved slowly across the grooves in the wood, the shallow cuts softened by time but still distinct beneath her skin. She knew the blade that had carved them - the very knife Tony still kept strapped to his ankle. A knife she had once pressed into his hand, long before their lives split into threads so tangled they could never quite undo them, long before their daughter’s existence had bound them together in ways neither had been ready for.
The letters are angular, carved neatly but without the finesse she knew he would have wanted to add, if he had the skill. Although it made her chest ache to not see her name there amongst theirs, right next to them like she dreamed it would be, she was struck by a familiar feeling of gratitude that fate conspired to create such beautiful life with him. Whatever questions she still held, she knew she could not ask for a better father for her child.
But as to what Tony was to her - well, that was a topic that took up far too much space in her mind to be healthy.
His anger back then had burned hotter than today’s grief - righteous, protective, consuming. And she had deserved it. She could still see his eyes, wide with fear and betrayal as he tore the weapon from their daughter’s small hands. His daughter’s hands. Those words had torn her apart, sharper and more damaging than she had ever been able to explain to anyone. She knew pushing him away afterwards, whether out of self-preservation or guilt, had only deepened the wound she made.
His anger today had been just as understandable, but she found herself able to put her feelings into words. She had been angry and jealous of the life he had built without her, although it was the life she dreamed Tali would have whilst she was away. It was unjustified, but feelings rarely were.
It felt so long ago, but the pain of watching them live from afar was still etched deeper than the words carved into the bark. She doubted that damage would ever sand out, no matter how hard she rubbed and polished.
The woods were quiet now, bodies dragged away and tucked behind trees - left to the predators and creatures that roam the forest, ready to tear their evil to pieces and drag them down, down into the dirt where they can rot. It was a cruel thought and she reminded herself to focus on the good, reminded herself that she was not that person anymore.
Although it was strange, the more she was dragged back into that world of lying and fighting and betrayal the more she realised that she was still that person… At least, part of her was and always would be. It made her wonder if perhaps some pieces of who she was could be helpful to the person she was currently trying to be, that perhaps trying to shut out one half of her existence was precisely what was stopping her from feeling whole now.
Her fingers followed the lines of the letters, tracing the two names that meant more to her than anything else. She came close to losing her daughter today, closer than she ever dared imagine or plan for. The panic that had gripped her heart when Sophie debriefed them was wrenching, and she knew she had not been able to mask it well. Every ounce of her strength had gone into holding herself together for Tali. The cost of that restraint was exhaustion, bone-deep and merciless.
She desperately needed rest.
A stick cracked behind her and, despite the anxiety that had been clawing at the back of her neck all day, she felt no fear. Her pulse should have surged, but it didn’t. Her body recognised him before her mind did. It always had, in ways that left her unsettled and strangely comforted all at once. How she instinctually knew his presence had long been a source of confusion, but she’d learned to go with it. She wondered what version of Tony she was about to face. If the anger that simmered in the car had burned away with his fear or if he was looking to finish what she had started with her honesty.
It confused her that she wanted both.
“How are you doing?”
She glanced over her shoulder with a smirk, knowing the open question was deliberate. She’d seen Dr Lang do it countless times when he grew tired of her ability to take advantage of yes/no questions.
“Better, now that I know everyone is alright,” she replied, nodding more to herself than him.
Tony reached out before she could retreat, turning her gently so he could see her face. He searched her eyes as if looking for a hidden fracture. “You don’t look better,” he said softly, patient but insistent. When she remained silent, studying him right back, he pressed more firmly, “Come on, Ziva. Talk to me.”
The dam blocking her voice finally broke. “I was so scared,” she admitted, her back pressing into the wood of the treehouse. “I was so scared. She could have died, Tony. When Sophie told us what she did…” Her voice cracked. “God, I could have killed her myself. They would have taken her, she could have -”
His hands closed firmly around her shoulders, grounding her wild thoughts. “But she didn’t,” he cut in, voice steady but heavy with leftover fear. “She’s fine. I’ll be talking to her about her risk-taking, believe me, but she saved Sophie. She saved herself. She’s a little hero.”
“But she was supposed to listen to Sophie! And she went back!” Ziva sighed, a huff of laughter escaping her as she gave him a knowing look. “Of course she did, even if things seemed hopeless she would not leave her behind… She is most definitely your child.”
Tony gave her shoulders a little shake, bringing her closer. “She kicked ass, she is definitely your child.”
Ziva felt the smile drain from her face, leaving only a hollow chill in its place, a coldness that crept up from somewhere deep she rarely let herself touch. “I do not want her to be like me.”
Tony’s jaw tightened, and his eyes darkened with something raw and unguarded. He reached up, brushing a loose strand of hair from her face, his fingers lingering on her cheek, anchoring her to him.
“I do,” he said instantly, his voice low, insistent. She tried to shake her head, but his hand moved to her jaw, holding her still. His gaze locked with hers, and he repeated it, firmer, truer: “I do.”
The conviction in his tone broke something open inside her, and she felt tears gather in the corners of her eyes. For a breathless second, she was sure he would kiss her. Instead, his lips pressed gently to her forehead, and though the tenderness made her ache with love for him, she found herself craving more.
When he pulled back, his eyes were drawn not to her, but to the carved names. There was something weighted in the way he looked at them she couldn’t help but follow, her fingers instinctively reaching out to trace the letters once more.
“All I remember from that trip is that you were so angry with me,” she said, not knowing why she was dragging this memory into the open now, of all times.
Tony shifted, leaning against the treehouse wall beside her. His shoulder brushed close enough to hers that she felt the heat of him, but he kept his eyes on the wood. “Yeah,” he said at last, his voice low and uneven, roughened by the memory. “It was… an intense few days.”
His jaw flexed as he paused, swallowing something down. She wished he wouldn’t. “I carved this with her. I was just… trying to make sense of it all, trying to give her a good memory. Something that wasn’t fear or anger.”
Her throat closed around the weight of his words and the guilt that spiralled through her in response. She let her fingers drift over one letter, her skin catching on the ridges. “My name isn’t there,” she whispered, and immediately hated herself for saying it. The confession felt too raw, too revealing. But she couldn’t pull it back inside so she continued quickly, “I know why it’s not. I wasn’t truly part of this. Not the way you and she were. Even if I was pretending to be.”
“Ziva…” His voice was soft, warning, as though he could sense the cliff edge she was edging toward.
But once she began, she couldn’t stop. The words tumbled out, heavier than she wanted them to be. “And sometimes… sometimes I still feel like that. Like I’m on the outside, pressed up against glass, watching her world. Watching your world.”
The silence that followed felt heavy, and she kept her eyes down, unable to face him, her hand tracing over and over the same grooves in the bark as though she could wear them smooth. The ache in her chest threatened to break her open.
When she finally dared to glance up, Tony’s gaze was already on her. His expression had softened, though behind it flickered something she couldn’t name… something deeper, more complicated than simple reassurance. He shifted on his feet, his voice low but steady, carrying a weight she wasn’t sure she was ready to bear. “You’re here,” he said, as if the words themselves could anchor her. “With us. Right where you’re supposed to be.”
“Am I?” she asked, and their eyes locked with that familiar intensity. He knew what she meant, she was sure of it. The tightness in his jaw as he tried to find an answer that would suit this precarious tightrope they found themselves on yet again.
He reached down, pulling the familiar knife from his ankle strap and flicking it open. “We can fix it. I can add your name right now.” He flipped the blade around, the metal glinting in the fading light and moved to the wood.
Her hand shot out, gripping his wrist. “Don’t,” she said sharply. Then, more softly, she continued, “Don’t. The past… it is sad, yes, but it’s ours. It is what happened. Carving my name now will not change what I did, or what I lost. It should not be altered just to make me feel better.” She swallowed, her voice tightening. “What matters is what comes next. Where we go from here.”
He lowered the knife, his expression unreadable for a moment. Then he sheathed it, stepping closer. “Okay,” he said quietly. “What comes next then, Ziva?”
She leaned her head back against the treehouse, her hands twisting together as she fought the urge to pick at her nails.
“I’ve been thinking,” she began, her voice hesitant but steady, the kind of steadiness that had cost her months of work - therapy sessions, unflinching self-reflection, practice in saying aloud what she once buried. She had clawed her way toward this place where she could try, at least, to be open. Yet with Tony, it always felt sharper, heavier, as if honesty carried twice the risk.
“Always dangerous,” he quipped, a wry grin tugging his lips.
Her eyes snapped to his, the warning in them immediate. And though she said nothing, the silence spoke volumes. He faltered, shoulders tightening, the grin slipping away. A flicker of guilt crossed his face before he muttered, softer, “Sorry… Tell me.”
It wasn’t the first time he’d tried to shield himself with humour, that particular defence had been his armour for as long as she’d known him, but tonight it struck a nerve. She was fighting every instinct not to retreat into silence, doing the work to pull herself open. And still, he was pushing things down, making light of feelings too heavy to ignore.
Still, she made herself continue, convinced herself he would get there too if she could show him that it was safe.
“All this time,” she said, letting the words roll off her tongue even as her hands twisted together painfully, “I’ve been trying so hard not to be the person I was - the fighter, the one who had to survive rather than truly live. I thought I had to erase all of her to be someone worthy of Tali, of you. But…” Her voice faltered for a heartbeat, catching on the weight of admitting how much she had lost in the process. “…I feel like I’m losing parts of myself in the process. Parts I cannot replace. Parts I maybe need to feel whole again.”
He tilted his head, studying her with that intensity that always made her feel exposed. “You think you have to choose? Between who you were and who you’re trying to be?”
He let her think for a moment, knowing better than to push her along.
“Yes,” she finally replied. “Or at least, I did. Now I am wondering if it is doing more harm than good.”
Tony stepped closer, met her eye, and the conflicting feelings that swam there stole the remaining oxygen from her lungs. She had seen that look in his eyes before, the times where they’d come far too close to crossing that invisible line they kept putting up.
“Ziva, you don’t have to erase anything. That fire, that strength inside you - it’s why Tali’s alive today. It’s why you’re alive. It’s why I - ” He stopped, his jaw clenching as if catching himself.
“Why you what?” she pressed, her voice barely a whisper.
Tony’s hand reached up, brushing that same rogue strand of hair that kept falling into her face, his fingers lingering against her jaw as he kept it pinned back. “Why I never stopped loving you,” he said, his voice raw, unguarded.
Her eyes searched his, finding an honesty there that both thrilled and terrified her. Slowly, she leaned forward, and he met her halfway. For a moment the kiss was softer than air, almost uncertain, but then his hand slid to the back of her neck, pulling her closer, and the kiss deepened, a primal need clawing at her chest. She gripped his shirt, anchoring herself as her heart raced, the line they had drawn and redrawn between them blurring in the heat of the moment.
His grip on her hair tightened, his mouth moving against hers with sudden certainty, no longer tentative but claiming, as though he had finally allowed the restraint they both gripped tightly to break. His tongue danced with hers until she was consumed by it, the press of his body against hers leaving no space for her usual doubt or distance.
Heat rushed through her veins, dizzying and unrelenting, and she let herself sink into him. The strength of his arms and the familiar taste of his mouth felt like home, like a place she had both feared and ached to return to.
When they finally broke apart, the air between them felt different. Ziva’s lips tingled, her breath unsteady like she had been drowning since the moment they decided they could never work out. She kept her eyes closed for a beat longer, afraid that if she opened them too quickly, the spell might shatter and reality would come rushing back in. When she did look up, she found Tony already watching her, his chest rising and falling, his thumb still brushing idly at the side of her neck.
He leaned forward, resting his forehead on hers, and spoke in a whisper. “You are the sum of many parts, Ziva David. For good, for bad… I wouldn’t change a single one.”
She let out a light chuckle, because for the first time in a long time, it felt like the universe had stopped beating her down and given her a moment of real, unfiltered hope. She tasted salt on her lips and wiped at her face, surprised to find tears. He tried to pull back to see her eyes but she clung to his shirt and pressed her face into the emerging stubble at his jaw.
“God, we are a mess,” she said against his skin, and laughed again, feeling the ache of release in her chest.
He laughed too. “We’ve never been simple.” He cupped her face in his palms with a gentleness that made her eyes sting all over again. “We’ll figure this out. All of it.” His thumb brushed a drying tear from her cheek, the pad of it just rough enough to ground her to the present before he tucked her back into his arms.
They stood like that, pressed together in the twilight, until the chorus of dusk insects grew louder the in the dying light and the faint sound of Tali’s laughter drifted up from the house. Ziva realised her hands were still in fists against Tony’s chest. She flattened her palms, smoothing the fabric, and stepped back, suddenly aware of how she must look - clothes rumpled, eyes red, the ghost of old pain still clinging to her skin.
She thought he might push the subject, try to draw more out of her like he had in the past, but he simply waited, existing quietly beside her as she pulled herself together. When she met his eyes again she felt a clarity she had not experienced in years.
Tony reached out a hand for her to take, squeezing it tightly as he gestured towards the house with his head. “Shall we go figure out what the hell we’re gonna do next?”
Ziva smiled, already feeling slightly more whole. “Sure, we’ve always been good at plans,” she replied, letting him help her up the large step that led back towards the cabin.
“Hopefully better than we are at ‘professional’,” he quipped, with a smirk that sent butterflies swarming through her stomach.
Yes, they definitely had a lot to figure out and it could not be rushed. But the feeling of finally carving out a path that felt so right gave her a sense of hope she thought she had lost, and with that renewed hope, she trailed him back to the cabin to form a plan that would lead them all forward.
Wherever that was.