Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

She came into view just as he reached the top of the jetbridge. 

Orli Elbaz stood just beyond the gate, and while the years had changed her, —subtly etched lines around her eyes, a touch of silver threading through her dark hair — her navy blue pantsuit and her unreadable facial expression remained much the same as it had been the last time he had seen her almost two years ago. 

Perhaps she would say something similar about him.

Tony’s phone had buzzed mid-flight with McGee’s updates: 

Orli will meet you. She’ll take you to Ziva. She’s at Sheba Medical Center in the ICU. All we know. 

And then later: She’s awake.

Now, as Tony met Orli’s gaze, something in her expression softened.

“Tony.” Her voice was calm, measured. But there was warmth there too, an intimacy he wasn’t aware they shared. “I am so glad you are here.”

“Director,” he greeted, nodding. The hand she placed on his arm was surprisingly gentle, familiar in a way he hadn’t expected.

“This is no time for formality,” she said, shaking her head. “I have a car waiting.” She gestured forward, leading him into the bustling current of Ben Gurion’s terminal, two protection officers following close behind.

As they moved through the airport, Orli glanced back at him. “I trust Agent Gibbs passed along my updates.”

Tony arched his brow. “I hear there’s been some mending of… demolished fences.”

His comment didn’t seem to surprise her. “Yes. More on that later.” She leveled at him before continuing. “But I have come to consider Ziva a close friend. And I am quite certain she would say the same.”

Tony’s jaw tightened and his shoulders tensed. “Friends don’t let friends get hit by mortar fire.”

Orli stopped just short of the airport exit and turned on her heel. The automatic doors slid open, the morning air already warm.

“We had no way of knowing,” she said carefully.

“You’re Mossad,” Tony shot back, his voice sharp. “You know everything.”

She inhaled slowly, composed but unyielding. “Ziva was… unexpected and unfortunate collateral damage.”

Orli’s hands folded in front of her, fingers intertwining. “I have every resource dedicated to tracking down Farsoun.” She held his gaze, her voice lowering. “You,” and the emphasis she put on the word gave him pause and sent a tiny chill down his spine. “You have more important and personal things to concern yourself with.” 

Tony swallowed hard. She wasn’t wrong. “How far is the hospital?”

The moment Tony stepped through the double doors, the weight of the ICU settled around him.

The steady beeping of heart monitors, the hush of nurses moving between rooms, the low hum of ventilators—it was a quiet symphony of fragility. 

He thought he had adequately prepared himself for what he was walking into but as he passed room after room, glimpsing worried families, weary doctors, lives suspended in uncertainty, he wasn’t so sure.

Someone’s Ziva was in each of these beds.

Orli strode ahead, heels clicking softly against the spotless tile. She didn’t look back, but she must have sensed his hesitation.

Tony hated hospitals.

They brought back brief but potent images of his mother’s final days. He could push through for a case, compartmentalize, but this—this was different. This was Ziva.

The bile rose in his throat and he shook it off. No time for that now.

Orli stopped just outside a glass-walled room at the end of the hallway. She turned, gesturing inside.

Tony barely noticed the red-haired doctor stepping out, her yellow sterile gown discarded into a bin. He was already looking past her, through the glass, where he could just make out the outline of the woman inside.

“Tony,” Orli said, drawing his attention back. “This is Dr. Yael Haviv. She has been overseeing Ziva’s care.”

The doctor extended a hand. “It is good to finally meet you, Mr. DiNozzo. We are all relieved you have arrived.”

Relieved? The word struck him oddly, but he shook her hand. “How is she?”

Dr. Haviv’s expression was reassuring, but serious. “Considering the extent of the explosion, she is stable. Awake, somewhat oriented.” She looked over her shoulder towards Ziva’s room and then back towards Tony. “She is on significant pain medication—debridement of burns is extremely painful, and she also has a chest tube in place.”

Tony shifted on his feet, trying to absorb it all as the doctor continued explaining Ziva’s condition.

Collapsed lung from broken ribs. Burn wounds. Potential airway damage. Several broken bones in her arms and legs. 

Dr. Haviv explained that Ziva’s lungs were responding well to the chest tube.

“Our respiratory team is optimistic they will be able to remove it in a few days time,” she said. “Once we remove the chest tube,” she continued, “we can then assess how much, if any airway damage, she has outside of the collapsed lung.” 

“I thought you said she was doing well.” He mumbled. Tony ran a hand through his hair. Definitely not adequately prepared.

“All things considered,” smiled Dr. Haviv. “She is not out of the desert yet,” Dr. Haviv finished, offering him a small smile. “But we are hopeful - for now she just needs our careful attention.”

Tony nodded absently. He wasn’t sure what he was expecting, but hearing it all at once made his chest tighten. 

“Please,” the doctor said, stepping aside. “Don’t let us keep you from her.”

Tony nodded, passing his suitcase to Orli’s outstretched hand before stepping past the two women. He slid the door open, just enough to slip inside and pull it closed behind him. 

The outside world shrank away. 

Ziva.

Tony’s breath caught.

She was so small.

He had seen her injured before, broken before, almost lifeless before, but never like this. This was different. 

Here, beneath the sterile glow of the hospital lights, she lay still, dwarfed by the bed, lost in the tangle of wires and tubes, casts and bandages. Her face obscured by the oxygen mask covering her mouth.

His gaze traced the damage.The swollen and yellowing bruises under her eyes. The cast on her arm. The bandage on her forehead. The burns dotting her legs, wrapped in gauze and elevated in a specially designed immobilizer to help reduce the searing pain that comes with a third degree burn injury. 

Tony carefully eased the chair away from the wall and inched it closer to her bedside, careful not to let its leg scrape against the floor. He lowered himself into it, fingers curling around the bed’s side rails as if they might steady him against the weight of this moment.  

This was somewhere high in his list of worst case scenarios. He should have been there. He should have protected her. 

And yet, he tried. 

Valiantly tried to be there for her. To be anything for her. 

She would not have it.

And over the years, the thought of losing Ziva was something he had grown fairly accustomed to. 

He had practice, afterall. 

And through those experiences he had learned things. 

The sun will continue to rise, the wind will blow and eventually he will fill almost - but never quite all - of the void.  And yet, despite this knowledge, each time the scenario began to play out before him, he feared he'd never be able to breathe again.  

She shifted, slightly, pulling Tony from his thoughts. 

He watched as her chest rose and fell, wondering how difficult it was for her to breathe below the oxygen mask on her face. He knew what it felt like to gasp for air, to strain against an unbearably painful tightness in your chest just for a little relief. 

The thought of her experiencing that particular breed of pain and discomfort shook him to his core.

Ziva’s fingers twitched against the blanket and Tony fought the urge to reach for her. In comparison to the rest of her body, her right arm was fairly unscathed but touching her meant feeling how fragile she really was. He wasn’t sure he could handle that. 

A small, pained whimper escaped her lips and Tony's head snapped up. He watched her eyes slowly flutter open. 

There she was. 

Tony watched as her eyes moved across the room, groggy and unfocused but wholly there and alive. 

“Ziva?” His voice was barely a whisper. “Hi.” 

Tony leaned forward and braced himself on the bed’s railing. The fear inside of him snapped as he watched her eyes searching. He reached for her, ghosting a finger along her hairline. 

“You’re in the hospital.” He whispered, curling just one finger around her pinky. “You’re in Israel. You’re safe.”

Her head shifted slightly towards him, eyes sluggishly tracing the outline of his face. 

Then—her body tensed, a deep tremor running through her. Her breath hitched.

Tony knew what fear looked like in Ziva. He was probably among the few who had seen it, had waded through it with her before. Her fingers clenched weakly at the blanket, slipping out of his reach. 

He carefully pulled her hand back, careful not to disturb the IV inserted on top. “Hey,” he murmured, running his thumb across her fingers. “I’m here. I got you.”

She twisted her head from side to side, mumbling words inside of the oxygen mask that he couldn’t make out. 

Her heart rate spiked on the monitor and the alarm began to sound. 

“Ziva,” He spoke slowly and tried to calm her. “You’re okay. . . I have your six, just relax.”

She pulled her fingers from his hold and clumsily ripped the oxygen mask halfway down her chin. “Tah,” she spluttered.

Tony gently moved her hand from the mask and slid it back over her nose and mouth. “I know you want to talk,” he traced her forehead, her eyebrows, anything to soothe her. “But we’re just going to sit here and breathe together, okay?” 

She mumbled something and a lone salty tear slipped from the corner of her right eye. 

“I know you’re scared and pissed,” he said, before shaking his head with a small, sad, smile. “Hell, Ziva, I’m scared and pissed, too.” He rubbed his thumb along her cheek. “But I know you trust me. Sometimes you wish you didn’t but you do.” 

Another tear slipped down her cheek, followed by another and then another. He wiped a couple with his pinky. 

“I know…it is really bad,” he said. “But I’m here. So you just trust me and focus on breathing.” 

Tony ran his knuckles up and down her cheek as the tears kept falling. “Can you do that?” he asked. “Can you trust me to take care of everything else?” 

Ziva mumbled something else and Tony hoped that was her yes. “You know,” he said. “We’ve been through a lot you and me. No reason we can’t figure this one out.” 

Tony kissed her cheek, his lips lingering next to her ear for just a second. “Very cinematic of you,” he whispered, voice rough, “you could’ve just called.”

The door creaked open behind him.

“Tony.” 

Orli. 

Tony stiffened but didn’t turn. “I‘m good here. I got her.” 

“Tony,” she said again, gentler this time. “We really must discuss something.”

Tony leaned in closer to Ziva. “The first thing you’re going to do is tell me all about your new BFF.” He whispered, a small smirk on his face.

He leaned back and turned towards Orli. “Whatever it is, it can wait.” He said, leaving little room for argument. “Station some Kidon outside the door if you have to.”

Orli’s eyes remained firm, unreadable. “It is not that. There is someone else you need to see.” The statement, the force behind it, sent a ripple of unease down his spine. His stomach turned.

He glanced back at Ziva - her eyes already half closed again. He stroked her knuckles and leaned back over to whisper to her. “I won’t let her keep me long.”

Then, he followed Orli out of the room.

Chapter Text

The glass corridor stretched before them, hospital staff bustled around them, some with urgency, some casually chatting as they headed for a midday lunch break. Tony wasn’t hungry. Time had meant little to him since he had seen the farmhouse pop up on ZNN. 

He walked beside Orli, his hands shoved deep into his pockets, his patience ready to snap. His heart was still racing from the adrenaline of seeing Ziva—seeing her like that. 

He exhaled sharply, glancing sideways at Orli. They’d left the ICU, taken the elevator down to the third floor and were now crossing a sky bridge to a whole other section of the hospital. He had already been gone far longer than he wanted and each step that he took further from Ziva’s room made him all the more uneasy. She was in no state to be left alone.

“You wanna tell me where we’re going, or are we just taking the scenic hospital tour because if that’s the case, I’ll take the virtual option.”

Orli remained quiet for a beat, her expression unreadable. Then, in that steady, measured tone of hers, she said simply, “There is someone you must meet.”

There was that thing in her voice again. It made him pause. It was a weight. An importance. The same one that had gotten him out of that ICU room to begin with. He searched her face, but she was already looking ahead.

They crossed the skybridge and into Safra Children’s Hospital. Suddenly, the walls were no longer cold and white but warm and pastel, filled with animals, children’s show characters and words of encouragement. 

She brought him to a main elevator bank and up to the seventh floor. Tony and Orli walked by room after room, some with cribs, some with small hospital beds, some with nurses tending to small patients, some with parents holding vigil. They stopped at a room with a butterfly on the door and Orli slowly inched the door open. 

A dark haired woman, no more than 20 years old and strikingly similar to the swimmer he’d met all those years ago at the Embasero hotel sat beside the crib of a curly haired toddler. 

His head began to spin. 

“Would you give us a minute with Tali,” Orli whispered to the woman. sitting beside the little girl’s raised hospital crib. The young woman nodded, stroked the little girl’s back and exited the room. 

The little girl. She was fast asleep, an oxygen cannula sitting below her nose and a stuffed dog tucked under her arm. Dark curls framed her delicate olive face. 

“Tali?” Tony breathed. 

Orli nodded. “Her namesake,” 

Tony interrupted her. “Died at 16 in a Hamas suicide bombing.” 

“Yes.” Orli confirmed. “Tali is Ziva’s daughter. And your daughter, Tony.” 

He swallowed. The room began to spin. 

“How old is she?” he asked. 

“She’ll be two in July.” Orli responded before adding. “Ziva assured me you were the only biological possibility, in case you were wondering.”

“I wasn't.” Tony huffed. “But if she had any doubts, that would explain why she didn't... tell me.”

Orli stepped closer and put a tentative hand on his shoulder. “No doubts,” she assured him. Orli turned toward Tali, still fast asleep and stroked the child’s back. “Yes, she's the image of her mother, but you will see when she wakes - the eyes are all you, Tony.” 

“Is she okay?” He asked. “I mean…how hurt is she?” 

“She is fine,” Orli smiled. “They are keeping her for a few nights for monitoring and extra oxygen, but her room was in a corridor that we were able to get to from the outside before the fire spread. I didn’t know where Ziva was, but I knew she would want us to save Tali first.” 

Tony took a deep breath and leaned against the wall, unable to take his eyes off his little girl. He rubbed his hands down his face and shook his head. “If I'd known she was pregnant,” he scoffed. “I would've been there in a second.”

Orli moved from beside Tali and joined Tony along the wall. “Which is precisely why she didn't tell you,” she said. “She didn't want to disrupt your life any more than she already had.”

“That was not her decision to make.” Had she not wanted him there?

“You know better than anyone how fiercely independent Ziva is.” Orli explained. “She does not need a man to complete her. She was quite comfortable and confident raising Tali on her own.”

“Without ever telling me.” His voice cracked. For so many years, Tony had held that Ziva was the only one who saw him - truly knew who he was - who he wanted to be. How could she have kept this from him? 

“Actually, she came to regret that decision as Tali grew, but she struggled with how to break the news. She didn't... she knew you wouldn't be pleased.

“Then she never knew me at all.” 

“Tony -.”

Orli was interrupted by movement in Tali’s crib. “Ima.” She squirmed against the tubes and wires. “Ima.” 

Orli sat down next to her crib and stroked the little girl’s hair. “Tali,” she cooed. “Your Abba is here.” 

The little girl - no more than a toddler, twisted and turned within her sheets, mumbling for her mother. 

“She doesn't know Abba.” Tony remarked, unmoving from his position against the wall. “I just met her and if Ziva never told me about Tali…maybe she never told Tali about me.” 

“Fetch the bag in the cabinet, Tony.” Orli scooped Tali out of the crib and held the small girl against her. “Your Abba is here,” she repeated. 

Tony nodded, pushed himself off the wall and opened the cabinet. He found a duffle bag, one he’d seen before. 

Inside, he found a change of clothes for Tali, pull ups, wipes, a framed photograph - one from Paris. 

He and Ziva were sitting atop the moped he had rented. It was the morning after that night. The one that he’d never been able to move on from. 

He stared at it. It was one of his favorite photos. They were so young, so - 

“Bring the photo over,” Orli interrupted him from his thoughts. 

Tali’s eyes lit up the moment she saw the frame in Tony’s hand. “Ima!” she exclaimed, reaching for the photo.. Tony pulled a chair and sat beside Orli. 

“Yes, Tali.” he said, “That’s -” 

“Abba!” Tali interrupted him, finger pointed to Tony. 

“Abba?” his eyes widened. 

Tali pointed to the picture again, touching on both her parents. “Ima. Abba.” she exclaimed. She looked so proud of herself - just awaiting someone’s praise. 

“There were a number of photos of you around the house,” Orli said. “Some of you together. Some of just you. Ziva made sure Tali knew you.” 

Tony swallowed, his eyes beginning to well. “I see that,” he stammered, his eyes never leaving Tali’s. 

“She was working through telling you.”

At some point in the afternoon, he and Orli had gone silent. 

All Tony could do was stare at Tali. She had fallen back asleep in Orli’s arms after a bit of a meltdown when her Ima did not appear after her repeated requests. 

Orli had looked to Tony, gesturing for him to take her, to comfort her, but he wasn’t sure. She was so small, so fragile and who was he to her, anyway? 

And yet, she was becoming everything to him. Each moment that he stared at her he was more amazed by her than the moments before. The curl of her hair. The way she tucked her hands under her chin when she slept. The blue-green of her eyes - it all mesmerized him. 

Tali had settled down once Orli moved to the rocking chair by the window. She whispered to Tali in Hebrew for some time and finally the little girl fell asleep. 

“Poor Tali,” Orli had said. “Enduring more in the last few days than most people do in a lifetime.” 

The room stood still until the sun hung low in the sky, late in the afternoon. 

Orli sighed, breaking their silence. “This wooden chair will be the end of me, Tony. Help me put her back in her crib.”

Tony was sure the request was only a roos to get him to hold his daughter, but nonetheless, he pushed himself off the wall. Tony bent over Orli, careful not to snag the tiny IV in Tali’s arm or the leads attached to her chest. He scooped her from Orli’s hold and carefully stepped across the room. 

She stirred just a bit in his arms and Tony found himself whispering to her. “It’s okay, baby girl - I got you.”  

Tali was warm against his chest. 

It was a feeling he realized felt somehow familiar to him and when he laid her down in the crib, Tony had to fight the urge to pick her right back up again. 

Instead, he traced her curls, marveling at their color, not quite as dark as Ziva’s hair and yet, not quite as light as his. 

There was a knock at the door and a nurse in bright pink scrubs slipped into the room. 

“Shalom, Abba,” she said quietly. “I”m Esther. Just here for evening vitals.” 

Tony watched as the woman’s gentle hands took his sleeping daughter’s temperature. 

“She is doing well,” she smiled. “No sign of any smoke inhalation. Our children are resilient, hmm?” 

Tony knew he should ask questions—when the doctor would be by, if there were any lingering concerns about her lungs, what follow-up care would entail—but all he could manage was a nod and a quiet "Thank you,” as the nurse stepped back into the corridor. 

His mind refused to process anything beyond the immediate moment, the miracle of the tiny sleeping form before him. 

"It is remarkable," Orli murmured from beside him, her usual stoic demeanor softened as she watched the child sleep. "How much she resembles both of you."

Tony just nodded, not trusting his voice, not wanting to share his own thoughts from just moments ago. The Mossad Director had been surprisingly kind throughout this ordeal, though he still couldn't quite understand her new place in Ziva’s and now…his life.  

“I need to attend to some things,” Orli explained, rising from her chair. “Tony, I hope you don’t mind, I asked my assistant to book you an Airbnb down the street from the hospital. He brought your bags over.” Orli pulled a key and manila folder from her briefcase. “We will take care of the cost. It is the least I can do for Ziva and Tali…and you.” 

“You don’t have to -,” 

“I insist.” 

Tony nodded, too tired and overwhelmed to fight her. He watched her walk out of the room, leaving him alone with the almost two year old.

“Just you and me now, Tali,” he whispered. 

Tony sat in the chair beside Tali’s bed and opened the folder. A bright green sticky note was affixed to the insider cover, his name, address, phone number, and social security number were printed in Ziva’s unmistakable and unmatched penmenship.

Tony thumbed through the folder. There was a paper with several logins for Tali’s online medical records, her dentist, her pediatrician, another paper held similar information for Ziva. Finally, he came to Tali’s birth certificate, his breath hitching at the sight of her full name - Tali Margaret David-DiNozzo.

His mother. 

Maybe Orli had been right. Maybe she had been working through telling him. 

Tali squirmed in the crib and her little toes tangled some of the wires attached to her skin. She whined in annoyance and Tony’s pulse began to quicken. 

“It’s okay,” he said. He put the folder down and peered over the crib. 

“Alev,” she mumbled. 

“Ay-lev,” Tony repeated, his mind desperately searching his remedial knowledge of Hebrew for a clue as to what his daughter wanted. 

“Kalev,” Tali said again, her words clearer. She shot a finger through the side of the crib and pointed to the stuffed dog laying on the floor. 

Tony smiled as retrieved the animal and handed it back to her. “Kalev is your doggy, huh?” 

“Kalev!” Tali gushed, hugging the dog close. 

He gently untangled a couple of wires that had curled themselves around her feet before sitting back down in his chair. Tony sighed. They had made it through their first crisis together - he and Tali. 

There was a knock at the door and a young woman in purple scrubs and a Dr. Seuss hat on her head entered the room. 

“Hi Tali,” she squealed. “Do you remember me?” The woman turned to Tony and extended her hand. “I’m Leah,” she said. “A child life specialist. Me and Tali here were hanging out yesterday. Are you Dad? Abba?”

Tony stood, shook her hand and then stuffed his hands in his pockets. That identity still made him a bit dizzy. “Uh..yeah, yeah that’s me.” 

“Well - Tali’s doing great and we’re here to help - we know Tali’s mom is here, too.” 

“Yeah … thanks.” Tony looked over his shoulder at the clock on the wall. He hadn’t realized how late it had gotten. The sun now hung low in the sky and he began to worry about how long Ziva had been alone. 

“If you need to check on her Ima, Tali and I could go check out a puppet show one of the floors is putting on.” 

Tony stuttered. He had never met anyone or anything that had threatened to distract him from a Ziva-in-need. He was usually tunnel-visioned, able to block out anyone and anything that threatened to keep him from her. And yet, just hours ago - everything changed.

This little girl in front of him, her brown eyes always searching for an answer he wasn’t sure he had, changed everything. 

"It might be good for her," Leah suggested, noting Tony's hesitation. "A little normalcy amid all this chaos. And some time with other children." Leah pulled a lion puppet out of her back pocket and held it up to Tali. 

“Meh et hoshevet, Tali?” What do you think?

"Ar’ye" she exclaimed, pointing excitedly. Lion

"You like puppets, huh?" he asked. "Well then, we definitely can't miss the puppet show, can we?"

With Tali in Leah’s capable hands, he made his way back to the ICU, his steps both hurried and hesitant. He had been gone far longer than he intended, but the small child had captivated him completely.

There was no question she looked like Ziva. It was in the curve of her smile, the determined set of her chin, the flutter of her eyes when she was deep in thought. 

But he also saw that she was a DiNozzo, too. 

He heard it in her laugh—that same infectious giggle he remembered from childhood home movies of he and his mother. He felt it in her gaze when she studied him intently, tilting her head just so, as if trying to place him in her memory. 

And that fact—that he could look at his daughter and see himself and the woman he had always loved reflected in her eyes—compensated for all of the other confusing emotions he was also feeling.

The anger. The grief. The fear. The betrayal.

It could all be dealt with later.