Chapter Text
Isla Zafira (October 2025)
"I hope dinner was good, but we unfortunately have to keep you for questioning. Interpol has prepared a villa for you to stay, hopefully you can all rest, finish statements tomorrow, and be back in Paris in no time."
Claudette had already done the math before the Interpol escort finished handing over the keys. She caught Sophie's eye across the entryway, a small nod exchanged between them, and the two disappeared down the left corridor. Boris took one look and claimed the one closest to the kitchen.
Which left one room.
Tony pushed it open and they all shuffled in, Tali half-asleep on her feet, still holding onto her backpack strap like the day wasn't quite over in her body yet. The room was decent. Clean tiles, windows letting in fresh cool air off the ocean, a small dresser. And one big bed.
Tony set his bag down by the wall.
"You and Tali take the bed," he said, rummaging through his bag for a shirt and shorts to change into. "I'll take the couch in the sitting room outside."
Ziva was pulling Tali's bag off her shoulder for her. "Your back will hurt in the morning if you sleep on the couch.
"My back is fine."
“You know how you get when you don't sleep on a proper mattress."
"Dad."
Tali hadn't fully lifted her head. She was looking at both of them through her lashes, and for a second she just looked tired (it was a long day, rough few months so to say). She looked at the bed. She looked back at them.
"It's a king size," she said, already moving toward it. "We can all fit."
She climbed on, dropped her face into the pillow, pulled the blanket up around her shoulders, and that was apparently the end of the discussion.
The parents changed and took either side of the bed.
Ziva brushed the hair back from Tali's face. Tali stirred, turned toward her, tucked her head against her mom's collarbone with her arms loosely around her waist. The easy unconscious trust of it made something tighten in Tony's chest. He is on his side of the bed and watched the two of them for a second before he could make himself stop.
"You okay?" Ziva asked softly. "It was a long day."
Tali made a sound that covered both yes and obviously and pressed closer. "Mom."
"I know. Good night, love." Ziva pressed her lips to the top of her head.
Tony lay back and stared at the ceiling, the exhaustion sitting heavy in his whole body. He was listening to his daughter breathe. He was aware of exactly where Ziva's hand was, still moving slowly through Tali's hair. He was aware of how strange and also how completely natural it felt to be in the same bed as both of them, how long it had been since that was a thing that happened, how the last time felt both very close and very far away depending on which part of him was doing the measuring.
Ziva's other hand lay open on the duvet between them. He reached over, turned slightly toward her, and covered it with his. Squeezed once and Ziva's fingers closed around his.
Ziva's hair was against his face, his hand spread flat against her stomach. He stayed still and let himself have it for a minute. The weight of her. Her breathing shifted and "Mornin’," he said quietly, against her hair.
She went still in the suddenly-awake way, and then both of them registered the empty middle of the bed at the same time. The blanket pushed back, the indent still there, but no Tali. They sat up together, a flicker of panic passing through both of them.
"She was just—"
The door opened.
Tali came in holding a piece of toast in one hand and a mug of hot chocolate in the other, already dressed, hair still sleep-tangled. She definitely hadn't looked in a mirror yet. She looked at her parents, both their heads turned toward her at the same time, Tony propped on one elbow, Ziva half-sitting, the general situation of the bed not exactly ambiguous.
Tali took a bite of toast.
"Martine left breakfast," she said, completely conversational. "Baguette, some jam, I don't know what kind, tastes like pineapple. There's coffee too." She looked toward the window, eyes narrowing. "This bread is actually really good. We should bring some back to Paris." A pause. "Oh, and statements start at ten. Martine said."
The door swung softly shut behind her.
Tony and Ziva looked at each other. The wall clock read nine in the morning.
The light was coming through the shutters in long pale stripes across the bed, catching Ziva's face at an angle he'd missed, the tiredness still soft in her eyes before she'd fully put herself together for the day. She was looking at him and neither of them said anything for a second, and then she started to smile. Tony leaned over and pressed a kiss to her lips. "Good morning," he said. "What a mini ninja we got there."
Ziva laughed into the kiss. “Let’s get this over with.”