The final ding of the coffee machine brings with it the bitter aroma of the grounds. Clinging to the air, it travels across the apartment, reaching its exhausted inhabitant. The fumes are enough to awaken the ogre and its calloused hand slaps sleep away like a tick.
Standing erect, socked feet meet carpet and slumped they do not detach until carpet becomes tile. Mug next to the coffee pot, the pouring of coffee wakens him a fraction. Half and half, accompanied with sugar are added and it cools a degree for him to inhale the first cup.
Alone and in a mood, he returns to the living room. His laptop is turned on and signed in to his Skype account, waiting. The red digital numbers on the stove read 5:10 and its way too early to be awake. Another sip.
Tony DiNozzo has a healthy relationship with his bed, but today he'd been kicked out before the sun had peaked its forehead from the horizon. His wife, the only motivation to voluntarily leave the warmth of the rumbled sheets, besides the forceful body drop calls, returns from her Mossad mission.
Nostalgic heart outweighs everlasting exhaustion and anticipation builds like a stonewall as he waits for the Skype call to come through. Fourteen days. Fourteen days too many without a call, inactivate personal email and no flirty texts to help ease the burden of his heart million miles away across an ocean. Contract sealed with a kiss and verbal watery 'I do' didn't make the arrangement easier, in fact it made it that much harder to be away. Bachelor only for living purposes, he'd been tamed by a ferocious beauty long ago. Branded by one Israeli who'd captured his seven-year-old fragile heart, he'd been led through an African Safari.
The chase was harmless, fancy wrapped boxes, hiding her favourite American goodies, letters cross country, and random visits to her homeland. Young Tony had resigned himself to the title of 'family friend' and would be a frequent rider on the tilt a whirl until his Ziva would give him the time of day. Enemies as youth, they'd battle the boy cooties, pigtail pulling and punches for romantic acts, until both had transcended into pimply teenagers and the world was painted with different hues. Cupid had struck.
The shrill ringing of the incoming call on his laptop pulls him from his morning reverie. The earth has circled around the sun once and these two lovers have not been in one another's arms. Shaking in anticipation, his fingers struggle to accept the call, but they find the green button like two opposite sides of metal soon after.
Black screen transcends into a picture of unruly hair and bright skies. The sun has woken on the eastern skies and its inhabitants have reached mid morning-fully alert and active in comparison to his sluggish behaviour.
"Boker tov, ahava." Her smile radiates brighter than the sun's rays, shining through her apartment windows. Concealer paints her face, which he finds oddly disconcerting considering she's in workout clothes and nursing a cup of tea in her sofa chair. His wife isn't one for makeup unless it's necessary for the job.
His smile matches hers and her greeting almost tumbles off his lips before he stops and recuperates. "Afternoon to you." A chuckle vibrates in his throat and his eyes crinkle, revealing well moulded crescents.
A moment of silence cuts the air as Ziva leans in her cocoon to set her mug on the side table. With the strain, her shirt rises and it reveals the untold stories of her mission. Clues are left in the form of dark hues on olive skin and its viewers stomach churns.
'What the hell happened' burns down his throat- the words a poisonous vial. Mission specific questions are taboo between them, so the how's of the discolouration won't be offered by Ziva. Work is always a sore topic; aggravating Ziva and concerning Tony. Protector of his family, he wants to keep her from harm. But she's been trained from an early age for this and must fulfill her duty to father and country-something he would never understand.
"How are you?" This falls in safe territory.
Spider legs cast shadow at the start of the cheekbone, resting for a moment before fanning across the eye. "Tired." Tea and coffee are sipped into their systems, fuel their body desperately craves. "I am glad to be home again. I missed my bed."
Chapped lips weighted down, form a pout visible to his wife. He's fishing her in. "I missed you most of all yakiri. I miss you most of all."
"Five days babe. Just five more days." Ticket purchased five months in advance and vacation days requested off, he would be visiting his wife soon. Ten days in her homeland, soaking up each moment like a super absorbent sponge. They were still years away from Ziva asking for a transfer without arousing suspicion. Eli David had professed his daughter's destiny well before birth and it had never been written that she would lead a domestic life, but one of a warrior- marriage was out of the cards.
His left wrist flicks into a horizontal position, making watch visible to his eyes. The small hand is still ways away from the seven; plenty of time for a conversation with his wife. "Anything you want me to take you? I'm making a list, so I can head to the store on Friday."
Head twists in a rhythmic manner. "Just you." And for a year and a half that's all she's yearned for. Him. Next to her in bed and in life.
"I can do that." Mental list already concocted with her favorites, he waves off her nothing. He wasn't showing up empty handed- he has a year of presents to make up for. A cast downward and he catches the illumination of his screen before the chime- text message from Kate.
Though she stays silent as he whisks away a quirky reply, questions color her irises. She's jealous, not of Kate but the fact that his coworkers spend more time with him than her. She wants to be at his side, he knows. "It's my partner, Kate. She's reminding me it's my day to play a trick on the probie." He offers up.
"Tell me about them?" Calloused hands wrap around steaming ceramic. Little is known about each other's work life. She's not at liberty to disclose and Tony prefers to talk about them, rather than Kate and McGee.
Today she's a curious cat and he's complacent with her question. "I'll tell you about the prank Kate and I pulled yesterday." The words come out as laughter and he retracts like a slinky to regain composure. "The skin still hasn't grown back."
Her smile is radiant.
...
Late doesn't even begin to describe what he is when he stumbles into work. This isn't something unusual for Tony DiNozzo, but when his vacation holds in the balance he doesn't want to raise the bid. A year was his limit on this separation without visitation and he wouldn't take another six months without their promised time.
Neither could bear to say goodbye and soon enough his clock had struck eight. It had taken two angry texts from Kate to end the call and race to the navy yard. Now he's not just late, he's slugging behind and yet as his phone chimes with an incoming message from his wife, he doesn't care. A few seconds to reach his floor, he risks checking it. The content elicits a smile that has him reliving the moments in the elevator.
Rays peak through the dense clouds, the first signs of the rainstorm clearing. The couple had been cooped up inside for the past two days due to thunderstorms; not that they minded for they hadn't left the comfort of their bed. But the birds sing once again and the dark skies clear; the teenagers mood has passed and a bubbly infant takes its place.
She's the first to catch it, the rays peaking through the curtains, casting a glow against his well sculpted frame. Untangling from the mess of limbs, she grabs her boyfriend's shirt and heads for the kitchen for her morning tea.
Her feet trek across the bungalow and towards the patio. Morning has always been her favorite time of day. The birth of everything anew; birds rise, flowers bloom and the city wakes. Everything smells fresh from the showers and her body relaxes against the chair. It's rare for her to wake with the sun, to take some time and contemplate the beauty of life from her backyard, but today she's granted that gift and she watches.
Her boyfriend finds her in this position only once the level of tea has been consumed halfway and the heat precipitated. His lips meet her unruly hair. "Morning," he yawns.
"Still tired?" A smile graces her lips at the memories of the night before and her body aches for the closeness again. His flight leaves tonight and they'd part for at least six months.
His eyes close, but open a moment later and she chuckles, the ache in her heart all but gone. She'd enjoy him one more day and then yearn for him. "Maybe you should head back to bed." Though with the countdown to eight, she wishes he wouldn't.
He knows her all too well and shakes his head, despite the call of the sheets, as he joins her in the chair. "Mmhm, you promised me a walk and I plan to collect."
She snuggles against his body, her head falling to his chest. "I believe a shower is in order first. You smell." She wriggles her nose for emphasis and her laugh resonates against his chest at his pout.
"Later, let's just lay here a moment." And they lay, but moments later sleep succumbs the pair. The shower and walk forgotten.
Nettie finds them moments later, snuggled and snoring against one another. Too hard to resist, she grabs Tony's phone off the table and captures the moment, smiling. Her heart swells at the happiness radiating from her niece's face.
Happiness, that's all she's wished for her. A life away from everything her father has pushed her towards. Tony has helped to pull her in the opposite direction, but her father still stands between them.
That is why she is grateful for these moments and setting the phone back, she quietly retreats back into the house to prepare them lunch.
They wake hours later to find the photo and Tony's lunch favourites prepared. He's being spoiled. His farewell for now. And it tugs at all their hearts.
His heart lightened by the call and memory, he prances into the bullpen joking. His boss isn't pleased and his coworkers aren't amused, but he carries on, brushing off their glares. He's much too chipper to be brought to their sour mood, that is until...
the dreaded envelope.
...
His wheezing cuts through the thick cloud of silence in a constant cycle. His lungs crave the essence of life, oxygen, but as he suckles in a breath of air, it transforms into shards of glass, embedding into his lungs. The reference to wheezy from Toy Story dies in his throat; the words dissolving in a bitter taste. No oxygen to spare, but the looming quiet is an unsettling feeling.
Never. Ever. Open a letter sealed with a kiss. He'd been naive, overwhelmed with the feelings coursing through his veins at the thought of seeing his wife soon, that he'd believed she had been the one to send it. She wouldn't have been so careless and yet he'd been so stupid.
He was days from boarding a plane and crossing an ocean. Now, he was sure they wouldn't let him fly in his condition. Head slams against the pillow, a shallow sigh escaping his lips. Stupid.
Nurses walk in and out, the pity shining through their eyes. He knows his outcome isn't one where he walks out unscathed. He might not even walk out and this gut wrenching feeling throbs in his belly. He's too afraid to voice his question for fear of what the answer might be. Fear oozes from his system along with the question "Tell me doc." He goes for a chuckle, trying to lighten the mood, but there's nothing light about the situation. He might not live to see Ziva again and the pang that squeezes is enough to send him down a spiral, spilling out the rest of his question. "What do I have?"
The doctor ever enamored with Kate, does not feel the same way about her colleague and he spites out the answer, "plague." Real charmer, this guy.
Stupid. Stupid, stupid. What the hell had he been thinking? His life was on the line and shit, Ziva.
Brad leaves his side, his interest falling, floors on and Kate and he does nothing to hide it as he fondles over her. The pleasant nurse is sent to check his vitals, but it's pointless, there's no hope for him to recuperate. He knows, but he does hope. His health is deteriorating quickly; he can feel it.
His lungs plead for air and as he suckles in a breath, it becomes a desperate plead for help. Air is becoming thicker and thicker, the supply shortening with each second that passes. Soon, there won't be enough air to keep his lungs content and he'd like his wife to be wrapped in his arm. Unfortunately, she won't make that trip across the ocean that separates the two lovers.
"Ca-" he wheezes and it sends his chest into an uproar. Cough after cough, draws blood outward. He needs to relay his message, but his lungs don't work for him. They're fighting against him. Cough. "Call-" he attempts again to no avail and his chest burns. There's just too many syllables.
Gentle hands massage a heaving chest and it settles some of the burn. If he closes his eyes, he can imagine his wife's hands providing the comfort he yearns for. "Don't try to talk, save your breath," she coaxes. He can feel the gloominess of the room and it's too much for his comic-side of distress to bear.
He swallows past the shards and collects his thoughts. It's vital he utter these words. "Call... my wife." Nails and lips turning blue, it's only a matter of time and that time, he wants to spend with his wife. He wants to say goodbye, wants her cuddled in his arms as selfish as that might seem. Grant a dying man his wish.
Pad and pen are placed in his hand and his hand, weak from the lack of oxygen manages to scribble the digits. The paper is shoved into her coat pocket and she turns to leave, vitals checked, but she stops. "Name?"
Cough. Here he goes again, a tilt of whirl his lungs take him. "Ziva," he's hoarse, but at least he's relayed the words without a scene. No blood, that's an improvement.
The nurse nods, offering him a pitiful smile. "I'll call. Hold on for her, okay?" Her hand rests on his chest, massaging the pain he feels. Ziva, he just wants Ziva.
He hopes he holds on long enough to see her.
...
A shrill ringing rips her from her packing. Her father's sent her on another mission and with Tony's arrival in just a few days, she's aggravated. She needs to make it back in time. Unattended the phone rings, demanding attention from its owner.
A heavy sigh and she answers, "David."
Poor soul on the other end. She's not very pleasant today.
"H-Hello, Ms. David." English? This catches her attention and her breath catches at the thought of Tony. He's kept her English skills polished. "I'm looking for Ziva."
Caught off guard, she recuperates. "This is she." A breath. "May I ask who's calling?"
"I'm nurse Emma, calling in regards to your husband, Tony." Tony, a nurse. He's in a hospital. "Ms. David, I regret to inform you that your husband isn't doing very well."
"What is the matter?" Spills from her lips. Her original packing is tossed aside. She's on a different mission now.
"I'm not at liberty to say, but he is asking for you and between you and me, I'd come."
Of course she'd fly out, but the distance between them is a great one and she hopes with every fibre of her being that time is on her side. Clothes are being thrown into a carry-on, mental checklist formed and a reminder to call her aunt Nettie.
"What hospital?"
"Bethesda." And the call ends. There's no time for pleasantries. There's a plane that needs to be booked, arrangements made, and a way for her not to get caught travelling to America.
Tony had to survive this or she'd kill him herself.
...
Carry on tucked under the seat, she pulls out her unfinished book. It sits in her lap open, but the words blur together like wet watercolours. The words don't make sense and with a heavy sigh she gives up on trying to read. She bookmarks it, tucking it in the holder in the chair. Her feet find solace tucked under her and her eyes gravitate towards the window. Almost all passengers have boarded the plane and her celebration is short lived as her flight partner takes the seat next to her. It's all in silence, ignoring the woman at her side and it continues that way until the flight is levelled and in constant flight.
Until the dreaded questions, "are you okay dear?" The elder woman turns to her. She thought her silent tears had gone unnoticed.
She takes a moment to compose herself, hide the evidence of tears and she turns to the woman. "'M fine." Though tears still seep down and her desperate attempt of ending the conversation is futile.
"You don't look fine."
What compels her to tell her troubles to a stranger, she doesn't know. But the story tumbles out of her lips and not once does she stop for a breath. It leaves her in tears, her heart aching for the husband she hasn't seen in a year and half and the fear that he won't ever see him embellishes her.
"You will see that everything will work out." The woman comforts, but Ziva doesn't believe that it will. Her father had always forethought that her daughter would live the life of a warrior. Her life would be dedicated to Mossad. If Tony died, her prophecy would come true. There would be nothing left for her to live for. She would serve her time in mossad, be the dutiful warrior that her father wanted her to be, but she would be nothing more than a weapon. She would be dead inside. With Tony dead, everything else would have died with him.
"I was never meant to marry," she mumbles.
In the end her father would have exactly what he wanted. Currently, there were still missions she was unwilling to accept for her safety and the peace of mind of her husband, but if Tony died, she would take them all. More difficult and more dangerous, she would take them and if she didn't return from them, she wouldn't care. There would be nothing to return to. There would be no other form of life for her. Not many men wanted to date a mossad women, much less the daughter of the director. At the mention of her last name, many ran, scared of that life and her father's power. Eli David dictated her life, but Tony was the one thing that she chose, still chooses, but soon that choice would be taken from her, just like everyone she cared about. Her mother and Tali. Soon, Tony would join the ghosts that haunt her sleep.
…
Rushing, blood pumping she almost tumbles over a nurse as she rushes into the hospital. She asks for her husband, but the nurse informs her that he's being transferred to the ICU in critical condition. The chances at recovery are slim and that weight she felt in the plane returns. Cement fills her lungs, tears water at her eyes and the air becomes thin.
"The doctor will be out to talk to you soon." The nurse informs her, but the news will not be jovial.
Critical means there's no turning back. There's only one way, one road and the odds are not in her favor. Her voice cracks as she thanks the nurse and she takes a seat in the waiting room, unable to continue her steps. She's a baby taking her very first steps as she tumbles her way into the chairs where she collapses. Her nightmare is transforming into reality, the bright colors of her life are now painted blacks and greys. The sunny day a thunderstorm and for this there aren't better days.
Despite the hour in her homeland her fingers dial a familiar number and when her aunt greets her, she's the young child from all those years ago that crawled into her bed seeking comfort the night of her mother's funeral.
"He is in critical condition, doda."
Sweet Hebrew flows from the other end and it doesn't comfort her aching heart. She's not prepared to grieve a husband. Despite, the deaths her heart has suffered before her twenties, it does not hold callouses and again it will be ripped bare.
"Everything will work out in your favour little bird."
"When has life gone my way, if living in Israel under the control of mossad has taught me anything is that there is no happy ending. Eli will get what he wants in the end and I will not stop him." Her life would become self destructive.
Her aunt sighs. "Do not give up Zivaleh."
If only her heart had the hope her aunts carried, but her life didn't leave much of that. It had all been used before her eighteenth birthday. "Too late, doda, I have given up."
The call ends with no fight left in Ziva and she sits in the hardened chairs of the waiting room for hours before the doctor descends from the swinging double doors of the trauma rooms. "Family of Antony DiNozzo." He calls out and she stands, rushing towards him. His look leaves no room for hope and again the fight that she thought she held is gone.
To be continued…
A/N: To those who are rereading, welcome back and to those reading for the first time, thanks for clicking on my story. A quick message if you haven't noticed already: This story is currently under construction. The chapters are being rewritten, so please bare with me as I play catchup. Thanks and enjoy!