Note: Basically, a series of vignettes focused on what Tony and Ziva's relationship could've looked like if she decided to return home with him Past, Present, and Future. Basically, me in denial forever. Basically, everything hurts. Basically. You'll probably recognize some canon moments from season 11 and 12 that I weaved in, but it mostly just focuses on the development of their relationship.
When they arrived in Washington, D.C., it's just before sunrise.
Emotionally exhausted, Ziva spent the last half of the flight asleep, her head against the window, her hand resting on his leg. Tony couldn't sleep. He had this irrational fear that if he closed his eyes, she would disappear. Like if he stopped watching her, even for a moment, she would vanish again and he'd spend the rest of his life trying to find her. He watched the dim lights on the plane reflect off her necklace. He brushed her hair behind her ear so he could see her face. He smiled. He took a breath. He stayed awake.
It took some time to convince her to come home. It took some time to make her believe that he was something solid she could count on, that he was reliable and real and so in love with her it ached. It took some time for her to understand that when he offered to change with her, he meant it. For her to accept his goal isn't to try to drag her back to her old life, to NCIS. He just wants to be able to see her, to reach her, to love her. He's offering her what he's always offered her: A partner, in whatever way she wants him.
Her answer came, finally, a few days ago in the middle of the night. They found themselves tangled in her bed in Israel, his lips making a trail across her skin. He was trying to memorize every piece of her, in case he had to leave her. He wanted her burned into his mind. He wanted his body to immortalize what it felt like to hold her, to taste her, to move with her until they were both left gasping for breath, sheets tousled and damp with sweat.
She rested her head on his chest, traced her fingers across his collarbone. He didn't move, just watched, waited. Hoped. She tilted her chin up, brushed her lips against his stubbled cheek and said, simply, quietly, "Okay."
Now, they are walking toward his car. She is still half asleep, body pressed beside him as they move - comfortably, silently, in sync - across the parking lot. With every step, he reminds himself that this is real, this is real, this is real. He wraps his arm tighter across her, a tangible link, and presses a kiss against her hair. He can't see her smile, but he feels it.
Tony asks if she wants to go to her apartment, and when she says no he sighs in relief. He can't take the idea of sleeping without her, not tonight. It will feel like a dream then, and he doesn't want to believe, not even for a second, that this isn't happening. Maybe she's thinking the same thing, because she reaches over and takes his hand, lacing her fingers with his own. He can't help but think of the last time this happened, when he dared to grab her hand, to link them, to take a single step forward in what he hoped would be a new relationship. They didn't make it home that night. They didn't make it anywhere.
This time, it's different.
This time, they get home safe.
When she goes to sleep now, she doesn't set an alarm.
If Tony sleeps over, she wakes up briefly, watching from under the blankets as he showers and gets dressed. He always stops on his way out to kiss her goodbye.
It's been two weeks since she returned from Israel. She went into NCIS a few days after they got back. She refused Tony's offer to go with her when she turned in her resignation to Gibbs and Vance, and talked to McGee, and hugged Abby. She didn't tell anyone about her and Tony. They just decided not to hide it. Ziva stopped by his desk on the way out, told him she would see him later, kissed him briefly on the lips. Her eyes unwittingly flicked to Gibbs afterward, leftover concern from a rule that no longer applied. She found him watching with a crooked, wry smile on his lips. She took that as a blessing, not that she was asking.
On this Wednesday, she crawls out of bed at 9 a.m. and makes coffee. It's a beautiful day, all sunshine and cloudless blue skies, and she throws up the curtains of her apartment to fill it with light. There is still a sadness in her chest that she can't quite shake, and she's trying to drive it away.
She doesn't regret returning to the D.C. with Tony. She's still not quite sure what swayed her, but something about laying on his chest in the middle of the night, feeling so safe and loved and understood, convinced her. It's a feeling she's longed for since she was a child. When her mother died, and her sister. When she had to kill Ari. When her father betrayed her. When he was murdered. And, back in that bed in Israel, she realized, very slowly and all at once, that it was Tony who had been there to offer her that comfort, even when she pushed him away.
How could she tell him she wanted to start over, and then push away the only person who made her feel like she could? Returning with him was the bravest thing she'd ever done, because it went against everything her carefully crafted self-preservation instincts demanded. But not giving into those impulses is exactly what she set out to do. And everytime he kisses her good morning or stops by after work or wakes up in her bed, she feels lighter somehow.
It's amazing, how much time they spent fighting something so natural.
Still, she's not quite sure who she is anymore, without the badge, without a purpose, without something to fight for. She sets out everyday to build herself again from the ground up, but she hasn't gotten very far past the foundation. Part of the new Ziva belongs to Tony, that much she knows. Sometimes that feels so impossibly good she just wants to drown in it and forget the rest. But she won't allow it. She made with herself when she agreed to come back to D.C. that she would figure out what was left of herself and nurture it. There needs to be something more.
Tony is endlessly supportive, spending evenings with her looking up dance classes and scuba diving lessons and researching humanitarian organizations. She always worried that taking their relationship to the next level would dismantle a friendship that had become such a touchstone, but they were still them. He still drives her crazy with his movie quotes. She still rolls her eyes when he corrects her English. They can never agree on a movie, or what restaurant to get takeout from. The night before, he complained through the entirety of Pirates of the Caribbean; Ziva retaliated by talking about how attractive she found Johnny Depp.
He can still tell when something is bothering her, without her saying a word. He is still as childish as he is sturdy, as boisterous as he is quietly dependable. He always seems to know exactly the right thing to say, and in a time when Ziva often feels like she's drifting away from herself, he's the liferaft she clings to.
She wonders why people bother to fall in love with anyone who isn't their best friend.
When she gets the job, they celebrate.
He lets her pick the restaurant, and his tie, and they pass the evening eating tapas and drinking too much wine. They've been together for just more than six months, and Tony can't help but think of how effortless it's been. There's been some bumps: Arguments about work hours and annoying habits that lead to her storming out or him slamming a door. Mostly, though, it's been this: Her laughing as she raises the glass to her lips, him resting a hand on her knee underneath the table. Happiness, the kind Tony had nearly given up on before she agreed to return with him.
It's everything he never dared to let himself hope it could be.
They spent months finding jobs for her to apply for. He advised her not to rush, to find somewhere that challenged her, yet felt comfortable. To take a job where she felt like she was making a difference. That's what she wanted, so that's what he wanted for her. Eventually, the right fit opened: An assistant director job at an organization dedicated to helping refugees. Ziva had him read over her resume four times before she sent it in. Gibbs and Vance gave her glowing recommendations. She was hired within a week.
He spends most of the dinner just watching her, enjoying the smile that finally looks like her smile again. It's taken a long time to get her here, to happy. As much as he wanted to, he knew he couldn't give to her. She had to find it herself. And now that she has, he can't stop watching her. It's riveting, like the sun finally peeking out after a string of cloudy days. Ziva has never been a person who likes sitting still, he suspects she's been that way since she was a child. All of these months of waiting, of searching for something and not knowing what it was, took a toll on her. He's glad it's over.
"What?" she asks, pausing with a fork halfway to her lips. "What are you looking at?"
"You. You're happy."
She smiles, ducks her head a little. "I am."
"I'm happy for you," he says.
She reaches across the table and takes his hand, brushes her thumb over the back of it, "Thank you."
He quirks an eyebrow, "For what, Miss David?"
"For being patient."
"Well, you know I always have your back."
He's overcome with the urge to kiss her. So, for all the times he didn't, for all the times he held back or talked himself out of it or walked away, he does. He wants to kiss her everyday for the rest of his life.
"I love you," he says, because he needs to.
"I love you, too" she says, and he knows it's true.
When Gibbs hires Ellie Bishop, she doesn't know how she feels.
Tony is hesitant to tell her, thinking she'll be upset, but she can't quite place the emotions that roll over her when she hears the news. It's not that she thinks she's being replaced. She knows her chapter at NCIS is its own, the same way Kate's was her own. Ellie will write a new one. But there's a finality to it, of knowing a new person is sitting at her desk now. She never intended to go back to NCIS, but now it feels like she couldn't even if she wanted to. There will be another woman joking with McGee and Tony in the squadroom in the mornings. There's a pain in her chest that won't let up.
Tony looks at her like she might break, and Ziva has to say something to make him stop or she just might. So, she asks questions. She learns that Ellie is young and smart and married. Tony tells Ziva she's a little odd, that she links food with memory and likes to sit cross-legged on the floor. But she's kind and hardworking and seems like a good fit. He says the last part like a question, a way to ask Ziva if she's okay without actually asking.
Ziva swallows a lump in her throat, "We should have the team over for dinner."
It's her way of saying she's okay without actually saying it. Tony understands. He always understands.
She has her old team over on a Friday night. Even Gibbs comes. Ellie is everything Tony promised her to be, and Ziva finds herself enjoying her company. She gives the team a new dynamic, transforms Tony from somebody's partner to somebody's mentor. For a moment, Ziva sees Tony how Ellie must see him, and it makes her smile. She'll be good for him. He has a lot to teach.
At the end of the night, Ellie lingers a little longer than the rest. While Tony packs up some leftovers for her in the kitchen, Ellie sits with Ziva in the living room finishing up a glass of wine. Her eyes travel around Ziva's apartment, landing on a picture of Tony and Ziva then flicking over to an old photograph of Ziva with the rest of the NCIS team.
She hesitates before saying, "You left some really big shoes to fill."
Ziva is surprised by the words, but she hears the anxiety in the younger woman's voice. She reaches over, places a gentle hand on Ellie's wrist, "I left no shoes to fill," she says. "You have your own."
Ellie looks up, a tentative smile on her lips, "Thank you for having me over. It's means a lot to have..." she pauses, searching for the right words. "Your blessing."
Ziva laughs, "You do not need my blessing, but you certainly have it," her voice drops to a whisper, "And if Tony is ever too hard on you, you just let me know."
Ellie laughs this time, finishing her wine as Tony reappears in the room, "Oh, I will."
"I heard that," Tony said, side-eying Ziva as he hands Ellie a tupperware container. "As senior field agent, it is my sworn duty to toughen her up."
Ziva stands, walking to Tony's side and wrapping her arms around his waist. She pats his chest lightly, "She is plenty tough, Tony."
"We'll see."
Ziva rolls her eyes as Ellie gathers her things, thanking them again on the way out the door. Tony and Ziva stay standing for a moment in the suddenly quiet apartment, her arms still wrapped around him. She leans her head against his chest, just listening to the quiet and steady beat of his heart.
Ziva says, her voice quiet, "She will be good for the team."
"She will," Tony agrees, and she feels his hand slide over her hair. "But you're not replaceable."
She thinks of all the things she's lost, of all the things she's left behind. She thinks of her family, of Mossad, of Israel, of NCIS. She thinks of telling Kate's sister, all those years ago, that she was looking for something permanent, something that couldn't be taken away.
She thinks that maybe she's found it.
When they move in together, they bicker.
Tony cannot remember a time when they weren't arguing. It doesn't exist. He slams the last box down on the living room, and she doesn't even look up from where she's sorting through the pile that's already there. He almost wants to snap at her, to start up another round of yelling just to cut through the silence that's been looming over them for the past two hours. He keeps his mouth shut instead.
It's Saturday, and Tony took a long weekend off of work so they could move. They found a two-bedroom apartment in his building. Tony traded in his single bed for a queen sized. They bought a new couch, a big, leather sectional perfect for watching movies. The kitchen is filled with all of Ziva's cookware. The only thing Tony had in his old kitchen was leftover pizza.
It's supposed to be a good day, a reason for celebration. But Tony forgot a box at Ziva's apartment, and Ziva complained about how many movies Tony had in his. They carried the couch up themselves. Ziva moved too fast on the stairs. Tony moved too slow. They couldn't agree on a mattress, or a rug color for the living room. They were sweating and dirty and exhausted and Tony is beginning to wonder if moving in together is the worst idea he's ever had.
And that's saying a lot.
But he keeps watching her, and he's suddenly overcome with sadness for everything this day should've been. They had come so far, made it so far, and instead of enjoying it, they weren't speaking. He no longer cares about his tired arms from the boxes or that she walks too quickly or that she insulted his movie collection. He just wants to make her smile.
He picks his way around the boxes. Ziva doesn't look up until his almost on top of her. Her hair is falling out of it's ponytail, there's permanent marker on her cheek. He sits down beside her, folds his legs up to his chest. She stares at him, waiting.
"Sweetcheeks," he finally says. "Is this a bad time to ask if we can get a puppy?"
Ziva stares at him, blinks once. He can see her forcing back a grin, "You are impossible. And you still have too many movies."
He places his hand behind her neck, pulls her forward, "You can never have too many movies."
"You have two copies of Casablanca!"
He grins. He's so close to her lips her can almost taste her, "One is the deluxe edition."
Before she can speak again, he kisses her. It's so much better than fighting. He pushes a pile of boxes out of the way so he can lay her down on the hardwood floor. She starts to reach for them as they crash to the ground, but he quiets her by pulling her shirt over her head and trailing kisses from her stomach to her lips. She takes control, pulling off his shirt and flipping them over, so she's on top and working the buckle of his belt.
"Now," she says, when her naked body is pressed against his and her breath is hot against his ear. "Admit you have too many movies."
His hands are on her hips. Her hands are working their way down, down, down. He swallows, "I have entirely too many movies."
They spend the entire night on the living room floor. The boxes don't get unpacked.
When Tony takes the phone call, his voice is pure venom.
He's standing in the hallway of their apartment building, and she knows he thinks she's still asleep. The ice cold tone to his voice shocks her, and she doesn't want to interrupt, so she just presses her ear against the door and waits.
"I swear to God, Gibbs," he says, biting off each word. "You call her and you will have my resignation in the morning. She doesn't know anything."
She can't hear Gibbs' reply, but she's heard enough to know the 'she' is her.
Tony speaks again, his voice louder, "Yeah, well. Screw you."
She doesn't have time to react to the abrupt and harsh signoff before the door is flying open and Ziva is stumbling backward to get out of the way. He blinks at her, then seems to deflate. He tosses his phone on the side table near the door.
"You weren't supposed to hear that," he says, massaging his temples as he pushes past her toward the kitchen and the coffee pot.
"I gathered as much," she says, turning to follow him. "But since I heard anyway. Would you care to explain?"
"No."
"No?" she reaches out, stopping him from leaving the kitchen with his cup of coffee. "Tony. Talk to me. What is it you do not want me to know?"
She can seem him battling with himself, and she steps in. She takes him by the wrist and leads him to the couch, settling in beside him. He's been so tired lately, completely worn down and pushed to his limit. She remembers the feeling.
NCIS has been chasing a terrorist, one that Gibbs has locked in on. She knows from experience that when a suspect gets under Gibbs' skin, nobody rests until that person is found. She also knows from experience that Tony usually takes the brunt of her old boss's short temper, made even shorter by frustration.
"Tony," she says, gently taking the coffee from his hand and setting it on the table in front of them. "Please."
"I promised you," he says, and his voice is quiet. "I promised that if you came back, I wouldn't drag you back in. I'm not letting anyone else do it, either."
Her brow furrows, "I do not understand."
Tony opens his mouth, then clamps it shut. She realizes he's trying to protect her, and it's not surprising. He's been trying to protect her almost from the moment they met. He's traveled across the world to save her, brought friends to D.C. to comfort her, risked losing her forever just to keep her safe. She presses a kiss to her forehead and feels some tension drain from his shoulders.
Disagreeing with Gibbs has never been easy for any of them, but it's especially difficult Tony. His entire NCIS career has been centered around making Gibbs proud. Ziva knows what it cost him to not give Gibbs the answer he wanted, and the gratitude and guilt battle inside her as she moves closer.
"I want you to tell me, whatever it is," Ziva says, bending down slightly to force him to look at her. "Let me decide."
What she doesn't say is, let me help you.
He sighs, rubs his eyes. He's exhausted, and he relents, "The terrorist we're after. His name is Sergei Mishnev."
He pauses there, and he knows he's waiting to see if she has a reaction. The name tickles something at the back of her mind, but she can't quite place it. She looks at Tony, giving him a look that tells her she needs more explanation.
He looks physically pained, his eyes trained on the wooden floor, "He is Ari's half brother."
"Ari's..." Her voice trails off as she processes the information, and all at once she understands what Tony was trying to protect her from.
Gibbs wants her help to find Sergei, and Tony was willing to walk away from the job he loves in an attempt to stop him. The lump in her throat comes suddenly, and she's not entirely sure if it's from the new information or Tony's unrelenting dedication.
"Gibbs wanted to ask you some questions," Tony says, explaining what she already figured out. "That's not happening."
"I will answer the questions."
"Ziva-"
"I will answer the questions," she says again, in a voice that makes it clear there's no use in arguing.
It's been nearly two years since she worked at NCIS. She has a new life, a job that's rewarding without taking some of her soul as payment. She's helped families settle into new homes, helped children find loving parents. She's teaching self defense on Wednesday nights. She's in a stable relationship for perhaps the first time in her life. The woman she was back then, who was so terrified of being pulled back in, seems like a distant memory. She can walk into NCIS and walk back out without feeling the temptation to stay. She's not that person anymore, and the warmth of realizing it washes over her in a wave. She's no longer the product of her father's world.
She looks at Tony, who is still watching her with such tender concern that her heart aches. She smiles, softly, an attempt to reassure him. She doesn't want to dig up her past, any part of it. There's nothing she knows that can help them, but she'll go in and talk to Gibbs, anyway. Not for Gibbs, necessarily, but for Tony, because he loves her enough to throw himself into the line of fire just to protect her wishes.
The least she can do is return the favor.
When he proposes, it's a Sunday morning.
They are out for a morning walk, a routine they picked up after they moved in together. The spring air is chilly, but still comfortable. They stop for coffee and to sit by the water. She dangles her feet over the edge. He tucks his hand into his pocket, touching the box that holds his mother's engagement ring. He asked for it from his father, then had to beg Senior to stop giving him tips on how to propose.
He thought of a million grand gestures for this moment, borrowing ideas from movies that he loved. In the end, though, he settled on simple. That's what they've always been. Being with Ziva isn't complicated. It's a choice, one he makes everyday, but it's the easiest choice in the world. He chooses her, and she chooses him, and if there's a better feeling Tony hasn't found it yet.
That's why he ended up selecting a time like this. It's a day like a hundred other days have been, and like a thousand other days will be. Spending the rest of his life with Ziva seems like a foregone conclusion more than a question, and he can only hope she feels the same.
He only told Gibbs he was planning to propose to today. His relationship with the older man went back to normal after the argument over Ziva. After he talked to her, Gibbs apologized - breaking his own rule with Tony for the first time in their relationship. Tony was grateful, to her and to him. When Tony told Gibbs his plans last night, Gibbs poured him a glass of bourbon, smiled a rare Gibbs smile, and said, "About time."
Tony doesn't realize he's been staring at Ziva until she clears her throat. He snaps out of his thoughts, and she's looking at him with an amused smirk on her face, coffee raised to her lips.
"Penny for your thoughts?" she asks.
"You got that one right!"
She rolls her eyes, "Tony, I have been living here for years."
"And yet, you still haven't mastered contractions."
She makes a face and sips her coffee. He chuckles as he palms the box in his pocket, pressing down the nerves rising in his stomach. He doesn't let himself pause as she turns back to face him, just holds the box out in front of her, propping it open on the nearly deserted riverfront. No ceremony, no getting down on one knee. It's everything Tony isn't supposed to be, and yet it feels just right.
Her eyes widen as she stares at the ring, then she lifts her eyes to his.
"Ziva David," he says, his voice soft. "You have been my partner for years, in one way or another. I love you, and I can't imagine you not being my partner for every year to come," he pauses, swallows, tries to keep his voice steady. "Will you marry me?"
Her face softens into a smile, she nods, her voice cracking as she whispers a quiet but decisve, "Yes."
He doesn't realize how hard his heart is pounding until she accepts, and he feels his pulse settle back to normal. He releases his breath, slides the ring onto her finger, and then pulls her into a kiss. Her arms are pressed against his chest, his hands are framing his face. When they break apart, they linger for a moment, foreheads pressed together.
Then she leans against him, holding her hand out to study the single diamond on a white gold band.
"It was my mother's," he says.
She turns back to face him slowly, and he can see the tears in her eyes as she soaks in his words. She hugs him, buries her face into his shoulder.
"It's beautiful," she says quietly, her breath tickling his cheek. "It's perfect."
"Hey," he says, holding her at arm's length and grinning. "You used contractions. I'm very proud."
"I turned in my badge," she says sweetly, "but I could still kill you in your sleep."
"There's my ninja," he says, and falls in love all over again.
When he goes away, she worries.
She spends most the time while he's gone with Gibbs, making sure he's taking it easy and recovering. She hasn't talked to Tony in weeks, while he hunts down the man that shot his boss. Everyday she fights back a rising panic, reminding herself that he's a trained agent, that they used to do this kind of thing together and always came home. She spins the ring on her hand, a nervous habit. She paces. She stares at her phone. She doesn't sleep.
She starts going into the NCIS office, waiting for word alongside McGee and Ellie. She wonders if this is it, if this is where she loses him. There was a time when she believed she would eventually lose everything she loved. Tony changed that, but now she's wondering if she only got to keep him for a little while, if this happiness she found will be as short-lived as everything else.
When Tony called to tell her Gibbs was shot, she knew he wouldn't stop until he found the man responsible. She expected nothing less. She would've done the same, and she has always admired his loyalty and dedication. His tenacity. Ziva just liked it better when she was there with him, when she was in the loop. It's not that she misses working for NCIS. She just wants to be the one to have his back. She doesn't even know the woman who is with him now. McGee assures him she is trustworthy, but Ziva has seen too much to believe it.
Now, she's sitting in their apartment, picking at leftover pasta and half watching a movie. When her phone rings, she nearly drops the bowl she's holding to reach for it. The unknown number on the screen makes her heart speed up. It's either Tony, or it's bad news.
"Tony?" she answers in a rush.
"Hi there," he says. His voice is weary, hoarse with lack of sleep, "Miss me?"
She doesn't reply. Can't, because suddenly she's sobbing. Quiet sobs, but they steal her breath and any ability to speak.
"Hey, hey," he's suddenly alert. "It's okay. I'm okay. We've had this and worse."
She laughs through her tears, "Back then I was there to stop you from doing anything stupid."
It's his turn to chuckle, "Ziva, if I remember correctly, it was you usually doing the stupid things. I seem to remember following you back into a building that was wired to explode."
"If I remember correctly, that's when you said there was nothing in my shirt worth dying over."
"Well," she can almost see him smirk. "I stand corrected."
She smiles, but stays quiet. He doesn't speak for a few moments either, as the lightened mood from their banter fades away. He tells her it's all over, that they got him. He tells her that he'll be home soon, that he misses her. She tells him Gibbs is doing well, physically. She tells him she's proud of him, that she loves him. They say good night, and she falls asleep on the couch.
She doesn't know what time it is when he wakes her with a kiss on her temple. She smiles as his touch pulls her out of sleep, and opens her eyes to see him leaning over her. He brushes some stray hair away from her eyes.
"Good afternoon, sunshine," he says. He tries to keep his voice light, but there's a sadness in it. "Sleep well?"
Ziva climbs to her knees on the couch, leaning over the back of it to kiss him, "I will sleep better tonight," she says, and pats the seat beside him until he works his way around the couch to settle in beside her. "How is Gibbs?" she asks, because he knows he would've stopped to see him first.
He winces and pinches the bridge of his nose. When he raises his eyes again, she's shocked to see moisture there. She reaches out, lets her hand linger on his cheek, "Tony?"
"He almost died, Ziva," he says quietly. "He could've died and I didn't do anything to stop it."
"There was nothing you could do," she says, moving her hand to grab his. "You told me what happened."
He nods, once. She doesn't think he believes her. She wishes, not for the first time, that he wouldn't carry guilt like he does. He's put so much on his shoulders over the years it's a wonder he hasn't collapsed. She doesn't know where that trait comes from, probably something his father ingrained in him from childhood. The responsibility he feels for the people around him is something she dearly loves, but the weight he carries when something goes wrong will tear him apart someday.
When she worked with him, she was always the one pushing forward, putting blinders on to avoid what went wrong. It was all about what came next. He always kept moving, too, but only because he had to. There was always a piece of him that stayed behind and tried to find his way out a different way, a better way. A part of him would be in that town with Gibbs for a long time.
He leans back on the couch, closes his eyes. She knows he'll soon be asleep. She curls up beside him, head on his chest, and his arms close around her.
"You did good," she whispers as she hears his breath even out. "Everyone came home."
When it's the anniversary of her father's death, Ziva's always quiet.
He doesn't push her to talk about it. He knows better. When Ziva is in pain, she curls into herself, throws up her walls, hides behind hostility and bitterness until she can breathe again. Tony has spent years chipping away at those walls, finding all of the possible entrances so he can just keep an eye on her while she heals. He's never been able to let her be when she's in pain. She's not his partner at NCIS anymore, but it will always be his job to protect her. Now more than ever.
He finds her sitting in the nearby park. Still. Quiet. Her necklace is in her hands and she's staring at it as the chain runs through fingers. He watches her for awhile at a distance and then slowly makes his way over, bracing himself for impact.
She glances up as he approaches, "I don't want to talk, Tony."
"I know," he sits down beside her.
Her voice hardens, "I want to be alone."
He nods, but doesn't move. He says, "I know."
She rolls her eyes, and he waits to see if she's going to get up and leave. But she doesn't. She doesn't speak to him, either. But she stays. That's progress. This is a battle they fight yearly. Last year, she locked herself in the bedroom for the entire day, snapping at him when she tried to come in to sleep that night.
So, this year, he doesn't try to do anything else. He doesn't touch her. Doesn't look at her. He just sits. He wants her to know he's there if there's anything she needs. And, he admits, he wants her in his sight. There's a piece of him that's still afraid of Ziva's self destructive tendencies, even though he hasn't seen them in awhile.
He doesn't know how long they sit there in silence. Hours pass. Sometime after the sun starts to set, she moves closer to him, and he cautiously laces his fingers with hers. She lets him.
"I still miss him," she says, her voice pained. "Maybe it does not make sense, after everything he did, but I wish he could be at the wedding."
Tony glances at her out of the corner of his eye, "Me too." He says, and he means it. "I got you something. It won't bring him back, but..."
He holds out the envelope to her and she looks at him, curious, as she takes it. She pulls out two plane tickets from inside.
"These are for right after our wedding," she whispers, tracing the Tel Aviv destination with her fingers. "Tony, we were supposed to go to Hawaii."
"I traded them in," he says. "I thought you might want to show me your home. We never got the chance last time."
There are tears in her eyes when she leans over to kiss him, "Thank you."
He smiles, "You are very welcome."
And then he stands, because he thinks she needs to be alone now, and he thinks that's okay. She doesn't stop him, so he knows he's right.
He winks, "I'll see you at home, okay?"
She nods, offers him a watery smile, and he turns to head back toward their apartment. As he walks, he thinks about what they've created together. A home, an understanding, an unshakable love built on an equally unshakable friendship. McGee has been teasing him lately, about how calm he's become. He still has his sense of humor, still tortures the younger agents on occasion, but he doesn't need the mask he used to hide behind so much anymore. He doesn't have to pretend to be happy, because he is happy. He doesn't need humor to hide his pain, because there's someone at home willing and ready to help mend him in a much healthier way.
He remembers years ago, talking to Gibbs in his basement about how to keep the cups of his personal life and his work life full. Looking back, he knows he was in love with Ziva even then. He was so terrified of ending up alone, of ending up like his father. Terrified of never having a family to replace the one he lost as a kid. He doesn't know if Ziva and he will ever have children. They've talked about it some, and think they might adopt. Whatever happens, though, he knows he found the home he'd always been looking for.
He found it in her.
When she marries him, Gibbs walks her down the aisle.
The day is beautiful, mild and sunny, perfect for their small, outdoor wedding. She chose a simple, white dress. Backless, with pockets. Her heels are blue. She nearly cries when Gibbs offers her a bracelet that belonged to Shannon for her something borrowed.
He hugs her before they go outside, whispers how happy he is for them in his ear. She knows his relationship with Tony got rough there for awhile, that Gibbs challenged his dedication to this job. Ziva had been angry with Gibbs for a long time because she saw the aftermath: How Tony came home on edge, how he snapped at her for nothing, how he couldn't, or wouldn't, put into words what was bothering him. Eventually, Gibbs let up. As he healed physically, he healed emotionally, too. He seemed to remember the kind of senior field agent he had at his side and, in his own way, let Tony know it, too. They were fine again now. They always seemed to end up fine. And she's happy that on this day, the man they both think of as a father can play such a big part.
She takes his arm, and they step out into the sunlight. There's about 20 people in the seats: Co-workers mixed with a few old friends, Tony's father, Schmiel. She can make out the top of Tony's head as she approaches. There's a small band at the front and, as Ziva and Gibbs turn the corner, it starts to play.
Tony's head snaps up. When he focuses on her, his face melts into a smile. She looks at him, and she sees all of the years that have gone by. All of the years with him. What would her life have been like, she wonders, if she chose to stay behind in Israel? If she let him go? It's hard to imagine. She spent so much time putting her life in his hands everyday that marrying him now just seems natural. She is his and he is hers and there's no other way it could have possibly worked out.
His eyes travel, from her shoes all the way back up to her face, lingering on every inch of her body. She'll never get tired of the way he looks at her. As they head down the aisle, Tony never breaks eye contact, not even as GIbbs hands places her hand in his, or kisses her cheek. Not even has the two men shake hands. It's like he's afraid to look away, like she might disappear if his glance strays for even a moment. She reaches out, gives his hand a small squeeze, to reassure him. He smiles.
The ceremony is quick, a bit of a blur. Before she can process any of it, he's sliding a ring on her finger. She's saying her vows. They're being pronounced man and wife. She wonders how they got here, how all of the days from the moment they met tied together to bring them ... Here. And then, suddenly, she can kiss him. His hand is on the back of her neck and she leans forward, connecting their lips. It's a gentle kiss, but an urgent one. Perhaps the most important kiss they'll ever share.
After, he holds her close for just a moment, keeping his hand on the back of her neck. In a voice meant only for her, he whispers a familiar phrase, "At lo levad."
You are not alone.