At first it's just a distant, almost soothing sound. The syncopated crackling barely registers as he lies there sleeping soundly, but begins to draw him from his slumber as it picks up its pace.
'I'm so sorry Tony'.
Abby's voice startles him awake and he is suddenly acutely aware that the crackling has shifted from fanciful to ferocious. He eyes the deep orange glow flickering under the doorway, his heart racing as he begins to realize what is happening.
'Ziva', Tony mouths as he turns to the sleeping figure beside him. But no sound leaves his lips.
'Ziva!', he tries again. Nothing.
She lies on her side, facing away and he can feel a rising panic wash over him as he tries again and again to rouse her. Each attempt grows more desperate until he realizes that it's not only that his voice is mute, he is completely unable to move. He cannot take in enough air, a vice-like grip tightens around his chest as he gulps in the short, shallow breaths. He wills his arm to reach out, to touch her, to wake her. Tears begin to sting his eyes as he lies there helplessly, suffocating in despair.
Through the roar of the flames he can hear something else, faint and difficult to make out.
'Ima…Ima…Abba'
Tony sat bolt upright, gasping between sobs, tears staining his cheeks as they merged with sweat.
'Breathe, breathe,' he repeated to himself, shifting to the edge of the bed in the hope that putting his feet on the floor would steady him. He cupped his face in his shaking hands as he untangled himself from the nightmare. Through his fingers he could see the outline of his little girl sleeping on her stomach, safe on the cot bed in the corner of the room. On the bed behind him a gentle inhale-exhale reassured him further that they, his family, were ok.
He rose to his feet and made his way to the bathroom, recoiling at the unsympathetic ultraviolet tube as he hit the light switch. The cold water stung but he allowed his hands to linger as they wet his face, the sensation of his hot skin prickling in the cool further distanced him from the horror he had just escaped. Tony met his own eyes in the mirror and stared blankly at the weary looking man in the reflection. He could barely recognize himself. The harsh light exposed and magnified every line, the dark circles, the glistening tears that sat waiting patiently. He breathed in deeply through his nose and exhaled slowly through almost-pursed lips, never breaking eye contact with himself.
His mind leaped back to lying in the bed, hearing Tali's calls, being unable to move.
'It was just a dream', he whispered hoarsely, stopping short as a familiar feeling snaked its way from the pit of his stomach, up through his chest and coiled itself around his throat. 'Except that it wasn't', the stranger in the mirror taunted. And at that, Tony dropped to his elbows and bowed his head into the basin as a guttural sob escaped him. He found himself sobbing harder and harder as grief, relief, anger and sadness fought to be released.
It had been less than two weeks since he had learned of Ziva's 'death', of their daughter, of his new life. The news that Ziva had been killed impacted him more than he ever could have anticipated. It was partly because of the resolution he'd made to go and find her once more, this time for good, and partly because he should have been with her the whole time. He had always assumed that they would reconnect, that she would reach the destination she was searching for on her own and come back to him. He loved her and he knew she loved him, but it had been two and half years since they'd seen each other, even he was taken aback by how strongly and firmly those feelings remained. He had one night at home with Senior to absorb the news, though most of that time was spent numbing the pain with a mediocre-at-best bottle of whiskey.
The series of events that followed where surreal; meeting the child he never knew he had, trying to understand why Ziva hadn't told him, thinking perhaps he was wrong about how she felt about discovering that Tali did in fact know him, that her 'Ima' had made sure of it, and most importantly, determining that Ziva was still alive.
With that came a brand new set of challenges. Not only was Tony still trying to figure out how to be a father and settle Tali into this new dynamic, he was undertaking a multi-stop international journey with a child under two. He had to keep moving, there had been so many things that simply did not add up. Perhaps it was after all the years under Gibbs that his own gut had become finely tuned or perhaps it was simply that he knew Ziva, but the moment he found the carefully framed photo from Paris he knew she was not dead. Intuitively he opened the back of the frame and sure enough, there was a hastily scrawled note in her unmistakable hand writing:
"16:00: Notre endroit, mon amour"
To the unassuming or an inquisitive interceptor this would appear nothing more than an affectionate time stamp, the preservation of a memory for future reference. But to Tony, whose own memory of that chilly morning in Paris was vivid and whose heart swelled at seeing those four little words, the instruction was clear. His decision to head to Israel was to get answers, partly around the authenticity of Orli's allegiance and specifically to ensure that whatever had caused Ziva to go off the grid was no longer a threat. As Gibbs had pointed out, he now had a daughter to think about, their daughter, and he knew that Ziva could look after herself for as long as necessary but it was his responsibility to ensure Tali's safety.
Upon arrival in Tel Aviv, Tony was not overly surprised to be met at the airport by two Mossad officers who quickly whisked him and Tali to a relatively isolated and unfamiliar location, where Orli was indeed waiting. Before booking the flight to Israel he weighed up the potential risk of returning there with their daughter, the little girl who well and truly had his heart and for whom he would move the earth to protect, but took assurance from the fact that Orli had brought her to him in the first place. He had to take that to mean that her claim of friendship with Ziva was true or at the very least, that she did not take issue with him or the girl.
Over the course of the afternoon, as Tali slept on a makeshift bed of cushions between interactions with Orli in Hebrew, Tony learned that Mossad had received word of an imminent attack ordered by Kort and that Ziva had arranged for Tali to be taken to the United States for protection. Following the attack on the farmhouse and with the contractor, Farsoun, still in the wind, Ziva did not want to risk being discovered alive. Orli explained that it had become increasingly evident to Ziva that she was not safe in her birthplace.
It seemed that simply being the daughter of the ex-director of Mossad, not to mention a former officer, carried with it a life sentence of looking over her shoulder. She feared returning to the US while Farsoun was still at large, certain that any threat would follow her and place both Tony and Tali in danger. Her regret at not telling Tony about Tali grew as she realized that the only option to protect both him and their daughter was to get her to him without communicating her intentions. So between them, Ziva and Orli had orchestrated this plan to free her of this burden, a plan that Ziva knew would bring heartbreak and turmoil to Tony, but one she hoped he would understand was necessary if they were to ever have a chance at being a family.
Tony did understand, more now than ever, that doing whatever it took to protect Tali was an undeniably justifiable reason for such an elaborate ruse. Yet it did not excuse that this was the way he learned of his daughter's existence, that the driving force behind all this was Ziva's love for both Tali and him yet it was a love that did not warrant him being a part of their lives until now. Once again he had parked his anger and hurt to continue the journey, confirming that the note in the back of the photo was indeed as he thought, Ziva having adamantly told Orli that 'he will know'.
And a mere four and half hour flight and two trains later, there she was. He had stopped across the street, watched her eyes sift through the crowd as it filed past, knew that the search was for them. 16:00 exactly. No doubt she had been at the cafe every day at this time and would have been for as long as it took. It had been so long since he'd seen her that his stomach flipped as he looked on, her chestnut locks tumbled down to meet her shoulders, his heart raced as he remembered the smell of her hair during those days and nights together in Israel. And there she was, sitting, waiting; it was like one of the countless dreams he'd had since leaving her all that time ago.
'Ima?!'
The small shriek had snapped him out of his haze and as father and daughter crossed the street hand-in-hand, Ziva leaped to her feet and hurried towards them. He had not had time to picture what the reunion would look like, but the tears in her eyes as Ziva scooped Tali into her arms, muttering Hebrew into her child's hair between kisses, caught him off guard. This was Ziva, yes, but this was first and foremost a mother and he felt himself overcome with emotion at the sight before him. She caught his eye and shot him a look of gratitude and relief as she reached out her hand and tenderly squeezed his arm.
The afternoon was full of pleasantries, of looks of disbelief at it all exchanged over cups of coffee as Tali littered the pavement with croissant crumbs and a more serious discussion about Tony's decision to leave NCIS. It was once Tali was asleep that the weight hanging between them was addressed. It was heated and passionate, but both were exhausted and ultimately found themselves in a place from which they believed they could work and begin to move forward. Ziva had cried as she told him of her torment at keeping Tali from him and the reasons for her decision, the ongoing battle with her past demons and he had instinctively pulled her to him and they fell asleep wrapped in each others arms.
That night he found himself briefly awake at 1am, staring at the ceiling, listening to the quiet breathing in the room. His family. Relief.
His mind then wandered back to the revelation he had a daughter. The love he had for her made his heart feel it would burst, but it was quickly countered by rising anger as he lamented over all the time with her he had been denied. Casting a glance over at Ziva sleeping beside him, he breathed in her scent and closed his eyes, coaxing himself to remember that they would work this out, all that mattered was she was there, that they were there. Yet those thoughts were soon discarded as his subconscious took hold and plunged him into fiery anguish.
His head hung so that his chin almost touched his chest. His forearms rested on the edges of the old porcelain frame, supporting his full weight, while every ounce of air from his lungs was expelled as he cried. Tony had known she was standing there in the doorway for some time but he didn't care. He could not remember a time he had ever felt such a loss of emotional control, possibly a fortnight earlier in the bullpen was the closest he'd come, but this was different. He simply could not stop.
The two weeks that lead him to the bed in Paris had been unrelenting. Every revelation was like a blow that forced him to disregard whatever emotion he was grappling with at the time and replace it with a new one. He had a string of half-processed feelings that were awaiting a resolution and it seemed the pedestal basin in a Paris apartment was the place it was going to happen. All at once.
Slowly he raised his head and looked straight into the mirror, but avoided looking at himself too closely this time. He saw her face, awash with concern as she studied him silently. All he could do was gaze past himself as he stood defeated and depleted, the tears continuing to trickle down his cheeks.
Ziva stepped towards him and gently took hold of his left arm. Without a word she guided him away from the sink, steering him back into the darker room. His heart pounded loudly in his ears, his body felt heavy as he lowered himself onto the edge of the bed. Beside him, Ziva took her place, shifting so she faced him despite his vacant stare straight ahead. She brought her left hand to his shoulder and took his right hand with her own, as though she hoped the gesture would steady him. Quiet descended around them as Tali let out a small groan in her sleep and shifted onto her side. Tony raised his free hand to wipe the last of the tears from the corner of his eyes and sniffed in deeply, the quiet intercepted by his shaking breath on the exhale.
'Tony, I am sorry'.
Ziva spoke quietly, her voice laced with sadness as she fought back her own tears. His distressed and abrupt awakening had startled her from her sleep and she had watched as he tried to compose himself at the edge of the bed. His suffering was palpable as he stumbled to the bathroom. She had torn herself from the horror of nightmares countless times, but she had never witnessed someone else wrench themselves from the depths of their dreams with such fury. A lump had grown in her throat as she listened to the best man she knew break down in the next room.
Tony turned his head and met her gaze, his eyes bloodshot and tired. Ziva searched his expression, her own pleading him to forgive her, to be ok; he was the father of her child, the only man who deserved her love, yet she was once again uncertain that she deserved his. He let out an exhausted sigh before bringing his lips to her forehead where he allowed the light kiss to linger.
'I know', he muttered delicately, his lips still against her hairline, 'so am I'.
After a moment Tony released her hand and snaked his arm around Ziva's waist, pulling her closer as she let her head drop to his shoulder. The two of them watched their daughter sleeping peacefully and Tony felt the weight he'd been carrying begin to slip away.
He had only known Tali for two weeks but he could no longer remember not knowing her, he had no recollection of not loving her. In that short time this love for her had engulfed his heart completely and whatever had come before was redundant. A small smile tugged at the corners of his mouth and he gently planted another kiss on top of Ziva's head as he realized, the same could be said for her.