Memories.
As soon as she mentioned her mother, he took the opportunity to say: "You have never talked about your mother". His words were like a sharp knife in her mind.
"Neither have you" she said before thinking about anything. She didn't want to think about her mother, she didn't want to talk about her.
"Well, nobody has ever asked me to talk about her… " he said, looking at her with a soft smile on his lips.
She stared back at him and she didn't say anything.
He waited for her to say something for a few moments, but as soon as he realized that she wasn't going to say anything, he started to talk. He couldn't stand the thick silence between them.
"She was a wonderful woman. She was beautiful, smart, funny… she always had a smile on her face for me, even when all she wanted to do was cry or be alone. She… she was very sweet with me. Every night she came to my bedroom and she sat on my bed. She tousled my hair and chatted with me for a while, until I fell asleep."
He paused for a moment, unaware of the battle that was being fought in Ziva's mind. She felt happy, because he was sharing his memories with her, because he trusted her so much that he felt like telling her these things. But she was shivering inside, and not only because of the constant pain. Something was happening between the two of them. This moment that they were sharing scared her, because she didn't want to get so close to him now that everything was about to fall apart. But she still wanted him to keep talking, because she loved that moment with all her being, and as long as he kept talking, she still felt alive. That moment was the sweetest thing that she could imagine. The two of them, alone, sharing the deepest memories like two lovers.
No. she couldn't let herself think about this.
"Sometimes I wondered how she could have married a man like my father. He was so different from her. He spent his life chasing after women before he met her, whereas my mother only had a few important men in her life before my dad. They were so different… and I've always wondered why they got married. They never told me anything about the time they first met, or about their first date… maybe it's just because I was only a little boy. But, well… sometimes I wondered if they were really in love or they were just married without being in love with each other. I wondered how they could be in love with someone so different from them."
Tony smiled. "But they were in love with each other, I know, and I've always known this. They loved each other very much. My dad was so… different when he was with her, he was just himself. When he was with Mom, he didn't need a mask to cover his feelings or his true being. And my mum… she felt happy when she was with him, I knew. Even when they fought, when they were angry for each other… even in those hard moments… they loved each other. And it was clear even for a seven-years-old boy like I was."
Tony lowered his head, looking at his hands, and he bit his lips.
"And then she died." His voice was almost a whisper now. "She died, and I… I suffered a lot, she was my mother, my Mom… my family, my world… And my father… he couldn't be himself anymore. He lost the one who loved him for what he was, so he just put on his mask again and he has never left it."
He raised his head and stared at the ceiling without seeing it. Ziva wanted to touch him, to comfort him with her hands, but she couldn't because she wasn't able to move because of the raging pain.
"I wonder how he managed to live after her death. I wonder… I wonder how he can live without her. I don't think that I could do that… that I could live without the woman I love."
He looked at her, and she saw tears in his eyes, tears that he was not ashamed to show. She stared back at him, the pain growing inside her. Everything was said with their eyes.
"She won't die." Ziva said, splitting blood once again, fighting against the disease that was killing her slowly.
Tony kept her hand in his and held it.
"I know."
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