More Than Just Artwork
Rifiuto: Non Miriena
Summary: Tony notices what appears to be a recurring pattern among his coworkers. AU established McGiva, implied Tate. Another pre-written one-shot of Zani's.
He still didn't understand it.
And he could still hear Kate's response from that long ago conversation- "It's more than just artwork, Tony."
But now, as he watched the Israeli assassin chase after her four-year-old charge, he found that it confused him as much now as it had back then, when he'd talked it over with Kate.
"Got you!" A squeal escaped the little girl's vocal chords as her mother scooped her up, kissing her quickly as she settled the child on her hip; the flowing off-the-shoulder top her mother wore rode up slightly, revealing a splash of red as it danced around her waist.
It was the latest in a series of 'paintings' his coworkers had gotten in the last few weeks.
The Senior agent glanced beside him; Timothy McGee was lounging in one of the chairs, a beer dangling from his hand, his eyes closed, face tilted towards the sunlight. The team was spending the weekend at Gibbs's cabin at the lake; since his younger coworkers had married ten years ago, Tony had taken it upon himself to keep a close eye on the young couple, especially when the pair were separated.
He chuckled, glancing back towards the water's edge, where Ziva had set the little girl down and then removed her top; she now stood in only her bikini, long dark curls pulled back in a messy braid that hung over her shoulder. She took the child's hand, keeping a tight hold on the small mirror image that was her oldest daughter, as the little girl knelt down to dig in the mud at her feet.
Even with the sunlight outlining her in a golden halo that bounced off the crystalline blue of the lake, Tony could see the intricate design that stemmed from her left shoulder down her back in a diagonal, towards her right hip. Despite having been raised in the Jewish faith, since she'd become American, Ziva had indulged in many American 'traditions'- tattoos being one of them.
But, unlike most who got them, all of hers had a specific meaning to them.
They told a story that only a select few were privileged to know.
"Abba!"
Tony turned as Tim started, his green eyes snapping open to find his six-year-old son having climbed into his lap. The older man chuckled at the moment of confusion in his probie's eyes before Tim sighed, taking a sip of his beer and setting the bottle on the small table between the two chairs. Once both hands were free, Tim reached up, ruffling the boy's sandy curls. "What are you doing, Ari, hmm? Not causing trouble, I hope, my little lion."
The boy giggled, glancing at Tony. It always surprised the older agent that Tim and Ziva could name their son after her murdering older brother- even though Ziva had chosen the name simply because of the man she remembered, not because of the memories and heartache the team associated him with. Technically, the boy's name was Arieh, but everyone called him Ari, except for Tony; the nickname brought back painful memories of the woman he'd secretly loved and lost without a word to how he felt about her. No, instead, Tony called the little look-a-like McGee 'Arik', a diminutive of 'Ariel'- not that the boy minded, cared or even really understood.
"You drew on yourself, Abba!" The boy cried, reaching up and rubbing at the black on his father's finger; Tony's eyes followed, seeing the Celtic knot on his partner's ring finger- identical to one on Ziva's ring finger. The knots were simple and beautiful; instead of gold wedding rings, Tony's partners had gone with something a little more permanent. "Ima won't let me draw on myself." Tim chuckled softly, pressing a kiss to his son's head.
"These aren't drawings, Ari, love." The boy raised green eyes to his father, confused.
"Then what are they, Abba?" Tim sighed, glancing at Tony, who shrugged.
"Don't look at me, Probie. I still don't understand why you chose to ink yourself." Tim chuckled, pressing another kiss to his son's head before moving the boy and getting up.
"They're..." He turned as Ziva came back with their youngest clinging to her hand. "They tell a story." The boy furrowed a brow as his sister climbed up beside him on the chair, watching as Tim pulled their mother into his arms.
"What story?" His parents shared a glance.
"Our story, ahuva." Ziva replied, kneeling down and gently tapping her son's nose.
"I still don't get it, Boss."
"Get what, Tony?" Abby asked, joining the Senior agent and Team Leader at the grill. Jimmy and Ducky were sitting at the picnic table, deep in conversation, and Breena was out at the water's edge with Tim and Ziva; Victoria- or Toria, as the team called her- Breena and Jimmy's daughter, was teaching Ari how to skip stones; being two years older, it was well known that the girl had a crush on the boy, something their parents constantly joked about.
That someday, they'd be linked together as family by more than just Gibbs and the agency.
"The whole tattoo thing, Abs. Being stuck with a needle thousands of times for a piece of... well, artwork."
"Oh, Tony! Tattoos aren't just artwork! How could you ever think that? They... they tell a story!"
The older agent raised an eyebrow. "What story?" The forensic tech shrugged.
"Whatever story the person wants to tell." He glanced at Gibbs, who just chuckled.
"If you're so curious about their story, DiNozzo, why don't you go ask them." Tony turned back to the lake shore, where Tim and Ziva were walking along the beach, hands linked loosely together, keeping an eye on the kids as Breena returned to the picnic table, wringing out her wet hair.
Tim slid his arms around his wife's waist, brushing his fingers over the red Israeli Anemone that seemed to float on the breeze in a diagonal down her back towards where they seemed to morph into a red American rose that bloomed on her hip; it signified her leaving behind of one world to become part of another. Her husband often referred to it as her 'Americanization' tattoo, something Ziva took to heart.
She met his gaze, tracing her fingers over the Irish infinity symbol beneath the back of his left ear, before moving her other hand down over his shoulder, brushing against the tattoo on his upper arm- the beautiful blue and white entwined Celtic knot and Star of David signified their marriage, and if Ziva looked close enough, she could make out their wedding date.
"What?" She shrugged, glancing over his shoulder; Tony was watching them, a thousand questions in his eyes, all in regards to the art both wore permanently staining their skin. Tim followed her gaze, chuckling softly.
Tony sighed; he knew about the knife on Ziva's inner thigh- and the ribbon that wrapped around it, with Tali and Ari's names in soft French script on the inside of each ribbon that wound around the blade, and how her parents' names made up the guard and handle, and how the Star of David seemed to hang from the knife point- something that was in memory of her family, of those she loved and lost in the name of Israel. He knew about the first tattoo Tim had gotten- though while Tim had told him it was a heart with 'Mom' inscribed in it, what Tony didn't know was that it was actually a Celtic dove holding the Irish flag in its mouth- signifying his Irish heritage, and that it was nowhere near his ass.
He watched the couple make their way back to the house, and before kneeling down to accept the three children who came racing towards him. As he kissed each one on the forehead, Ari asked, "Uncle Tony, do you have drawings like Abba and Ima?" He pulled back, furrowing a brow.
"Ah... no, Arik, I don't."
"Why not?" The older man swallowed.
"Because..."
"Because Uncle Tony is afraid of needles, ahuva." Both males turned as Ziva and Tim joined them, their skin glistening in the fading sunlight; Ziva grinned cheekily as she grabbed a towel and began drying off, for Tim had dunked her in the lake earlier. Tony narrowed his eyes.
"I'm not afraid of needles, Ziva. I just fail to see why a person would want to permanently mar their skin with artwork."
The couple shared a glance. "It's more than just artwork, Tony." Tim replied, pulling on his shirt once he'd dried off.
"Then what is it if it's 'more than artwork', McGee?" The older man responded, and he soon heard Abby's words being thrown back at him once more.
"It's a story. Tattoos tell a story."