AU 2015 [If CDP chose to renew her contract, something like this would eventually happen] Don't believe me? Bones, NCIS: LA, CSI, etc...
When a door closes, a window opens.
Exhaustion oozes out of her, sweat drips down the crown of her forehead. She's been punching the sand bag hanging from the nearly vacant 24/7 fitness center. Dust comes off her gloves like sprays of falling water unto sharp rocks. Images of a half-dead man gasping for one last full breath of air in the back of some Chili's dumpster ben keeps flooding back in into her memory black box. One last punch causes a sharp pain in her bicep and she grits her teeth and moans from the pain. She stops before she tears another ligament. God knows she's done that before.
Why does this man bother her so much?
Maybe it's because he looked a lot like her dead father, who had been shot and killed in a drive-by on a Friday evening between 5 and 6 when the sun was just setting. Oh look, she notices through the high window of the gym, the sun had already set just like the man's life.
Oh, how cliché, she thinks. Here she is after work with bruised knuckles and barely blistering fingertips and aching wrists from too-tight boxing gloves she thought were on right. She should be home getting ready for a shower or indulging on cheap box wine, just like every other case that ends with an unfortunate loss of a soul.
But the man who had lost his life was an agent. He worked mostly on-site at Quantico but would come up every month to check-in with Vance. An average guy, a little on the husky side, but kind. He had a wife who had been by his side for 23 years and two sons in high school and college. He had a life. He had a family. She did not. She could have easily been him. In fact, she almost was:
She was running, pulling six shots at a man who was wanted for embezzling and two suspected murders of a Navy lieutenant and an unsuspecting night janitor.
Her temporary partner for the day, who lies in autopsy right now waiting to be examined, was telling her to duck down and follow his league. He didn't know that she was a trained and very lethal former Mossad officer, but she didn't feel the need to explain that part of her life. He was well advanced in age and had far more Navy experience than she. And because he did, she went along with his commands and advice.
He motioned for her to move around the other wall, while he took the fence, perhaps they could corner him and finally get the bastard in custody.
She moved out of his sight; he was out of hers. Quiet.
Still quiet.
Then, bam! Once shot. She hears the sounds of grunting and yelling.
She runs towards the fire. Two shots.
Her Glock 22 moves in every direction and only then she sees the back of the suspect running towards an Escalade. Her instinct is to run after him, but she has two feet and he has four wheels. She stops, breathing heavily, hands on her hips, and memorizes the license plate.
She picks up her phone, calls it in to Gibbs. McGee starts running a search on the plates. Stolen car. Then, he gets access to the street cameras to find out where he's going and perhaps where he's been.
When she returns, expecting a semi-injured agent, she is greeted by an expansive pool of blood beside the man that seemed fine an hour ago. They had made small talk, focusing on his life rather than hers. She preferred it this way. His son was about to star in his senior showcase at school, he had already bought him a new guitar and made reservations at a fancy restaurant for celebration.
A seemingly great guy struck down my some lunatic with money problems and no conscience. She was a witness to it. And his life was drifting away. She did everything she could think of; turning him over on the side, and applying pressure to the wound before the ambulance arrived… she tried everything and yet….he still died.
She wipes the sweat from her brow, picks up the Aquafina sitting beside her gym bag and heads to the showers.
Before she completely undresses, she looks at her reflection in the mirror. She sees a shattered person who had seen too much, done too much, and said too little. She wonders if this is what she should be doing, if this is where she needs to be.
If you don't, who else will?
God, all she desires is happiness, to have what that man had. Is that too much to ask?
You have saved me, oh Lord. Too many times I have walked out on Your blessings. One in particular and just give me a sign I am doing the right thing. Because I feel so lost.
If only she had…
If only I had…
"Tony?"
His reflection appeared in the mirror she had been looking into. He was silent, leaning against the doorway and just staring with a small smile but concerned eyes.
Only after a transitory stare-down did he speak.
"I heard about what happened today," he says. "Went by your place. Figured you might be here."
She wants to take a hot shower and burn the emotions away like the Mike Franks files. "Well," she starts. "You found me."
If this is You, please don't make this too serious.
"And I'm glad I did. You look like hell," he jokes, making a move to his hair trying to insinuate the mess of her hair is somehow more displaced than her present condition.
Okay, it's You. You had to send Tony. Tony, of course. The goof-ball, the inappropriate talkative son of a…never mind…forget it, he's perfect.
"Considering the nature of this place, Tony, it's hard to imagine me not looking like hell." Her eyes roll, "and if you hadn't noticed…I was about to take a shower."
She turns around to grab a towel but feels a hand on her shoulder urging her to stay put. The feeling of his warm hand on her bare flesh brought another sensation out of hiding. He notices the tiny jolt that came out of her in response to his touch.
It was the same feeling they discussed a week before the Canary case. He thought maybe Gibbs had known the two of them were entertaining the idea of establishing a real relationship. After all, she mentioned, the Boss Man didn't slap Tony on the back of the head after Tony called her 'sexy'. Why would he if they weren't just coworkers? Oh, the memories. Damn the memories!
Her eyes slowly lift themselves from the plush white cotton in her hand to his eyes in the mirror. He had on a light blue button down shirt which was untucked from his black slacks, signifying the end of day look he had often worn around her place.
"Why are you here?" she asks quietly.
He breathes in and looks for an excuse, "because you need someone to talk to," he explains, "I should have ignored Vance's order to accompany him at that Senate luncheon. I'm your partner Ziva, always will be."
"No. You could've taken those bullets instead of…"
"Could've but I wouldn't have because we would be doing what both of us agree on, that's how we work," he says with an eyebrow raise. "Everyone goes on their own time, Ziva. You know that. Don't beat yourself up on this one."
He notes her micro expressions, perhaps it's not about the agent's death that's taking stabs at her.
It's even more personal than that.
"I really would like to take a shower, Tony." She sees the apprehension in his stance and is up for compromise. "After I'm done here. We'll talk, okay?"
He looks at her quizzically, then nods his head at her cooperation. "Alright. I'll be right here. So... No running away or escaping through the air ducts."
She's already enjoying the hot water by the time he finishes the sentence. He had missed Ziva being personal with him for a few weeks after they decided it was a better idea to stop seeing each other for reasons deeper than coworkers and field partners. The thing is, it messed with both of them way more than either of them expected. He didn't date; she didn't date. It still felt like cheating. But the even stranger part of it was that they never defined the partnership/relationship they had in the first place.
In the midst of the water running, he could hear soft singing. It was Ziva. He got closer from the lockers where he had been waiting to the first line of showers. He smiled at the way her voice was so magnetizing, so soothing, so very unlike her alter-ego; the deadly ninja crime fighter. When he realized she was singing the Breakfast Club theme song, he caught himself bobbing his head along to the melody.
Don't you forget about me
Will you stand above me?
Look my way, never love me
Rain keeps falling, rain keeps falling
Down, down, down
Just when he was able to fully enjoy the tune, the water shuts off abruptly and the curtain opens slightly to a now humming Ziva. He quickly scurried out of the view of the showers and into the locker room.
About five and a half minutes passed and she was walking out to where Tony sat, playing a game on his phone to pass the time.
"Tony," she questions looking down at him. Her duffle bag hanging full off on her shoulder.
"One sec. almost have- AH!" Ziva jumps a little at his excitement. "New high score. Yes." He clicks the phone and shoves it into his pocket then looks directly at Ziva. He sighs looking at her semi-wet mess of curls and her warm, familiar smile. He would love nothing more than to kiss her forehead and wrap his arms around her, but there are these translucent barriers now he dare to cross. She clears her throat, maybe because her thoughts were on the same concourse as his. He pats his knees and stands straight offering her his arm, "shall we?"
She smiles a little, knowing that a friend is there with her during a night like this. It's nice not to be alone; Ziva had had enough of that. There's a difference between solitude and isolation.
They are almost to the front door when he stops to look at her and wraps his arm around her back, "where do you want to go?"
Her thoughts jumble for a moment in time to think for the answer, then just goes with the best option mostly because of the lateness of the hour, "home."
"Alright. Sounds good."
She holds the door open for him and he follows. She sits on her sofa and props her de-shoed feet on the table in front of her. Tony follows suit, allowing him to take off his coat and sit on the opposite end of the couch.
"So, what's going on in that thick head of yours?" Great. Don't find traction in small talk.
She's contemplating whether or not to just get right into it, talk, and 'bear our souls', as he has said before. Either way, he knows when she's hiding and she knows that as well. So…
"Before my father died he told me that the truth has many faces…and I suppose that's still true."
She explains that seeing a man-a good man- with a family die in front of her where she could've just as easily been in his place hurt. It hurt because she didn't have what he had.
"I understand." He does. Baltimore to the Navy yard; Paris to Israel. "It's different when you know the man that dies in front of you has a guilty conscience…it's another when they're innocent…absolutely innocent…and you think if you acted sooner they wouldn't be lying lifeless on a cold autopsy table." She pulls her hand from her neck and starts picking at her nails, distracting herself from the ball of hot, boiling water deep within her abdomen.
"Perhaps, it…" she feels a burning tear creeping at the corner of her eye. Her right index finger nudges it back, not wanting to show such vulnerability. "I feel regret."
"About doing what your father told you to do? Being the assassin instead of the normal girl?" She nods, quietly holding back tears.
"I need to stop lying to myself. I tell myself that I am this strong invincible soldier and-"
"Ziva, you are strong and beautiful-"
"I'm not meant to be alone like this. No one is!" Her voice is filled with so much frustration. "We aren't bread just to fight till death, work day and night, with no cause. The truth is, I wish I could have a family of my own, Tony. I mean…is that so wrong?"
"No. It's not wrong, Ziva. If it were, we'd both be wrong."
She looks up to him and notices he was a lot closer than she originally thought. He rested his arm around her and pulled her closer to him. And she didn't resist, she allowed her wall to be torn down so he could be what he wanted to be for her. He was the only one that could sit with her so intimately, know this much about her, and talk to her like a best friend.
"Why would you be wrong?" she asks innocently, nuzzling her head near his chest. Any other day she would be wondering what the two of them looked like, being close together, spilling into each other, but she was too focused on other things to mind.
"Because I want that too," he admitted. "A family." Her body tenses up after realizing the bag of worms she had opened. They had opened. He's well aware so he continues to talk like it was no big deal. "But it's too late for me. It's not too late for you, Ziva. There's someone out there for you."
His thumb slowly moves back and forth on her upper arm. The last part stung in his mind, he can't believe what he just said. He wanted her, he loved her, he wanted…he just couldn't bear the thought of someone else holding her like this and knowing her secrets.
She thinks about a response. She loved him, though she never directly admitted it. It was always 'we love you' or 'you are loved'. One day she hopes to say it to his face, very clearly.
"I don't think there is…" She was about to say that the only person for her was him, but it was too late. He was already getting uncomfortable. Her mouth is open, about to say what she was thinking, but he stirred in silence.
After the silence she hears a low, almost jealous voice say "I would have given you that."
At first she doesn't believe what she hears. Is this man beside her trying to tell her…?
"What?"
She moved out of the cocoon they had created and turned her body so that she was facing him.
His eyes drift downwards to his clammy palms and then back to her eyes. With a surer tone, back to normal speaking volume, he opens his mouth and the words fall right out, "I want what we had back, Ziva."
"Tony, I don't. I mean what were we? We couldn't let the cat out of the bag without our jobs at risk. You couldn't tell your own father! What kind of 'relationship' is that?"
"Actually my father knew. He asks me about you every other time I talk to him. I'm pretty convinced if I hadn't dated you he would be trying to get you in his arms instead," his says the last part softer, actually reveling in the way his father worked. "Look, Ziva…" he rubs his temple and says the next part very carefully, "I am in love with you."
Her mouth is as confused, but mostly stunned, as she is. At first it shuts tight, then opens and smirks, then it's just hanging open waiting for her brain to come up with something to say.
"Tony, I don't think that's a very-"
How her heart hurts. The only reason they stopped whatever they had from progressing was the work-social rules and the fear that their judgment would be compromised. But she still wanted him, she still missed him not being with her after work, she still loved him.
"Ziva, I am done with us walking around our feelings like they're some damn eggshells," he demanded. "Now, either we can make this work-and believe me, this can work if you allow it to- or I can leave and…go to another team."
"I would never ask you to leave to go to another team," she sounded helpless.
"I know you wouldn't, but I would."
There was a silence so thick it felt as if the air had gotten heavier around them. She looked onward to the wall in front of her. After a moment she looked over to Tony, his head was in his palm, resting, but also processing information. She stood up and as she did she could tell Tony's eyes were fixed on her. He thought maybe she was getting up to leave, but in her own apartment? Nah.
Before he knew it, she was kneeling down by Tony's legs on the couch. She was smiling with her mouth closed and looking up at him with admiring eyes. He couldn't not manage to mirror what she did, what she was feeling right in that very second.
"You really love me?"
"Yes. One hundred and ten percent yes. I love you so much it's disgusting," he caresses her cheek and sweeps her strands away from her eyes. Her stomach feels flighty like a ton of butterflies are trying to escape. She wants to grab him by the neck and steal a dozen hungry kisses.
"Well, I love you so much it's outright repulsive," regardless her declaration was breathy and gentle and so true.
He just grins and lets the words sink in. Oh, God, how he has longed for this moment. A moment where a woman like her, Ziva, could allow him through and enter her heart.
Suddenly, she grabs Tony's hand. "What about the children?"
"Children?" Tony questions still grinning like a fool, cocking his head.
"You told me that you could give me what I wanted- …" She made a motion with her other hand. Tony remembers that hey were talking about family just less than a half hour ago.
"Oh." Then Tony nervously laughs, rubbing his free hand behind his head. "Yeah, I did."
"Unless you weren't being serious." She has him now, right where she wants him.
"Ziva, I would rather marry you first before we have kids."
Tony breathes in when he sees her eyes roll and get up from her kneeling position. He knows she was toying with him, but they both knew that all of what she was wanting (what he was wanting, too) were very real thoughts to ponder. The facts were as plain as the moon in the night time: He did want kids. He wanted her. He wanted kids (one day) with her.
"So, you would marry me?" Ziva goes into another room before he had the time to respond.
"Well, I guess I would. I don't see any reason I wouldn't." Ziva's gone from the room, probably vanished to come up with some more questions. He speaks in a lower volume, "Of course I would marry you." As if he's repeating to really grab hold of the big idea. He was wondering how they were talking about all of this so…so… nonchalantly.
When she returns she's smirking, dressed in one of his larger sports Tee's. His heart misses a beat when he sees her. Is she taunting him or is she welcoming him? He can't tell.
Her eyes are no longer worried, consistently wrecked with regrets and fear. Tony looks down to his lap, not knowing where this is going, where he's supposed to look. "Ziva?" She saunters over and offers her hand to have him get up.
He takes her hand with a curious smile and furrowed brows. She looks up to him through long lashes, those that are the color of her curly brown tresses. He notes that her skin is way more tangible now that she is opening herself up to him again. So he delicately places his left hand at the curve of her neck and it lingers there. She moves against it.
"I've missed you," he whispers against her hair. His arms are wrapped around her shoulders like a jacket to keep one warm in the chill of winter.
"I know," she breathes with eyes closed.
