Anon wrote: Ziva is totally alive. No doubt about it. But imagine the heartbreak she must feel having sent Tali away. Not because she doesn't trust Tony, but because she has never spent a single day away from her little girl before. She must be anxious and devasted, hiding somewhere in a run down parisian flat praying that Tony will understand her signs and reunite with her asap. Imagine her pacing and praying. Imagine the reunion with her daughter. Someone should write this!
Oh my goodness, anon, that someone is obviously going to be me. (Not sure if you know this, but I actually don't live with my own kids. I relate to this so hard.)
I actually think I may write a few more chapters of this. It doesn't feel complete yet, but I don't usually publish chapter by chapter, so we'll see.
Laying low had never been so difficult.
Before, she'd never had to worry about anything but her own safety. Was she well-concealed? Had people spotted her? Would she give her position away somehow? But before, she hadn't had Tali.
Technically, she didn't have Tali now, either.
She'd been down to the hotel's business lounge briefly, her hair covering much of her face, as typed in the flight number she knew that Orli had taken her daughter on. She hoped that this singular Google search wouldn't give her away, but she had to know if they'd made it safely. As soon as Tali landed on American soil, Ziva would feel so much less anxiety about the entire situation.
Trent Kort and his cronies were still at large, and although they surely assumed that she was dead, the stakes had never been higher.
If Kort found out that she and Tony had had a daughter … Ziva had shuddered at the thought of it down in the business lounge, and she shuddered at the thought of it again now.
"Ima, scared!" Every time she closed her eyes, she saw the fear in her baby's eyes. She could feel the way she had clung to her mother, stubbornly refusing to let go. She'd been strong then, but the tears fell of their own accord every time since.
It felt like ages since the last time she'd seen her girl's smile. Sure, she had photographs with her, but they were not the same as hearing that cheerful laugh, touching that soft skin, running her fingers through those tangled curls, or just feeling her comforting presence. The same comforting presence that Tony had always given her – that knowledge that she was undoubtedly trusted and loved.
Ziva lay back on the bed and let the tears fall.
Her trip to the lounge yesterday had confirmed Tali's safe arrival into DC, but she had no idea what might be happening right now. How had Tony reacted? Was Tali missing her? Did she remember her father, despite having only been introduced to him through photos?
Will she remember me, when we are finally reunited?
If, she corrected herself. Her plans hinged on Tony picking up the subtle clues she'd left that she had not perished in the fire. The only thing she could count on with absolute certainty was that Tony would ensure that Trent Kort saw the inside of his grave.
She rolled over to her side and blinked at the empty bed beside her. She missed her little girl. She and Tali were a team, they went everywhere together. Tali had been the sunlight in her life, the reminder that love was real and tangible, and she desperately missed that.
Missed the moments where they would lie down together in Ziva's big bed and Tali would scoot up close to her, the warmth of her little body lulling Ziva into a restful nap. The light, even breathing that made Ziva's heart sing with awe as she realized that this was an actual life, a life that she and Tony had created, a child with her soft innocence and zest for life and none of the baggage that Ziva thought had actually mattered, once upon a time.
Tali loved to snuggle, and despite never having been a snuggler herself, Ziva couldn't help but pull her close, feel that connection between them, and let her daughter slowly drift off to sleep in the comfort of her arms. Perhaps that was something she had gotten from Tony, for the only other time she'd fallen asleep in someone's arms was the one night they'd spent in this very hotel.
"Please be okay, Tali," she prayed, wiping a tear from her face. She could not contact anyone. She was presumed dead. She could only wait, and waiting killed her, especially now.
What if Tony never realized that she was still alive? What if she never saw her daughter again?
Ziva's heart physically pained her, as though someone had reached in and squeezed. She would see Tali again, and Tony, too. Eventually it would be safe to reveal herself. Eventually it would be safe for her to return.
How much of Tali's life would she miss out on before that happened? It had been more than a day, now, and it already felt like too much. Sure, it would not be healthy to never have separation from her child, but she had hoped to delay that for a little while longer – perhaps when she went to school.
But not now, Tali was still a baby. She was entirely dependent on outside forces for survival. Tali could not fend for herself, and Ziva had taken on the mantle not only of mother, but protector.
"It's my job to protect you." Hadn't Tony said that once? Or something similar? Now it was her turn. She must be the protector, the one who sacrificed for the good of her family.
Her family. Something she hadn't known in so long. She desperately longed for it, to have it back. Not her mother and father, no, but her daughter. Her … Tony.
She let out a deep sigh, sitting up and wiping the tears from her eyes. She could not just lie around and mope. Why not? a voice inside her head asked, but she pushed it away. She also could not go out and see the sights, for although she was presumed dead, all it would take is one person to recognize her, and all of her carefully constructed plans would crash around her head.
The only way she could be safe, have a life for herself, her daughter, and maybe even Tony (if he wanted), would be to wait. She could not reach out to any of her contacts for information on Tony and Tali, any more than she could reach out for information on Kort.
But oh, the waiting was killing her slowly from the inside. Tali. She must be so scared, so confused. Surely Tony would love her? Surely Tony would take care of her, comfort her in her need? Tali knew Tony, at least from photographs, and all of the stories she had told her, of the brave knight in shining armor who had come to the rescue of so many. Not just her – no, there really were so many. Tony was a true hero, and she longed to tell him so.
"Where abba?" Tali would ask, and Ziva's heart would break. She deserved to know her father. Tony deserved to know his little girl. And if it had been safe for her to reach out, had her position in Israel with her daughter not been so precarious, she might have taken a chance that Tony would not hate her forever for having kept this secret from him.
"I'm so sorry, Tony," she whispered, hoping beyond hope that Tony would feel it somehow, in his soul, perhaps, that she was alive and sorry and needed his forgiveness.
But Tali had already loved her father, and she had never even met him. She wondered how their first meeting had gone. Oh, how she wished she could have been there to see Tali's eyes light up with recognition when she saw him for the first time. How she wished she could have seen Tony with his arms wrapped tightly around their little girl, softly stroking her hair as he held her in his arms.
A tear dropped to the bedspread, and she chuckled through her tears. She had never cried this much in her life. But then, she had never been a mother without a child before, had she?
She missed her. Desperately.
She had never felt this crushing pain of loss before. Never. Not even when her sister had been killed had she felt this empty inside. Being a mother was a new sort of pain. She could hardly explain it, how every emotion she'd felt before was nothing compared to how she'd begun to feel anew. It was as though having a child unlocked an entirely new depth of emotions. Joy became joy of the pure, unadulterated sort, and sorrow became an unbearable sort of emptiness, the likes of which she had never known or understood.
How she longed to hear her daughter's voice. Perhaps one of the smattering of words she'd learned, her laugh, a shriek, or – heaven forbid – her crying. Anything, just to have her back, to feel her closeness and not this emptiness that being away from her child had wrought her.
Ziva had always prided herself on being strong. She'd been the tough warrior daughter, the assassin, the ninja. Never show weakness, never let emotion take control. She was strong. She could handle anything.
"Or so I thought," she muttered, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. Everything she'd done in her life had taken strength, including giving birth, but this? No. She was not strong enough for this.
But she must endure. That is the choice she had to make, to ensure her daughter's survival, and her own. Enduring this separation now could not break her, no matter how much she felt like she was already broken by it. She could endure, must endure, for Tali.
But god, how she longed. "Come back to me, my little lamb," she spoke softly into the air, hoping that her prayers would be answered and that soon she would once again hold her daughter in her arms.
I am sure that many of you are going to review and beg me to continue this. I think I already plan to, but I can make no promises. But I feel (as most of you undoubtedly do) that leaving it with this angst and unresolved is not okay. So please let me know what you think.
