I don't know why these all ended up being about Tony. Perhaps because his history is easier for me to imagine than Ziva's.

Theme 2: History

History – Wendy

He still remembers the days when New Year's Eve meant drinking, partying until dawn and ending with an interesting injury that would make a great story in the future. The drinking part isn't likely to make an appearance tonight. But the great story bit? He still has hope.

The team has spent this New Year's gatecrashing a dinner party up in Baltimore. They'd gone in looking for the weapon that would match a commander's lethal head wound, and they had found a blood-stained screwdriver fitting the bill in a tool box under the sink in the commander's daughter's apartment. But it was her tipsy and argumentative husband who they ended up taking into custody. Tony and Ziva were both required to restrain the hysterical wife while her husband was marched out to Gibbs' car in handcuffs, and eventually the rest of the guests were left to finish their champagne and hors d'oeuvres in peace.

While Gibbs and McGee drive off with their suspect in one car, Tony gets behind the wheel of the second and takes Ziva in a completely different direction. He thinks it's probably going to take a while to make the trip back to the Navy Yard tonight anyway, and decides that another 20 minutes on New Year's won't make any difference. He hopes his partner will indulge him for those minutes as he drives them down memory lane.

Ten minutes later he pulls up outside his old apartment building. Something bubbles up in his chest as he looks up at the rundown, graffiti-tagged building, and he's not quite sure what it is. He certainly doesn't miss it here. He's not pining for times past. What is it?

"What are you looking at?" Ziva asks after the car has been idling for a few seconds for no obvious reason.

"This used to be my apartment building," he tells her, and then swings his head around to take in her expression.

Ziva peers through the windshield and wrinkles her nose. It makes him smile. "Well. I can see why you chose it," she deadpans. "It is a lovely neighborhood." He chuckles and she points down the street at the darkened corner store that screams danger. "Oh! And convenient. It looks like you can get your milk and your crack at the same place."

He sighs with affected melancholy. "I really do hate that I have to make two stops for those now."

She smiles at him, and his gets bigger.

"Why here, Tony?"

He shrugs and looks back at the building. "Because we were poor," he says obviously.

There is a pause before she catches on. "Wendy."

He nods, feeling only slightly uncomfortable, and gestures at the building with a flourish. "This was to be the marital home. To begin with, anyway."

Ziva shoots him a look of gentle pity that he takes no offence to.

"Maybe the building was an omen," he suggests.

She nods and looks around. "New Year's Eve has you thinking about times gone by, yes?"

"Only because we ended up in Baltimore," he tells her. He hadn't been thinking about this part of his life at all lately. He looks out the window again and tries to remember how it felt to be 28, a new detective and with a serious girlfriend he was thinking about marrying and starting a family with. He can grasp only fragments of the memory. Younger Tony feels like a stranger to him. "God, life takes some crazy turns."

She snorts, and he turns his head to look at her. Her can read her comment on her face. Understatement. He smiles again.

"Did you feel more stable here?" she asks, and the question doesn't really surprise him.

"Kind of. I thought I knew what was coming," he admits. "Then Gibbs arrived." That feeling from before bubbles up in his chest again, and he rubs his hand over his shirt. It's the strangest sensation.

"You sound like you regret that," Ziva says carefully.

He shakes his head. Many times in the past, he has wondered about what life would have been like if he hadn't taken Gibbs up on his offer. He may have his bad days (and, okay, the bad days are becoming more frequent of late), but this job gives him a measure of unpredictability—crazy turns—that he knows he wouldn't have had if he'd stayed in Baltimore.

He'd traded off other things, but…

"No," he tells her definitively. It takes him a few more moments before he explains himself further. Any discussion with Ziva about the future or what he wants is…scary. "There are just bits of life I thought I was going to experience that I haven't."

Her expression is open and warm, and he thinks she's trying really hard to make it easier for him. "A family," she says, getting to the point for him.

"Yeah."

Her eyes flick away for a moment, the only hint that she might be uncomfortable. "Do you still want that?"

The question hangs between them as his thoughts drift to Wendy. She didn't marry him, but she married someone else and they had a son. That could have been his son. He thinks about Jeanne. He could have married her if they'd met under different circumstances. He definitely could have had a kid with her by now.

It strikes him for the first time that Wendy and Jeanne were pretty similar. A teacher and a doctor, both passionate about helping people and caring for them. Perhaps that is why both women appealed to him. Because not so deep down, he wants someone to care for him. Not to look after him, exactly. But to watch out for him and guide him away from doing stupid things. Someone to stand by his side when he does stupid things anyway. Someone with his best interests at heart, and who fights with him because of it.

"Tony?"

He looks across the way at her and smiles. Because he does have someone who does all that. "Yes, I do," he tells her.

Her face softens, and so does his heart. "Wendy said you were a hopeless romantic," she says, and manages to make it sound like she's making fun of him.

He opens his mouth, but she cuts in to address the point he was about to make.

"But I did not need her to tell me that."

He smiles again. She gets him. He's a lucky man. He puts the car back in gear and accelerates away from his past life.

"You do not want stable," Ziva states as they pass the scary corner store. "Mundane, predictable. That is not you."

"No," he agrees. "But being a detective in Baltimore wasn't exactly mundane."

"I am sure it was not," she says. "But would you have traveled as much as you have if you stayed? Would you have been mentored by someone like Gibbs? Would you have found another teammate who is as technologically adept as McGee? Would you—"

"You don't have to sell me on the idea, Ziva," he says. "I love my job, mostly, and you all have become a kind of family."

"But not the kind of family you are looking for."

He glances at her out of the corner of his eye. "I'm not going to ask McGee to adopt a kid with me, no."

"He would make an excellent father."

He heaves a sigh. "Don't you dare say that to him. He'll be unbearable."

They drive a few miles in silence, crossing into a better part of town that's alive with New Year's revelers. He remembers that the restaurant he took Wendy to the night he proposed is around here somewhere, but he doesn't look for it. He doesn't feel the need to visit with the past anymore. The end of that relationship really did break something inside him that's never healed, but things are still better now. He has someone now who likes him better when he's being himself instead of acting the clown to make other people happy or feel better about themselves. He has someone who has all the skills he doesn't, and who lacks a lot of the ones he does. He has someone he would go to the end of the earth for, and who he knows would do the same for him in a heartbeat.

Okay, she's not his girlfriend yet. But he does think about marrying her.

She breaks the silence. "I have something terrible to say to you."

Someone who is pretty straight with him. "Oh. Great."

"I am glad that Wendy left you."

He winces and shoots her an irritated look. "That is terrible," he confirms. "You could have just said you're glad we broke up," he points out. "It would've gotten the same message across without stabbing my ego."

"Sorry." She sounds sincere. "I just meant that if you had not broken up, and you had not joined NCIS, then you would not be in my life. Technically, if you were not in my life I would not know what I was missing. But since you are, I am…thankful."

They pull up at a stoplight and he looks across at her. She looks nervous but sincere. He only teases her a little bit. "And you say I'm the hopeless romantic."

She smirks, and then surprises him by reaching over to cup his cheek and leaning over the center console to kiss his cheek. Her lips are warm and soft, and that feeling rises in his chest again.

"Happy New Year," she tells him.

He kisses her cheek back. "Happy New Year."

"I hope that this year you are able to make a start on getting the family that you want."

He looks at her closely, and he's convinced she knows what she's saying. He finally knows what the feeling in his chest is. It's relief. Relief that things worked out the way they did.

He squeezes her hand and smiles at the opportunity laid out in front of him. "Things are definitely off to a good start, Ziva."

By this time next year, he thinks he might have a good New Year's story to tell.

…

History – Bridget

He has a history with her. One that stretches back 25 years to a time when both of them, by all accounts, were gorgeous and carefree and idealistic. Apparently he told her once that he wanted to be a musician—not a rock star, a musician, because that is far more romantic to some 15-year-old girls—and now she jokes with him about it and brings it into conversation as if she knows his entire life.

Ziva does not like her.

Bridget—her calls her Bridge because they've known each other since their teen years and that what he's always called her—just transferred from Norfolk. The first time she comes to visit his desk she tells him that she heard another agent refer to him in the elevator.

"Tony DiNozzo! How many Tony DiNozzos can there be out there?"

At least two, he reminds her. And they both laugh as if Tony sharing his father's name is some huge inside joke.

Ziva hates her.

Isn't it funny—oh my God, it's so funny!—that they've come back into each other's lives?

Bridge had leaned over his desk and lifted golden hair over her shoulder, and although her back was to Ziva she'd watched her partner's eyes travel south. Ziva's had traveled to the heavens.

The first time Ziva met Bridge officially was on a slow day when she and Tony had eaten lunch outside in the courtyard. Bridge had appeared out of nowhere carrying a burger and fries (it is hard to get a pitcher of beer in the Yard, she'd joked, because she's just one of the guys…with giant boobs) and sat down uninvited beside her oldest BFF. Tony introduces them and steals a French fry from Bridge's plate, and Bridge turns an OTT smile on her. She mispronounces Ziva's name—Tony has literally just said it—before telling her that Tony's told her so much about her.

"Really? I have not heard anything about you."

Bridge 'playfully' asks Ziva if she's a good agent since it's her job to watch Tony's back—"You better not let anything happen to my buddy!"—and when it becomes clear that Ziva has literally been stunned into silence Tony steps in to assure Bridge that Ziva's the best.

Two days later he comes in late and hungover, and Ziva feels her stomach drop. He talks of a drink that turned into ten, and an impromptu visit to a piano bar. He's thinking of starting lessons again. She swallows her comment as McGee watches with concern that Ziva angrily ignores and Tony doesn't notice. She wants a case to work on.

She gets her wish. A sailor's wife is killed in her home. It looks like a sex crime. Before she knows it she's undercover and baiting the enemy. She throws herself into the challenge, and after two 'dates' their suspect is arrested during a rough, semi-clothed struggle. She breaks two of her fingers and a wrist in the arrest.

Tony never makes it to the hospital.

She starts to hate him.

Later on she finds out that he was 'interrogating' their suspect, and that somewhere along the way he learned (probably from her) how to inflict pain without leaving marks.

She starts to hate herself.

Bridge stops by the next day to compliment her on her "great job!", and on the black eye she picked up, then offers to show her how to cover it up with concealer.

"I've had a few in my time," Bridge chirps. "They can be a bitch to hide, but I can teach you."

That's the last straw.

She accosts Tony in the break room and makes it clear that he is not, under any circumstances, to share a shred more information about her with his new sidekick. She turns her back on his expression of surprised hurt.

Hurt me, I'll hurt you back. It's how she operates. He should know that by now.

She begins to avoid contact and non-professional interaction with him, and starts seeing a veterinarian several years younger than her who she meets at the gym. Bridge makes noticeably fewer visits to the bullpen, and she features less in Tony's stream of consciousness conversation when he is bored. But there is a spring in his step and a twinkle in his eye that makes the pit of her stomach burn. She fights her jealousy with vigorous sex with the veterinarian who she doesn't particularly like.

It takes a brutal drive to Pennsylvania together for him to confront her about her jealousy. He is right, and she hates it—that it is the truth, and that he knows it—so she throws her 'relationship' with the veterinarian at him as airtight evidence that she doesn't really care about whatever he is or isn't doing with his sidekick. He flat out tells her he doesn't believe her. His gall makes her want to drown him.

Their relationship fractures further.

The veterinarian breaks up with her for reasons she doesn't really hear or care about, except that the next morning it's her turn to show up at work with a hangover. She returns to the bullpen after a bathroom break to find Aspirin on her desk but no colleagues around. She knows he's responsible, and the small gesture thaws her out. She misses him. Even if he is still the dumbass dating Boobs McLegsly. She makes sure he sees her smile of thanks that afternoon. He thaws as well.

She swallows her pride. And her jealousy.

She leaves early that night so that she can get to the stoop of his apartment building before him. It's 15 minutes before she sees his familiar outline coming towards her, alone. Her all-day queasiness subsides. She doesn't like the wary look in his eye when he sees her, but it dissolves when he notices the takeout coffee cup balancing on the pizza box in her unbroken hand.

"I am sorry," she says before another word is spoken. "I have been…" (bitchy) "…testy. And you do not deserve it." She lifts the pizza and coffee towards him. He takes the peace offering easily.

"Thank you."

"Thank you for the Aspirin."

"You looked like you needed it."

She only needs to lift her eyebrows to make her feelings clear.

"Do you want to come up and eat?"

The offer warms her, but she shakes her head. "No, thank you. I do now want to intrude. I just wanted to apologize."

"You're not intruding." He sees the question on her face—what of Bridge?—and shifts to his other foot. "I'm not expecting anyone."

"Oh?"

He shrugs, and he seems to have let it go easily. "She's not who I remembered. Or…" He trails off, seems to weigh up the conflicting thoughts on his mind. "It's more that I'm not who I was."

"At 15? I would not cry over that."

His smile is wistful. "No. But it was fun to pretend for a while." He flips open the pizza box lid to get a glimpse of his dinner, and then skewers her with a look of outrage. "It's half gone!"

She shrugs sheepishly. "I am hungover."

"You're the worst."

She takes no offense. "That is…not inaccurate."

He rolls his eyes and shakes his head. "Come up," he says, and climbs the steps. "I'm going to order another pizza."

"No, I am done," she tells him, but follows him regardless.

"Not for you. You have to watch me eat to atone for your sins."

She twists her lips. "You mean, eating your dinner, or…the other stuff."

He looks at her over his shoulder with a mock superior look. "All of it, Ziva. And then we'll be good."

She grimaces, but follows him. It's the least she can do.

They have the strangest relationship.

…

History – Sarah

"Detective DiNozzo?"

It's been so long since he was a detective that had his name not been attached to the title he wouldn't have lifted his head from his lunch. But he squints upwards from behind sunglasses to regard the woman who called his (old) name. A woman in her 50s stands in the late summer sunshine, casting a shadow over his chargrilled steak. Her face tugs familiar strings in his mind, but it's only when her eyes water and lips pinch that he recognizes her. He gets to his feet immediately.

"Mrs Stoughton," he greets. His smile is warm and natural as he extends his hand. "It's good to see you."

He sees old hurt in her eyes, but she otherwise seems overjoyed to have run into him. "Oh, you too!" she cries. "I wasn't sure if it was you. I was over there and I wasn't sure…I'm so glad it is." She pauses and looks down at Ziva, who occupies the other side of the small outdoor table. His dining partner smiles kindly, and Mrs Stoughton puts her hand to her chest. "Oh, I'm so sorry for interrupting."

Ziva shakes her head. He thinks she senses this is a big deal. "It is no problem."

"I just wanted to say hello," Mrs Stoughton says, looking between them. "When I saw the detective—Is it still Detective?"

Tony shakes his head, shrugs. It doesn't really matter. "Special Agent," he mumbles, then gestures at Ziva. "This is my partner."

Mrs Stoughton leans over to extend her hand to Ziva, who shakes it with a sweet smile. "Ziva."

"Lovely to meet you, Ziva," she says, and there's a tone in her voice that tells Tony she has assumed Ziva is his romantic partner, not Special Agent partner. He doesn't suppose that matters now either.

"How is Sarah?" he asks, tackling the bull by the horns. He holds his breath as he waits for bad news, but Mrs Stoughton melts into a heart-warming smile.

"Oh, she's just wonderful," she tells him, and tears are in her eyes before she's finished the sentence. "She's working on her Masters at Georgetown. Engaged to a wonderful man. They've traveled the world together."

He's not prepared for how happy, relieved and flat out emotional this news makes him. He thinks of the young teen he spent weeks searching for back in the day. Of the scraps of her clothes they found caked in mud in a field. He thinks of her terrified and dirty young face when he found her under a dark house in northwest Baltimore, and how tightly her skinny body had clung to him for the hour it took for her parents to arrive.

Unexpected tears spring to his eyes, and he reaches out to touch Mrs Stoughton's arm. "I'm so glad to hear that."

Mrs Stoughton's bottom lip quivers, and he thinks they reach for each other at the same time. It's a hug he thinks they both need.

"I'm sorry," she says, stepping back after just a moment.

He's quick to shake his head and wave the apology away. "Don't be sorry." His voice feels tight. But it's a good kind of tight. He'll be smiling this afternoon.

"Do you want to see a photo?" Mrs Stoughton asks.

"I'd love to."

She taps through her phone and then shows him a photo of a woman in her prime, golden hair framing clear blue eyes and a loving smile. He wonders how she ever found the strength not to let the kidnapping beat her.

"She's beautiful," he tells her from a place of pride. "She must be incredibly strong."

Mrs Stoughton laughs. "Stronger than all of us," she replies, her voice tinged with awe. "She held us together. Healed us."

He squeezes her shoulder. "Tell her I said hi."

"She'll be so happy to hear that I saw you." She pauses. "Would you mind…I know it's a lot to ask, and you can say no. But would you mind if she called you?"

His smile hurts his cheeks. "No, of course not." He reaches for his wallet to grab a business card. "I'd love to hear from her. If she's in town, I'd be happy to meet."

Mrs Stoughton melts. "Sarah would love that. She's spoken of you over the years. I know she wants to say thank you."

His throat tightens again, and he shakes his head. "No thanks necessary."

She reaches for his hand and squeezes it before turning to look at Ziva. His partner is watching from behind dark glasses, but she swallows in such a way that Tony wonders if she's not almost as emotional as he is.

"Your husband is a wonderful man," Mrs Stoughton tells her. "He means so much to my family. You're lucky to have him."

He almost can't look at her, but Ziva nods and smiles. "I know I am," she says, voice deep and weak. "He means so much to me, too."

Mrs Stoughton smiles like that's the right answer, and then squeezes Tony's hand again. "I should let you get back to your lunch. It's so wonderful to see you."

"You too."

She pecks his cheek as she leaves, and Tony slowly folds himself back into his chair. His eyes settle on his water glass as he tries to process what just happened and what he's feeling. But he's just stunned.

"Old case?" Ziva guesses.

He raises his eyes and nods. "Yeah. Teenage girl abducted on her way home from school. Kept under a house for two weeks." He doesn't say the rest. He doesn't need to.

"You found her."

He leans forward as he returns to the present. "Yeah, me and another detective. We were working it…I got pretty close with her parents."

She reaches across the table, brushes her fingers against his. "Remember this."

"Hmm?"

"When you feel the world on your shoulders," she says. "When you wonder why you keep doing it. Remember this."

He knows what she's saying. This is the reason to keep going. Sometimes you give someone back a chance at life.

"You too."

She nods, smiles, pulls back her hand. And he smiles in the sunshine.

Today is a good day.