Gone (and Swept Away)
Chapter 2 - Close in Translation
By Taygeta
Author's Note: Thank you for all the incredible love and feedback on the first chapter. I decided to just continue on with the evening. Not sure how "swept away" this story is going to go, but I hope you enjoy the journey!
"This is Shmeil's favorite restaurant," Ziva informed Tony as they walked into an American bistro that Tony had gone to with his dad often when he was in town...whenever he actually managed to show up to dinner that was.
"Shmeil has good taste," said Tony. He had left his NCIS jacket in the car and was thankful that he had worn a suit that day, or he might not have been let in.
"That is a very nice tie, Tony," said Shmeil as they sat down.
"Why thank you, I picked it out myself last Christmas," he replied.
"Tony here likes to pride himself as being a bit of a fashionista," said Ziva as she peered at her menu.
"As being?" said Tony looking at her over his menu. He looked over at Shmeil and clarified, "More like I am."
Shmeil nodded, "Though I'm sure Ziva here has given you a tip or two."
Ziva looked at Tony with a curious expression, wondering what he would say to that.
"Yes, well, Ziva has been known to throw an - opinion or ten - about...what I wear," Tony said politely. He had really meant about everything, but he wasn't about to be rude. Not that it mattered, he was pretty sure anything negative (even in good jest) he might say would completely be lost with Shmeil.
"It says a lot you know," said Shmeil, somewhat distracted as he read his menu.
"What says a lot?" asked Tony.
"The fact that Ziva has an opinion about anything."
"Really? I've always known her to have one about...everything," Tony couldn't help but say, but was then given a strong elbow to his side in return.
Shmeil laughed, "Perhaps it might seem that way, but Ziva only provides her opinion to those she cares about. If you don't matter, you will only meet with her disdain...and silence. She has always been this way."
"Really?" said Tony, meeting Ziva's eyes. His mind flashed back to their years of mostly noisy banter. He was also suddenly aware that even their silences were never really empty. They were always weighted by something. That weighted silence was at the heart of their 'pre-elevator us', a version of events that seemed to no longer work for him now.
Ziva pursed her lips, turned away from his gaze, and said lightly, "I've always made my opinions clear, Shmeil. There are just many things that don't require my input."
After they had decided on their orders and the waiter had brought them an order of wine, Tony asked Shmeil, "So you've known Ziva here since she was three?"
"We are old family friends...on her mother's side. Her mother would bring her by my academic offices during the summers and she used to run around causing so much havoc!" he described. "I was so glad when she was old enough to read and I could hand her books to run off with. Of course, then I learned that the silence of her reading meant that I had to sit through hours of conversations about what she read after that. That havoc - I did not mind so much."
Tony nodded. Ziva always liked to read and he wondered as he sat there if her conversations with Shmeil were a part of why.
"Books were my escape," explained Ziva. "Shmeil taught me that if I always had a book in my hand, I could go anywhere...everywhere. So any time in my life where I needed to disappear, I would just find some good book and hide away."
Tony, surprised, said, "That's...kind of how I see movies."
"Are you a film connoisseur, Tony?" Shmeil asked.
Before he could answer, Ziva laughed, "I do not know anyone who has seen as many movies as Tony...if only based on how often he talks about them."
He said simply, "Yes, Shmiel, I watch a lot of movies. Sadly, there are only so many people who seem to appreciate that, let alone that about me." His mind thought briefly to the film class that Ziva took years ago.
"There is power in the story - escape - no matter if it's a book or a film," said Shmeil. "That is what I love about the arts. That is at the heart of my poetry."
"Tony, I wish you could read Shmeil's poems in their original Hebrew. They try to translate them in America, but in English so much gets lost," described Ziva.
"Is there one in English that you think is close in translation?" asked Tony.
Shmiel thought for a moment and then began, "She is not my daughter, but she is my daughter. She is light that has let me see, that I am cause for its bright flickering. And when I am gone, I will be at peace, for she will shine brightly, as a memory of me."
"Wow, that's amazing," said Tony.
"I don't think I remember ever reading that one," said Ziva. "Is it unpublished? It's beautiful."
"It's in my upcoming book which I am announcing at the conference I am attending in Seattle," he said.
"What's the poem called?" asked Tony, who had good cause to know who it was about.
"'Ziva'," he said simply.
Tony and Shmiel looked at Ziva who sat surprised.
"Shmiel...I'm - I don't know what to say," she replied. Her eyes had a slightly teary-eyed quality.
"Oh you do not need to say anything, my dear," said Shmiel reaching out to the table to pat her hand. "I grew old and let my loves past me by. Ziva, you are the closest I have to a daughter, and how better to remember that then in my art."
Tony felt a tight pull at his heart as he watched the emotions cross her face. He realized this wasn't just an evening out. Maybe Ziva had invited him out to poke fun of his jealousy all day when he had learned about Shmiel, but there was perhaps a consequence she had not intended. He was literally catching her in another light, in a life outside of their offices and their jobs, in a life that included this lovable old man who had adopted her as his own and gave her a love of books and life that he knew could never come from Eli David.
As the waiter arrived with their food, laying it out on the table, Tony found himself unable to look away from Ziva.
"Are you alright, Tony?" she asked meeting his eyes and breaking him out of his thoughts.
"Yeah, yeah...sorry I got distracted," he said.
Her eyes spoke to him, as they often did. They flickered with curious questioning. As she turned to her salad and asked Shmeil about his food, he could read between the lines: she knew that she was the source of his distraction.
And he wondered how long it would be until she figured out that he was more than just distracted, especially since he was just beginning to figure this out himself.
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