Retrospect – Chapter 3


In her hustle to sort her belongings, pack away what would stay and what she would take, sleep had been cast aside to finish in time to catch her morning flight. The next available flight had been before the sun peeked before the horizon and she'd purchased it before her nerves told her otherwise.

In his letter Tony had mentioned that if she were to come home, he'd wait for her. And that at the moment was her life line. The adrenaline to pack and wait at the airport without wanting to flake. It was the glue keeping her butt attached to her seat.

Now with her carry-on tucked under the seat in front of her, she pulls out a book to keep her mind occupied during the flight and the hustle of the remaining passengers left to board; keep her from all the worries that inhabited her mind. It sits in her lap, but the words blur together like wet watercolors as her mind drifts, consumed by thoughts of the uncharted territory that soon expects her.

With a heavy sigh, she gives up on trying to understand the love story, struggling with seeing a happy ending to hers. Her feet find solace tucked under her and her eyes gravitate towards the window, allowing her mind to reach the heights of the clouds.

Her flight companion, isolated by the buds in her ears, turns curious eyes to Ziva, but like a slinky, retracts when one another lock eyes. A deep sigh and she returns to bead eyes out the window, the clouds transforming into the silhouette of Tony and it seems her mind is trapped in a constant cycle of Tony.

Clutching tighter at her midsection, her eyes blur. The butterflies return full force, consuming her belly and bricks fill her deflated lungs. Despite his letter, reassuring that he would be there when she chose to return, the doubt grows. There had been so much anger radiating off the page, the words a dragon waiting to attack. Her stay had been damaging, clawing at his heart. She hadn't been the only one suffering and on some molecular level, she knew that. Despite that, she'd been selfish; too in herself to worry about anything, but working through her issues.

If she were Tony, she wouldn't forgive her either. And as much as it would hurt, if he needed, she'd give him space; just as he'd done for her. And if he rejected her, well then, she'd just need to find how to work in a new dynamic for the baby.

Her head hits against the seat, her eyes closing and opening in desperation. Her book sits in the seat holder, her seat partner entranced in their music and the clouds aren't serene. The next few hours trapped in this plane, her own prison.

...

Her cab ride feels as long as the plane ride, though she'd tried to sleep for most of the flight; keep her mind off the current situation. Her seat partner had engaged her in some mild conversation while they handed out the meals, but that had only distracted her for about an hour or so and the worries of Tony bounced back. It also didn't help that her daughter was a bit unsettled and she was unable to distinguish between the flutters of nerves and her daughter's.

On the last two hours of the flight, Ziva prepared what she'd tell Tony. How she would relay the information of their daughter and the possible scenarios of how it would go. They all ended with her leaving his apartment and returning back to the farmhouse; Tony wanting nothing to do with their daughter, but especially her.

The scenery doesn't register, and despite the hour there is an abundance of life within the city, she missed the key points of her arrival at Tony's building. She assumes that the cab driver has been trying to get her attention for a couple of minutes now because when his voice registers it's laced with frustration.

"We're here miss."

Ziva pays the driver, leaving a hefty tip and exits.

"Now or never bi' bua." With a deep breath, she makes her way into the apartment building.

Each step is heavy and it brings her closer to her future. Time seems to move in slow-motion, eyes blurry and she doesn't remember her walk up to his apartment.

Minutes, hours, she debates in front of the door. To knock or not to knock. Knock Ziva, she encourages. And knock she does. Her heart beats and she worries the sound is enough to wake him. Her baby flutters away, attempting to soothe her mother. Ziva settles a hand on her belly and knocks moments later.

No response. Another knock.

The door unlocks and the knob turns. His face before her, "Hello Tony."

He stares bewildered.


That concludes Retrospect. Thanks for reading, reviewing and favoriting. I've quite enjoyed writing for this universe.