Disclaimer- all characters are not mine, blah blah. You know.
This is the last chapter. I could follow up with it, for when the team gets back together four months later, but I don't think I want to. It's angsty this way, but in a bittersweet way. And we all know they do see each other again, anyway.
Sorry this has taken me so long. I've been away from home, which always makes things difficult. I think I've written and rewritten it at least a dozen times. But thank you for your patience and support, it means a lot to me :)
Even in the muddled state between slumber and alertness, Ziva knew that she didn't want to wake up. Waking up meant facing the day, and facing the day was something that she didn't think she had the strength to do. Last night's events would make it an impossible feat, one she currently lacked the courage to even attempt.
But remaining in bed would only delay the inevitable, not prevent it.
She heard a clatter from the kitchen, and she guessed Tony dropped a pot on the floor. Her assumption was confirmed when she heard an array of colorful curse words a moment later. In a huff, he stomped through the doorway, and stopped short when he saw that Ziva was awake and staring at him.
There was silence for a moment as both tried to figure out what to do, what to say. It was not the kind of quiet that caused squirming or discomfort; rather, it was the kind of hush that occurred when two people tried to wrap their heads around what was happening.
His body language indicated that he was tense, anxious and unsettled, and she felt precisely the same. She wanted time to freeze, so she could spend hours, days, weeks even, learning everything about him she'd never taken the time to know. The thought of packing all of her belongings—or worse, helping him pack all of his—sent a shiver down her spine. It was all too much.
He saw it immediately, of course, and without being conscious of his actions, he took a step toward the bed. He stopped and hesitated, waiting for her reaction. It was all so new, and he was afraid of what she would do.
Her eyes softened. His face was a look of desperation, and it reminded her of a child lost in a mall, afraid and isolated. She reached a hand out an invitation, and he didn't even try to hide the relief on his face.
He climbed under the covers, into their fortress that would only hold for so long, and he pulled her close to his body. His arms circled protectively around her waist. She, in turn, melted into his embrace with a contented sigh. He planted kisses on her shoulder, and she nestled her nose into the crook of his neck.
She took a breath, about to speak, and he raised his head and pushed a stray strand of hair from her eyes. "I know that soon, you will be boarding USS Ronald Regan. And I know," she swallowed, "that I will be on a flight back to Tel Aviv only hours later."
His breath rushed out. She tried to collect her thoughts, to finish the statement she'd been trying to make, but suddenly, the words seemed unbearably heavy in her mouth. Tony interrupted her thoughts.
He pulled her face up so that their eyes met, and he assured her firmly, "Ziva, this is not goodbye."
She placed her hands on his chest and searched his face, pressing her body against his even more. She knew the closeness now wouldn't compensate for the unbearable distance later, but there was no harm in trying.
"Why did we not do this sooner, Tony?" she muttered quietly, bitterly, as if asking herself as much as she was asking him. Her eyes avoided his as she chewed on the inside of her cheek in frustration. He cocked his head and stared at her, unsure whether or not her question was rhetorical. But the anger set on her face tortured him, and he needed to allay her pain.
He placed a kiss lightly on her temple, then on her forehead, and he looked deeply into her eyes, colored with the hues of loss and paralyzing fear. It wrenched his heart.
"Because we're stubborn as hell, Ziva," he said, speaking for both of them, and the tightness in his chest eased slightly when she smiled warily at his statement, unable to deny it. He reached a hand up to cup her face.
"But better one night with you than none at all," he whispered, his voice sounding more husky than he intended it to. And yeah, it was corny as hell, but it was the honest-to-God truth. And it hit him harder than he would have guessed, so he nestled his nose into her hair and swallowed back the tears.
She knew, mostly because she did the same.
xXxXx
Picking which DVDs to bring with him was the third hardest thing he'd ever done.
He managed to get his clothes into two duffel bags, and his other assorted toiletries and necessities (including the Mighty Mouse stapler) into another small suitcase. When he realized he couldn't bring all of his DVDs with him, a sound escaped from his throat that later, Ziva would have sworn was a whimper. He insisted she was hearing things.
He sat, flabbergasted, in front of the large shelf that contained his precious DVD collection, and he looked so distressed that any other day, Ziva would have laughed and teased him mercilessly. Now, she looked on as she packed several non-perishable food items into a small box for him to bring, in case the food on the ship was sub-par.
Finally, he threw his hands up and made a noise akin to a growl. Ziva placed a package of granola bars into the box and sighed, running her fingers through her tangled curls. His anguish was clearly caused by more than simply choosing which DVDs to bring with him.
She approached him from behind and wrapped her arms around his waist, pressing her cheek against his bare back.
"I am sure some of the other petty officers have DVDs that you can borrow," she assured him, her words muffled as her lips brushed against his skin. "And there is always the option of buying movies on iTunes," she added thoughtfully. He turned in her arms so that he faced her.
"This is the third most difficult thing I've ever done in my life, Ziva."
The ninja frowned. "Packing up your apartment? I mean, it is messy, but it is not that messy…"
"Deciding which DVDs to bring," he deadpanned, and he was so serious that she chuckled in spite of herself, shaking her head. She brought her hand up to his neck to try to comfort him, then discovered how tight his muscles were. She kneaded at the knots at the base of his neck with her fingertips, to release the tension. His eyes fluttered shut with a groan.
"You will only be gone for several months, Tony," she reminded him softly, her fingers traveling on a path down his neck and to his shoulders. He relaxed under her firm touch.
There was a moment of quiet as she reflected on what he'd said, and her fingers stilled as something occurred to her. He opened his eyes and gazed at her curiously.
"Third hardest?" she inquired, tilting her head. He squinted into the distance, remembering something.
"Second hardest was the first time I killed someone," he said plainly, the memory replaying before his eyes. She watched him remember and she held still, staying silent, waiting to see if he would share the flashback with her.
"Murderer in Baltimore. Danny had killed people before. And I'd shot people in the line of duty, but…" He trailed off. "He pulled a gun on us and fired. And when I saw the police officer next to me go down, with a bullet in his chest, I lost it and fired twice. One bullet to the head."
He came back to the present as she clasped her hands around his neck, and he looked down at the woman in his arms. "Lemme guess," he said, a hint of a smirk on his face, "You were, oh, thirteen the first time you killed someone."
The corner of her mouth turned up at him. "Eleven," she breathed, raising her chin proudly. He shook his head, smiling at her in wonder.
A moment later, her brows knitted together. He tightened his grip around her waist, an indication for her to speak her mind. She met his gaze.
"What is the most difficult thing you have ever done, Tony?" she asked him, and he could tell that she wasn't entirely sure she wanted to know the answer.
He smiled a sad smile at her, before checking the time on his wristwatch. Her heart sank.
"It hasn't happened yet, actually," he murmured. "It'll be around five o' clock tonight."
She bit her lip and buried her face in his chest, clinging to him for dear life, as if by holding tightly enough, she could stop him from leaving. As if she could hold him in her embrace forever.
xXxXx
Ziva drove him to the port, so that he didn't have to leave his car there for months and months. They had waited until the last possible moment, so it was the last call for boarding officers when they arrived.
They parked and she helped him by grabbing a couple of his bags and boxes. He managed to fit all of his possessions into two duffel bags, a small suitcase, a backpack containing his paperwork, and a box with food she'd insisted he bring. They each grabbed a duffel bag, and he threw the backpack over his shoulder and wheeled the suitcase along behind him, leaving her to carry the box.
They made their way over to the ship's entrance. A guard was standing there, checking officers in and ensuring they were who they claimed to be. Tony got to the guard and put his bags down.
"Anthony DiNozzo, Agent afloat from the Navel Criminal Investigative Service," he said as he rustled through his bags to locate his paperwork and passport. The guard pulled up a photo on the computer of Tony and, upon seeing his passport and badge, gave a slight nod of approval. But then, he looked at Ziva, and said, "Sorry, miss, but you can't come aboard."
Ziva opened her mouth to protest, then closed it. The guard looked sincerely apologetic. "You can say your goodbyes here," he said, indicating a place a couple feet away from him as he waved the next officer in line forward. "I'll let you through once you're done," he added.
Tony nodded curtly, picked up his duffel bag, and tugged on Ziva's hand. She followed limply.
They stood off to the side of the boardwalk where the officers were loading on various necessities. Everything around them seemed to bustle with life, but it took on a dream-like quality for the two former partners. More than anything, Tony wanted to awaken and discover that the past two weeks of his life had been nothing but a nightmare.
Tony and Ziva dropped Tony's things on the ground at their feet and for a moment, neither said anything—they simply stared at one another. Then, he grabbed her and crushed her to his chest in a tight embrace, and she could feel his heart pounding rapidly through his cotton tee shirt.
She didn't know how much time passed like that, but she didn't mind, not a bit, and finally, he pulled back and met her eyes, his hand coming up to frame her face.
"Thank you. For everything," he said simply, feeling no need to clarify what he was thanking her for.
She was at a loss for words, so she grabbed his shirt and kissed him passionately, and felt tears prick her eyes when he kissed her back with equal intensity. They should have been embarrassed for kissing in public like that, but they weren't. The thought didn't even cross their minds.
She came up to breathe and pressed her forehead to his, closing her eyes. They both fought tears. She refused to let herself cry. She'd cried too much in the past forty-eight hours anyway, and she doubted there were tears left. She finally found her voice.
"I will miss you, Tony," she said, her voice barely audible above the din around them. He heard her all the same.
"I'll miss you too, Ziva," he told her quietly, his voice breaking. He lost himself in her dark eyes, and only came back to earth when there was an announcement that it was the last call for boarding officers.
He tenderly kissed her mouth one final time, brushing his hand down her cheek. Then he let go, forced himself to, and gathered all of his belongings in his arms, slinging his duffel bags and his backpack over his shoulder. He carried a box in one hand and the handle of a suitcase in the other.
He turned and placed one foot in front of the other, each step requiring more and more effort, and as the guard waved him through, he ascended up the ramp. When he reached the doorway, he met her eyes and saw so much grief and sadness that, for a moment, he wanted to turn and run; just drop his things and take her hand and run away from everything that had hurt them, from everything that would keep them apart. But he knew it wasn't an option, and that fact alone made his chest ache.
And then the officer behind him gave him a slight shove, perhaps intentional, perhaps not. Tony had no choice but to stagger away, and when he turned his head to look back at her, his vision was too blurred by tears to discern any shapes in the crowd.
She watched him disappear into the ship, and even after he'd gone, she stood there. She couldn't bring herself to move.
It was like waiting at a train station for a train you knew you'd already missed. You weren't waiting for the next one ("There is no next one" she thought, biting her lip); you weren't waiting at all. You just sit and clutch your suitcase because there is nothing else to do.
xXxXx
She drove back to his apartment to lock everything up, like he asked her to. Except she didn't. Instead, she fell into his bed and buried her nose in his pillow. The scent of them was still very much present, and she clutched his pillow to her chest and inhaled deeply until she fell asleep.
xXxXx
When the ship finally left the port, he knew because he felt the blast of the jets underwater as they pulled away from the dock. He was standing in the middle of a stairway, spacing out and gripping the railings as the engine roared to life underneath him.
He thought about trying to settle in, but he had no desire to unpack. That would be a confirmation of reality, which was, at this point, not something he particularly wanted.
Instead, he unzipped the outside pocket of his backpack and pulled out the three photographs of Ziva in her bikini.
She would have throttled him if she knew he'd made prints of them, he thought with a sad smile. He wished he had a picture of the two of them together, rather than her half naked, but they never got around to it. Besides, he couldn't have imagined trying to get a photo with her before the last week. She would probably snap at him for being too close, or having his hand too low on her back. He never thought the day would come when he would miss their bickering.
He stared at the photo that showed most of her body as she lounged reading. Her sunglasses were on top of her head and she looked relaxed. She'd been blissfully unaware of the earth-shattering occurrences that were to come. He would give anything to be back in that moment.
He observed lightly that his hands were trembling, and he was silently willing them not to, when an officer came up behind him and clapped a hand on his shoulder. Tony turned in surprise and came out of his musings, realizing that he was probably blocking the stairs.
"You're the guy I saw playing tonsil hockey with that hot chick earlier!" he said, giving Tony's shoulder a light squeeze before letting his hand drop to indicate he was only playing around.
Tony motioned for the officer to follow him as he climbed up the last couple of stairs and stepped out of the way. He tried to ignore the constricting in his chest when he remembered saying goodbye to her.
"Yeah, that was me," he confirmed, and he tried to smile at the young officer but it turned out looking more like a grimace.
The officer grabbed at the photos and flipped through them. He whistled.
"She sure is something," he said, his eyes enviously taking in Ziva's barely-covered figure. He handed the prints back to Tony with a look of clear jealousy and awe. "You're a lucky guy," he added.
Tony was about to try to explain to this officer that, no, he wasn't lucky. That she wasn't his wife or his girlfriend. That, after the last twenty-four hours, he had no idea what they were. That he was the reason he was stuck on this damn boat and not with her. That it was his fault that the director of the entire organization was killed. That he'd give anything to be working for the boss who slapped him upside the head every time he misbehaved. That he wanted to be back in D.C. with the woman he cared most about in the entire world.
But then, he didn't. Tony gazed down at the pictures and smiled, almost to himself, with the sudden revelation that the officer was right, no matter what.
"Yeah," he said softly, "I am."