(Just a quick note: I kept this chapter at a T rating, so nothing is explicit, but if you're uncomfortable with sex scenes, I would go ahead and skip the flashback.)
I will stop to pray.
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"Hey," Tony says. "Hey. Ziva. What's the matter?"
Bishop, their brand-new hire, is staring at him from Ziva's desk. He waves his hand at her dismissively and returns his attention to the sniffles in his ear. "Ziva. Are you okay?"
"Yes," she murmurs, the first word she has spoken during this call. He relaxes slightly. The rest of the team is staring at him, all wearing different expressions- Bishop, curiosity; McGee, concern; Gibbs, annoyance. He ducks out from behind his desk and goes to the window, turning his back on all of them to look out at the falling snow. It is still two days to Thanksgiving; Tony takes this premature snowfall to mean that they are all in for a long, miserable winter.
Granted, it was going to be long and miserable anyway. At least for him.
On the other end of the line, Ziva takes a couple of deep breaths. "I just needed to hear you."
"Well, here I am." He tries for a soothing tone, trying not to give away how glad he is to hear her voice. They haven't spoken on the phone in a couple of weeks. She's been busy gallivanting across Europe and has only had time for quick e-mails and texts. Feeling the eyes of his teammates on his back, he lowers his voice. "Where are you?"
Silence. Then: "Berlin."
"Oh," he says. "And how is that, this time of year?"
"I do not know. I have been walled up in this room all night." She exhales so heavily that the phone crackles in his ear. "I wish you were here."
And that is a feeling Tony knows all too well.
"Ziva, you say the word-"
"No," she interrupts, gentle but firm and also a little bit sad. "As much as I… as much as I want you, I cannot continue to let you chase me all over the world. It is not fair to you."
He closes his eyes and tugs at his tie in frustration. He wants to argue; he wants to hang up; he wants to cry. In the end, he waits.
Ziva's voice breaks when she adds, "I am okay, Tony. You do not need to come here. Let me find my way to you for once, hmm?"
He stares down at the tops of his dress shoes. "Alright," he says.
"I love you."
Tony snaps his head up. They exchanged the sentiment in Israel, but this is the first time it has been repeated, vocally or in writing, since their separation.
And yet here she is, acknowledging it. And he'll be damned if he's not going to take advantage of his newfound freedom to do the same. He kept those three words inside for years, after all; he has earned this.
"I love you, too, Ziva." His heart rate increases when it hits him that the end of their conversation is near, and he has no idea when he'll get to hear her voice again. "Try to get some sleep, okay?"
"Okay," she whispers. Tony imagines her eyelids drooping, her body relaxing into the mattress. "Oh, and the others- tell them I said hello, please?"
"I will," he promises, and then repeats, "I love you." He wants that to be the last thing she hears before she goes to sleep.
"I will text you tomorrow," she says. "Good night, Tony."
With that, she hangs up.
He pockets his phone, swipes at the corner of his eye, and turns toward his teammates and his awaiting paperwork.
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In spite of her brain's quickly diminishing ability to focus on detail, Ziva tried to commit everything to memory: Tony's warmth above her; his fingers working wonders all over her body; the flick of his tongue against her neck. She reveled in him- enough so, hopefully, that these memories would hold her over until she saw him again.
When he pulled back to look at her, his eyes dark, her heart skipped a beat. She brought their joined hands to rest on her chest. Tony brushed his nose against hers, and a shiver wracked her naked spine.
"Please," she whispered.
"Please what?" His voice was serious, his tiny smile mischievous.
Ziva thrust her hips upward, ground them into his, and they both moaned in pleasure. She then hooked her foot around one of his thighs. "You know what."
Of course he did- and, of course, he obeyed her order. They moved together until he cried out and she followed, his name the last word out of her mouth before she shuddered and then sagged. Tony moved off of her. Desperate to remain close to him, Ziva pressed herself against his torso. The only sound in the room was that of them gasping for air.
She had just regained her bearings when she felt the first drop of moisture against her cheek. It was followed by a second, then a third. She glanced up at Tony and was horrified to find his eyes squeezed shut as his chin quivered.
"Tony," she gasped, reaching up to cup his cheek. He put his head down on top of hers as a strangled sob ripped from his throat.
Guilt shot through her. This was the second time he had cried that day, and she was the only one to blame.
"Shhh," she whispered. It was all she could think of to say. She held him as close to her as physically possible. "Shhh, Tony. It is okay. We are okay."
Again and again, she murmured those words. Tony clutched her, planted kisses along her shoulders, occasionally begged her to come home with him, not to leave him. Don't do this to me, Ziva. Her heart broke a thousand times over; her temptation to give in became overwhelming.
But she resisted. She knew what she had to do. Even though the thought of sending him away filled her with dread, this was the only way for her to become whole.
Firstly, for herself. But also for him, and for them- as partners, as lovers, as soul mates.
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As soon as the train departs from the station and begins to carry her away from Berlin, Ziva heaves a huge sigh of relief. She clutches her handbag in her lap, tilts her head back, stares at the ceiling. Never again, she decides, will she return to this city without Tony by her side.
She is operating on only a few hours' sleep and the day did not get off to a great start, what with her having to flee Berlin as soon as she woke up, but she manages to enjoy Munich. Her next two days are spent there. She explores the city, takes an excessive amount of pictures (Tony would be proud) and, on the second afternoon, finds a postcard stand. On a whim, she grabs six- one for each member of the team she left behind- and she fills them all with personalized notes. There is a grin on her face when she mails them, because she is thinking of how surprised her former coworkers are going to be. She especially hopes that her postcard to Gibbs makes him smile.
Then Tali's birthday arrives, and tourist time is over. She travels to Austria with the sole purpose of attending the Vienna State Opera. As soon as she sees the opera house, her breath catches in her lungs. It is beautiful. Tali would have thought so, too.
Ziva listens to the music and watches the performer intently. Occasionally, though, she finds her eyelids falling shut- not because of exhaustion, but because a new memory of Tali has entered her mind, and she wants to entertain it. She has found, over the years, that she is able to more vividly remember Tali in an opera house than just about anywhere else. So she allows herself to relive the laughter of a child playing, the tears of a teenager rejected by her first crush, the spunk of a daughter determined to go her own way, the mischievous chortle of a sister teasing her siblings. Oh, how Ziva misses her- and yet, there is something therapeutic about remembering. She even allows her tears to fall, because contrary to anything she's ever been told, they are not a sign of weakness.
Toward the end of the performance, Tali's voice enters her head once more- but this time, it makes her freeze.
Ziva, I do not think anybody else loves me the way you do.
It takes her a moment to figure out when Tali said this, if at all. But then it comes to her: Ziva had been eighteen and about to leave for the IDF. Tali, distressed by her pending departure, had taken to sleeping in her bed. It was cramped. Ziva complained; secretly, she did not mind the company.
What she did mind was the timing of Tali's random outbursts. The thoughts she deemed worthy of sharing always came to her just as Ziva was drifting off. But that night, instead of shushing her sister, Ziva rolled over and squinted at her. "What do you mean?"
"Think about it. Abba's time is always occupied by work." Tali was not resentful when she spoke of this. Just honest. "Ima is always stomping around complaining about him- it is as if he still lives with us, the way she goes on. And Ari is with Mossad now, too. You are the only one who asks about my day, about school and my friends. I wish you could stay here. I am going to miss you so much."
"Tali, you must know that the others love you, as well. They are just a little-"
"Busy. Yes, I know." Tali buried her face in Ziva's neck. "But you never are. You have duties, too, but you always make time for me."
Ziva has thought about this night every so often over the years; after all, it is one of her final memories of Tali. A pang of guilt usually accompanies it: Tali did not know (and did not live long enough to find out) that Ziva had already agreed to join Mossad as soon as her time in the IDF was over. She would have been very displeased, to say the least.
But tonight, here in the opera house, she comes to a realization that has eluded her before. The ground shifts beneath her; her heart picks up its pace.
Tali has been gone for thirteen years. A lot has happened in that time, and much of it is on Ziva's list of regrets. But nothing she has done changes the fact that at one point, she- Ziva David, the Mossad operative, the assassin, the federal agent- she was somebody's source of unconditional love.
And now, inevitably, her mind drifts to Tony. Tony, who offered his heart to her along with everything else he had to give. She had wanted to accept it, all of it. She told herself that she could not.
Even after having slept with him, even after kissing him at the airport, there was some underlying guilt, a feeling of unworthiness. That's why she is on this journey, after all.
But maybe she underestimated herself and her ability to love, to be loved, to be happy with him and make him happy, too.
Perhaps she need not have any reservations at all.
The final note fades out, and Ziva closes her eyes as a feeling of peace settles over her. She feels close to her sister. She knows Tony is in D.C. right now, willing to wait as long as it takes for her to rejoin him.
And though it is irrational, she has the strangest feeling that if Tali were here right now, she would be jabbing Ziva in the ribs, urging her to go, go. Go back to America. What are you waiting for?