Author's Note:
This is a fairly short chapter compared to the rest, but I feel like Tony and Ziva needed it before everything picked up again. In any case, I hope it wasn't too OOC and I hope even more that you all enjoy it!
Thanks to JEM, who was more instrumental to this chapter than even she knows.
Chapter Seven
"Confessions"
Two days pass quickly, and I am feeling better with each day. I am sleeping less and less, and I have been able to keep a few meager meals down. I have not returned to my full strength, but I will soon. Tony and Gibbs still alternate their shifts watching me, but I have come to a place of acceptance that they are only trying to help. Ordinarily, I would be quick to tell them that I am quite capable of caring for myself. Now, however, the argument dies before it can leave my mouth. Of course the idea is ridiculous. If I was really so capable, I would not need caring for in the first place. Instead I allow them to do what they want, knowing that it is just as much for them as it is for me.
Now it is late evening, and the sun is beginning its retreat over the horizon. I am enjoying the lounge chair that Tony has set up for me outside, so I can breathe in the fresh air. He has gone out for something; he would not say what. He has been quiet the last few days, but we all have been. I take this opportunity to enjoy the solitude, quite content to meddle through my thoughts. They are vast, and not many of them are positive. I am doing everything I can to prepare myself for leaving this life behind, despite knowing almost my entire life that the day would come eventually. It was silly to think, even as a child, that I could do this forever.
And now we are leaving for Paris, which is the last place I expected to retire to. Jenny always spoke highly of it, and it does not take a genius to figure out why. I have been to Paris before, several times, but I had never considered living there. With Tony, much less. While the idea is not entirely unappealing, it is unexpected. Living with him will take a lot of work, and even more strength of will. I would be lying, though, if I said that it was not a tempting offer. Unfortunately, I am responsible for his attempted murder and subsequent escape. If there is anything in the world I do not deserve, it is his affection. Inexplicably, it is exactly this that he seems so willing to give.
"You don't look very happy," a familiar voice says, and I open my eyes to find to Tony studying me warily. A fine sheen of sweat covers his skin, illuminating it in the backwash of the sun. He is still wearing his soldier's uniform, though without the jacket. Unintentionally I notice how green it makes his eyes appear in the dying light.
"How happy should I look?" I ask with the ghost of a grin in his direction. The action puts him at ease, however temporarily, and he returns my smile with one of his own. I watch as he pulls up his own chair next to mine, falling into it with a groan.
"Where's Gibbs?" he asks, folding his arms behind his head.
"Sleeping," I reply. "Or he is trying, since he has been unable to do so in the last few days."
"Only because you snore," he prods obnoxiously. "Like a drunken sailor, I used to say. You're a window-rattler."
"You are exaggerating."
"Afraid not, sweet cheeks," he says and I scoff at the nickname from so long ago. I am tempted to offer his in reply, but I cannot bring myself to do it.
"Well, then it should be easier now that I am outside and awake," I tell him dryly and he spares a laugh. "Did you find what you were looking for?"
He turns to me. "What?"
"You went out looking for something, yes?" I ask. "Did you find it?"
"I wasn't really looking for anything. I just felt like a walk," he replies casually but I detect something secretive in the way he says it.
"A walk?"
"Yeah, Zee," he says sarcastically, "You know? That thing where you move your legs and go places? I hear it's widely used in places outside the States."
"I know what a walk is," I reply acidly but it is hard to miss the familiar joking nature of his tone. This is the Tony I have missed so dearly. "So… what did you decide?"
This makes him turn, his brow wrinkled in confusion.
"Decide?" he asks, unsure of what the question entails. "What was I supposed to decide?"
"I can only assume that it is why you walked," I say logically, closing my eyes and leaning my head back. "You are never stationary when you think. And since you had to leave to do your thinking, I am left to assume that it has something to do with Gibbs or myself." I smirk knowingly at his silence. "Am I correct?"
"I finally decided what to get Gibbs for his birthday," he replies half-heartedly, obviously lying. "I know it's a few months off, but it doesn't hurt to be prepared."
"And what is the verdict?"
"I'm thinking a spa weekend," he jokes, "The man could use a little pampering. It'll do wonders for his mood."
I laugh, doing my best to imagine Gibbs at something as feminine as a spa.
"I am sure he will appreciate the gesture," I reply.
"No doubt."
"Your thoughts are simple, considering the situation we find ourselves in," I sigh. "I wish I could say the same."
"What's on your mind?" he questions, his concern obvious in the tone of his voice. This is something about him that I know quite well now.
"Starting over," I reply honestly. "I have always planned for it, but living it is something quite different. More difficult, it seems." I groan, considering the idea. "I had always hoped I would handle it better than I have been in the last few days."
"You had a head start on me," he scoffs. "I thought I would be in the same apartment for the rest of my natural life. Same job, same car. Same everything. This was way out of the realm of possibility as far as I was concerned."
"I read a book once," I say calmly, turning to face him, "One of my favorite lines was 'God punishes us for what we cannot imagine.'"
"Yeah," he says bitterly, "Thanks for that. But it does explain a lot."
"You are not being punished, Tony," I tell him softly, "I am."
His face tells me that he wants to argue, but I stop him before he can.
"It is true, and you know this," I say, doing my very best to convince him of this. "It was my mistrust of you and my misplaced trust in my father that has done this to us. If I had been more skeptical—more like the agent that Gibbs has turned me into over the last four years—I would have been able to spare us all of this." I lower my eyes. "The pain and the running. The fear."
"It would have happened sometime or another," he says earnestly, doing his best to console me. However kind of him, his solace can only be temporary. "This is going to sound kind of bad, but I'm glad it happened now."
"You cannot be serious," I say incredulously.
"I didn't say that I'm glad it happened, so calm down," he warns, "I just meant that I'm glad it was now, when Gibbs and I could be here to protect you."
"When you say it that way," I smile, "I am glad as well."
"You mean it?" he asks me. "Really?"
"I do not lie, Tony," I shrug. "Not about this, anyway."
"What do you lie about?" he asks, and his tone has shifted to one of playful curiosity rather than one born out of skepticism.
"I am a woman, Tony," I reply, "It can only be two things."
"Age and weight," he says reflexively, as though he had already given the topic plenty of thought. He is wrong, of course, and it makes me wonder.
"No," I tell him. "I was going to say family and lovers." I fix him with a hard stare. "Should I lie about my age and weight?"
"Oh, no," he says, backpedaling quickly. "Your body is perfect. Wait! I mean that your weight is… uh, average."
"Average?" I ask and his eyes widen.
"Not average, per se," he says and groans. "You know what I mean."
"And my age?"
"Good question," he says. "I don't really know how old you are."
I laugh. "If you had to guess?"
"I'm afraid to," he says warily. "You look young, but you're too experienced to be any less than thirty-five."
"Tsk, tsk, Tony," I say, wiggling my finger at him. "Never tell a woman that she looks older than she actually is."
"So less than thirty-five," he says thoughtfully. "Thirty-three?"
I shake my head.
"Am I close?" he asks and I do not answer. "Thirty-two, then? Thirty?"
"You are terrible at this game," I say with a smile. "If you do not guess it soon, I will be quite insulted."
"You're not messing with me, are you?" he asks. "Are you older than thirty-five?"
"Am I?"
"You're not," he says with some finality and he is, of course, correct. "What do I win if I guess it?"
"As long as you do not venture into the forties, I will not break your nose," I offer and he winces. "That will be reward enough."
"Then I give up."
"So soon?" I laugh and turn to face him. "I will have pity on you, then. I am twenty-nine years old."
"You're kidding," he says, amazed. It makes me wonder if I really do look much older. He studies me a little longer, his eyes scanning my body curiously, and I fight to keep the flush from my cheeks. I must seem different from the other women of my age in America. Finally he says, "Yeah, okay… I can see it."
"Good. If you had not believed me, I may have been forced to injure you anyway," I threaten lightly and we laugh. He takes another look over me, and smirks. The look makes me shiver slightly.
"I believe you, alright."
With that he slides a pair of worn sunglasses over his eyes and leans his head back against the chair. His breathing is calm and even, but it is not hard to see the thoughts tumbling back and forth across his face. I decide to leave him to them, just as he has been kind enough to leave me to mine. I close my eyes and take a deep breath, relishing the moment. It is calm, and I am temporarily at peace. Since I do not know when I will be able to experience this again, I am more than grateful for the opportunity. Just before I think I might fall asleep, Tony's voice interrupts me.
"I'm sorry about Michael."
I sigh, even though I know that this conversation had to happen sometime. Despite our banter a few minutes before, he has chosen to return to darker waters. Honestly, I was hoping it would a long time from now. One look at Tony's face tells me that he is ready now, and I feel that I should oblige him.
"That is not something you should worry about."
"I can't help it," he replies solemnly, his eyes now narrowed in my direction. "I can't take it back, no matter how much I want to." He looks down. "But I don't really want to, to tell you the truth."
"You did what you felt you needed to do," I say simply, though secretly believing that there was much more to that fight that either of us is currently willing to believe.
"You're going easy on me," he replies bluntly, and I do not bother denying the accusation. "Why?"
"Because I was wrong," I say honestly, doing my best to keep my own agony out of my voice. While I am glad that it is Tony I am sitting next to, rather than Michael, it does not take away the sting of loss… nor does it erase the anguish of the dead man's betrayal.
"I could have done something else," he offers, but neither of us believes it.
"You could have," I admit, "But you did not do something else. I question your decision now, as I will for some time. I cared for him very much." I see the hurt on his face, and I am quick to amend my statement. "However, yours is the judgment that I have always trusted and will continue to trust in the future. You know things that I do not, and never will. If you say that you had no choice, I have no choice but to believe you."
"I never wanted to hurt you," he says, his teeth gritted and his eyes hard. "I know that seems hard to believe, but it's the truth. Even before that night in your apartment, I knew something was wrong. I couldn't let him hurt you." He scoffs. "Of course I end up doing the honors myself."
"I would rather have a broken heart than a bullet wound," I reply frankly. "My father does not trust me, and has not done so in a very long time. It would not have taken my father long to take me out of the picture. For good."
"You think so?" he asks quietly.
"I know so."
"Will you ever trust me again?" he pleads, though his voice is steady. I answer him with a mild smile.
"It may make me a fool," I reply, "But I never stopped."
"You mean it?" he asks tentatively, not daring to believe that I may be telling him the truth.
"Absolutely," I reply and his mouth instantly pulls into a smile that would have stopped the world had it been possible. As it is, it only makes my heart beat painfully for a few moments before returning to normal.
We are distracted by each other for a handful of long seconds, leaving us temporarily unaware of our surroundings. We do not hear the distinct hum of an engine quickly approaching, or the sound of gravel crunching under the weight of wheels. The car reaches its stop a few feet away from us, and it is then that I feel Tony's body tense next to me. I watch his hand begin to drift to the holster at his waist, and I survey the visitor in the hopes that Tony will have no need to draw his gun. The car is a dark sedan with tinted windows, a vehicle that almost screams government. The door opens and I watch as one distinctly heeled boot steps onto the packed ground. When she stands up and looks at me over sepia-toned sunglasses, I cannot help but smile.
The woman is tall and thin, with very few curves to speak of. Her face is long, which is only accentuated by the dark hair she had chopped off to her chin. Were it not for the easy grin and strong jaw, there would be nothing remotely attractive about this woman. Eyes that are almost black look at me over her colored lenses, which are entirely out of place considering that it is almost nightfall. She comes to a stop a few feet in front of me, and I can almost hear her heart hammering in her chest. Then again, it may be Tony's. It may very well be mine.
It does not take her long to pull a gun from its resting place against the small of her back, aiming it directly between my eyes. She releases the safety in one fluid motion, sending the correct impression that she knows her weapon all too well. Tony responds by jumping from his chair with his own gun, leveling it at the woman's head. He is shouting at her to drop her gun and to identify herself, but his demands fall on deaf ears. The woman's attention is focused solely on me, as mine is on her. Just before I feel that Tony is considering pulling the trigger, I hold up a hand.
"Calm down, Tony," I say, not taking my eyes off the woman. "If Liraz was here to kill me, we would have never seen her coming."
The woman smirks, one corner of her thin lips wrenching themselves up.
"Oh, Ziva," she bemoans me, "You are as arrogant as ever."
A/N: New addition... but is she good or bad? Review and I'll do my best to let you know. ;)
