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Held to the past, too aware of the pending.
Chill as the dawn breaks and finds us up for sale.
Enter the fog another low road descending away from the cold lust, your house and summertime.
Loiter the whole day through and lose yourself in lines dissecting love...
- The Past and Pending, The Shins, Oh Inverted World
Rhapsody In You
Chapter Ten: The Past and Pending
Anthony DiNozzo arrived home to find Ziva David leaning against the wall of his apartment building as though she were the only thing holding the place up. The air sagged under the weight of the thick, cold rain as she stood impassively, arms folded and eyes empty.
"Stalking me now, Officer David?" he smirked, just as a bag slipped and fell, spilling onto the walkway and heaving food down the slick red brick.
She picked up a stray apple and held it to her brown eyes, inspecting it like a UN weapons official. "If I were going to torment a man with obsessive attention, it would not be you," she quipped, throwing back the bruised fruit.
"Pitty," he jiggled his keys. "So, if not to establish an intimate connection with me, what else brings you to my not so humble abode?"
Thunder scampered across the sky as the rain smacked and hollowed the sidewalk. She rubbed her arms. The friction brought the redness of warmth to her fingers and cheeks.
He wasn't going to invite her up. He didn't feel like company. He'd spent the day living a double life. Intense dishonesty was a debilitating job. He made a note to ask the director for emotional hazard pay.
"Armani no likey the elements, Zee-vah."
Suddenly she felt sickeningly vulnerable. She sniffled as smoke snaked into her nose.
Oh, her ego was aflame.
In case of emergency, break left and don't look back. He caught her before she could extinguish the conversation.
She didn't even bother to erase the pain. It was beautiful, her humanity. There was a part of him that wanted to make everything okay for her. That scared him and neither of them would care for what fear turned him into.
It was starting to rain harder and the storm was opening up a can of whup ass on her thin windbreaker. He invited her upstairs. They eased up the two flights quietly as the skies grumbled and hissed. The light outside his door flickered in time with the moaning breeze.
"Is your maid on vacation?" she teased, navigating around the basketball and piles of tennis shoes and other mounds of teenage droppings.
"Bora-Bora, actually," he draped his trench coat over the couch, launching a grin in her direction. "Second honeymoon, I think."
She trailed him into the kitchen. "Your indifference to housework is genetic, I see."
He frowned. "Since you can judge me and my chromosomes at work for free, I doubt you wasted a half a tank of gas to roast me in the comforts of my own kitchen. So, you want a beer? Tea?"
She ran her hand along the sink, straight faced. "I will settle for a friend."
He stepped forward, raised the empty mug in his hand in a mock salute and grinned, reaching for her shoulder. And in true Renée Zellweger fashion: "You had me at hello."
His words resonated so loudly that she shivered when pandemonium broke loose in her mind. Ziva coughed. "Tea is fine."
They took their tea in the living room. Joplin was out. He wasn't surprised.
"At least she is staying out of trouble."
"That's debatable. Most people run across the street to avoid trouble. My kid? She guns the gas and hopes trouble's smart enough to get out of dodge. I guess I can't fault her though. She got her wild edge from my side of the blanket."
"What about her mother's family? Her uncle's moral compass was not exactly pointing in the right direction."
He furrowed his brow and flashed a thin, dismal line of a smile. "The Sullivan family falls under the 'don't ask, shut up' policy around these parts."
Ziva just nodded and focused her attention on his living room's large window, watching the leaves pirouette in the hard winter breeze. Their stems tapped the glass, their brown bodies tickling the window like butterflies before gallivanting off into the approaching darkness.
He still wasn't sure why she'd come. To vent? To cry? To have her way with him? He doubted her visit had anything to do with the latter. There was vigilance stowed in those dark, unwavering eyes. However, there was a touch of warmth: a dull flame, guarded and rationed.
"So what seems to be the trouble milady?" He shifted his left leg over his right and rested his elbow on his knee. When she got in her one of he—moods—he knew it was best to let her get through it.
Ziva sipped gingerly. Her calmness was almost mechanical, her voice an absent murmur as she told him about the sister she'd lost so violently, so early. How quickly she volunteered for Mossad. How long before a girl finally stopped hiding under her big sister's eyelids and gave up smuggling guilt into her dreams.
"Today is the anniversary of that day."
Tony silently stood and moved for the kitchen. She frowned when she heard the microwave sing out two minutes later.
He returned, a grin curling his lips and a steaming bowl filling his palm.
"My soul bleeds all over your carpet and you offer me soup?" Ziva chuckled, flashing a lopsided smile as she relieved her friend of the liquid mystery. She inhaled the rich, calming scents of chicken broth and a spice medley—no doubt another secret he'd keep from her—before taking a sip.
"Chicken soup's good for the soul," he winked, rejoining her on the couch. "Just ask the authors of the Chicken Soup for the 'Insert Genre of Soul Here' books."
"You had this laying around?"
"Joplin was starting to come down with a bug. I made it for her, knocked it right out."
Rain continued its tap dance. Droplets littered the glass stage as Tony and Ziva soused in silence. "Thank you for listening," she said finally, placing her spoon in her now empty dish.
"Thanks for trusting me."
She hoped he'd return the favor. Maybe come down with a raging case of potty-mouth and spill the eggs, perhaps.
Or was it beans?
It was definitely blabbermouth. Potty-mouth meant—wait, that applied here too.
Why did she bother?
He could see her giving him the classic feminine 'trust is a two way street' stare and even if he wanted to succumb to Ziva David's powers, Director Shepherd had the trump card: her secret was a matter of national security and she signed his paychecks.
Redheaded director with a vendetta, one. Partner that was leaning dangerously close to a line a certain rule forbade them from crossing, zero.
Unfortunately she wore his favorite sweater, the one that sang the praises of her two chorus girls.
That really wasn't helping.
As his green eyes brought a new meaning to facing the music, the landline was kind enough to ring. Tony flicked his eyes toward the caller ID. Joplin.
"Where are you?" his voice was surprisingly breathless.
"Gracious greetings to you too. You sound out of breath and you took too long to answer the phone. Eww, do I wanna know what I interrupted?"
"Ziva and I are having a meeting."
"Of your pelvises?"
The eye roll was in his voice. "Funny. May I help you?"
"Wow, you forgot. My game, you know the one I reminded you about two weeks ago, kinda sorta starts in thirty minutes. If you leave now, you'll be forgivablely late."
He exchanged glances with Ziva. "Ziva's..."
"Bring her! Just hurry up. Gotta run, warm ups and all."
"I totally blanked, Joplin's first home game starts in thirty. Promised her I'd represent. You can tag along if you want. She asked for you. Nothing like a good 'ol American pastime to numb the pain, I'd say"
She shrugged, pulling herself to her feet. "Could not hurt."
Pete's Pizza and Pints stepped into the limelight every once in awhile, when some yuppie IT consultant raved about it on Yelp or when there was a big show at the art gallery across the street, only to recede into its true colors: a neighborhood restaurant and watering hole people with no money and less hope fell into when life failed to dish out either.
However, the Italian food was authentic and the Pizza was fabulous. After the game the kid played, Tony figured Joplin deserved the best.
"I ordered the Moretti Lager," Ziva pointed at the bottle on the table when he returned from washing his hands. She frowned at the laminated menu. "I do not trust the wine."
"You found the key to my soul, good ol Italian suds," he grinned, making himself comfortable next to his kid.
"Actually, Heineken snagged the company like ten years ago," Joplin looked up from the Shirley Temple she was hovering over. "You're sippin' on Dutch suds now."
Tony frowned, exchanging a glance with Ziva. "Do I even wanna know how my thirteen year old knows so much about breweries and the big businesses who acquire them?"
Joplin twirled her straw, marveling as bubbles clustered around the black plastic. "My great uncle owned a microbrewery in San Francisco. I stayed with him and his family for a bit. I picked up a few things."
"Is it still in your family?" Ziva asked, picking at some calamari.
"Nope," she answered, thumbing through a memory that wasn't designed for display purposes. "Uncle Packie's doing ten years for racketeering. He lost it thanks to some guy named Rico."
Tony stifled a laugh. At least her mind was still innocent enough not to know what RICO actually stood for.
There was still hope.
Joplin glanced at the game dancing on the plasma screen above the pool table. She hauled her lips into a smile and dug her sharp elbow into her father's ribs. "Hey! The Lady Buckeye's are on."
Tony's eyes lit up like a couple of super-novas on a power surge at the mention of his beloved alma mater. He watched in a sublime silence as a sea of scarlet and grey zipped down the court. "The good ol days," he sighed, taking a wistful swig of beer. "How I miss 'em."
"They were number one in the Big 10 last season. I'm gonna be a Buckeye one day, just you watch," Joplin declared proudly.
"Keep playing like you did tonight and Jim Foster'll be beating down the front door trying to recruit you."
She blushed. "You think so?"
"I don't dish 'em out unless I mean 'em kid," Tony smirked and raised his beer.
She clinked her glass with his bottle before aiming her smile at Ziva. "Thanks for rolling with Tony to the game and for sticking with us afterwards."
Somebody put a couple quarters in the jukebox for Frank Sinatra to soar, a graceful hawk gliding through George Gershwin's "Embraceable You".
"You are welcome. You played a great game," she returned the smile and fiddled with her beer bottle's amber neck. "So, Tony tells me you have a birthday coming up. Fourteen, yes? You must be excited."
She shrugged. "It's not like I'll be eligible to do anything like rack up Tony's car insurance or vote for the next old dude to ruin the country. I already experienced the joy of being able to enter those contests on soda bottles last year so...same song, press repeat."
"Well, when you are my age you will look back and you will never want to do this again, so, make as many memories as possible to prove your future self wrong."
A faint, cheesy wraith of steam introduced the extra large pie before it made its way to the restless natives.
Ziva and Joplin shared eye rolls as they watched Tony engage in verbal foreplay with the waitress. Tony was selling and the little blonde college student was buying the whole load.
"Perhaps a shovel to go with the meal?" Ziva's voice held a caustic warning as a ghost of a smile danced on her lips.
Joplin snickered. Tony scowled. The waitress scrammed.
Brunette with a degree in torture tactics: one. Blonde who did not bother to exercise a degree of common sense: zero.
"Last time I checked, I didn't appoint you litigator of my lusty liaisons," Tony said brusquely as he snatched up the first slice.
Joplin cleared her throat. Time out: "Okay, wow...there's a minor present."
Green eyes glared at Ziva from beneath bushy brown brows. "Sipping the Haterade there aren't we, Zee-vah?"
"The what?"
"Haterade as in Gatorade—" Joplin explained around a mouthful of pizza. "You know the sports energy drink commercials with the sport stars sweating out the entire rainbow?"
Blank stare.
"You really don't know what—"
Tony shook his head and squeezed his girl child's shoulder. "Choose your battles, Grasshopper. So," He grinned arrogantly after along pull of beer. "Back to the green jealous monster screaming in Ziva's ear."
"I am not jealous of your litany of insignificant others. I do not care who you wine and deflower. However, you could at least have the decency not to swoop down on your prey when your daughter is present."
Joplin grinned. "Thanks for waving my banner, Ziva."
"Just a little harmless socialization. No need to go to Red Alert, but for the record," he leaned in, his breath tickling her nose. "You're cute when you're jealous."
He was in her personal space. Not obscenely close, but just enough to make Joplin Sullivan an orphan. She'd break his neck before she admitted he was right, though.
They finished their meal quickly after that. Tony left a tip and was surprised by the absence of an urge to include his number. Ziva excused herself to the restroom, leaving father and daughter to digest dinner and the rest of the basketball game.
Anthony DiNozzo had a special agent's power of observation. He noticed when a door opened, when an eyelash fell, a twitch of another man's jaw, the look people got when they forgot their Beano after a buttery meal...
He also had a nose for fear.
In his sixty some odd days of being her sole caregiver, Tony had learned to read his kid: hungry, moody, sleepy were the common emotions. Happy and mischievous placed high on the list.
Dejected? Maybe. Sad? Sure. Scared? Since when?
There was definitely some flavor of fear in her eyes and from the curl of her lips, he knew it was old and sour.
That managed to set off his"Something's Up With My Young'un" klaxons. His unique brand of paternal instincts were nestled comfortably between his bullshit radar and fashion sense, all three an intricate part of his being.
After what felt like hours, Joplin pulled her gaze away from picture window and slumped against the booth, shaken and bewildered. She squeezed her eyes shut and hurled them open, annoyed to find her father assessing her like a shrink.
"You okay?"
"Yeah, fine," she blocked. "Thought I saw somebody I knew."
Tony held her gaze and she surprised them both when she didn't squirm. "That your final answer?"
"Take a yoga breath, Tony," she tried to smile, but failed miserably "I said I was fine."
He let it go in time to see the Buckeye's star point guard foul out.
"Maybe it is her time of the month," Ziva shrugged, scooping up the sunglasses she'd come up to retrieve.
Tony grimaced. "Yeah, Ziva, because I really wanted to picture my daughter surfing the crimson tide. I'm still healing from the trauma sustained from discovering an infestation of unmentionables of the feminine hygiene persuasion crawling around my medicine cabinet."
"Slow your stroll," she rolled her eyes. "All I am saying is: she is a teenage girl and teenage girls do not share every morsel of their lives with their parents, especially their fathers."
"I don't expect her to tell me all her secrets while I paint her nails, but she seemed...off."
"The DiNozzo intuition. Wow...and that has never led you astray," she smirked, unimpressed by the green glare of death aimed at her forehead "Listen Tony, she will come to you when she is ready—if there is even anything to come to you about."
He frowned, pulling open the front door. Instantly a cold breeze spilled into the living room, as if it had been poised outside, awaiting its chance. "Look, what I know about fatherhood would fit into a vile the size of McChaste's love life, but my nose works and it got a whiff of freshly picked fear."
Ziva furrowed her brow. "You do not trust her, do you?"
"I worry about the kid. There's a difference, Zee-vah."
"A thin one."
He folded his arms. "That so?"
She looked at him, shrugged, and eased out the door. She jutted out a hand to prevent him from closing it. "Trust is the secret to the best relationships. Without it, they are just decorations."
Joplin busied herself with compound inequalities, scientific notation and other forms of algebraic abuse to keep from exploding into an Oscar worthy crying fit.
Epic fail.
Searing drops flicked against her bare arms and onto her textbook. Tears accompanied by an orchestra of huge, choking sobs. Lovely.
Fear should come with a label: do not consume with copious amounts of teenage hormones.
The side effects were so inconvenient: the rage and vulnerability swallowed her up, leaving her in an airless sea of darkness.
Great, she'd landed smack dab in the middle of an emocore album.
Somehow she managed to tune out the melodic melodrama that had become the soundtrack of her thoughts and finish her homework.
However, the procrastination induced peace was shattered as the blue eyed memory lingering outside Pete's returned to its encampment at the forefront of her mind.
Apparently the Sullivan Sideshow was back in town and its exhibits were personally handing out tickets.
Weeping Willow and The Waterworks played three more sets before the sole member of their audience fell asleep.
Yay! Joplin's crazy relatives are being added to the mix.
Anyhow, I know some of you wanted to Gibbs slap me with a stick, or maybe the whole tree, for having Jeanne in the previous chapter. I still need her, but I won't be serving up a main course of Tony and Jeanne. This ain't that kind of establishment. ;)
The Tony/Ziva interaction will start to pick up as well, don't you worry. :)
Also, the playlist has been updated.
-Flash over and out.