I know, I know. I keep abusing this story with unacceptably long delays between posts. I'm sorry. I'm grateful to anyone who's still following along. I hope the following 12,000+ words in this chapter are an acceptable peace offering.
Disclaimer: Disclaimed.
Two days after his father was released from hospital, Tony had no choice but to give in to his family's badgering to meet Ziva. He had been hoping to hold out longer (say, until they all left and forgot about it), and he had been feeding them plausible excuses to explain her (fake) lack of availability. They both worked long hours! Ziva had kickboxing class! She already had plans to clean her guns! But eventually the Mafioso tired of waiting and went about reminding him of how sneaky and devious they could be when they had their collective eyes on the prize.
He, Ziva and McGee had been driving out to Quantico that morning when Ziva's cell phone rang. It was hardly notable, until Ziva answered and her voice was colored by surprise and mirth.
"Oh! Hello, Mrs. DiNozzo."
Tony had nearly driven the car off the road in shock. The sedan had veered out of its lane as his arm shot out across the console to the passenger seat to try to wrench the phone out of her hand. Ziva had fought off his attack with a hard smack to the back of his hand before reaching over to grab the steering wheel and pulling the car out of the way of oncoming traffic. As McGee had cried out in terrified warning from the back seat, Tony and Ziva had a quick, whispered argument consisting of "Give me the phone!" and "Watch the road!" before Ziva had continued speaking to his grandmother as if everything was fine.
"Yes, he has told me about you all. I am sorry to hear that your son is unwell."
"Give me the phone," Tony had ordered at normal volume, but Ziva had just scrunched her nose dismissively at him.
"Men are often like that," Ziva went on. "But I understand he is well on the road to recovery now."
"Is she talking to one of your aunts?" McGee asked, and one glance at him in the rear view mirror had been enough to tell Tony that McGee was enjoying how much Tony wasn't enjoying it.
"My grandmother," he replied through gritted teeth. "Damn it. I know better than to underestimate her. She's a criminal mastermind."
"Criminal?" McGee questioned.
"Yes," Tony insisted. "She's committing treason. Against me."
McGee had just snorted, and Tony had tuned back into Ziva's conversation.
"Thank you! That sounds wonderful."
Tony literally shuddered in his seat. "What sounds wonderful?" he demanded to know.
"I am not sure," Ziva replied to his grandmother. "Hold on for one moment and I will ask him." Ziva covered her cell phone speaker and looked at him with amusement. "Your grandmother would like to know whether you would be free to join us for dinner tonight. Or if you will be busy in your kickboxing class."
He'd sent her a glare that could freeze hell.
Ziva had smiled and returned to her conversation with his nonna. "He would love to come, Mrs DiNozzo. We will see you at seven."
That was why he now found himself getting into the elevator at The Dorchester with a silken-dressed Ziva. And as the elevator rose to the 25th floor, Tony's anxiety rose with it. He didn't like being forced into this situation, particularly not since he'd made it clear to his family that he was uncomfortable. But they just didn't listen. They seemed to think that it was great entertainment to come into his life after years on the outside, stir the pot for their own enjoyment, and make him squirm and suffer. And then what? Next week they'd be gone again, but Tony would be left to deal with the fallout from the havoc they'd wreaked. It was his life they were messing with. His relationships. And in particular, a relationship that had been maddeningly indefinable for years and years for a very good reason that his family just didn't seem to understand: it kept the status quo.
He wasn't in the dark over the kind of relationship he ultimately wanted with Ziva. Just like he wasn't in the dark over why that couldn't happen. Not now. Gibbs had a rule, although that wasn't the thing that held him back. If push came to shove, Tony was fairly confident that Gibbs would accept a relationship between his team members (albeit with absolutely no grace and a whole lot of angry lip-pursing and the occasional well-timed put-down). No, the thing that kept him from giving in and making a move (aside from paralyzing fear) was a strong desire to protect team dynamics. He was a cop to the bone, but he couldn't honestly put his hand on his heart and say that he would treat her the same in the field as he did McGee. And that could end up literally hurting McGee if Tony hesitated or made a choice with his heart instead of his head. He was a professional, but he couldn't even stop himself from arguing with her now over her stubbornness. There was no way he'd be able to keep his mouth shut in the office if they were fighting about things at home (which he had no doubt they would do a lot of). Not only would that piss off Gibbs and McGee, but it would breed a toxic environment for the two of them to exist in. And, good God, they'd be in the same environment all the time. Work together, home together, always together. They were both independent creatures who needed their space. If they were forced to spend all day, every day in each other's company they would murder each other. And that would put Gibbs, McGee, forensic scientist Abby and medical examiner Ducky in difficult positions when it came time to work out which one of them was to blame. Just because Tony was positive now that the double murder was likely to be Ziva's fault didn't mean that there wouldn't have to be an investigation.
Did his family understand all that?
The elevator stopped and Tony took a moment to close his eyes and breathe deeply before following Ziva out of the car. He caught the frown of concern she threw over her shoulder at him, and he just shook his head in response. There probably wasn't a good way to tell her that he felt sick to his stomach because his family was probably about to try to marry them off. In fact, he wouldn't be surprised if his nonna had invited a marriage celebrant to dinner 'just in case'.
"You look pale," Ziva stated.
Tony shook his head again, and added a bright smile for effect. "It's probably just this crappy hotel lighting. It's so stark. Makes everyone look sick."
Ziva looked around to take in the warm lighting scheme that set off the dark wood, caramel carpeting and rich gold wallpaper along the hallway. If anything, the lighting was closer to flattering candlelight than migraine-inducing hospital fluorescence.
"Stark?" she repeated. "I was going to say that this lighting makes me want to drink a lot of wine, eat chocolate and kiss someone inappropriately."
He bit his tongue to keep from telling her to shut up and let him have his lies.
"Why are you so nervous?" Ziva went on. "Are you concerned that I will find out a dark family secret you have been hiding all this time?" She stopped walking and put her hand on his arm before leaning in and lowering her voice. "Is your family not really Italian? Be honest with me, Tony. I will know if you are lying."
Tony ignored her teasing and kept walking. "It's not what you'll find out that I'm worried about," he muttered, but then revised his thought quickly. "Actually, that's part of it. I'm more worried about what they'll find out."
Ziva's confused response came after a few beats of silence. "About me?" she asked, her voice smaller than normal. "I was not planning on going into detail about my father being the head of Mossad and how many lives I have taken."
Tony stopped abruptly and spun to face her. There was fire in her eyes, like she was prepared to argue about this. But her overall demeanor screamed out her shame. His stomach fell and twisted, the way it always did when her contemplated the things she'd done before she'd landed in his life. In the early days he found it difficult to reconcile who she'd been and the things she was capable of with the woman he was having fuzzy feelings for. But over time he'd come to realize that she'd been doing her job to protect her country, and there was nothing black and white about being in that position. She'd followed orders. Like Gibbs and so many soldiers at war. Like the elite special forces who operated off the grid. Like Vance and his black ops. She did her job for what she had been told was the greater good. She wasn't some cold-blooded killer. She had empathy and she felt regret. And it was okay to love her…from afar.
He reached out to touch her arm with brief reassurance as he shook his head. "That's not what I meant. I meant…" He trailed off when he realized he couldn't just tell her what he meant. I meant I don't want them to see us together because I'm not sure how much feeling there is in my face when I look at you, and I don't want them to start screaming about marriage and babies. Because you and me haven't had that discussion and I've never admitted to you that I love you, or even like you very much, and so it would be awkward and horrible and I DON'T WANT TO DEAL WITH IT.
Ziva lifted her eyebrows at him in a silent request to share what he was thinking. He shook his head again, turned and kept walking.
"I just meant I haven't been close to any of them in a long time and they don't know a whole lot about who I am now."
The explanation seemed to pass inspection, and Ziva quickened her pace to fall in step beside him again. "That is a reasonable anxiety to have," she decided. "But I am sure they will love who you are now. You do not need to worry."
Tony nodded distractedly as they approached the right hotel suite. "Sure," he said offhandedly, and then turned to face her again. "Okay, some things you need to know and prepare for. My aunts, Nonna and Dad? They're going to go on for a while about how beautiful you are. It might get uncomfortable. You might also get the feeling that Dad's hitting on you. He might well be doing that, but he doesn't actually expect that you'll show any interest back. So just treat it as slightly inappropriate but harmless flirting." He paused while she gave him a pointed look and smirked. "It's a given that Rose and Louisa will scream at each other at some point, and then turn on Dad. Just ignore it. They might look like they're going to stab each other with the cutlery, but they almost never get to that point."
"That makes a change from my family," Ziva muttered.
"There's going to be a baby in there," he went on. "Upfront I want to say I'm sorry. Because you're not going to avoid questions from three old Italian women about your plans for reproducing. And you're not going to avoid the stories of how all their kids were born. Or advice on how you might like to have yours."
Ziva nodded her head seriously. "Water birth with a doula," she told him. "Of course, the father will be in the pool with me as well so that he can fully experience every moment of the birth. And we will keep the placenta in the freezer to eat over the next six months. Apparently it has many health benefits."
Tony's brain froze in terror as he stared down at her straight face. "What?"
Ziva leaned in to him and looked him in the eye. "You need to calm down," she told him slowly. "I have dealt with overzealous relatives before." She patted his cheek and then, before he could stop her, reached out and knocked on the door.
Tony was still stuck on water births and placenta-eating. "Were you joking, or is that what you're going to do?"
Ziva rolled her eyes so hard she almost fell over. "Do I look like a goddamn hippy to you?"
That wasn't the definitive answer he was after. "So…it was a joke?"
She shot him a brief glare. "Yes, it was a joke," she hissed right before the door swung open.
"Tony!" his nonna cried, and ushered them in to the hotel suite. "I am so glad you decided to come, tesoro!"
"Well, I didn't have much cho—" Tony started, but the rest of his words were lost when his nonna threw all of her 90 pounds at him and wrapped her arms around his torso. He carefully settled his hands on the backs of her fragile shoulders and looked over at Ziva. For the first time since he'd met her, his badass partner was making 'so cute!' face. He started shaking his head at her, but before he could do much of anything about it four more women appeared from within the suite.
"TONY!" they yelled in such perfect sync that he wondered if they'd practiced it.
"Hi," he said over the top of his nonna's head. She was still clinging to his torso, her cheek pressed against his chest, and he didn't think she was going to let go before the rest of them piled on.
"You came!" Rose yelled, and then attached herself to his right side.
"We're so pleased!" Louisa added, and attached herself to his left. Tony suddenly found himself inside a cloud of Chanel perfume.
From behind them, Lina threw her arms in the air dramatically and Clare bounced from side to side, clapping with teasing glee.
"Yay!" they cried, and then somehow managed to throw themselves into the old lady scrum without hurting anyone. Except Tony.
"Oh, my God," he muttered as he struggled under the weight of five women clinging to him. "Uh, you know, it's great to get all the hugging out of the way in one go, but I'm going numb."
None of the women hanging off him seemed inclined to do anything about that.
"I'm going to fall over," he warned them as he felt a sharp pain go through his bad knee. "Seriously, at least three of you need to let go."
"We're just trying to make you feel loved and less nervous!" Lina teased from behind his left ear.
"What? I'm not nervous! Why would I be nervous right now?" Tony almost yelled, completely overcompensating. "God, I really can't feel my arms." He glanced over the top of Rose's bouffant at Ziva who was watching the display with wide-eyed shock, and covering her open mouth with her hand. In his right mind he knew it wouldn't be fair to use her as his life raft right now, but his right mind had been squeezed out of his head by old and freakishly strong Italian women. "Look!" he suddenly cried. "Ziva's here. I brought Ziva with me!"
The magic words made the Mafioso let go, and Tony watched as they turned en masse and then piled on to Ziva. He drew a deep breath as the high pitched squeals and coos started, and when Ziva's bewildered eyes locked on his from between his aunts' heads, he couldn't help but burst out laughing. Not even Abby had ever grabbed Ziva with so much gusto. His partner didn't have much of a 'grab me and squeeze me' vibe about her. But the elderly Italian women didn't seem to give a crap.
"It's so wonderful to meet you!" Rose cried.
"We've been waiting for so long!" Imelda continued.
"And we love meeting Tony's friends," Louisa finished.
"It is lovely to meet you," came Ziva's muffled voice from the middle of the scrum.
Lina, Clare, and Tony's aunts let go of her after a few too many moments, and although his nonna took a step back, she still held on to Ziva's hands from arm's length and looked at her with the sparkle of great-grandchildren in her eyes.
"Look at this one!" she exclaimed, as Ziva's eyes darted to Tony for reassurance that this was completely normal behavior. "She's so beautiful!" She turned to look at her grandson. "Tony! She's so beautiful."
Tony nodded but made an effort to play it down, knowing that no matter how gracious Ziva would be about it she would feel uncomfortable about the fuss. "Yeah, she's okay. Hey, unrelated news? Really flattering lighting in here."
"Tony!" Rose admonished, slapping his arm for good measure.
Ziva smirked at him before Imelda cupped her cheek.
"Look at this skin!" Imelda exclaimed. "Rose, have you seen this beautiful skin?"
"I know, I know," Rose said with a roll of her eyes. "I hate being surrounded by all this youth and beauty." She shot a wink at her nieces.
"We're so happy you came tonight, bella," Imelda went on. "I am Tony's grandmother. My daughters, Rose and Louisa," she gestured at the women flanking Ziva. "And I think you have already met my grandchildren, Lina and Clare. Welcome to our temporary accommodations."
"Thank you, Mrs DiNozzo," Ziva replied. "It was very kind of you to invite me for dinner."
Imelda squeezed her hand. "Darling, don't be so formal. Call me Nonna."
"Of course," Ziva said as Tony rolled his eyes to himself. Imelda was probably already designing wedding dresses in her head.
"I'm so excited to meet Tony's close friend," Imelda was saying. "We haven't seen him much in recent years, which is a terrible shame, you know. But we would love to hear from you about what the two of you get up to together."
Ziva hesitated for a moment, as if trying to work out if Imelda was hinting at more than she appeared to be with that turn of phrase. Tony knew for sure that she was, but he was distracted from helping out when he spied Rose stroking the ends of Ziva's hair. Quickly, he reached around Rose's back to grab her arm and stop her, and then gave her a stern frown. Rose's eyes widened in genuine surprise, and she clutched the offending hand to her chest as if she hadn't realized she had been doing it. She gave Tony a look of apology before wandering away.
"I have so many stories I could tell you," Ziva said to Imelda.
"Perhaps I didn't make it clear," Tony said to her, "but you're supposed to be on my side."
Ziva just winked in reply. It didn't calm his fears.
Imelda led them from the entryway of the enormous suite and into the dining room. An extra long table had been set with fine China, silverware, expensive linens, candlesticks and floral arrangements. Tony frowned at the display and then looked to Rose, the hotelier.
"Is this your doing?"
"Of course."
"Is it necessary?"
"We're having a proper meal!" Rose exclaimed. "The table wasn't big enough for all of us, so I called down and asked them to bring another. And a few other things."
"Like a floral centerpiece."
Rose shrugged. "It's…festive."
"Candlesticks?"
"Ambiance."
Tony picked up a wine glass and flicked the rim gently. "Crystal wine glasses?"
"They were on sale at Bloomingdale's," Rose replied, and took the glass off him. "I'll take them back to the inn with me. Tax write-off."
"Right."
"I'll get you some wine," she said. "Ziva, would you like some wine?"
"Thank you."
"Just water for me," Tony told her.
His aunts and grandmother all stopped dead and stared at him.
"What?" Rose managed.
Tony looked between them all. Surely they couldn't have a problem with him staying dry, particularly while his father, the alcoholic was around? "I won't have wine," he said. "Water is fine."
"We have scotch," Imelda offered. "And vodka. Louisa, did we end up getting that champagne? I think we have champagne."
Tony shook his head. "No, really. Water is all I want."
Rose waited another beat in case he changed his mind, and then shrugged and headed towards the kitchen. "Okay. One wine, one water." Disappointment was heavy in her voice.
"Hey, Ziva?" Lina called, gesturing with her own glass of wine. "How are you feeling?"
"Fine, thank you," Ziva said. "It was nothing to worry about."
"Were you unwell, darling?" Imelda asked.
Ziva shook her head and met Tony's eyes. "No. Just a minor throat irritation."
Tony sighed at her description of being choked. Her voice was back to normal, although he caught her still wincing a little when she ate. And although the bruises on her neck were fading, he'd still been able to clearly make out the finger marks around her throat under the stark lights in the bullpen that morning. Tonight they seemed to be concealed by good lighting and good make up application, and it gave him a heavy feeling in his chest to think that she was probably a master at using make up to conceal bruises.
"Tony!"
Tony turned at his father's booming voice, and saw him coming through the lounge room. He looked much better than he had in the hospital. The color was coming back to his face, his silver hair was combed and neat, and he was dressed in a dark blue cashmere sweater and casual tan pants that had probably cost as much as Tony's rent for the month. He didn't look as weak and small as he had lying in the hospital bed, but now that Tony had seen him so vulnerable and, well, human, it was hard to find him as intimidating as he once had.
He met his dad by the end of the long overstuffed couch and shook his hand. "Hey, Dad. Good to see you up and about."
Anthony beamed and pulled Tony into a tight, unexpected hug. "Glad you came, kid," he said as he slapped Tony's back. "The Mafioso's been workin' themselves into a tizz about dinner tonight. They would've been insufferable if you'd cancelled. And I wanted to see you again before I head back to New York."
"Yeah," Tony said quietly, and then turned and gestured to Ziva standing beside him. "Dad, this is my partner, Ziva. Ziva, my dad, Anthony."
Ziva took Anthony's proffered hand. "I am sorry you have not been well recently."
Anthony turned a charming smile on her and held her hand in both of his. "Oh, honey," he purred. "It's worth it if it means I get to meet beautiful creatures like you."
"Dad," Tony said warningly.
Anthony ignored him. "I can see why Tony loves his job so much."
Tony sighed, already tired with Anthony's antics, and looked heavenward for strength. Anthony caught the tail end of the look.
"What?" he asked, still clasping Ziva's hand. "It's just been so long since you let me meet one of your friends."
If he got out of there tonight without shooting anyone, Tony thought it would be a miracle. "Okay, let go of Ziva, Dad."
Anthony dropped her hand and gave her a wink. "Sorry."
"How are you doing today?" Tony asked him.
"I'd kill someone for a cigarette," Anthony stated, as if it were absolute fact. "Literally light them on fire—"
"Easy."
"I've smoked every day for 50 years," he told Ziva.
"It must be very difficult to give up."
"I'm trying those patches," he said, and gestured at his left side. "You put them on your arm and it's supposed to help with the cravings, but I really just want to lick one. Just put it in my mouth and suck it dry, you know?"
Tony raised his eyebrows. "Wow. Don't do that, okay?"
"They should make patches for whiskey, too," Anthony went on. "And red meat. Those doctors say I've got to cut down on red meat. Salt. Sugar. Fat. All the good stuff." He looked thoughtful. "They didn't say anything specifically about cocaine, but I guess that's probably out as well."
Tony's blood went cold. "When did you start doing cocaine?" he asked, struggling to keep an even tone.
But Anthony broke into a grin and clapped a hand on Tony's shoulder. "It's a joke, kid! Lighten up."
Tony's temple started throbbing again, and he lifted a hand to rub it firmly. "I will certainly try to do that," he replied tonelessly.
"Ticker feels fine, now that I'm out of the hospital." He leaned towards Ziva with a conspiratorial smirk. "The hospital is the part that makes people sick. I'm sure of it."
"I agree," Ziva replied.
Tony turned his frown on the woman who had signed herself out of the hospital just a few days ago. "Yeah, but sometimes doctors know what they're talking about, right?"
Ziva barely narrowed her eyes, just enough to tell him that she had understood the remark and didn't care for it. "I am going to remind you that you said that one day."
She had a point. He was hardly a model patient. But he wasn't as bad as her.
"Seems to me that the classy thing to do would be to keep that to yourself," he replied.
Ziva cocked her hear to the side and her eyes narrowed a little more. "That is quite a double standard."
Tony nodded, not denying it. She should always listen to her doctors. Meanwhile, he knew his body better than doctors and could overrule them. "Yeah, it sure is," he said, before movement over Anthony's shoulder caught his eye. Mia came out of the bedroom Anthony had just come from, and she was carrying Josie in her arms. He smiled in greeting. "Hi, Mia."
"Hey, Tony," she said, and switched Josie into her other arm. "And it's Ziva, right?"
Ziva nodded and shook her hand. "Nice to see you again."
Mia nodded and looked behind them to the flurry of activity in the kitchen and dining room. "Wow. We've got a full house, huh?"
"Honey, have you got one of your cameras with you?" Anthony asked her.
"Of course." Mia looked between Tony and Ziva. "I'm a professional photographer," she explained.
"An extremely talented one," Anthony added. "Could you take a few shots tonight?"
"Sure. It's a pretty significant night, huh?" Her gaze passed between Tony and Ziva again. "In more ways than one."
Tony wondered what the hell that was supposed to mean, and whether his nonna, aunts and sisters had been talking about him and Ziva behind their backs. He decided it was likely, and felt his anxiety from before they'd walked into the hotel room start to spike again. God, he just hoped that they didn't have anything crazy planned that would put him and Ziva in an awkward position. Well, more awkward than the position they were already in.
Anthony gave Josie's cheek a kiss and then excused himself, and Tony took the opportunity to grill Mia.
"How's he really doing?" he asked.
Mia gave him an understanding smile. "He's really doing okay," she assured him. "He's been taking it easy. Sleeping a lot. He hasn't been short of breath and he's eaten more today than he has for a while."
Tony nodded. "Has he been in touch with his doctor in New York?"
"Yes. And he's got a referral to a cardiologist there who will take over his treatment." She put a soft hand on Tony's arm. "He's going to be okay."
Tony gave her a tight smile. Of course it was good news that he wasn't going to drop dead anytime soon, and he would admit that he was a little more invested in his father's good health than he had been a week ago. But he was still more interested in him staying healthy to be around for Lina, Clare and Josie rather than himself. They could stand in that hotel suite and act like their relationship was back on course, but it wasn't. And Tony didn't think it ever would be.
"Hey, Mia?" Clare yelled out from the kitchen. "Where did you put that basil you got this afternoon?"
"I'm coming!" Mia yelled back, and then thrust Josie into Tony's arms. "Could you hold her for a minute?"
"Uh…" he started, but Mia was already walking away. "Okay." He maneuvered Josie around in his arms until she was leaning against his chest and his forearm was under her butt. Josie curled her tiny fist around the collar of his shirt and looked up at him curiously. "We've met before," he felt the need to say.
Josie made a garbled noise and then planted her head onto his shoulder.
"Okay," he said, more to himself, and then looked at Ziva. "Why does that woman just keep handing me her baby?"
"Your sister," Ziva pointed out.
"Whatever."
Ziva reached out to brush the back of her finger across Josie's cheek. "Oh, you were right. She has huge blue eyes."
"I think she's bigger than the last time I saw her."
"Probably."
"No, like, significantly," he said, and hiked her up a little higher on his chest to get a better grip. Josie rested her head against his cheek and made another garbled noise, and when Tony tried to turn his head to look at her he ended up taking a breath right over her head. She smelled like baby powder and something soft and cute and indefinable that made warmth spread through his whole body. "Oh, wow."
"What?"
He stooped a little to put Josie's head closer to Ziva's. "Get a hit of that."
"Of what?"
"Smell her head."
Ziva gave him an odd look, but then leaned closer and breathed in behind Josie's left temple. Her eyes fluttered closed and she let out a small moan before leaning back again. "Oh. I see."
"How good is that?" Tony said, and smelled Josie's head again. "You think that's baby shampoo?"
Ziva shook her head. "I think that is just her."
He held Ziva's gaze for a moment and they shared a small smile.
"I guess these things aren't all bad," he said.
"No."
"Ah! Look at this!"
They both turned to see Imelda coming towards them, her hands clasped together in front of her chest. Tony glanced over to Mia in the kitchen just in time to see her smirk knowingly and then turn away, and in an instant he realized he'd been had.
"Damn it," he hissed behind Josie's head. "It was a trap."
"You look so natural with a little one in your arms," Imelda said, and placed a soft hand on his cheek. "Don't you think so, Ziva?"
Ziva nodded too easily for Tony's liking, but he chose to believe that she was just being polite by playing along. "Oh, yes. It suits him."
Tony shot her a little frown to remind her again that she was supposed to be on his side, and then tried to explain that holding the baby hadn't been his idea. "Mia just had to help Clare with something. She'll be right back."
"Mhmm," Imelda cooed, and stroked Josie's head lovingly. "You were right, Tony. She is one of the beautiful babies."
"I think Rose said that," he corrected.
"Who can remember?" she said dismissively. "Your father is a screw up at many things. But he excels at producing beautiful, intelligent children. You must hand him that."
Tony cracked a smile. "You don't think you're a little bit prejudiced, Nonna?"
"No," she said firmly. "Tony said you don't have any children, Ziva."
Tony took a deep, calming breath over Josie's head. Here came the interrogation.
"No, I do not," Ziva replied.
"Are you planning for them?"
"Nonna!" Tony chided. "Boundaries!"
Imelda held her hands out, like she couldn't see the big deal. "What? It's just a question."
"I would like them, yes," Ziva told her. She hastened to add, "Sometime in the future. I do not have plans."
It seemed to be a good enough answer. "Wonderful!" Imelda exclaimed, and then set her eyes on Tony again. "You know, I remember when you used to carry your cousin Louie under your arm like he was a surfboard."
Tony smiled as the memory came back to him. "It made it harder for him to kick me anywhere sensitive."
"He did not like you?" Ziva asked.
"Yeah, but he was four."
"And you almost broke his leg," Imelda reminded him.
Tony's smile grew and he let out a laugh before he could stop himself. At his nonna's raised eyebrow he dropped the smile and cleared his throat. "Sorry. Not funny. That wasn't deliberate."
Imelda gave him a withering look and turned to Ziva. "He was spinning one of the little ones around by his hands."
"I was giving him a helicopter ride," Tony explained, drawing Ziva's eyes.
"And you got dizzy," Imelda said.
"Helicopter experienced mechanical failure," Tony told Ziva. "We had to set it down in the rough."
Imelda pursed her lips at the smile that was creeping back onto Tony's face. "You swung him down the side of a hill."
Tony's smile broke free again. "It was a slight slope," he argued. "He rolled to a stop. And then screamed like his little sister."
Ziva finally joined his side to smile. "How old were you?"
He shrugged and shifted Josie into his other arm. "I guess about ten." He looked at his grandmother. "But I gave Linda plenty of airplanes that summer and I never once dropped her."
"You gave her airplanes?" Ziva had to ask.
"It's a game," he explained. "When you lie on your back with your feet in the air and someone else lies on your feet, so it's like they're flying."
Ziva's smile grew, and she looked vaguely curious. Tony winked at her.
"I'll give you one later if you're good."
"That sounds like a good way to hurt ourselves."
"Dinner's ready!" Louisa yelled from the kitchen.
Tony looked at Ziva. "Did I tell you that my family yells everything?"
"So does mine," she said, and leaned in and lowered her voice. "Relax."
"I'm relaxed," he lied. "Let's go have a relaxing dinner."
They joined the table as Lina, Mia and Clare brought out platters of food. Tony hovered by Mia, ready to hand Josie off as soon as she was done finding space amongst the candlesticks, wine glasses and flowers for a platter heaving with rice balls. When she turned she seemed surprised to see him there, and gave him a bemused smile as she took Josie back.
"Thanks."
"She's cute," he felt the need to say.
"She knows it," Mia replied, and then blew a raspberry against Josie's cheek as she carried her away.
Tony took a seat between Ziva and Lina, and Rose returned to put a big glass of red wine in front of Ziva. "There you are, darling," she said, and then put a small glass of water in front of Tony. "We have gin, tesoro," she said, giving it one more shot. "I can make you a gin and tonic."
"Rose, water's fine," he insisted. "Really." Sometimes he wondered how his father had been the only one in his family to become an alcoholic.
"Let me know if you change your mind," she said hopefully, and then walked around to her seat on the other side of the table. Once they were all settled, Imelda clasped her hands and made the sign of the cross over her chest.
"Can we say grace?"
It had been so long since Tony had done anything of the sort that for a moment he didn't know what she was talking about. When others around the table clasped their hands and bowed their heads, he rushed to follow, lest his grandmother catch sight of his heretic behavior. Imelda led the prayer, as she always did.
"Bless us, o Lord, and these Thy gifts, which we are about to receive from Thy bounty. Through Christ, our Lord. Amen."
The others muttered "Amen"s before Anthony, Rose and Louisa started grabbing for food. But Imelda wasn't done.
"I have something to say before we all eat ourselves into a food coma."
Her children snatched their hands back, and Anthony groaned pointedly. Imelda shot him the look of a cranky mother, but otherwise ignored him.
"I want to say that it makes me so happy to be with you all tonight," she began. "Even though my son is a devious little shit, the important thing is that he has now come clean and brought three wonderful daughters with him. And a wonderful mother for Josie." She turned a smile on Tony. "And I'm so happy that Tony has joined us and brought his beautiful friend to the family. It is a shame that such bad news brought us all together, but I am grateful nonetheless."
"Well said, Mamma," Louisa said.
Imelda tipped her glass in thanks. "Now. Everyone eat.
They were halfway through the main course of seafood spaghetti and down three bottles of wine before the conversation turned Tony and Ziva's way. Tony had to hand it to the Mafioso; they knew what they were doing. They spent almost an hour avoiding any topic that might have made Tony wary, defensive or trapped, and then, once he was relaxed and Ziva had two glasses of wine in her stomach, they started their attack.
"So, Ziva," Rose started. "Tell us what it is like working with Tony."
Tony paused with a piece of shrimp halfway to his mouth and cut his eyes to the side to look at Ziva. His partner turned on him with a wine-loosened smile, and then looked him up and down appraisingly. Tony braced for impact.
"It is never dull," Ziva replied. "It is often educational, particularly with regard to cinema, sport and the inner workings of the male mind."
Tony lifted an eyebrow at her assessment. He was unable to determine whether she thought understanding the male mind from his perspective was a good thing or a bad thing.
"You must work very closely together," Louisa said.
Ziva nodded. "We live in each other's hips."
The table frowned in unison at the mangled idiom, and Tony immediately fell into his role as Ziva-to-English translator.
"She means we live in each other's pockets," he told them. "Or we're joined at the hip."
"What is the difference?" Ziva asked.
"They mean the same thing."
"Then why are there two sayings?"
"Living in each other's pockets was a Roman Catholic thing. But having pockets used to be against the Protestant faith, so they had to come up with something else."
The two of them looked at each other, poker faced, as others at the table chuckled or sighed. Then Ziva narrowed her eyes with suspicion.
"You are joking."
The corner of his mouth pulled up. "Yes."
"If you do not know, just say you do not know."
"I do not know," he told her with a shake of his head.
Ziva addressed his aunts and grandmother. "Working with him is very much like this."
"Tony said you've worked together for a long time," Imelda said, although Tony couldn't remember ever telling her that. "You must work well together."
Tony received another appraising look from his partner, which turned to a smile before she replied to Imelda. "When we do not have the urge to strangle each other, I think we work very well together, yes." She addressed her next comment to Tony. "We are a good team."
"Teamwork is important to a successful partnership," Anthony stated, as if he had any idea what he was talking about.
Ziva's eyes softened as she held Tony's gaze for a few moments, and it gave him a feeling in his chest that was either apprehension or intense affection. Or both.
Ziva turned back to Imelda. "The truth is that Tony is a wonderful partner," she said, her tone devoid of teasing. "He is an excellent investigator, and I have learnt a great deal from him. And he has been extremely important in helping me adjust to life in the United States. He is part of a dying breed of truly good men."
As Imelda melted at the words, Tony wondered if he could get away with kicking Ziva under the table without her automatically reaching for her gun. He hadn't explicitly told Ziva that his family was auditioning her tonight for the part of Tony's wife, but she had to know that the Mafioso was keen on pushing them together. They had been fairly obvious about it. So why was Ziva stoking the fire? The two of them had never been so complimentary of each other in the past, and he had to wonder if she was being completely honest, or whether she was just telling his grandmother what she obviously wanted to hear about her grandson. And hell, if that really was what she thought of him, how could she be so open about it to other people when they would most likely choke on the honesty when it was just the two of them?
Suddenly, Tony really wanted a glass of wine. But he would refrain.
"He is a good man," Imelda said, and Tony threw her a brief, automatic smile in response. "To look after people so well. As do you, darling. Tony said that you were in the army once."
Tony frowned. When the hell had he said that? How often had he spoken about her to the Mafioso without realizing?
"In the Israeli Defense Forces," Ziva told her. "When I was 18."
"It's compulsory in Israel, isn't it?" Anthony asked, displaying more knowledge that Tony would have given him credit for.
"For most people. Yes," Ziva said. "I come from a military family."
"My father was in the army," Imelda said.
"Oh, I did not know that," Ziva said, glancing at Tony.
"World War One," Tony said. "Against the Austro-Hungarians."
"My late husband's father fought in that war as well," Imelda said. "That was one of the things we bonded over when we met." Her eyes filled with memories as she looked to Lina and Clare and gave them some family history. "It was at the pictures in New York back in 1936."
"Whoa," Clare breathed.
Imelda chuckled. "I was 16. My older sister took me to see Follow the Fleet. You know that one, Tony?"
"Fred Astaire and Ginger Rogers," Tony said with a nod, and then nudged Ziva. "Fred Astaire was in the navy in that one."
"Exactly," Imelda said, pointing at him as he made her next point. "I was sitting next to this young boy and he told me his father had served in the Italian army. Can you imagine? So had mine! I thought he was trying to impress my sister. He was a little older, you know. Almost 20 already. But no, he was sweet on me." She paused and then chuckled. "It annoyed the crap out of my sister."
Tony smiled to himself as Imelda rehashed the story he'd heard a hundred times, and then glanced at Ziva. She was leaning forward over the table and listening to every word Imelda said with a small smile on her face. And he didn't know why, but at that moment he had the urge to reach over and squeeze her hand. He didn't.
"He courted me for the next few months," Imelda went on. "And oh, I was head over heels for him. Roberto Antonio DiNozzo. We were still coping with the Great Depression, but he always made me feel like a queen. It didn't matter, all that uncertainty and fear swirling around us. We had each other, and so we knew we would be just fine. He was my best friend for 63 years."
Rose reached over to squeeze her mother's hand. "He was a good man," she said, and then added, "But he couldn't sing for shit."
"I know," Imelda said, rolling her eyes with irritation. "He would sing every damn day, and it didn't matter how many times I told him that he sounded like a drunken pirate with throat cancer, he just wouldn't stop. Drove me up the damn wall. It was a good thing he made me laugh and he was such a good father or there would have been no living with him."
"I remember once he was in the middle of Volare once and you threw a wooden spoon at him," Louisa said.
"It was a rolling pin," Imelda corrected. "I almost got him."
"I thought you did get him," Tony said. "What was that scar on his chin from? I thought that was from when you hit him with a rolling pin."
"Tony!" Imelda admonished. "I had nothing to do with that. He got that scar from a bar fight."
Ziva's eyebrows shot up as she turned to look at Tony with something akin to triumph on her face. He knew what was coming before she said it. "A-ha! Bar fights run in the family."
Despite himself and his former insistence that Ziva was always the one responsible for their barroom melees, Tony broke into a smile. "I doubt he started the fight. It was probably one of his work colleagues that stepped on someone's toes, and the next thing you know, pool cues are flying."
"Apparently Tony and Ziva get into a lot of bar fights," Lina explained for the table. "They argued about this the other night."
"We're not arguing," they said in unison.
"And they're fights that occur while we're on the job and dealing with difficult witnesses," Tony added quickly. "They're not what we get involved in on Friday nights for fun."
"Tesoro, you don't let people punch Ziva, do you?" Rose asked, aghast.
"Sure," Tony said flippantly. "I'm an equal opportunity kind of guy."
Ziva snorted pointedly, but then explained the situation herself. "I have been in law enforcement or the armed forces since I was 18, and I grew up dodging bombs and violence in Israel," she said, and Tony could hear her effort to keep her voice soft and casual. "And I have been training in hand-to-hand combat since I was six. A punch is not a big deal to me. But if it ever turns into a big deal, I know Tony will have my back."
"And I do," Tony added. "Particularly in all the bar fights you get us into."
"I have never—"
"Every time," he cut in.
"Untrue."
"Tell me this doesn't happen often," Imelda said. "I love that you are a cop, tesoro, but I hate that you are in danger."
"I'm not in danger," he assured her. "Most of my job is spent sitting at a desk."
Imelda didn't look convinced, but she chose to deal with the idea of losing her grandson in the line of duty by taking three large gulps of wine. Anthony, meanwhile, dealt with it by putting down his napkin, pushing back his chair and getting to his feet.
"Excuse me," he said. "I need to go out to the balcony for a while and pretend that I still smoke." He left the table.
"How did your parents meet, Nonna?" Clare asked. "Was it back in Italy?"
"Si, si," Imelda said, and Tony, Rose and Louisa all groaned.
"Here it comes," Rose said. "Get your tissues."
Imelda scowled at her without too much weight. "Be quiet, Rose," she said, and then smiled at her granddaughters. "Mamma was singing in a bar to entertain the soldiers at the beginning of the war when my father wandered in one night. He wasn't in the army then. He was passing through her little town that night and decided to stop for a drink. So he took a seat at a tiny little table to the left of the stage, and then out walked my mother and she started to sing. My father always said it was love at first song. She was up there, lit by a spotlight and in a flowing red dress."
"The red dress," Tony recited with his aunts, and then joined them in laughter.
"All of you, shut up," Imelda said with a wave of her hand. "Right up until the day he died, if you asked him, he could still remember every feature of that dress. It flowed from the arms and waist, and there was a red belt with purple flowers attached. He spent the whole night listening to her, watching her and waiting for her to finish so that he could get a moment to speak with her. And when she finally finished and he approached her, he was struck dumb. He was always the most charming man and could talk his way out of anything." She paused and looked over at Tony. "Just like you, tesoro. But when he got close to her, he couldn't form a sentence. And so he sang to her instead. Mamma said that by the end of it she knew she was going to marry him. Before she even knew his name or who he was."
"I guess he was a better singer than your husband," Clare said.
Imelda threw her head back and laughed. "He certainly was, my darling."
"How long were they married?" Ziva asked.
"More than 50 years," Imelda said, and then her eyes drifted to Tony. "Some people are so lucky. My parents, myself and Roberto. We found each other when we were so young, and had so many wonderful years together. Other people, it takes them longer to settle down. But the quest is still worth it."
Tony dipped his head. The message had been received, loud and clear. But he wasn't prepared to get into another discussion about the quest he was on, and who might be waiting for him at the end of the ride. He pushed his chair back and started collecting the empty dinner plates around him.
"Did you make tiramisu for dessert, Nonna?"
"Of course I did. But let's have a five-minute break."
Rose stood up with Tony and started helping to collect the plates. When Ziva reached for one to help, three old Italian women yelled at their guest to stop, and so she clasped her hands together in her lap. One by one the others left the table to go to the kitchen, the bathroom, or to check their cell phones, and so Ziva took the opportunity to head out to the balcony to talk to Tony's father.
Tony had been telling her all night that she was supposed to be on his side, and on the issue of his father she absolutely was. But she was curious about this man who was causing her normally gregarious and calm partner twist himself into knots of worry, disappointment and hurt. It was not her place to take the man to task for his treatment of his son over the years. She did not know the man, she had not grown up in their house and she would never understand the family politics, history and complexities that had caused them to make the decisions that made their relationship what it was. But if she got a better sense of who Anthony senior was, it was her hope that it would better equip her to support his son.
Anthony was leaning against the balcony with his arms on the railing as he looked out at the city lights and the Potomac beyond. He looked over his shoulder as Ziva's heels clicked against the tile, and then gave her a smile similar to the ones Tony reserved for beautiful women who distracted him. She did not bother to roll her eyes like she would have at Tony, but gave him a polite smile in return and walked across the balcony to stand beside him.
"How are you, Mr DiNozzo?" she asked, starting with the obvious topic of his health and wellbeing.
Anthony angled himself a little more in her direction. "Oh, honey. You're Tony's family, and that makes you my family. You can call me Anthony."
"Thank you."
"I'm doing good," he said, and then gestured back towards the hotel suite with his chin. "This night, this is what I needed. All my kids together. Finally, after so long." He winked at her. "Feels good for the soul."
"I'm sure," Ziva said with a nod. She couldn't imagine how carrying around such a huge secret from his family could have affected him over the years, but she'd kept her own in the past and sometimes it felt like those secrets could crush you from within.
Anthony leaned towards her, as if sharing a secret. "My mother is still very angry with me."
No kidding, Ziva wanted to say. But she kept it diplomatic. "Well, the important thing is that now she knows the truth. And that she has met her grandchildren. She strikes me as the type of woman who loves to have grandchildren."
"Oh, yes," he said with a chuckle, before sobering and looking at her with apprehension. "Is, uh, is Tony still mad at me?"
Again, Ziva fought the urge to roll her eyes and instead took the diplomatic path. If she got into the middle of this, Tony would not be happy about it. "Perhaps you should speak to him," she said carefully. "He loves Lina and Clare."
Anthony melted into a proud smile. It was clear he was besotted with his daughters. "They're wonderful girls."
"Yes, they are."
"You got brothers or sisters?" he asked.
Ziva smiled politely as her chest panged with regret. "No. I used to, but they passed away."
Anthony's face fell into an expression of sympathy, and her turned further towards her and put a light hand on the back of her shoulder. "Oh, I'm sorry, honey. I didn't know."
Ziva shook her head. "I would not expect you to."
"Are your parents around?"
Again, Ziva shook her head. "No. My mother passed away a long time ago, and my father lives in Israel."
"You don't see him much?" Anthony guessed.
"No."
Anthony looked fleetingly hurt, and Ziva assumed he was projecting his own situation onto hers. "That's a shame."
It was not a conversation that Ziva was interested in having, so she just smiled noncommittally and changed the subject. "The, uh, Mafioso was just telling us the story of how your grandparents met."
Anthony chuckled at her use of the nickname. "You know, up until the day he died, my grandfather could tell you exactly what my grandmother was wearing on the night they met."
A smile stretched Ziva's face. She was already fond of the story. "A red dress with flowing sleeves and purple flowers."
"Of course, none of us know if that's the truth," he confided. "My nonna always said she didn't remember, and we all just took his word for it. He might've been lying to embellish the tale, but I was inclined to believe him."
"Why?"
Anthony's smile turned soft, and he gazed out at the city. "Because I remember what Beth was wearing the first time we met."
"Tony's mother?" Ziva asked softly.
He nodded slowly, and his smile grew as the memory of their meeting took hold of him. "We were at a Christmas party. She was the daughter of one of my father's business associates, and the party was so dull and boring until she walked into the room and lit it up. The air just crackled, you know? Made the hair on the back of my neck stand up." He waved his hand at his neck. "She was in this gold dress with…what are those straps that go around your neck?"
"A halter neck," Ziva replied, smiling now too.
He clicked his fingers. "That's it. A halter neck. Red shoes. Golden hair and the brightest smile." His eyes fluttered closed for a moment. "God, she was beautiful. And I went right up to her and said, 'Darling, finally, you're here. I've been waiting all my life for you.' She tried to play aloof, but there was a twinkle in her eye that told me to keep going. So I did." He threw Ziva a wide smile. "We were married by the next Christmas. She was pregnant with Tony by the Christmas after that."
Ziva smiled back at him, finding it difficult to dislike the man when he was speaking so openly about what he seemed to hold as one of the most important moments of his life. And yes, he was beginning to turn on the charm, although she didn't think that he realized it. It seemed to come naturally to him. Tony was the same. Ziva often thought that her partner was at his most charming when he was just being himself and not thinking about how he appeared to people. When he tried to be charming though? That was when he irritated her. And she had a feeling Anthony would be the same.
"Women don't remember that stuff," Anthony told her with authority. "You remember when the two of you met and probably even what was said. But you don't remember what you were wearing. Men do. When they fall in love like I did, like my father did, they remember. It might not be love at first sight, but there's always something in us that just knows when you meet her that something is happening. Something important. And we remember."
It was a romantic notion, to be sure. And a part of her—the part that hoped for happily ever after despite knowing better—might have liked to believe it. But she didn't. Not that she would argue with him about it. "I had not heard that before," she said.
"Trust me," he said with a knowing smile. "You know, Ziva, I'm glad Tony found someone like you. I can tell that you're good for him."
The comment knocked Ziva out of the nice moment, and she shook her head firmly. "Oh, no. Tony and I are not…"
"Yeah, yeah, I know," Anthony said, but his smile suggested that he didn't. "He told me. But it doesn't mean you're not good for him. You came along with him tonight, and every time he looks at you he seems to relax a little more. He needs good people like you around him."
Ziva felt her cheeks warm, and she glanced away before she embarrassed herself. "Thank you. He has been good for me, too."
Anthony's eyes wandered towards the balcony doors again, and a little of the pride that had graced his face when he spoke of his daughters came back. "He's grown up so much. You know, as a parent you always carry this feeling like your kids are always kids. And when you look at them, sometimes you're surprised to find that they've grown into adults." He paused, opened his mouth, hesitated again, and then turned his back on the suite in favor of looking at the safety of the city again.
"I always think of him as that broken-hearted eight-year-old sitting in the front row of the church in his best suit as he said goodbye to his mother," he said, and Ziva could hear his voice tightening. "And now he's grown. Grown into a better man than I ever was. Beth would be so proud."
A lump formed in Ziva's throat as she listened and mourned the long ago loss of a woman she didn't know. She wondered what hopes Beth DiNozzo had for her son and whether she ever told him, and what path he would have taken if she'd lived. Would he have become a different man? Or was he always destined to be the man she'd fallen in love with?
"I wish I could take credit for him," Anthony said with a sigh. "He's got my handsome face and all my charm, but everything else is Beth." He turned misty eyes on Ziva. "She was a beauty. Sharp as a tack. So funny, and she loved that boy like…" He stopped abruptly as his voice gave out, and he shook his head at himself in embarrassment at getting so emotional. "God, it's been 30 years, but I still…" He stopped again, and Ziva caught sight of a tear breaking free before he forced a smile, kissed her cheek briefly, and then patted her arm softly. "Excuse me, honey. I should see if Rose needs any help."
Ziva turned and watched with a hammering heart as he slowly made his way back inside. Clearly he had said so much more than he had intended, and Ziva had to wonder how long it had been since he had talked about the loss of his first wife. More importantly, had he ever talked to Tony about it, particularly since he stopped drinking? She had the impression that Tony thought Anthony had thrown away more of his mother's memory with every new wife that he took, but after Anthony's unintended display of emotion she had to wonder if the opposite was true; that he clung to every memory so tightly that he couldn't let go. On the other hand, perhaps his heart attack had simply brought on a bout of nostalgia. Ziva didn't know the man anywhere near well enough to decide.
She watched Anthony put a hand on Tony's shoulder as he passed by, and Tony stopped refilling Ziva's wine glass to watch him go. Then he looked out to the balcony and gave Ziva a questioning look. She wasn't entirely sure how to play it, and ended up giving him a sad smile. Tony picked up her wine glass and came out to join her.
"What was that about?" he asked, handing the wine glass over. "He looked all emotional and human."
Ziva frowned fleetingly but went easy on him. "He was just talking to me about your mother."
Tony stared at her impassively for a moment before finally lifting his eyebrows and pushing out a bitter chuckle. He walked around her to take up the position his father had been in moments before, leaning against the railing as he looked out at the city. Ziva mirrored his position, but unlike when Anthony had been there, she stood so close to Tony that her arm was pressed against his.
"You never talk about her," she said softly.
"You never talk about your mother either," Tony replied, although there wasn't the hint of an argument in his tone.
"No. I suppose not."
Tony dropped his head to look down at the street directly below them. She knew he didn't want to ask it, but he had to know. "What did he say?"
"That she would be proud of the man you had become," she said, nudging him a little. "That he missed her. That he remembers what she was wearing when they met."
A genuine smile broke over his face, and he turned his head to look at her. "That's a recurring theme in my family. The men always swear on the Bible that they remember what their wives were wearing when they met. Kind of a twist on love at first sight, I guess."
"Do you believe it?"
He looked out at the city again. "Maybe."
Ziva glanced towards the suit and then nudged him again. "I like your grandmother."
"She's something special," Tony said with a nod. "I'm sorry they've been interrogating you."
"It is nothing I can't handle." Frankly, he had set them up to be much worse that what they were.
He looked at her again. "I'm sorry that Rose was stroking your hair."
"That was a little strange," she allowed, but with an amused smile. "I like her too. And Louisa."
"Yeah? They're big fans of yours," he said, and then took her glass off her to take a big sip. "I think they might like you more than they like me."
"I do not think that is possible."
He turned to smile at her, and after a few silent moments Ziva heard a click from behind them. They both turned to see Mia with her camera. She smiled at them, and then walked back into the suite without a word.
"And then there's that," Tony sighed.
Ziva took her glass back. "It is just a photo."
Rose stepped onto the balcony. "If I'm not interrupting, come inside. The first dessert course is ready."
Ziva turned surprised eyes on Tony. "First dessert course?"
"Yeah, first of two," he said, and put a hand on her back to guide her back to the suite. "Nonna wasn't joking when she talked about a food coma."
With a chunk of tiramisu and two cannoli still making their way down to his overfilled stomach, Tony slowly rose from the table and shuffled towards his father in the lounge room. Anthony had retreated to the comfort of the couch after the first dessert course (which he hadn't touched), and Tony wanted to check in to make sure he was still doing okay. For a man who had only recently been released from the hospital after a heart attack and surgery to have a stent put in, tonight had probably been exhausting for him. Tony hoped he hadn't overtaxed himself.
Anthony's head was resting against the high back of the couch and his eyes were closed when Tony approached. Tony figured he was probably having a nap, and feeling the food coma coming over himself, he decided to take a seat on the other end of the couch and relax quietly for a little while before either returning to the table where the others were talking and laughing, or dragging Ziva out the door and going home.
He lowered himself onto the couch, leaned back, and rubbed a hand over his distended stomach. The Mafioso being in town was not good for his diet.
"Was it good?"
Tony rolled his head to the side to look at his father. Anthony was looking at him under heavy lids and with one corner of his mouth pulled back in a smile.
"The tiramisu or the cannoli?"
"Both."
Tony nodded. "Yeah. But I think I just got type two diabetes."
Anthony snorted.
"How are you feeling, Dad?"
"Strong as an ox," he murmured, closing his eyes again.
"Sure that's not stubborn as an ox?"
Anthony shrugged. "One or the other."
Tony glanced towards the dining room to make sure no one was coming their way, and then broached the subject that had been on his mind through dessert. "So, Ziva said that you were talking to her about Mom."
His father's eyes opened again, but instead of looking at Tony he stared off out the window. "I've been thinking about her a lot lately, kid," he admitted.
Tony swallowed hard to dislodge the lump from his throat. "You never talk to me about her."
The comment drew Anthony's attention, and he looked over at Tony with sadness and regret plainly written on his face. "I know. And I'm sorry. I still miss her like a limb." He drew a deep breath. "She's still the love of my life."
Tony held his gaze, unsure of what to say. From the time he'd been sent to boarding school until just a few days ago, he couldn't recall ever having a conversation about his mother with his father. He'd always been to drunk or too angry, and Tony always felt like bringing his mom into a conversation would be a surefire way to start an argument or to get the phone hung up on him. He learnt not to ask. Especially when a new wife was within earshot, and that was more often than not. Tony had been left feeling like Anthony just wanted to forget about his mother and move on with his life without looking back. But maybe that wasn't the case. Because Anthony sure as hell sounded sincere, and Tony was just now beginning to think that he was still grieving for his first wife.
"I wish she could see you today, kid," Anthony said. "See who you've turned yourself into. She was always so invested in looking after other people, and I know she would've been proud of the path you've cut for yourself."
The lump returned to Tony's throat, and this time it was joined by a burning sensation behind his eyes as tears started to gather. He quickly blinked them back.
"I think she would have liked Ziva a lot," Anthony said with a grin.
Tony groaned loudly and rubbed at the mild throbbing in his temple that was starting up again. "Dad, me and Ziva are just co-workers."
"Oh. So, you wouldn't mind if I made a pass at her?"
Tony knew he was just trying to rile him up, but he couldn't help biting back. "Yes, I would mind very much. And I think Ziva probably would as well."
"She likes me."
Tony wasn't so sure. "She likes you because you're my father."
"Why would she bother liking me if you're just co-workers?" Anthony asked, determined to push the subject. "Shouldn't she just show me polite indifference?"
"Maybe it is polite indifference," Tony argued, spreading his hands. "She's Israeli. Could be a cultural thing."
"She let me kiss her cheek."
Tony sighed heavily. "Dad."
Anthony pushed himself up from his reclined position, and leaned forward towards his son. "Can we talk seriously for a moment?"
Tony looked at him warily. "I doubt it."
"Oh, because you're so mature," Anthony taunted.
Tony shrugged, conceding the point.
"You weren't made to be alone, son," he stated, pinning Tony with his gaze. "You've never been real good at it. You've always gotten your energy from being around other people. You've always needed people to love."
Tony thought it was a bit rich for the man who'd been absent for most of his life to be making grand statements about what Tony needed. But as it happened, he was right. So Tony deflected his discomfort with a cheap dig at him. "I guess the apple doesn't fall far from the tree."
"I guess not."
"Except I don't marry everyone I date."
For a few heartbeats, Anthony looked utterly furious and ready to throw one of his infamous tantrums. But then his shoulders slumped, his chest fell, and the fury gave way to deep sadness. "I had my one love taken away from me without getting a say in it," he said softly. "I argued until I was out of breath and out of a voice. But in the end, cancer will do what it'll do, no matter who you are and how much you love."
At the sight of tears in his father's eyes, Tony looked down, properly shamed by the callous comment he'd just made. But Anthony forgave quickly.
"You still have a say in how your love story ends. You still have a voice. You still have a chance. And when you sit at my feet and you see what having no choice does to a man, but you still won't speak up?" He shook his head, confounded. "I don't understand what's wrong with you. I know you're not stupid and I know you're not a coward. Why is it so hard for you to go after what you want?"
Tony stared at his hands and tried to take an even breath. It was clear to him what his father was suggesting. "Why do you assume that she's what I want?"
Anthony looked at him like he was crazy to try to deny it, and Tony decided that the Mafioso had indeed spent the day gossiping about a relationship they hadn't even witnessed until a few hours ago.
"Look," he said on a sigh. "Things are fine between us as they are. Everyone's happy enough. There's no need to rock the boat." It was the truth for the moment. But with every passing day and every new conversation from his family that made going after his partner sound so damn easy and logical, he didn't know how much longer it would be before it was a lie.
His father seemed to think it already was. "Yeah? I don't think so. I think you're about as happy as me. And I want better for you. For all my kids." He paused and looked over his shoulder. The others were still talking and yelling and laughing, so the coast was clear for Anthony to dispense more advice that Tony wasn't sure he could process right now. "I want you to have what I had with your mother. I want you to let yourself fall completely, utterly, hopelessly in love with her. I want you to let her make you laugh and worry and learn. I want you to never he able to imagine life without her." He put his hand on Tony's shoulder. "I want you to be brave, Tony."
By the end of the pep talk Tony's heart was pounding and he was almost—almost—ready to march into the dining room and take the great leap. But there was still so much that his father didn't understand, and it wasn't as easy as just making the decision to do it. He took a breath and calmed down.
"For the record, that speech was much better than the one you gave me before I left for college."
"Yeah? What did I say then?"
"Just don't fuck up."
Anthony pursed his lips. "Hunh," he grunted. "Short and to the point. Perhaps not words to live by, though." He patted Tony's shoulder a few times. "You've got to fuck up every now and then."
"Yeah."
Anthony pointed to himself. "I'm much wiser now, Tony. And less drunk. You should listen to me. You've gotta pay attention to the good things when you've got them. Enjoy them and know how lucky you are. Because, kid, it could all be gone tomorrow. And the worst thing to have is regrets and wishing you'd done things differently."
The words hit Tony dead centre in the chest. In his line of work he met people all the time whose lives had changed in an instant, and all for the worse. How many times had he heard the family member wish that they'd told a suddenly deceased person one more time that they loved them, or that they were sorry, or that they forgave them? He never wanted to be that guy, but when he was so focused on closing cases and trying to give everyone else some peace of mind, it was so easy to forget that one day, the same regrets might fill his own heart. And that scared the hell out of him.
"Okay," he said as Lina came into the living room. "I'll think about it."
"Dad?"
Anthony nodded to Tony and then looked up at Lina. "What's up, pumpkin?"
"Nonna wants to take a photo of us all."
"We should make it quick. I'm ready for bed."
The others started filing in to the living room, and Tony's eyes fell on Ziva laughing with Clare. He knew that when he got to his father's age, and probably much earlier than that, he would regret never having told her how he felt or what he wanted. But the fact still remained that for now, things were complicated by the professional relationship they had and the responsibilities they had to the team. It didn't matter how many times his aunts advised him to put himself first, or his father told him to go after what he wanted. Now was not the time to start living without regrets.
On the other hand, maybe it was.
Hope that was worth the wait for you all.