Disclaimer: Yeah… still don't own NCIS, the story lines or the characters. But I still lay claim to my imagination….

A/N: Well, I did promise… I managed, just, to post two chapters a week apart… whhoooohhooo! So, this isn't all sunshine and candy floss, I'm afraid. But I do promise that the next chapter (coming later this week) is much lighter.

Chapter 14: Who We Are

Tony shifts on the chair. Under the watchful eye of Cynthia, he sticks his finger under his collar, pulls it away from constricting his neck, sucks air in deeply. Standing, he uses the framed painting on the wall behind him to check his reflection, straightening and securing his tie. It's a Matisse or a Monet, he's not entirely sure, but from the looks of it the painting is definitely an original. Probably, like Cynthia, a remnant of Jenny. Pats his hair flat and turns, his eyes falling on the coffee table. He bends, checks, again, that he has all the blueprints, neatly bound documents and business plan he needs.

Rolling back on his heels, he catches the light smile filter across Cynthia's face: "The director will be here shortly. Want some coffee?"

He nods, features pinched. He is nervous. Much rides on what he presents to Vance today.

Cynthia hands Tony a mug of freshly brewed coffee (from the director's own filter coffee machine), asking hesitantly: "Xena?" Tony's face relaxes into a grin, for just a second: "Gibbs. He's taking her for her clinic checkup today. Said he could afford the time off."

They share a knowing smile. Gibbs isn't known for taking time off. Unless, of course, you count his four month 'retirement'.

Seeing she's lost Tony to his memories, Cynthia backs off, sits at her desk watching him under lowered lashes. She feels for the tall brooding agent who has always been too hard on himself, unsure of his own strength and capabilities. Gibbs knows though, of that she is certain, and Jenny knew. Jenny…

Tony is also thinking of the former red-headed director. One of his multitude of failures, he muses. Should have listened to Ziva that day. Then again, should have listened to Ziva on a number of occasions. Ziva… Ziva… Where did they go so horrible wrong?

It's funny how Ziva's arrival was so inextricably linked to that of Jenny's. They had history. Were agents. Allies. Fought together. Nearly died together. They were close. As close as two prickly, defensive, stubborn women could be. So different; so similar. Yet, he was probably closer, emotionally, to Jenny than Ziva ever was.

Then again, Ziva has always been Gibbs's. There was something that tied them, linked them. It wasn't just the fact that they were both sharp shooters – the assassin and the sniper. It wasn't that they both carry a gun in their holsters, a knife at their calves and another in their belts. And, it couldn't just be because Ziva chose loyalty over family.

No, it was more than that. Still is. Somehow they both allowed each other to thaw into those frozen hearts of theirs. A relationship, a closeness, that no-one else can understand or even come close too. Perhaps it is because Ziva reminds him of what his daughter could have been, and he reminds her of what a father should be.

She was the one that pulled him back from his own tortured darkness, when Gibbs didn't know, recognize any of them. Not Tony himself and certainly not the woman Gibbs loved.

That was the summer they clung to each other, he and Ziva, as he tried to find his way without his mentor. His…friend…

The impulse decision, as they lay drenched one night, the sheet twisted around them, his fingers lightly tracing words of love, forever and always on her back. He didn't want to end up like Gibbs. Like Jenny. To damn afraid of their own feelings. To wrapped up in the rules and regulations that governed them.

He had enough of that growing up in strict boarding schools, and she with her military upbringing. It was time to break free – to allow themselves the frivolity that had been denied for so long. The two most afraid made the ultimate commitment – a white sundress, two gold rings, two signatures joining them in one name. And for a few short weeks, it was perfect. They were perfect.

Then her history and his future became entangled. Didn't come to him for help – so much for that for better or worse… Instead, she went to the man who had abandoned him. The one she turned to, always turns to – Gibbs. They all thought life would simply slot back into place. But it didn't. He didn't. Couldn't either of them see that it wasn't jealousy that consumed him, that made him so damn mad? It was the rejection that burned him to his core, ripped him raw. His childhood all over again. Rejected as a team leader; discarded as a husband. He needed to prove to them, to himself that he was capable. He was worthy.

Damn Jenny. Damn Jenny and her stubbornness and her passion. She saw right through him. Saw the perfect pawn in her master game. Consumed with revenge, she used the full power vested in her by the United States Government. Sent him and herself down into a spiraling vortex that neither one would ever recover from.

And if he is honest with himself, it was good to pretend to be someone else. It was easy to believe that he was a successful college professor, whose main worry was ensuring his next lecture was as entertaining and informative as his last. It was good to see himself through Jeanne's sparkling eyes. He had the chance to be everything he was never allowed to be. There was no history. No mistakes. No recriminations. Just him. And Jeanne. And yes. He fell in love: With the dream; with the idea.

It was only as he lay in bed, Jeanne next to him, that his mind wandered, unleashed. In that place between awake and dreaming, the thoughts would filter through his already overcrowded head: The concern in Ziva's brown eyes; the questioning awareness in Gibbs's.

Forcing himself to file these dangerous thoughts away, he would pull Jeanne in closer, nuzzling her neck, close his eyes. Escaping once more to his pretend world with its fake future.

Coming back from that - after the explosion, after breaking…no… shattering Jeanne's heart – was harder than he ever thought possible. It was the eyes that got him the most: the disbelief in Jeanne's, the undisguised hurt in Ziva's, the acknowledgement in Gibbs' that Tony was not his but Jenny's. Gibbs never did quite forgive Jenny for that. Oh, he loved her, Tony knows that. Couldn't stop loving her. But hated her for what she did to his team. To him - Tony. Yet another thing to feel guilty about.

The strange thing, Tony continues to muse, lost his thoughts, is that Ziva was never upset about the sex. She understood the necessity for his cover. He didn't even want to think how many times she herself had used sex as an interrogation tool – or worse. But once she knew about the ruse, she understood. Never held it against him that he had been sleeping with another woman.

What did get to her was the fact that she believed - as he did too, he can now admit- that he fell in love with the beautiful doctor. She once confessed to him that she felt Jeanne could give him something she never could. Herself. Fully. It was this realization that drove them further apart.

Oh the attraction was there. Was always there. He needed Ziva like he needed air, or water. But, attraction alone is never enough.

Slowly, painfully they managed to work their way back to a mutual understanding. A flirtatious glance, a hearty laugh, a practical joke, a few cutting words. But never to where they were.

Seeing her so secretive, discovering her with Michael; the horror in her eyes as she watched him bleed out. The hollow, glassy look she gave him.

The loathing. The hate. No-one comes back from that. No-one. He knows that now.

For a short while, he tried to convince himself that it would all be better, that his deep-seated fears were unfounded. He was so relieved when she was found; when she was returned to him. He thought, no hoped, this was his second chance. And he so he sat with her night after night as she lay sleeping in that hospital bed, listening to her beating heart. Compelling her to open her eyes, to wake, for him, for them. He believed that if she did, she would forgive him. He had already forgiven her. If one thing her being held captive taught him, was that he couldn't, no, wouldn't live without her.

Gibbs wants to know what's changed? It's simple really. Nothing. Nothing has changed. And that is the whole problem. Tony thinks back a few nights, to when he was alone in the bullpen, sitting staring at the empty desk across from him. Wanted to see if there was something there he had missed, some clue that she knew she was pregnant before they left for Israel.

He had rifled through her drawers before, when she first disappeared. But not since then. It seemed like an invasion of privacy, somehow – even if she wasn't aware. He moved across the open space, sat gingerly in her chair. His fingers shaking, pulled open the top drawer. Couldn't resist opening her hand cream, inhaling the gentle vanilla-infused scent. The memories flooded his senses overwhelming him; he quickly shoved the drawer closed.

Something slipped, the drawer jammed. Frustrated, he tugged it out completely, yanking at the offending item – a brown envelope marked confidential. He knew he shouldn't be opening it, that it was her private mail and a criminal act at that – could almost hear McGeek's voice in his head, warning him off.

But, he couldn't resist. Perhaps it was the official looking stamp, or perhaps simply because it was addressed to 'Mrs Ziva DiNozzo'. Either way, he opened it. His fingers stilled, his breathe hitched/ Divorce papers. And not just any divorce papers – signed divorce papers – her chicken scrawl of a signature taunting him. He checks the date, signed two days, two days before he killed her lover, two days before he signed her death warrant.

And it was in that moment, at the very second; he realized that he had lost her. She was never going to come back to him. Perhaps, he questioned, her not wanting to wake up has more to do with him by her side, than the other way round.

But it is still his duty. It is his right. It is his promise. And that he will keep to his dying day. And, if he can't do right by her, he can by her daughter. The child that he has made his own. The child he will fight for, and if necessary, die for, if it means protecting her. Xena will know trust, and love and family, that he will make sure of…

A gentle hand on his shoulder yanks him out of his stupor. Cynthia's gentle voice cuts into his ruminations: "Director Vance will see you now."

He looks up, confused, bleary-eyed. Forgotten where he even was. Mirroring her smile, he gathers up his papers and blueprints. Checking his tie and smoothing his hair, he takes a deep breath and steps through the open office door to where Vance is waiting.