Ziva is on the bus home when her phone rings. A quick glance at the caller ID ascertains that it is her brother calling. Frowning, she flips it open.
"Ari," she greets calmly.
"We have a problem." Ziva's eyes widen in surprise when she hears his voice. He is upset. This does not bode well.
"What kind of problem?" she inquires, speaking softly Hebrew so as to avoid eavesdroppers on the crowded public transportation vehicle.
"The Eli kind."
The second Ari speaks her father's name, her heart begins to pound in her chest. The mere mention of the man had the ability to bring her to the brink of panic. "Ari. Elaborate," she demands, her words stunted. She has nightmares sometimes about what Eli would do if he found them. There are days when she thinks she sees him, blending into crowds or hiding behind newsstands on street corners or lurking in the dimly lit booth in the corner of the diner. It is her imagination of course, but there is nothing she can do to curb her paranoia. Some days even flashes of gray hair makes her breath catch in her throat.
"Director Chaikin resigned last week. Eli has taken his place."
Ziva takes a second to absorb the news. When Ari mentioned her father, she assumed the worst. This news… It is not good, but it is not as bad as she expected. Nothing has actually happened that directly affects them.
Not yet, at least.
She takes a deep breath before responding, schooling her expression so as to not draw attention to herself. "What does this mean?"
"It means we have to be more careful. He has more power now, more resources at his disposal. I don't know if he'll try to use them to find us, but…"
"Ari, we are already careful. I do not know what more we can do," Ziva replies, sighing into the receiver.
"Me neither, to be perfectly honest. I will talk to Bashan, make sure everything is still okay."
"And if it's not?" Ziva wonders, knowing perfectly well what his answer will be.
"Then we start over somewhere else and cover our tracks better this time," Ari answers. It is not hard to discern from his voice that Ari is just as unpleased with this prospect as she.
"Hopefully it does not come to that." They have managed to settle down here. Ari has a steady job, Tali has assimilated into the American school system… and Ziva has a friend.
"I've got to go. We'll discuss this more later."
With that the line goes dead.
…
Ziva had never been particularly good at keeping track of the days in that place, but it was not hard for her to tell that Kameel was putting her to "work" a lot more than once a week. She lost count a long time ago of how many men she had serviced since her arrival. Despite this, however, the days seemed to pass quicker. They were tedious, and she spent them either by teaching Lila Hebrew or by reading. Months passed, and her friend's vocabulary expanded, and the number of books she had not yet read shrunk.
She visited the drop site every month with new information. Every time she put new information into the safe, she uttered a silent prayer that it would be enough information. On days when she was sure that Kameel and Harim both had left the warehouse, she snuck into the former's room and found what she could, meanwhile hoping beyond hope that they would not arrive back before she had the chance to make her escape.
But such is the life of a spy.
Sometimes it was so easy to forget that she was not Ziva Shahar. Occasionally, she would forget that she was even on a mission. Her name was fake, but the pain was real. The loneliness was real. The despair and the hopelessness were real, all real.
Her best guess was that it had been four months, and she wondered how much longer Abba expected her to endure this so silently.
Sometimes she wondered if he even remembered she existed.
…
"Ilan? Really?"
"Yes."
Ziva sighs. "I guess I should not be surprised. Eli always seemed to like him."
Ari shrugs as he swallows his pizza. "I was surprised."
"What did you expect him to do, Ari, pick you to be Deputy Director?"
He rolls his eyes. "No. But you missed some things when you left for your mission. Things changed, at least on the Ilan front."
She narrows her eyes in confusion. "How so?"
"Ilan joined Mossad straight out of the IDF, the year you left for Be'er Sheva. He was sent on a mission to Palestine. He got captured. Tortured."
She raises her eyebrows. This is news to her. "What does this have to do with anything?"
"Well I was away in Edinburgh at the time, but Yaniv kept me filled in on his brother. Ilan escaped. The common belief was that he left a part of his sanity back there in his prison, though. Yaniv said he started having bad anxiety attacks. Paranoia. Flashbacks. Mossad put him into therapy, yanked his field license. The doctors started pumping him full of all sorts of meds, and according to Yaniv they worked."
"So how did he end up the Deputy Director?" Ziva asks.
"I guess Eli was fond enough of him to find him a bureaucratic post since he couldn't do fieldwork. He would have had to pull some major strings and expunge a hell of a lot from Ilan's record, but that's never stopped Eli before. I just never thought Deputy Director would be a good slot, especially for someone so young. Ilan's no more than six years older than I am now." Ari shrugs.
"Does any of this even matter?" Ziva wonders.
"Not really. I talked to Bashan, he assured me that Eli is not onto us, at least from what he can tell," Ari promises. She sighs with relief.
"Good. I… I do not want to leave," Ziva admits, her hand coming up to her belly protectively as it often does. Her brother notices.
"How did the appointment go? Everything good?"
Ziva uncomfortably pushes the beans around on her plate, thinking of the doctor's orders. "No," she replies, her voice soft. "My baby is underweight."
"I told you you needed to eat more," Ari reprimands, raising his eyebrow at her. Her eyes narrow. She is not in the mood for I told you so's.
"And I told you it was not that simple. I'm trying here, Ari."
"Try harder," he demands, and she knows she should be angry with him and his audacity. The energy to yell, however, doesn't come. She is reminded of what Dr. Kendiss said about her being exhausted.
"I will."
"No. Now. Eat," he orders, thrusting his finger towards her still-full plate. Screwing up her face, she rips off another bite of pizza a chews it carefully. She grimaces as her stomach rebels. Knowing she must do something and actually doing it are two very different things.
"I hate this. I just want everything to be okay for once," she mutters, not necessarily intending for Ari to hear it. Of course, he does anyway.
"It will be," he assures her.
"I am not even into my second trimester and I am already a terrible mother. I do not know how that will ever be okay."
"Quit beating yourself up. You're at least trying to gain weight. You're not a bad mother," Ari assures her, rolling his eyes a bit.
"Yes, I am. I…" she trails off, looking away from him. She would not be able to sufficiently back up her argument without bringing up her main supporting point—the miscarriage.
There are some things that are just far too personal.
"You what?" Ari prompts.
"I need to cut back my hours at the diner," she covers, using this as an opportunity to breach a subject she had been meaning to discuss. She can tell by Ari's face that he is not fooled—he knows that was not what she had originally planned on saying. He rolls with it, however, and Ziva respects him for it.
"Okay. It shouldn't be a problem." He does not even ask why, and Ziva doesn't know how to deal with that level of trust. She feels obliged to explain herself, even if she can't tell him the whole story of why Kendiss is concerned.
"The doctor told me that she is worried about the pregnancy. She thinks I need to take it easy…" she hurries to explain, wanting Ari to understand that she was not trying to shirk her responsibilities to this family. He holds up his hand to stop her.
"You don't need to explain. The baby should be your priority," he assuaged her. She nods her appreciation.
"Did I hear you say you aren't going to work as much?"
Ari and Ziva's heads whip around to find Tali standing in the doorway. Ziva smiles, holding out her arms for her little sister.
"Yes. I'm quitting my morning shift. My baby doesn't like it when I work too much." Ziva pulls Tali in for a hug, kissing the crown of her head.
"Good. I don't, either," the little girl says.
"I did not tell you," Ziva begins, "but Ari suggested to me a few days ago that I take Sundays off completely, so we can have one day completely to ourselves. And that way we can celebrate Hanukkah as a family, like you wanted."
Tali's eyes brighten. "Yes! Yes, yes, yes! Good idea, Ari," she exclaims, her smile stretching from ear to ear. Her happiness is contagious, and Ziva's face soon looks like a carbon copy of her sister's. "Tony's still coming over, right?" she inquires, shooting Ari a pointed look. He shrugs.
"Nothing has changed, last I checked."
"Ooh, we can play dreidel and Ziva can make Ima's latkes and I can help her like we used to do… before." Ziva feels a twinge of sadness when her sister mentions the past, before their mother died and everything fell apart. Sunday will be about doing their best to piece together the remnants of their innocence-shrouded childhood, and filling in the holes with new friends and new traditions.
Ziva wonders idly if, after all these years of doing nothing but tearing her down, the universe is finally ready to allow her to rebuild.
She smiles. "That sounds wonderful, Tali."
…
Tony shrugs his jacket off and lays it on the empty vinyl bar seat next to him. Every night seems to be becoming chillier than the last.
"I see they've put the Christmas decorations up," he observes, sitting down. Ziva's eyes follow the same path as his as they trace their way around the dining room.
"It appears so," she concedes, giving him a small nod. "They are gaudy."
"Aw, come on," he teases, "have a little Christmas spirit!"
She shrugs. "Well you must admit that they are gaudy."
"Yeah," he agrees, "they kind of are. But you should see my apartment. My tree's a lot better than this one." He inclines his head towards the poor excuse for a Christmas tree sitting in the corner of the diner. "That thing looks like someone took the trees from A Christmas Story and Christmas Vacation and A Charlie Brown Christmas, mixed them all into one, and wrapped it up in a big, ugly, flashy bow."
"I have not seen any of those movies," she informs him disinterestedly. Tony does his very best to look downright appalled.
"Ziva! They're classics!"
"I am Jewish," she reminds him.
"That's no excuse! Tell you what. Christmas Eve. You. Me. A Christmas Story, Christmas Vacation, A Charlie Brown Christmas, and a big ol' bucket of popcorn. Oh, and It's A Wonderful Life, because I'm willing to bet you've been deprived of that, too. Back to back, complete movie slash TV Special marathon. You game? I'll drive you straight to my house after work. Coed sleepover," he rambles, shooting out ideas. He rather likes the idea, actually, and he tries to keep his hopefulness off his face that she will agree.
She shrugs, a ghost of a smile gracing her lips. "I do not see why not."
Tony's grin is triumphant. "Perfect. So, how was your appointment?"
"It was fine," she informs him, but he can tell that she is carefully schooling her emotions. She is trying very hard to give nothing away.
That could only mean one thing, of course.
"Oh, man, that was a big one!" he exclaims, swatting at his ear. She frowns.
"What?"
"Lies make my ears itch."
She smirks. "How many times have you used that one?"
He shrugs. "Once, in an interrogation. Got him to tell me the truth, though. My methods are unorthodox, but they work. So, now, tell me, how was your appointment?" She rolls her eyes.
"It… could have gone better." He can see that she is being very careful with how she phrases her answers.
"Meaning…?"
"Meaning the doctor basically recommended partial bed rest."
He cocks his head to the side. "Is something wrong?" More concern was visible on his face that he planned for her to see.
"The baby is not big enough, that's all," she dismisses. "She recommended that I cut down my hours.
Tony is unable to control the flash of panic visible in his eyes. What? No! Talking to her every night is arguably the highlight of most of his days, and without this time together he's not sure how many excuses he will be able to think up for seeing her. He would have to get very creative and play his cards right. Even then, he's gotten so used to spending this time in her company. This arrangement is perhaps the best thing in his day-to-day life right now, and he so desperately does not want it to change.
Funny, how easily things are taken for granted.
His alarm must be visible to her, because her response is swift and reassuring. "Do not worry, I am only cutting out my morning shift. I know how much you enjoy your evening beer, I would not take that away from you." Neither of them is fooled. They both know that it is hardly the beer that keeps him coming back every night.
"Good," he answers, trying not to sound too relieved. "You definitely are the best beer-pourer in town, and to lose that…" She smiles lightly at his kind-hearted sarcasm.
"Tell that to my boss. Maybe I will get a pay raise, yes?" she jokes.
Tony wishes that she would never stop smiling. Or joking. Or laughing. He enjoys seeing her face light up when she teases him or says something witty. He finds her to be the most beautiful when there is happiness in her eyes. It makes him feel as though he is doing his job, whatever that job may be. He really has no obligations towards her, besides his self-imposed ones, and even he doesn't really know what those responsibilities are. They are something along the lines of keep her happy and repair what is broken.
"Oh, but I am taking Sundays off from now on," she adds, wringing out a rag into the sink with her back to him.
He is only somewhat disappointed. After all, he wouldn't want her to become sick of him. "Well, six out of seven ain't bad," he shrugs. "Plus, we wouldn't want to give you DiNozzo Overload. You'd get tired of me eventually." Admittedly, he is fishing a little here. The last thing he expects her to do is take the bait.
But she does, and it catches him off guard. She smiles gracefully, tilting her head to the side slightly. "I highly doubt that."
The relief ands self-confidence that comes with this roundabout admission is a tidal wave. He flounders for a second, trying to come up with an appropriate response so as to not let himself drown. "Ooh, there it is again," he teases, scratching at his ear in a dog-like manner.
She scoffs. "What makes you think I am lying?"
"I am notoriously annoying. There's this habit I have of getting under people's skin." His tone is lighthearted, but neither of them makes the mistake of thinking the subject at hand is not as delicate as open heart surgery. Both know how fragile his ego can be, despite—or perhaps because of—the fortified front he puts up to protect it. They also both know that her opinion of him matters a lot more to him than it ought to.
"While I will not deny that," she begins, and Tony feels his heart plummet, "you should know that it is a good annoying. A necessary annoying, if that makes any sense. It is… easy. Like breathing. And like breathing… It seems that I have come to rely on it." He sees how hard she is trying, and he appreciates it.
"You rely on me annoying you?" he checks, wondering if he heard right.
"It is an easy distraction," she puts forth, again carefully choosing her wording, and he senses that perhaps he should keep the conversation from going too far in this direction. He could ask her what she needs to be distracted from, but he has a feeling that it has to do with one of the numerous skeletons she has accumulated and shoved in her closet over the years. She has made it very clear that that topic is off limits. It is also why he has not and will not ask her about the new Mossad Director (not to say that he hadn't seriously considered breaching that topic, though).
He settles for saying, "Okay." Silence, for a moment, then…
"Tony?"
"Yep?"
"You are not always annoying." Her words sound marginally akin to an apology.
He offers her a crooked smile in response. "I know."
And for now, it is enough.
A/N: Sorry this wasn't up sooner! I was going to post a while ago to make up for my impromptu, month long hiatus but, see, there was this little two-shot plot bunny that popped up and sat next to me and kept POKING ME until I finally agreed to write it. And then, as I type this, there's another one, a more aggressive one, ramming me in the side and threatening me if I do not write it. But it's a full-length story. DAMMIT go away I don't have time for you! Grr…
I was blown away by the response to last chapter. I want to give every last one of my reviewers suffocating Abby-hugs. Thank you to (brace yourself, this is going to be long *squee*) Tivafeels, Tivagirl, pirate-princess1, NCIS Ziva DiNozzo, prince-bishop, angelhaggis, shortcake99, specialagentalx, sakura2113, theroseshadow21, dvd123, Liraeyn, Bex19 (I am hoping to write the next chapter of Witness sometime soon), Cameron-sarah, simsee, nanoushka, kw, aquasm, and jojobevco for the wonderful, encouraging reviews! It's good to be back:) I'm looking forward to hearing what everyone thought of this chapter!