A/N: So sorry for the wait, stuff came up. I know that's not an excuse but…*Gibbs-slaps self*.
…
June 8th, 2011
1900 Hours
The first stars of twilight sparkled in the summer sky as light faded into dark, and Anthony downed the few remaining drops of whiskey from his bottle before letting it roll onto the floor, feeling the burning liquid run down his throat.
Yawning, he gazed at his surroundings. His home, good as new, was now only occupied by him. It had been a month—four weeks today—since he had last spoken to Ziva, or seen his daughter. His heart ached every time he thought of them, but he would never demand Willow for his own. No, not if Ziva did not wish for him to.
The small house had once seemed like a perfect place to come home to every night. It was home. It was a happy place. Now it was just a building. Everything felt cold, no matter high up the thermostat was turned. There was no meaning to anything anymore.
Tony rolled onto his side and closed his side, burying his face into the pillow, and was pulled into sleep within moments.
…
Ziva was watching Willow sleep when she heard careful footsteps coming from the kitchen. She looked up from the newborn, and saw Abby standing there.
"I'm going out," the Goth said quietly, so as to not wake the light-sleeping baby. "Is that OK?"
Ziva nodded tiredly. The least Abby deserved was a night to herself, no babies to awake her in the middle of the night, no spit-up on her sofa. She had offered refuge to Ziva and Willow, and for that, the Israeli was thankful. Abby's friendship, though occasionally a little scary, was something she wouldn't trade for the world. Never had she had a friend who had loved her so unconditionally, be so brutally honest and so wonderfully kind at the same time. The past month had been hard. Her mind had been screaming at her and her heart had been screaming even louder, taunting her with regrets, dreams, mistakes made. Some days she could handle it, but others weren't so easy. Abby was there through it all. She listened to every word she had to say, and even the ones that she was afraid to voice.
Once alone, Ziva lay on the sofa, pulling the blanket up to her chin, squeezing her eyes shut tight and waiting for the peaceful oblivion of sleep to open up and swallow her whole.
…
A Parisian skyline.
That's how it always started.
A cool breeze swept over Paris and Tony stepped out onto the balcony and gazed up at the stars. They were like diamonds encrusted in a silk sky. On the horizon, he could see the Eiffel Tower sparkling in gold and, as he always did, wondered what it would be like at the top. He had tried to visit it once, when he and his father had visited, but alas, a ten-year-old boy on summer vacation would not have much luck.
There were gardenias growing in a pot to his left, their scent carried ever so lightly by the gentle breeze, and to his right was a little cupid statue, whom he silently thanked for his previous luck in this particular city.
Tony felt a warm, slender hand touch his shoulder from behind and turned eagerly, but only to see something that horrified him.
Ziva.
But not the Ziva he knew. This Ziva had a white aura glowing around her, her skin was pale and her dark hair was wild, framing her face almost like a mane. She was clad in silky clothes that hung loosely from her body.
Slowly, she leaned forward on her tiptoes and he felt a ghost of a touch to his lips. He stroked her cheek so carefully. She looked like she could break into a thousand pieces, like porcelain.
But when their lips collided, she was strong.
He ran his hands up and down her torso, feeling her body. And oh how real it felt to him. Her fingers ran through his hair, and her lips clung to his, asking for more. She unbuttoned his shirt painfully slowly, working each button with her fingers.
She pulled away, and he was panting breathlessly, yet she seemed positively calm as she walked—no, floated over to the king bed that sat square in the centre of the room. She slowly pushed him back onto the silky sheets and straddled his waist.
He pushed her shirt up with his hands, feeling her toned stomach, and she lifted her arms so he could push it over her head. Garments were shed further, gathering in a pile upon the floor. Finally, when he could take it no longer, he broke the final barrier between them. Closed the space.
Every movement between them set every one of his nerves on fire, pleasure erupting within him.
He was so close.
"I love you Ziva," he whispered in her ear.
And then, a breeze swept through the open door and carried Ziva away as if she were made of sand.
He was alone.
And when he awoke, he was alone.
…
Her dreams took place somewhere in a desert. Every time the hot wind blew, sweat teamed from her brow and grains of sand and dirt stung her skin.
When she saw him, she thought it was a mirage. Her mind was playing tricks on her, surely. But would her own mind be truly this cruel to her?
Sure enough, he was real. She ached for him, and she was taken in his strong, muscled arms until they found shelter.
In Ziva's dreams, she felt herself cry out in passion and pleasure, as Tony kissed every inch of her body. Her fingers clawed at his back, no doubt leaving scratches. He was ruthless with her. He was rough; his demeanour resembling that of Saleem Ullman that Tony DiNozzo. Tony was sweet to her. But not this Tony. This man showed her no mercy, his soul was cold, and his heart was empty.
She came so close, every time, but every night he just disappeared from her grasp. It was like when you walk don't see a step along the ground you are walking; you put out your foot to step but there is no ground there and you fall. The difference was, in real life you only fell a few inches. In her mind, she fell forever, into nothingness.
Ziva awoke drenched in sweat, and her blankets on the floor, long having been kicked off.
She tried to make a clean break. But each and every night without fail he invaded her dreams. Every other moment of the day he was on her mind.
She was plagued endlessly with the question, "Did I make the right choice in going?"
Willow was her first priority now, and Ziva had to ask herself, if she had never gotten pregnant, would they have been together in the first place? There was no doubting that underlying feelings for each other had always been there, but did Tony fall in love with her because he felt sorry for her? Or was Willow simply a push in the right direction?
Whatever the answer was, perhaps this was right for her baby. Even before she was born, even before she existed, Tony and Ziva's relationship had been dysfunctional, messy, turbulent. It was like their relationship as they knew it was a puzzle, and the pieces just refused to fit together, insisting they belonged somewhere else, as part of someone else's picture. Not ideal for a growing child.
But they always came back to each other, and slowly the pieces started to fall into place. It had also been happy, loving, and trusting, and that was exactly what Willow needed.
She came back to this conclusion about thirty times a day, making and unmaking her mind over and over again. But there was one fact she pushed down and down and down in fear of her heart overpowering her sense of judgement.
She was still in love with him.
A/N: I hope you liked this, and thanks so much for all the reviews! We are only 22 away from 400! Maybe we could make that milestone? This was my first shot at writing something like this, so I hope it was OK. Please tell me how I went. From my more updated plan, this will be 41-42 chapters. The problem is I never know how long something will be before I write it. I'll be sad when this story is over, but at the same time I will be starting a new story based around the Season 8 cliffhanger. TIVA, of course. I will update when I can, which will depend on how much you review! *wink wink nudge nudge*