"Be still and know that I'm with you and I will say your name."
— The Fray
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I already did. Special Agent Todd is dead.
The words rolled off his tongue naturally, without a second of hesitation, as he marched through the halls of Kody Meyers' high school. There was too much to do, too many lives to save, and the moment passed without a second thought.
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Seven hours later – after the bomb had been disabled, the hostages rescued, the Meyers' family reunited, and the paperwork completed – the words continued to roll around in his mind. Tony sat in the back booth of a dark, cramped bar far enough from the Navy Yard that his anonymity should have been protected.
Should have been, but wasn't, as a familiar scent gave away the presence of his partner.
"You should not be drinking alone," she says, sliding into the booth and positioning herself directly across from Tony.
"Just seems like that kind of a day Zee-vah" he chokes out. His voice is hoarse, and the rasp is unfamiliar yet comforting. His hand shoots up to signal the bartender, first pointing a finger at Ziva before gesturing to his now-empty glass.
"Today was difficult, yes, but we do not have many days that are so clearly successfully."
"Mhmm," he mutters, nodding along to his partner's words.
"You did well today, Tony. Perhaps I would not have hung up on the Director, but well all the same."
Tony kept his head bowed, eyes looking down at the condensation the melting ice in his drink left strewn across the table.
"I also would not have told Gibbs he has an attitude problem," Ziva attempted to interject some levity into the conversation, "but you were a very effective Boss. You got all the children out of the school safely and reunited Kody and his mother."
"I know," he says, the resignation heavy in his voice. "Today was a good day."
"Then why did I find you alone in a dumpy bar. Last I saw you; we were eating pizza in the bullpen talking about Sandra Bullock. Why are you—"
"Special Agent Todd is dead." Tony interrupted.
Ziva pauses, not expecting the conversation to take this turn. She opens her mouth, hesitates for a moment, and closes it.
"Tony," she tries again, 'it has been months since —"
"I know that she is dead, Ziva. I stood five-feet away when a bullet went through her forehead. I sat with her body on that roof until Ducky and Palmer showed up and carried her coffin." The gravelly tone increased as he struggled to keep his volume low.
"I felt her blood splatter across my face," emotion finally cracking in his voice. "So I know that she's dead. I've known for a long time.
She waits until he finally lifts his head and makes eye contact. "So why are you here?"
"I can't remember the last time I thought about her," he whispers. "I said her name today, used her so, so strategically, and I can't remember the last time I thought about her."
This is new territory for them. Partnered together for almost eight months, the majority of their out-of-work interactions consisted of lingering glances, light flirting and the occasional borderline-appropriate touch. All of the heat of a partnership that has the potential to go beyond partners. But the emotion, the emotion is new.
"Tony," she says quietly. "It is okay that you do not think about her every day. She would not want you to —"
"Yeah, I know."
He smirks a little at the thought of Kate mocking him about moping over her death. He just knows that she would take that righteously indignant tone, the one she used so many times to lecture him about proper workplace conduct.
"This is pathetic DiNozzo. Today was your day, your chance to show the boss how you would be as Team Leader , and this is how you're choosing to end it."
"Hey," Ziva says quietly. When he doesn't say anything, still lost in thought, she reaches across the table to gently tap his hand and get his attention.
"I never met Special Agent Todd but – but I am familiar, more than familiar, with death. I have lost co-workers, friends, loved ones… so whichever she was to you, I have been there."
That snaps Tony out of his reverie, and he finds himself increasingly intrigued by the woman sitting across from him. He know she is young, at least substantially younger than him. How much loss has she suffered? He knew about her sister, but she said "loved ones" plural.
He nods at the bartender lingering in the background, and two more drinks appear before them. "You should know, I'm not usually like this." He flashes his trademark grin, "I've been told by some of the nation's finest juvenile psychiatrists that I am 'emotionally stunted.'"
Ziva chokes out a laugh. "That does not surprise me."
"I know all about the stages of grief, and have made my way past the pain and anger and depression —"
"—and guilt?" she prods him gently.
"Yeah, that too. Mostly."
Ziva falters slightly, cataloging her partner's spontaneous, and perhaps unintentional, revelation. She knows the man sitting before her is more complicated than he lets on. His carefree, juvenile frat boy persona is entertaining on a slow work day, but she has no doubt that a more mature, more troubled, man lays beneath.
His instant assumption of leadership and commanding presence at the incident scene today is clear evidence of that.
Tony breaks the silence. "It's what comes next that always gets me. After the funeral and the wake, all the remembrances and celebrations of life end, and life gets back to normal."
"Yes," Ziva shrugs, "I believe that is what your psychiatrists call acceptance."
"Yeah, but here I am, all fucked up because I can't remember the last time I thought about Kate. I really have accepted that she is dead, that she was murdered —"
Ziva flinched slightly, a wave of guilt coursing through her at the reminder that her brother, and her failure to fulfill her obligation as a handler, caused all of this hurt.
"— but what I did today, felt different. It felt dirty, like I tarnished her memory. I used her as a clue, a fucking clue, to Gibbs, and didn't think twice about it." Tony's voice strained with the effort it took to keep from shouting. The bar had emptied out significantly since Ziva entered, but a handful of patrons lingered, and the last thing Tony wanted was their looks of pity when they hear him discussing his dead partner.
"It was strategic Tony, but that is not a bad thing." She shifts forwards, pressing her elbows into the table.
"My grandmother died when I was a child, about a month after Kelev, our dog, died. Tali and I spent the entire drive back from the funeral trying to convince our father that the best way to help us through our grief would be to get another dog."
A laugh escapes his mouth before he can stop himself. "I'm sorry… I'm just picturing your big bad Mossad badass father trying to resist. You got the dog, right?"
"The next day."
"Damn David, that's cold. Using the death of grandparent to get a puppy."
"It was not one of my finer moments, but it was effective. Sometimes that is all that matters. It does not mean I cared any less about my Safta, or that you care any less about Kate."
A comfortable silence settled between the two.
The bartender drops two more whiskeys off at the table with a gruff "last call." Ziva takes the glass in his hand, holding it level, before raising it up and forwards towards Tony.
"To acceptance."
His glass meets hers halfway, "and whatever comes next."