Ziva has always felt safest in Tony's arms, but there's something different about his embrace tonight. One arm is secured around her lower back and he's got her right hand clasped in his left, holding both hands up near his shoulder. She presses her cheek against his chest, enveloped in his warmth and the scent of his cologne - Acqua di Gio by Giorgio Armani, he's informed her several times. If she didn't know he kept bringing it up because she made the mistake of telling him it smelled nice, she'd be worried that his mind was going.
But, no, Tony's just as sharp as ever, even as they approach his 73rd birthday. It's hard to believe that her husband is that old, almost as hard as it is to believe Ziva herself is 62. There was a time, very long ago now, that Ziva never imagined that she would even see her 30th birthday. Doubling that number and then some feels like nothing short of a miracle.
Tony's grip tightens around her hand, as if he can read her mind, and maybe he can after all these years. He's always had the uncanny ability of knowing what she's thinking, a strength that's only gotten stronger after the decades of marriage. He keeps a hold of her, swaying gently to the music.
Can't Help Falling In Love by Elvis Presley. A clichéd song to play at a wedding, even Ziva knows that, but oh so fitting for her history with Tony. Somewhere along the line, a younger Ziva had no choice but to fall for Tony. It was either falling in love or killing him.
The dance floor is full of couples, young and old, dancing with their significant others. But, in another age-old cliché, Ziva feels like she and Tony are the only ones on the dance floor. She presses her nose further into his shirt, inhaling his scent - fresh, citrusy cologne, the fading spray starch from his shirt, and underneath it all, Tony's natural musk. Unbidden, tears spring to Ziva's eyes, threatening to wash away the last remnants of the eye make-up that had somehow made it through her tears during the ceremony. They're so comfortable now, so settled into their routine, that it doesn't really occur to her anymore, but this man is her home.
When she was a young woman without a country, without parents or siblings, without ties to anything, Tony DiNozzo snuck into her heart and became her home.
When she pushed him away and hurt him and was hurt by him, he snuck back in and gave her a daughter, and then a son, gave her more family. More permanency. More that could be taken away, was taken away, was brought back. A family that was hers and hers alone.
"Thought you cried it all out?" Tony asks, his voice low in her ear. His arm is heavy and solid against her back, an anchor tying her to this moment.
"I thought so too," she replies simply. Now is not the time to explain exactly why she's tearing up. She lifts her chin a bit to look into Tony's eyes, finding that his eyes are just as full of tears as her own, the redness making his hazel eyes vividly green. "I do not think any mother escapes her only daughter's wedding day without crying several times."
He chuckles, chest vibrating under her chin. "Not gonna argue with you there. I don't think I've cried this much in ... ever?" he pauses slightly, then nods, confirming, "Yeah, never."
"It is strange, isn't it?" Ziva murmurs. "How fast the years went."
"Before you know it, we'll be dancing at Sam's wedding," Tony laughs.
Ziva snorts a breath through her nose. "He is much too much like his father. We will be using walkers at his wedding, if he ever settles down."
Their son is undoubtedly roaming the venue hall, using his inherited charm and good looks to flirt with every woman with a pulse. Only 24, he's got plenty of time to settle down and Ziva, conforming to another stereotype she never imagined would apply to her, finds that she can't imagine a woman good enough for her son.
Although, Tony had said much of the same about Tali finding a man worthy of her, until their daughter's now-husband, Mat King, appeared. A former college hockey player turned JAG, Mat is their daughter's match in every way and more than worthy of Tali's love and respect.
"You might be," Tony replies, and Ziva can hear the smirk in his voice, "but if Senior was any indication, I'll be doing the hustle well into my 90s."
He's laughing a bit, but Ziva knows they both miss Senior and wish he could've been at Tali's wedding. He had, happily, met Mat when he and Tali had only been dating six months and grilled the poor man about his intentions, blue eyes twinkling at Ziva when she jumped in and jokingly grilled Mat as well.
"Ah," she sighs now, "that will be another twenty years gone by in a snap." Her voice wavers a little on the last words. Tony rests his cheek on top of her head and Ziva curls closer to him.
"Another twenty years of memories though," he points out softly. "Trips and holidays and ..." he pauses before whispering excitedly, "grandkids!"
The house full of little feet again. Cuddles and the addictive scent of a baby. Tony getting to spoil their grandchildren as they clamor for "Pop" or "Gramps" or whatever silly nickname they'll come up with for him. Another milestone that she never imagined for herself.
Ziva smiles to herself. "I am looking forward to that."
Around them, the music changes - I Wanna Dance with Somebody by Whitney Houston - and the guests abandon their slow dances in favor of upbeat jumping and shaking. Somewhere in the crowd, the new bride and groom are surrounded by their friends, dancing and laughing.
But just on the edge of the dance floor, swaying back and forth, Ziva's wrapped in Tony's arms, arms of a man who deserves her love and whose love she deserves in return.
a/n: no plot only vibes. enjoy :)