I know, you all hate me. I understand that, it is a feeling I have gotten used to over the years. This is a really long Author's Note, which I do recommend reading if you want to understand why I doing what I am doing. I do not want to see comments of 'give Ada hearing' or 'let them be happy' if you have not read it, because it is important.
I have had one or two comments along the lines of 'why can they not be happy for once, let Ada hear, etc. etc.' And though I understand why people want Ada to hear, I do not understand what that has to do with happiness. Well, I do on a superficial level, but that is just it. Superficial.
And in response I would argue that, firstly, they have been happy, have they not? Were they not smiling and laughing on their wedding day, were they not happy to be getting married? Or did I write that really badly and they came across as miserable? I have been going round asking everyone I know whether they are happy and whether they have perfect lives – not actually relating to this, I started a while ago – and the results were 50/50. Some people, people I know who have had hardship and difficulty, say that they are happy, and although not perfect, life has given them more or less what they wanted. Others have said that they are happy, but life is certainly not perfect; they would like for there to be enough money to pay the mortgage, for their son not to be in trouble all the time, for their family to all love one another and talk to one another… But I think my favourite answer was from my Grandmother. I curled up by her side and put my head on her shoulder and asked her if she was happy, and if her life was perfect. My Grandmother is disabled, has heart problems, can barely move her fingers, has outlived two of her children and one of her grandchildren, never saw her parents after they kicked her out, her husband is hard of hearing and she cannot hold the books that used to let her escape from the world, but do you know what she said? She said she was happy because she had met all of us, and even though she wished all of her children had lived to grow old, she had still had the fortune of meeting them, and she still had them in her heart. And she said that that was what made her life perfect, and it did not matter about anything else, because she had love. Now, that seems like a long load of nothing, but it brings me to my point that, as The Beatles sang, all you need is love. Obviously, my sceptical outlook on life would argue that you do need more than love, but I would say that the point there is pretty clear.
My second point follows on from that. Why does Ada need to be able to hear for them to be happy? Truly good parents are happy with their child, no matter whether they can hear, or see, or sing, or dance, or paint, or divide 89 by Pi mentally. What I am saying is that it should not matter. I would argue that happiness comes from embracing our differences (even if this does not always work). If we embraced the differences that make ourselves and others unique then nobody would have anything to make fun of anyone about, because there would always be something about them that can be used against them. Of course, this would never work, but imagine if it did. I would like a world like that, where it is okay to be different. Because no matter what anybody says, I do not think that it is at the moment, and I wish it was. I wish to show that love conquers all, even if it is not always easy. (Unrealistic, yes, but I do not care)
My third and final point is a short point: if they were always happy, what would I write about? I personally think it would seem false, boring even, to read only about the happy times in their lives. But I do still write the happy times, do I not? If not, then you may either put up with what I do write, or I see no point in reading if you are not enjoying it. I do of course hope that everyone is enjoying it, but I do also understand if you wish to stop. It is your decision. (One more point: it is my story, and I already have chapters written out.)
Okay, that was a long Author's Note, and maybe harsh in some respects, but I felt it necessary. Sorry. I should win an award for longest Author's Note, though. (825 words, the chapter is only 2200 words.)
LV. Promise Is A Big Word. It Either Makes Something Or It Breaks Everything.
"You have to promise me, Ichabod, that you will help me and your Daddy take care of your sister." She cradled the small boy in her arms, his blue eyes staring up at her as the two others in the room slept. Adabelle was not woken by Ichabod's cries. Maybe Abby was right, maybe it would make life slightly easier. "You are a blessing, my little boy. No matter what anybody tells you. You and your sister are so, so special. You cannot let anybody tell you different." She looked across to Tony and sighed. "Our world, it is not a nice place. People kill and maim for the most trivial of reasons. But your Daddy and me, we are going to keep you safe for as long as we can, and we are going to try and make the world a better place for you. But, one day, if we do not come back to you, can you promise me that you will look after Ada for me? Elsie and Mina, they are going to be like your sisters too, but they are older and they will help you as much as they can. And Grandpa Gibbs, he will look after you, and so will Jenny and Ducky and Abby and Tim. We are all going to keep you safe. We are all going to make the world a better place for you. One day, my child, this world will be a happy place. Children will be able to laugh and play, mothers will be able to send their husbands off to work and their children off to school without any fear that they will never see them again. Fathers will be able to take their children out without having any fear that it will be the last time they go out as a family together. It will never happen in my lifetime, or your Daddy's lifetime, but maybe in yours. You are lucky, Ichabod. You were born in America, to an American father. You have less to fear. I did not have that luxury. I promise you that I will put you through nothing that I went through. We will teach you to ride a bike and fly a kite, not shoot a gun and throw a knife. You will be as safe and as happy as we can make you. That, I will promise. You can be whoever you want to be. That, I will promise."
"That was beautiful, Ziva." A voice said and her head snapped up, anger and confusion flaring in her eyes.
"What are you doing here?" She hissed, pulling Ichabod closer to herself as the man approached. Her eyes flickered over to Adabelle's bassinette and the man followed her gaze.
"Ah, yes. I heard about your daughter's hearing. I am sorry about that. No mother should be put through such pain at the thought of her child's discomfort." He smiled, walking over and looking down at the child still sleeping peacefully in her bassinette, oblivious to her mother's sudden distress. "They are beautiful children, Ziva. I can only imagine that our child would have been this beautiful, if not more. She would have had dark, dark skin, like ours, not like the paler skin that these two have. She would have had dark hair, with beautiful curls and chocolate brown eyes like yours. She would have had an accent like ours, too, when she was finally old enough to speak."
"What are you doing here?"
"Your father, he told me that you were married to an American. He told me that you were expecting a child, too. I just had to see for myself." He shrugged and made his way over to Ziva, glancing towards Tony to check he was still asleep. "Your son is beautiful, too. They both look like you." He peered over. "You always said that you wanted one of each. I wonder, Ziva… If you had managed to keep our baby safe, would you have told me? Would we have been a family?"
"It was not my fault. I did nothing wrong, Malachi."
"You did not tell me."
"You are married."
"That did not bother you when we slept together."
"Yes, it did. You know it did." Tears were welling up in her eyes. "We were on a mission. I felt bad every night because of it."
"I had a right to know. Even when you lost the baby, you should have told me."
"How do you even know about the child?"
"Your father had some enlightening things to say about you. He invited me for tea. We had a lovely talk about his only living daughter."
"What do you want from me, Malachi?"
"I want you back."
"You are married." She repeated.
"Sara died, not long after you left for America." He said, emotionless. She knew he could be callous, but this was low, even for him.
"I am married."
"Your father can deal with your husband. Or I can. I did try to have someone else do it for me, to keep my hands clean, so to speak, but obviously, if you want something done, you must do it yourself." He smiled, this time maliciously. "How would you like me to end it for him. I can be nice."
"You do not know the meaning of nice." She snarled.
"Is that what you thought all those years ago, my love, when you would curl up beside me?"
"I was 19. You were 26. We were young. Naïve."
"You said you loved me."
"I was mistaken." She looked over to Tony. "I love my husband. And I love my children."
"Would you have loved our baby, Ziva?"
"I was never given a chance to find out." She looked down at her son. It was almost time for his feed. "How did you get in here?"
"It is amazing what a set of scrubs enables you to do." He looked down at himself, the mint green scrubs almost identical to the ones Ziva had been wearing not days beforehand. She just had to keep him talking until a nurse, or doctor, or Gibbs came in. Then they would be safe. Then Malachi would be caught.
"I killed your henchman." She looked at him.
"He disappointed me. He would not have survived long anyway. You did me a favour."
"It was unintentional, I assure you."
"We could try again, you know." He leaned down so his minty breath brushed against her ear. If she didn't have Ichabod in her arms she would have reacted. He would have been pinned to the floor in an instant. But Ichabod was in her arms and she was helpless. "There are so many American families who would do anything to have children, even if they are not their own. Adoption is always a viable option. Ichabod would be easy to find a home for. Adabelle, she might take some work, what with her hearing, but I think I could manage it. And your Tony, well, I have decided that I will kill him quickly. A shot to the back of the head should do it. And then we can try again. We can have a child, and this time you will tell me about her. A little girl, I hope. We can call her Tali, after your sister." He looked at the fear mixed with the hatred in her eyes. "Give me a month, Ziva, and everything will be perfect again." He pressed his lips to hers and grinned, an evil glint in his eyes. He had barely left the room before Ziva was dialling Gibbs number, tears flowing rapidly down her cheeks.
"Gibbs, you need to get to the hospital. Phone hospital security. Tell them to stop a man dressed in scrubs from leaving. His name is Malachi Levy. He hired the man who shot Tony." She shuddered with tears.
"Ziva? I'm already on my way. What happened?"
"Just get him Gibbs. Please?" She hung up and slid out of bed, ignoring any pain caused when her stitches pulled as she walked over to the empty bassinette and placed Ichabod in it. She then headed over to the small bathroom and pulled out the toothbrush, toothpaste and mouthwash from the wash-bag that Abby had brought, violently scrubbing her teeth and the inside of her mouth clean.
It was the hurried speaking of the one-sided conversation that woke him. His eyes opened to the bright light of the room as a figure walked through his unfocused vision, carrying a child. It wasn't until the woman walked into the bathroom that he realised it was his wife carrying one of his children. It was the muffled crying mingled with the sound of running water that alarmed him enough to get out of bed, despite thedoctors orders. The pain wasn't as bad as when he had first woken up with a bullet wound, three days prior, but it still hurt like hell. He tugged the IV drip along side him and knocked on the bathroom door. "Ziva, what's wrong?" The sobs became more muffled, but they were still there. "Ziva, Honey, I'm really worried about you. The last time you locked yourself in a bathroom you were taken tohospital and I didn't see you for a week." He tried the handle and was surprised to find it opened, revealing his wife, standing at the sink, her face a mess of tears and her toothbrush in her hand as her body shook. "What's wrong? What's happened?" She didn't reply, just shied away from him when he moved closer. "You're scaring me, Ziva. Please? What's wrong?"
"Ziva!" Gibbs ran into the room.
"Gibbs, what's going on?"
"I don't know." He said as he checked on the two infants. Ichabod was starting to wail and Adabelle was starting to stir, although he knew that that was just due to hunger.
"Gibbs!"
"I don't know, DiNozzo." He walked to the doorway of the bathroom. "Ziva, you need to tell me what happened." His voice was soft and quiet. She cast a quick glance to Tony before shaking her head. "Tony, call for a nurse. The twins need feeding." He said, just as softly, sending Tony the message that what ever was going on was going to be dealt with carefully. "McGee is going to be outside the room, if you need anything, ask him, but only if it is really important. Abby and the director will be here in half an hour. They'll help." He moved to Ziva, confiscating the toothbrush and handing her a glass of water. She rinsed her mouth and, still shaking, leant into his side. He wrapped an arm around her shoulder and lead her out of the hospital room, nodding at McGee's concerned expression, down the corridor and into the first empty room he could find. He sat her on the bed and looked at her. "Tell me what happened."
"I was holding Ichabod, talking to him. And then this voice, his voice, he told me that what I was saying was beautiful. I have not seen him since I was nineteen. He started telling me how beautiful Adabelle and Ichabod are and how beautiful our child would have been, if…and then he started saying how we could be together again, and how he could…kill Tony and how he could…put Ada and Bod up for adoption and…and…and…" The tears started again. "I was holding Bod, I should have…"
"Ziva, it's going to be fine. We'll find him."
"They didn't get him?" Gibbs sighed and shook his head.
"Not yet. Security's on high alert, but four men in scrubs left the building between the time you called and the time I managed to get through to security. Many more men in civilian attire left too. If he is still here, we'll find him, but…"
"He has probably left." She nodded.
"Who is he, Ziva?"
"Malachi Levy. He and I…we worked together when I was in Mossad. We also had a relationship."
"The child you lost?"
"Yes." She nodded, looking at her feet where they hung off the edge of the bed. "Tony told you?"
"When you were in hospital the first time. He said you told no one though."
"My father told him. Apparently his wife died just after I came here. He said that in one month we will be together again."
"What was with the teeth?"
"He said we will be together again and then he…he…he…" She shuddered at the memory that made her sick. "I can still feel his lips on mine and I…" Her face crumpled and Gibbs stood up, pulling her into a hug. His chest dampened the sound of her screams of anguish. The door opened and a confused orderly looked in.
"Er, sorry, this room was supposed to be empty. I was just going to…"
"Yeah, we'll be gone in a minute." Gibbs nodded and he backed away.
"I love Tony and the twins, Gibbs. I do not want them to get hurt because of me."
"And they won't." He rubbed circles on her back. "I won't let anyone hurt my family. Not this time. I promise."
Oh, and to whomever left the review about seeing the rainbows; thank you, it made me smile, and I wanted to reply, but as you are a guest, I shall have to suffice with this: thank you for understanding and sticking with it. (And for seeing the happiness.)
