A/N: Written as a gift for dont_hate_me01 as part of the 2021 NCIS Secret Santa Gift Exchange over on LiveJournal, to the following prompt:
"Santa, may I request no sad endings or death fics. My heart will break into even smaller pieces than what it already is.
May I also ask that the characters stay true to their own genders.
I am not a fan of Ziva David, unless you make her the villain. Talia is not Tony's daughter. Gibbs will always take care of Tony, either in a friendship or in a relationship .
I love a good old case fic, including catching a serial killer or stalker together with our friends from Criminal Minds. I will never say no to Tony hooking up with either Aaron Hotchner or Derek Morgan.(...) Please take care not to make Tony weak, he is, and always will be intelligent, not a playboy, and strong. He can take care of himself even if he gives himself up to his partner. (...) Lastly, on this side of the ocean, we've only seen until the end of Season 17, so no spoilers please!"
(Much gratitude must go to jacieleigh and jdl71 for very last-minute betaing and proofreading; you guys are the absolute best! Merry Christmas!)
Family Matters
"There's no way that girl is my daughter!"
Tony glared at Director Elbaz as she gently closed the door to his bedroom; thanks to his twin bed, there was more than enough space to set up the foldable travel cot where Ziva's daughter slept like the innocent she was. He'd kept it together by a thread, unwilling to air what looked like a huge heap of dirty laundry in front of the whole bullpen. But now he wanted answers, like right now.
"And how can you be so sure of that, Agent DiNozzo?" the woman asked, fixing him with brown eyes that, while distant and calculating, were warmer than Ziva's had ever been.
"Because I sure as hell didn't sleep with Ziva!"
"She claimed you did."
"Well, she lied," he snapped. At Elbaz's skeptically-raised eyebrow, he let out an exasperated huff and turned away. Pacing a few steps around his living room, he finally came to a stop and faced her across his piano. Running his hand through his hair, Tony sighed.
"Okay, look – I'm not gonna deny that there was some UST between Ziva and me—"
"I do not know what that means," Elbaz interrupted him.
Tony gestured impatiently. "Acronym for 'unresolved sexual tension'," he explained. "Ziva is – was," he corrected himself, "a beautiful woman, and I won't pretend I wasn't attracted to her at one point or another. When she started flirting with me, I flirted back. So what? Doesn't mean we ever took it anywhere."
"Why didn't you?"
He snorted in disbelief. There were so many reasons why he and Ziva would never have worked: her ultimate lack of respect for him, both personally and professionally; her disregard for proper procedure and the law for the sake of expedience; her insubordination and willful disobedience to orders; her attempts at sowing discord among the team, both subtle and more and more often lately, quite blatant; her tendency to target a person's – meaning his – soft underbelly with sly and hurtful digs; her frequent displays of aggression and intolerance; goading McGeek into turning off comms on him ... the list was long. Too long. Whatever attraction he'd ever felt couldn't make up for any of it, much less all.
And that list didn't even include the whole Rivkin mess and what happened in Israel yet. That was a whole other can of worms, one he really didn't want to revisit.
"You don't want to know, Director. Not if Ziva meant anything to you at all. Trust me on that," was all he said.
Elbaz frowned. "I was not aware that your relationship with Ziva was … contentious," she murmured.
Tony huffed a short laugh. "That's one way to put it," he said. "Although, since you asked me … there was no 'relationship' between us. At least not one that could have led to a child."
"Your reputation says otherwise, Agent DiNozzo," Elbaz said, both eyebrows raised.
Tony's expression hardened. "What reputation?" he asked coldly. "The one according to the dossier Ziva wrote for Ari Haswari, you mean?" His eyes turned briefly into chips of green ice. "I grew up in the eighties, Director. 'Free love' went out the window when Rock Hudson came out and was buried six feet under, along with Freddy Mercury when he died of AIDS. Too many folks learned the hard way that having unprotected sex with the wrong person could be a death sentence. I sure as hell knew to protect myself – and my partners. Always."
The Israeli woman drew in a sharp breath, but before she could do more than open her mouth to protest, Tony continued, giving her a sardonic smile. "Don't get bent out of shape, Ms Elbaz. I'm not criticizing Ziva's morals or insinuating she might've caught an STD. Her father and Mossad made her into who and what she was. In many respects, that was a bright, capable and intriguing woman. But there were aspects about her that showed very clearly that for me, Ziva was very definitely the wrong person." He paused briefly, then added with finality, "In too many ways to count."
"But—"
"She threatened to kill, or at least maim, me within the space of a minute once," Tony said with quiet heat. "She meant it, too. Hardly the right basis to build a relationship on, wouldn't you say? Especially an intimate one."
Standing stiffly before him, Orli Elbaz looked at Tony for a long moment, then let her shoulders slump and sighed. "You have a good point, Agent DiNozzo. Good enough, in fact, that I'm inclined to believe you."
Tony gave a brief nod in acceptance of the implied apology. "Thanks, I guess."
Elbaz moved a few feet closer to the center of the room, looking at her surroundings, taking in the elegant furniture, the open shelves stacked with books and Tony's favorite DVDs, the baby grand piano and the view of darkening sky through his window. Shaking her head with a somewhat rueful smile, she sighed again and asked quietly, "May I sit?"
Curious at her unexpectedly diffident manner, Tony gestured towards his couch. "Please."
"Thank you." She sat, and after a moment or two, so did Tony, choosing to perch on his piano bench to avoid being too close and to better watch her face. Silence settled around them until Elbaz drew a deep breath.
"You make a convincing argument, Agent DiNozzo. However, there is still the fact that Ziva named you Tali's father in her journal. Tali also called you 'Abba' when looking at a picture of you and her together – riding a motor scooter, I think. You certainly look like a couple."
"Oh, please," Tony scoffed. "She's hardly more than a baby; trusting her cognitive abilities to such a degree would be more than ludicrous. Ziva might have told her that, although I find it highly unlikely – and frankly, don't have the slightest clue why she even would. We parted on somewhat friendlier terms than the previous time I left Israel, but I'm fairly sure we both accepted that it was 'farewell', not 'good-bye', if you know what I mean."
"I understand the difference, yes."
He shrugged in a 'there you go' manner, and silence settled between them once more, this time more contemplative than antagonistic. Tony couldn't quite shake the feeling that his visitor was waiting for something, something he should do or say. If only he knew what. Idly letting his fingertips trace the pattern in his piano bench's upholstery, Tony deliberately let his thoughts drift, the way he would when he was trying to chase down a clue on a case.
"When's Tali's birthday, anyway?" he asked after a while.
"November twenty-third. She will turn two years old this winter."
Tony was no John Nash, but he could do simple arithmetic – and had a basic understanding of human biology. He sat up. "Wait, what? Correct me if I'm wrong, but doesn't that mean Ziva must've gotten pregnant sometime in early 2014? Around February, or so?"
Elbaz smiled slightly. "I do not know the precise time, but approximately, yes."
It felt as if a huge load had suddenly fallen off his shoulders. "Well, there you have it. The last time I saw Ziva was in early October 2013. So, unless she has some zebra DNA in her somehow, there's no way I can be the father. It just doesn't add up."
The new Mossad director stared at him as if he were crazy. "Excuse me? A … zebra?"
Tony grinned, somewhat sheepishly. "Um, yeah, sorry. Some factoid I picked up from a David Attenborough documentary on the National Geographic channel. Zebras have a gestation period that's roughly four months longer than a human's … which just happens to be the time difference between when I left Ziva in Tel Aviv and when she got pregnant. So, obviously not by me."
Elbaz shook her head in bemusement. "Your mind seems to work in very strange ways, Agent DiNozzo."
Tony shrugged. "Yeah, well …" He wasn't going to apologize; his ability to remember and correlate odd and seemingly unrelated tidbits out of thin air was what made him so good at his job. If that sometimes translated into weird and/or inappropriate comparisons, so what? "You're hardly the first to notice that about me; in fact, it used to drive Ziva up the wall."
Another reason why they never would've worked out as a couple. As if he needed more!
Trying to change the subject – or maybe get back to it? – he asked, "Do you have any records of what she was doing in early 2014? After I went home, I mean? Maybe she met someone, or was on a mission, or something?" Inwardly, he winced, remembering inadvertently what Ziva must've gone through during her months of captivity in Somalia. She'd never admitted to anything or anyone that he knew of, but it wasn't an unreasonable assumption that she'd been raped at least once, either by Saleem Ulman himself or his men. If it had happened to her again …
Director Elbaz frowned thoughtfully. "I would have to look up her file to be sure, but I don't specifically recall any missions as such. On occasion, she was acting as a courier, delivering some highly sensitive and confidential material to several of our embassies in the European Union around that time. But that was all."
"If she was out of the country, she might have met someone you were never aware of."
"It is possible. Unlikely, but yes."
Tony correctly understood that it was unlikely her superiors at Mossad wouldn't have been informed of any assignations, affairs or even just flings Ziva might have indulged in and got herself knocked up. And now there was a cute-as-a-button little girl sleeping in his bedroom who was at risk merely by the fact that she was the last living descendant of Eli David, a man who'd made a slew of enemies during his lifetime. Also, Ziva had no living relatives except for her Aunt Nettie – an elderly lady with failing health, hardly suited to take on the responsibility of rearing a small child.
Tali may not be his daughter, but there was no way he could just walk away and live with himself. If he did, he'd be no better than his own father, and he'd vowed never to follow in Senior's footsteps.
She was innocent in all this, so he was going to do what he did best – investigate. They had tracked Ziva to a terrorist camp in Somalia; he could damn well retrace her route around Israeli embassies in Europe, even two years later. Like at any other government institution or facility the world over, there were bound to be records. Paper trails. Log-ins. Maybe even digital footage, especially as paranoid as the Israelis tended to be, for justifiable reasons. If there were clues, he'd find them.
Drawing a deep breath, he slapped his hands on his thighs and stood, giving Orli Elbaz a look that quelled any protest she might have mustered, and said, "Okay. Let's get to the bottom of this."
Gibbs was in his basement, sanding his boat … and waiting.
Waiting for Tony to walk down the wooden steps. He knew Tony would come to him eventually, not just because of his gut, but because he knew the man. Whatever his plans were going to be, Gibbs was one-hundred percent sure that Tony would tell him. He would not simply disappear.
He just hadn't thought it would take him a week.
Gibbs exchanged the sanding block he'd been using for one that had a finer grain; there was a nearly-imperceptible knot in one of the ribs that needed a more careful touch to get rid of. Pausing briefly to take a swallow of bourbon from the mug he kept down here, he permitted himself a small smile at the text printed on the side: "Badass. Marine. Same Thing". It had been a gift from Tony on his last birthday, along with a bottle of really fine whiskey he kept for special occasions. Of course, he'd grumbled about it – he hated novelty items, did DiNozzo think he didn't have a cabinet full of mugs already, and he could buy his own quality booze if he wanted to, dammit – but was secretly pleased by the humor and subtle respect expressed in the laconic statement.
He relished the familiar burn of the alcohol as it slid down his throat, inhaled deeply and reached for his sanding block again. With long, even strokes he began to work on the stubborn knot, not even stopping when he finally heard the upstairs door open and a familiar footfall crossing the kitchen. His visitor hesitated briefly, then the basement door opened with a tiny creak.
Gibbs made a mental note to put a drop of oil on the hinges the next chance he got, and continued sanding, moving the block steadily back and forth, back and forth, smoothing out the imperfection in the wood.
You'd have to shoot him before he'd ever admit that he might want to move his hands down Tony's spine in the exact, same motion. As he sanded from bow to stern, that secret, barely-acknowledged, pesky corner of his mind replaced the sharp wooden keel with smooth, tanned skin stretched between the vulnerable neck and the way too enticing swell of the firm ass he'd been lusting after longer than he cared to remember.
Tony slowly made his way down the stairs, finally coming to a stop and sinking down to sit on the third step up from the bottom. For once, he wasn't wearing one of his designer outfits, but comfortable chinos in a light sage green, a slightly darker shirt of the same color and the white knit jacket Jackson Gibbs had given him that first, memorable visit in Stillwater.
To Gibbs, he looked good enough to eat.
Giving himself a mental head slap – and a stern admonishment not to get sidetracked – Gibbs tipped over a smallish mason jar of screws and nails, blew out some dust, splashed a finger or two of bourbon into it and handed it wordlessly to his visitor.
"Thanks, Boss," Tony murmured, staring into the amber liquid.
Gibbs merely grunted and returned to his sanding. He knew Tony would talk when he was ready.
For a while, the only sound in the dimly-lit basement was the soft rasp of sandpaper against wood and the quiet breaths of the two men until finally, Tony sighed and leaned his head against the railing, making the weathered wood squeak. Gibbs felt his gut clench. Here it comes …
"She's not mine," Tony said softly at last.
Gibbs wasn't sure whether to feel incredulous or relieved. "You sure?"
"As much as I can be."
"You ran a test." It was what Gibbs would've done.
"Of course," Tony huffed. "Given that I was already back in DC when Ziva must've gotten pregnant, it seemed … prudent."
"The birthdate is confirmed?"
"Yeah, November twenty-third, 2014. Hospital records, witness statements – you know, doctor, midwife, nurses – everything adds up."
"She looks like you, though."
"That's what Senior says," Tony mumbled. "He's really taken with Tali." He snorted lightly. "Gone all doting grandpa. Sure didn't expect that."
That was what had thrown Gibbs, too – the resemblance the little girl had to DiNozzo. She seemed a perfect blend of him and Ziva. "Got any explanation for that? Other than coincidence?"
Any other person would've made air quotes; Gibbs managed to convey the gesture merely by the distaste in his voice. Green eyes met blue, and both men smirked. While Tony didn't subscribe to Rule thirty-nine quite as stringently, he did have a higher-than-average distrust towards the matter.
"Actually, I do," he said, and drew a deep breath. "It's a family resemblance – which is what Ziva put down in the journal she kept during her pregnancy and left with Director Elbaz. She also mentioned my name. That's how Orli concluded I must be the father."
"But you're not." Gibbs left his sanding and took a drink from his mug, ambling towards the staircase so he could better observe Tony's expression.
"Nope," Tony said, popping the 'p'. Then, trying for his usual brand of levity, he added, "She assumed that's what the journal said, anyway."
As he'd known he would, Gibbs simply nodded. "Rule eight."
"Yeah."
"So what was in the journal that made her think Ziva meant you?" Gibbs asked, intrigued. Ziva had never gone much for ambiguity in writing; but like DiNozzo, she could be a champion at verbal misdirection and innuendo when it suited her.
With a sigh, Tony leaned back, stretched his long legs and tossed back his drink. "That's what I wanted to know. So Orli had the passage scanned and faxed to the Embassy so I could see for myself." He huffed. "Fat lot of good that did."
Gibbs raised an eyebrow in question.
Tony rolled his eyes, just a little. "Oh, come on, Gibbs – she grew up speaking Hebrew. Whenever she wanted to annoy me, she'd write at least part of her reports in the same language."
Huh. Gibbs hadn't known that. Then again, she'd never have dared to pull that kind of stunt with him, trusting instead that Tony, as part of his SFA duties, would make sure that her reports were readable to the team leader. Cheeky! And a very Ziva thing to do, he had to admit.
"Point taken. So what did you do?"
"Requested a literal, word-by-word transcript. One of the Embassy linguists obliged." He pursed his lips. "She confirmed the translation Elbaz had given me." Before Gibbs could ask, Tony continued. "The journal said, and I quote, 'With each day, Tali looks more and more like Tony. I truly hope the cad won't mind; it is part of his family legacy, after all,' end quote."
Gibbs frowned. "Hardly definite proof, but sounds pretty conclusive. We've solved cases on less than that."
"Yeah – only I know it can't be true. Because no matter what kind of smutty fantasies Thom E. Gemcity concocted about the antics Agents Tommy and Lisa got up to, Ziva and I have never had sex. Ever."
Gibbs tilted his head, eyeing Tony. "Paris?" A whole litany of questions was packed into that one word.
To his surprise, Tony's cheeks reddened a bit, and he rubbed the back of his neck, squirming under that blue-eyed laser stare.
"Uh…"
The head slap was light and not totally unexpected. "Spit it out, DiNozzo."
Tony's blush deepened. "Uh, well…." He gulped. "We kinda wanted to," he muttered. "We just … didn't."
Gibbs refused to acknowledge the rush of relief he felt at the confession. It rang true, though. Tony wouldn't lie to him about this. However, the question slipped out before he could censor himself. "Why not?"
Tony's head jerked up, giving Gibbs an incredulous stare at the uncharacteristically personal question. "Curious much, Boss?"
Gibbs looked away, chagrined at his lapse. "Never mind; 's none of my business."
"No, it's not," Tony agreed.
Gibbs dipped his head maybe half an inch and minutely lessened the intensity of his gaze. It wasn't an apology, Tony knew better than to expect one, but he recognized the near-imperceptible tells for what they were meant to be – an oblique expression of regret for overstepping a line.
There was a moment of heavy silence when neither man could think of a way past the sudden awkwardness; it was dispelled by the loud rumbling of Tony's stomach.
Gibbs chuckled at Tony's expression. "Couldn't find a vending machine lately, DiNozzo?" he asked with a half-smile.
Tony grinned back. "Nah. I'm kinda trying to cut back on the sweets; gotta set a good example for the kid, right?"
"That you do." Gibbs nodded in approval, then made a snap decision. "Go upstairs and order us some food," he suggested. "There's a new Thai place that's both good and fast; they'll have it delivered by the time I've finished here and get cleaned up. Menu's in the drawer next to the fridge."
Tony heaved himself to his feet with a small groan. Wooden stairs were definitely a less-than-perfect place to sit. "On it, Boss."
Their curries – spicy Beef Panang for Gibbs, and a creamy Coconut Salmon dish for Tony over a large bowl of rice shared between them – were every bit as good as Gibbs had promised, and Tony dug in with relish. Their conversation was kept light as they ate, but once they were finished and settled in the living room, Tony just waited until Gibbs had popped the cap off his beer and taken a first sip.
"You really want to know about Paris?" he asked quietly, stirring sugar into the plain tea Gibbs kept for Ducky's occasional visits. He needed to keep a clear head for what he had to say.
"You don't have to tell me anything you don't want, DiNozzo," Gibbs replied, admitting both his curiosity and Tony's right to privacy.
Tony huffed a small laugh and gave Gibbs a slant-eyed look. He'd lost count of how many times he'd heard his Boss use the same tactics in interrogation, equally effective on either suspects or witnesses. Gibbs acknowledged it with a raised eyebrow and tiny smile.
"Oh, what the hell." Tony sighed, got up from the couch and wandered over to the window, staring out into the street as he rubbed the back of his head, ruffling the short strands of hair. "Paris was … a missed opportunity. Or maybe a failed experiment," he began. "Take your pick. Anyway, back then … you may have noticed that Ziva and I kind of had a thing going, I mean the flirting and such."
"Ya think?" Gibbs refrained from mentioning that the whole Navy Yard had speculated about the two of them, even running a book on when they'd do the deed.
Tony shot a half-hearted glare over his shoulder. "Yeah, well … a beautiful woman playing hot one day, cold the next, laying all that innuendo on me, following me into the men's room more than once … what else was I supposed to do with that?"
"Seem to remember you always gave as good as you got."
Tony shrugged. "So sue me. We both knew the score, and with Rule twelve in place, why shouldn't we indulge in a little harmless fun? Only, stuff happened—" like the laundry list of grievances he had against Ziva but decided that this wasn't the time to disillusion and/or upset Gibbs, so kept to things the man already knew about, "—Jeanne, CIA Ray, Somalia, what have you, and somehow, it became less of a game and turned into … I dunno, a connection, maybe, that we hadn't had before. And Paris seemed the perfect opportunity to see if this connection could lead to something more, if not better. The fuck-up with our hotel rooms felt almost like a sign from above, you know?"
Looking back, Tony wondered again at his temporary lapse in judgement. He should've seen how his partner, a woman he'd expected to watch his six, had changed so drastically. But a part of him had still hoped against hope ...
The nostalgic expression on Tony's face tugged at Gibbs' heartstrings, but he suppressed the feeling. "Hunh. So what happened?"
Tony snorted. "Long story short, we went to bed, were on the way from second to third base … and fell asleep," he said, chuckling when both of Gibbs' eyebrows rose in surprise. "Shocking, huh? Mata Hari in bed with Sex Machine, and then – poof? Kinda boggles the mind, doesn't it? Only it'd been a long day; we'd hoped to get some sleep on the overnight flight, even in coach, but there happened to be a bunch of sophomore college athletes on board, going to some international meet in France. They were … loud. Very loud. And excited. And kinda rambunctious. And—"
"Behaving like you usually do, you mean?" Blue eyes twinkled into green, and Tony responded to the teasing like the mature, responsible Federal Agent he was – he gave Gibbs the finger.
"Fuck you, too," he grumbled.
Gibbs did not think "Yes, please!". Nuh-uh. No way. No, sirree.
"Anyhoo, what with the time difference and everything, we'd clocked a forty-plus hour day by the time we turned in." He quirked a slightly sheepish grin. "Maybe if we hadn't shared that nice bottle of Château la Tour red wine over dinner – who knows? But we did … and then we didn't. Do it, I mean. Afterwards, the timing was never right again, so we basically stopped trying. And when she returned to Israel after Eli died … we kissed once, really kissed, at the airport, right before I left Tel Aviv. We both knew it was the end, not a beginning." Tony ambled back towards the couch, sat and leaned back with a sigh. "We had a chance and blew it. One big, epic non-romance in a nutshell."
He drained his tea, grimacing at the over-steeped beverage that had gone tepid while he'd talked. Gibbs shook his head, got up, went to the fridge and retrieved a bottle of water for Tony, who took it with a grateful look. "Thanks."
"For what it's worth, I'm sorry," Gibbs offered quietly.
"Yeah, well – you know what they say: 'Better to have loved and lost than never to have loved at all', and all that rot."
"'They' have no fucking clue what they're talking about," Gibbs scoffed. He couldn't imagine never having had his girls, but being left with just memories in no way made up for the grief of having lost them. "You deserve to have someone to love, and who loves you back," he added gruffly. "Never doubt that."
It was on the tip of Tony's tongue to say that he'd realized, with hindsight, that it hadn't been love he'd felt for Ziva. Lust, yes; love, never. Besides, he'd already found someone to love – someone about as far from Ziva as was possible. Someone with short, badly-cut silver hair rather than long, flowing black locks. Who had steely blue eyes, not smoldering brown ones. Someone with a hard, honed body rather than soft curves, who never flirted or titillated but rather seduced him with trust and support.
All of which could be summed up in three words – Leroy Jethro Gibbs.
And Tony was fully prepared to shoot the first person who even hinted at the idea that he'd begun to realize the attraction – and his feelings – after stumbling across some epically bad Deep Six fanfiction on the internet that had paired Agent Tommy with LJ Tibbs. Although it might be worth it just to see the look on McAuthor's face … and some of the sex scenes had been rather hot, and he wouldn't mind at all recreating them with his Boss. Which he never would, because Gibbs was a) not gay; b) not interested in him that way; c) unlikely to break Rule twelve; d) very much not gay (or even just bi, as far as Tony knew).
Which was pretty much that. QED. Finito. The End. Over and out.
They sat in silence for a few minutes, lost in thought, memories and what-might-have-beens. Finally, Gibbs remembered to finish his beer and cleared his throat. "So you and Ziva were never together?"
"Nope. Close, but no cigar," Tony confirmed.
"How does that tie in with what Ziva wrote in her journal, though?"
Tony sat up. "Well, that's what I was asking myself, too. There was something about that transcript that bothered me, but I couldn't quite put my finger on it."
"You weren't reminded of a movie?" Gibby needled gently.
"Shut up," Tony shot back with a mock-hurt look. "But no, for once I wasn't. I decided to sleep on it and went home. It was actually Senior who gave me a clue when I told him – he wondered why Ziva would refer to me as a cad. He said that it had been Mom's favorite expression for someone who treated women dishonorably – kinda ironic when you think what he changed into after she'd died." He grimaced briefly. "Apparently, 'cad' is a nineteenth-century term originating in Scotland; Ducky could probably cite the whole etymology."
"I'm sure he could," Gibbs said drily. "Giving us chapter and verse, too."
"Yeah. Anyway, it got me thinking – Ziva had trouble enough getting the hang of modern American slang; why would she use an old British term in a journal otherwise written wholly in Hebrew?"
"Good question," Gibbs said. "So how did you find an answer?"
"Did what you taught me," Tony replied. "Applied Rule three-point-one – I double-checked." He drank some more water, finishing the bottle. "When I was posing as Professor DiNardo, I'd met some of the other faculty at Georgetown, asked around and got referred to someone at the Theological Seminary, at Catholic University of America, of all places."
"I think I know the place – drove past it a few times when I had business at the Armed Forces Retirement Home."
"That's the one," Tony nodded. "Anyway, they teach Hebrew there, both biblical and modern, and I asked one of the lecturers to take a look at what Ziva had written." He shook his head. "I now know more about writing in Hebrew than I ever wanted to know – or thought I needed."
He took a deep breath, but Gibbs interrupted before he could launch into an explanation that possibly might rival McGee's technobabble, Abby's rambling or one of Ducky's stories. "Digest version, DiNozzo."
Tony deflated slightly but rallied right away. "Sure. But there are a few pertinent details that I'll have to mention, or it won't make any sense."
Gibbs made a go-ahead gesture.
"Okay, you probably know that Hebrew uses diacritical marks, right?"
Gibbs frowned. "I guess?"
"They're glyphs – or symbols – added to a letter that alters its sense, function, or pronunciation. Like accent marks in French; just think of 'résumé' versus 'resume'." He scribbled both words on the margin of the day's newspaper lying on the coffee table and read them aloud. "See, the acute accents – those little marks slanting downwards right to left on top of the 'e' – show that 'REH-zoo-meh' means 'summary', or a CV relating to a job. Without them, the word changes from noun to verb and 're-ZOOM' simply means 'to begin again after a pause'."
"Okay?"
"Well, Hebrew has lots of diacritics. Only in modern writing, they're largely left out, and so you kind of have to guess what a word or sentence actually means – from context, syntax and applying common sense."
"Wonder how often that works out," Gibbs muttered.
"I know, right?" Tony smirked, then sobered. "Adding to the fun, Hebrew doesn't have a definite article per se, just a prefix to words that correspond to articles in the target language – namely, 'the' in English."
Gibbs grunted in annoyance; these were exactly the type of details he preferred to deal without. "Which means what?"
Tony sighed. "Surprise, Ziva didn't use the diacritical marks; why would she, in her private journal? She knew what she meant to write. But here's the thing." He paused and scribbled out part of the quote: 'I truly hope the cad won't mind,' and showed it to Gibbs. "Makes perfect sense in context, especially when translated into a foreign language, right?"
"Uh-huh."
"So here's where it gets interesting. What the Embassy linguist overlooked, or maybe ignored, I dunno, is that Ziva omitted the prefix." He crossed out 'the'. "Now, it could have been a simple misspelling, like a typo – but what if it wasn't?"
"'Hope cad won't mind' makes no sense in English, though," Gibbs objected. "It would in Russian – lots of Slavic languages have no articles at all. But Hebrew isn't a Slavic language."
"No," Tony agreed. "However, what it doesn't have are capital letters. Or rather, it has only capital letters. Which leads us back to our buddy context." He wrote the sentence down a second time, changing just one letter: 'I hope Cad won't mind'. "What does it look like now?"
Gibbs huffed a breath, intrigued despite himself. "Like a name."
"Exactly," Tony said. "And that's when it hit me."
"What did?"
"That I know who Tali's father is."
In any other situation, Tony would have relished knowing that for once, he'd rendered Gibbs speechless. As it was, though, he wearily leaned against the back of the couch, stretching a few kinks out of his neck and staring at the ceiling. He anticipated the next question he knew the former Marine would ask.
"Who?"
"Wing Commander Cadman Archer Drummond, RAF. Known to family and friends as 'Cade' … or Cad, because of his initials. He's my cousin."
Puzzled, Gibbs frowned. "I thought your cousin's name was Christian Paddington?"
"Crispian," Tony corrected mildly. "And yeah, it is. It's just, the Paddingtons are a cadet branch of the Drummonds – remember that ancestor I discovered? The earl who may or may not have been Jack the Ripper?"
"Kind of."
"Well, Cade's mother was Grandfather Charles' fourth child, two years older than my mother, who was the youngest. She was also the result of an affair between dear old Granddad and a distant relative's wife." Tony snorted. "Long story short, pretty much everybody knew that Louise was a Paddington, but Charles died before he could officially acknowledge her. Louise eventually married back into the family, another distant relation, and had one son – Cadman. He's about my age, and there is a marked family resemblance – Louise and Mom had the same color eyes and hair. As do Cade and me." He shook his head. "The whole thing is one giant soap opera, I swear."
"At least that explains what Ziva wrote in her journal," Gibbs said. "So that makes Tali – what?"
"Second cousin, or something; I can never get these things straight. Still family, though. Comparison of the DNA we took from Tali, myself and Cade's RAF files proves it beyond doubt."
"Huh. How did they meet?"
"According to Director Elbaz, Ziva was acting as a courier for Mossad to several embassies in Europe. Cade was MI6 and served as military attaché to the British embassy in Brussels, where they met in late 2013, at one of the diplomatic functions celebrating Croatia joining the European Union. Once she had a name, Orli managed to pull video footage of both of them together, especially after Cade got himself transferred to Tel Aviv in January 2014."
"Would he have known about the pregnancy? And if he did, could he have simply walked away?"
"Hard to say," Tony sighed. "I've only met him a couple of times when we were both much younger, but given his views on his mother's history plus the whole concept of being an officer and a gentleman in Her Majesty's Forces, I rather doubt it."
"Then why didn't he step up?" Gibbs demanded, indignant both on Ziva's behalf and at the thought of a military man, an officer no less, ignoring the obligation and duty towards one's unborn child.
"He may not have had a choice in the matter," Tony said quietly. "In April '14, his RAF commission was reactivated and he got seconded to Operation Shader, providing humanitarian aid airdrops, reconnaissance and airstrikes in the conflict between Israel, Iran and Syria."
Gibbs inhaled sharply. "ISIL." The USA had joined the fight against the Islamic State of Iraq and the Levant in October that same year, founding a multi-national Combined Joint Task Force – Operation Inherent Resolve that was still ongoing.
"Yeah. He and his squad flew a joint recon-slash-aid mission into Syria, as well as delivering medical supplies to a few villages just beyond the Golan Heights. The mission went FUBAR as soon as they arrived. Cade's been listed MIA since October 2014."
"Fuck."
"You said it." Tony's voice and expression were beyond weary; Gibbs couldn't tell whether the obvious grief was for Ziva, his cousin or both.
There was nothing more to say as each man lost himself in his own thoughts for some time. Eventually, Gibbs padded into the kitchen and started a pot of coffee, boiling some water as well to brew some more tea for Tony. As they both sat sipping their drinks, he finally broke the silence.
"Why'd Ziva name you as the father, though?"
"Actually she didn't," Tony corrected. "There's no name given on Tali's birth certificate. Legally, Elbaz was going by hearsay."
"Hmph. Sloppy. Your cousin was British; why didn't Ziva reach out to the Paddingtons?" Gibbs wondered.
"Crispian said she did." Tony's voice had gone flat.
"What? He too stuck-up to accept an out-of-wedlock child by an Israeli mother into his aristo family?" From the way Tony had talked about his cousin when the man had called in the IOU Tony had given his Uncle Clive, it wasn't an unreasonable assumption.
"It's not that," Tony sighed. "Crispian was actually rather close to Cade – they were at Harrow together, albeit in different years – and would've done his duty towards family, if nothing else."
"So why didn't he?"
"Because his wife had had a miscarriage in late pregnancy. The baby would've been born just a few months before Tali … and it was a little girl. From what he said, she took it fairly hard." Tony grimaced. "As in, still having mental-health issues hard."
Yeah, that was a valid reason not to take in a newborn baby girl. Gibbs winced. "Damn."
"Putting it mildly, Boss." Tony sat, putting his elbows on his knees and bowed his head. He wouldn't look at Gibbs as he spoke, quietly yet with determination. "Crispian suggested setting her up in one of the family properties with a full-time nanny until his wife recovers enough to invite her into their home." He paused, then said nearly inaudibly, "Or putting her into foster care."
Gibbs recoiled at that idea, both as a federal agent who'd seen too many cases of neglected children over the years, and as a father – if Kelly had been in a similar situation, he knew with every fiber of his being that Jack would've moved heaven and earth to care for and look after his little girl, no matter the cost to himself.
"No. Just … no." He would sooner take Tali himself in memory of Ziva than let that happen.
Understanding perfectly, Tony inclined his head. "I agree. Ziva's Aunt Nettie offered to raise Tali, but she is not well and getting old; sooner or later, we'd be right back where we are now. There's also the political situation in Israel and the fact that Tali is Eli David's granddaughter. I'm just not comfortable at the thought of leaving her there – anywhere, actually – without adequate protection. Tali's the innocent here; none of this clusterfuck is that little girl's fault. With Ziva dead and the likely father MIA, she has no one else."
Gibbs knew in his gut that wasn't true. "She has you."
Tony acknowledged the simple statement with a nod. "Yes. What it boils down to is, she's family, and that matters more to me than I ever thought it would." He swallowed past the sudden lump in his throat. "I may have to adopt her. Even though it'll mean I have to leave the team."
Gibbs closed his eyes in momentary pain. "I don't want you to go," he murmured.
Tony stood and touched Gibbs' shoulder, squeezing gently. "And I don't want to leave," he said quietly. "Not the team, and … not you, Jethro. But I can't be a field agent and be responsible for a small child. You understand that, don't you?"
Gibbs' head jerked up at Tony's use of his first name. What he could read in the green eyes made his heart sing … and at the same time broke it into pieces. "I wish I didn't," he whispered, reaching up to cup Tony's neck. "But family matters; I get it. It's what I would do, too."
Tony gave him a crooked smile. "Thanks. That means a lot."
"Nothing but the truth, Very Special Agent," Gibbs murmured, letting his fingers slide forward to caress Tony's cheek. "It's the right thing to do. You're a good man, Tony DiNozzo. The best."
"Aw, hell, Jethro," Tony groaned, wrapped his arms around Gibbs and tucked his head into the crook of his neck.
Gibbs returned the embrace with interest. "I've got you," he whispered roughly. "Whatever you need, I have your six."
Tony lifted his head and stared into the eyes of his mentor, his friend … of the man he loved. There was a warmth he'd never seen in the ice-blue depths before, and something more that made him tremble.
"You mean that?"
"Yes."
"Good." Without giving himself more time to think, Tony decided to take the biggest chance of his life, leaned forward and kissed the faintly-smiling lips so temptingly close to his own.
They were much softer than he'd dreamed they'd be and parted without effort to his questing tongue. Both men moaned as they tasted each other for the first time. One kiss led to more, and soon they were swaying together in a rhythm promising much, much more.
"Damn, Tony," Gibbs panted, out of breath from the drugging kisses and burgeoning desire. "Don't ever stop!"
"Right back atcha," Tony laughed lowly and swooped in for another kiss – one meant to distract his hopefully-soon-to-be lover from the fact that his chinos were getting noticeably tight in front.
Suddenly, the opening guitar riff of "Sweet Child o' Mine" filled the room.
With a muttered curse, Tony eased back, let go of Jethro and fished out his cellphone. "DiNozzo. – Yeah, Breena? What is it?" He listened for a minute or two, then sighed softly. "Tell her I'm on my way," he said. "I'll be there ASAP."
He thumbed the phone off and smiled ruefully. "Tali's at the Palmers'," he explained. "She met Victoria yesterday, and the two get on like a house on fire. Looks like even playing with her new BFF is no longer enough, though, and she wants her Abba to read her a bedtime story. Like, right now."
Gibbs chuckled. "Been there, done that," he said, stealing another, unfortunately chaste, kiss. "Welcome to fatherhood."
Muttering under his breath, Tony took a page out of Abby's book and hugged Gibbs fiercely, then stepped reluctantly away. "To be continued?" He asked, hope in his eyes.
"Hell yeah," Gibbs replied. A memory of his own little girl's favorite bedtime story surfaced, and he winked at the man he hoped would be his future. He couldn't wait to rediscover being a dad – as well as teaching Tony how to be one. And what better time than now to start the first lesson?
"This is just the start of our neverending story."
The End?
End Notes:
Apologies for the surplus of linguistics stuff in the second half, but - as probably very few people know the necessary details (I certainly had just the basics and needed to do a ton of research) - without it, the premise just wouldn't have worked.
All the info on Hebrew script is true (albeit given in a highly-condensed version). Croatia did indeed become the newest member of the EU in late 2013. And both Operation Shader and the Combined Joint Task Force – Operation Inherent Resolve are real military missions and still ongoing.
John Nash was the real-life genius mathematician in "A Beautiful Mind", played by Russell Crowe.
The mug exists; I found it on a website selling Marine Corps merchandise.
(Also, a certain blasted, unidentified Idiot!Muse™ suggested the idea of maybe addressing Ziva's reappearance in Season 17 in either an epilogue, or a short sequel; what do you think? Also, please pass by the feedback box on your way out? Thanks in advance, and best wishes for a Happy New Year 2022!)
