Tony peaked into Tali's bedroom, and found his daughter splayed over her bed like a starfish. Her soft toys sitting at the end of the bed watching her sleep. The blackout curtains were almost to the windowsill, so just a tiny strip of light saved the room for complete darkness. Tali let out a tiny baby snore, and closed the door.
"Night, baby," he whispered.
Paris was slowly moving out of lockdown, and bit by bit they were adding more normalcy to their lives. Tali was back at school, for shorter days and in even smaller classes. More shops were opening, though some of the smaller cafes would never open again. The summer holiday Tony had started thinking about before lockdown would be a little closer to home than he liked, but it was still going ahead.
Still, they had no idea when they would be able to go to the states to Senior, or when he might be able to come to them. Senior felt so far away.
Tony walked past Tali's door, out of the narrow hallway, and into the living area. He stood behind the couch, and looked for signs of what Ziva had done, after Tony had taken Abby's facetime call into the bedroom. He expected to see a book or maybe the menu of one of the streaming services they subscribed to, instead the living area was spotless. There were no water rings on the coffee table, no pile of clean laundry on the armchair that was really too big for the space, and all of Tali's toys were put away from the night.
Ziva was scrubbing the kitchen, with white earbud hanging out of her ears.
Tony walked across the living area, and to the kitchen, and was overcome by a smell of lemon cleaner. The tiny window over the sink was open, and a slight breeze blew in, softening the smell. The kitchen tiles were as close to white as they were ever going to be. The kitchen and the bathroom in the apartment were dated to say the least, but Tony had been conned into paying a ridiculous amount of Euros for the apartment because of its location. That and wanting to get him and Tali settled after all those months of hotel rooms and airports.
They were talking about moving to somewhere bigger. Somewhere where Tali's bedroom was not the size of a closet. Somewhere with a patch of grass, or at least a balcony which was big enough to eat meals on. Tony also harboured dreams of a second bathroom, and a guest bedroom, but those would be impossible to find in their price range.
Tony stood on the threshold of the kitchen. Fast paced Hebrew bled out of Ziva's earbuds, and Tony noticed that only one of Ziva's earbuds was in. She never wore earbuds in public, even when she was alone. She could not have one of her senses dulled. These were the scars created by their years apart.
"It's late," he said, leaning on the kitchen counter. "Let me help you."
It did not feel late. They were weeks away from the summer solstice and the sun did not set until hours after Tali's bedtime. When Tali was younger, those bedtimes proved to be the hardest, as Tali could not fathom going to sleep when the sun was still in the sky, no matter how tired she was. If they were still in lockdown, and without the routine of getting up for school, they might have let her extend her bedtime a little in tandem with the sun.
"I am nearly done," Ziva said, as she reached into the pocket of her exercise pants and pulled out her phone. She pressed pause on her music, and stuffed the phone and earbuds back into the pocket. "It is your turn to pick what we watch."
They were watching more television shows these days, as the length of time the sun was in the sky tricked them too. By the time they sat down on the couch, they did not have enough time to commit to a two hour movie. They mostly watched comedies, as they had both agreed they had more than enough drama in their lives. Ziva had a soft spot for outrageous British comedies.
"I should be doing this," he said, "You cooked. We share chores evenly."
Ziva had made moussaka, as eggplant had been included in the veggie box they subscribed to. Tony had loved the meal, but Tali had been less than convinced, and picked out all the eggplant, and screwed up her nose. She had wolfed down the minced lamb, dice tomato and cheese mixture, not noticing all the vegetables that were hidden in tomato sauce.
"I like cooking," she said. "I do not see it as a chore."
He knew this, and had known this for a long time. Long before they shared a daughter, an apartment and a chore chart. For Ziva cooking was how she showed love. Cooking was how her mother showed her love. Cooking was a communion with her long-dead mother. One day, she hoped to share the secrets and spices with Tali.
Tony liked cooking too, but not everyday. When Ziva had come back, he had been more than happy to let Ziva be head chef, as long as he got to be in charge when they had their weekly pizza party.
"But, cleaning the kitchen is definitely a chore," he said. "Nobody cleans for fun."
Ziva squeezed out the sponge into the sink. Her hands were prune like from dipping them into the water. Her curls were coming out of a ponytail holder.
A lifetime ago they could have been at a crime scene, bickering over their lunch order, while they made sense of someone's final moments.
Had they really been so desensitized to death?
"No," Ziva said. "But cleaning the kitchen is something that must be done. So I did it."
"I would have done it," Tony said, as he felt his voice rise.
Ziva frowned.
"I am not trying to start a fight," Ziva declared, trying to draw a line in the sand. "I know you would have done it. It's just you were busy, and so I did it."
They subscribed to three streaming services, and they had more books than bookshelves, but Ziva had chosen to clean the kitchen. Not just a quick after dinner clean, while the 'economical' dishwasher hummed, but a deep clean. She had scrubbed the grout between the tiles.
"Is this about me talking to Abby?" he asked.
Though Abby and Ziva loved each other in that almost-family way that had developed between the team, they were still finding their feet now. Abby had a lot of questions about the choices that Ziva had made, and those questions were hard to answer over skype. Tony had hoped that Abby's planned visit over Easter would have helped the two of them bond, but the lockdown had gotten in the way of that.
The two of them just needed to hug it out.
Ziva and Abby always managed a few minutes of conversation, at the start of the planned Skype chats, but there were a lot of awkward pauses. Then Ziva would step away from the conversation, leaving Tony and Abby to it.
"No," Ziva said, with her eyes crinkled. Her confused look was the same as Tali's. "Why are you so convinced that I am upset with you?"
"You cleaned the kitchen," Tony said, trying to keep his voice neutral.
"Because you were busy," Ziva said. "And, it needed doing. I figured if I did it, then when you were done, we could watch some television. Or perhaps go to bed early."
It struck Tony then, that if their relationship on a normal timeline, then these routines would be well established. They would not be trying to work it all out while their almost six year old slept.
"So this isn't going to turn into a thing, where we fight about something else and you bring up that you do all the cleaning?" Tony asked.
They'd been watching too many sitcoms. Too many shows with stressed out Moms and lazy Dads.
Ziva raised her eyebrows.
"We do not really fight," Ziva said, the frown deep on her face. "And, I do not think that we would fight over that."
They had much bigger fish to fry.
"What has gotten into you?" Ziva asked.
Tony looked down at his bare feet, noting how pale they were. They did not wear shoes in the house, and it was too hot for socks.
"Do you remember that story Tali told us the other day, the one about the boy in her class who said cleaning was for girls?" Tony asked.
Ziva pursed her lips, and then her eyes flashed with recognition.
"Yes," Ziva said delicately. "He is from a very traditional country, that would have been part of what made him think like that."
Tali's school, chosen mostly because lessons were conducted in English, but also because its high profile parents meant a high level of security, was a strange pond for Tali to be finding her feet. Tony was starting to wonder what she was learning outside of the classroom. Most of the children came from far flung countries, so Tali was learning about a lot of different cultures through food and dance. The school also had high tuition fees, so many of Tali's classmates had housekeepers and nannies. Tali was protected from a lot of the horrors of the world, but Tony did not want her to think that the opulent wealth that many of her classmates came from was normal.
Maybe, when they looked for a bigger home, they might look into her education. They might find her somewhere more normal.
"Yeah," Tony said. "Anyway, while she was telling us what her teacher said, and how cleaning is everyone's job, I tried to remember the last time I cleaned the bathroom or scrubbed the kitchen. I think I've cleaned the bathroom once since you came home, and the kitchen a handful of times."
"Tali told us that story on Monday," Ziva said. "Have you been keeping the score all week?"
"Keeping score," he corrected. "And, not really, but I've been noticing what housework I'm not doing more. It's not really fair, is it?"
Ziva frowned.
"Tony, I am not one of those women who insists that because I unload the dishwasher that you must reload it," she said. "Honestly, I am so used to doing things on my own, that I do not think about who owns which chores."
If their relationship had been one that followed the more traditional timeline, this might have been the sit down discussion they had with highlighters and a chart, only to fall into a more natural rhythm. Instead, they were thrust into a sort of instant-family, having to make all the decisions all at once.
"Yeah me too," he said. "It's really nice having someone to share the boring stuff with. You know we never got to laundry zero until you moved in, even though we added a whole extra person."
"Laundry zero?" Ziva asked.
"You know when all the laundry is done and put away," he said. "You've seen how much laundry our daughter produces."
Ziva let out a half-chuckle.
"She has been like that since day one," Ziva declared, before looking away from him.
Tony felt that ache in his chest, an ache for his absence in Tali's early days, but also for Ziva's headspace during that time.
Tony reached out for Ziva's hand, and squeezed it.
"You know I read a lot of parenting books, right?" he asked.
He had never studied for anything as much as he had parenthood. In the early days, it was frantic google searches and blog reading. Once he got Tali into a routine, it was all about the brightly colored self-help books, and a lot of audiobooks listened to while he did the laundry. All about raising happy children, or certain parent methodologies.
Tony's parenting philosophy was getting through the day.
"Yes," Ziva said. "I have seen the stash under the bed."
There was a time where the box under the bed had dirty magazines and a pair of fluffy handcuffs.
"Okay, so most of those books are written by women," he said. "I mean there were a few good ones written by Dads, and let me tell you The Paragons of Perfect Parenting known as Jimmy and Breena Palmer, sent me every single one they could find. Anyway, a lot of those have chapters or at least a section about splitting housework evenly with your spouse, and how it's important that your kids see both parents do all the jobs, so they don't get a complex about gender roles and cleaning."
Ziva opened and closed her mouth. She screwed up her nose, and looked around.
"Wow," she finally said. "You have really thought about this."
Perhaps too much.
"Yeah," Tony said. "I mean it seems like a lot of parenting is modelling behaviour, and making sure the kid doesn't manage to kill themselves when you turn your back for literally one second."
Ziva laughed. A full body laugh that rose through her, and made her curls bounce.
"If you would like to clean the bathroom, so that Tali does not get a complex about whose job it is to clean," Ziva declared. "You are more than welcome. Though I must say as someone who actually grew up female, I never thought that cleaning was a gender specific activity. It just needs to be done."
"I always kinda figured your Mom did most of the chores," he said, "I can't really picture your Dad doing the dishes."
"No, my father was not very domestic," Ziva admitted, with a smirk. "And, yes my mother did most of the chores, but that was because she was the one who was there to do them. We also had a series of housekeepers who did the deep cleaning."
"We could get one of those," Tony said.
"Neither of us are working right now," Ziva replied, wearing a slight smile. "It would be rather wasteful, no?"
"The news keeps saying that France's economy is down the toilet," Tonys said. "We'd be creating a job."
"That would involve a lot of paperwork, and I think you dislike that even more than cleaning," Ziva replied.
Their expatriate life involved so much goddamn paperwork.
"Okay, we'll do it ourselves," he said, "But we'll split it evenly."
"I do prefer to do all the chores when Tali is at school or asleep," Ziva said softly. "I want to give her all of my attention when she is around."
Tony knew what Ziva was trying to say. She had missed out on so much, and was not going to waste another minute she could have with her daughter by cleaning.
"Okay," he said. "But we'll have a chore chart, and we'll split the chores evenly. Maybe you could do the bathroom, seeing as that is quite an acrobatic activity, and if I get down on my knees I might not come back up.
"Yes, I am quite aware that you are not as flexible as you used to be," Ziva said, with a smirk.
"That has greatly wounded me," he declared. "But, I forgive you, and I will make it my job to clean the kitchen after dinner. That means you won't miss out on any Tali time."
"You know when I was Tali's age, I had chores," Ziva said, after a few quiet seconds.
"I'm pretty sure they've improved the child labour laws since the eighties," Tony replied.
"Just little ones," Ziva continued. "Picking up my toys, and laying the table for dinner. My mother was busy. She had two children, a job, and it is like I said my father was not the most domestic, not that he was home often in those days."
Tali picked up her toys, when she was asked. Eventually.
But Tali 'the Tornado' DiNozzo, had little concept of the mess she created, whenever she walked through the room, and just how much of her parents' day was devoted to cleaning up after her.
When it had been just him and Tali, it had been easier to just let Tali make her mess and clean up after her. His evenings had been spent folding laundry and scrubbing paint off the dining table. Tali had been very into painting the winter after her fourth birthday.
"We probably should get Tali to do a little more around the house," he said, as he looked across to her bedroom. "I tried to find age appropriate chores and get her to do them, but there was only so much I could do. I'm still a little messed up from potty training."
Ziva grabbed in hand.
"I know you did your best when it was just you," Ziva said, her voice soft. "But, now there are two of us, so we do this together. We can have a sticker chart, she likes stickers."
"You know the tag-team only works if she doesn't play us off each other," Tony said.
In their early days as a trio, Tali had worked very hard at trying to play her parents off against each other.
But, Ima said my bedtime was later.
But, Daddy said we could have ice cream on Wednesday and Friday.
As Tali became more secure in her two parent reality, the games had stopped, mostly because Tali had realized that her parents actually spoke to each other.
"Well we are on the same page," Ziva said. "And, she will thank us when she is older. Remember, when Tim told us about his college roommate who did not know how to do his laundry. I do not want that for Tali."
"You know I did not learn how to do laundry until I was in military school," Tony admitted. "And, I learnt on industrial machines."
"That makes sense," Ziva said. "You were in boarding school from such an early age."
"Yeah," he said. "And, we always had a maid wherever my Dad called home after my mother died. I nearly destroyed a lot of laundry, when I got assigned the laundry room as my job. It could have been a big mess."
Ziva pressed her hands onto Tony's face, and looked into his eyes.
"I knew how to do it, but never had to do it on my own until my mother died," Ziva said, her voice getting that distant quality it often did when she spoke of her past. "I did destroy a whole load of mine and my sister's laundry, including what was my sisters favourite t-shirt. She told me she would never forgive me, but before we went to sleep that night she had forgiven me."
Tony swallowed thickly. He had noticed that when Ziva spoke of her sister Tali, it was always as 'my sister', as if by giving the name to her daughter, it could only be associated with Tali the younger. The Tali that lived.
He wondered too, what it would been like to have a sibling. Someone who had been there for his childhood too. He knew, by virtue of knowing Ziva, that having a sibling in childhood did not necessarily mean having a sibling in adulthood. He also knew from McGee, that having a sibling did not necessarily mean they experienced the same childhood, Sarah McGee had gotten nothing but love from her father.
When Tony had allowed himself to imagine having a family, something he always denied he wanted, he had always imagined children plural. Usually two, and usually a boy and a girl, because that was the ideal family in cereal commercials and sitcoms. He had always imagined, himself coming home to a wife and two children who never knew loneliness. These imaginary kids could hate each other, and bicker all the time, but would never be alone.
Maybe, if Ziva had been able to come home earlier, they would have given Tali a sibling. Maybe, if they had followed the more traditional timeline, they'd have their big house, two kids, and a dog.
"Are you okay?" Ziva asked.
"Yeah," Tony said. "It's just all this talk about Tali getting older. I can't believe she's gonna be six in a few weeks."
"Neither can I," Ziva said. "I would like to say it feels like yesterday that I held her for the first time, but I felt every day of our years apart."
It felt like yesterday that he walked into Vances office, and was introduced to his nearly two year old daughter.
"I was six, when my Mom first got sick," he announced. The words shocked him as he spoke them, he had not meant to bring that up. "It was still pretty early, and I think the doctors thought they could do more for her, so all I really knew was that my Mom was tired, and we didn't go into the city for movies as often."
Ziva pressed her nose into his.
"If I'm like this when she turns six, I'm gonna be a mess when she turns eight," he said. His face felt warm.
He was eight when he was put into a too-big suit, and walked into a church packed with people he did not recognise. He was eight, when he saw his Dad pour his flask into his coffee at the funeral. He was eight, when he overheard his Uncle Vinny suggest that he and Aunt Clarice take little Tony home with them, just for a few days.
"I think eight will be hard," Ziva whispered.
Kelly Gibbs had been eight years old, when the car she was in crashed. Tony and Gibbs were not as close as they had once been, but the fact that Kelly Gibbs had been eight when she died was inescapable.
Eight felt so impossibly young.
"And, I do not imagine sixteen will be easy for me," Ziva declared.
Tali, the older, was just sixteen when she was caught in the wrong place at the wrong time. If that had not happened, their daughter would have a different name.
If she even existed, because maybe in a world where Tali the older lived, Tony and Ziva would have never met.
"Six," Tony said, bringing them back down to the present. "She's gonna be six in a few weeks."
In the previous week the fourth anniversary of the day Tony met his daughter for the first time had passed. His daughter who was already walking and talking, and missing her mother. The anniversary had passed without fanfare, but he could see the struggle in Ziva. He had been extra kind that day.
"Six," Ziva repeated. "We are parents of an almost six year old."
It would be his fourth birthday with her.
Tony remembered Tali's second birthday, celebrated in a hotel room in Israel, where Tony was still trying to find answers. Tali was still getting used to him, and still cried out for her mother when it all became too much. In Israel, cafe's of women would turn their heads when they heard Tali cry out for Ima. Tony had tried to make the day special, buying Tali another toy, and managing to find a small cake. When Tali had tried to blow out the candle, Tony had wished for Ziva to be there for the next one. He did not care how, or what they had to work through.
He needed Ziva back.
Tali's third birthday had been a quiet one. Senior had made sure to visit in time for the day, and had brought a whole bag of presents. They had a picnic in the park, so that Tali could get as messy as she liked, and could play with other kids even if she just met them that day. Tony had held Tali on his lap, as Senior lit the candle. He had helped Tali blow the candle, and wished the same wish as the year before.
For Ziva to come home.
Tali's fourth birthday had been busier. She had friends from her preschool class by then, and Tony had spent too much money for a woman dressed like a fairy to join them for another picnic. He had heard one of Mothers mutter how refreshing it was to go to a simple party, rather than the one upmanship that plagued the other parties. On the walk home, after Tony had tipped the fairy woman generously because one of the kids had thrown up on her, Tali had asked him if it was true that if you revealed your birthday wish it did not come true. Tony had answered in the affirmative, because it was too much to explain superstitions to a four year old, and Tali had announced she would not tell him her wish, because she really wanted her wish to come true. Even though she never said a thing, he knew exactly what her wish was.
For Ziva to come home.
Tali's fifth birthday had not involved a party, and Tali had not seemed to mind. She had been invited to every party in her class, and both father and daughter were getting party fatigue as the school year wound down. Instead, he had driven her out to the country, taking her to see a real life farm. They stayed in an air bnb with peeling paint, and that was cold even in late June. Tony had presented Tali with a cake with her name on it, which had impressed her much more than the presents she got that year. Tali had watched as the flame on the candle flickered, and had asked whether she could wish for the same thing as the year before. Tony had explained that of course she could, then he had sucked in a breath as she blew out the candles.
He knew what she wished for, but did not know if it would ever come true. Hope was currency he was running out of.
This year would be another year without a party, because of the social distancing, but Tali would not care, her wish had finally come true. This year her wish would be for something more mundane, perhaps for a puppy or a trip to Euro Disney.
Maybe one of those would come true. Maybe they wouldn't. But, it would not hurt as much as it did in previous years when the birthday wish did not come true.
"This is not where I imagined we'd be, when I first met you," Tony said, as the squadroom came back to him. He remembered how it seemed to rain endlessly in the days after Kate's death. He remembered Ziva looking like she had stepped out of desert storm. He remembered when Abby had found Ziva's lilac scarf, after she left, and how the scarf stayed on McGee's desk for the longest time. "Which will be fifteen years ago, as of last week."
Tony tried to imagine what his younger self would have made of all of this. Of the period as a single Dad. Of all the mess they had made. Of all the love. The Tony DiNozzo of those days thought he knew everything, but he really had no idea.
"No, this is not where I imagined we would be," Ziva declared. "It is so much better."
A/N:
I don't own a thing.
So this started life as a different chapter, which is why it feels to me as the author, disjointed.
We're going to have Tony's feelings come out in the next couple of chapters. He's been holding back.
Thank you all for your continued support. I am so behind in replying to reviews/tweets etc, but please know I appreciate every comment and kind word. Thank you for the ongoing support.