A/N: This chapter is a dark one. Look after yourselves dear readers.
The big wave came toward her with feriousity. The blue grey water was menacing. Then it broke. White foam rushed toward her.
Then it knocked her down. It pushed her under. It tried to keep her under with force. Her chest ached with the weight.
She sputtered and flapped her arms, trying to get back up, but the water kept dragging her down.
"Tali," she called out. She was desperate.
She would let the water take her, as long as Tali got out.
She had to keep her daughter safe.
So much else had been taken from her. She could not let her daughter be taken too.
"Tali!" she shouted, but she could not see her.
She had just been here. In her brand new pink ruffled swimsuit. Ziva had just doused the tiny child in sunscreen, trying not to think of the article she had just read about sunscreen killing the sea.
Where was Tali?
She had to get to Tali.
She turned looking back toward the beach. Trying to find Tony in the crowds of people. But he was too far away.
He was most likely lying on his back, with his earbuds in and his hat over his face, and there bags guarding the sand castles Tali had created. Completely unaware that the sea had taken Tali.
How would she explain this to him?
That she had let the sea swallow their daughter.
Their most precious thing.
Ziva turned back toward the sea. She scanned the horizon looking for someone to help her, but the sea was empty.
Another wave rose up, and Ziva walked toward the wave. She had to find Tali.
The wave rose up, but as it broke, it became sand. The sand got into her mouth. The grit between her teeth.
"Tali," Ziva called as the sand sent her backwards.
Saleem's laugh echoed around her. Cigarette ash fell on the floor.
She was back there. Back in the dusty cell. Back where she thought she would die.
Where she was ready to die.
Saleem walked toward her. His footfalls getting closer on the dusty cell.
She was cold, and she could not feel the weight of the canvas shirt she had been wearing before.
The water had been to cleanse her.
Not for her, but for him.
Saleem Ulman did not like dirty women.
Then it went dark.
"You have a daughter," Sahar said from above her.
The beam was heavy on her shoulder. It was cold.
"And, you cannot keep her safe," Sahar declared. "You are a terrible mother."
The words pierced her heart.
"Ziva," a voice called. It was soft. It was kind.
"Ima," Ziva called out.
Her mother was standing in front of her, wearing the ancient bathing costume that got an outing each year during their trip to Haifa. The swimming costume that had been brought the summer Ima was pregnant with her little sister, and was permanently stretched out. Her sunglasses covered her eyes, her hand rested on the frame of the glasses. The sun in Haifa was always so bright.
Ziva's sister, another Tali, one she could not save, was sitting on their towels under the huge sun umbrella that Ziva hated carrying. Another towel wrapped around her. She looked sad.
Why was her sister always crying?
"You went too far," her mother said. "We could not see you. We thought you had drowned."
This was why her sister was so upset, she thought Ziva was lost.
They thought the ocean had taken her.
A wave came from the horizon. It rolled closer to her. Then it broke. It's foam washed over her.
Ziva spluttered.
"Ima," Tali's voice called out. Her daughter was wearing her ruffled swimming costume. Her hair was soaked and matted to her head. Her face wore pure joy. "That was fun, let's do that again."
Ziva smiled at her daughter, as she pulled herself up. She took her daughter's wet hand. She licked her lips, and tasted the salt of the Mediterranean.
It was the same sea she had played in as a child. Her favourite memories had been made at the beach.
Ziva looked back toward the beach. She could see Tony, laying on the towels, his hat over his face.
"Let's go see Daddy first," Ziva suggested, as she took her daughters hand.
A wave crashed behind them. The foam spluttered.
Ziva woke with a startle. She took a few shallow breaths and took in her surroundings.
They were in Nice. In a white walled holiday apartment in a big complex of identical apartments. Identical apartments with other families trying to find some normality among the pandemic.
Tony had organised it so that the southern seaside city was their main base for most of their holiday.
It's easy enough to hop on a train, Tony said as he showed her the holiday apartment listing. One that had a minimum stay requirement. We can even go across the border to Italy, and to Monaco. Cannes is so close. There's so much we can do.
Ziva reached up to her forehead and wiped some sweat away. Her hands shook.
Tony let out a snore from his side of the bed.
She was glad she had not woken him.
Her breath hitched in her throat. Ziva could feel the prickling of her skin.
There would be no more sleep tonight.
She folded her fingers over her palms, and dug her fingernails into her palms.
She sucked in a deep breath.
1,2,3,4,5.
Then she let it out slowly. Like a deflating balloon.
It was just a dream, she reminded herself.
But, it felt so real.
She had not had one that bad for a long time.
She berated herself for having that half glass of wine with Tony as they watched the sunset.
The wine always made it worse.
Or maybe it was the fact that it was August. The nightmares were always worse in August.
Saleem had been at his worst in August. The heat made him angry.
She took in another shaky breath.
In and out.
Inhale and exhale.
It was just a dream.
Tony murmured in his sleep.
"Ziva," he called out.
He opened one eye and then the other.
She wondered how much he had heard.
Her nightmares were never quiet. He was so in tune with her.
"I am fine," she whispered, reaching out for his hand. "Go back to sleep."
He ran his hand over his face.
The room was filled with grey light.
"Promise?" he asked.
"Promise," she echoed. "Go to sleep, we have a big day tomorrow."
They were taking the train to Monte Carlo, because according to Senior it was unmissable.
Tony squeezed her hand, and then let it drop. He made a show of turning over, and let out a fake snore after thirty seconds.
She knew he would not go back to sleep until she did.
Love made her feel so guilty sometimes.
Ziva laid flat on her back, and counted Tony's fake snores. She timed her breaths.
In and out.
She fingered the pendant of her necklace and concentrated on her thoughts.
You are safe.
Tony is safe.
Tali is safe.
Tony let out a snore that sounded very realistic, and Ziva looked toward the door of the bedroom.
She had to get out of there.
To be vertical for a few moments.
She slowly untangled herself from the bedding, careful not to disturb Tony.
The floor was cool on her bare feet.
Focus on what you can sense, her therapist's voice echoed in her head.
The room smelt like the sunscreen that had spilled in the beach bag.
Ziva reached into the bedside table, grabbing her book, her journal and her new reading glasses.
She put the book back, knowing she had little chance of following the narrative in the book. Her thoughts were bouncing around. The journal was the main thing she wanted.
It had only been in her new peaceful life that she kept her journal in the same place she lived. In their Paris apartment it was hidden in a locked box under the bed. Not that she always remembered to hide it.
So far she remained it's only reader.
Ziva looked back at Tony. His outline of spine under the t-shirt he slept in. His ruffled hair, he looked like a porcupine.
You are safe.
Tony is safe.
Tali is safe.
She had to check on Tali. She had to make sure. The dream had been so real.
She pulled herself up, and walked out the door.
Tali was in the next room. On the bottom bed of a set of bunk beds. She was starfished over the bed, clutching Kelev in her arms.
Ziva leaned in the doorway and took in every inch of her daughter. Her suntanned legs sticking out of the duvet. There were tan lines from her sandals on her feet. She looked so peaceful when she slept.
Ziva counted the rises and falls of her chest. Like she had when Tali was a newborn, and ZIva was convinced that Tali would be taken away.
Because after everything she had done, she did not deserve a creature as perfect as Tali.
Ziva focused on her thoughts.
Tony was safe.
Tali was safe.
She was safe.
Ziva took in a deep breath, filling her lungs, she let it out slowly.
Tali stirred in her sleep, and Ziva stepped back.
Tali was insufferable when she had been woken up, and Ziva did not want to risk it.
Ziva padded along the apartment following a slither of light from one of the opposite apartments.
She placed her journal on the table.
She still felt the prickles in her skin. The anxiety lingered.
Before she really thought about it, she was standing in the windowless bathroom. She ran the water tap listening to it flow.
With cupped hands she splashed water onto her face. It splashed on her sleep shirt, but she did not care. The grey shirt, borrowed from Tony's side of their wardrobe, was already soaked with sweat.
"You are safe," she whispered to herself in front of the mirror.
Their bathing costumes were slung over the shower rail. Tali's pink ruffled one piece in between Tony's striped trunks and Ziva's sporty black one piece.
Tony had made it known that he missed the bikini, but she was a mother now.
Three more birthdays until she was forty.
Three birthdays away from being older than her mother ever got to be.
She splashed water on her face again. It was cool, but not refreshing.
She stepped out of the bathroom and looked towards the master bedroom. Tony was staying away.
They had talked about this, during those short winter days while Tali was at school. He had witnessed a bad anxiety attack, when there had been a loud bang on the street outside.
A car with a faulty exhaust that sounded like other things.
Tony had tried to comfort her, but it was smothering. She needed to focus on herself, and not worry about how she was affecting him.
They came up with a plan, because they talked about things now, he was to stand on the sidelines and wait for Ziva to initiate comfort.
The conversation had seemed like it might have been in vain because since then she had not had a bad attack. There had been difficult moments, especially during lockdown, but most crises were averted. She had her routine; her daily exercise, early bedtime, and an hour or so each day to herself.
She had been doing so well.
She tried to work out what had been her undoing. The day had been good, the three of them at the beach, Tali had been happy making sandcastles, Tony had gotten sunburnt, and Ziva had felt the warm sun on her face and read her book.
Had it been the smell of cigarettes as they were walking back from the beach?
Had it been that wine she and Tony shared, for the second night in a row?
Was it because her mother's birthday was coming up? How old would she be now?
She stood in front of the dining table, but did not sit. She was not ready to open the journal, and try to explore it all.
It was too close to the surface.
She needed some fresh air.
The sliding door to the balcony reminded Ziva of her childhood apartment. A tinderbox in the sky. Her parents' loud voices. Her mother's sobbing when she thought everyone else was asleep. Ziva, her mother, and her sister singing pop songs in the kitchen, because her father was away, again.
She slid the door open slowly, and took a deep breath.
The air was not fresh.
It was filled with smoke, both tobacco and less legal substances. There was also the syrupy smell of spilt alcohol.
They had seen a group of teenagers check in at the reception, when they had come back from the beach. The teens had congregated by the swimming pool, playing music and being loud. The party had fizzled out quickly, before Tony and Ziva had to worry about trying to get Tali to sleep.
Ziva took another deep breath. Ziva could taste the salt from the sea that was two blocks away.
"You are safe," Ziva said to herself.
And, slowly she started to feel safe.
From the balcony, six floors up, Ziva saw a man weave between the apartment buildings. Judging by his speed he was jogging. Not running as if there was urgency, but methodical jogging.
When she was on the run, running had been the main way she managed her anxiety. A jog was a good way to survey a new city, and an easy way to organise drops.
Her therapist had explained to her that her de facto strategy made sense. Anxiety produced cortisol, that was the flight and fight response, even if she was not running from the actual threat, running helped her reduce the cortisol in her system. She had to break the cycle, or the cortisol would linger and leave permanent damage.
Once, she had run past a city park Tony and Tali liked to frequent. With sunglasses and a wide brimmed cap she had gotten within a few feet of the most precious people in her life.
She had been so close, but so far.
Under her sunglasses, her eyes had welled up with tears.
As much as she wanted to run right now, she would not. That had been part of the conversation she and Tony had about what to do if things got bad, there was no running away.
She would get up early the next day, and go for a long jog perhaps along the sandy beach. Then she would come home and make Tali breakfast. Then they would go to Monaco, and take lots of pictures for Tony's father.
She had fought for this life, and she was going to live it.
She took more focused breaths and moved her shoulders.
There would be no more sleep that night.
She heard shuffling in the living area and turned around to see Tony standing in by the sliding door.
He held up his hands in defense.
"I know you want to be alone," he said as he walked toward her. "I just had to make sure you were okay."
A warm feeling washed through her.
He loved her.
He cared about her.
"I am okay," she said softly.
Tony leaned on the railing of the balcony. There were goose pimples on his arms.
"Okay," he said, "because I don't think I was gonna be able to go back to sleep until I checked."
She knew where this came from.
He had not been able to save his mother.
He needed to be able to save her.
She moved closer to him, and wrapped her arm around him.
"Did I wake you?" she asked. "With my episode?"
The word episode burnt her throat.
Was it really the best descriptor?
Nightmare seemed too flippant. Tali had nightmares, but she was soothed simply by waking up and a cuddle.
Anxiety attack seemed too clinical. She still bristled against the pathologizing of her life. The diagnosis that was spoken in the therapist's office had hurt when it was first uttered.
"Yeah," he said. "Toward the end of the nightmare. I was going to wake you up, but you woke yourself up. It's been a while."
"It has," she admitted.
"Any idea what-," he started, then took a deep breath. "You know, triggered it."
"Not really. They get worse in August," Ziva said. "The nightmares, and the attacks. I do not know if it is because of the heat or something else."
His back tensed up.
"Do you wanna go home?" he asked. "We could leave in the morning, and be back in Paris for bed time."
Ziva shook her head. She would not ruin this trip for him.
"No," Ziva said softly. "I suspect this would have happened wherever we were. Those memories are not confined by geography."
He swallowed thickly.
He only knew parts of the story of the summer, and what he did know made him angry.
"That number you asked me to put in my phone-" he started, his voice breaking.
That number was an emergency number for psychiatric care. For if things got really bad.
One of the first things she and her therapist had made a care plan for the worst case scenario. What Ziva wanted to happen if she became unable to make decisions for herself.
The planning reminded Ziva of the birth plan her midwife had encouraged her to make. Her only plan had been for both her and the baby to come out alive, and for her to be left alone if the baby did not make it. Because she was so convinced that would happen.
The plan she had made with her therapist stated that she would like to avoid inpatient care, but if she became a danger to herself or her family she would accept inpatient care.
If she ever became a danger to them she would never forgive herself.
Tony had an emergency number stored in his phone, and Ziva had a business card in her wallet.
"I hope we never have to use that," Ziva declared.
"Me too," he said.
They stood quietly for a few seconds.
"May I have a hug?" Ziva asked.
It felt ridiculous, but it was part of the process.
The coming out from the shadows and into the light.
Tony stepped back and opened his arms. Ziva wrapped her arms around him. The hug was tight.
It was a comfort for both of them.
"Thank you," she whispered into his chest. "For being so patient."
"Like I was gonna do anything else," he said, as he tucked a curl behind her ear.
The hug slowly broke, but they stayed connected with their hands interlaced.
"We can have a quiet day tomorrow," Tony said. "Or rather today. Dad said Monaco is unmissable but if you're not up for it, we can go to the beach again. Tali likes the beach."
They had already paid for the train tickets.
"No," Ziva said, shaking her head. "I will be fine. I am not going to let this ruin our trip."
"We don't have to decide now," he said. "We can play it by ear."
"Okay," Ziva said, relenting. She was glad for the slack he was giving her.
Tony stifled a yawn with his hand.
"You should go back to bed," Ziva said softly.
"Let's go," he said.
"I need a little longer," Ziva said. "If I went to bed now, I would just be tossing and turning."
Disappointment flicked across his face for just a second. He liked having her close.
"Okay," he said. "You gonna write for a bit?"
"I think so," she said. "It helps sometimes."
Tony nodded.
"I can't believe we worked together for eight years and I never knew about your journals," he said. "If Ellie hadn't found your secret cabin, I probably wouldn't have known until you came back to us."
"Nobody knew," she said. "Besides if you had stumbled across them when we worked together, you probably would have looked through them."
He looked down at his feet.
Even if the grey of the night, she could see the pain in his face.
She could be so cruel sometimes.
"You're probably right," he said as he looked toward the sea. "But, I wouldn't do that now."
She knew that. She trusted him.
"I know," she said softly. "You are a different man now."
He was older now. More mature.
Maybe he had evolved, or maybe he had just let the hidden parts of himself out.
"Yeah," he said. "And we talk now, about everything. Even the scary stuff."
There had been so many big talks over the last few months.
"We do," Ziva said. "It was low of me, implying that you would read my diary. It is just you were always snooping around. When you thought I had a date, or when I was seeing someone."
When she was trying to buy tickets for the opera, and when Shmeil visited.
"Because I was afraid," he admitted. "I was afraid that I'd missed my chance, or hurt you too much to have a chance. Even when you weren't seeing someone, I was afraid that if I put myself out there, that you'd reject me."
Tony DiNozzo would always be the little boy pulling at girls pigtails to get their attention.
Tony DiNozzo would always be the little boy, trying and failing to get his father's attention.
Tony DiNozzo would always be the best man she ever knew.
"We made such a mess," she murmured.
That was why she pushed Nick. She wanted to save him and Ellie from the same fate.
They had lost so much time.
He chuckled slightly.
"We did," he said with a sigh.
Ziva took his hand, and squeezed it.
"I am glad we worked it out," Ziva said. "Eventually."
He squeezed back.
"Yeah," he said. "We should go back inside. It's cold out here."
She nodded, and pulled at the sliding door.
"You know Ellie offered to send your journals to me," Tony said as they crossed the threshold. "When they found them in that lady's cabin, and when they thought she was just a sweet old lady, not some sort of super spy."
Tony only knew a little about Odette.
Ziva would take some of Odette's secrets to the grave.
And, Odette would do the same for her.
"Odette," Ziva corrected. "And, she would not like you calling her an old lady."
Tony smirked.
"I'd like to meet her one day," he said softly. "Say thank you."
Ziva missed Odette too.
They exchanged the occasional email, with coded references to the training Odette was trying to organise with Ellie. Though lockdown and a busy caseload was getting in the way. Ziva sent less coded updates about the help she was getting, and the little girl who was happy to have her back.
Maybe, Ziva would be able to introduce the two of them when they returned to the U.S.
Ziva could imagine them all so easily, sitting on Odette's patio with ice tea. Tali playing with Odette's dog. The three adults talking about worlds Tali knew nothing about. From the outside it would look like any other gathering in a backyard.
"Anyway," Tony started. "I know Ellie devoured them like they were bestsellers, but I didn't want to."
"Ellie had her reasons," Ziva said.
She had asked her to protect her secret.
Ellie still felt she had big boots to fill.
"I know," he said. "And, she offered to box them all up and send them to me. Thinking that Tali would want them one day to understand you. I mean she still had to pretend that you were dead, and she didn't know that I knew that you weren't."
Ziva felt her stomach churn. There had been so many lies. So many secrets.
"Would you have shown them to Tali?" Ziva asked. "If you knew that I was definitely not coming home."
She could not bear to imagine a world where she was not able to come home to him.
"Well not right now," he said. "I know I haven't read them, but I figure they aren't bedtime reading."
"No," Ziva said. "They were never meant to be read. They were for me."
To help her make sense of everything.
"I would have told her about them," he said. "I would have let her see them, when she was older, maybe."
Ziva sucked in a deep breath.
"I am glad I get to tell her about my past myself," Ziva admitted. "That I can protect her from some of it, and I can explain my reasons."
Tali was so innocent, far more innocent than Ziva remembered being at six.
How could she ever understand why Ziva had put a bullet in her own brother's head?
How could Ziva explain that one bullet had caused so much pain, but also so much joy?
If Ari had not died, Tony would been nothing more than the random American man Ziva accused to having phone sex. Not the father of her child. Not the love of her life.
"Me too," he said. "I tried not to think about you not coming home, but I did sometimes. I wondered how I would talk to Tali about you. I would have wanted her to know who you were, but not just through my memories. I was kinda glad that we had the journals. I always wish I'd had some way to know my Mom as an adult, like a letter or something."
Ziva looked toward the diary on the table.
"My Mother kept journals," Ziva said. "She kept them in the top of the wardrobe. We found them after she died. I read some of them, my sister read all of them. The last journal always made me so upset. There were so many empty pages."
So much was unfinished.
Her mother had been here one day and gone the next.
Ziva had found the dusty journals in the farmhouse, when she was pregnant with Tali, and looked for her mother's guidance in the yellowed pages. She found nothing on babycare, but found a new understanding on her mother.
Rivka had been so young and so scared when she was pregnant. She barely knew her husband. Rivka had loved Ziva so much.
"I know it's not the same, but I always kinda wondered if my Mom wrote me letters," he said, "Like that Italian movie about the woman with cancer Netflix keeps recommending to us. I mean she knew that she wasn't getting better. I figured if she had written them, Dad either lost them, or nobody knew about them."
Ziva felt an ache in her chest.
He had been so young, when his mother died. Only two years older than Tali was now.
His age had still been measured in single digits.
"I wrote you both letters," Ziva said, her voice cracking. "They were hidden in Odette's cabin. Both Odette and Adam knew what they had to do if I was not coming home."
Tony rubbed his hand over his face.
"Please," he begged, looking up at the sky,. "I don't even want to imagine an alternative universe where you didn't come home."
The words in the letters came back to her.
I am sorry we never got our chance to be together.
Please do not stop living. Find love again. Be happy.
Tali, my daughter. Please know that you saved me.
"You do not have too," she said, trying to lighten the mood. "We get to annoy each other for the rest of our days."
He laughed.
"I love you," he whispered.
"I love you too," she replied.
He stifled another yawn.
"Go back to bed," she said softly. "We have to be up in a few hours."
"I know you still need some time to decompress," he said. "But, don't stay up too late. I've gotten used to sleeping next to you. I don't think I'll be able to sleep knowing you're not there."
For two people who had spent so long apart they had gotten used to sleeping next to each other very quickly.
"I just need a few more minutes," Ziva said, as a wave exhaustion washed over her.
The adrenaline was wearing off. It was a good sign. The come down.
"Take as long as you need," he said, as he placed a kiss on her cheek. "Night."
"Night," she said.
She waited until he had gone back to bed before sitting at the table. She opened the journal, and noticed it was on its last page.
It had been nearly nine months since she knocked on the door of the apartment not knowing what to expect.
Nine months since that taxi ride from the airport. The roads clogged because of the transport strike.
Nine months since she had asked Tony not to meet her at the airport. Her anxiety could not take it. She needed their first moments all together to be in private. She could not lose it in the airport.
Tony agreed reluctantly, saying that they did not know how Tali would react. So it would be best to do it in a safe place.
In the end there had been tears all around, and big hugs.
It was finally over.
They were finally free.
She flicked through some of the pages, her eyes resting on glimpses of the past few months. Of her worries for Tali, she worried for her so much, but what mother didn't. Of her love for Tony, it was different now, it ran even deeper. Of the strangeness of lockdown.
There was pain on those pages.
There was progress on the pages.
She folded down the last page, and recorded the date, and started to write.
A/N:
I don't own a thing.
This chapter was not initially planned but my muse was sparked by a comment in a review, and wouldn't let go. It's a little experimental, I wanted the short sentences at the beginning to feel like an anxiety attack. I don't know if it actually worked, so please let me know what you think.
The Italian movie about a woman with cancer who leaves letters for her daughter is called 18 Presents, it pops up whenever I open Netflix. The trailer is enough to make me tear up.
Thank you so much for all the reviews, especially the guest reviews that have popped up recently. I wish I could reply to them. I am behind on review replies again, thanks to ffn not displaying reviews properly, I'll get back to those I promise.
This fic has gone in a complete different direction than the inital plan (one of the joys of fanfic), but I hope y'all are still enjoying it. They'll be approximately four or five more chapters. The next one will be set in September, and see our favourite couple having another big discussion about their future.