Hey ya'll. Sorry for the disgustingly long wait. I totally zoned out this summer. But I'm back now. FF helps me cope with school Hope you enjoy this chapter, promise after this one something at least mildly exciting will happen. Plus more Tony. Please let me know what you thought, particularly about the characterization. I feel like Ziva's always been the sensitive one, so I'm trying to go for her sort of squishy side right now, but I don't know that I'm all that happy with it. Nothing new before the end of the weekend, probably. I have to finish Moby Dick and Walden, plus math. I hate AP classes. But I love you all. Please enjoy! P.S. Sorry, I'm a little rusty. I might crank out a few one shots to get back in the swing of things.
THURSDAY, SEPTEMBER 17
1 MONTH LATER
0430. She reluctantly extricated herself from a warm cocoon of twisted sheets, bleary eyed, desperate for a few hours more rest. She stumbled to the bathroom. A splash of water a dash of soap. Some barely passable semblance of alertness. Six-and-a-half miles, come rain, snow, sleet, hail, reduced to little more than a brisk walk some days, a slow, ambling production of sore feet and swollen ankles, aching knees and screaming backs most. A long, hot shower, doors closed, lights off, a mostly vain attempt to offer him a few more minutes of precious sleep.
Alone in the kitchen, still disoriented, delirious with exhaustion, stress, and worry. Irritated, exasperated, hormones raging. She didn't have time for this, not this morning. It had taken her longer that morning than usual, far longer than expected. They were running late as it was, and if he didn't hurry up… "Tony!" She threw back a veritable pharmacy of pills, prescribed by a myriad of physicians, then chased them down with a swig of water.
She was frustrated beyond belief. Frustrated with this child, who was clearly conspiring with Baltimore gangwhackers to permit her as little sleep as possible. Frustrated with herself, for weakness, for stopping, for giving in when the pain became too much. This was the last straw. "Anthony DiNozzo, get your lazy ass out of bed or I swear…I…" She faltered. On the counter before her, two to-go cups: one black tea, earl grey; one coffee, milk, two sugars, sprinkle of cinnamon. A wave of realization crashed over her. She was alone, utterly alone without him. Alone in a dark apartment. Alone with his unborn child and a cold cup of coffee.
She snatched her keys, her tea, and bustled out of the kitchen, taking only the time to grab his Buckeye's jacket from its hook in the foyer before the door slammed shut behind her.
She lays, wrapped in his warm embrace, head buried in the crook of his neck. His bare chest rises and falls, glimmering in the half-light. She smiles to herself: it is so like him, to have his way with her, to take what he wants, then succumb to sleep. Not that she is complaining…
She dozes, sliding in an out of consciousness. He breaks the silence, startles her with no more than an amplified whisper. "Boy or girl?"
"Hmm?" her eyes flutter open. She blinks, weary and content. He plants a kiss on her forehead, rubs out large, slow circles on the small of her back.
"Boy or girl?"
"Ah." She smiles sleepily. Nuzzles him softly. "I do not know, Tony." She sighs.
"I thought you were supposed to know these things. What happened to maternal intuition?" He chuckles, squeezes her softly. She stiffens. He back peddles frantically. He's hit a raw nerve, touched on a deep seated fear, insecurity, inadequacy, a lifetime of disappointment. He brushes the hair from her face, lifts her chin to meet his eyes. Her jaw is set, determined, but her eyes speak volumes. Troubled, pained, filled with worry; she studiously avoids his gaze.
"You, my love, will be a fantastic mother." A tender kiss.
She rolls onto her back, her head still resting on his shoulder, fingers dancing across a small, defined bump nestled between her hip bones. He twists his fingers in her hair, grinning like an idiot. Her brow furrows, concentrating firmly on her lower abdomen. "A boy, I think."
He chuckles, squeezes her again. "Girl." At her quizzical look, "Daddy's little girl." He grins. "A beautiful little ninja, just like her mommy."
She looks up at him, an almost inaudible whisper escapes her lips. "I would not know what to do with a girl."
He pulls her close, sighing, rubs her upper arm as she slides hers around his waist. This is his job, one he accepts without complaint, because she's done far more for him than she'll ever know, because he'll never be able to explain just how much he loves her, or how much it tortures him to watch her torture herself. It is the least he can do. "You would love her and support her and cherish her the way Gibbs always has and your father never could. You are a strong, beautiful, intelligent woman. You'll figure it out." He kisses the top of her head lightly.
Quietly, "I love you, Tony."
"I love you too, Ziva. Get some sleep. We'll talk in the morning." As she dozes off in his arms, he smiles to himself. He'll never tell her, but secretly, he hops it's a boy, if only because it would make her happy.
The memory faded. He was alone in the shadows on a dark, deserted street. Purple storm clouds thundered overhead, rain pouring from the sky. Two figures wandered slowly down the street. A woman, medium height, slim build, long, curly, dark hair plastered to her forehead, beautiful beyond all recognition, and completely unarmed. The name that escaped his lips was little more than a whisper. "Ziva."
She clutched the pudgy hand of a little boy, no more than four years old, round faced, rosy cheeked, with curly black hair and piercing green eyes. He looked so much like her.
A gunshot rang out. In a blink, Ziva scooped up the little boy and tore off, eyes wide, darting every which way, searching for a shooter, desperate for cover. He buried his face in her chest, clutched her neck; she shielded him with her body, her arms, left herself totally exposed. Three dark men, dressed all in black, stopped her in her tracks, ripped her child from her arms.
Tony stood, rooted to the spot, fighting the invisible bonds holding him there with every ounce of his strength. A fourth man approached her, speaking softly, seductively, in a language he could not understand. She gnashed her teeth, lashed out, struggling against the two burly men that held her.
The little boy wriggled helplessly, kicking, screaming, a sharp bite to the forearm of his captor. The dark man crushed him into his barrel chest. "Mama! Mama!" Tears streamed down his little face.
The fourth man ran his hands roughly down her thrashing body. A painful strike to the chest. They continued to restrain her, even as the fight ebbed from her slacken body. Try as he might, Tony was unable to move a muscle. He could do nothing but watch.
"ZIVA!"
Her tears mixed with the rain, her bloodcurdling screams mingling with his own.
"MAMA! MAMA!"
She fell to the ground, gushing from some unseen wound, pooling scarlet on the sidewalk. The little boy kicked his way free, struggling over to her limp form. "Mama." His voice cracked in anguish.
Dim eyes, weak smile, she raised a pale, shaky hand to brush the damp curls from his face. A light, quivering kiss.
Another gunshot. The little boy collapsed, draped awkwardly across his mother's body, a slow drip of crimson blood onto the pavement.
"NO!" The single syllable reverberated in the damp air. Tony fell to his knees, dissolving into tears.
Tony thrashed in a tangle of sheets, drenched in a cold sweat, tears leaking from his clenched eyes, sobbing and shaking, convulsing, as if in physical pain. Gibbs sat alone in MTAC, fixed on the glowing screen, morosely sipping a lukewarm coffee.
"Ziva! No…please….no…"
He took another sip, silently thanking the powers that be that he'd insisted, against her wishes, that she go home for the evening.
Alone in the darkness, a hot cup of tea illuminated by the flickering glow of the television, the news anchor's deep voice reverberating around the otherwise empty room. "The senator will stand trial tomorrow on charges of fraud, extortion, and statutory rape… Two men were slashed and shot execution style today in South Baltimore. Though authorities have confirmed suspicion of gang involvement, the victims' identities have yet to be released, pending notification of their next of kin –"
The doorbell rang. Ziva jumped, thoughts racing, heart pounding. Two men…execution style…South Baltimore…gang ties…next of kin… It couldn't be, simply couldn't. And even if it was, which it wasn't, Gibbs would have called. But he hadn't, so it wasn't. She stood in the foyer for several minutes, deliberating. No, she was being paranoid.
Abby flung herself at Ziva the moment she opened the door, pulling her into a bone crushing hug, made slightly more difficult by the six months separating them. See, he was safe in bed, dreaming about Hawaiian shirts and red Corvettes. He was alive, just as he had been when she left MTAC an hour ago. Her rational mind had known that all along, but, more and more lately, it was no match for her heart. Kicking herself, she steered her guest into the kitchen.
"How about some tea, Abby?"
She fiddled with the kettle, sneaking glances periodically at the sofa, where Abby sat quietly, clutching a huge black bag, studiously examining her knees. Her uncharacteristic silence was slightly offsetting.
"What brings you all the way out here?'
She proffered the oversized purse. "I have a surprise for you!" She beamed, but seemed to bite back words, instead settling back into the plush cushions. "But I…I also wanted to check and make sure…well, make sure you were doing alright." She looked sheepish.
No. Of course not. Why on earth would you ask such a silly question? "How come?"
She took a deep breath, as if to steady herself, and let a jumbled torrent of words spill forth. " 'Cause you wore his jacket today for the first time in almost three weeks and Gibbs says he has another run tomorrow and Ducky said you've been distracted and every once and a while, you get this look like a little puppy left outside in a cardboard box on a street corner in the pouring rain. I'm just worried about you."
A sharp, forced laugh. "I am fine. Just a little tired." Abby was not impressed. "…I miss him. A lot…Some days are better than other." She sat gently on the edge of the couch, handing Abby her steaming mug, swirling her own, loosing herself in the dregs staining the bottom. "Today was a….today was a not so good day."
She nodded. The women sat in silence for several minutes, finding solace in the company. Finally, Abby looked up, once more a recently toned down version of her usual giddy self. "And now, for your surprise!" She upended the content so f her bag, scattering infant catalogues across the floor. "You've got to take care of the nursery sooner or later."
She sat alone in the darkness, pen limp in her slacken grip, staring down at a fresh piece of paper before her. Abby, after a great deal of thought, had found a loophole in the terms of their separation. And yet, now that she had an avenue to him, she couldn't find the words. So many thoughts, feelings, muddled her mind and clouded her heart. What was she supposed to say?
That she missed him so much it was eating her from the inside out. That she hated herself for being weak, but she didn't think she could possibly live without him. She didn't remember how. That she hated, more than anything, the thought of waking up alone in that cold bed, smelling his cologne, and knowing he wasn't there, that she'd spent two and a half weeks on the sofa so she wouldn't have to, and that, once she'd finally forced herself back into the bedroom, she found she could no longer blame her exhaustion on substandard sleeping arrangements. She simply couldn't relax without him by her side.
How was she supposed to convey just how much she needed him, how much she loved him, and how much she hated herself for wishing he were home with her, and to hell with everyone else, because she couldn't stand not knowing, dreaded the hours he spent off camera, on runs, and out with "the boys." Because she couldn't handle it, trying to hide the stress and the worry and the tears, having to lie to her friends when they asked her if she was okay. Because she couldn't tell them either.
How was she supposed to tell him that she simply couldn't live without him?
Tony,
Abby stopped by today and insisted that she helped me start sorting out things for the nursery. We decided on a crib, changing table, and a small dresser. The pictures are included, along with something she told me you have to see, but I am not allowed to.
I insisted that we were not going to re-carpet, so she insisted on wallpaper. I would very much like your opinion on the two swatches.
Our little boy has been very active lately. I think he misses his father. We both do. Abby sends her love. Please be careful. I love you.
Me
P.S. You left your sunglasses in the top drawer of the nightstand, and I am still a little hairy as to how those keys you are looking for ended up in the refrigerator.
She kissed the paper softly, a faint red outline where her lips had been."Good night, my love. Sleep well."