Tony peered nervously into the refrigerator case of the florist's shop. Deciding was not going to be easy. Each bloom was connected with a distinct thought, and each thought was the wrong one.
A dozen long-stemmed red roses were his usual floral purchase. His gaze flicked to them first, but he knew they were a mistake. Women read too much into roses. Even pink or yellow ones. Of course, she wasn't exactly… He shook his head in a firm decision against roses.
The lilies caught his eye. They were pretty cheerful. He pursed his lips. His last encounter with lilies had not gone well. He'd gone to calling hours when a buddy's brother had been killed in a car accident and unintentionally knocked over a large arrangement of the strongly scented flowers. That was two strikes – strong scent and funeral flowers. No lilies.
The gerbera daisies were colorful enough, but looked cheap compared to the other options. Ditto on carnations. Tulips? The tulips were nice. Everyone loved the wooden-shoed, windmill-building Dutch. Did tulips last, though? He looked helplessly around the shop. He was alone in a green and pink forest. This wasn't his strongest suit. Turning back to the case, he was surprised to see that an older woman had joined him looking into the case.
"Lovely selection, isn't it, dear?"
"Yeah. Very nice."
"Can I help you with something?"
"Oh!" He turned to look at her and saw she was wearing a green apron with the florist's logo embroidered on the front. "Yeah. I, uh, need some flowers."
She didn't laugh at the obviousness of his request. "For a particular occasion?"
"No…well, sort of. Someone I know is in the hospital…a friend…and I thought, y'know, flowers would be good. I mean, I think I should bring her flowers because that's what you do when…do you think a cactus is an inappropriate get well gift?"
The woman laughed now and placed a hand on his arm. "Why don't we just put together a nice mixed bouquet for your friend, dear."
"Okay. But, uh, nothing too…" He didn't know what to say.
"Expensive?" she suggested.
"No, that's not it." He wanted something that said he was sorry, that he cared, that he wished it had been him instead. He wanted something that she would look at and understand all the things he couldn't say. His eyes flicked to a deceptive poster on the wall – 'Say It With Flowers.' The only problem was he didn't speak flower. Or know what to say. Not out loud, anyway.
The woman seemed to sense his uncertainty. "How about I put together the bouquet and meet you at the counter in a few minutes?"
"That's sounds fine." He exhaled loudly as he escaped into an attached greenhouse. The air was warm and humid. He walked past rows of potted plants and small running fountains. He chuckled to himself as he read one of the cards. He muttered, "Poppies. Poppies will put them to sleep." She might recognize that one; he knew she'd seen the movie. Gravel crunched beneath his feet. He continued out of the greenhouse into a covered area with open sides where shrubs were kept. He plucked a branch of a leafy green one, sighing as it snapped back into place. He headed back into the shop.
The woman stood at the counter wrapping cellophane around the biggest bouquet of flowers Tony had ever seen outside of a movie. "Ah, there you are, dear. I hope this will do."
"Whoa."
"Yes, I believe I've outdone myself if you don't mind me saying. I think the white roses and pink calla lilies are really complimented by the darker pinks of the Peruvian lilies and the purples of the dendrobium orchids. I used a full dozen white roses; I hope that isn't too much. I also added a few of these special pink roses. We call them 'Classic Cézannes.' I think they give it a little something extra."
He looked at the bouquet in amazement. He'd never been amazed by flowers before. His uncertainty, however, lingered. Through the material of his t-shirt, he toyed with the small charm hanging near his throat. "That's really…"
The woman winked at him. "A special arrangement for someone special."
"I never said…"
"You didn't have to, dear. Cash or charge?"
He signed the receipt and picked up the bouquet. He could barely get his hand around the cylinder of tightly grouped stems. "Thank you."
"You're welcome dear."
An hour later, he waited for the elevator with a group of other hospital visitors, clutching his large, colorful bouquet. An attractive college-age girl eyed the flowers. "I guess someone's pretty lucky today."
Tony had no inclination to flirt. He produced a half-smile and kept his eyes forward as he countered by saying, "If she were lucky she wouldn't be in the hospital."
The girl giggled. "So…getting a visit from a hot guy with a big bouquet doesn't count as lucky? I'd be thrilled if you walked into my hospital room." She batted her eyelashes.
"Well, you're not recovering from a gunshot wound." He got off at the next floor and took the stairs the remaining three stories. He hadn't meant to be so rude, but he'd never been so nauseated by a compliment. His nerves got more severe as he stepped into the ward.
He already knew which room Ziva was in – McGee had given him a detailed path from the parking lot to the chair beside her bed. And he'd visited the floor twice. The first time he hadn't gotten far from the elevator; the second he'd made it halfway down the hall before turning around and walking out. He stopped at the nurses' station anyway. A smiling blonde in a white turtleneck asked, "Can I help you, sir?"
"Uh, yeah. Ziva David?"
"Room 714, right down this hall."
He hesitated. "How is she doing?"
"Oh, she's recovering wonderfully," the woman beamed. "Way ahead of schedule. The doctors are all tickled pink." She leaned over the desk and lowered her voice, "The other patients are all jealous of how many visitors she's getting. There are two in there now."
"Nothing like being in the hospital to get you elected prom queen." He put on his best fake grin and tried to share the nurse's laugh, but his came out hollow. His feet felt heavy as he walked down the hallway. The door to her room was half-open. He leaned toward it, trying to recognize the voices inside. He could hear Jimmy Palmer distinctly and…Agent Lee? Tony shook his head; maybe Lee thought serious injury made Ziva less scary. Even if they'd taken all her weapons when they'd admitted her, she'd probably swiped a scalpel or scissors or rotary reciprocating saw for under her pillow, just in case. Still, it was nice Lee had taken the time to come.
He sighed, looking down at the bouquet clutched in his hand. He'd thought the flowers would force him to walk through the door; he couldn't justifiably leave the hospital with them.
The nurse in the white turtleneck was still at the desk. "That was quick. Oh, I see! You want water for those. I'll see what we have in our exclusive plastic pitcher slash vase line."
"No, I…you said that there are other patients who aren't getting visitors? If you could just give these to one of them, or split them up between a few…I'm sure you'll know what's best. Thank you." He placed the bouquet on the counter and stepped toward the elevators.
"Sir?" the nurse called after him. Against his better judgment, he turned. She was giving him a confused look. "Don't you want to…"
"Yeah. I do." He wanted nothing more than to walk down the hall, walk into her room and give her the big stupid bouquet. He just didn't want to face the accusation in her eyes. He got enough of that when he looked in the mirror. "Make sure these get to someone who could use them."