Title: Picking up the Pieces and Filling in the Gaps
Author: ChelseaDaggerCinderella
Summary: Tony and Ziva spend the four months between 'Hiatus' and 'Shalom' strengthening their partnership…and their relationship, but Tony still winds up working undercover for the Director, and Ziva has demons of her own to deal with. Can they come together to make everything alright again?
Disclaimer: I don't own NCIS, although I'd like to. No infringement intended, Mr. Bellisario.
Author's Note:
Okay, so in light of it having been a while and the fact that we're in the midst of this extremely nerve-wracking two-part story arc with Ziva and Michael and Mossad and Tony and OI!—I decided it was time to post a new chapter.
Sadly, I still haven't been able to get past my previous problem, but I'm done with school as of the 19th, I go on vacation the 22nd (I'll try to post a chapter before I leave), and I can officially begin writing guilt-free (that's the key, you see) around June 9th! I'm hoping that not having deadlines for horrid papers and god-awful classes will make me write like crazy.
I hope you guys like this chapter. I think you're gonna enjoy the…well, read for yourself.
Enjoy!
"Higher, achoti!" the little girl cheered as she swung on the small swing set. She was four years old with a brilliant smile and beautiful brown eyes—just like her sister.
The thirteen-year-old Ziva used all her energy to push her little sister harder on the swings, but she did not share the younger girl's enthusiasm. It was Ziva's job to keep Tali occupied and distracted; it was her job to make sure she ate; and it was her job to keep some semblance of normality and security in the face of their mother's death. It was all Ziva's job because her father was never around, and Tali refused to be anywhere where her big sister wasn't.
Ziva took a deep breath and pushed again, her heart breaking with every little laugh it prompted. Tali had never really gotten the chance to know Malka—she'd gotten sick while Tali was still small and since then she'd been in and out of hospitals and cordoned off in that room at the end of the hall. Ziva missed her mother terribly. She missed her smile and her laugh, the smell of her perfume and the way she'd stroke Ziva's hair before she fell asleep.
Aunt Netti came as much as she could, but it just wasn't the same as the presence that she'd known all her life. Ziva swore then that she would be there for Tali so that the little girl would never have to know the pain of losing such a familiar presence—such a strong mechanism for comfort.
"Why don't you try being a child again, little one?" Ari asked her gently, coming up behind her and placing a comforting hand on her shoulder.
"I am not a child anymore, Ari," Ziva said stubbornly, and gave Tali another push.
"I beg to differ," he whispered, taking her hand and guiding her to the swing next to Tali's. "Sit," he ordered.
"Ari—" she protested as he forced her down onto the swing.
He held up a hand and leaned down to look at her. "I know you want to protect her," he said. "But someone has to protect you as well, Ziva."
"Papa protects us," she defended stubbornly.
He looked around the yard as though he were expecting something. "I don't see him here now, little one." She sighed and a tear escaped despite her efforts not to cry in front of either one of her siblings—but especially Tali. Ari wiped away the mutinous tear with his handkerchief and then handed it over to his little sister so she could wipe away the offensive droplets herself. "Swing with your sister, Ziva—let me and Netti worry about the rest right now, yes?" Ziva nodded and sniffled. Ari ruffled young Ziva's hair as he always did and gave her a quick kiss on the head. Then he stood up and stopped Tali, giving her a hug and kiss as well.
"Are you both ready?" he asked, in prime position to push both of his little sisters on the swings. Tali cheered and Ziva nodded. He pulled both of them back at the same time and then released them simultaneously. He gave each one an alternating push before Ziva started to pump her legs to gain momentum on her own. "Tali, do you see what Ziva is doing?" he asked, drawing the girl's attention to her big sister.
"Try it, Tali," Ziva called to her as she climbed higher and higher. Ziva pumped harder and harder, losing herself in the weightless feeling that made her feel as though she were flying. "Just like this…"
Ziva opened her eyes slowly, comforted by the fact that this already painful memory had not gone any further. She took a few deep breaths, trying to override the pain in her chest from reliving such an emotional day, and felt Tony come up next to her and begin to rub her good arm slowly. "How long was I asleep?" she asked.
"A few hours," he said gently. "They brought you lunch if you're interested, though I'm relatively sure it may only make you worse," he said bitterly.
She made a face in response and motioned for him to help her sit up, which he did. "I have to get out of here," she said dismally, looking around her room and cringing.
"Doctor said maybe tomorrow—if you show progress," he warned.
"What progress is there to make?" she asked defiantly. "The only progress that is actual progress will occur when I have the use of my left arm back," she announced stubbornly.
"Well at this point they'd settle for you not lying about you're pain level," he accused, staring her down.
She chortled, disgusted. "I have handled more pain than this, Tony. I do not need a doctor plying me with medication."
"Well in order for them to release you they're going to have to have some reasonable assurances that you'll follow the required rehab regiment," he said, picking through the tray of hospital food with notable distaste. "—i.e. the meds, the rest, and any physical therapy that you may or may not need. So eat your Jell-O, and when the doctor asks you how you are…" he told her, handing over the red gelatin with a cockiness that Ziva found as irritating as she did attractive. "…make sure to smile."
An hour later Ziva's nurse came in looking altogether too chipper for Ziva's current mood. She introduced herself as Alicia and told Ziva that they were going to clean her up, tend to the wounds, and redress them without making Ziva look like the mummy she currently did look like. That did make Ziva feel a little better. And seeing as how Alicia said it would take about an hour or so to do, Ziva made Tony promise to go home and do what he needed to do—get cleaned up, change, etc—and only come back if he absolutely needed to. Tony agreed to the first and second requests but left saying he'd see her in an hour.
"Your boyfriend is very devoted," Alicia commented as she helped Ziva maneuver around the bathroom.
"He's my partner," she clarified, not mincing words. "But he is very good to me," she agreed, silently thanking him for being there for her the past two days.
"Alright, let's take a look," Alicia mumbled, removing the bandage that completely covered Ziva's left arm. "Well, the smaller wounds look to be healing up nicely," she commented, and Ziva could see all the little cuts and holes in her skin from where she was pelted with the broken glass of the storefront door. She could feel the air hitting her newly-exposed flesh and it felt both refreshing and annoying at the same time. And then Ziva could feel her skin start to crawl as the itchiness started—meaning that they were indeed healing. Alicia used medical scissors to keep cutting her way through the layers of gauze. Ziva could tell when she was approaching the site of the severed artery because a sudden pain shot through her arm and she winced noticeably. "Morphine must be wearing off…I'll get—"
"No," Ziva told her gently. "It is not that bad, I just was not prepared." She nodded encouragingly. "I am now. Please, continue."
Alicia looked at her skeptically but she kept going and finally removed the dressing entirely. It felt good to Ziva to be freed from her constraints, and the scars did not look too bad. She deduced that the smaller ones would not be there for long, and the surgical scar should fade enough after time. The sutures over her eye were going to be tricky, but the laceration was so close to her eyebrow that should it be noticeable it would not look horrific. "Some vitamin E oil and cocoa butter should help these fade quickly," Alicia told her, noticing her appraising look. Ziva nodded in thanks and held still as Alicia applied what appeared to be plastic wrap over her wound. "So we don't cause any further damage," Alicia explained.
When Ziva was all sealed up, Alicia helped her into the shower, warning her that it was going to feel very weird against her skin, and that under no circumstances was she to allow the spray to come near her left side. There was a chair on which Ziva sat so she would not have to maneuver around the shower because she had only one arm with which to bath herself. Ziva ran the washcloth under the spray, which was locked at minimal water pressure, she noted, and ran it all over her body—at least, all the places she could reach. She wasn't allowed to run her head under the spray because she could not avoid her left side, so she had to use a cup to wet down her hair. It was tedious and annoying, and Ziva found herself cursing the process more than once. Additionally, Alicia had warned her that soap or shampoo would sting quite badly if it got into her wounds, so the shampoo Ziva used was very mild and could not rightfully be called shampoo. But it was all she had, so she ignored the sanitary smell of it and did her best to wash her hair with what she had. The entire process took forty minutes; Ziva was exhausted, and her arm was throbbing.
Alicia helped her dry off and get dressed. The kind nurse had brought Ziva a pair of scrub bottoms to wear beneath the flimsy hospital gown and Ziva thanked her sincerely. Alicia brought her back to the hospital bed and helped her get in. Ziva noticed that there were fresh linens on it, and she felt a little better with all this cleanliness surrounding her now. Alicia swabbed Ziva down in antibacterial salve and then covered the largest two wounds—her arm and her eye—with the necessary bandages. Ziva was a lot less mummy now, and she was grateful for small favors. Alicia brought her a comb and Ziva used her good arm to run it through her hair. Alicia put socks on Ziva's feet, settled the table by her side, and reconnected the IV to the saline drip that also brought Ziva her antibiotics and morphine.
Ziva thanked Alicia sincerely and the nurse left her tucked in bed feeling much better than she had before. Ziva gave in and hit the Morphine button once to take the edge off. The next thing she knew Tony was in the big chair next to her eating something that smelled delicious and watching an old movie on the television. "What are you eating?" she asked him, her mouth watering. She was hungry now and the idea of non-hospital food only increased her hunger.
He swallowed what was in his mouth and licked his lips dramatically. "Strictly contraband," he said, taking another bite. "However, I could be convinced to share with the patient, if the patient in question so chooses."
"She so chooses," Ziva said, attempting to sit up on her own and succeeding for once.
Tony went to a large brown bag and pulled out two wrapped packages. "Philly Cheese Steak, extra cheese, extra steak," he said waving her favorite sandwich around it the air, "and a piece of chocolate cake," he added, indicating the second package. He put them both down on the rolling table and wheeled it over to her. "Now, I checked with your doctor, who said you were not to have any of these things," he rolled his eyes. "—but that if for some reason you did get a hold of these forbidden foods that you were to eat slowly and to take small bites."
She nodded in agreement and held out her hand for the food. Tony opened up the sandwich for her and wrapped one half in a napkin before giving it to her. She reached out for it, and he held it back. "Slowly," he ordered, quite serious.
"Slowly," she agreed, and wrapped her hand around the sandwich. She took a small bite, as promised, and sighed in contentment. "Oh, thank God," she announced, happy to have real food in front of her.
"You're quite welcome, my child, but you can call me Tony," he joked, happy when he saw her smile.
Ziva ate her food happily—no matter how slow the pace at which she was allowed to eat it. She was clean, she was fed, and she wasn't in that much pain now that she'd given in to the Morphine drip. In fact, Ziva was so overjoyed to be feeling better that she didn't even mind listening to Tony lecture her on the cinematic influence of Frank Capra. She was only half-listening anyway, but for once, it was not annoying her.
She watched the end of the movie with Tony in silence, just content to be there with him without the awkwardness that had been there before she'd nearly gotten blown up. They still had things to work out and conversations to have, but Ziva had faith that no matter what, with regard to Tony, everything would be okay. It was the rest of her life that made her want to bury herself under the covers and not come up for a while. She sighed despite her good mood, and Tony turned off the TV, surprising her.
He turned the chair around so he was facing her once again, and he put his feet up on the other chair. "You wanna talk about it?" he asked her, folding his hands across his stomach.
"Talk about what?" she asked, her stomach lurching a little at the sudden disturbance in her relatively peaceful thoughts.
"Whatever it is that has you sighing so loudly," he said, only a trace of humor in his voice. "I mean, I know you and I have to talk—"
"—Tony," she attempted to interrupt, but he just talked over her.
"—a conversation, by the way, that I am not only willing to have, but am fully prepared for—"
"—Tony," she tried again.
"—but I'm guessing that's not what has you so preoccupied," he finally finished.
She sighed again, damning him for his perceptiveness when it came to her. She shook her head. "You are right, Tony—but I very much wish not to talk about it."
He nodded his understanding. "I completely understand," he said…a little too quickly for Tony in Ziva's opinion. He took a breath as his let me just ask you this one question expression came over his face. "This conversation you don't want to have—which we won't have," he hurried on to say, completely transparent in his attempt to get her to speak about what she most obviously did not want to. "…it's got to do with that phone call Gibbs helped you dodge earlier, right?"
She stayed silent, knowing that no matter what she said—or didn't say, in this case—he would not be letting this go anytime soon. Fine then, she decided. He can do all the talking he wants…
He took in her silent stance and smiled triumphantly "I'm right, aren't I?" he asked childishly. She scowled. "Oh, I'm totally right!" he cheered. "So much for your poker face, Miss Ziva David," he added on obnoxiously. Then he sobered and touched his hand to hers. "Seriously, Ziva, what's going on?"
Oh, fine, she relented. "If I am officially admitted into a hospital for more than twelve hours due to injuries sustained while on duty, Director Shepard is obligated to notify—"
"—Mossad," Tony finished for her, finally putting the pieces together.
She nodded stiffly. "Yes. The call I—dodged," she said, mimicking Tony's earlier inquiry, "…was from my father," she finished softly. "And that is where this conversation ends, Tony."
"I'd say it's more like where it begins, Zee-vah," he said, his words sparring but his eyes and tone telling her that he wasn't going to let her get off that easily.
"What is it that you want me to say, Tony?" she asked, exasperated.
He shrugged casually, a smarmy grin on his face. "Well, let's start with the truth and we can work up to the lies later on," he jibed.
"And just what is that supposed to mean?"
"I'm not sure exactly," he mused, "But it sure sounded good."
Injured arm or no, she was about ten seconds from beating the crap out of him. "If I had something heavy to throw at you, DiNozzo, I would be watching you bleed on the floor right now."
"See?" he asked, nonplussed. "Now that was a truth. Very good, Ziva," he said patronizingly as he patted her hand before she whisked it from his grasp. "Now, why don't you tell me why you don't want to talk to your father…"
"It is none of your business, Tony," she argued.
He cocked his head to the side and make an annoying error noise. "Eh, eh! Let's ask the judges…Oh, I'm sorry, contestant, that answer is not acceptable. Please try again."
"There is no point in talking with my father, Tony! I should not be wasting my time with it," she huffed.
"Ah, see?" he said, his voice menacing. "Now that was a lie, Ziva." She blinked, surprised. "But that's okay—I said we'd work our way there, and now we have." He nodded to her. "So, now you can tell me the real reason."
She did not respond immediately, taking the time to weigh the pros and cons of continuing this conversation. "I do not get along well with my father, Tony…not anymore," she said, after thinking about it for a moment.
He nodded sympathetically, understanding pervading his tone. "I'm the poster-child for paternal disappointment, Ziva; I'm not sure I can even remember the last time I had a substantive conversation with my old man."
"It is not…I am not…It was I who cut off communication, Tony. Something with which my father takes great issue." She sighed, tired of this subject and yearning for the peace that encompassed the room just minutes before. "I do not react well when speaking with him," she said, licking her dry lips. "…as you well know," she whispered, remembering how she'd reacted that day in MTAC.
"Yeah, well, if memory serves he wasn't exactly a prime example of prize behavior either," he said darkly. "But…" he said, trailing off rather unsure of whether what he was about to say was necessarily the wisest of moves.
"No 'buts,'" she argued, slashing the air with her one good arm.
"However," he said, mocking her with his tone, "He is your father, and he obviously wants to make sure that you're alright. So you two don't get along; that doesn't prevent you from letting him hear you tell him that you're okay." She sighed, mostly because she knew he was right…and she hated his being right almost as much as he hated it when she was. "Ya know—that high road and all."
Ziva sighed, damning him once again, this time for making a logical and reasonable point. "Point taken," she said, nodding. "I will not avoid his call again," she said, feeling more like a scolded child than anything else at that moment.
"There. See? Now, was that so hard?" He sat back in his chair and put his folded hands behind his head with a cocky sigh and grin. "I knew you'd see it my way…"
She chortled. "You are unbelievable, Tony," she said bitterly.
"What?" he asked, playing the innocent.
"You do not have a problem with this habit of yours?" she asked a little testy.
"And what habit would that me, Miss David?"
"This…this…licking someone while they are down!" she yelled, motioning to herself and the hospital room.
He sat back up again, barely concealing his grin, and cleared his throat. "First of all, as much as I would absolutely love to lick you right now, Ziva," he said, practically purring in her ear, "The expression is kicking someone when they are down, and second of all," he hurried on to explain, suddenly angry about her accusation, "I would never do that to you! That right there was me being me, something you damn well know, but you're tweaked about your father, and about me pushing you about it, and probably also about the five-hundred pound gorilla in the room, so it's just easier to take it out of my flesh than to actually cop to it, right?" She didn't say anything. "And that's fine…because you almost got blown up yesterday, you're lying here in pain, though you won't admit it, and you have to deal with your father sooner or later—not to mention that there is still the as-of-yet unresolved issue of you and me—so you go ahead and be pissed, but just make sure that you remember that I'm not here for kicks, Ziva!"
"I know that!" she screamed at him, insulted that he'd think such a thing. You just accused him of something equally inane, her conscience reminded her.
"I know you know that!" he screamed back. Then he stopped and realized that he had no idea what they were fighting about anymore. "What the hell are we fighting about?" he asked, completely perplexed, but still screaming nonetheless.
"You are an ass!" she said.
"And you're just as stubborn as one," he deadpanned, pushing his chair back and standing up angrily.
She growled and balled her good hand into a fist. She couldn't take it anymore. She'd been deluding herself into thinking that she could get through her stay in the hospital with his help while not thinking about the issues they had to deal with. Yes, it had been nice and quite comforting having him there; he was familiar and he knew her and what she needed—but the tension of everything else from her father, to her dreams, to this large question mark hanging over their collective heads was just too much to keep bottled up. She sighed, and looked down at her lap. "Why are you still here, Tony?" she whispered finally.
"What?" he asked, out of breath and shocked at the question. "What do you mean?"
"It is a Thursday, Tony; you should be at work, not here with me. And I know Gibbs would not give you off just to baby-sit me, so why are you still here?"
"Because you almost got blown up," he spat at her, incredibly angry that she couldn't see what was right in front of her. You haven't even told her yet, you idiot, he chastised himself. You're going to punish her for not being able to read your mind? his mind taunted him. She's right—you are an ass…
"I know I was almost blown up; I was there!"
"So was I!" he screamed at the top of his lungs. He shifted his weight from one foot to the other and sighed heavily…softening. "I rammed head-on into that wall when it exploded. I was stunned by Paula's death, Ziva, absolutely stunned—and it lasted all of five seconds, because the next thing I heard was a LEO screaming for a bus…and everything stopped. Because I knew—I just knew…and then I ran." He was very emotional, and he paused for a moment to gather his thoughts. "When I saw you lying there on the street, everything just stopped." He swallowed hard, thinking back on that moment with a heavy heart. "I'm here because in that moment I knew that I wouldn't be able to stand it if anything happened to you—if I lost you," he whispered, coming back over to her and sitting on the edge of the bed. He brushed his fingertips lightly over the wound over her eye and curled her hair behind her ear, looking into her eyes. "And I'm still here," he explained, "because I'm pretty sure I'm in love with you," he finally managed, smiling and laughing to himself at the position they'd finally found themselves in. "…which means I'm not going anywhere." And then he kissed her.
His lips brushed gently over hers, ever-mindful of her cuts and bruises. His kiss was so light at first that his breath tickled her senses in what, in the end, was a sensual caress of sorts. Ziva brought her good hand up to his face in response, urging him closer, completely lost in the power of his words. I cannot believe he said that, she thought, both panicked and ecstatic at the same time. But nothing, not panic or worry, could keep her from reveling in the feel of his lips on hers. It was like a magical remedy, instantly fixing whatever had her stomach in knots or her head spinning out of control. He grounded her, she realized, as she brought him in even closer, her fingers trailing through the hair she loved to touch. And she loved him too…
Okay, so what did you all think? I'm pretty sure that you're not hating this chapter, right? Hehe...
Well, you'll definitely like where it's going from here...lots of fluff and lots of drama; visitors, weired cases, cover-ups, and as you all well-know, a birthday party!
So, I'm looking for a major boost to get me in writing-mode, so if I can persuade all of you to just drop a quick review in...even if it's a tiny little thing letting me know I still have readers, I'd really, really appreciate it.
Thanks for reading, and thank you to everyone who responded with helpful ideas for my small problem--you're all ACES!
Bye, for now!