Hope everyone is having a nice weekend! Here is a chapter for you to enjoy during your down time. Unfortunately, my weekends are always busy and occupied by my job.
Disclaimer: I haven't disclaimed in a while. Not much has changed. Not mine.
jae
Nine
On the ninth day, she learns that her recovery isn't hopeless.
After nine, long days of constant re-adjustment, Ziva finds herself desperate for anything to trigger a glimpse into her fully competent mind.
She's discovered, however, that although she can't recall her memories, specific things throughout the day will trigger tangible emotions and at least something familiar.
She's noticed it in the way she brushes Piper's hair; how her hands manipulate it into her daughter's favorite style without her request, as if on auto-pilot; whenever Tony brushes his hand on her arm, her body is attuned to the gesture and the flood of emotions that react leave her overwhelmed. And after tucking in Piper for the night, her hand flicks the hall light on automatically on her way back to her bedroom. She doesn't realize the significance until a couple nights later, when Tony beats her to it as he explains they do this every night in case she wakes up to find them, that she had been doing it without ever being reminded.
But finally, something substantial happens, and Tony is present and observes this phenomenon early in the evening on the ninth day.
Ziva is in the kitchen, preparing to cook dinner, and Tony is seated at the dining table with Piper, the two working on a Thank You card for her most favorite Aunt and McUncle. As the first aromas of dinner cooking begin to waft from the kitchen, Tony leaves Piper to her own devices to seek his Israeli master chef; once he carefully secures her very favorite glitter glue high above in a cabinet, that is.
When he comes to lean against the kitchen door, he finds Ziva in her element; spices and bottles litter the counter space, vegetables chopped and organized neatly by the stove, and chicken, sliced and sizzling in her most favored pan. Almost obscured by the sounds of her cooking are the faint tones of Sinatra, crooning from their handy stereo that's fastened under the kitchen cabinet; a gift McGee gave them last christmas. He smiles as he takes in her relaxed stance, appreciating the way she loses herself in her cooking. And he can't help but tease her, only because he's suddenly overwhelmed by how much he adores her.
And so he proceeds to announce himself in pure DiNozzo fashion.
"Whatcha cookin', good lookin'?"
Ziva chuckles and glances at him over her shoulder.
"A simple stir fry. . . . Would you like to help?"
"I'd be delighted," Tony says with a wink, as he makes his way over to stand by her side. Rolling up his sleeves, he queries, "Where to, bossy?"
She narrows her eyes, batting him playfully with her current utensil, and commands, "Seasonings; you may choose."
The way Tony's eyes light up is almost as amusing as his enthusiasm. Quickly, he squats down to be eye level with the many spices and sauces cluttered on the counter top. Ziva had accumulated quite a collection over the years; half of which Tony could neither identify or even read. He was pretty sure she didn't speak any kind of asian dialect, but he also didn't make it a habit to underestimate her.
Zoning in on a bottle that had to be scribbles and not any spoken language, he had barely opened it when Ziva's hand shot out to cover it.
"Tony, no, tafsik!" she exclaimed in a combination of strangled English and Hebrew. She quickly snatched the bottle out of his hands, turning around to place it far away from him. "Piper cannot have this, she is allergic to peanuts! Do you not remember her birthday party, what are you thin-" Ziva stopped her fast tirade mid sentence and spun around to stare at Tony, hand still hovering in the air, who was looking at her completely nonplussed.
Ziva meets his eyes, staring at him wide-eyed.
". . . You have not told me that." she says quietly, the sizzling chicken all but forgotten on the stove top.
Tony shakes his head vigorously.
"Nu-uh," he says quickly. He stares at her for a few moments, then adds slowly, "Though in retrospect, that is a pretty important thing that I most definitely should have told you." He pauses, then amends, "Well, the birthday party not so much." He gives himself a quick slap to the back of the head. Recovering from his shock, he looks at her with a smile stretching widely on his face. He moves closer to her and runs his hands over her arms. "Are you remembering anything else?" he asks her excitedly.
She closes her eyes in concentration for a few moments, but shakes her head. "I do not think so," she opens her eyes to look at him and groans in frustration. "Nothing!"
Tony looks at her, and notices the very rare, but very real tears beginning to pool in her eyes. Still smiling, he leans down to press his lips to her forehead, letting them linger.
"Hey," he murmurs, then pulls back to look at her, "It's progress! That was pretty cool," he says with a grin, "And you remembered something pretty damn important about your daughter. Maybe a few more of those fast triggers and you'll be back to your normal self in no time!" He runs his hand down her arm; intertwining his fingers with hers, finally drawing a smile out of her.
Satisfied, he turns around and tugs her along, her hand still in his.
"Now, lets finish dinner; you know Italians get very cranky when they're hungry, and our daughter, believe it or not, has inherited quite a bit of my prestigious heritage," he lectures her seriously.
Ziva rolls her eyes good-naturedly and is about to open her mouth to speak when Tony, sensing the impending verbal smack-down, acts hastily and presses a soft kiss to her lips. Chuckling against his mouth, Ziva concedes; he brings his free hand to her cheek, but it's her who deepens the kiss.
As she wound her arms around his neck, she spared a very brief thought for the chicken, hoping it wouldn't burn.