I will forge my own path.
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Ziva's return to D.C. begins relatively well. Dinner at Ducky's is great; the group is there until after midnight, talking and toasting, laughing about old times, and catching up on the new. Her fears about how she would received turn out to be unfounded. By the time she and Tony are walking out the door, she already has plans to shop with Abby and go out to lunch with McGee, and Gibbs has invited her to Leyla and Amira's the following weekend. A smile lights her face all the way back to his apartment. He keeps having to remind himself to watch the road, because he finds it terribly hard to look away from a radiant Ziva.
She uses some of her days to settle into his apartment, which results in inevitable rearranging of his belongings and a couple of short squabbles (both of which end in quick apologies intermingled with kisses). When she isn't in the mood for that, she heads into the city, exploring and rediscovering the places she always loved. Tony looks forward to getting home from work every day- firstly, because she's there waiting, and secondly, because she always has stories that she is excited to share. They snuggle on his couch with dinner and talk for hours before turning on a movie or migrating to the bedroom. Sometime in the past six months, Ziva has become much more open and very affectionate. She is not so rough around the edges, and her guard doesn't immediately go up whenever the conversation gets the slightest bit deep. Sex with her is amazing, mind-blowing, definitely the best he's ever had- and even though physically, it's great (obviously; she's younger than him and smokin' hot), the emotional intimacy is unlike anything either of them have known before. He thinks that fact deserves more of the credit for producing their quivering knees and gasping breaths and clingy hands.
They spend those first weeks in a bubble, happy and free of any pressing matters. Then she starts getting bored. She doesn't actually complain, but the problem is clear to Tony. Her evening monologues become shorter; when he asks about her plans for the next day, she shrugs. Her period of getting to know D.C. again is over. Now, she needs to be a part of it.
One night in June, Tony jerks awake to find her melded to his side, whimpering, with a tight grip on his bicep. He recognizes what's happening instantly. This is exactly how he was roused from sleep on that night in Paris years ago: by Ziva, trapped in a nightmare, trying desperately to claw her way back out.
"Ziva," he calls, shaking her shoulder gently. "Ziva, wake up. Come on. Just me."
With a cry, her eyes fly open. Tony intercepts her when she tries to sit up, gathering her into his arms and planting kisses beneath her ear in an effort to soothe her.
"Hey," he murmurs. "I got you. You're okay."
Ziva takes a deep, shuddering breath and covers her face with her hands. She's not crying, he's pretty sure, but her entire body shivers nonetheless.
"What do you need?" he asks when she doesn't speak.
She sniffs loudly. For a moment, she lies still in his arms. Then she gently shakes him off and swings her legs over the side of the bed. Tony was right: no tears. Only a shaky bottom lip. "I need a glass of water."
"Do you want me to come with you?"
"Yes. Please."
In the kitchen, he leans against the counter while she takes a long, audible gulp of tap water. The overhead light reveals beads of sweat on her forehead that he hadn't noticed before. He watches her carefully as she inhales deeply, exhales, sets her glass down, and rolls her shoulders. She's composing herself; he knows because he's seen her do it a thousand times before.
Right before shutting him out.
Tony isn't sure if they're in danger of falling back into that same pattern, but he doesn't want to take any chances. Straightening up, he opens his arms, using two fingers to beckon her closer. "Come here."
There is one scary moment in which he thinks she's going to refuse. But then she walks over to him, tucking her head into the crook of his neck. Tony dips his fingers beneath the hem of her top and rubs circles on her bare back. They rock from side to side for a minute. He can feel her muscles relaxing under his touch.
"Do you want to tell me what happened?" he asks eventually.
"No."
He opts to stay quiet rather than push her. After a few more seconds of silence, she sighs. "It was dark. I was tied up."
His stomach turns over as he recalls sitting across from her in that stuffy room, his own hands bound, sending silent prayers to a God he wasn't entirely sure he believed in. He rests his cheek on top of her head and tries to focus on the warmth of her skin beneath his palm.
"Nobody else was there, and I… I kept screaming for help, I was trying to free myself, and then I… accidentally tipped the chair over so I was on the floor… and-"
"Shhh," Tony cuts her off as her voice becomes steadily louder and more hysterical. "Shhh, Ziva. It was just a dream. It's over."
"The last time this happened was in Kenya. We had just arrived. I was still nervous about returning to Africa. This, tonight… I do not know…"
"You're just feeling a little unsettled right now," he says, squeezing her side. He wonders what happened in Kenya- if anybody was there to awaken her, or if the painful images in her mind dragged on and on. "I mean, you're starting all over, you know?"
Ziva sniffs. "I suppose."
"It might take some time, but you'll figure things out. And until then, you'll have me."
At that, she takes a step back. He relaxes his hold on her, but refuses to relinquish it entirely. She looks exhausted and spent. The lines in her forehead, he thinks, are not just from tonight- they are a reminder of all that Ziva has been through in her thirty-one years on this earth. Life has not been kind to her. And he hates that. He really, really does.
"At some point, you will get tired of waiting around for me to get my life back together."
Tony chuckles. "Sweet cheeks, haven't I proven that my limit on waiting for you doesn't exist?"
Ziva stares at him for a long second before her gaunt expression dissolves into a small smile. With one hand, she toys with the Star of David necklace he returned to her in April. "Yes. Yes, Tony, you have."
He tugs her back toward him, and she presses her body up against his. They hold each other in the middle of the kitchen for hours. For minutes. Perhaps just for moments.
Really, Tony has no idea how long they stand there. But if somebody were to come up and tell him it'd been an eternity, he would believe them, and he wouldn't regret it.
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As it turns out, Ziva doesn't actually need that much time to make her decision.
Her nightmare serves as a wake-up call: she has to find something to occupy her time, or she will go crazy. Or crazier. Since she has made the decision not to return to the field of law enforcement, NCIS or otherwise, she begins searching for part-time work. She fills out so many applications to restaurants and stores that she gets tired of seeing her own name and phone number. It all seems to be for naught, anyway- she doesn't get one call from anywhere. When she decides to take matters into her own hands and starts making phone calls herself, she gets the same standard reply, over and over again: "We are in the process of reviewing applications."
The answer to her frustration arrives in the form of a letter with an international stamp. Knowing instantly that it is from Hasina, she opens the envelope carefully, tearing it as little as possible. There are a mere four sentences inside, but Hasina's handwriting is perfectly legible and her Swahili appears to be correct. Ziva's heart swells with pride as she reads: Miss Ziva, I am enjoying learning to write. My teacher said I am doing very good. I wish you were here. I hope you are well. From Hasina.
When Ziva left the orphanage, the girls were only beginning to learn their letters, and now, three months later, Hasina is able to write this. It stuns her, the progress that has been made. She stands in the middle of the living room and stares at the piece of paper in her hands, and it comes to her suddenly, out of nowhere. Why she didn't think of it before, she has no idea. It seems obvious: an experience she missed out on when she was younger, an opportunity to learn, and a chance to improve herself, all in one.
She wants to go to college.
It is like a huge weight has been lifted off her shoulders. For the rest of that day and the ones that follow, she sits in front of the computer. She is no longer looking up the conditions for hourly employment at Ruby Tuesday; now, she scrolls through the University of Maryland's website, growing more excited by the second.
Ziva keeps her idea to herself for about a week. Unlike most of her past secrets, this one is sweet; instead of trying to shove it away, she loves to let it simmer. Wary of making a split-second decision, she does extensive research. It is going to be expensive, that's for sure. But this is the only downside she can find, and that concern pales in comparison to the benefits she imagines her schooling would reap.
There comes a point where she cannot proceed until she discusses it with Tony. On Saturday of that week, while they sit on the couch with their take-out, she breaks a companionable silence by saying there is something they need to talk discuss. He looks over at her, alarmed.
"Everything is fine," she says quickly. His shoulders droop in relief. "It is just… I figured it out."
Tony furrows his brow. Sauce stains the corner of his mouth, and Ziva licks her thumb before reaching up to scrub it away. "Figured what out?"
She takes a deep breath. "I… I think I want to get a degree."
His eyebrows shoot up. Obviously, he is caught by surprise, but he appears to be open to the idea. "Yeah?"
"Yes. How do you feel about that?"
"I think it's a great idea, Ziva."
"Honestly?"
"Yes."
"I have had a few days to think, and I am pretty sure this is… I have already contacted somebody in the admissions office."
"Good," he says, sounding sincere.
"You should know that I spent a lot of my savings in Europe and on the trip to Kenya," she says. This is the part she thought he might balk at. She cannot say she would blame him. "I still have quite a bit left, but I do not know if it will be enough for everything. I might have to take out loans."
Tony nods at her. "Yeah, maybe. That's okay. Everyone does."
"You are okay with me possibly going into debt? I mean, if we are to… if we…"
She falters. But Tony, her ever-dependable partner, picks up the slack. Of course. And of course he is willing to do whatever it takes to see her happy. In her heart, she knows that only her safety is more important to him.
"I still intend to marry you someday, if that's what you're asking. I don't care if you owe someone a little bit of money." Dropping his food container into his lap, he tangles both hands in her hair and rests his forehead against hers. Ziva is breathless; all the air disappeared from her lungs at the word marry. "That's the way America works, anyway. You get to enjoy nice stuff, your house and car and whatever, but you also live in debt the whole time."
Ziva laughs out loud. "Oh, yes. There is something to aspire to."
He grins, then nods at the computer next to them. "So. Show me what you've found out so far?"
And she does, with his strong, supportive arm around her shoulder and the fleeting thought that Tali and their mother would be proud of her. Ari, too. Maybe even her father.
None of them are still here. She wishes that they were. But she is proud of herself, and that will have to do.