Tony was exactly, where Ziva expected him to be, when she slipped into her apartment on a cold and blustery Saturday, just after midday. He was laying on her couch, wearing only boxers, and doing something on her laptop. His hair stood up, in little spikes. Like a pocruswine, no like a porcupine.
She hung her coat up, and placed the take-away coffee on the kitchen counter.
"Hi," he said, turning slightly, as she moved toward the couch. She shook a white paper bag in front of him. Before placing a kiss on his lips.
"Hi," she said. "Shall we eat at the table."
He smiled, and moved the laptop away, before making an effort to get up.
She returned to the dining table, with two plates, and moved her sociology textbook out of the way, for him to sit. She unwrapped the sandwiches, and he appeared in front of her, having located a shirt, and picked up the coffee cups from the counter. He took of a sip of the one marked for him.
"I missed you this morning," he said, as he stuffed his egg sandwich into his mouth.
She certainly did not love him for his table manners.
"You looked very comfortable when I left," she said, as she took a more delicate bite of her whole-wheat turkey sandwich. A piece of green spinach fell onto her plate.
She had slipped out of bed, not long after the sun rose, leaving him with a kiss, and a promise that she would be back with lunch. He had nodded, half asleep, before wrapping himself in her duvet like a cocoon, and going back to sleep. A peace had washed over him, as he drifted back into the land of slumber.
"You're wearing them," he said, as he took another sip of coffee. Eyes fixed on her face.
She reached her spare hand up to her left ear, and fiddled with one of the earrings, he had presented to her as a belated Valentine's Day present. They were nice, without being flashy, and dangled a little lower, than most of the other earrings she owned. Not that she had to worry about her earings getting caught on things, so much these days.
"They are lovely," she said, "I like them very much. You have good taste."
She had received nothing but compliments on them, when she wore them earlier. Even, the elderly sandwich shop owner, had admired them, as she pondered the selection.
"Careful," he warned softly, "You'll give me a big head."
She had gotten him tickets to an upcoming film festival. His face had lit up, as he read through the program, selecting which of the films, they might go to.
Was is it his love of cinema, which fostered his belief in happy endings.
"That is a very real danger," she murmured sarcastically. "But it is one that has passed."
"You wound me," he said, with mock sadness. He clutched his chest, as the sandwich sat forgotten. "You wound me greatly."
She laughed. He laughed. His eyes crinkled. There was no-one and nothing in their little world, but them and their overpriced sandwiches. Her earrings gleamed in the winter sunlight, that streamed through her apartment window.
Then a look of seriousness washed over him. He was no longer chewing his food, but his mouth, was moving like he was trying to say something.
"Listen," he begun, his words heavy. "I don't want to sound like a jealous boyfriend."
When she had given up the badge, and therefore access to the ability to track his phone, they had made an agreement not ping each others phones. He would always be in more danger of breaking that promise.
"But, you would like to know where I was," she interrupted. Perhaps it was kinder, to say it for him.
"Yeah," he said, biting his lip, and nodding. "It just you seem different. Kinda peaceful, maybe."
She did feel rather peaceful.
"I keep no secrets from you, Motek," she said, as she reached across the table, and took his hand. His ears perked up at the use of the petname. "I went to Shabbat services."
"Like at the synagogue?" he asked.
"That is where these things are typically held," she murmured, trying to limit how much sarcasm seeped into her tone. "Not always, though."
"Okay," he said, before taking another sip of coffee. "That wasn't what I expected to hear."
"Where did you think I had been?" she asked.
"Gym maybe," he said, shrugging his shoulders, as he appraised her outfit. It looked like something she used to wear to NCIS, when she made an effort to follow the dress code. Black dress pants, and a emerald green turtleneck sweater. "Or the library. I know you've been busy with school."
She had an essay due on Wednesday, it was mostly done, but she intended to make a few edits, later that afternoon. It could wait, she had thought as she walked through the door. She would enjoy her Saturday, with Tony. Time together had become increasingly limited of late, and ever more precious.
"It's just you never really mentioned going to services, before," he said, as he took a sip of coffee.
That before was loaded. Before she gave up the badge. Before they decided to make a life, together. Before she had turned their whole world upside down.
"I do not attend services regularly," she said. "And my attendance was even less regular, when I was an agent. We worked so many weekends."
During those years, she was a Liaison officer, she made an effort to show her face at the Conservative Synagogue, frequented by staff from the Israeli embassy. She would show her face, and Officer Bashan would report to her father, that all was well. The whole activity, had very little to do with religion.
"Is this about your Dad?" he asked. His voice, was soft and sweet, like ice cream on a warm day.
She swallowed thickly, and made no effort to hide the dark look that washed over her face. She could not blame Tony for defaulting back to Eli. He had been the root of so much of her pain. Still, she found herself angry at a dead man. Still, so much pain could be traced back to him.
There was still so much, she had to let go.
"No," she said firmly. "Besides, it is not he who made me Jewish, that was my mother."
"So, it is about her?" he asked. His voice was softer now, like it was when their mothers came up.
For years, when they were just partners, mothers had been an off-limits topic, warranting only the briefest of mentions. For years, they would listen as McGee tried to discreetly organise Mothers Day gifts, and lunches, with his sister. Neither Tony or Ziva would talk about the feelings that stewed, but would share longing looks. The Dead Mothers club, was not one, where people queued for membership.
"Does it have to be about anyone?" she asked. "I do not live in constant memorial."
She could see how, he could jump to such a conclusion. Sometimes the weight of all the tragedy she had seen was too much. Sometimes it weighed on her, and she felt like Atlas, trying to carry the whole world. She refused to let tragedy define her. They would not want this, they would want her to live a happy life.
She was trying to move forward, even if she kept getting caught in the past. The past was a fishing net, she kept getting caught in. She kept struggling to break free, but still she was pulled back as the tide shifted.
"It was about me," she whispered, voice soft. "I wanted to go."
She wanted to hear the Hebrew, as the congregation read from the siddur. She wanted to hear the familiar songs. She ached for the familiarity.
"Okay," he said with a nod. "I could have picked you up."
"You looked very peaceful," she murmured, remembering him pulling the covers tighter, as she slipped out from next to him. "You needed to sleep in."
It had been a long case, the one that had derailed their Valentine's plans. He was more reluctant to share details, since she had let go of the badge. The exhaustion, and stress was evident, in the dark rings around his eyes, and the frown lines which ran deep.
"Still," he said. "I'd have gotten up, and gone to pick you up."
"I stayed late," Ziva said, "I was talking to some people. You would have been waiting."
"That's okay," he said, as he ate the last piece of crust from his sandwich. "Maybe, I could come with you, sometime."
"I would not ask you to do that," she soothed.
She could imagine, him next to her, a kippa sitting not quite right on his head, itching to play with his phone, as the service wore on. He would try, but he wouldn't get it.
"I'm offering," he replied.
"Why?" she asked.
He blinked a couple of times.
"It's important to you," he said. "Therefore, it's important to me. Even if it leads to me living a baconless life."
"I would not ask you to convert," she said. "Your bacon is safe, even if it is not that good for you."
"Good," he said, as a smile dawned over his sandy features. "But, I was serious about going with you."
"You do not go to church," she said. "I have never heard you mention it."
He nodded.
"Nah, not really my scene," he said. "I went with Abby once, during Christmas. Before your time."
"You do not go now," she said.
"I believe in the big man upstairs, I think," he said with a gulp. "But I don't do well, with the whole organised side of it. I guess Catholic school beat that out of me. Besides, it doesn't really matter, we already get Christmas and Easter."
She thought of borrowing her neighbours skateboard, and skating through the empty streets of by her apartment during Yom Kippur. She thought of those first Passover holidays, after her mother died, how lost she and Tali felt, as they sat in the empty apartment. She thought of the Purim parade, through Tel Aviv's streets, sitting on her Uncle's shoulders, because her father was away. Again.
Would she feel like this, if she had chosen to live there, in a apartment building that swayed in wind. In a country where she did not have to ask for time off, for her observances.
"It is different," she said, with a gulp.
Since she had taken her American citizenship, she had found herself struggling. With what it meant to be a Jew, but not to be Israeli. She was galut, in exile.
Yet how could exile, feel so much like home?
"I know," he said. She wondered how he could possibly think he knew. "I know it matters more to you."
"Much," she said.
"Besides, I should probably learn some things," he said.
"Why?" she asked cocking her head.
"You said, you get being Jewish from your mom right?" he asked.
Mom. How strange that sounded, would her American children, call her? Mom. Mommy. Mom.
"Yes," she said, "That is why Ari, was not Jewish."
He averted his eyes at mention of Ari. So seldom did Ziva speak his name. He was always My Brother, which helped a dissonance brew.
"Exactly," he said, coming back to look at her. "When we enrich the world with our offspring, I'll need to know my Fiddler on the Roof, from my Yentl."
She smiled. Picturing, for just a moment, a curly haired toddler wriggling on her lap, during a Passover Seder. Would they be granted such an everyday miracle.
"We have a while," she said softly.
They were in no way ready for kids at this point, and even when they were ready, a long difficult road to parenthood was predicted. The scars from Somalia, ran much further than skin deep. Another chapter of her past, which could have a real effect on her future.
"But you don't want me confusing the rugrats," he said. "What if I tell them Purim is after Passover? Or I buy the wrong food?"
"Purim is before Passover," she said softly.
She had tried not to entertain the idea of children too often, perhaps in fear that it would be taken away. Would she raise them in a Jewish house? Daddy Christmas, and Ima Hanukkah.
"Purim is soon right?" he asked.
She wondered if he'd looked this stuff up. His Long Island childhood was so long ago, and from the stories he told he had not had much to do with the Jewish population of Long Island. She suspected like most things in life, his knowledge of Judaism came from cinema.
"Yes," she said. "In a couple of weeks."
She thought of her schooldays, all the children dressed up, and the gift baskets exchanged. Tali always ended up with so many. Tali always had so many friends.
She thought of Tali, dressed up like a Princess. Tali always dressed up like a princess. Ziva always dressed like a boy. The boys have more fun, she had told Tali, as they whispered secrets in the back of her mother's beat-up station wagon, while sad songs played.
She thought of the news, after the bombing of the shopping mall, on the eve of Purim. That was the same year, her mother would be claimed in a similar attack, just months later. They had been to that mall, just the day before. How close death lingered that year.
"That's the one, where we dress up, right?" he asked.
It seemed he didn't have much to learn.
"Yes," she said. "I was thinking of having a small party for Purim, it has been so long since I have seen everyone."
She had not really seen the others socially, since the Winter holidays. The team had been so busy, especially after Delilah was injured. She had seen the others in passing, as they visited Delilah, or tried to spend time with McGee. To keep his spirits up, Tony had called it. Yet, she did not see Tim's spirits wane.
His eyes lit up, Anthony DiNozzo did like a party.
"Maybe, we could invite some of your new friends too," he said.
She frowned. Friendship had not been an easy feat in her new life. She missed the easy camaraderie that came with facing danger with other people. Especially, among other women.
The other women who were age in the college classes, and it was mostly women in those classes, often had children, or a entirely different life experiences. Their goals were clear, go to college, and make more money. Few of them had the option of learning for learning's sake. Few of them, could completely fathom, why Ziva had chosen to let go of such a lucrative job.
She was sort of friends with a woman named Jessica, who sometimes she compared notes with. Jessica, was as tight lipped about her past, as Ziva. Still, she wondered, if Jessica would be interested in such party. They had been talking about non-class related things of late. Maybe, a friendship was budding.
Would Ziva's old life meld with her new? That question had plagued her of late.
"It has been hard to make friends," she said. So little of the last few months had been easy. "But I am trying. I was talking to people after services today. It is a very friendly congregation."
She had realised, as she started to take stock of her life, how few Jewish friends she actually had, beyond Schmeil. It hadn't seemed to matter before, but now the hole felt gaping. Something was missing.
How she longed to have friends, who just got it. How, she longed to mention a holiday, and not have to explain it. The team, were inclusive to a fault, and she suspected would embrace Purim as another "family" tradition. But, it wasn't the same. She wanted friends, who knew the words to the prayers. Friends who had stories from Passover Seders from years back. Friends who had suffered through the awkwardness of a Bat Mitzvah.
"Maybe, we could invite some of them," he said.
"Yes, maybe," she said.
She had been introduced to many new faces, and greeted with warmth, but still found herself unsure. It did not help when she stumbled on the first question that was asked, So, Ziva what do you do? How was she to explain everything.
Her accent was always picked up on. She had heard tales of idealistic years spent living in Jerusalem, and birthright Israel trips. She struggled, to relate. Sure, she recognised the places, they had been too, and could nod as the high price of everything was discussed. But her childhood had been so different. Her life in Israel had been so different.
All of our enemies want us dead, Ziva, she could hear in the back of her head. Her father haunting her. Still.
It was also a fairly liberal synagogue, and some members had been wanting to practice politics, as soon as they noticed the accent. She knew more about Gaza, than those armchair politicians.
"Or it could just be the usual suspects," he said, perhaps sensing her unease. "Maybe, Delilah will be feeling up to it. We could move the table, give her a bit more room to maneuver. McGoo says she's getting pretty good at driving her new wheels."
She looked around her apartment, moving furniture around in her head. She could picture her chosen family, filling the room with love, laughter, and joy. Abby would probably have the most extravagant costume. Leyla might come along, for a little while with Amira, and solidify Amira's status as the most culturally aware child in her grade. Amria did like to dress up.
"It will be good to see everyone," she said again. "But, I do want to introduce you to some of my new friends, eventually."
Maybe, she could invite Jessica from school over, and they could have a cosy little dinner. Maybe, she could talk more to Rachel, whom she had met at services, who was also in an interfaith relationship. Maybe, they could go on a double date. Hadn't Rachel mentioned that her partner, liked basketball, just like Tony.
"I'd like to meet them," he said, voice soft and calm. "Whenever you're ready."
Maybe, the old could mix with the new after all.
A/N: I don't own a thing.
I'm not Jewish, so obviously I've taken care at talking about stuff I know very little about. If I got something wrong, please understand it wasn't in malice. Please feel free to point me in the right direction, of places to learn.
Also, this chapter owes a lot to some books including Fields of Exile by Nora Gold and The Little Book of Jewish Celebrations by Ronald Tauber.
Updates are going to be every 7-10 days moving forward, because of the time of year, and because I'm moving countries in mid January.
Thanks for reading. Thanks for the reviews, and feedback.