A/N: Happy Memorial Day! I apologize for taking so long to finish this, I wanted to do it justice :) The second part (Part I) of the finale trifecta will be posted sometime this week (seriously -it's half written and it will get done). Hope everyone is having an enjoyable holiday, much love and keep this peace, Kit!
DISCLAIMER: I only arrange the words you see below, folks.
THANK YOU TO THE BRAVE MEN AND WOMEN, AND THEIR FAMILIES, PAST AND PRESENT, WHO HAVE AND CONTINUE TO MAKE SACRIFICES EVERY DAY IN THE PURSUIT OF FREEDOM. MAY GOD BLESS YOU.
EPILOGUE
Tony inhaled deeply, almost tasting the salt on the sea breeze rolling across the eastern seaboard. Whoever had believed the Pacific was peaceful, he thought lazily, had obviously never seen the Atlantic.
The Palmer-Slater wedding is being held on a quiet stretch of beach on the edge of Delaware in a sleepy, historic town with old, New English-style buildings and a small lighthouse situated on a cape. He and Ziva drove down Friday afternoon, spending the night at a quaint bed and breakfast, mere paces from the shoreline. She is, much to his delight, infatuated with the ocean, sitting and watching the waves swell and crest for two hours before coaxing him into a long walk along the waterline. She had even left the window open when they went to bed last night, and they had fallen asleep and woken up to the sea air breezing in with the gentle lull of breaking waves. It was, he's certain, one of the best nights of sleep he's ever gotten.
Since the nuptials are scheduled to take place at sunset, the majority of the day has been spent lounging in bed and then enjoying a late breakfast with the bride and groom ("Mr. and Mrs. Gremlin-to-be."), the best woman ("Woman-of-honor? Groomswoman? Uh, Abby, what are you, exactly?"), everyone's favorite McInvalid ("I can say this because he's not really an invalid, Zee-vah."), the wizened medical examiner ("We are glad to see you up and moving, Ducky."), and their silver-haired patriarch ("What number does this make for you, Boss? –swack- I deserved that."). The mimosas were delicious, the company even better, and the view, of course, was gorgeous.
And his day just seems to be getting better.
She's standing at the very edge of shore, right where the water rises up to kiss one's toes before retreating. Her hair is down and even though she spent half an hour straightening it, the ocean air has enticed to curling into a loose tousle. She's wearing a dark purple dress made out of some flow-y, swishy fabric that clings to her curves and flares around her knees. When he first saw her in it earlier, it took all his self-control (and perhaps a negotiated promise of later) to let her leave the room without ravishing her silly. And as he stands several feet back watching her, he's hit with the Feeling that's rapidly becoming all too familiar whenever he's in her presence (and sometimes even when he isn't): It's a warm, physical ache in the pit of his belly that has absolutely nothing to do with his wayward libido and everything to do with the fact that he loves her so much that it actually hurts.
"Enjoying the view, DiNozzo?" she asks teasingly over the tinkling percussion of the waves washing over the pile of seashells embedded in the sand. He smirks at being caught, and having already rolled up his pant legs, steps forward so her back is pressed to his chest. His arms snake around her, his hands folding together at her belly, the fabric of her dress light and silky against his skin. He tilts his head, pressing a kiss at the junction of her neck and collarbone, before resting his chin on her shoulder.
"Very much," he says and she chuckles. The sky has already started to fade into pinkness as the sun began its descent to the horizon.
"The ceremony will be starting soon," she says, but neither of them move.
"'Bout twenty minutes," he estimates, and they can already hear people congregating a little ways down the beach where several rows of white wooden chairs have been set up before a gauzy canopy erected in lieu of an altar.
"We should go," she tells him, turning her head to kiss his cheek. "Come on."
And she entwines their fingers together and they go to join the others, barefooted with sand sticking halfway up their shins.
...
The wedding is smaller than it initially would have been back in May as some friends and relatives couldn't make it, but everyone who needed to be there was. The wedding party itself was a fraction of its original size, with only Breena's sister standing up for the bride as the matron of honor and only Abby standing up for Palmer as . . . whatever her role was being referred to.
McGee, having made a near full recovery, with only several scars and a barely noticeable limp denoting his ordeal, stands on Tony's right while Gibbs is on Ziva's left, blue eyes watching Palmer's expression as Breena steps into view. Abigail Borin, funnily enough, is on Gibbs' other side, having be dragged to the wedding because she owed Gibbs a favor (though Tony's fairly certain she's enjoying herself). The Vances arrived an hour before the ceremony started, and Tony recognizes several other NCIS employees that were friends of Palmer's.
The harpist begins to play Pachebel's canon and Breena starts to glide down the aisle, her father on left and Ducky on her right. She's absolutely stunning in simple white lace, carrying a bouquet of calla lilies, smiling radiantly.
Ziva, of course, is a solid presence on Tony's right, his hand still encasing the warmth of hers, and while she herself is watching the bride and groom meet under the canopy, he's content to simply watch her.
The minister begins by saying something to Breena and Palmer, which makes them both chuckle and grin. Then, raising his voice so everyone can hear, he says in a warm voice, "Ladies and gentlemen, family and friends, welcome! We are gathered here today to witness and celebrate the joining of Breena Michelle and James William in marriage! They have chosen you, those special and important to them, to share in this beautiful evening and the beginning of their life as husband and wife. They have come to realize that their personal dreams, hopes, and goals are more attainable and more meaningful when put together, and they have found in the other a partner who will stand beside them always, through better or through worse. It's a truly beautiful thing." And Tony begins to zone out, focusing less on what the minister is saying and more on the feeling of Ziva beside him, her shoulder brushing his, his thumb tracing a random pattern against the back of her hand.
Somehow, they have survived, once more, the impossible. They've come out on the other side of the odds stronger, and he understands so much more now; why it never worked with Wendy or EJ, or anyone else for that matter. Why it was never his life flashing before his eyes, but his life without her. Why he would through himself in front of a bullet, a terrorist, the falling ceiling of an explosion-wracked elevator . . .
He understands what Michael Rodriguez meant when he said to not waste anymore time.
He totally, completely gets it.
...
Gibbs glances over Ziva's head to look at Tony and realizes that all the time before Harper Dearing literally rocked their world he had been wrong. Because until very recently, he used to think that history was repeating itself –that Ziva and DiNozzo were only versions of Jenny and himself existing in another time. But they aren't.
(Thank God).
Because Tony's looking at Ziva right now just like Palmer's looking at his bride-to-be.
And Ziva isn't Tony's Jenny.
She's his Shannon.
...
Tony focuses back on the events unfolding before him, just as the minister finishes prompting Palmer on his vows and Ziva squeezes his hand amongst echoed of promises of for richer and for poorer, in sickness and in health, to love and cherish as long as we both shall live.
THE END
...
(Or, perhaps, A BEGINNING?)