#i feel like if we ever do get together it’s going to be like tiva but without all the ninja assassins

[ddsmallz]

i am, unfortunately, having a very straight start to pride month. and i am feeling UNWELL bc of it

[myimaginarywonderland]

I am on season 11 of NCIS and I still don't see the appeal of Tiva.

The whole will they/won't they was fun for maybe a season but both characters have just always been at such different places for me that it felt wrong to even think about shipping them.

Tony had Jeanne, then EJ and some things between that.

They gave us multiple ships with Ziva that just were much more interesting and appealing to me.

And then since the end of season 9/season 10, it has felt like they suddenly pushed this whole "They are in love with each other thing" eventhough there was so much else going on.

I just don't see the appeal or two characters that are so different and at different stages of their lives, both deeply traumatized and making it worse for the other.

In the sense that they became worse people for the other, disregarding their own rules, sacrificing their own family sometimes. They didn't make each other better but rather we were shown multiple times how they got worse for each other, how they were ready to disregard every careful boundary that they set for themselves only to make the other happy. And I get that there is different an appeal of seeing two people so willing to sacrifice everything for each other but for me it always felt imbalanced because it wasn't the same for them.

Tony clearly cared for Ziva which we saw many times but he also hurt himself multiple times while trying to help her.

Ziva has shown more action for Gibbs to be honest than we ever saw her actually showing affectionate gestures until Tiva got together.

I just truly do not see the appeal and maybe that is also because I am not a big Ziva fan but this ship has never been at a stable point where both characters where on an equal ground which is just why I will never understand it.

I also feel like their characters just complelty were erased in multiple ways to make them work and I hate that it seems like their only qualities at times when being together where that they were a ship.

[fairy-tales-of-yesterday]

I was tagged by @mikaharuka for three different things I am not going to tag anybody because the only people i would tag, were tagged in this.

however i will tag @mrsmungus becuase i know she reads these.

First up we have Last Line

Suddenly Dean remembered that he wasn’t alone, even though he was in any way that really mattered.

I'm bored so whoever reads this is getting some commentary. this is from that supernatural fanfic that keeps appearing in these things. It's gonna be a one maybe two-shot, character study fix it. I will say that this was the last line at the time of this section, but I added more today.

Next, we have the Heads Up Seven Up

He was so tired. He had hoped that this would all be over. That he would be dead by this age, and he should be --he really should be. Somehow though here he was still kicking 12 years after his death. His first death. The death he had chosen, the death that felt like he had no other option. Sam had been dead and what else was he supposed to do, except to bring back Sam by any means necessary, even if it killed him? “And it didn’t before have you got that low an opinion of yourself? Are you that screwed in the head?” Bobby’s voice echoed bringing back memories of one of the worst times in his life even after all these years.

From the same fic but earlier.

Lastly, we have the Six Sentence Monday

Sam was used to feeling helpless in one way or another. Sometimes everything felt like it was out of his control and when everything felt out of control all he wanted to do was fix it, but he couldn’t. Sam didn’t think that he had ever wanted to fix something this much in a long time. Sure, things had gone wrong, horribly wrong recently, but this was a whole new level of wrong. Dean was supposed to be the strong one, the one who held it together. Dean wasn’t supposed to break down. This was his brother who he was talking about, his brother who had looked after him for so long. Everything had shifted though and Sam was left with a brother who hid in his room, in the dark for hours on end. Sam felt like he was trying to keep his head above water trying to get a grip on the situation but failing miserably.

Once again some commentary. This is from the same fic because it has been my current project. So basically, I find that the best way for me to do character studies, or at least what I consider character studies is to it break it up into sections. For this one, it is going to be told through primarily Dean and Sam's Pov, and flashbacks.

Some formats I have used before are:

Pov Character B: Present time Pov Character A: Past

I used this to explore the reasons for some of A's, behavior that B was seeing in the present. I used this method in this Tiva fic

You know what instead of doing this all in the commentary I might just do a separate post exploring character study methods.

Also if anyone wants a commentary on how I wrote a particular fic from my ao3 or something like that, just drop me an ask.

[creative-type]

wake from death (and return to life) ix

AO3 first summary:  Zoro had always been told Kuina died falling down a flight of stairs. But she didn’t fall, and she wasn’t dead.

.

.

It took Kuina almost five minutes of dangling over the rails of the ship to realize there was no wind. She was punch-drunk and giddy, the weight of uncertainty rolled off of her shoulders now that she had a clear path forward. She was a Revolutionary. She was going to be the greatest swordsman in the world.

Kuina allowed herself those five minutes. With everything she’d gone through in the last week and a half she’d more than earned them, and it had been so long since she’d felt any real excitement for her future. But no swordsman worth their blade would let themselves get lost in childish emotionalism. Kuina steadied herself with a few deep breaths, mentally drawing in the flights of fancy that had momentarily escaped from her imagination—daydreams of facing Dracule Mihawk at the behest of the Revolution, of proving once and for all that she could do what so many thought impossible, of reuniting with her father and Zoro proudly bearing the title Greatest.  

It was like trying to wrangle a gaggle of unruly children. The more Kuina struggled to contain herself the more her imagination tried to run free, but she managed to settle back into the state of tranquil serenity that was more befitting of her training. The practical side of her, the part that quietly disapproved of this most recent turn of events, knew that now that she’d painted the broad strokes of her future it was high time to figure out what the hell Aria de Gris was doing now. It was then, and only then, that she noticed that the air was unnaturally still.

The sailors around her were not perturbed even as the Valor’s sails hung limp from their moorings. Kuina could feel that they were moving on the clear, mirror-flat sea. Slowly, but that was better than being dead in the water. Kuina wandered to the ship’s bow, noting that the Valor was sailing almost due south. If the Revolution had followed the same heading since leaving Tolouse, and Kuina had been unconscious for two full days, that meant…

“Don’t worry, we should be out of the Calm Belt by the end of the week.”

Kuina flinched, sword half-drawn before realizing it was only Dara using what had to be the most annoying Devil Fruit ability in the history of the world. Dara laughed as she popped out of the deck, hooking her thumbs in her pockets as Kuina shot her a glare.

But most of Kuina’s irritation was at herself for letting herself be caught by surprise, and she returned her attention back to the water. It was impossible to sail through the Calm Belt without some sort of engine, which the Valor lacked, to say nothing of the danger presented by the innumerable nests of sea kings that buffeted the Grand Line from the Four Blues.

Even as Kuina tried to wrap her mind around it, a dark shadow emerged from the depths directly in front of the ship. A high-pitched, eerie wail, almost like a siren’s song, reverberated through the air and deep into Kuina’s chest.

A monstrous head breached the surface so close to the Valor it sent rippling waves across its hull. Sprays of water jettisoned thirty feet into the air, exposing only part of a stripped, misshapen body before submerging once more. Great flukes, as large as a whale, but covered with algae-like strands of hair, slapped against the surface of the sea and sent sprays of salty water against the deck. Someone in the crow’s nest above whooped out a cry of encouragement.

Thoroughly confused, Kuina looked at Dara, whose grin only widened as she pointed to a tiny speck bobbing to the space recently vacated by the leviathan. “Oh look, there’s Cam. Someone should send a boat after her.”

“As if she’d take it!” a Revolutionary Kuina didn’t recognize shouted from across the deck.

“True,” Dara said contemplatively. Beckoning Kuina to follow, she meandered to the starboard side of the deck and loosened a rope ladder into the sea. “It’s probably faster to just let her swim.”

If Kuina hadn’t been so amazed by the fact Camille hadn’t gotten herself eaten, she would have marveled at the speed with which she cut through the unnaturally-still sea. Kuina considered herself a good enough swimmer, but Camille looked like she’d been born for the water. She moved like she was part fish, each stroke strong and graceful, returning to the Valor in moments. When she climbed back onto the decks she seemed sad to be there, looking back longingly at the water.

“So, how’s Fin?” Dara asked.

“Good, good. I adjusted the harness to fit more comfortably.” Camille arched an eyebrow at her friend while adjusting a leather thong around her neck, from which hung the biggest tooth Kuina had ever seen. “And his name isn’t Fin.”

“Well since you haven’t said what his name is, you’ve left me no choice but to improvise,” Dara retorted. She nudged Kuina in the ribs. “Can you believe she went through the effort of taming a sea king and then didn’t name it? ”

“You tamed a sea king?” Kuina said. “ How? ”

Camille rolled her eyes. “I didn’t tame anything. We’ve just...reached an understanding.” She gave Kuina an appraising look. “I’m surprised the doctor let you out of her grasp so soon.”

“She almost didn’t,” Kuina admitted.

Dara wrapped an arm around Kuina’s neck, ignoring the choked yelp of alarm and Kuina’s efforts to squirm free. “Forget about that! Did you hear, Kuina joined up. She’s officially one of the team!”

“I thought that was a given.” Camille said, utterly disinterested as she wrung the excess water from her shirt.

“When did you hear that?” Kuina said at the same time.

“Pfft, Dara knows pretty much everything on this ship,” Camille said. “You get used to it.”

Kuina frowned. She didn’t like the idea of someone with Dara’s ability nosing her way into business that wasn’t her own. If there was anything she’d learned since sailing with the Revolution, it was that there was very little in the way of privacy while at sea. Ships crowded everyone together, crewmates eating, sleeping, and working in close proximity. While the forced closeness had its advantages, Kuina was used to spending great blocks of time alone. It was something to get used to, and to be wary of.

“Don’t worry, your secrets are safe with me,” Dara said, tweaking the end of Kuina’s nose. “You saved me from losing five hundred berries, and to Lizard of all people. I am at your service.”

It took Kuina a moment to remember Dara’s ill-thought wager with Elizabeth, and before she could voice her protest Dara had taken her by the arm to make official introductions to the crew, Camille laughing a half-step behind.

There was John the cooper, and James the blacksmith. Among the deckhands Kuina was introduced to rapid-fire were Kojo, Zhao, Lin, Char, Sean, Jen, and Tiva, and by the end of it she had gotten them so thoroughly confused with one another she had no idea which one was which. Others were working belowdecks, or off-shift and resting.

Elizabeth was still regretfully in charge of cooking duties, while Lyudmila was the ship’s quartermaster and second in command. Kuina was surprised to hear that in addition to taming sea kings in her spare time, Camille was the crew’s navigator.

“And what is it you do?” Kuina asked as Dara dragged her back below decks for the grand tour.

“Get newbs like you up to speed. Now here’s Trini’s room—try not to get stuck in here unless you want to spend the afternoon feeding lettuce to snails.”

Kuina blinked in amazement. The communications room was packed full of terrariums housing snail phones of every size and color. At its center was an enormous machine that looked vaguely like what the marines used to send their faxes, with thin cords attached to half a dozen den den mushi. Behind the machine sat Trini wearing an oversized pair of headphones, deep in concentration.

“She’s scanning the airwaves,” Dara said in an exaggerated whisper, carefully closing the door once more. “Not that there’s much to intercept in the Calm Belt, but you never know with the marines these days.”

“The marines can cross the Calm Belt?” Kuina said. “I can barely believe we’re crossing the Calm Belt!”

“It’s all thanks to Fin. Sea king bulls don’t typically fight with one another unless it’s mating season, so even if he’s pulling along a tasty treat we should be all right. I think his song has something to do with it, too.” She made an exaggerated gesture. “As for the marines, I have no freaking clue, but it must be a pretty new development since Boss doesn’t know about it, and the Valor isn’t sea-king proofed either.”

“That’s right, this was a marine ship,” Kuina murmured, looking up at the planks with fresh eyes. It was funny, without the marine’s distinctive painted hulls, she’d never would have been able to tell the difference.

“Oh, yeah. Came with all the amenities, which is how Trini got her state of the art snail room.”

“So if you guys had a sea king snuck up your sleeve this whole time, why didn’t you use it during the battle?” Kuina asked. “A monster that size would have been useful on Tolouse.”

“Ach, must everything be about fighting with you?” Dara said. “You must never have seen a real sea king, but Fin’s practically a baby, not even half-grown. And it’s surprisingly smart—for all my teasing, Cam was right. The thing has a mind of its own and acknowledges no master. I don’t think we could get him to attack a ship if we wanted to.”  

“But he’ll pull a ship through the Calm Belt?” Kuina said.

“It’s better than going the long way around, eh?” Dara said with a shrug. “Come on, I’ll show you where you’ll be sleeping.”

At the barracks, Kuina had her choice of seven open bunks. One, which happened to be closest to the door, had a small crate propped on top of the thin mattress. Inside was stuffed with clothes and basic belongings. When Kuina looked askance at Dara the light in her eyes dimmed.

“That’s Danny’s stuff,” Dara said. “The rest who died already have their things stowed for when we get back to base, but as far as any of us know she doesn’t have any family so we’re not really sure what to do with hers. I’d say for you to take the clothes since you don’t have any, but I don’t think they’d fit.”

Kuina drew her fingers over the box, trying to think if she’d said anything about any family in their short time together, but all she remembered her mentioning was an apprenticeship under a cruel master. Kuina’s throat tightened as the memory of Danny screaming hysterically echoed in her mind unbidden.

“I’m sorry,” she said.

Dara rubbed her neck uncomfortably. “It happens. I already told Boss when I bite it to sell all my stuff and use the money to have a party. If you all can’t be happy, at least you’ll be drunk.”

“I don’t drink,” Kuina said.

“Then you and Mila can be mopey together,” Dara said with determined cheerfulness. “It won’t matter to me, I’ll be dead. Now, where do you want to be? I’d be careful about that middle one there, it’s next to Lizard, and she snores terribly. ”

Kuina took the hint, and changed the subject, trying not to wonder how many of the bunks available to her had only emptied after the battle of Tolouse.

After the tour came lunch, and with two solid, if not especially tasty, meals under her belt, Kuina was beginning to feel more like herself again. The itch to train was back, and Kuina wanted nothing more to test the limits she’d recently expanded and chase after the high of battle, but much like her time on Belo Betty’s ship she was first subjected to the humiliation of being the newest and lowest-ranking sailor on a large and understaffed warship.

“You’re kind of shit at this, aren’t you?” Camille observed from her perch at the ship’s bow, watching as Kuina ran her mop over the deck for what felt like the hundredth time.

“You could help,” Kuina said.

“And deprive you of the opportunity to learn? Never.” She gave a long, catlike stretch. “By the way, you missed a spot.”

Kuina muttered an oath as she stabbed the mop into the bucket. “It isn’t as if it’s dirty.”

“Water expands and seals the wood, salt protects against rot.” Camille yawned, as if bored by the conversation, and wandered back to their useless rudder. As she passed Kuina, she said, “If you want to live in a drippy, softwooded ship, be my guest. As for me, I’d prefer not to die the first time a Grand Line squall hits.”

She left Kuina with her head bowed and cheeks burning. But the words had their intended effect and Kuina redoubled her efforts, determined from that point on that no one could in good conscience reprimand her sailcraft ever again.

It was nearing dark when de Gris and Lyudmila emerged from the captain’s quarters to call a meeting with the crew. After a long day of labor, Kuina’s muscles ached and she yearned for the sweet respite of bed. And it wasn’t as if the work had been taxing, especially after Clara Cross emerged from the infirmary like an avenging angel to tell off the entire crew, but especially Kuina, for overexerting herself.

There were some things not even Devil Fruit magic couldn’t sweep under the rug, and apparently the exhaustion of a near-death experience was one of them.

“All right everyone, gather round!” de Gris yelled. “Watchmen too! There aren’t any ships out here, and if the sea kings come after us we’re fucked anyway. I want everyone to hear this. Where’s Trini? She can leave the damn snails for ten minutes.”

The crew scrambled to obey the order. Kojo (or maybe Sean) went to gather those who were still belowdecks. Minutes later everyone was assembled in a loose circle around the main mast, with de Gris at the center. She paused a moment to ensure everyone was paying close attention, and under her stern gaze the idle chatter vanished into deathly silence.

Rays of dying light cast against de Gris’s back and framed her face in deep shadow. “I know you all have been wondering lately why the hell we were called to the East Blue so suddenly, and why we’re leaving just as quickly. I’ve heard you lot asking where our next destination was and wonder why I’ve not said where we’re going once we hit the Grand Line. Well, the answer’s simple. Until today, I didn’t know.”

From the folds of her coat, she pulled out an old and crumpled sheet of paper. Kuina squinted her eyes and was just able to make out the blurry picture of a masked figure. The bounty underneath, however, was clear as the sky above. Master-at-Arms Gemini, Wanted Dead or Alive. Bounty: B48,000,000.

Beside her, Dara snorted. “Oh, I bet the marine who thought up that name thought he was very clever.”

It was difficult to tell much from the photograph, but the one detail that was absolutely clear was Gemini’s strange, double-segmented arms, too long for an ordinary human and vaguely insectile. Kuina, who’d never seen anything like it before in her life, wondered what it would be like to fight someone who essentially had two elbows.

She brushed the thought away and turned to Gemini’s face. Their mask, fittingly enough, was divided vertically into halves, one dark and one light. The side that was dark was completely bereft of ornamentation; Kuina couldn’t even make out an eyehole to see out of. The side that was light, however, was painted with a garish grin. A shock of wiry black hair fell past their shoulders, but beyond that it was impossible to discern any identifying features. Baggy clothing and the poor quality of the photograph obscured anything else, even gender, and after spending this much time under de Gris's command, Kuina knew better than to assume.

“Gemini is a prominent figure in the criminal underground,” de Gris continued. “Arms dealing, drug trade, slavery, the whole lot. Removing them from the equation will make the world a safer place.”

“What’s an arms dealer got to do with the Revolution?” someone to Kuina’s right called. “And what have they got to do with the East Blue?” A murmur of agreement rippled through the crew.

“Enough!” de Gris bellowed, silencing them once more. “Tolouse's government were slavers, that much is now clear. They called it political exile to a labor camp, but the end result is the same—the World Government gave the king kickbacks for human chattel, using the Callihan Trading Company as a middleman. And we now now that the CTC was taking orders from Gemini. If Gemini is willing to go through so much effort to set up a scheme in some East Blue backwater, who knows what other fingers they have stuck into various pies around the world.”

“So we’re going after them,” Camille said, crossing her arms across her chest.

“That's right. So far Gemini has been able to stay one step ahead of us, but with the intel gathered on Tolouse we have the upper hand.” De Gris marched to the mast. In one smooth motion she drew a dagger hidden in her boot, and stabbed the bounty deep into the wood.

“Ladies and gentlemen, we’re going to Kyuka Island. In the days ahead I’ll be divvying out assignments. Any questions are to be directed toward Lyudmila or myself—out of an abundance of caution, you’re not to discuss your orders with anyone else on this ship. I’ll keelhaul anyone who tries.” At this her gaze went directly to Kuina, who got the impression these instructions were given strictly for her benefit. "Kyuka is marine territory through and through. I pray none of us fall into Government hands, but if we do, it's safest for the Revolution that each individual knows as little as possible about our plans."

After a pause, and hearing no objections, de Gris lit a cigarette for herself. “I’ll pay anyone who finds any intelligence on Gemini that leads to their capture or death the full value of their bounty. I’ll pay double to anyone who brings me their head. This chase has gone on long enough, I want this bastard dead. ” She flicked a bit of ash off the end of her cigarette and added, almost as an afterthought, “Dismissed.”

A gap in the circle opened to let de Gris through. As she passed, she grabbed Kuina by the shoulder. “Come on, greenhorn. It’s time we sort out your position on this ship.”

For the second time that day Kuina was led to the captain’s quarters. De Gris’s desk had been cleared away, the sea charts rolled back into their proper places and ashtrays emptied. Kuina slid back into a chair that smelled like tobacco. “What is it? Does the Revolution have Articles of Enlistment for me to sign? Is there a manifesto I’m supposed to study?”

“Don’t be stupid.” The sun had almost dipped below the horizon, and de Gris found a box of matches to light a kerosene lamp. The orange flame danced on its wick and flickered with the natural roll of the ship. “I’m told Dara gave you the runaround today.”

Kuina nodded.

“Clara never came screaming at me, so I have to assume you’re not feeling too poorly,” she mused, taking the time to light another cigarette.

“I’m fine,” Kuina said, rolling back her shoulders so de Gris couldn’t see the weariness in them.  

“And have you taken that sword out of its sheath even once today?”

“Uh...no?” Kuina said.

“Unacceptable.” De Gris leaned back in her chair and let out a long stream of smoke. “You’re not some swabby or rigging monkey, you’re here because of your blade.” She looked at Kuina as if she were an idiot for not realizing this sooner.

“I’m willing to work just as hard as anyone else on this ship,” Kuina said stiffly.

“And you will. Harder, even, since you’re so far behind. But a ship is like…” She gesticulated, trying to find the right word. “It’s like a person. A crew is its own organism, and every one of us has to fit into their part. You don’t expect a heart to do the same work as a kidney, and no matter how hard you try, you’re not going to be half the sailor as the people who’ve spent their whole lives on the water. It’s ridiculous to think otherwise.”

Kuina nodded. What she said made sense, and in many ways Kuina agreed with her. But there was something about agreeing with Aria de Gris that didn’t sit right with her, so she said, “I have to learn sometime.”

“Obviously. I’m not about to let you be a liability once we hit the Grand Line, but there has to be balance. You’re no good to me if you get yourself killed because you spent too much time studying the different types of sails instead of your swordsmanship.” De Gris was pensive for a moment. “I’ll have Mila set up a schedule for you in the morning. Half the day working chores, the rest training. A few of my men use katana, but you’re better than all of them. Most of what you’ll do will have to be self study.”

“That’s fine. I haven’t had a master in years.”

De Gris looked surprised to hear this, but didn’t comment. “We have regular sparing times as well, to help our less practiced fighters build their skill, and to give the mainliners a chance to get used to each other's styles. Depending on how this all shakes out, you might be pairing with Dara or Camille for the upcoming mission. Do you know how to use a gun?”

“Of course not,” Kuina said, caught off-guard by the question.

“Then you’ll learn.” De Gris cut off Kuina’s protests before they could begin. “Can you kill someone at twenty yards with your sword?”

“No,” Kuina said mulishly.

“Then you need to know how to fire a gun, and probably keep one on you as a backup weapon. I have no use for senseless pride on this ship, girl,” she said as Kuina scrunched her nose in distaste. It’s your job to listen to what I say, and it’s my job to try and put you in a position to not die. Do you understand?”

“Yes,” Kuina said, still unhappy at the prospect of sullying her hands with a firearm.

Without warning, de Gris pounded her fist on her desk. The kerosine lamp tottered and threatened to fall, but her eyes never left Kuina’s, the scar on her cheek pulled taunt with her scowl.

“I said. Do. You. Understand ?”

“And I said yes, ” Kuina snapped. “I’ll learn to use you’re stupid gun, and when I figure out how to kill someone at fifty yards with my sword I’ll drop kick it into the ocean where it belongs." She crossed her arms across her chest. "I already told you I’ll do what you say so long as you don’t interfere with my ambition, so there’s no need to treat me like a child.”  

They glared at one another for a long while, hackles raised, but this time Kuina refused to let herself be intimidated into backing down. Slowly, still without breaking eye contact, de Gris eased back into her chair and doused her cigarette. “I have put too many people’s belongings into boxes because they wouldn’t listen. For your own sake, I hope you’re not one of them.”

For the second time that day, memory of Danny's last words echoed in her mind. “You’re in luck, because right now I don’t own enough stuff to fit into a box, let alone anyone to send it to.”

“No one at all?” de Gris said, eyebrows raising.

Kuina’s breath hitched as she thought of her father back at Shimotsuki village. Would the Revolutionary Army be able to return her meager belongings home without the marines knowing? Would he be able to stand knowing she’d joined Dragon’s cause despite all his warnings? What about Ipponmatsu? He at least wasn’t under suspicion by the World Government...Or was he, now that she’d attacked Tashigi?

Of everyone she knew, it was probably safest to give her belongings to Zoro , but gods only knew what part of the Grand Line he’d found himself in. She almost laughed at the thought of him using two of her swords for himself.

“No one,” Kuina said. Her hands clenched into fists, nails digging crescent moons into her palms, but she kept her voice calm and her tone even.

After another heartbeat of painful silence, de Gris said, “Well, you’re not the only one." The words were probably meant to be reassuring, but Kuina felt they were anything but. “If you think of anybody, make sure someone knows.”

“I don’t plan on dying,” Kuina said.

De Gris snorted and lit another cigarette. “None of us do. Now get some grub and get to bed. You have a long day ahead of you tomorrow.”

Kuina rose to her feet. After a moment’s hesitation, she bowed slightly. “Thank you...Captain.”

De Gris waved her away with a dismissive flick of the wrist. “You don’t have to break your teeth saying it. I don’t give a damn what you call me so long as you follow orders. Just know I take discipline on this ship very seriously. Cross me, and keelhauling is the least you’ll have to worry about.”

Kuina didn’t doubt it for a second. Murmuring her goodbyes, she left de Gris to her cigarettes and her musings, grateful to be able to swallow the clean sea air once more.

[justkindaoverhereobsessing]

rationality

Tony and Ziva have a tense heart-to-heart on the way home from Somalia.

For the @giveusourtivaprompts August Tiva fic challenge: <1k words involving “Truth or Consequences” and including the line “You could have died.”

Word count: 999

Also available for reading on ff and AO3

_________________

After several minutes of tired silence, Ziva finally speaks.

"You could have died," she says. Her face and her voice are… off, making it difficult to interpret the sentiment behind her words. Is she scolding? Worrying retroactively? Merely observing?

"So could you," Tony replies slowly; now hardly feels like the time to contradict her.

"But that was…"

Tony waits, but she doesn't finish her sentence. "That was what?"

"That was different. There was only me to worry about."

"So?"

"So, I was not…" Ziva looks away, and Tony's heart clenches. Uncertainty and hesitation used to be rare for her, but now she's agonizing over every word.

Without thinking, he reaches over to take her hand, but she jumps and jerks away; he instantly regrets trying it at all. "Sorry," he mutters. "I was just…"

"I know." Her voice, virtually toneless before, is now rough.

They're on a cargo plane, strapped side-by-side into jumpseats and headed for North America. For now, no one else is around to hear them... McGee is slumped in his own seat a few feet away, drooling slightly as he sleeps, and Gibbs is belted in against the opposite wall, awake but too far away to catch their soft voices.

Given how he and Ziva left things months ago and given the way he's already messing this up, Tony wishes that one of the other team members was present to help with the uncomfortable conversation.

"Ziva?"

"What, Tony?"

"Can you finish that thought? 'I was not…'"

Ziva shrugs, still looking away and keeping her hands tightly clasped in her lap. "I was not putting myself in danger for the sake of someone else," she finally answers. "The consequences that followed… they were my burden to bear. I chose to go to Somalia. I knew what awaited me—I knew that I would die. I welcomed it."

Tony's surprised by her words—she has barely strung two sentences together since Saleem brought her into the makeshift interrogation room some twelve hours prior—and for a few moments, he's not sure how to reply.

Unfortunately, Ziva seems to take his silence as agreement, and to Tony's horror, her chin starts to wobble ever-so-slightly.

"Ziva," he says again in a low voice.

Somehow, he knows that she hears him over the roar of the engine, but she doesn't look at him, and he tries again.

"You said you weren't putting yourself in danger for someone else's sake, but that's not true, is it? You went where Eli sent you. It was not your decision to—"

"Enough."

Tony sighs roughly and lays off his least-favorite foreign leader for the moment. "Ziva," he murmurs, "you followed Mossad orders into the desert, right? You may have accepted the mission or whatever, but you can't—"

Ziva jerks her head back around sharply so her eyes can meet his. "It does not matter who gave the order, Tony! I chose to go, and I chose to go alone!"

Her words are suddenly very hard, full of vitriol, and it's a relief to see... maybe the old Ziva is still in there after all. "Alright, alright, fine, going was your choice," he agrees quickly—he fully plans to argue again later when things are not so fresh for her. "But following you was our choice."

"I did not ask you to—"

"Exactly! We've been over this, Ziva, and my answer isn't changing!" Tony lets out a frustrated little laugh, goaded by her stubborn self-flagellation into getting fired up himself. "Are you really so delusional that you think McGee and Gibbs and I didn't volunteer for this trip? Well, okay, I volunteered and Gibbs did, too, but technically, I guess I'm the one who volunteered McGee. But that's not the point… The point is that no, you didn't ask us to do anything! NCIS didn't send us, either—actually, I'm pretty sure Vance expressly said he couldn't send a team. We chose to come, because when someone kills one of our own, we take it personally. Feel however you want about what you did while you were gone—whatever!—but if you're insisting that you made your own choices, you have to accept that we did the same thing."

"But it made no sense! I have not even seen you three in months, much less worked as a member of your team!"

"You really think that matters!?"

"Last we met, I nearly killed you, Tony! I accused—"

"Water under the bridge, Ziva."

Ziva shakes her head, incredulous. "I still do not understand. You thought I was already dead, and yet you came. That is irrational at best."

"Family's not rational. Never has been."

Ziva swallows hard enough that Tony can see it. "Family?" she echoes softly, her ire gone as quickly as it appeared.

Tony relaxes and grins a little, relieved that he's finally getting through to her. "Just stop arguing and say 'thanks for the rescue,' okay?"

"Ha… thanks for the rescue."

And then slowly, hesitantly, Ziva takes his hand.

_________________

"You could have died," Tony says quietly, his fingers hovering millimeters above a small cut on Ziva's cheek, left there mere days ago by Sahar.

Ziva grins slyly, and it's only after she speaks that Tony understands why. "So could you."

Oh, he remembers what she's referencing, something from years ago. "Let me guess…" He does touch her face then, though this time it's cradling her cheek instead of worrying over tiny injuries. "Family's not rational, right?"

"You told me so years ago, Tony, and I have not forgotten."

"Did it ever sink in?"

Ziva looks down at Tali, draped across their laps on the couch and fast asleep with her thumb in her mouth. "I think I understand now. Rationality… it may be overrated."

She looks back up to see Tony smiling at her with incredible warmth. "Yeah?" he checks, his voice soft and free from teasing.

"Yes," she answers firmly.

And then slowly, not-so-hesitantly, Ziva takes his hand just as she did before.

[pro-bee]

Clean

I have been in a major writing rut for months, so I decided to write something completely different to get me out of my funk! This is for @coffeedepablo and @indestinatus and @delicatefalice and anyone else who’s ever nagged me to just write again. Also, this was inspired by the scene in “Hiatus” where, in the middle of the chaos of Gibbs being blown up, Ziva is transfixed by the rain outside, and today was a rainy day which was finally a perfect excuse to just wrote.

Also, I wrote this today, and haven’t done as much proofreading as I would like, but I decided I had to just post it and forget it!

Rating: G Characters: Ziva David, Tony DiNozzo Pairing: Established Tiva, duh. Type: One-shot fluff. (That’s all I’m good for these days.) Word Count: 1,100 Summary: A rainy day makes way from some quiet contemplation.

Also available on AO3.

The air is heavy, weighed down by the humidity of the passing storm. The rain falls gently in the small yard, creating a sheen over the sidewalk this evening that threatens to become a reflecting pond if it doesn’t let it up soon.

She is curled up in the weathered Adirondack chair on the small deck, her body still, and her gaze set afar, like a lioness surveying her domain. She cradles a mug of tea in both hands, the steam rising to join the mist that surrounds her.

“I was wondering where you’d gone to.”

She is awoken from her reverie by the humor in Tony’s voice behind her, and she turns around to acknowledge his presence. At some point after dinner, he’d scurried off to catch up on some neglected work, and it wasn’t until an hour later that he’d noticed that Ziva had disappeared from her usual reading perch in her favorite armchair in the living room.

“It’s raining cats and dogs out here.”

“Ah, that would make our daughter extremely happy, would it not?”

“Can’t argue with that. Guess we’ll have to settle for the tadpoles for now.”

She offers him the hint of a smile in return, but her her attention is fixed upon the horizon. (The horizon, here, is the hedge separating their yard from the neighbor’s. Not quite the Saharan vista of his imagination.)

Curious, he grabs a chair and joins her under the awning, without saying a word. He follows her lead, basking in the hypnotic melody of drops hitting the roof, the drizzle pulling a curtain around them. Here they are, protected in their cocoon, the rest of the world melting away from them. Truth be told, he’s a little on edge, unused to this lack of conversation in their new home, but he also senses the importance of this moment of solitude. He’s become an expert at biding his time over the years, so he lies in wait for her to make the first move.

(Or not. If she wants to sit here for the rest of their days, immovable like a sphinx surveying the desert, he’ll plant roots right along with her.)

She pulls her legging-clad knees in even closer, taking in a deep breath and sighing, letting go of a lifetime of worries in a single exhalation. He’d give a penny for her thoughts, but he’ll make do with whatever she’s willing to part with tonight. Unsurprisingly, she seems to read his mind.

“I used to love watching the rain when I was a kid.”

She pauses for a second, like she were waiting for a prompt, as would have so often been the case in the old days, but none comes forward. He’s still wary of pushing too hard, too soon, so he’s learned to let her take the lead when it comes to deciphering the code to Ziva David’s meditations.

“It hardly ever rained at home. Not like this, anyway. In the winter, we would have these thunderstorms that seemed to come out of nowhere, and end just as quickly. My sister used to complain about them, because they got in the way of her imaginary stage design outside,” she recalls with a chuckle, “but my mother used to tell her that we needed the water for things to grow. The stormy skies would give way to the shining sun.”

He waits to see if any storm clouds brew behind her eyes.

“How’d she handle that?”

“Usually by tearing up the house and inevitably ending up in what we would now call a ‘time out.’”

It’s his turn to laugh, trying to picture the siblings squabbling a lifetime ago, before they had to confront the demons in their home head-on. (The apple doesn’t fall too far from the tree, it seems.)

“But not you?”

She shakes her head. “The storms always fascinated me. How you could feel the air change, all of a sudden, and then the sky would just open up. And there was nothing you could do to stop it. Life was always so busy, so regimented, so volatile, but one thing that no one could control was Mother Nature. You could predict and plan all you wanted, but when the storms came, all you could do was take cover and wait it out.”

He has a feeling she isn’t just talking about the weather.

“I would sit by our living room window if we were at home in Tel Aviv, or on our porch if we were in Haifa with my grandparents, and watch it pour down. It drowned out all the other noise, for a little while at least.” The wistfulness in her voice belies the darker memories bubbling beneath the surface.

He watches her in turn, understanding how rare these moments of utter tranquility must have been in her young life. Hell, still were, until recently. Some days, it seems like she’s still struggling to grasp them, even now.

“It’s funny. There is so much fear tied to storms. About their unpredictability, and the floods and destruction left in their wake. They are the only thing that cannot be bent to one’s will. But I never felt that fear. To me, they were… soothing. Like the rain would fall and wipe the slate clean. No matter what was happening, you could start over fresh when it was over. It was like finally being able to breathe.”

Once upon a time, this kind of talk would make him nervous, wonder if she weren’t about to decide her own slate needed to be wiped, all by herself. Yet here they are, together, and he realizes that maybe, that isn’t what this is about at all. That maybe after every storm is a chance for a sunny start, too.

“Sounds like maybe your mom was right.”

“I guess so.”

They sit in silence for a spell, mesmerized by the clatter of the downpour and the motionlessness of the moment. Where once they would have both felt awkward at the silence between them, now they sit in reverence of it, the beauty of what doesn’t need to be said anymore

After a while, though, he comes to realize that this is her quiet confessional, between herself and whatever power is driving her forward, and he feels as though she needs this time alone to commune with her higher power. He gets up, a little less limber than he’d care to admit, and places a gentle kiss on the top of her head, before heading back into the house. Once inside, he watches from the kitchen window as bit by bit the tension seeps from her body, washed away by the deluge and the promise of tomorrow.

Time stands still, and for what feels like hours, all she hears is the patter of the rain, gently surrounding her, the rushing sound eclipsing all of her worries as she welcomes its release. She takes a sip of her tea, and smiles to herself as her old friend envelops her in its comforting embrace.

She thinks that, maybe this time, she is finally clean.

---

My apologies to Taylor Swift for paraphrasing her song “Clean” in that last line.

[indestinatus]

In Every Universe

TIVATOBER 2020 // DAY 22

↳ prompt: Farmer’s Market - rated T (1,304 words)

summary: As the sun rises on a nearby market, Tony and Ziva make their way through the fruit and vegetables stands. 

A/N: my take on the pure soulmate energy that irradiates from Tiva. Those who know me well, know how much I’m obsessed with this topic haha <3

read it on AO3 🍊

It was early enough to hear the birds singing in different tunes, but still too early for the sun to have fully risen. With the sky shifting from dark blue to pale orange, Tony blinked away the tiredness as he tried to fully appreciate the beauty of it.

His eyelids burned with fatigue, but the crisp cool autumn air made him alert enough not to fall asleep on the spot. After a rather difficult case and long nights locked inside the navy yard with only bad stakeout food and shots of caffeine, Tony was immensely glad they’d found their killer in time and their boss had sent them home. The prospects of a three-day weekend brought a nice feeling to his chest, one that made the drowsiness feel soothing, not guilty as it did before.  

Tony was, in fact, so glad, that he didn’t even register where his feet were heading until they suddenly arrived at the local market—early vendors setting up their stands and a few curious passersby already eyeing their products even before dawn. There were fresh fruit and vegetables neatly displayed (things he wasn’t particularly fond of) but they looked so good it made his mouth water. He really needed some sleep to get his mind back together. 

McGee went home to crash on something that wasn’t the hard floor of Abby’s lab and when Ziva said she was still to take a look at what was for sale at a farmer’s market nearby, Tony found himself following her without even thinking about it. It felt almost second nature to him now, and she appeared to be too tired to complain.  

“C’mon,” Tony sent a lazy grin her way and somehow knew he looked like a fool doing so. “You’re no fun. I already know you as an officer.”

“But it’s true,” Ziva chuckled, shoulders hunching up in defence. “I do not see myself being anything else.”

“Oh, c’mon, David,” he encouraged, bumping his shoulder with hers, “Let down your guard a little. Think about your childhood dreams, your locked-away secrets. Your walls can’t be that high this time in the morning.”

Ziva looked at him amused and quirked up an eyebrow, asking, “What would you be?”

“I asked you first,” Tony replied with a smile. 

“And I asked you second.”

Ziva then pulled a face he knew too well - the one she did whenever she was determined to make something happen, with her nose angled up just a little - and Tony found himself wondering if all people looked that beautiful at dawn, or if it was just her. 

“Hmm,” Tony mused to himself, putting his hands inside his pockets, “Probably a personal trainer. It would certainly make me feel great not to throw my Bachelor degree in Physical Education right into the trash bin like I did when I left Ohio Estate.”

“It wasn’t a complete waste.”

He turned to Ziva to find her watching him with a small smile and was surprised to see that she looked almost shy about it. Perhaps days without sleep had done something to her hardiness, and Tony instantly felt more vulnerable than he would ever admit. 

“I’ll take that as a compliment,” he replied with a slight duck of his head. “And you? Now you have to answer.”

Ziva looked at the sky beyond, putting her hands behind her back and swaying closer to him. He wondered if she also felt that pull of wanting to touch each other, one that was frequently present but not as strong. Now with the world around them turning pastel, it seemed like it had increased a thousandfold, and Tony had to press his lips together to keep his self-control in check. He suddenly had to fight the urge of taking her hand in his, and that alone made his fingers itch. 

“Hm,” Ziva hummed. “I think I would’ve liked to teach self-defense classes.” 

“A fighting instructor, huh?” He wasn’t surprised. “Suits you. I bet your classes would be filled with douchebags trying to get your number.”

Ziva chuckled. “I could teach them a thing or two.”

“You think we would work at the same place?”

“Hm. Maybe.”

“Be coworkers, huh?” Tony sent her a lopsided grin and Ziva huffed out a laugh, clearly amused by his line of thinking. 

“I do not think we would even have met.”

“Of course we would,” he stepped into her personal space to whisper, “I would be the too hot gym instructor you wouldn’t be able to take your eyes from all day.”

Ziva’s answering chuckle made his heart skip a beat, and Tony grew addicted to the sound. All he wanted to do nowadays was to make her laugh, his attempts at joking about everything turning more frequent than not. 

“Sure,” she smiled, and stepped closer to one booth at the side to look at its vegetables. In a minute, she had charmed the couple of vendors and now left with a paper bag filled with beetroots, a soft smile permanent on her face. 

He couldn’t stop staring.

“Maybe you would be the one asking my number then, huh?” asked Tony smugly, though the smile in his voice betrayed the truth. 

“Don’t fool yourself.” Ziva huffed. “You would be too occupied taking every single one of your clients to bed.”

“Ha!” Tony laughed to the sky. She was probably right. “But would you give me your number if I asked?”

“If you asked nicely…” She sent him a knowing look. “... perhaps.”

Tony’s eyebrows shot skywards. “Really? And would you go out with me?” 

Ziva turned to him then, and a smile started to twitch on his lips. He hadn’t missed how she’d halted for a moment, the double meaning of his words hanging in the air. The twinkle in her eye told him she had caught it, and Tony’s grin widened when she chose not to comment on it.

“It would have probably been out of pity,” Ziva replied instead. 

“Ouch,” Tony pretended to look affronted. “Not even casual sex? I bet we would’ve teamed up against bad wages and annoying students.”

She raised an eyebrow, but chuckled nonetheless. “Probably.”

“Be friends with benefits.”

“Now you’re dreaming.”

“Friends, at least?”

Whatever quick reply Ziva was ready to give him was cut short when an old lady approached them, coming from behind one of the stands. She had wrinkles around her eyes and starking white hair, but her smile was honest and excited. 

“For the couple,” she said, taking Tony’s hands inside her own and giving him a clementine. 

He felt a heat crept up his neck, and immediately corrected her, “We’re not a…”  

Then Tony turned to Ziva to find her watching him closely. There was a different sparkle in her eyes he’d never seen before, one that made him double-check to see if it was still there. But there it was - smiling as if she knew a secret, and silently asking if he knew that too.

Blinking away something more than just tiredness, Tony turned to the old lady again, who was patting the hand that was still on top of his.

“Thank you,” Tony said, watching her nod and then go back to behind her shop. 

He threw the orange from one hand to another, trying to think properly. Eventually, he decided it was way too early to be dwelling on matters that made his heart race like that. 

Tony parted the clementine into two identical halves and gave one to Ziva, who accepted without a word. 

Failing to suppress their smiles, they continued to walk down the market, stopping to grab some breakfast and then later to watch the sun fully rise. 

They didn’t continue their conversation, though, but it didn’t really matter. 

He had a feeling that in every universe, they would’ve always ended up that way.

[factoffictionwriter]

Tiva Fic Amnesty #12

Okay - this has the potential to be a little controversial, but I’m gonna post some bits and pieces from unused work for Chaval Al Hazman (read actual fic here if you want). This isn’t me giving up on the fic, okay? I swear I’m going to go back to it one day. Once I figure out what I want to do with it. Plus, I’m only posting pieces that won’t be included when I eventually finish it (even if they are, they won’t be in the same form they are here). Mostly alternate scenes to things I already posted. 

“How far is it from Tel Aviv?” He asked, reaching out for his own glass and mirroring her action. 

“Maybe 3 hours on a bad day. Farther than Jerusalem.” 

He nodded as he looked back down at the tiny screen in front of him, propped up precariously on the now almost empty bottle on wine between them, “Okay, so that leaves us with Akko and Be’er Sheva. Oh, right, and Jaffa.” 

“Jaffa is right outside of Tel Aviv, so that will not be hard. Be’er Sheva, on the other hand, is more complicated.” 

“Why? Is it a long drive?” 

She shook her head as she pushed off the marble counter behind her and took the few steps across the kitchen. She leaned forward on the breakfast bar, propping herself on her elbows as she slowly swirled the liquid in her glass, “No. Not too long. There is just so much to see. It could take us weeks to get to everything.” 

“And that’s a bad thing?” He tried to decipher the look in her eyes, to weed through all her typical layers of defense. 

She looked up from her glass, “Generally, no. But you keep forgetting that we are operating on borrowed time here, Tony. Any day now we could get a call telling us that the issue with Gibbs has blown over and we can return to our jobs.” 

His eyebrows shot up, and he gave her the most mischievous look he could manage, “Who says we have to go? You’re rich. We could hide out here indefinitely.” 

She chuckled, “We? I would be paying for your lifestyle?” 

“Between your mom’s family and what I’m sure is a fat inheritance from your father, I think you could manage it. Besides,” he set his glass down and slid a hand out, barely letting his fingertips brush the skin of her forearm where it sat on the counter between them, “I bet I could come up with a few ways to repay my debts. As long as you’re willing to accept alternative forms of payment.” 

She shook her head at him, but couldn’t hold back the smile that spread across her face or the small laugh that accompanied it. 

“As intriguing as I find your offer of alternative payments, I am pretty sure that we both know we won’t be going back to NCIS for the money.” 

“Yeah, you’re right. We’ll go back for the guns.” 

She laughed again, setting down her own wine glass this time and leaning a little farther over the bar, “We will go back for the family. Our family.” 

He sighed, running his fingers up her arm one last time before resting his palm on the back of her elbow, “I guess that’s a pretty good reason to go back. Much better than what I thought you were going to say.” 

She raised her eyebrows at him, “Which was?” 

He smirked to himself as he gently tugged at her arm, prompting her to lean even farther over the bar until she must have been standing on her tip toes, “The dead bodies.” 

---

“Borrowed time,” he said, drawing the words out as if testing the way they felt on his tongue before deciding to add, “I don’t think I like the sound of that.” 

Her hands faltered again, and he swore he heard her swallow before speaking, but her words still came out clear and calm, “It is just an expression, Tony.” 

“Well, it’s a bad one. And not very accurate.”

She didn’t respond. 

“And I’m not so sure how I feel about that being the one expression you get right on the first try.” 

Still silent. 

“Because I don’t see us as ‘operating on borrowed time’. I see us as… setting in motion the things that are going to shape the rest of our lives.” 

No response. 

“Like, take the Be’er Shiva thing. Someday, we will visit Be’er Shiva together, and you’ll show me all your favorite things about the place you were born. Whether that happens on this trip, or maybe over a christmas vacation next year, or even in 10 years, I still have this feeling that it will happen.” 

He felt her breath on the back of his neck again as she slowly slid her arms round his waist, the massage seemingly forgotten, “Christmas in the Desert? That doesn’t sound very festive.” 

“Oh, what do you care? You don’t even celebrate Christmas. The point is, we aren’t borrowing time from anyone. It’s ours. We earned it. And nobody else is going to tell us how to spend it.” 

He finished his little speech by reaching up for her hands where they lay flat on his stomach and tangling their fingers together. 

She was quiet for a moment until he felt her shoulders shaking with laughter behind him. 

He turned his head to the side, trying to get a little glimpse of her behind him, and was relieved to find that the motion did not cause stabbing pain. She really was a miracle worker. 

“What’s so funny?” 

She shook her head a little before leaning forward to press her lips against his cheek where she could now reach it, “I just cannot believe that there are people out there, people we spend hours with each day and have worked alongside for years, who truly believe that Tony DiNozzo is a playboy.” 

He sat up straight and turned to face her, regretting the movement when her fingers slid out of his and she let go of his waist, then feeling relieved when she casually dropped her hands to rest on his thighs, “You’re suggesting I’m not.” 

She shook her head, “Absolutely not. You are the most hopelessly romantic man I have ever met.” 

He let his hands crawl up her sides until they came to rest on her waist, “I would love to hear how you came to that conclusion.” 

She smiled at him, leaning forward a little as if to emphasize her confidence, “You lost your mother young, and your father hasn’t been able to hold down a relationship since, which taught you that relationships can work, but only with the right people. You went on to date a woman considerably older than you who, in my humble opinion, manipulated you into believing you would be together forever. You proposed, she said yes, then she left you at the altar. Now you don’t trust your own instincts, at least not when it comes to relationships. So you date around, chasing skirts and hoping that one of them will turn out to be right for you, but also never giving them the chance to prove themselves. You love movies because of your mother, but also because you love the idea of a happy ending, especially one that falls into the lap of the main character. You’re terrified of getting hurt, but also of being alone. Which is why you talk so much. When you’re talking, you can’t hear the sound of your own discontent with your life.” 

She gave him a level look, as if daring him to argue with her analysis. 

He sighed, “Wow. Sounds like a catch.” 

She smiled again, and one of her hands slid off his thigh and found its way to his face, gently brushing along his hairline and down to his jaw, “Evidently I thought so.” 

“Any other life shattering observations that you’d like to share with me?” 

Her smile morphed into a smirk as she brought her hand around to the back of his neck, “Depends. Are you aware of your tendency toward women who can kick your ass?” 

---

“Now how the hell would you know that?” 

“Because I know you, Tony,” she said as she ducked her head to press her lips to his neck sweetly, “And I pay attention when you talk.” 

“Could have fooled me,” He mumbled against her collarbone.

She chuckled, “Must we revisit my previous analysis? Or continue on with our discussion of your infatuation with dangerous women?” 

He shook his head, “Let’s not. I think we should dig up something deeply personal about you, huh? How about we discuss why it is you are attracted to men so much older than you?” 

She laughed this time, “I am attracted to older men because older men are attractive. There is no deeper meaning.” 

“Oh, really? So you mean to tell me that you’re here, making out with a guy who is more than 10  years older than you, and I’m supposed to believe that has nothing to do with your emotionally distant and borderline abusive father?” 

“Believe me, Tony, my father is the farthest thing from my mind when I am in bed with a man, no matter his age. And you are not the oldest one I have been with.” 

He scrunched up his face, “Nevermind. I would rather not talk about your sexual encounters of the geriatric kind.”

[television-overload]

Really long hot take on Ellick and Tiva, but it's IMPORTANT

I think maybe the reason I'm okay with Ellick getting their moment even though it is what we SHOULD have gotten for Tiva is because my brain almost splits them up into two different shows.

Especially after Tony left, so much of what made the show special was gone. The three musketeers were broken up. The family aspect vanished because it felt like no one knew each other anymore. Gibbs' characterization was off. So my mind made sense of it and treated it like a new show. Some of the same characters, sure. But those ties that connected them to who they were on the old show were severed. They felt stale. I hated Bishop. Now stick with me here. If you know me at all, you know that has changed. But what hasn't changed is that I basically started fresh in season 14.

I chose to give them the benefit of the doubt because all new shows take a season or two to really get going.

Season 15 came, and so did Torres. He filled the gap of what was missing in the show, which was the family component. Interpersonal relationships that made the "old" show so special. He is fiercely protective of his new family, the team. Yes, especially Ellie now. And now that is a theme we see more often.

We can't pretend that watching case after case with no heartfelt subplot is anywhere near the vibe we had in seasons 3-10. Just because our two FAVORITE characters left, doesn't mean the writers should just quit and the show should lay back and die. Reintroducing this relational element was necessary for the show's survival.

And yes, at first I was furious that everything Ziva worked so hard for, that TIVA worked so hard for, was coming so easily for Bishop and Torres. But as soon as I separated the old show from the new in my brain, I was able to see the burgeoning romance between the two new agents, and I fell in love with it too.

Will it ever match what Tiva had? No. I won't pretend to say that it will. For others, maybe they see them as equals. And that's okay. Others don't see it at all. That's okay too. For me, Tiva is the ultimate pairing that cannot be rivaled, and I recognize that part of that is terrible writing that delayed their getting together officially for 14 years. The slow, slow burn that wasn't entirely intentional. Just no one had the guts to actually go for it and put Tony and Ziva together.

That's why the end of Berlin and the beginning of the next episode get me so bad. Ziva literally looked like she was about to tell Tony about her feelings, and then a car comes and smashes those hopes and dreams away. The next episode acts like it never happened.

Season 12 and 13 were a mess too, comparatively. Tony felt out of place. In the season 13 finale, the writers fixed some things by at least giving Tony a permanent tie in to Ziva and making his feeling - LOVE - for Ziva canon. But then they killed her. And unless we hear otherwise, it seems that actually killing her off were their intent.

This is becoming a Very Long Post, but as I said, season 15 and 16 I started to really enjoy the "new" show. Different, but good. I can understand how Ellick feels super rushed, but thinking of other shows that rush it even more takes that away somewhat. And it's not like Ellick is actually together yet. They haven't done anything close to when Tony and Ziva were undercover on the literal 8th episode Cote was in (I LOVE that episode).

Tony and Ziva were INTENSE. Tragic backstories combined with angst and hidden feelings. It's enough to set you on fire. Compared to them, Ellick is lighthearted fun. And I can recognize when something is fun, or cute, or heartwarming. Nick was a work-by-myself type undercover agent, hardened by his work. Ellie has softened that exterior and brought out the goofiness in him that she herself exhibits. They bring a lot of laughs and life to a show that otherwise might be kind of dull or monotonous. Kasie too, but this post isn't about her. I could ramble for several more paragraphs about Kasie.

In this "new" show, the writers have learned that prolonging the slow burn relationship for too long is detrimental to the characters, the actors, and the show. It seems that this time around, they are determined not to make that mistake. Plus, NCIS is on its 17th season. There's no telling how much time it has left. It could go on for 2 more seasons or 20 more seasons. It all depends on the storytellers. The writers. The actors. And the fans.

Finding enjoyment in what they put out.

Putting off any relationships they have growing, character development they want to focus on, is a dangerous business in a show with 17 seasons under its belt. They don't have time for all the things they put Tiva through. It's different.

So here is what I will leave you with. NCIS has changed. And yes, the ship we loved is gone. They have their happy ending, and I desperately hope we get to see some of that someday. I literally want nothing more than to see it. But instead of comparing Ellick to Tiva, try to see it for what it is on it's own. For those of us that have watched them grow for 2 and a half seasons (at least? I don't remember) it has felt like a long time coming.

I'll be honest, I fight off those feelings about Ellick a lot. Not so much now, but I used to. I was petty that Ellick was everything Tiva should have been. I looked for connections where they may not have been any just so I could say they were trying too hard to copy Tiva. But after I realized my bias and started looking at them and the "new" show from a fresh perspective, I saw all the charm and enjoyment that Ellick was offering. It has brought so much more enjoyment to me when watching the show. And why would you deny yourself enjoyment and happiness? After Tony left, I had never been so happy and excited and emotional during an episode of NCIS until the season 16 episode "What Child Is This." Ellick has given me something new to ship, something new to speculate about, something new to freak out over. To actually look forward to without the underlying distrust and dread that came with Tiva, simply because the writers didn't know how to handle a relationship so big that had grown almost beyond their control.

I don't really know how to wrap this up. I have so much I want to say, because the very LAST thing I want to see in this fandom is more division and argument and anger. But I'm seeing it pop up again. It really makes me sad. We all can agree on what makes this show special. Why we fell in love with it. The characters, and how they fit together. We may disagree about the specifics of this, but why let that divide us? Why not let each other enjoy what we love? I know this news about Torres in the ICU sounds very similar to how we thought the aftermath of Berlin would go, but I surprised myself by not immediately feeling jealous and upset for what Tiva deserved. I felt excited for this momentous occasion in the Ellick storyline, and ESPECIALLY excited for the writers to, in my eyes, redeem themselves for how they handled the car crash in Berlin. However you want to look at it, NCIS is a much different show now. Your opinions are valid. You can love the change or you can hate it. Of course, I encourage everyone to try to see it for what it is, and recognize the good parts of what we have now, but maybe that's not for everyone. Seriously, that is okay. Just please, I'm begging all of you, don't antagonize each other for differing opinions. Use the disclaimer "I know it's not everyone's opinion, but that's okay" if you are going to speak out against something from the show, whether it be new or old.

Just have respect in whatever you do in this fandom.

Please.

/end rant

[thanks--for--listening]

the language of the desperate

feel like i’ve fulfilled some long-forgotten prophecy by writing a tiva fanfic, but we’re so close to the premiere and i couldn’t help myself. also on AO3

-

Ziva couldn’t open the door. 

She wanted to open the door. More than anything, she wanted to open the door. Hell, if someone had tried to hold her back from opening that door, she’d have killed them without a second thought. 

So why, she wondered, was she still standing here, hand hovering right above the handle? 

“What’s wrong with me?” She whispered to herself. 

“Nothing wrong.” A voice came from behind her, and she turned to find Gibbs standing against the wall. 

“If that were true, I wouldn’t be here.” She took a step toward him. “Any minute now, McGee is going to call, and when he does, everything I’ve been fighting for is going to be behind that door. I should be standing there with open arms; instead I’m cowering. Hiding.”

“You want to see them?” He asked with indifference, something she didn’t quite know what to do with. 

“More than anything.”

Gibbs shrugged. “Then open the door.”

“I—“ she started, looking back at the exit, the one that would take her to the parking lot where the car would pull in, where an unsuspecting Tony and Tali would be waiting. “I can’t.”

“Can’t, or won’t?”

“What if they hate me for it?” She said softly, eyes still on the door handle. “What if they don’t want me back?”

“We talking about the same DiNozzo?”

“You don’t understand. What I did, leaving them like that. Letting them think I…” she swallowed. “I’ve hurt them, Gibbs. In so many ways, I’ve hurt them.”

“They’ll understand, Ziver.”

“And if they don’t?” 

Her ringtone stopped him from answering. She looked down at her phone, at the caller-ID that lit up the screen. 

In an instant she was outside. Instinctively, she heard the door slamming shut behind her, the sounds of the city around her, but the world seemed to fade as she watched the car pulling up to the curb, the man stepping out of it. 

She froze at the sight of him. Almost everything was exactly as she’d remembered. His hair was unchanged, his face not yet reflecting the years that had passed, but there was something about him, something different that she couldn’t quite place. A look in his eyes, maybe, that made her feel both as if seconds and centuries had passed since they’d last seen each other. 

She saw more than heard her name on his lips, and it was enough to send her running. 

He held her like she’d disappear if he let go. He whispered her name over and over again. Ziva. Ziva. Ziva. She closed her eyes and listened, memorizing the sound, memorizing every detail she could store away for later, every feeling rushing through her body. 

She sighed. She’d never felt more at home than when she was in his arms. 

He let go of her, only to move his hands to the sides of her face. He stared at her like he didn’t quite believe what he was seeing. “I knew it,” he said softly, and he was smiling, but it wasn’t the smirk he often wore in their past or the heartbroken smile from that last night at the terminal. Everything about the way he looked at her was brand new. 

“I’m sorry,” she said, the words spilling out of her. “I’m sorry I’m sorry I’m so sorry I—“

“Hey.” One word and she went silent, unshed tears holding their position, waiting to see if this was the moment, if this was when the axe would drop and everything she feared would come true. Instead, as he had been for over a decade now, he continued to surprise her. “The only thing I care about now, in this moment, is that you’re here. You’re alive. That’s it. Nothing else matters.”

“But—“

“Everything else can wait,” he said. “Please, I just — let it wait, okay?”

She nodded, not trusting herself enough to speak. 

“Besides,” He said with a smile, “I think there’s someone else who might want to see you.”

He stepped to the side, and whatever control she’d had over the tears in her eyes disappeared. She knew, logically, that years had passed since she’d last seen her, but she hadn’t prepared herself to see a fully-grown child standing in front of the car, a curious look on her face. Tali was a toddler the last time she’d held her in her arms, seen her in person, and now…

“It’s real?” Tali said, and something in her chest broke at the words, at the voice that was almost unfamiliar to her. “You’re really alive?”

Ziva nodded, furiously, before slowly walking up to her. “I know this must be confusing, but I promise, I’ll explain everything when—“

She stopped when she noticed tears streaming down her daughter’s face. She bent down, slowly brushed one away. “What’s wrong?” She asked, her own voice shaky and unstable. “I’m sorry, I should have—“

“I remember,” Tali said, and Ziva must have made a face, because she continued. “I remember your voice. I thought I forgot it, but — you used to sing to me. I remember.”

She shattered. Pulling Tali into her arms, Ziva felt the guilt and the grief battling with the overwhelming joy. Somewhere in the back of her mind, she heard whispers of self-loathing and anger, but it wasn't strong enough to drown out the voice that echoed home, home. This is home. 

She knew they needed to go inside, to talk about details and security and next steps, but she couldn’t let go, couldn’t take herself out of this moment. She felt like she was holding Tali for the first time, like everything about her that was broken, that was battered and bruised, none of it mattered anymore, not if she was here, if they were together.

As she held her, she began to whisper: prayers, apologies, every way she could think to say “I love you”, all in a blend, switching from Hebrew to English and back again. She spoke the language of the desperate, soft and quiet and rushed so the words were hardly words at all. Years of unspoken thoughts came pouring out all at once, as if they could no longer rest on the tip of her tongue. 

“Ima,” She said, and Ziva never wanted to stop hearing it. She moved back, looked at her daughter. “Why did you have to hide? Why did it take so long?”

“I—“ she started, taking a deep breath before she continued. “I got into a bit of trouble. I had some really bad people trying to hurt me, and until I stopped them, I couldn’t let them hurt you.”

“Is that why you sent me to Aba?” She asked, and Ziva’s heart soared briefly at the name, the one Tony must have kept using even when he thought she’d never come back. 

She nodded. “If I couldn’t protect you, I knew he could. That you’d be safe there.”

“Then why weren’t we all together from the beginning?” Ziva felt the air around her evaporate, felt time stand still. Not even the wind dared to move when she asked, “Why weren’t we a family?”

Ziva closed her eyes. She knew they’d ask, one of them, if not both, but that didn’t mean she was prepared to answer. “I made a mistake,” she said slowly. “I...before I had you, I was struggling. With myself, mostly. When I found out I was going to have you, I wanted to go back, to find your Aba.” 

“Why didn’t you?”

She didn’t look back, but she could feel Tony’s eyes on her. “Because I didn’t think I deserved to.”

“I don’t get it,” Tali said, a confused look on her face.

“I don’t get it, either,” Ziva tried to smile but it didn’t quite feel right. “But sometimes, our emotions trick us, and it can be hard to know what is true.”

Tali nodded, trying very hard to look serious. “I understand,” she said, and Ziva didn’t know whether to laugh or to cry. 

“You do?”

“Yeah.” She said with a smile. “It’s like, when you fall off the swing. At first it really hurts, and you cry, and need a bandaid, but after a while, you realize it didn’t really hurt that bad after all.”

“Yes, it’s exactly like that,” Ziva laughed. “How did you get so smart?”

“Aba says I get it from you,” she said with a smile that meant trouble, one she recognized from the years she spent staring at it from across the bullpen. Ziva finally looked back at Tony. He smiled down at them, tear steaks decorating his cheek. 

“He’s wrong,” She said, keeping her eyes on him. They stayed like that, stealing a moment the way they used to. She stared up at him, and he stared back down at her, and for an instant everything else melted away. 

She’d loved him. She still loved him, but it didn’t dawn on her until he was gone just how much she’d truly loved him before Israel, before she turned him away. She knew she had never been the best at recognizing love, at making her feelings toward others known, so maybe she had a pass for not understanding what was so obvious in hindsight. He was her favorite person, and he’d held that position long before they ever kissed for the last time. Only with the exception of her daughter, of their daughter, he was the person she always thought of. Good day, bad day, worst day, all of them she wanted to spend with him, had always wanted to spend with him, and she wondered how they could have been so blind, how they could have spent so much time dancing around one another when the truth was so blatantly clear. She couldn’t live without him — she might be able to survive, but she’d never truly live, not without him by her side. 

“Hey, kid,” Gibbs’ voice brought the rest of the world back into view, and she was surprised to see he’d walked up behind her. He looked down at Tali, who smiled up at him. “Why don’t we give mom and dad a minute, okay?”

She looked at Ziva, panic in her eyes, and Ziva vowed to herself that she’d never let her daughter feel that fear ever again. “It’s okay,” she said with a smile, “I’m not going anywhere. I promise.”

Tali stared at her for another moment, before nodding and taking Gibbs’ outstretched hand. McGee followed them, and she felt guilty for forgetting he was there. She watched them walk away, into the building behind them, waiting until the door shut before standing back up. 

For six and a half seconds, neither of them spoke. Not that she was counting. Not that she was desperately searching for a way to try and put into words the feelings she didn’t quite understand herself. They just stared at each other. Waiting. 

He broke first. “I took her to Paris,” he said, and he spoke with a seemingly nonchalance, but she knew him too well to not notice the pain underlying the words. “After she first showed up in D.C, when I found out you were dead and we had a child I never knew about. We went to Paris.”

“I’m sorry,” she said. “I never should have kept her from you. It was inexcusable and unforgivable.”

“I almost didn’t believe it was real,” he said, staring at her but not quite making eye contact. “Hiding something like that felt out of character, even for you.”

“I spent a lot of that time after I sent you away acting unlike myself.” She let the gates open, let the words flow freely. “I thought that being alone would help, would make me feel like I finally understood who I was, who I could be, but all I felt was lonely. And with no one else there, I had nothing to drown out the voice in my head, the one that said you were better off without me. That I’d be ruining your life by causing you all that pain only to come crawling back with a child you never asked for.” 

“Did you think I wouldn’t love her?” The disbelief in his voice made her resolve crumble. 

She shrugged, tried to hold herself together with what little strength she had left. “I knew you would love her; I thought you would hate me,” she whispered, voice cracking on the last word. 

He looked at her, really looked at her, and she froze. She felt as if he was looking through her, like he could see every moment of their time away from one another, and it scared her more than she would care to admit that she had no idea what he thought of the person she’d become. 

“I didn’t know how to feel at first,” he finally said. “I mean, I’ve never felt grief and anger so strongly before, and never at the same time, for the same person. And all of a sudden I had this—this kid who was suddenly relying on me, and I—“ he took a breath, and she was surprised to hear it shake slightly. “Every time I looked at her, I thought of you. And all I felt was love. God, I’ve never loved anyone the way I love her. The way I love you.”

She nodded, a few times too many. “I’ve loved you for years,” she said softly, and she wasn’t sure how she still had a voice anymore, but the words kept coming, and for once she didn’t try and stop them. “I wasted so much time not understanding just how deeply I loved you. How deeply I still love you. After you left, not a day went by that I didn’t think about going after you. My dreams always led me back to you, to that night, and every time I asked you to stay. Every time.”

“I wish you had,” He said softly. 

“I wish I had, too.”

The silence greeted them once again, but this time she welcomed it, let it absorb the weight of the words they just sent out into the world. He reached his hand out, and she grabbed it without looking, without thinking. It felt right. Like she’d held his hand for years. Like she was born to reach this moment, like going through hell and back ten times over was all the universe’s twisted way of sending her here. 

“Shall we go after them?” She asked, motioning toward the door. 

“We probably should,” he said, yet he didn’t make a move toward the door, and neither did she. 

“She’s everything I’d hoped she’d be.” Ziva kept her eyes on the door, tried to imagine her daughter standing just behind it. “I’ll never be able to thank you enough for that.”

“Her Hebrew is shit.” He said, with such a casual tone that she couldn’t help but laugh. She stood there, laughing until he started to smile, until he was laughing too, until they were wiping away tears for a new reason, for the best reason. 

“We can fix that,” she said after a minute, a soft smile on their face. They walked toward the building, and she could hear Tali laughing from inside. She looked up at him, at the way he looked at the building with the same anticipation and joy that she did, and with one hand still in his, Ziva opened the door.

[supercsi4]

17x14 On Fire

Took me a while to compose myself after this episode. I’ve watched the holding hands scene 1000 times, and just finished a re-watch of the entire episode.

Ellie and Nick at the beginning, giggling and racing each other, do they do this often?  I really wanted a little more backstory, because it was like oh look how cute they are together and bam, Nick’s in the hospital.  Whose house do there meet up at?  How often do they do this?  Do they then go get breakfast together?  I have so many questions.

Then when they found out the suspect Colleen hit Nick on purpose, I ask, was she stalking him?  And if so, he must hang out with Ellie enough that Colleen knew where Nick would be and what time.  This episode left me with more questions than answers.  The episode seemed a little rushed and really should have been 2 hours long, so they could explain a little more.

I feel like not only has Ellie come out of her shell in the past couple seasons, but Gibbs really has as well. Now I don’t want to give all the credit to Nick, Jack probably has something to do with it too, but, and this in an unpopular opinion, I’ve never been a huge fan of Gibbs.  I know that’s going to shock some people, but honestly if he left the show, I’d still watch it.  I’ve always been more invested in the other characters.  But I’ve really grown to love him these past couple years, probably because the writers are finally are letting him open up a little more and not be such a stick in the mud.

“You hang in there amigo.” -Gibbs to Nick.

I was shocked when Gibbs told Vance, “These are the only kids I have left!”  Then he shocked me again when he opened up to Ellie, “Do I look happy to you, Bishop? You do the kind of things I’ve done, you get the kind of things I’ve got.  Bourbon and a boat in the basement.  You don’t want to become me.”

I also really like Kasie, like more than I thought I ever would.  Another unpopular opinion, I wasn’t ever too attached to Abby either, I definitely like Kasie more.  She’s all-aboard the Ellick train.  Tim on the other hand, is still in denial.

“Yes, we are all going to need therapy if they ever hook up.”  -Kasie to Tim.

But really will you guys?  You already went through years of Tiva and they are now living happily ever after.

Angry Ellie is everything I always wanted and never knew I needed.  She is stubborn and has a temper just like Nick.  I mean after she punched Victor in the airport to protect Nick, I could definitely see her killing for him.  It’s weird, I barely remember when Qasim died, though I wasn’t as invested in Ellie at the time, so I don’t remember if she lost her shit like she did this week.

Xavier is a dick and I’m glad Gibbs killed him.

“What is she going to do?  Beat me with her yoga mat.”  I did really want to see Ellie fight Colleen.

“He keeps asking if you’re ok.”  Did I want Ellie there when Nick woke up? Yes.  Did I want to see Nick panic wake up and ask about Ellie?  Yes.

Is Jimmy really that much of a genius, but also that oblivious?

Nick was undercover for NCIS Great Lakes, hmm really?

Ellie and Nick holding hands in the hospital was a huge step in their relationship and I know it will lead to more, so I will be satisfied for now and I will be patient.

Now the question @chasethesun18 asked was Did Torres say, “Cause you know I risked my life to save yours” or “Cause you know I’d risk my life to save yours?”  I’d like to think it was “Cause you know I’d risk my life to save yours?”  Closed caption disagrees with me, but I’ll hear what I want to hear and what I think would make more of an impact in that scene.

Nick looks at Ellie holding his hand and he’s really thinking hard at the end of this scene.  Is he thinking, “Holy shit, does she love me too?” “Holy shit she knows I’m in love with her.”  WHAT IS HE THINKING?!?!

TELL HER HOW YOU FEEL!!  WHAT BETTER TIME THAN AFTER YOU ALMOST DIED!!

Sorry to yell at you Nick, but come on! Ok, ok, maybe he doesn’t know how worried she was yet or how she threatened to kill Xavier, maybe after he finds out, he will confront her.

Yeeesssss!  Next episode we need a scene where Nick confront Ellie about wanting to kill Xavier for what he did to him.

I can see it now…

“You’d do the same thing Nick!”

“That’s because I’m in love with you!”

“I’m in love with you too!”

They kiss and end scene.  Happy Valentine’s Day!  You’re welcome.

[paperclipninja]

NCIS post-ep ramble 17x01

I know it’s been days since the season 17 premiere and I had every intention of writing something earlier but just didn’t have time (plus I have been so caught up in reading everyone’s thoughts and reblogging all these posts and general flailing that honestly, who has the time for anything??) but I most certainly do have a few thoughts and feelings about the ep I’d like to get down.

For those who don’t know me that well, hi :) and also, I’ve always been rather partial to a post-ep ramble (which is basically me trying to process everything by dumping many words here) so I thought I’d throw a few words down because let’s be real, ‘Out of the Darkness’ was A LOT.

Ok, so can we talk about the opening scene, because it seemed like a classic NCIS ‘guys doing a dodgy deal but wait, the team needs the vehicle’ kinda moment but then FINGERS. Actual freaking fingers on that car dash and I should mention I was live streaming this episode on the train on my way to work and I was NOT chill at this point because it was brutal.

I was having so many feelings right from the get go, I mean Ziva is back and even through we’ve had months to process this it still felt so surreal yet like she’d not really been gone for that long, except that from the very first interaction with Gibbs in the basement, you could just see that she’s different. It’s subtle but it’s there. I love that the moment Gibbs’ basement starts getting shot up and both he and Ziva are out of ammo, they immediately default to working together to create the makeshift explosive thing, no words, just right into the groove of knowing what needs to happen without treading on one another’s toes.

Meanwhile Nick, McGee and Ellie are obliviously having a drink (lol @ McGee lasting less than two seconds not talking about work), for anyone into the Nick/Ellie ship there was a nice little moment and the three of them hot foot it to Gibbs’ place after after McGee gets the call to say there’s been a shoot out (seriously, can you imagine being Gibbs’ neighbours? The weird-ass stuff that has gone down there over the years, that’d be one house you’d tell the kids to skip for trick or treating). I am so into the follow through from the Ziva set up last season, Ellie feeling like the fabric was familiar was a nice way to bring it all together.

It’s funny, after so many years of watching this show then stepping away for a little while, I’m really not sure what I expected when I heard that Ziva was going to return. My shipper heart is really just locked on to Ziva and Tony finally getting some kind of happiness, but I was unsure what it would be like seeing this character on screen after so long, especially considering the way she was written out initially. Can I just say that the way Ziva has returned to our screen exceeded any expectations I did or did not have. I never in a million years expected this show to not just consider, but actively highlight the toll of all the years of trauma and struggle of Ziva David. A credit to the direction in this scene, but as Ziva began having the anxiety attack in the sewer pipe and we gained our first glimpse of her battle with this demon, it was unnerving to see this character who had always remained so seemingly in control, so vulnerable. But it was also wonderful (and heart-wrenching and sad). I am so grateful to Gina Lucita Monreal (who I Stan v. hard btw) for showing this side to this character because to me, it demonstrates not only the character’s journey, but NCIS’s growth.

Gibbs knowing that Ziva needed space and giving it to her but then finding her in a state that clearly caught him off guard was once again something I was not expecting and I was floored, yet again, when the pills Ziva stuffed back into her pocket were actually addressed and spoken about on the bus (I realise it sounds like I’m just constantly surprised but in the past, it’s the kind of thing that may get followed up about six episodes down the track, though I’m aware there isn’t the luxury of drawn out breadcrumbs with this arc and honestly, I’m grateful).

The scene between Ziva and Gibbs on the bus is quite possibly my favourite interaction between these two characters ever. And yes, I mean in the entire series. Hearing Ziva talk about Tali, explain the significance of the necklace and then put it to Gibbs that wouldn’t he do anything if it meant he could hold his daughter one more time, ugh my heart. The ONLY thing I disliked about this episode was later when Ziva said she wasn’t talking about Kelly. I understand the sentiment and I am here for her calling Gibbs out on giving up on her every day of the week, but in that moment on the bus, it absolutely was and should have been Kelly she was referring to because it was in that moment that she and Gibbs connected on an entirely different level - as parents. And more than that, as parents who know what it’s like to risk everything because of the love they hold for a child. So while I do love that Ziva put it to Gibbs that he abandoned her, I do feel it could have been brought up in a way that didn’t diminish the power of that conversation on the bus. Because when Gibbs reached out and touched that scar on her wrist, it may have been a small gesture but the meaning was huge and yes I did start crying and no, I did not care that I was on a train.

Of course we must talk about Odette. Sweet, old, possibly an assassin or some other kind of highly trained deadly human Odette. When Bishop asked her, ‘who are you, really?’, all I could think was, same girl, same. I am so into this character and I really hope she sticks around because her turning up later in the ep with a car load of weapons and then wanting to join in just upped my curiosity even more.

I really am such a fan of Ellie, I have been since the beginning, and I did feel for her trying to balance the wishes of Ziva and her loyalty to her team. McGee’s reaction to finding out that Ziva was alive and that Ellie knew about it was definitely warranted and my Tiva loving heart is trying very hard not to read too much into everyone’s avoidance of answering whether Tony knows (read: I am 150% reading too much into it and of course he knows because Ziva has obviously been leaving clues the entire time that she’s ok and it’s fine, it’s all fine, I’M FINEEE*)

*I am not fine

Nick is immediately suspicious after the awkward af conversation in Vance’s office where every time he mentions something from the crime scene at Gibbs’, Ellie and McGee very obviously downplay or dismiss it. Plus Ellie’s sweaty neck is apparently a dead giveaway and I love that Kaisie also mentions it because when this show does funny, it does it damn well. Aside from the bus scene, my other favourite scene of this episode was in autopsy when Nick ‘I don’t even know this ninja but this is like the biggest news of my life’ Torres has just learned about Ziva and Jimmy ’you said the thing about Ziva and my ears heard it and now I think I need to sit down’ Palmer also gets clued in and honestly, this entire sequence is absolute gold. I heart Kasie so hard and her discomfort with the ‘weird air’ just lent itself to making the whole thing wonderfully hilarious and the dynamic between all the characters was so on point. Nick and Kaisie really are stellar additions to the show, it just works.

Ziva’s determination to go it alone definitely wavers momentarily after Gibbs has spoken to McGee and asked him to decode the encrypted SD card (so many lols at Gibbs asking Ziva if she wants to talk to McGee then telling him she says hi. Again, the writing in this ep is just brilliant, being able to slot in genuinely light and funny moments between the dark and serious), there’s the ever-so-brief expression before Ziva gets into the car, as though she remembers what it’s like to have a team, her team, working with her. 

What is on the card of course leads Gibbs and Ziva to be standing in the man who uses phrases like ‘dope’ in front of his machete wall’s office and I have to say, his ‘what are these two homeless people doing in my office’ was accurate. The show then stabbed me in the heart with the necklace situation - either her heart or her albatross- and of course it all connects back to Ari (the parallel to Saleem ripping off her necklace was noted). We also get our answer as to why Ziva had those severed fingers in the opening scene which is still gross and brutal but also understandable and much better knowing that the dude was dead when it happened. But still gross.

One thing that really struck me was when McGee, Ellie and Nick see Gibbs and Ziva making their getaway and McGee and Ziva share their moment of locking eyes and her indicating for the team to stay put, it is Ellie who points out that, ‘she knows what she needs better than anyone else’. It was just really interesting to me that McGee’s initial instinct was to go after Ziva and Gibbs, despite Ziva clearly not wanting him to, and it is the woman on the team who points out that he needs to respect Ziva’s wishes and trust her. I have no idea if this was making some kind of larger statement but it felt significant to me for some reason. Plus I just love the respect Ellie has for this woman she has never met and I can’t even imagine what it must have been like for her to see Ziva in the flesh for the first time after harbouring her secret for so long.

We all knew Vance would find out eventually and omg Nick just cracked me up, ‘I’m the least guilty one in here, Bishop is the worst...’, he is just such a great character (in case I haven’t mentioned that enough times). I don’t know enough about Sloane at this stage and I’m a little confused about her role or position so I will catch myself up on that (or feel free to fill me in) but she also seems pretty cool. I think back to early days McGee, the nervous probie who was so unsure and then think of him in this episode, standing in Vance’s office defying orders and all I can hear is Tony’s voice saying, ‘I’m proud of you Tim’. I love that he’s backing Ellie and that he’s standing up for and trusting her and knowing Vance’s history with Ziva, it’s just all such a wonderful coming together of NCIS history and the present.

The final scene of course left us in a TBC moment as Gibbs’ attempt to arrest Sahar (or at least a woman I assume is Sahar but then it’s NCIS so who knows?) is railroaded by Ziva’s adamance that unless she is dead, Sahar will always be a threat. I can’t wait to see how it all unfolds, I’m just loving the speculations and excitement and most importantly, consideration with which the show seems to be bringing back these storylines and characters and really, I do believe we are in for quite a ride and if this episode is anything to go by, one heck of a payoff. 

[hopeless-nostalgiac]

Blessing: Tiva Fic

Disclaimer: Not mine. Just borrowing. Summary: Tony was under the impression this was a courtesy. More courtesy than Eli deserved, at that. Nothing more. Established Tiva.  A/N: Let me how you liked it, if you’re so inclined. :)  Also, this is a stand alone for now, but maybe not forever. 

Tags? Idk who wants one anymore. @classydepablo @loudlooks @youaresoooloved  @coffeedepablo @mcgeekle

Ff.net

They started up the staircase, in sync as usual, but apart. Then Ziva reached for his hand. That half-second seeking him out, drawing him close, wanting him with her—well, it was everything. Their serendipitous first meeting to the phone call they were about to make, life snapped vividly to alignment with the simple gesture. 

It made Tony feel like a total jerk. 

For the past week, he’d been secretly hoping Gibbs or the director—heck, SecNav—would put the kibosh on the plan. Using government property for personal communications was against some NCIS rule, right?  But Ziva had made the request, Vance had honored the strange position he occupied in the David family mosaic by approving it, and now—

Tony would have her six, his own doubts be damned. They were in this, every step, together.  

Despite their joined hands, he jogged to keep up with her. “You ready?”

“Yes.” Her mouth sealed flat again after the rushed utterance. Open. “Are you?” Shut.

“I was born ready!” 

An arched eyebrow broke rank with her guarded expression, questioning his enthusiasm. 

“White Lightning. 1973. Gator McKlusky. ‘The good, they die young!’ Not Burt Reynolds’s best, but it--” 

“Tony.” 

“Right. Focus. Got it.” 

Was her palm slick with nerves, or his? Probably both. The deserted office at their backs, they stepped onto the platform. Ziva unlocked the door with her eye. A technician dialed the Tel Aviv number. They were doing this. They were commandeering MTAC for a chat with the Director of Mossad.

“Abba?”

Oh, and Ziva’s father. One in the same guy. 

Static hissed and popped on the wall-to-wall screen.

“Abba? Can you hear us—”

“Ziva, there is no need to shout. I am here.” Out of the snow, from across the world, emerged an old man. Older than two years should have aged him. More white than grey around the temples; deeper lines etched into sun-leathered skin. A milder gaze? Maybe it was the spotty satellite connection. A zebra didn’t change his stripes, especially if the zebra was Eli David. 

“Shalom, Abba.” 

“Shalom, my daughter. You look well.”  

No thanks you!

Tony kept the snark to himself, despite the awkward pause—a clarion call to his defensive humor. The silence was punctuated only by beeps and whirs of technology on their side; the director seemed to be in a wood-paneled study, alone.  

The corners of Ziva’s mouth twitched. Reflex, not sentiment. “Thank you.”

Eli nodded and did not force her hesitancy, instead shifted his focus. “I see Agent DiNozzo is joining us.” 

Tony ignored the displeasure in the elder’s tone. “Eli, hi. It’s been awhile. Is that a new tan?”

Her fingers flexed and tightened within in his grip. Behave. “We apologize for the early hour there. I wished to speak to you before Shabbat.”

“How thoughtful of you, but it is no trouble. With age comes a new routine. I am up before the sun most days.”

“So that’s where Ziva gets it.” Tony released a reckless, nervous stream of chuckles. “For running, you know? She gets up early, too, t-to do that.” His eyes darted between the Davids. Neither seemed amused.

Eli coughed, clearing dust and gravel. Years of barking orders had caught up to him, if not the cigars. “Ziva owes her discipline to us. The Mossad’s training.” 

Us?

So sharp was the scoff, it scored Tony’s throat on the way out. He’d tried to be civil, for Ziva. He really had. And it’d lasted a whopping two minutes. Who said miracles didn’t happen?

“Ah, I see how it is. You’re all about taking credit, Eli, but what about the blame? Where should that fall?” 

There was no trick of the connection. Shadows sliced across the older man’s face. His mouth flattened. He leaned in, dominating the frame. “Tread carefully, Agent DiNozzo. You understand little of what you accuse me.”

“I understand plenty. What I don’t get is how you—her father, in case that’s somehow slipped your mind—couldn’t spare a few agents from your stable to rescue your only living child from that God-forsaken—” 

“That does not concern you,” Eli roared. 

“The hell is doesn’t!”

Ziva threw up her arms, as if keeping them from a physical fight. “Enough, both of you. Abba.” She regarded his looming figure with her spine tall, chin high. Ever the soldier. “Tony and I are engaged. That is why we have contacted you. We will be married in October.”

From Eli’s reaction, she might have given him the weather forecast. Mostly overcast, a chance of storms. His features, wrinkles, emotion smoothed banal. Even his words lacked feeling. “I suppose I should not be surprised.”

“Actually, it’s pronounced congratulations,” Tony gritted out, signalling to the technician. “Shalom, Eli.” 

The oversized screen returned to static, and Ziva rounded on him. “Why did you do that?” 

He gaped. “Seriously? You need me to explain?”

“Yes.” 

“Fine. Your dad was being an ass, babe.” 

“You baited him,” she challenged, chin thrusting. 

“And he took it.” Hazel eyes blazed into hers. “He knows what he did to you.” 

Her gaze returned fire. “This was not about getting a confession. I knew he would not... I was only trying to—” 

“What? What do you need?” Tony stepped closer, sliding his hand over the silk of her shirt to her waist. He was under the impression this was a courtesy. More courtesy than Eli deserved, at that. Nothing more. 

Ziva glanced up at him—there and gone. A puff of her coconut and honey shampoo wafted in the draft. “It does not matter now.” Then she was striding, fast, for the door.

But he saw it. Glimpsed in that half-glance, before she tore herself away from him: the spring and run of a single, plump tear across her cheek. 

The pang of guilt struck, silvery and cold like the remnants of adrenaline in his veins, as they left the Navy Yard. It festered in his gut, fed by her silence and straight stare on the drive north through the evening glow. 

A console separated them, mere inches, yet Tony bit his tongue. Literally. Forcing a conversation would stoke the embers of her mood, or be cut off with monosyllabic rebukes. The therapist would approve of them “de-escalating” before talking it out, but all he wanted was to fix this. Peeks at his partner’s reflection in the car window fanned his frustration. The glare of passing streetlamps illuminated not anger in her face, that beautiful face he fell asleep gazing into each night, but a crater of desolate ache. 

Eli, you bastard. 

He fought the urge to swing the car toward Dulles, hop a plane to Israel, and challenge the spy puppeteer to a ‘conference room’ rematch. He had more than enough ammo—nightmares, anxiety, month-long funks—to go round after round with the heavyweight. And he’d win, too. Again.  

“I can hear your teeth grinding, Tony.” Her warm fingers brushed his jaw, bumping along stubble and coiled tension. He unclenched. 

“Your suffering in silence is pretty loud, too, Ziva.” 

Her hand stilled at his neck, dropping away and folding with its pair in her lap. “I am not suffering. I simply do not have anything else to say.” 

Like hell you don’t. 

Tony allowed the thread to dangle. They were speaking to each other, though. Sort of. “Well, do you have an opinion on dinner? I’m starvin’ like Lee Marvin.” His upturned fist hovered above the gear shift. 

They were in the middle of a rock-paper-scissors tournament, the ultimate loser of which would move his or her possessions across the city into one shared apartment prior to the wedding (he was confident it was going to be her doing the packing). 

Smirking, Ziva set. They went three brisk rounds, his rock taking two. She growled; he whooped triumphantly. 

“And that makes it DiNozzo 32, David 26.” 

“You cheated.” 

“I don’t need to cheat,” he countered, keeping an eye on the road. “You’re just a sore loser who’s having Thai tonight.”

A bounce of her shoulders made a noise against the leather seat. “I would have chosen that anyway.” 

“How ‘bout you choose where we sleep?” Tony found her thigh in the dark, squeezed. Her muscles tightened in response. 

“How about I let you sleep with me tonight?”

Moisture evacuated his mouth. “Your place it is.” 

......

One by one, Tony toed off his dress loafers, shed his suit jacket, and loosened the tie knot from his throat.  A couple stumbling steps and he collapsed onto the bed, releasing a gargantuan sigh that was part exhaustion, part pillowtop-induced bliss. He’d helped her pick it out, after Somalia, without knowing his future self would someday also reap its benefits. 

He dragged his mouth from the duvet. “Ziva!”

Boots grazed the wood floor, closer and closer. Her left hip swerved into view, a sliver of thigh, bare knee, and—yes—all of her. Ziva owed the bedroom doorway, wine glass in hand, glossy ringlets pulled over one shoulder. He was a lucky man. 

“Was shouting necessary, Tony?”

“Wherever we end up living, this bed is coming with us.” 

Her throaty chuckles electrified the skin on the nape of his neck. “I believe that earns me a point.” She tipped the glass. Ruby liquid rushed forward, greedy for her mouth.

“You wish.” Transfixed, he bit his bottom lip. “That wine looks good.”

“It is.” 

“Can I get a taste?”

Ziva set the empty glass on the nightstand, the last drops going down her throat with a deep, visible swallow. 

Miffed, if a little turned on, Tony flopped back, tucking an arm under his head. “You need to repeat kindergarten, Da-veed.” 

“I am fluent in nine languages—why would I need that?” The bed jostled; some part of her—a soft, yielding part—bumped his knee. Everything below his belt was now tingling.

“I meant you need to learn to, uh, share.” His stance lacked emphasis. Ziva stretched out alongside him, not unlike a Greek goddess on a daybed, plumping her lips, tinted and gently smiling. A lucky man, indeed.

“I do not like to share what I love.”  

The brew of her languid words and sweet, heady breath overwhelmed the circuits in his brain that would have furthered their banter, supplied a witty comebacker. All that remained was primal wiring and a longing he often wondered about: how it started under his ribs and spread, a good poison, to the pads of his fingers, the base of his throat, the very bottom of his spine where it gave way to his derrière. His body on her drug.

“Ziva...” Her name danced within the parentheses of their bodies. She answered, leaning, her mouth dead-on aim with his mouth, an infernal latch sealing out air and thought. 

His fingers dove through her hair, weaving strands into reigns, while her hands sought a lower destination on his form, eliciting arches and premature thrusts. Always so eager, his Ziva. 

Tony said as much, gasped over her jaw, planting a kiss there, too; he wasn’t complaining. 

Golden sparks of mischief permeated the midnight of her blown-out pupils. “We must hurry. The food will be here in 30 minutes or less.” 

A bout of mutual chuckles overcame them like a rain shower, shocking and head-clearing. For him, at least. Made room for dangling threads...

“Hey, you know what I was thinking?” 

Ziva hummed, unbuttoning his shirt and nibbling his neck simultaneously. 

“Even if I hadn’t baited Eli—sorry about that, by the way—there was no excuse for how he reacted. ‘I shouldn’t be surprised’ or whatever? I mean, come on, what is that? Not father-of-the-bride material.” 

Tony’s rambling had a cooling effect on his fiancée. Her ministrations stalled and she regarded him with a look he knew well. Seriously, now?

“Right. Sorry.” Using the hand tangled in her curls, he coaxed her back, double-kissed her parted lips. “But it’s just that—”

“Tony! I told you, it does not matter,” Ziva huffed, reclaiming her points of contact from his skin. 

His grip merely shifted, molding to the side of her face. Keeping her with him. In this, together. “Well, it matters to me because it obviously upset you. We can try calling him again tomorrow, if you want.” Though his teeth might be ground-down stubs by the conversations’ end. 

Ziva lapsed into the faraway stare from the ride home, narrowed in on the pattern of his tie, yet somewhere beyond him as well, beyond the bedroom and the apartment that might become theirs, beyond the city itself.  Eventually she blinked and spoke toward his chest. “No. That would not change anything. Abba is...Abba.”

“Yeah.” 

“He will not change, either.”

“But you still want his blessing,” Tony said, circling the rise of her cheekbone with his thumb.

The corners of her eyes creased as she met his gaze. “Why do you say that?” 

“Because for two years you barely mention the guy’s name, unless it’s on the therapist’s couch or in a string of Hebrew I don’t understand. Then we get engaged, and after Gibbs and the team, Eli’s the next person you want to tell the good news.” He wrapped a ringlet around her ear, testing out a smile. “Plus, I am a highly-trained investigator trained to pick up on the subtleties of these things, after all.” 

“Perhaps too well trained.” A rueful admission. 

Tony preened. “Wow, I was just bluffing.”

Swatting his shoulder, Ziva released a noisy tumble of breath. The creases smoothed. Her lips lifted, as did her hands, sliding his face between the matching hollows of her palms. “You asked me what I need, yes?”

“I did.” 

“I need to marry you, Tony DiNozzo, never mind what my father or anyone else thinks. I need you.” 

Mingled determination and grace laid bare to him. Only him. He couldn’t look away. Even as his heartbeat took up, pounding out joy and relief where she rested her elbows, steadying herself by him, shuffling into the shadow of his body. 

“I can definitely help you with that.” The promise whispered through his painful grin, into her hair—just as the doorbell chimed. 

[stanathanxoox]

Stalker

gif is mine

anonymous asked: could you do a Glee Will (idk how to spell his last name) where Terri saw Will, reader, and their kids and was like “they should've been our kids” or something like “your mine I had you first she's just taking my seconds then none after I get you back” could you do it? If not that's okay

Terri stood watching her ex-husband and his new family playing in the park, she was furious. How dare he be happy with this woman? How dare he go out and humiliate her by having the family that she deserved? Seeing him so happy with his new wife and children made her blood boil, so getting out of the car, the convertible she had taken from William when he was going through his rebellious phase when he was trying to impress that red headed counselor, she stormed across the park and over to the happy family, slapping William across the face and screaming at him

“They should've been our kid! Your mine, I had you first. She's just taking my sloppy seconds. And then she'll have nothing when I get you back!” she screams at the man and he turns to his wife

“Baby take the kids home, I'll follow shortly, also ring the cops” he says to his wife. Terri became even more furious hearing this

“How dare you? You f**king bastard! This should be us, we should be happy and yet here we are, I hate you William Schuester”

“You were the one who faked a pregnancy, you were the one who f**ked up not me. I have every right to move on from you, we are no longer together, we divorced eight years ago” William says, before he feels the impact of Terri's face impacting with his face

“You f**king wanker, how dare you?” she screams

“That's enough” someone says from behind her and the two look at the police officer

“Ma'am I'm sorry but you are under arrest for physical assault, sir do you wish to press charges?” the police officer asks looking at William and he nods, this causes Terri to scream and shout, thrashing around in the police officers arms, another officer steps in to help whilst a third officer stops to take Will's statement on what happened.

He sighed when he entered his house an hour later, his four year old daughter Hadley and two year old son Isaiah running up into his arms and throwing their tiny little arms around his neck. He smiles happily, grateful to his little family that he has with the most amazing woman that he ever meet, the woman who had given him his world when he meet her six years ago. Y/N Y/L/N-Schuester was the woman of his dreams and his soul mate. Carrying his two children in his arms he makes his way into the kitchen and places a kiss on Y/N's forehead before she turns and holds out the pregnancy test that she had taken earlier that morning before the trip to the park

“Are we?” he asks and she nods

“Yeah sweetheart, we're having another baby” she tells him and he leans in placing a heated kiss on her lips.

“I love you sweetheart”

“I love you too”.

Tag List: @tiva-jenry-caskett-rizzles-densi​, @jimmybpride​, @dressed-up-just-like-z1ggy​, @nikkiwierden​, @samchelforever007​, @kirkspockbones​, @xoncisxncislaxncisnolaox​, @lasalle-pride-sebastian-love​, @haliannej​, @brooklyn-99-amyxjake​​, @mizzezm​, @genius2050​, @twilight-twihard​, @cullencoven2019​, @wxlfgirlx​, @luciferxchloeislove​, @drethanramsey-ismybabe​, @sawyer-oakley-is-mighty-fine​, @loverofoneshots​, @aelin-thefirebreathingbitchqueen​​

[gingerstorm101]

Irreparable Damage: Chapter 3

Summary: Tony finally gets to see Ziva again, but he's not so happy about it. Angst, oh the angst. Eventually Tiva

Notes: This is NOT anti-Ziva/anti-tiva. So stay away

Rating: T

Words: 4500

Chapter 1 Chapter 2

Nothing but the sound of the ticking of a clock and the brushing of hair on metal filled the room. Not even the possible sound of snoring or heavy breathing from the man on the couch. No. Just the brushing as Ziva cleans her gun. Which she no longer needs, but the action still soothes her nonetheless.

Tonight she couldn’t sleep. No amount of tossing and turning, or the counting of sheep, or even the commands of telling herself to get at least six hours of sleep. No. Five hours of sleep. Or even just a two hour nap.

Nothing worked.

So here she was, in Gibbs’ dining room, not getting a wink of sleep.

“Go to sleep, Ziver.”

She damn well nearly jump out of her skin at his voice. “I cannot Gibbs.” She says, looking over at the man to find his eyes still closed. She narrows her eyes at him, questioning if he was still asleep or just laying there. She turns back to her gun, getting a couple scrapes with her brush when she hears a rusle coming from the living room. Her heart starts to race the split second before she turns around to see the man pulling himself up.

She watches as he walks over to the table Ziva is sitting at, tapping on her bare feet to remove them from the chair they were resting on. They sit there silently, watching each other, waiting for the other to say something.

“You need to sleep, you’re going to see him in five hours.” His voice was low, rough from the lack of use.

Ziva places the gun down, her heart still racing from the thoughts of seeing her former partner, her former lover, again. His words still haunts her from the last time she spoke to him.

You’ll have to move the earth before I can trust you again.

But, she hopes now that he has her letters addressed to him, he could see everything she has gone through. Everything she has always wanted to say to him, but couldn’t bring herself to do so. All her feelings from the moment she said goodbye to him on that tarmac, to her latest one from two weeks ago.

“I have tried, but to no avail.” She murmurs, twisting her fingers with one another, and her eyes avoiding his. He stays quiet, watching her as her eyes land on the clock. 3:34 am. “I cannot seem to shut off my brain tonight. My thoughts, they are too strong.”

He leans forward, brushes his index finger against her twining digits. “That’s your anxiety.” She blinks hard, holding her eyes shut as a tear slips out between them. She doesn’t bother to wipe it away. “Have you taken one of your pills?”

She nods, sniffling. “Two. They do not seem to work anymore.”

Gibbs covers her hand with his large one. “I will see Ducky that we get you a proper prescription, one that is designed for you.” She tries to open her mouth to say something, but he gives her a look. The look. “You’ll be better once you’re on medication that is designed for you, not for someone else.” He explains further. She closes her eyes and nods slowly.

The room goes quiet again except for the ticking of that damn clock on the wall. Ziva, however, hardly heard it. Inside her head was all the things she wants to say to Tony, explain to him that she had no choice. That she fought to be with them every day. To protect them.

But each one of those came with a hated response that bit back at her. Telling her that she was worthless. Weak. And one that almost made her cry, was when the imagined Tony told her that she should have been killed in the fire.

Gibbs must have seen her tense; his hand raises up to cup her cheek and wiping away the tears that have already fallen. “Go shower, get dressed. I’ll take you out for breakfast, Elaine makes one good cup of coffee.”

Ziva smiles at her father figure, the only true father that she has left. Or ever had really. With a whispered “thank you” she walks upstairs to get ready for her very stressful day.

***

McGee sits in his chair that morning, ready to start his day now that he dropped his kids off at preschool. He turns on his computer, and takes a sip of his second coffee of the day. So far, no one was in the bullpen, maybe Gibbs was talking to the director? Or getting a coffee for himself?

But ever since the boss man had Ziva staying with him, he’s noticed a change in him. He’s been more rough than he has been recently. Maybe he’s not getting enough sleep? Or the two of them had yelling matches like they did when she first came back.

Whatever it is, wherever he is, McGee was sure to stay on his good side today.

Just then, he heard the ding of the elevator. Fully expecting Ellie and Nick to walk out together, he peeks over his coffee.

It was Gibbs and Ziva. The latter of the two looked far too disheveled to be here.

He watches as Gibbs gives her a look, and walks to his desk. She looks over at McGee, glancing over at his boss and stops. “Hello McGee.” She says softly, offering a small smile. He returns it, greeting her. “Has he come in yet?”

He looks down at his phone, checking the time. 7:45. “Not yet. Are you kay?” She’s quiet and he waits to see if she’ll respond.

After a moment she does. “I am fine.” He doesn’t believe her for a second. Underneath her wild hair and baggy shirt, he can see the panic in her bloodshot eyes. He watches as her eyes flick around the room, and he wonders when the last time she had a propers night sleep. But then, he never spent years away from his children and wife. He would never know what Ziva is going through.

He doesn’t comment on the lie she had told him. “What time are you meeting with Ducky?” He asks, taking another sip.

“8:30.” Her answer was short, but she does look him in the eye. “I… I better get going. No doubt Ducky wants to chat before we start.” He nods, keeping his eye on her. “Goodbye, McGee.” And with that, she heads to the conference room.

He starts his work for the day, mostly reading the morning news before he starts the cold case files. He only glances up when his coworkers walk into the bullpen a few minutes later. But nothing brings him out of his concentration when he hears a young voice.

“Uncle Tim!”

His head shoots up. “Tali!” He pushes his chair back as the girl sprints forward and enveloping him in a hug. “You’ve gotten so big!”

The little girl giggles. “That’s cause we only video chat.” He looks up to see his old senior field agent, noticing the uneasy feeling in his eyes. No doubt worried about the meeting he was having with Ducky.

“So what are you doing today?” He asks, holding both of her hands in his.

Tali bounces on her heels. “Uncle Jimmy is taking me to the garden. He says he wants to show me the best spots to play and dance!”

McGee brightens at her words, knowing that she isn’t in the middle of her parents conflict. “That sounds awesome! Have your uncle send me pictures.” He smiles and leans in closer. “And maybe I’ll sneak away to watch you.” Tali squeals and wrap her arms around his neck. He looks up to the girls father, taking in the fact that he was no longer watching his daughter, but the hallway leading to the conference room. “Okay Tali, let’s get you downstairs.”

Tony snaps out of his thoughts when his daughter grabs his hand and pulls him away. From his seat, McGee watches his friend leave.

***

The room is tense. And that is putting it lightly.

Neither one of them would look at the other, training their eyes on the elderly man in front of them. Tony clenches his jaw as he watches Ducky pull out his notebook. He squints his eyes to try and read the paper, but it wasn’t coming easy for him.

Finally he spoke. “What are we waiting for?” He asks impatiently.

“For Dr. Sloane, my dear boy.” He couldn’t stop the glare that headed towards the elderly man. He wasn’t upset with the doctor, in fact, he listened thoroughly the other day when Tony sat down with him and the box of letters he had taken home with him. He trusted Ducky with his life and his most desired secrets. Ducky was the closest he had to an uncle for the longest time. But who was this Dr. Sloane? Was it this Jack person McGee and Palmer has told them about?

“And you don’t have to wait for long!” Came a female voice from behind them.

He notices that Ziva had jumped slightly and whipping her head around to a blond walking into the room wearing a bright pink suit. Tony gives the woman a questioning, tracking her as she pulls up a chair beside the retired ME. “Ah! Dr. Sloane!” Ducky greets from his seat. “My dear, how are you?”

“Oh I’m just wonderful, Doctor. And you?”

“Oh as well as you’d expect. In fact-”

“Ducky.” Ziva says in a quiet voice, her hands sitting in her lap. “We have an appointment.” Tony couldn’t help but agree with his ex-partner.

“Ah, right.” Ducky clears his throat and folds his hands in front of him. “I have spoken to both of you over the last week, hearing both sides of your story. Now, I have asked Dr. Sloane to sit here with us because it seems that there are some words you two need to say to each other in the calmest of states.”

Dr. Sloane, Jack, the woman McGee had told him about, sits back in her chair with her notepad and pen ready.

“Anthony,” He says. “Why don’t you start. Tell all what you felt when this all started.”

Tony gulps, thinking back to all those years ago. But he knew he meant when he first met his daughter. He takes a second long glance at her before he stares at the two before him. “What do you expect? The woman I loved was just blown up and then in 24 hours a child I never knew I had was dropped in my lap.” He sends a quick glare over to said woman.

“You were overwhelmed?” Jack asks.

“To put it lightly.”

On the other side of the table, Ziva wasn’t looking at him, or anyone in the room really. She was staring out of the window.

“I had noticed the clues that were left in my daughter’s bag, so I took my daughter back to Israel to find some answers. When I found nothing, I took my last bit of hope to Paris, where we’ve lived since,” He says calmly, but grounds out, “but she didn’t give me anything. She never showed. Not once leaving behind a message to me. Everything she sent was never to me.”

Suddenly she barges in. “How could I tell you? I was on the run!”

“No, you were running! From me, from my daughter, from everyone! You sent letters to this random address every week, but nothing came to my house!” He turns to her and shouts, slamming his on the table. Where has he heard this before? He feels like he’s had this conversation before.

“I was being hunted! If they knew I was sending you letters they would have killed you too! Both of you! Or worse.” She screams back, leaning forward. “I would have expected you to understand that more than anyone else!”

They glared at each other, Tony was ready to give a reply when Jack interrupted them. “Now now, that’s enough from you. Ziva, why don’t you tell us why you never told Tony about your daughter.”

Ziva leans back in her chair, crossing her arms over her stomach. “If he had read those letters, he would know why.” She mumbled like a child, not unlike his daughter when the five year old was upset with something.

Tony had read those letters. He memorized them for Pete’s sake! Each one of them broke his heart even more than the last, her telling him how much she regrets leaving him on the tarmac just an hour after he boarded and then two months later when she realized she was carrying his child. Every week she wrote how she missed him, but she had already joined back with Mossad.

Tony, put his hands together, leaning towards her, says. “I’d like to hear it from you.”

Their audience nods, both taking notes.

The woman sighs, shifting as she crosses her legs. “I had already ruined your life, hurt you in so many ways, I didn’t want to burden you with a child when her parents fought.”

“Bullshit!”

“Anthony! Language!”

Without skipping a beat at the interruption, he continues. “Ziva, we spent almost every waking hour together. How often did we actually fight?” He gave her a second to blink at him. “If anything we bickered and argued. That is not fighting.” His voice hushed, attempting to get the point across. “If we did fight, it was because of the men you were sleeping with.”

She huffs and rolls her eyes. “Oh, now we’re bringing my choice of men into this?”

Heck yes he is. “Well it seems every time you date someone, a murder is involved.” He can see her thinking it over, knowing that he was right. First Roy, who died. Then Michael, who he shot dead. Adam, ugh Adam, even though it was a hookup, it took place after Eli’s funeral.  Then Ray, who murdered. And even though they didn’t officially date, there was that Hoffman guy from when she went undercover, she killed him herself after he murdered four women. Maybe it was a good thing they never officially dated, he would have ended up dead. But then again, when Tali was brought into his life, he and the team killed Kort.

When she glares at him, he knew he hit a nerve.”Oh and like you got a clean track record?”

“At least mine didn’t end in bloodshed!”

“Children! Please!” Ducky barges in.

“Shh, it’s getting good!”

What? Tony thought, flicking his eyes over to the blond woman in the room. I thought this woman was suppose to be professional?

“See! This is exactly what I mean Tony!” Ziva argues. “Every word we’ve spoken to one another in the last week has been a spit flare!”

“Fire,” He sighs, pinching his nose. “It’s spit fire, Ziva.” He felt his heart twing a bit, remembering how much he loved correcting her.

She grounds her teeth him him. “Whatever.”

“May we please go back to having a calm conversation?” Ducky asks. Tony turns in his chair to face the older man, Ziva mirroring his position. “Thank you.” He waits nearly a moment before starting again, giving a glance to Jack before he starts. “Ziva, if your life wasn’t in danger, would you have told Tony?”

Tony’s ears prick at the question. Yes, this is something he wants to know, wanted to know since the moment he met his daughter. “Yes.” She answers. “If my life was not in danger, I would have sent Tony an email, but I would not put my daughter at risk. Emails were not secured, and he would have never check one.”

“Yes I would’ve.” He whispers, not daring to look at her.

“Pardon?” Jack asks from her seat, taking a second from her writing.

Tony takes a second long glance at his partner. “I checked my secured email every week for a year. Till the team told me to move on, that you weren’t coming home.” His voice was soft, hating how vulnerable he sounds. But when he looks up at her, he sees the pain in her eyes. “When Tali finally came into my life, and when I went for answers, Orli wouldn’t tell me anything. She told me repeatedly that you were dead, in front of Tali.”

“I told her to tell you that.” Her voice was almost calm, maybe a slight break in her voice, but the rest of her was calm.

“Why?” He wants to cry, oh so much.

Their eyes meet, and he feels his heart skip a beat, a feeling he hadn't had in over six years. “Because, before anything else in the world, Tali’s life needed to be nonexistent to the terrorist groups, as they have been for the last 6 years.” She pauses, raising her hand to play with her necklace, a new one that Tony hasn’t noticed before now. “I needed Gibbs to come find me, but he didn’t.”

He almost regrets stretching his hand to reach for her. “I tried to get him to look for you, to find you like we did before. But he… He already accepted it... Wouldn’t help me… Or you.”

“I know. I… I kind of yelled at him because of that.” She ducks her head as she says it. The corner of his lips raised the slightest, but he could still feel it. All the things he wanted to say to his boss, she had said. She starts to raise her hand to meet his, but she lowers it slowly and resting it into her lap.

“I still wish you had told me.” Calmly, he was going to try to be calm about this. He got his anger out, he yelled at her, he can do this calmly. “If I had known… If I knew you were pregnant, I would have been there in a heartbeat.” He meets her eyes again, and he can swear he could see a tear in forming in her eyes.

His heart stops when she raises her hand and rests it on his. “The person I was, was a completely different person I was when you were there. I was depressed… Scared, maybe. It took me too long to figure out I was expecting Tali, and that frightened me even more. The few friends I had in Israel supported me emotionally.” Her eyes shift him his green ones to their connecting hands, the warmth from her, the physical connection, proves to him that she is really here. She is alive. “But more than anything, I was too scared to tell you. I feared… Rejection.”

Tony didn’t notice Jack’s jaw dropping as she writes down their interaction. As an outsider, someone who doesn’t know their story, viewing a relationship with fourteen years in the making. “I could never reject you for coming to me with a pregnancy. Other women? Maybe. But I would man up, take responsibility. But for you? Always.”

The tears flow freely down her cheeks.

“I am sorry, Tony.”

“So am I.” He places his other hand on top of hers, running his finger over a new scar, wondering if this was part of the story Gibbs had told him a week ago. The one about South America.

“Are… Can… Can we be friends again?” She asks, no, pleads.

He smiles at her. “I don’t think we ever stopped.”

***

With a single earbud in, McGee listens closely to the conversation that he can already hardly hear with the volume on his computer all the way up. They were whispering again, but he has no argument after the shock to his eardrum from all the yelling.

With the ding from the elevator, he quickly shuts it off, fearing the bossman would see him spying on his friends. But when he looks up, it’s just Tali and Jimmy walking into the squadroom. “Uncle Tim! Did you get them? Huh? Huh?” She asks, running up to his desk.

He smiles brightly. “I sure did! You were wonderful! I’m going to show your aunt and cousin them when I get home.” Tali cheers and hugs him. He raises his head to Jimmy.

“I just got a call from another team, I have to go start my day.” He says. “Can you watch her for a bit?” McGee understands that the ME didn’t want to say anything about his job, not wanting to give the little girl nightmares.

“Oh sure, of course!” He says. “I’m sure Gibbs wouldn’t mind us having a visitor for a little while.”

“Oh thank you, McGee!” Tali gives her other uncle a hug before he leaves, not questioning him on why he had to leave so urgently.

McGee pulls Tali into his lap, giving her a kiss on the head, and starts playing videos on his computer.

By the time lunch had ended in the office, Tali was sitting in Ellie’s chair eating an apple and chocolate milk and the rest of the team was nowhere to be found. Gibbs had only walked passed the bullpen with a coffee in his hand, but never stopped to say ‘hi’ to the little DiNozzo.

McGee wants to check the live feed for the conference room, but he knew that Tali was a curious little girl, she’d sneak up behind him and watch the screen as well if she knew it was keeping her uncle’s concentration. So he read the news until Ellie and Nick came waltzing into the pen.

The first words out of Nick’s mouth when he entered the bullpen was enough to bring a smile to his lips. “Um, who’s child is this?” No one answers him as he stands in the middle of the room. He stares down at the child who stares back, giving him that smirk that McGee recognizes from when he watched the girl’s parents interact. Only, he didn’t know from which parent this smirk could have come from. But telling nonetheless. “You are…?” He asks the little girl directly.

She smiles sweetly at him, before fauxing an accent. “Je m'appelle Tali DiNozzo.”

“DiNozzo? Why does that name sound familiar?” Nick asks thoughtfully. McGee is about to answer him when Ellie buts in.

“Tony DiNozzo, the Senior Field Agent before McGee. Ziva’s partner.” Tali gives them a questioning look. Nick’s eyes widen, his lips making a silent ‘oh’ as his eyes dart between the two girls.

“Get back to work you two.” Gibbs says walking into the bullpen with a coffee in his hand, not looking at the small girl. McGee knew that Gibbs had trouble bonding with Tali, and it was nothing to do the Rule 12 that he had made so long ago. No. He knew it was because every time Gibbs looked into the brown-eyed curly-haired little girl, he saw Ziva, and it made him miss his daughter even more.

McGee thought that now that Ziva made herself present, showing that she was indeed alive, that Gibbs would try to connect with the girl like he didn’t before.

But only time would tell.

Suddenly the buzzing from his cell brought him to reality. It was Tony. “We’re coming down.” The text said. His heart starts to race. ‘We?’ As in both of them? “Um, T-Tali, your father is coming down.” Her eyes light up, not leaving her spot from Ellie’s desk. The two other agents look over at him, and he gives them a look. Taking the hint, the two step away from the desk and head to Nick’s.

A minute passes when Tony walks into the room slowly. “Aba!” Tali yells, throwing herself at him. “Are you done the meeting yet? Are we going to go to the theatre now? Can I buy a new book for the flight home?”

Tony picks the girl up in a single swoop, balancing her on his stomach with his arms. “Slow down bambina.” He laughs, and McGee no doubt thinks that having a daughter has made his friend younger after all those years of trying to date women all the same age. It was good for him. “First, I want you to meet someone. Someone who used to be in your life, but I don’t think you’d remember.” He can tell that the man’s heart is racing, introducing the little girl to her mother.

The entire room watches as Tony turns his body to the shy woman standing a few feet behind him. Tali furrows her brow, looking the woman over. Positioning her body to be let down, Tony complies, then walking over to the woman. Ziva crouches down to match her height with hers, and McGee can see her holding back the tears.

Face to face, Tali looks her over, confused and trying to remember. The office holds their breath as the little girl reaches forward and places her fingers on the necklace around Ziva’s neck. “I remember this…” She asks innocently. “I gave this to my Ima, I held onto it when she sang me a song every night.” Ziva nods, the tears forming. “Ima?”

“Yes moteq, yes.”

[justkindaoverhereobsessing]

you stumble, you soar (2/3)

What if Tony and Ziva had just a little more time in Paris during Jet Lag? Part one can be read here and the song from the last scene of this part can be found here.  

_____________________

CW/TW: non-graphic mentions of torture

This chapter is a love letter to the capital of France and to the push-and-pull of conflicting fluff and angst that we all love so much about Tiva! Again, super happy birthday to @why-did-you-just-lie-to-mcgee and huge thanks to @indestinatus for plotting this with me! 

_____________________

“Paris is a place in which we can forget ourselves, reinvent, expunge the dead weight of our past.” 

— Michael Simkin

_____________________

The bed they’re sharing is a large one, and though they went to sleep on opposite sides of it, the rising sun in the morning finds them curled together. 

As always, Ziva wakes first; she realizes immediately that something feels… off. She takes quick stock of her body and realizes that her head is pillowed on Tony’s chest; his arms are slung snugly around her back, and their legs are tangled together. She can feel his heartbeat under her cheek, slow and strong, and she finds herself rather unwilling to leave this spot of unexpected comfort. There’s no reason it should be, but it feels… nice.

She realizes quite suddenly that this is the first time she’s been held by someone—truly held, at peace and content—since her time in Somalia. 

The thought makes her feel a little sick, horrible memories cheapening the moment, and she pulls away hastily, trying to be gentle and avoid waking Tony. Luckily, he’s a fairly heavy sleeper, and she succeeds.

By the time Tony opens his eyes, Ziva is dressed and ready for the day, and he seems none the wiser about the way they spent the night. “Are you going to sleep all day, or would you like to see Paris?” Ziva teases. 

“Leave me alone, woman, I was having a great dream. I was dreaming about this lady…” Ziva turns away so he won’t see her expression. She thinks it’s entirely possible that his dream stemmed from the scent of her hair or the feel of her skin as she slept against him. 

“Hurry and get ready. We have things to do,” she says instead of acknowledging what he said. 

_____________________

Ziva has a definite plan in mind for the bulk of the day, but Tony almost immediately steers her away from where she’s leading him. “What are you doing?” she demands, surprised enough that she follows him for a moment automatically before realizing what she’s doing and stopping. 

“We’re in Paris, Ziva. We can’t just walk everywhere. That would be absurd!”

“We were going to ride on the Metro,” she corrects him, an eyebrow raised quizzically, “but why do I imagine you have a different idea?”

He certainly does.

Twenty minutes later, they’re climbing on the Vespa that Tony insisted on renting. “Are you certain that you know how to drive a scooter?” Ziva asks with a small amount of trepidation. She has little time to die in a Tony-induced accident today. 

“Of course! It can’t be that hard!”

“That does not reassure me. You understand, yes, that the rules of the road are different here than in Washington?”

“I’m not stupid, Ziva.” Tony turns around to frown at her, but his eyes are alight with hidden laughter. “And honestly, are you really going to talk to me about road safety? How many times have I almost died with you behind the wheel?”

“I am an excellent driver!” Ziva insists indignantly, but she’s speaking to the back of his head because he’s already turned back around. “It is the other drivers who—AHHH!” She interrupts herself with a yell because Tony has—with zero warning—revved the engine and sent them speeding out onto the road. 

“I thought you said you knew how to drive this thing!” Ziva yells over the sudden wind in her ears and Tony’s triumphant, wordless shout.

“I do!”

He definitely does not.

_____________________

Their first stop is one of Ziva’s favorite Parisian cafes, Café de Flore in the Latin Quarter. As they are seated and start to look over the menu, Ziva briefly explains the restaurant’s history. “This is a place that many tourists love, but that is for good reason. It is one of Paris’ oldest cafes, and it has been frequented by some of the greatest creative minds of the twentieth century. Ernest Hemingway, Pablo Picasso, Robert Desnos, Raymond Queneau… the list goes on.”

“And now we’re here.” Tony glances around; the morning light shining through the panes of glass bounces off the crisps white shirts of waiters as they bustle past. He’s never felt so French; the atmosphere of the cafe demands the feeling. 

“Yes, we are.”

“What’s good here?” Tony wants to know, his eyes excitedly scanning the simple black-and-white text of the menu.

“You must try the hot chocolate, if nothing else. I know your sweet mouth will appreciate it.”

“Sweet tooth.”

“Yes, that.”

“Alright, I will.”

What follows is a delicious culinary adventure through several types of pastries, all split between them until they can’t eat another bite. They sit in sated silence for a few minutes after they finish their food and hot chocolate, bellies full and happy as they stare contentedly at crumbs dusting the green table top. “Damn. Parisians really know how to do pastries, don’t they?” Tony says eventually, a vaguely dreamy expression on his face.

“They certainly do,” Ziva agrees completely. “We have more things to see, however. Shall we?”

“We shall.” Tony rises to his feet with a light groan, patting his stomach to emphasize its fullness before offering Ziva his hand in a surprisingly chivalrous move.

Ziva accepts, her heart skipping one tiny beat. (She reminds herself once again that he is her work partner, not a romantic interest—they’ve nearly been down this road enough times that she knows better than to imagine otherwise.)

_____________________

After another mildly terrifying Vespa ride, Tony and Ziva burn off all the calories they just consumed by climbing to the top of the Arc de Triomphe. There, slightly out of breath, they get a birds’ eye view of the timeless city and all its charms.

Observing the yellow-white walls of buildings that have seen centuries of history, neatly arranged down streets and boulevards lined with the fresh green of trees blooming for spring, Tony thinks quite suddenly that there’s no one he would rather share this with. He glances at Ziva—she’s looking away from him, down at the traffic circle that’s too far below to hear its chaos. Her profile is as beautiful as the city he’s falling in love with, and it occurs to him that he came very close to losing her not even half a year ago. 

He’s never been so glad for something not happening, and he’d go back to that desert and risk death or worse dozens of times more if it meant he could relive this moment with her again and again, here among the birds and the buttery sunlight and the city that stretches on forever.

He slides his hand into hers. Though she doesn’t look at him or acknowledge the move, she threads her fingers through his.

Eventually, Ziva lifts her other hand to point. “The Eiffel Tower is that way, as you can see. I thought we would go there next. It is about two kilometers away.”

“No.”

Now, she does look at him. “No? Tony, a trip to Paris is not complete without visiting its most famous landmark.”

“I know.” He doesn’t say more, though, and after a moment, Ziva dismisses whatever he isn’t saying with a shrug. 

“Alright. To the Musée d’Orsay, then?” 

“To the Musée d’Orsay.”

_____________________

They spend close to two hours meandering through the d’Orsay, both particularly enjoying the Monet collection. There’s something undeniably romantic about whispering to one another as they observe pastel water and floral scenes, feeling lost in the paintings and the history and the almost intangible sensation of being at home in this magnificent place. 

The whole time, they’re hand in hand, and neither mentions it. 

Then they have lunch at Le Galliera. Tony makes Ziva giggle almost helplessly as he tries his damnedest to order for them both in terrible French; the waiter is less than impressed, but Tony more or less gets his point across. 

Considering this is still technically a work trip, they shouldn’t order a bottle of wine and then another one, but they do. A meal with wine is the greatest Parisian inevitability; it turns out to be one of the best meals either has had in ages.

Following lunch, they go to the last stop that Ziva has planned for the day, the Louvre. 

Tony finds himself far more impressed with the delicate architecture of the Louvre than with its most famous inhabitant—the surprisingly small Mona Lisa—but he finds that he immensely enjoys other parts of the museum. 

There are tourists everywhere, milling about the more well-known exhibits, and it’s a good thing that Ziva dedicated their whole afternoon to exploring… it’s an enormous building with too many exhibits to keep track of. At first, Ziva aims to show Tony the can’t-miss art pieces: the Winged Victory of Samothrace, the Venus de Milo, Liberty Leading the People… but then their tour becomes aimless. 

Much like their visit to the Musee d’Orsay, they find themselves just walking, enjoying the art and one another’s company. 

Then they stumble across the room that turns out to be Tony’s favorite of all: the Napoleon exhibit. 

Here, there are no tourists. They’re alone with the art and the history, free to speak as loudly or quietly as they would like, or to not speak at all; the space feels almost like a church, old and sanctified and echoey and welcoming. Like a church, it brings on the urge for confession. 

Tony coughs suddenly, twenty minutes into their Napoleon exploration, and the noise makes Ziva startle... something Tony has rarely if ever seen her do.

He hasn’t spent this much time with her since Somalia, though.

“Are you alright?” he asks, uncharacteristically gentle.

“Yes, of course I am.” Ziva turns to him in surprise. “Why do you ask?”

“You’re jumpy. I’ve never seen you like this.”

“You would be, too, if you spent every moment waiting for your nightmares to reappear,” she answers, her honesty surprising both of them. 

“Are you talking about—”

“What do you think I am talking about, Tony?”

That stops him short. He’s often wondered what exactly happened to her in Africa, because she has never told him. He hates himself for wondering so much, though, for fearfully imagining, but he can’t suppress the gut feeling that she needs to get at least some of it out before she loses herself to the memories… as much as he doesn’t want to hear it. 

“What happened over there, Ziva?”

“You do not want to know, and I do not want to say.”

“That’s not true,” he argues softly, following her as she stalks away from him, deeper into the museum. “I think you want to talk about it. I think you need to.” 

“And when did you complete your psychology degree?” Ziva snaps, looking determinedly away from him; at least she has stopped walking. 

“I don’t know psychology, you’re right, but I know you.”

“Do you?” Ziva demands, turning suddenly to face him with fire in her eyes. “Do you know me? Does anyone? Can you possibly know what is left of me, Tony? Because I do not even know myself anymore!”

That breaks Tony’s heart, and he swallows. “Yes. If there’s one goddamn thing I’m sure of, it’s that I know you, even if you aren’t so sure.”

“Think what you would like! You have never stopped forming your own opinions anyway, whether you had any information at all or not! Stop trying to get me to—”

“I’m just trying to look out for you! That’s all! I know you went through hell, alright? I know that! I’m not demanding all the details, and I’m not asking out of morbid curiosity or whatever! I’m trying to keep you from collapsing in on yourself, Ziva!”

“Stop. Pushing.” Her voice is at once quiet and deadly serious.

Not sure if it’s the right thing to do, Tony does stop.

_____________________

They reach an unspoken truce as they finish touring the museum, but neither is paying much attention to the exhibits anymore. Too worn out from both their active day and their suppressed emotions to search out a distant dinner spot, they decide to simply dine at one of the on-site restaurants, Le Café Marly. 

They’re both subdued throughout the meal, and it seems to Tony that Ziva is constantly on the verge of saying something. Every time she looks like she’s about to speak, however, she bites her tongue and goes back to her plate.

Eventually, Tony cautiously decides to prompt her one more time—he doesn’t want his head bitten off, but he can’t let her stew like this without giving it another try. “Something on your mind?” he asks lightly.

“I…”

“Something about Somalia?” he hazards.

This time, rather than getting angry, Ziva just looks… tired. Sad. Maybe a little broken. “Yes.” 

“Something you need to get off your chest?”

“I… I can’t, I...” The grief that wasn’t strong enough to break through her anger earlier comes suddenly now, and Ziva ducks her head, staring at the fingers of her twisting and worrying hands in her lap as tears start to gather in her eyes. “I am fine,” she insists, though Tony hasn’t said anything, “and you should not have asked me in public.”

“Oh, Ziva… I’m so sorry.” Tony sounds exhausted, too, and pained. He’s not apologizing for asking, Ziva’s sure. He’s hurting for her and what she went through, she knows, and though she loves him for it, it doesn’t make her own pain any easier.

She’s just going to have to feel this. She has been, little by little, but somehow it hurts more now, thinking of talking about it with someone who would go to the ends of the earth for her.

He lets her sit for a moment, tears falling silently to her lap from a curiously expressionless face, until he can’t take it anymore. Then he reaches over and takes her hand. “Do you want to talk about it? Because you don’t have to, but… no offense, Ziva, but I don’t think you would have entertained this conversation at all if you didn’t.”

“No,” she snaps, hating how congested her voice sounds, but then she relents. “I do not know. Maybe.”

“Then let’s maybe get out of here.” Without looking at him, Ziva can hear the small smile in his voice.

He may be an ass, and he may be obnoxious, but he may also be the best friend she’s ever had.

He signals for the waiter to bring their bill, and before long, they’re headed out into the cool spring air. Ziva heads for Tony’s stupid rented Vespa, assuming they’re heading back to their hotel, but he doesn’t follow her. She looks back questionably, glad her tears have dried up for now, but he’s standing back, shaking his head. “It’s our only real night in Paris,” he reminds her. “Let’s go see the sights.”

“What have we been doing all day, if not seeing the sights?” Ziva wants to know. “Tony, I am tired.”

Tony tilts his head to one side. “Come on, I know my badass ninja assassin partner has at least a little more in her, doesn’t she? Humor me, Ziva.”

He looks so earnest that she’s tricked into nodding yes, intrigued as always by the occasional vulnerable side of him that sometimes makes its way out. “Alright—for a little while,” she amends.

“That’s the spirit! Come on, David. Let’s go see the City of Lights by night.”

She can’t help but laugh when he drapes an arm ever-so-lightly around her shoulders. “You are in quite a mood tonight,” she observes, walking willingly toward wherever he’s headed.

“Yeah, well, somebody has to be, right?” he replies pragmatically, squeezing her shoulders.

For some inexplicable reason, the gesture warms her in a way her coat does not.

“Where are you dragging me?” She suspects she already knows, but him leading the way—and walking, no less, the Vespa still parked on a curb near the restaurant—is an unexpected change of pace. 

“Really, Ziva, if you have to ask, you’re not half as smart as I give you credit for. Where does any first time tourist in Paris go? Where did we not go already?”

“The Eiffel Tower?” Ziva surmises.

“The one and only,” Tony agrees.

“It is not the only one,” Ziva counters, just to be argumentative. She loves verbally sparring with him, even if she won’t admit it, and the familiarity of the bickering is soothing. 

“Where are there others?”

“Do not tell me you have never been to Las Vegas.”

“I have, but—oh. You mean the tiny one.”

Ziva laughs; it’s a little stilted, but it’s genuine. Tony now seems content to let her decide when or if she wants to talk about more serious things, and she appreciates it. “It is not quite as impressive, but the design is the same, I suppose.”

“Well, you may not be easy to please, but I thought it was cool. Anyway, this is why I didn’t want to see the Tower earlier. I hear it lights up at night and that’s got to be the best way to see it, right?”

“Right,” she agrees.

They fall into companionable silence, focusing on the long walk at hand. The sun has long since set, and the energy of the city has subtly changed in a way that few other cities ever do. They become anonymous, just another two Parisians strolling toward Saturday night plans, nameless and faceless among the city lights and the beautiful spring evening. 

It’s comforting.

Before Ziva is even aware of what she’s doing, she starts to talk. To his credit, Tony doesn’t say a single word; he just holds onto her and lets her talk. 

There’s little emotion in Ziva’s voice as she describes being tortured. It’s factual, like someone reading from a textbook; she has removed herself from her memories to the best of her ability. There’s more feeling, however, as she speaks of losing hope, hope she barely had in the first place. She tells him about wanting to give up, about not being allowed to, about wishing for death and receiving rescue instead. 

She talks until the Tower is in sight, and when she’s done, she falls silent.

Tony’s only response is to drop the longest, most heartfelt kiss to the top of her head. Ziva’s glad; somehow, any response he could have uttered out loud would have felt… cheap. 

Inexplicably, some of the horrible weight on her tired soul disappears.

_____________________

They stay silent when they reach the Tower; even Ziva, who has seen this sight many times, is struck dumb by the lights as they sparkle across the entire magnificent structure. She feels small, insignificant, like her problems are small and insignificant, too. 

The thought brings tears back to her eyes, and she’s just about to voice the idea when Tony nudges her. “Listen,” he murmurs.

She stops and does so, focusing in on a sound that her analytical mind had already tuned out as unimportant. It’s the sound of a violin and a piano mixing sweetly together. Ten meters away, two street performers stand alone and ignored, softly playing Chopin’s Nocturne in C Sharp Minor. 

Now that she’s paying attention to it, Ziva’s a little mesmerized, and she’s startled slightly when Tony takes her hand again. “Let’s dance,” he says, the little smile on his face so hopeful that she can’t say no. 

Tony uses her hand to draw her closer and rests his other hand on her waist, sighing slightly when her second hand lands on his shoulder. Neither says another word, but they start to rotate and move side to side to the haunting melody; their eyes are locked together, and Tony thinks it might be the most intimate moment he’s ever shared with anyone. 

He doesn’t mind at all.

As the song progresses, their bodies get closer and closer together, and the brightness of the Tour’s display illuminates their faces like candlelight. Somehow, Ziva finds her eyes fluttering shut and her head leaning down to rest on Tony’s shoulder. Maybe it’s an illusion, and maybe the pain will come back tomorrow, but here, and now… she feels at once light of soul and cherished of heart. 

The last note of the song dies slowly away into the night air, but Tony and Ziva don’t notice, continuing to sway.