Work Text:
I’m still afraid of the dark
But you take my hand in your hand
From you the flowers grow
(Florence + The Machine, Patricia)
She had noticed that he was following her way before the old heavy door of shul had started creaking. It was his cologne that had made him recognizable, almost two blocks away from the synagogue. Deep notes of sandalwood mixed with the warmth of his skin: it was the fragrance of love. It was that same smell that she had desperately tried to recall every time the panic started to rise, while on the run. It was the only grounding that she allowed herself every time the ghost of Sahar escaped her grasp and the demons of the past were torturing her. Since her arrival in Paris, Ziva had started to sniff it, hidden in the bathroom, when Tony was working late and her mind was spinning. Tali was already sleeping, so she sat on the floor and opened the small glass bottle, before closing her eyes and inhaling slowly. Mixed with the sweet floral perfume her daughter loved to use on special days, then, it had quickly become the smell of the home she fought so long to protect. She would have recognized it anywhere, no matter how messed up her brain was.
“Can I help you, Anthony?”, Ziva asked, before slowly standing up and turning around to see her partner leaning against a wall, “You could have waited on the other side”, she then quietly reprimanded him, nodding toward a partition that divided the room in two separate areas.
The man looked at her, at her tired gaze and at the impeccable clothes, before silently nodding and moving towards the mechitza . Despite his worry and the need to see her to make sure that she was somewhat okay, he chose to respect her enough to honour her faith.
“I am almost done”, Tony heard her murmuring and could detect the hint of a small smile, “I’ll see you outside, ahuvi ”.
With a sigh of relief, the former Special Agent nodded to himself and walked to the door. He definitely needed some fresh air.
Outside, the sun was shining and the loud noises of the Parisian spring made Ziva wince. Anthony was waiting for her on the other side of the road, leaning against a wall and looking at his phone with annoyed interest. Was it work? Didn’t he have an important meeting with a new client? Or maybe it was simply their teenage daughter, unhappily complaining about having to spend the weekend with her nanny. Both of her parents had to attend an important event and Senior was visiting a former business partner in Cannes. Sophie had promptly accepted to take care of Tali for the two days she would have otherwise spent alone, despite the young girl’s protest that she was old enough to take care of herself.
With a sigh, Ziva crossed the empty street before stopping right in front of him. She immediately noticed the dark bags under his eyes and could not help but start feeling guilty. The evening prior he came back home to Tali screaming so loud that she had started to cough. Ziva, for her part, had really tried not to raise her voice but she was quite confident that the neighbours would have told a different story. What had started as an innocent reply to an unexpected question, had quickly become the perfect scapegoat for her daughter’s mal de vivre. In the end, despite her father’s attempt at mediating, the teenage girl had gone to her room and shut the door behind her with a loud “thump”. Her mother, for her part, had gone straight to bed lamenting a migraine and lack of appetite. Tony, barely understanding what had happened, had been left with a whole pot of cholent for himself and no one to talk to. When he went to bed, the man simply curled around Ziva, kissing her shoulder and murmuring words of reassurance that felt as empty as the growling stomach of their child.
“You could have asked to join me”, the Israeli murmured, before nodding to her right and asking: “Coffee? There is a café nearby. They bake their own chocolate babka ”.
The mention of a sweet treat made the other one smile. It was a tired yet soft smile. It was so achingly loving that the woman could not help herself and brushed the pad of her fingers against his cheekbone.
“ Funny that you mention food”, he grinned, suggestively patting his stomach, “After the morning I had, I definitely could use a snack”.
She chuckled affectionately, before kissing his jaw and murmuring: “Let’s go, ahuvi ”.
The café was a relatively small but cozy establishment a few blocks away from the synagogue. The walls were decorated with a few pieces of contemporary Jewish art and the former Special Agent could spot a tiny Israeli flag discreetly hidden behind the cash register. A colorful ceramic mezuzah had been hung by the entrance and a freshly polished sedar plate announced the upcoming festivities. The owner and Ziva exchanged pleasantries in Hebrew, before switching to English for Tony’s benefit.
“Come. Let’s sit”, Ziva took his hand and gently pulled him towards one of the tables, “Don’t worry, Tony. Your snack is coming”.
They took place on opposite sides of a small round table and the Israeli started fidgeting with the trim of a small doily laying under the sugar dispenser. Tony opened his palm and offered her his hand to hold instead: she took it.
“Are you okay?”, he asked, before taking a good look at her.
She was wearing a black turtleneck over a pair of palazzo pants and her hair was tied in a french braid. He had learned quickly after her return to Paris that her current hairdo was a sign that her mind was racing too fast. The regular movements of the braiding process had in fact the power to make her breathing slow down. By doing so, her mind could find some fleeting sense of peace. It was like autogenic training, she once told him after a particularly challenging day at the office. It offered her the grounding her whole being so desperately needed by allowing her body to find some balance within itself.
“I am hanging in there”, she answered, starting caressing his knuckles, “ Shul helped a little bit”, she tried to reassure him.
Her relationship with faith had changed greatly, since her time on the run. She had spent so many hours quietly praying, while hiding and waiting. She had recited words that belonged to a past she barely remembered and yet it had felt like the most natural thing to do. She had felt safe, while evocating the words that her father once taught her. She had felt protected and, for the first time in a long time, she hadn’t felt alone.
Once back in Paris, she had started visiting Le Marais when Tali was at school and Tony at work. Integrating aspects of her faith in their daily life had been a process of adaptation for all parties involved. Despite a few tense moments at the beginning, when every change felt like an impossible task, they slowly but surely found a new routine and new habits. Ziva found a way to connect to her roots, to honor her Ima’ s legacy, and her daughter finally found the sense of belonging that she had often missed as a child.
“Was Tali okay, today?”, the Israeli asked, before smiling at the owner bringing them their order and a few complementary cookies, “ Toda ”.
Tony looked at the piece of cake he was given, clearly pleased with the generous amount of chocolate, before nodding at her.
“She still thinks you are being unreasonable”, he told her while chewing loudly, before noticing her wincing slightly and quickly adding: “But she will get over it”.
The woman sighed, before taking a sip of her tea.
“I just told her that I would have spoken with you about it”, she murmured, suddenly lost in thoughts, “Because it is a big decision and we should talk about it as a family”.
The Former Special Agent nodded, before offering her a small bite of cake. Just like her relationship with faith, Ziva’s relationship with food had changed radically because of her time in the shadows. After three and a half years spent prioritising her search for Sahar, she had lost a significant amount of weight. Eating just hadn’t been a priority in those months and she still occasionally forgot to prepare a meal for herself, when her mind was racing too fast. Despite having talked with Doctor Lang about feeding others as an act of love, she was still learning to appropriately nourish herself, one step at a time.
The Israeli took the piece of cake and smiled gratefully at her partner, before caressing his hand once again. Since being reunited with her family, she could barely get enough of those small affectionate gestures. She had spent hours looking at him, yearning for his warm presence and relishing in his affection. The feeling of being able to touch him, kiss him, feel him was still very much exhilarating, almost intoxicating despite having been back for almost five years.
“Do you worry about her going camping with the school?”, Tony asked her, before intertwining their fingers.
Ziva shook her head, slowly but firmly, before sighing softly.
“I don’t. Not really”, she answered, then took a sip of her drink, “But it is the first time we would leave her with someone else after…”.
She drank some more tea, unable to finish the sentence. How could one properly describe a summer spent on the run, hoping that a former SAS operative turned nanny could protect Tali in case of danger? Were there even words able to poignantly convey everything that happened in those weeks around Europe? Her relationship with Tony had become stronger, almost as solid as it had been fifteen years prior to that very moment. They had had to learn to rely on each other without letting the doubts of years spent apart infiltrate their thoughts. The former Special Agent had witnessed once again how powerful and all-encompassing Ziva’s love could be, how selfless and dedicated she was. Watching her go above and beyond for her family made him realise just how deep their connection ran. It showed him how inevitable falling in love with her all over again was. Tali, however, had almost immediately started questioning her mother’s words as much as her intentions. Even Tony was being scrutinized more often than not. The young girl’s relationship with both her parents had suffered a painful regression they were still trying to recover from.
“Ziva…”.
“I haven’t told her that she can not go, Anthony”, the Israeli firmly stated, successfully interrupting whatever the other one wanted to say, “I have told our daughter that I would have spoken with you about it because it’s the kind of decision we take as a family.”.
Tony nodded, before offering her another small bite of babka .
“We will talk to her tonight, okay?”, he suggested, smiling reassuringly.
The noncommittal “mh” he received made him hope for the best: he surely could use a quiet evening with his two leading ladies.
“Shouldn’t you go to the office?”, Ziva asked him once they exited the cafe half an hour later.
With a devilish grin, Tony shrugged.
“I was there, saw it all and conquered”, he told her cheekily, before noticing her unimpressed look and confessing: “The meeting I had planned with that potential client from Qatar was postponed”.
“So your secretary sent you home to prevent you from making messes”, the Israeli chuckled, before squeezing his forearm affectionately, “Poor Anthony”.
“Well we both know that Claudette can manage on her own”, he nodded, “Hopefully she won’t stage a coup to try and take my place”, he then murmured, sighing dramatically.
The woman giggled, amused by his ridiculous antics. It felt like a weight left from his shoulders. It felt like victory.
They walked in companionable silence to the metro station, then the former Special Agent took the other one by the arm and smiled his thousand watt smile at her.
“Wanna go on an adventure with me?”, he asked, the excitement clear in his voice.
Ziva looked at him and smiled softly, caressing his hand before intertwining their fingers. He used to take Tali and her mother on adventures all the time, when the latter first relocated to Paris. They used to go on long walks that ended at the ice cream shop. He would sign them all up for a laboratory at the Louvre. Once he even involved McGee and his planning abilities and treated his two ladies to a weekend in Camargue.
“Well, someone has to put up with your antics, yes?”, she told him, before kissing the corner of his lips and murmuring: “Surprise me, Anthony”.
The darker shade of his irises told her immediately that whatever plan he had in mind just flew off the window.
“Let’s go home”, he murmured, before pulling her in the direction of the right metro station to reach their apartment, “Adventures can wait”.
There was a time when having sex with Tony felt like a chore. They were trying to have another child and spent so much time tracking Ziva’s irregular cycle that they lost sight of each other. They were completely caught up in the dream of a sibling for Tali, who would have probably preferred a puppy or a new doll to add to her collection. They stopped communicating and started losing interest in whatever made their connection so special. They spent hours fucking on autopilot, without even looking at each other in the eyes. Then the Israeli tested positive only to discover the cruel reality of an ectopic pregnancy.
They spent three days in the hospital barely speaking to one another. The sorrow was too great, the grief too encompassing. Then Gibbs called and the gruff love of a man who knew the pain of losing a child helped them find some common ground. It had been a slow and painful process and yet it saved them once again. Doctor Lang offered them an outlet to talk about the inexplicable grief for something that did not happen. They started to reflect on their actions, to ask themselves what happened to their relationship, to make amends. They built new foundations and made new promises. They made it to the other side.
A handful of months later, laying naked in bed had once again acquired the sweet taste of love and devotion. There were no obligations, no pressure of any kind and oh so much pleasure. Tony was currently caressing her hair, damp with sweat, when she started moving her hand against his thigh with the clear intention of riling him up once again.
“A third round? At our age?”, he chuckled, before deciding that her breasts deserved some attention too and smiling devilishly at the sound he elicited, “Sounds like a plan to me”.
He flipped her over with a mischievous grin on his face, before kissing her shoulder and asking: “This okay?”.
She simply took his hand and guided it between the mattress and her stomach and then down between her legs. It was warm and wet and inviting. It was all that Tony wanted.
“Please, ahuvi”, she murmured, teasingly wiggling her back against his already erected penis.
Before they could do anything else, however, they heard a well known shuffling of feet and immediately started looking for the clothes they previously shed.
“I am home!”, Tali’s voice immediately followed the sound of the front door opening.
“Go take a shower”, Tony whispered before deciding to forgo underwear and simply putting on an old tracksuit, “Is she home early or did we lose track of time?”.
Ziva moved to the ensuite bathroom before smiling softly at the other one and murmuring: “Maybe we were just enjoying ourselves a little too much”.
When the door closed, Tony took a look at his reflection, at the disheveled hair and at his red cheeks. He could not repress a grin.
“You can say that again, sweetcheeks ”.
Dinner was a quiet uncomfortable affair: the aftermath of whatever happened the day before lingered like thick fog. They ate mostly in silence, barely exchanging glances, before Tali stood up to put her plate in the dishwasher.
“Tals…”, Tony tried to catch her attention, turning around just in time to see her shoulders tense and her stance stiffen.
Like mother, like daughter.
“I need to study for my test”, she murmured, obviously trying to get out of a situation that made her uncomfortable.
“Come sit here, please”, the former Special Agent tried to keep a leveled voice, smiling encouragingly, “I promise it won’t take long”.
It was just like trying to talk to Ziva after the latter had had a bad day or a difficult therapy session, the man realised all over again: one first needed to lure her in. Begrudgingly, the teenager slowly made her way to the table and sat on the chair she was previously occupying. She kept her gaze low, probably expecting a reprimand because of whatever happened the night prior, and started fidgeting with her hands.
“Your mother and I were talking…”.
Tony was immediately interrupted by his daughter, who quickly murmured: “I don’t have to go, I am sorry for yelling. Can I be excused now?”.
Ziva sighed, before standing up and kneeling in front of her daughter. Suddenly, flashbacks of her own childhood invaded her mind. Her father's unmovable refusals, too focused on serving his country and barely aware of his daughters' needs, and her mother attempts at softening the blows. Right in the middle of it, then, there were two little girls lost in the frenzy of their parents’ rocky marriage. She shook her head, chasing those visions away: her child deserved better.
“Would you like to go camping with your friends, Motek ?”, she asked, offering her hand to take.
After a few seconds of hesitation, the teenager started tentatively playing with her mother’s fingers, seeking comfort in her grasp.
“Yes but…”.
The tentative yet hopeful tone made both parents smile affectionately. Under all that attitude and the shouting and the inevitable changes, there was the same little girl that loved ballet but could not hold a tune to save her life.
“Then you have to promise to be safe”, Tony’s voice was firm yet kind, “To make sure that your phone is always charged and that you remember the crazy stunts your mother surely has taught you”.
The Israeli looked at him from her spot on the floor, before dramatically pinching his shin.
“Crazy stunts…”, she muttered, clearly unhappy about her partner's definition of krav maga, while her daughter started to giggle. It was the sweetest sound, the one both adults would never get tired of listening.
“It is not easy for us to let you go after the last summer we had”, the former Special Agent continued, looking at his daughter for a sign that she was listening, “Please be mindful of that next time, Tali”.
The young girl nodded, suddenly somber, before taking a deep breath.
“I’m sorry, Ima”, she murmured, “I didn’t mean to yell”.
The woman nodded, silently proud of her child.
“I am sorry too”, Ziva smiled affectionately at her daughter, then stood up once again and kissed her head, “Now go study for your test, your father and I will clear the table”.
Later that evening Tony looked around their bedroom and sighed contentedly, before joining Ziva under the covers.
“What’s the matter, ahuvi ?”, the woman asked, putting her book aside.
The other one happily inhaled once more, then smiled and kissed the space between her raised brows.
“This is how it is supposed to be”, he then murmured, “Munchkin is happy, we are great and everything is back to normal”, he explained to her, before bopping her nose and kissing her lips just in time to stop her from snorting, amused by his antics.
“Wait for her to realise she’ll have to wake up every day at the crack of dawn”, the Israeli pointed out, then moved slightly to the side to reciprocate a kiss that had been way too short for her liking.
“She’ll be fine”, the former Special Agent smiled, his lips still dangerously close to hers, “She will be great and…”.
He stopped dead in his tracks, feeling her hand brushing against his inner thigh and stopping just below the seam of his boxers.
“And you, ahuvi , should stop talking”, Ziva murmured, before moving her hand to his thigh once again and asking: “Is this okay?”.
Tony nodded, a tender loving smile that reached his eyes and made her heart swell.
“Of course, sweetcheeks, always”, he told her, then turned around to face her properly and traced the outline of her cleavage with his index finger, “We could make it up for earlier, when our beloved daughter decided to come home at the wrong time”.
Ziva smiled, before taking his hand and kissing his palm.
“We could call it making it up”, she murmured, before brushing her lips on his fingers, “Or taking advantage while we still can”.
He gulped, lost in the sensation of her lips on his skin, barely registering the other one’s words.
“Beg your pardon?”, he managed to ask, not sure about what was unfolding in front of him.
She looked at him, a loving yet uncertain smile on her lips, before taking his hand once more and putting it on her stomach.
“I think I might be pregnant, Anthony”.