#tiva amnesty

[hopeless-nostalgiac]

Abroad: New Tiva Amnesty Fic

(picture credit laura makabresku; gif credit finalfantasyxivonline)

A/N: Originally written in October 2015, but never shared (at least not that I recall) with the fandom. The idea was an AU where college student Tony travels abroad to Tel Aviv, meets IDF soldier Ziva, they fall in love, and then it gets dicey with Eli/Mossad. Very Romeo & Juliet-esque. This section was the prelude. I've tweaked it a little, and it stands on its own. I'll never continue the story, but I'm proud of the writing. Let your imagination fill in the rest. ;)

What to Except: He wants to tell her that he might love her. Maybe. He’s never loved someone like her before.

Word Count: 600

Read on Ao3

@mrsmungus @loudlooks @coffeedepablo @indestinatus @pro-bee @likeanorangeonatoothpick @benedettabeby @mcgeekle @television-overload @ardnaxelx (if you want off/on the list, let me know)

[television-overload]

Heads Up 7 Up

I was tagged by @loudlooks (thank you!)

Tagging anyone who wants to participate! 7 lines out of context, GO!

🙏🙏🙏 it's been so long since I've written Tiva fanfic (does anyone miss me?), much less finished anything 😭 but I've had this WIP where Tony doesn't get shot at in his apartment in 11x01 on my phone for years now and maybe one day I'll finally get to it and post it 🫡

---

"Did you bring me all the way here just to cook for you, Ms. David?" Tony teased, leaning in closer and taking the ingredients from her hands.

Ziva deviously stared right back at him and said "Yes," with a short nod, though Tony knew she was kidding.

Nevertheless, he got to work preparing his famous spaghetti sauce while Ziva got out the rest of the ingredients for the pasta, garlic bread, and salad. Tony set the sauce to simmer for a while, turning to lean on the counter and look at Ziva some more.

Several possible good conversation starters were on the tip of his tongue, but he couldn't make himself say any of them. You look beautiful. I'm glad I came. I'm in love with you.

[mokkemusic]

Remnants of a Dynasty

A/N: So yea.. a year later I am doing the tiva amnesty thing. I found some documents I thought I had deleted forever and this one, at the time I put a lot of heart into. It’s not perfect and it’s more poetic then anything else but I tweaked this enough that it could be a stand alone one shot and it gives me closure to post this. Tagging all who have started tiva amnesty and who I think might want to be tagged still. @sharilynn87 @jennonthewire @mcgeekle @natashaaabartonss @loudlooks @youaresoooloved

Takes place at the end of Shiva. While going back to Israel to bury her father and planting his olive tree in the ground Ziva takes some moments to reflect... 

read on ff

“A girl is born to be nothing more than a girl, A daughter is born to be nothing more than dutiful, A woman is born to be nothing more than a lover, A warrior is made to be nothing more than an instrument of fate. I was a girl, a daughter, a woman, a warrior; I was all these things, but not for long. Nothing is ever permanent.” (poem x, gif set x) 

The air was quiet. The bronzen leaves on the trees bathed in the sun’s light. People from all over the Holy Land, Ziva once again amongst them, found locations like this one to put their young saplings into the earth, all to honor their prematurely departed loved ones, which due to the state of living in a war zone was not an infrequent occurrence. A mixture of copper dirt and golden sand painted the canvas of the land like a sea of rusted and shining pennies.

Pin-pointing a spot where only the rich soil remained, she took her carry-on pack off her shoulder. It camouflaged with the beige ground and she might have lost it had her life not been an endless exercise in sifting the sands of her homeland for identity, heritage and duty; she was adept at finding that which was invisible to the eye. Opening it, Ziva lifted the small plant out of the bag and sat it down next to her carefully. Then she reached for the shovel. Taking a moment to compose herself and keeping the bile that crept up her throat at bay, she turned the polished wood of the tool’s handle crafted for her by her surrogate father over in her soft and supple hands. Then, as the trained marksman she was, she delivered the swift and deeply penetrating stab to her earthly victim. She began to dig.

The sun seared her back as she worked crouched down and balanced on her knees. The palms of her hands sank into the dirt rapidly, the earth underneath her could have easily been mistaken for quicksand. It seemed like only seconds of scooping out loose sediment until she was done. She wanted it to be longer, wanted this aperture to be large enough to bury the feelings of regret, remorse and the memories that kept coming back to her after that night she had spent cradling her father’s lifeless body in her shaking arms. But her skin was burning, and no abyss would be deep enough to bury her sins. Just like her hands in the sand, they would raise back to the surface.

Grabbing the plant a little too forcefully and placing it in its new home, she loosely covered it back up with dirt and leaned back to admire her handiwork. A bent leaf made her grit her teeth in frustration. But starting over would only delay the journey she was so keen on getting over. With nimble fingers she adjusted the leaf. It would have to do. The sentiment was all too familiar: She had planted the same olive tree for Tali. She had not planted one for Ari though. In retrospect Ziva was satisfied with this decision. Her father and brother’s lingering spirits represented as intertwined tree branches may have caused droughts or floods to the entire city of Tel Aviv. She wondered now though if they were at peace.

This notion had her look out to the horizon as if her answer would be written out for her in the clouds, or in the bristle of leaves or a dove’s song.

But no sign came.

Ziva was exhausted and if her stone demeanor did not betray her, the residue concealer underneath dark eyes did. She wondered how she must have looked that day after it had happened; how disheveled she must have appeared in Beth El Synagogue; hair a mess of curls tied up into a haphazardly done knot, face ashen, colorless lips, and heart and head as foolish as she was now, searching for what exactly? Signs? Hope? A reason to keep believing? She should have known her signs never came in daylight. They came to her at night when sleep finally claimed her and she was forced back into a world of mares. Visions of Somalia returned, along with the very real stench of sweat and cigarette smoke; torturers that vaguely resembled men. But the bloodstained blades were easier to forget than solitude.

She saw them all come back to her in her dreams, escaping the rooms in her mind she would not open, their locks now unlatched. Their names should have been etched on the walls of her prison, facing her, reminding her of all the wrongs she had done. But she did not want to remember. She would never give their names the physical shape of letters scraped onto concrete walls, stones in sliced fingers, stones that could bring back the last words as clear as on the day they were spoken. The conversations played out in vermillion italics in front of her.

The one person she did not expect rammed right into the barricade of her memory. A girl, not yet a warrior, too young to be dutiful or to even understand what that word meant; not even a woman, just a child. “Dreidel, dreidel, dreidel, I made you out of clay,” a sing-song voice hummed. Clay not yet molded into a solid silhouetted sculpture, but soft, malleable. The girl she had once been came to her as a reflection in a bowl of dirty water; a reflection that was not yet bruised and bloodied, but already stained with desert dirt.

This was the nightmare that came back to her after her father had died. It were not the countless hands that grabbed for her, that tried to steal her dignity, but mourning for a girl who had loved her father, who had looked up to him with pride. That girl would not have been ashamed of the cold sweats that had dampened Tony’s cotton sheets that night at his apartment, bunching them tightly with white knuckles as her body bolted upright, reacting on instinct, and very nearly delivering a left hook to her partner. Fortunately Tony had caught the flailing hand.

She tried to ignore the nagging feeling that troubled her in her sleep, trying to get her to remember who she had been. At her father’s funeral it had been clearer than ever that she had abandoned her home. Men and women, some of which she had never seen before, lining up to greet her, giving her rote condolences and words of assurance. “He really did love you”, “You made him proud, you know.” Ziva thought she may as well have been on display in a circus: the daughter who had come back only to bury her father out of obligation. She was sure that was what most of them thought. She was the daughter who had renounced her ties to Israel.

The daughter of a dead man.

The sympathies felt like being suffocated in a dress too small. The only way to alleviate the pressure was to tear it with her bare hands. But she didn’t know if she tore it for religion, which had fallen onto deaf ears for many years, or for something else. There was no rhyme or reason to dying, regardless of what small comfort tradition brought. Good or bad, it was completely out of your hands. The irony of this was that she had scoffed at tradition and stormed out on her father and Director Vance and his wife like an insolent child. Later it had provided her with the much needed comfort. She should have been inside the house. She should have died. Like a reckless cat she had already used up most of her nine lives, but the Malach, the angel, kept her breathing.

Her eyes fixated upon a patch of skin that was riddled with fine lines of scars long faded. She would not let an ounce of guilt seep out of these vertical lines, however. This responsibility to her father and his death had been paid in full three summers ago.

‘Your sins are too great,’ she had said to him during one of their last encounters.

The burning Yahrzeit candle which she had lit the night of his death had mirrored the Shabbat nerot on the evening which seemed like a lifetime ago, in her father’s house. The house she thought she would leave forever after resting Shiva.

Shiva and Shabbat: the blessing and the curse.

Every Friday night when it was her turn to pray, her father would mouth he words with her, silently, letting her nine year old self work them out on her own. Her mother would be the one to light the Yahrzeit with her in remembrance of a lost relative. “It is rebirth, Ziva. They are not lost. They start anew. We send them off with our love, and we treasure the time we have had. Do not cry, motek. Death is not a curse.”

Her tiny hands, held in her mother’s, chanting soft prayers that were recited in Tali’s velvet voice years later when their mother’s lips would no longer open to speak them. The sweet songs reverberated throughout their home, ingrained there. Ziva still heard them when she was there.

A chill crept up her spine, a strange sensation in the desert heat. She sunk back into the ground, her resolve slowly breaking, the last of adrenaline evaporating in the summer sun, suddenly overcome with longing and nostalgia.

It became too much, but Ziva had to make a choice: conquer, or let it consume her.

And the latter was not an option for a warrior’s heart such as her own. She took a moment to say her goodbyes to the tree and then pushed herself out of the sand. She shouldered the bag, which without the weight of her father’s spirit felt a lot lighter, and took the first step of a journey into the past so that she could continue with her future once it was over.

[factoffictionwriter]

Tiva Fic Amnesty #14

More from Chaval Extras. Things to know: Ziva has 2 Aunts back in Israel whom she took Tony to meet. The Aunts are friends with Shmeil as well. Oh, and Tony and Ziva are totally a thing. Like a thing thing.

“Wait a second. So I wasn’t imagining it? Ziva really did have a motorcycle?” 

Shmeil nodded enthusiastically, “My Ziva had a motorcycle before she even learned how to drive!” 

Tony chuckled to himself, “That explains a lot, actually.” 

“What explains a lot?” His beautiful Israeli asked as she breezed into the room, delicate looking teacups in either hand. She carefully handed one of them to Shmeil before crossing the room to take a seat next to Tony on the couch. 

“I was just telling Anthony about your, shall we say, preference for dangerous modes of transportation.” 

Her eyebrows came together as she wracked her brain for what he could possibly be talking about. But when she saw Tony’s smug little grin beside her, she put the pieces together. 

“The motorcycle?” She asked. 

“Oh yeah,” Tony chimed.

She eyed him warily, “Remember what I said about stories being exaggerated? Keep that in mind.” 

He just laughed at her. 

“What is so funny, Anthony?” Nettie asked as she too emerged from the kitchen, her two sisters trailing behind, each with their own teacup.

“Ziva was just about to tell me about her motorcycle.”

“Oh, goodness. Why would you want to hear about that horrible thing?” Adina asked as she settled into the couch across the room. 

“Because he is a man,” Shmeil laughed, “And men like two things: hot women and fast vehicles.” 

Tony nodded, “And this story promises to have both.” 

“Very well then,” Nettie sighed as she sipped on her tea.

“We do not know where she managed to get such a horrible contraption, much less how she managed to keep it secret for so long,” Hinda was giving Ziva a disapproving look, “But somehow she managed to drive that thing to school every day for an entire year before we even knew it existed.” 

“She parked it a few spaces down from her father’s car in one of the neighbor boy’s spaces. Lord knows how she convinced him to let her have such a coveted spot,” Nettie shook her head. 

“I can think of a few ways,” Tony whispered to himself, but Shmeil managed to hear it. 

“David women can be quite convincing,” the old man winked at Tony, causing his smile to grow wider. 

“Anyways, we never would have even known about it if she hadn’t gotten in that accident.” 

“Which was not my fault, by the way,” Ziva added. 

“They never are,” Tony remarked, sending her a look of such pure adoration that she couldn’t help but forgive his jab. 

“Okay, but this one really was not. The man should have looked over his shoulder. Even I look over my shoulder when changing lanes.” 

“And how fast were you going, dear?” Nettie asked, the stern look on her face telling him she already knew the answer.

“That is not important. He still should have looked.” 

“I seem to remember the officer telling us you were going 110 mph… in a 45 mph zone,” Adina provided helpfully. 

Tony let out a long whistle before pausing, “Actually, I’m not that surprised. That does sound like something you would do.” 

She rolled her eyes, biting back a tiny smile. 

“She was thrown clear across the highway. A couple more feet and she would have rolled right off the cliff and into the sea below.” 

Ziva just shrugged, “I walked away with a few scratches.” 

“If by scratches you mean 3 broken ribs and road burn up your entire left side,” Hinda corrected, “But yes, you were able to walk away. You were very lucky.” 

Tony leaned into the couch cushion, slowly sliding his hand over to rest it on her side, right where he remembered seeing a long patch of scars, mostly faded until they looked like delicate white flames dancing across her skin. 

She nodded slightly in his direction as if confirming that the marks were, in fact, the remnants of this exact accident. 

“Tali would not go near the thing,” Nettie spoke, breaking up the moment between the couple on the couch. 

“Of course Tali wouldn’t go near it. She was smart. She understood the concept of danger,” Hinda acknowledged. 

Ziva let out a quiet huff as she leaned back against the cushions, and inadvertently his arm. 

“Yes, but I understood the concept of fun.” 

Tony let out a hearty laugh at her comment before smoothly transitioning it into a cough when the aunts shot him disapproving looks. 

“You only truly understood how to piss off your father. Let this be a lesson to you, Anthony. When you have children, do not rule with an iron fist, lest they turn out to be anything like their mother.” 

“Doda!” Ziva cried, sending Adina a truly incredulous look. 

---

“Did you ever get the chance to meet Eli, Anthony?” Nettie asked. 

He felt Ziva stiffen beside him, and took that as a sign to proceed with the utmost caution. 

“Yeah, I did. A couple of times, actually. He… wasn’t a big fan of me.” 

“Nor you of him, I assume,” Hinda offered. 

“I think Eli David was a complicated man… in a complicated situation. It’s really not for me to judge. I will never understand exactly what he was going through.” 

“It is quite alright, Tony. You are surrounded by fellow Eli-haters here. I am sure there is nothing you can say about the man that Ziva has not already heard from one of us,” Shmeil assured him. 

Ziva’s shoulders heaved as she let out a long sigh. 

He watched her carefully out of the corner of his eye as he spoke, “I obviously don’t agree with many of the decisions he made, particularly in regards to his children. But at the end of the day, I think he was doing what he thought was best. He just happened to be wrong.” 

“He just happened to be wrong?” Hinda spat. 

“Doda…” Ziva warned. 

“No, Zivaleh. I am tired of listening to Eli’s excuses. He may have brainwashed you into believing them, but I will not let you bully Anthony into believing them as well.”

Tony sat forward, sliding his arm out from behind Ziva and resting his elbows on his knees, “She hasn’t bullied me into anything. Well - she has - but not with this. I just think that I’m coming at the situation from a bit of a… different angle than the rest of you.” 

“How so?” Shmeil asked. 

“Well, for starters, I didn’t meet Ziva until after Eli did a number on her. I can sit here and listen to you guys tell stories about her tending to a garden or flying off a motorcycle, but I’ll never fully understand what she was like back then.” 

“All the more reason you should be upset,” Hinda grumbled. 

Tony shook his head, “How do I explain this…” 

He looked around the small living room for a few seconds, trying to find some sort of inspiration for-

“Star Wars!” He exclaimed. 

Five heads all turned in his direction, their eye brows furrowed in confusion. 

“A movie. Really?” Ziva asked from beside him. 

“Not just a movie. A series. 7 movies. Filmed and premiered out of order. 3 movies, then 3 prequels, only to return back to the original timeline for the new one.”

“I do not follow,” Adina sighed. 

“Okay… it’s like you guys are watching the series in chronological order, and I’m watching them in the order they premiered. And you,” he pointed a long finger at Ziva, “are Darth Vader.” 

She looked confused, “The guy with the mask?” 

“Exactly,” he brought both his hands up to cover his mouth, creating a deep echoing sound as he pulled out his oldest and most adored character impression, “Luke, I am your father.” 

She had to focus hard to keep the corners of her mouth from curling up into a small smile. They both knew that she would never admit it, but she liked his little impressions. She thought they were cute, even if they were annoying. 

But then she remembered the single Star Wars film he had forced her to watch after one of his million references went over her head, and her face fell a little, “He is the bad guy, yes?” 

“No. Well, yes. But no. That’s just what they want you to think. In the original series, he’s portrayed as a total monster who betrayed his friends and killed his father. It’s not until you get to the prequels that you realize, hey, this Darth guy isn’t so bad. In fact, he was just a normal Jedi until his master took advantage of him and made him a monster.”

“And as the series comes to a close, he gets one of the most epic redemption arcs in movie history when he realizes that he had been duped into using his powers for the wrong side and then kills his master to save his son,” he turned back toward the Aunts, “So, if you guys watched the prequels first, then you would have already known that Darth was actually a good guy before he joined the dark side, making his fall all the more dramatic. But when I watch it in the order that the movies were made, I can’t help but think about how different the story would have been without that corrupt Jedi Master.” 

“And this changes your perception of Eli… how?” 

“Well, when I met Ziva, she was already a Mossad super spy. And yeah, the more I learned about the way her Dad treated her, the more I started hating the guy. But I will never be able to see him the way you guys do because without him, I likely would have never even met her.” 

“Because without what happened in the prequels, there would have been no need for the original series,” Adina nodded along as she slowly made sense of his convoluted explanation. 

“Exactly!” he flashed a dazzling DiNozzo grin at the older woman, thankful that at least someone had been able to follow his train of thought. 

[loudlooks]

Consolation Valentine

Look what I found trying to pay bills and clicking on all the wrong folders on my laptop. Or don’t ‘cause I wrote this well over a year ago and barely edited it. Definitely a tiva fic amnesty ficlet, wouldn’t have bothered to post it if it wasn’t literally Valentine’s Day today.

Apparently inspired by this post by @coffeedepablo (thought you deleted it, then realized the fic is so old it was from before you changed url).

Also on FF and AO3

Prompt: the pining pair getting each other “consolation” Valentine’s Day gifts

Word count: 471

McGee pushes his chair back from his desk. “Boss, can I leave early? I made plans for Valentine’s but I need some extra time to set things up before Delilah gets home.”

Gibbs looks up thoughtfully, smiles softly and closes the file in front of him. “Why don’t we all call it a night.”

Tony looks up at him in surprise, then briefly at Ziva’s confused face. Technically, he doesn’t have anywhere to be, but his stomach begins to twist in knots regardless. As McGee rushes by them with a hurried goodbye, he focuses on his computer screen and closes a few windows, intermittently peeking at Ziva.

He swallows hard, licks his lips. “So, big plans?”

From the corner of his eye he sees Ziva’s eyes narrow.

“Yeah,” Gibbs interrupts as he heads for the elevator.

Tony does a double take at the lightness in his boss’ voice, and frowns at Ziva who sends him an amused smile before she goes back to clearing her desk and logging off.

Rummaging through his backpack to find the gift-wrapped box he bought weeks ago, he clenches his jaw. Did she have plans?

She adjusts her coat, shoulders her bag, and he knows he’s running out of time. His hand is wrapped around the gift inside his backpack when she comes to a stop in front of him.

“Do you have big plans, Tony?”

Her soft smile relaxes the knots in his stomach. “No.”

A glint appears in her eyes as her smile grows. “Care to come over for a home-cooked meal?” She bites her thumb briefly, then gestures widely. “I bought too much food, I would hate to throw it away.”

Even without taking into account how Ziva plans everything meticulously — and stuffs her freezer with precooked meals — he knows it’s the same old song and dance. Relieved, he pulls the gift from his bag and hands it to her, relishing the surprised look on her face.

She turns the gift over slowly, and he can see her mind racing. “I wasn’t sure you were seeing anyone,” he said, then scrapes his throat, “didn’t want you to go empty-handed if you weren’t.”

She bites her bottom lip before carefully unwrapping the gift. Her fingers run over the DVD cover slowly, her lips part and she blinks rapidly.

“You remembered?” She holds up “The Sound of Music” as her eyes search his.

He smiles self-consciously and shrugs. Shouldering his backpack he rounds his desk. “I’ll even watch it with you,” he says as they walk out of the bullpen side by side, closer than strictly necessary, “if you promise not to sing.”

“You don’t know what you’re missing.” She bumps his arm with her elbow and sniggers.

He glances down at her, warmth spreading through his body and soul, her voice music to his ears.

@youaresoooloved, I’ve barely been on tumblr the past months, so not sure if you’re still reading tiva fanfic and want to be tagged

[tivafanfic]

I don't really know any fanfic writers, but if you know of any looking for oneshot ideas, please tell them to write a tiva fic based off of "You Matter to Me" from Waitress. It's the perfect t&z song

Thank you, I just spent three hours listening to the soundtrack again while searching for this video by @smedegaard3105 before replying (okay, it didn’t take three hours to find it, but the music was on repeat and my brain was full of Tiva, so…go check out that video).

Anyway, any T&Z writers inspired to write this? You can find the song on YouTube here.

If you do write something, tag me (@loudlooks) so I can reblog it here.

[hopeless-nostalgiac]

For the WIP game; 8. The villa (mainly because I've been watching too much about roman history so it caught my eye, and it reminds me of a WIP of my own)

Once upon a time, I released The Villa as part of Tiva Amnesty, but I think I deleted it at some point. Tony goes searching for Ziva when all the Sergei Mishnev stuff is happening, and he tracks her to a villa in Italy. I like the writing, but I've never been able to finish it.

“I like what you’ve done with the place.” Tony spins in a circle, taking in the interior. It’s not rundown as much as meager.

“It is not permanent.” The look she pins him with says, And neither are you.

But for the night, at least, she isn’t kicking him out.

“I said I like it. You’ve got a whole Under the Tuscan Sun-vibe going on. You haven’t made any lesbian friends to replace me, have you?”

“They are vacationing in Germany right now,” she replies smoothly.

How had he forgotten the sly little smile she wears when teasing him?

[factoffictionwriter]

Tiva Fic Amnesty #4

Just a few marginally related flirting scenes that were too short of post alone. 

“Special Agent Anthony DiNozzo’s phone,” Ziva chimed into the speaker as she walked toward the bedroom door and pulled it shut, locking it with a wicked smirk on her face. Tony watched her from where he was sitting on the bed, back up against the headboard.

She listened to the person on the other end, slowly walking toward the bed and leaning her knee against it, “I’m afraid he is busy, McGee. Can I take a message?”

She crawled saucily toward him, catching his eyes and maintaining contact as she listened to her former teammates' explanation. She threw a leg across his hips to straddle him when she approached.

She leaned back, making him squirm at the - uh - pressure on his lower stomach, and walked two fingers up his chest as she clucked her tongue in disapproval, “Sorry, Tim. Tony can’t come in to work right now. He’s about to do something very important.”

She traced her fingers down his jaw before feathering them across his cheek, the dark desire in her eyes making heat spread across the back of his neck.

Her hand dropped from his face as she looked toward the clock on the side table, “I suppose I can send him in after he has finished.”

He ran a hand up the back of her thigh, letting it rest just below the curve of her ass.

She looked back at him and smiled at his action, “I will tell him. He should be there in an hour.”

He pulled on her leg, causing her to lean forward, hovering over him as she balanced on her hand place right next to his head. He moved his grip to her waist, causing the thin material of her shirt to ride up and reveal the ever-growing bump on her lower stomach. He ran one of his hands over it, appreciating its size and roundness, before dropping it lower to dip under the fabric of her silky panties.

She bit her lip, blinking several times before she remembered she was on the phone. She held back a groan and exchanged it instead for a content sigh.

“Make that two,” she practically whispered into the microphone before ending the call and leaning over to put the phone of the table.

“Thanks,” he mumbled as he brushed loose hair out of her face.

“For answering your phone?”

“For getting me out of work.”

“Oh, Tony,” she mused as she ducked her head to press her lips to the soft skin just below his ear, “You may not be going in to the office yet, but trust me, you are going to do work.”

---

“I should have gotten one of these years ago. Babies are total chick magnets.”

“Down boy,” she teased as she drew in close to his side, sliding a finger through one of his belt loops, “Am I going to have to put a ring on your finger to keep you subdued?”

His eyes sparkled as he watched her brush a stray curl out of Tali’s face before leaning up to press a kiss to one of her small, fat baby hands, “Is that a threat or a promise?”

She winked at him before holding up her arms, wordlessly asking him to hand over their daughter. He did so reluctantly before bending down to pick up the diaper bag which had been discarded in all the excitement of college girls fawning over the baby.

“I missed you, einayim sheli,” she held Tali up in the air before bringing her down to plant a huge kiss on her cheek, “Did you and Abba have a good day together?”

“Well, she came out in one piece, so that’s good,” he mumbled as he tossed the bag over his shoulder and moved to slip his other arm across hers. Babies weren’t just chick magnets, and he had seen more than one young, good looking college guy turn her way since he handed her Tali.

She rolled her eyes, “I told him you’d be fine. He is a better father than he realizes.”

---

He pushed her back against the metal wall, capturing her lips in a kiss and letting his hands slide up her side, causing her shirt to ride up and expose the soft skin of her lower stomach. 

She responded enthusiastically at first, before seeming to come to her senses and realize where he intended for this to go. She pushed at his shoulders, separating their lips and causing him to move on to licking and sucking on the sensitive skin of her neck. 

“This is not happening. We are not conceiving our child in an elevator, Tony.” 

He moved to face her, amusement brimming in his expression, “Okay. How about the break room?” 

“No.” 

“Copy room?” 

“No.”

“Supply closet?” 

She pushed back against him harder, but the soft smile on her lips told him he wasn’t in too much trouble, and she ran her fingers along the collar of his shirt, “We are going to make this child in a bed, just like we did the last one.” 

“Hm. Are you sure it was in a bed? Because, from what I remember, it could have been the bed… or the shower… or the couch… the kitchen table… the kitchen floor…” 

She pulled his lips to hers, smiling through the whole kiss. She wrapped her arms around his torso and pulled him against her, thankful, yet again, for the gift of being married to a man who was not only her lover, but her very best friend, and the only one who knew just how to make her laugh, no matter how ridiculous the situation. 

She pulled away one final time, untangling his arms from around her and moving to turn the elevator back on. She didn’t say anything as it ascended to the second floor, just straightened her blouse and ran her fingers through her hair, trying to remove the signs of their activities. She felt him step up behind her, not touching her aside from his chest just barely brushing her shoulder while they waited for the door to open. The elevator came to a stop, and he leaned forward to whisper in her ear. 

“You know, the back seat of my car is surprisingly roomy.” 

“The same back seat that we drive our daughter around in?” 

“She sits in a car seat. She doesn’t actually touch the leather. Besides, if we stopped having sex everywhere we put our daughter, we would have to be much better at practicing self-control.”

[factoffictionwriter]

Tiva Fic Amnesty #6

Ziva ran a hand across his back as she moved behind him and exited the bathroom. He heard her mumbling to Tali in the other room some phrases in English, some in Hebrew. Then he heard a hollow thump followed by few seconds of silence. 

“Tali? What do you have there?” 

More silence. 

Then a breathless, “Oh.” 

His heart stopped as his brain worked through what was likely happening just 15 feet away from him. He pushed off the counter and moved out of the bathroom at a painstakingly slow pace.

He was right. He saw Ziva sitting on the bed, Tali in her lap, staring down at one of her hands. He didn’t have to look any longer to know what she was holding. The surprised look on her face said it all. 

“Abba!” Tali squealed, alerting her mother to his presence. 

Ziva’s head whipped around, her mouth hanging open slightly as she watched him move to sit beside her on the bed. 

“I knew I should have hidden that better,” he mumbled. 

Her eyes drifted back to the black box in her hand, open and letting the light dance off the diamond. 

“It is beautiful.” 

He grunted, “Well, I knew I had some high standards to meet. It was you who told me never to question an Israeli about diamonds.” 

She didn’t respond, and he started to wonder whether she was even listening to him. 

But suddenly she snapped the box shut and held it out for him.

“Here. I’ll let you hide this again.” 

“Huh?” 

“I’ll be sure to act surprised next time I see it.” 

“Next time?” 

“Yes, Tony. I know you. You must have something planned.” 

He looked down at the box as he moved it from one hand to another, “I do.” 

“And I don’t want to take that away from you.” 

He looked back up and found her watching him, her eyes clear and honest.

He chuckled slightly, looking away again under the weight of the situation, “It involves champagne. And some ridiculously expensive dinner reservations.” 

She smiled, “Sounds like fun.” 

He watched as she adjusted Tali on her lap, moving her around so she could brush extra curls out of the little girl’s face. He kept watching them for a minute, seeing the gentle way his girlfriends hands moved and jostled their daughter. 

He finally shook his head, shifting his body off of the bed and moving to kneel in front of her. 

“I don’t want to wait. I want to do this now.” 

She tucked a patch of curls behind her own ear, peering at him through those impossibly long lashes. A smile spread across her face that reinforced everything he had been thinking over the past few months. It made every second of their decade long love story worth it to see her look at him the way she was right now. 

She picked Tali up off her lap and set her gently on the bed beside her. She leaned forward, letting him grab her left hand and hold it gently between them. She closed her eyes and took a deep breath, letting her shoulders rise and fall dramatically before meeting his eyes again.

“Okay,” she whispered, “I’m ready.”

He licked his lips as he dug through his brain, accessing the monologue he had been rehearsing and editing for two years, making it perfect for the day when the time was right. 

“Miss David,” he started, the corners of his mouth curling upward as he realized this could be one of the last times he called her that. With any luck, she wouldn’t be a Miss or a David for much longer, “If someone had told me 10 years ago that I would be here today, on one knee in front of a woman as strong and beautiful as you, I would have laughed in their face. If they had told me that woman would be you, my hot israeli partner with a steely eyes and a knack for knives, I would have blown a blood vessel.” 

She laughed, and the sound sent a wave of calm over his body.

“But, by some miracle, I am here, and so are you, and we have been given an entire decade of memories to prepare us for this moment. Sure, they haven’t always been good. We once got locked in a metal box of death together - twice actually if you consider the elevator. And then there was the time I shot your boyfriend.”

“In self defense,” She interjected, knowing that decision and the events afterwards still weighed on him, though he would never admit it. 

“Of course. But then came Somalia, and a summer from hell when I thought you were dead, followed by months of you thinking you would rather be.”

She winced at the memory. 

“But you got through that. How, I still don’t know, but you did.” 

“You played a big part in my healing afterwards,” She reached out and ran her fingers along his jaw, “I could not have done it without you.” 

He smiled and squeezed the hand still resting in his, “That’s sweet, but I’m not so sure it’s true. You’re strong, Ziva. Stronger than the rest of us.  And you’ve been through so much in your short 33 years, and you still manage to light up every room you walk in to. You have every reason to hate the world, and yet you still choose to be happy.”

“I have many reasons to thank the world as well, Neshama,” she tilted her head towards their babbling toddler who clearly had no idea what was going on, but still felt the need to be a part of it with her mumblings. 

“Yeah, I’m getting to her. But first, not only do you choose to be happy, but for some reason you choose to love me. And as if that alone isn’t enough, you choose to let me be a part of your life, of our daughter’s life.” 

“She is your daughter, Tony. I can hardly take credit for that.” 

“But you didn’t have to tell me. You were half a world away when you found out you were pregnant. You could have stayed in Israel and raised her yourself. But you didn’t, and I don’t thank you for that enough. This - Tali, this house, our life together - is everything to me. And you have given me all of it. You’re my best friend, Zi. My partner. The love of my life. My Beshert.”

Her smile grew at the Hebrew word: soulmate. One made specifically for him. Her mind flew back to what felt like a lifetime ago in a dimly lit break room, both of them retrieving snacks for what was looking like a long night of research, when she asked him if he believed in such a thing. His answer had been in jest, as all his answers back then seemed to be, and she had grown annoyed with his coping mechanism already, causing her to walk away before he had a chance to give her a better one. She didn’t know him well enough then to know she should have stayed a few seconds longer and let him get serious. He always got serious eventually. She absently wondered what would have happened if she had waited. What would he have said? Was he as aware of the gravity between them as she was, even back then? Would they have closer to 8 years of love under their belt instead of only 3? 

“We have grown up so much over the years, and I can’t help but think we were growing together the whole time. And now, well, all I want is to grow old with you,” he pulled the small ring out of the box and held it up, “This was my mother’s” 

She nodded, “I thought it might be. It seems she always had great taste.” 

He slid it onto her finger and twirled it around, “Looks like we need to get it resized.” 

She placed a finger under his chin, drawing his attention up to her face, where he saw a look of excitement and growing impatience, “You have not asked the question yet, Ahava.” 

He chuckled, looking away to hide the blush rushing to his face, “Right. I got excited..” 

He pulled her hand closer to him, the ring still on her finger, shining in the low light of their bedroom at night, “Ziva David?”

“Yes?” She beamed down at him, the same look of pure love and affection in her eyes that he saw the day Tali was born. 

“Will you marry me?” 

Tears threatened to breach her eyelids as she looked down at their joined hands. She opened her mouth to answer-

“Muh!” Tali chimed from her spot on the bed where she had managed to turn herself over into a crawling position. 

Ziva turned to her, “What do you think, Tali? Huh? Should I agree to marry your father?” 

“Abba!” she wiggled her way into her mother’s lap, forcing their hands apart, “Abba!”

“I think that was a yes,” he laughed as Tali reached for a handful of Ziva’s curls. 

“Well,” she started as she fought to free her hair from the toddler death grip, “Who am I to disagree with such a sweet face, huh?” 

Tony stood, finding a spot on the bed next to her and reaching for her, running a hand up her cheek and into her hair, gripping the strands much more gently than their daughter had, “So?” 

She smiled, “Yes, Tony. I will marry you.” 

He pulled her lips to his hungrily, jostling the toddler halfway off her mother’s lap.

Ziva caught her effortlessly, not even breaking their contact. Her lips moved against him eagerly, and he started to see the downside of proposing during a late night rendezvous with their kid in the room. However, the proximity of the bed had the potential to be a real convenience. 

Tali did not agree. In fact, she had moved herself to a standing position on Ziva’s legs and was now clawing at their joined faces. They pulled apart reluctantly, glancing down at their daughter as she leaned out toward Tony and tried to press her tiny lips against his. 

He leaned into her and gave her a quick, dramatic kiss before reaching over to take her onto his lap. She laughed, always happy to be closer to her father, and he sat her down with her back against his chest as she pulled at the hair on his arms. 

Ziva sighed, though the annoyance in her voice did not make it to her face, which was still beaming at the two of them, “Always the daddy’s girl, huh? Well, I’ll have you know, he was mine first. It is you,” she tapped Tali’s nose lightly with her pointer finger, causing the little girl to laugh joyfully, “who stole him away.” 

Tony smiled, securing his daughter on his lap with one arm and reaching out to his girlfriend- no his fiancee, with the other, pulling at her waist to get her to inch closer. She did so happily, ducking her head to rest on his shoulder, her warm breath causing goosebumps even through his cotton t-shirt.

[factoffictionwriter]

Tiva Fic Amnesty #13

I didn’t realize how many half-finished reunion fics I had. Here’s another one. Gibbs escorts Ziva right back to the family home in Paris (partially because he isn’t sure she’ll make it home alone). 

“It’s on the left.” 

He nodded, licking his lips as he started eyeing the uniformly black numbers contrasting against the white bricks. 

“There,” She raised her hand in a half-hearted gesture that was nearly lost in the dim light of the dashboard.

There was, by some miracle, just enough space for their tiny rental car to slide into an available space on the curb directly across from the indicated unit. 

He cut the engine and turned his careful gaze to her for the first time since they left the airport. She was - 

Gibbs brings the car to a stop almost a full block away from the charming townhome where Tony and Tali are living. He looks over at Ziva,finding that she’s twisting her fingers around and drumming them against her thigh, otherwise a complete mask of forced calm. He muses over how he’s never seen her this nervous and how just a few dozen hours ago her take down the man who had been tormenting her for 6 years and knew very well that she might not make it out of the situation and she hadn’t shown so much as a distant glance that suggested she was at all nervous, but here, sitting outside of a house full of people she loves and who love her so fucking much, she’s practically a mess (by Ziva standards). He asks if she’s ready, and she asks if they’ll still be awake. He shows her a key, one he received in the mail just a month or so after DiNozzo’s departure with little more than a photo and a post-it saying that their door was always open to him. She seems to deflate at the sight of the key. Well, there goes her excuse. 

So they get out of the car and walk the block or so of beautifully lit Parisian streets, giving off a slightly less powerful impact as their daily beauty, but nonetheless still magical. 

They’re walking and she suddenly stops and turns toward a front door, saying this is it. He’s a little taken aback by her actions, and asks if she’s ever been here before. She looks around wistfully before saying that she picked it. And he wants to ask questions, but he tone suggests she won’t answer them. So they go up to the front door, and she goes to knock but he just waves her off and opens it with the key because it’s so late no way they’re gonna answer anyway. 

And they make their way through the quiet home, Ziva leading him up the stairs and down a hallway. She stops in front of a door, opening it a crack and looking puzzled at the inside. Then there is a sound (movement or snoring) from the door at the end of the hall and she seems to realize something. She closes the door and starts walking farther down. But she freezes in front of the new door, so Gibbs has to step up and open it for her. 

Tony and Tali and curled up on the bed, the blue reflection of the TV screen suggesting that they had fallen asleep while watching a movie. Gibbs walks into the room, stepping back into a corner and watching as Ziva steps in slowly and starts making her way around to the side of the bed closest to Tali. 

She brushes a wonky curl off her daughter’s forehead, which causes the girl to stir slightly. She rolls closer to the edge and freezes. It takes Gibbs a moment to notice that the girl is squinting up at her mother. 

“Ima?”

The word was both tired and strained. But it had an immediate effect on the woman. Her hand reached out again, fluffing up some flattened strands on the side of the girls head as she whispered, “Yes, Tateleh.” 

The girls’ head bobbed as if she was trying to get all excited but was just too darn tired to pull it off. So instead, she reached up for the woman’s hand and pulled on it, hard, causing her to slide onto the mattress. Then the girl crawled up to fit into her mother’s chest and sighed happily. 

“Ima.” 

“I’m here, Tali. Get some sleep.” 

It was after this that the sleeping man on the far side of the mattress started to move. His arm slid out, as if expecting to run into the body of his sleeping child,and when it came into contact with Ziva’s thigh, his head jerked up a bit. He too squinted before opening his eyes, but he somehow managed to be much more alert than the small girl had mustered. 

He watched the girls carefully as Ziva buried her hair in Tali’s curls and started rubbing gentle circles into her back. After a minute or so, she managed to lay back, resting her head on the pillow and looking in the direction of tony’s intent eyes. 

“Hi.” she whispered. 

‘Hi.” He mumbled back. 

And  the little girl, who must not have been as knocked out as she certainly looked against her mother’s chest, turned at this, “Abba.”

He reached out to her, resting his hand low on her back in a comforting gesture, “I’m here too, Tali-Mae.” 

That settled the girl even farther. And it wasn’t long until she started emitting her own  little snores that were, admittedly, adorable. 

After it was clear she was asleep, Tony carefully shifted his postion so that he could lean closer to Ziva. He slowly took his hand off his daughter’s back and bushed it over her curls before bringing it up to brush over Ziva’s, then down the side of her face. 

“Ziva.” He whispered. 

She shifted her daughter’s weight so she could free her own hand to bring up and flattened on top of his. 

“Tony, I am so-” 

“No,” he responded too quickly, and too loudly, leaving them to wait several seconds until their toddler stopped squirming, “Tomorrow. We’ll deal with stuff tomorrow. Now…” 

He brushed his hand lower, letting his thumb run across her lower lip as if asking permission, which she willfully granted as she ducked her head and pressed her lips eagerly to his in the low light. 

Gibbs’ eyes wandered around the room for a few seconds until he decided that yeah, that was certainly his que to leave. He wondered if one of those doors they passed in the hallway held a bed, or if he was going to have to wander around until he found a decently sized couch. Just as he was about to step out of the room, Tony spoke. 

“Thanks, Boss.” 

Gibbs just nodded vaguely and stepped out, not sure what exactly he was being thanked for, but figuring that it was sorta a catch all.

[factoffictionwriter]

Tiva Fic Amnesty #2

This is also a piece of the multichapter fic in which Ziva returns to DC a few weeks after ppf. Here’s just a peek into an age old Tiva trope.

He had been expecting an apron, but instead she was wearing one of his old OSU t-shirts that fell mercilessly to her upper thigh. She was standing in front of the stove, a clunky book in her hands as she squinted at the pages, concentration drawing her features down. There were two big pots on the burners, and she seemed to be consulting the book for what to do with them next. 

She hadn’t heard him come in, at least she hadn’t led on that she did, and he just couldn’t bring himself to interrupt her. Something on the page seemed to confuse her, and he watched as she captured her lower lip between her teeth and gnawed at it. She turned her head toward the ovens, as if debating whether she should tend to the dish in there before continuing on with the contents of the pans, and then turned back his direction. She jumped the slightest bit when she saw him standing there, and he found it oddly satisfying to have snuck up on a notorious ninja. 

She continued on as if he hadn’t scared her, “You are home…” she turned back toward the ovens for a second to check the time, “... at a perfectly reasonable time. I did not expect you for at least another hour.” 

He bit back a smile and moved to take a seat on one of the bar stools, “It was a slow day. I blew through my case files. Boss couldn’t think up an excuse to keep me.” 

She set down the book, which he could now see was an old Julia Child cookbook he kept on a shelf for posterity. She glanced between the two pots for a fleeting second before deciding that they could both use a good stir, “You blew through desk work? You? Tony, I once watched you balance a pencil on your nose for 2 hours rather than fill out a report.” 

He laughed as she moved on from the pots and made her way to the oven, opening the door and giving Tony a good look at the two large steaks she was nursing.

“Let’s just say that today I was a highly motivated man,” his eyes trailed down her back and over her bare legs as she rolled up onto her toes to get a better view at the cooking meat. His tone must have alerted her to his alternative meaning, as she quickly closed the oven door and turned back his way, letting her hair fall into her face as she leaned against the counter. 

“You have been highly motivated before, I am sure.” 

He shook his head, watching as she slowly drew her hand across her shoulders and neck, sweeping all of her curls to one side, “Never this motivated, no.” 

She considered the statement for a second, then seemed to accept it as she moved back to the pots on the stove. 

Tony looked around the kitchen, “Did you buy food?” 

She shook her head, “You bought food and forgot about it. It was probably months ago. The steaks were in the back of your freezer.” 

He watched her turn off one of the burners and move the pot over to a waiting holder, “It’s probably best that they weren’t found until now. I would never be able to do them justice if I tried to make them.” 

She shrugged, “I also found an old box of macaroni in your cabinet. It’s not much, but I added some vegetables and threw in some spices. It should make for a decent side dish.” 

He gestured to the pot still boiling, “And that one?” 

“Mashed potatoes. Or, it will be, once I actually get around to doing the mashing.” 

He watched her stir the boiling potatoes, gauging how soft they were becoming. A small, intimate smile crept across his lips. 

It was almost a minute before she realized he hadn’t moved and looked up at him. 

Her brows furrowed at his expression, “What is it?” 

He shrugged, “You’re just being so… domestic.” 

“I have cooked for you before.” 

“Yeah, at your place. With clothes on.” 

She looked down at her attire as if just now remembering how little she was wearing, “My clothes are still in the dryer. I did not want to wear the same thing tomorrow without washing them. Plus, I smelled like airplane… and sweat,” she scrunched up her nose for emphasis. “I also used your shower, though I have to admit that your hair care products leave something to be desired.” 

He trained his eyes on the still boiling pot, trying not to imagine her standing in his shower… water running down her skin… suds all over her body…

“Yeah, sorry about that. I wasn’t really expecting company. But maybe we can head to the store tonight? Get some more food… maybe some beer… whatever else you may need…”

If his hinting at a prolonged stay surprised her, she didn’t show it. Instead she glanced back down at the large t-shirt hanging loosely on her frame, “My clothes probably won’t be done for a while, and I don’t think I can reasonably go out in public wearing this.” 

“Trust me, no one will mind,” he let himself run his eyes up and down her body again, studying the way the loose cotton folded and twisted around her hips. 

She laughed quietly, reaching down to turn off the final burner and moving the pot onto a cooler one, “It will be late by the time we are done eating anyway. I can go to the store tomorrow while you are at work.” 

“And clothes?”

She nodded, “I will buy some of those while I am out as well.” 

“Why didn’t you bring any with you?” 

She stopped her assault on the soft potatoes for a second, looking up to meet his eyes with an expression he couldn’t quite identify, “I… um… left in a hurry. I did not take the time to pack anything, really.” 

He reached into his suit pocket and fished out his wallet. He pulled out his Mastercard and held it up for her to take. 

She immediately shook her head and pushed his hand away, “I have my own money, Tony.” 

He held the card out again, “You’re not working right now. It’s not a big deal, consider it a gift.” 

She pushed it back again, “Seriously, I do not need it. I am sure I don’t have to remind you that my father was a very powerful man. He had accumulated a considerable amount of wealth in his life, and being the only living relative... Anyway, most of the money was tied up in various assets-”

“Let me guess: diamonds?” 

She smiled, “There were some diamonds, yes, but mostly it was in real estate. He had houses and land all across Israel, and even some over in Europe. I kept a few that had sentimental value, like the ones we used to visit during the summers, but the rest were of no use to me. So I sold them. That is another thing I have been working on this past month.” 

“You sold everything you didn’t want in a month?” 

“Unfortunately, no. There are still a dozen or so listings that I’m waiting on, but I did some damage. The point is, I have more than enough money to pay for myself.” 

She got back to working on the food, and he put his wallet back in his pocket, making a mental note to slide her a 50 tomorrow, just to help cover groceries.  

He resumed his previous line of questioning, “You were in a hurry? What, was this a last minute trip?”

She nodded a little, “I guess you could say that.” 

“Something important you had to do?” 

She looked up, “I would consider what happened last night to be important, wouldn’t you?” 

“Of course,” he stood a little in order to reach across the kitchen island and tuck some loose strands of hair behind her ear, “I guess I’m just trying to figure out why you came back now. When I left you on that tarmac, you were pretty hell bent on giving all of this up - DC, NCIS, the whole bit. What changed?”

She shook her head, “I am still not returning to NCIS. I meant what I said about giving up the badge. I do not want to chase bad guys anymore.” 

“Okay. But what about DC? And the team? Aren’t we going to pull you right back to where you started?” 

She didn’t respond. Instead she finished up her work on the potatoes and moved on to stirring the mac and cheese concoction for a second before a timer went off and she gracefully pivoted to the oven and removed the masterfully prepared steaks. She set them on the counter and admired her handy work. 

Finally, she said, “Dinner is ready. I think we would both benefit from having some food in our stomachs before we dive into THAT conversation.”

[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.”

[factoffictionwriter]

Tiva Fic Amnesty #8

Some distantly connected scenes involving Tony/Tali interaction. Way too short to post alone, so here they are. (The third one is years after the first two, just to be clear.)

“Come on, Waddles, throw me a bone here,” he begged. 

Ziva pursed her lips, “She doesn’t like when you call her that.” 

He rolled his eyes, “How do you know? Did she tell you?” 

She sighed and held out a hand, gesturing for him to give her the spoon. He did so reluctantly, accepting the fact that this must be a mommy-day.

“Tali, open up,” she said in her best mommy-voice, moving the spoon slowly towards the squirming child. 

Tali hesitated, seeming to look between her Ima and Abba as if weighing her odds of winning in the situation, before finally opening wide and letting Ziva feed her. 

Tony stared, dumbfounded, “How do you do that?” 

She shrugged as she picked up the jar of food and loaded the spoon up again, “It’s like training a dog. You have to establish dominance.” 

“I’m dominant.” 

She tossed her head back as she laughed, “You think you are dominant over her? Tony, you walked sideways for a week after you slept on the floor because she fell asleep on your chest and you didn’t want to wake her.” 

“She looked too peaceful to wake up!” 

“And what about the movie posters she tore up because you didn’t have the heart to take them away from her?” 

“She was interested in bond, babe! What am I supposed to do, squash her interest in one of the best ongoing franchises of all time?” 

---

“Alright, little booger. What will we have to eat on this fine morning?,” Tony held up two equally unappealing tupperware containers to read as he slid onto the chair seated in front of his daughter’s highchair, “Do we want some mushy baby oatmeal? Or mushy baby cereal?”

Tali scrunched up her face as she twisted back in forth in her seat.

“That’s what I’m saying. Oatmeal it is.”

He twisted open the jar and dipped a spoon inside. He held the goop up to her face and she kindly declined by turning her cheek.

Tony sighed, “Can’t say I blame you.”

Ziva came around the corner in tight leggings and a loose tank top. She dropped her gym bag, or more appropriately her work bag since she really only used it when she was meeting with clients, on the floor beside the table and went to get some water.

“Babe, do we have anything for Tali that is… I don’t know… edible?”

She shook her head as she set down her glass and reached for the bag of bagels, “I am afraid we do not. Mush and goop are the best we can do for now. Until she decides to grow the rest of those teeth.”

“Can she split a bagel with me? If I tear it up into little pieces for her?”

Ziva hesitated as she looked down at the grain-filled snack. But when she looked back up, both her boyfriend and her daughter were giving her equally pathetic puppy dog eyes. It just wasn’t fair.

“Fine. Very small pieces,” she said as she reached into the bag and pulled one out.

Tony turned to his daughter and held up his hand. She pushed her palm against his in what was clearly meant as a high five.

Ziva shook her head, this time disapproving, “You two are a dangerous together, you know that?”

She went to put the bagel on the plastic ‘table’ in front of Tali and Tony stopped her, “Can you put my half in the toaster?”

She looked at him skeptically, “Can you not do that yourself?”

He scoffed, “I am feeding our daughter, Ziva. I’m a little busy.”

She sighed and pulled the bagel apart, leaving one half in front of her daughter and moving to shove the other in the toaster oven for a minute.

He was smiling at her when she turned around, “Thank you.”

“Mhm.”

---

Tony gnawed on his lower lip, carefully turning the inflated piece of latex over in his hands. He fiddled with it, twisting and bending different parts until finally, finally, he got an idea. 

“Alright,” He muttered while carefully holding the bottom half of the glove and twisting it a few times, “How’s this?” 

He held his modified glove up to the flashlight, causing it to cast a shadow on the far wall: a particularly round top with three strategically spread out fingers emanating from the bottom. It seemed like a slam dunk. She had to recognize this one, right? What other animal had a bulbous head and several- 

“Chicken!” Tali exclaimed, whipping her head in his direction and sending her canopy of curls flying in her wake. 

Chicken? Tony squinted at the shadow for a few seconds. How had she landed on chicken?

“Uh, no, T. Not quite. See, these are like-” 

“Fishie!” 

“Well, that’s closer. It’s like-”

“Puppy dog!” 

“Puppy…” He let out a sigh, feeling genuinely defeated for a long moment. But then he caught a glance of his daughter, having rolled onto her knees and pressed her lips together in an all too familiar smirk, and chuckled. “Alright, alright. You’re messing with me.” 

She nodded, reaching out to flick one of the ‘tentacles’ for emphasis, “It’s an octopus… with only three legs.” 

“Everyone’s a critic, eh?

[factoffictionwriter]

Tiva Fic Amnesty #7

A couple of pregnancy scenes. Just a peek into how our favorite couple might handle some of the stresses that come with bringing a new life into the world. 

Note: A well-meaning Aunt gave Ziva and Tali identical Baby Books at their Bat Mitzvahs (I think we all know an Aunt like this). 

Tony knew it was going to be a rough night when he opened the door to their apartment and found his very pregnant, very round girlfriend sitting in the middle of the living room floor hunched over the laptop. There were no lights on in the entire place, only the bright screen to illuminate her face. 

He took a deep breath before closing the door behind him, “Ziva?” 

Her head snapped in his direction, “We need a name, Tony. Our baby doesn’t have a name.” 

He sighed, “We talked about this, Ziva. We said we weren’t gonna name her until we met her.” 

“But we need to have some ideas. We can’t just expect to look at her and come up with a name out of nowhere. We have to have a list or something.” 

Here they go again. Another night like this. He glanced around their spotless apartment. He could tell she had spent most of her day cleaning, though the place had been practically immaculate when he left her this morning. Nesting, Dr. Brown had called it. Her irresistible urge to clean and prepare for the baby. Most days cleaning the apartment and reorganizing the piles of baby clothes in the nursery was enough to satiate them (first the clothes were organized by color, then by size, then by use, then back to color), but other days she paced around miserably as she tried to pinpoint what exactly it was she needed to be doing to prepare, though there was absolutely nothing left for her to do. 

At least she had already found something to fixate on tonight. But, of course, it had to be the one thing they had agreed not to spend too much time preparing. Tony had this irrational fear of naming their child. It was stupid, he knew it, but he was terrified that they would pick the wrong one and the kid would grow to resent him (like he almost had with his father. Nobody should have to be a Jr. Nobody.). 

Ziva had claimed to understand this, and they had decided that they would pick the name for their daughter in an organic way. Whatever they thought when they looked at her, that would be her name. Second trimester Ziva had been completely fine with leaving that detail to the last minute.

But clearly, 3 weeks from her due date and nesting out of her freaking mind Ziva wasn’t so cool with that plan. 

“What do you think of the name Leah?” 

He scrunched his nose, “Didn’t you tell me that Leah meant sick or weakly in Hebrew?” 

“It does.” 

“Let’s not tempt the fates. Leah is a no.”

“What about Sarah? It means ruler or princess.” 

He considered it as he moved to the wall and turned on the overhead lights, “Sarah could work. I like Sarah.” 

“I do too,” she whispered as she seemed to add that name to a list she had going on the computer.

“What did you say your mother’s name means again?” 

“Rivka? It means ‘a woman who takes a man’s heart’. But I could not name our child that. It is much too ethnic for a child growing up in america.” 

“But there is an english version of it, right?” 

She nodded, “Rebecca.” 

“I like Rebecca.” 

She scrunched up her face, “I am not sure I do.”

“Okay, no Rebecca.” 

She ran a flustered hand through her messy curls, “I have accumulated a decent list. We can go through them together in a minute. Can you go grab the baby book from the nursery? I think there is a page in there to document the names we are considering for her before she is born.”

He nodded and tossed his stuff into the corner, making his way down the hall and grabbing the book off the crowded dresser. He flipped through some of the pages was he walked back to the living room. She had really done a great job with this thing. There were pictures inserted on almost every page. Some of her, some of ultrasounds, others of the two of them together, posing in front of their apartment building and other significant places for their child. 

He flipped one final page as he cleared the hallway, stopping in his tracks as he looked down at the finely printed name on the paper. 

“Uh, babe?” 

“What?” 

“This page is already filled out.” 

“What page?” 

“The one for the baby’s name. Like her real name. Her official name.” 

“What are you talking about?”

He held the book in front of him for her to see as he crossed the room and sat on the floor beside her.

She took the book from his hand slowly, her eyes moving across the page several times before she processed what she was seeing. 

In black ink, typed in a font that was meant to look like the writing of a small child it simply said: 

My name is:

And beside it was a thin line where you were supposed to be able to write in your baby’s name. But there was already a name there, in careful script, lined all the way up to the left side of the space so that there was plenty of room behind it to write a last name. 

Tali

“Oh,” Ziva whispered as she ran her finger over the delicate letters.

“Do you know what happened?” 

She nodded, “This must have been the book my aunt gave to my sister. I remember sitting in our bedroom one day, less than a year before the attack. We were making fun of the way that Americans like to name their children after themselves.” 

He held a hand up to his chest and pretended to act wounded, “Ouch.” 

“I actually like your name, Tony. But some people can take the whole family name thing seriously. You end up with Charles White III or Malcom Brimington the VIII.” 

“Stanley Yelnats IIV.” 

She laughed, “If you want your movie references to keep going over my head, you are going to have to stop showing me so many of them. That is from Holes.” 

He smiled down at her, “I knew there was a reason I loved you.” 

“Anyway, Tali had insisted she was going to name her child after herself, whether it was a boy or girl. I told her she wouldn’t dare. It is common in the Jewish community to name your child after a loved one or a family member, but hardly ever after one of the parents. She dug out her book and pulled out a pen. She wrote her name in it, telling me that it was already done. Her child, boy or girl, was destined to be named Tali.” 

He sat up a little straighter, a whole bunch of different things coming together to click in his mind. 

“Tali DiNozzo,” He whispered so quietly he wasn’t even sure she would hear him. 

But she did. And she lifted her head up, her eyes finding his slowly, “What?” 

He cleared his throat, unexpected emotions making it feel tighter as he tried to say the name again, the name he knew would be their daughter’s, “Tali DiNozzo.” 

The corners of her mouth twitched as she tried to blink away a whole new wave of tears, “Did we just…” 

“Name our daughter? I think we did.” 

She swallowed as she tried to gather up the strength to try it out herself, “Tali DiNozzo.” 

He smiled at the way it rolled off her tongue, so much more graceful than his. He knew he had been so against picking a name before the baby came, but even he couldn’t ignore what had just happened. They hadn’t picked the name. The name had picked them. And no name had ever felt as right coming off his lips as that one did. Accept maybe Ziva’s. He would consider them a tie. 

Ziva set the book down and turned the laptop screen up so she could see it better. She squinted at it for a couple of seconds before turning her eyes back to his. 

“Tali Elizabeth DiNozzo.” 

He clenched his jaw to keep back the next set of emotions.

“My mom.” 

Ziva nodded, “That was at the top of my list. Your mother had a beautiful name.” 

“Yeah.” 

They both took deep breaths simultaneously as they let the name sit between them. 

Ziva finally looked down, pulling the fabric of her shirt up so she could put her hand directly on her swollen stomach, “What do you think, Yakiri? Do you like your name?” 

Tony leaned forward and put his hand next to hers, bending down so he could whisper against her warm skin, “Tali Elizabeth DiNozzo. What do you think?”

They waited in tense silence, both staring at the bump, anticipating a response. 

They weren’t disappointed. 

A tiny limb, be it a hand or a foot, moved just beneath his palm, then again under hers. 

“I think she likes it,” Ziva whispered.

“I think so, too.” 

“We have a name.” 

“And she’s not even here yet.” 

She winked at him before leaning back and trying to lift herself off of the floor. He watched as she leaned left and right, trying to get her balance right so she could stand up. 

She failed. And soon fell back on her ass.

“Tony…” she whined as she looked over at him, the pathetic puppy dog eyes he always knew she had inside of her but never thought she would dare pull out were on full display. 

He sighed and lifted himself off the ground before offering both his hands to her and grunting sadly as he pulled her to an upright position. 

“Do you feel better now? We have a name… we have a nursery… we have the car ready for the transport home from the hospital. We are ready for this baby, Ziva.” 

She nodded, “I know we are. I just… I don’t know. I have a feeling that she’s gonna be here before we know it. I want everything to be…”

“Perfect.” 

She sighed, “When you put it like that, I sound crazy.”

“Not crazy. You sound like a Mom. It was bound to happen eventually.”

---

Convincing Ziva to ride home with him instead of with Gibbs was a challenge. She was still worried about the man she considered her father now that he no longer had his. She remembered how hard it was to lose Eli. She remembered how much it hurt to be the last one left. Gibbs was the last of his family. She knew that had to be weighing on him.

She practically saw the ghosts of Shannon and Kelly standing next to him during the funeral. She could feel him feeling their loss. Being the last one alive had a way of bringing back all those past deaths. All that past pain. She understood. And she wasn’t sure she should leave him to drive all the way back to DC alone.

But it was a damn good thing she did. Because when they stopped at a gas station just 45 minutes away from home so she could waddle her way into the bathroom for the 500th time that day (pregnant women can see like it’s nobody’s business. Tony had not understood that until this minute), she was barely gone 5 minutes before his phone started buzzing in his pocket. Her face was on his screen. He answered it hesitantly.

“Everything okay in there?”

“Don’t freak out,” she said, her voice so calm that he almost couldn’t believe he had heard her correctly.

“Why don’t you tell me what I’m not freaking out over before I make any promises.”

“Did you remember to put the go-bag in the car before you left home?”

“Go bag? You mean the hospital bag?”

“Yeah, whatever. Did you remember to put it in the car?”

His eyes widened as he tried to cran his neck to see into the trunk of the car, “I’m not sure. Why?”

“Because we’re gonna need it.”

He froze as he tried to get his lips to move and get out the words he was thinking, “You’re not-”

“I am, Tony. My water broke. I’m going into labor.”

He started fumbling with his seat belt, finding it suddenly impossible to unbuckle, “You can’t be. You’re what…. Two weeks early?”

“Oh, right. My bad. Let me just tell the baby. I’m sure she won’t mind waiting.”

“Sarcasm isn’t helping, Ziva,” he finally managed to undo his seatbelt, now he was fumbling with opening the door.

She sighed, “Right. Sorry. Just… get in here. I need you to help me stand up.”

He tried not to laugh at his own mental picture, her sitting on the toilet, her pants around her ankles and her stomach bulging. She was stuck. And laughing was not what he needed to be doing right now.

He opened the door too aggressively, drawing the attention of a few onlookers. He ignored them.

“I’m coming, Zi. Be there in a sec.”

He ran across the parking lot, ducking into the store and almost knocking over a display of cornchips in his dash for the bathroom.

He had it all planned out. He was gonna help her get cleaned up, lead her through the gas station as quickly as possible, and gun it all the way to the hospital. He cursed himself for driving the Hyundai instead of his Porsche. Though it would be much better to drive home from the hospital with the extra room. And he was pretty sure he could still hit 120 in this thing on a good stretch of road. Sometimes having a badge pays off.

He had really thought through it all… except for the possibility of other women being in the bathroom. He burst through the door and was met with four wide eyes as two women turned to face him. One reached into her purse and he had to hold up his hands out of fear of being pepper sprayed.

“No funny business. I swear. My girlfriend just went into labor and I-”

“Tony!” Ziva yelled from inside the farthest stall, “A little help here!”

[factoffictionwriter]

Tiva Fic Amnesty #5

Another piece of the multichapter fic. What you need to know: Ziva returned weeks after ppf. Now she and Tony are in a relationship and preparing to birth/raise a child together. This is their first ultrasound.

I remember learning so much about pregnancy while trying to research this chapter, but it’s still probably inaccurate. All the more reason to include it in amnesty. 

Remember: these are old. Be nice. 

Tony winced as a nurse in blue stuck a needle into his girlfriend’s arm and drew blood into a series of small vials. Ziva was totally calm and at ease throughout the entire process, and he found himself asking her how the hell she did that after the mean blood-stealing nurse had walked out of their small exam room.

“Not everyone is afraid of needles, Tony.” 

He made a face, “Well they would be if they ever had the plague.” 

She shrugged and turned to listen to another nurse who was holding up a small cup and giving her directions to the nearest bathroom. She slid off the table effortlessly and shot him a wink as she moved past him and out the door. 

“Did you say you had the plague?” Yet another nurse was holding up a clipboard and addressing him.

“Uh, yeah. White pestis.” 

She looked at him incredulously, “How the hell did you get pneumonic plague in the 21st century?” 

He grimaced, “Occupational hazard, I suppose.” 

She just stared at him for another second before glancing down at the clipboard, “Well, that isn’t one of the diseases on my list, and I don’t think it would have any effect on your potential offspring, but I’ll mention it to the doctor just to be safe. Any other medical conditions we should know about? Anything that runs in the family?” 

He swallowed, finding this miniature interrogation to be much less tolerable without Ziva in the room, sending him reassuring looks every time the nurse made any sort of concerned comment.

“Just dangerous charm and good looks,” he smiled awkwardly, finding that his normal jokes were much harder to pull when confronted with the possibility of passing on some horrible genetic disorder to his kid. 

The nurse didn’t roll her eyes, thankfully, and she went on to make several marks on the paper in front of her. Once she seemed to be done, she stood back a bit and gave him a once-over.

“Why did you wait so long?” She asked. 

His eyes widened, “Excuse me?” 

“To have kids. Why did you wait?” 

He looked around desperately, sending telepathic pleas to Ziva, wherever she was, to return quickly, “Uh, that feels like a pretty weighted question.”

She shrugged, “Not really. It’s just- you’re considerably older than most of the men we have come through here.” 

He stared at her, mouth open, completely unsure of how to respond.

“Am I older than most of the women you see here?” Ziva’s voice was in the doorway as she placed the now full cup on a table just outside where she had been told the nurse would grab it. 

The nurse seemed surprised, “Uh, no, actually. You fit the age range quite well, Miss David.” 

Ziva made her way back across the room to the table, purposely walking between him and the nosy nurse on her way, forcing the woman to take another step away from him, “That’s good, considering my age is likely to have a much more profound impact on the health of our child.” 

Her words seemed to draw the nurse out of whatever unprofessional daze she was in, and she quickly dismissed herself from the exam room saying she would talk to the doctor and they would return shortly. 

Once she was gone, Tony let out a breath he didn’t know he was holding, “Thank you.” 

She smirked, “What? You cannot handle the interrogation when it’s you in the hot spot?” 

“Hot seat. And no, I can handle an interrogation just fine. That- “he gestured in front of him, referencing the awkward conversation for more emphasis, “That was a full on ambush.” 

“She is one small woman. How could she have ambushed you?” 

He stood from what had been referenced to him as the “daddy chair” and joined her at the exam table, “She’s good, that’s how. She starts with the simple, innocent questions. Then she starts digging around, asking if you’ve been exposed to this and if you’ve ever contracted that. And then, when she has you right where she wants you: BAM! She attacks a man’s age. I have a feeling that wasn’t the first time she did that dance. I’m almost impressed by her strategy.” 

Ziva rolled her eyes, “She was only asking questions to gauge the health risks of the child, Tony. She was doing her job.” 

“That’s easy for you to say. How come you didn’t have to go through your own trip down memory lane? Doesn’t your medical history matter, too?” 

She shrugged, “I have been a patient here for years. Dr. Brown already has my medical history.”

“You’ve been going to a pregnancy doctor for years?” 

“She is an OBGYN,” she watched as his face contorted at the word and knew she would have to explain more, “That means she-” 

“Takes care of mommies and not yet mommies all the same,” A woman with auburn hair and a comically small pair of glasses on a chain around her neck entered the room gracefully, moving immediately to Ziva’s side, leaving her flanked by her boyfriend and her doctor.

“Oh, Ziva. It is always a pleasure. It has been too long,” she glanced down towards her stomach at that comment, “And I suppose that is why we are here today. You know that 99% effective promise only holds true if you show up to receive your shots, right?” 

Ziva looked down, embarrassed for blowing off her health in the midst of all the chaos of the last year.

The doctor took that opportunity to address the other half of the couple, “And you must be the father,” she held out her hand, “My name is Dr. Cynthia Brown, and I will be taking care of your baby, and the mama.” 

“Tony,” he responded, shaking her hand automatically. 

“I wish I could say that I’ve heard great things about you, Tony, but I can’t say that Ziva has ever mentioned you. Have you two been together long?” 

Ziva’s eyes wandered around the room awkwardly, clearly uneasy about the situation. 

He took it upon himself to reply, “We haven’t been officially together for very long, but it’s complicated.” 

Dr. Brown looked fondly at the two of them, “It always is with baby daddies. Now, I want to be transparent with both of you. Based on Ziva’s medical history, I am labeling this as a high risk pregnancy without even examining the fetus. It is just a precaution on my side, and nothing to worry about for now. However, I do want to see you every 6 weeks to check in and make sure things are progressing the way they should,” She took a step closer to Ziva and gently took her hand, “I am not saying you are going to have complications, sweetheart. I am just being careful.”

Ziva nodded, only letting her eyes flutter toward Tony’s concerned expression for a second, “Thank you, Cynthia.”

The Doc turned around and retrieved a cart from behind a curtain, rolling it toward the table so they could all see it, “Most parents are the most excited - and nervous - about the ultrasound, so I say we get that out of the way first. When did you say your last menstrual period was?” 

“September 25. But I know we conceived around October 4th,” she sent Tony a heavy look, and he had to fight back a cheeky smile at the thought of those few days when they locked themselves in her parent’s farm house and did nothing but revel in their new found and quickly fleeting intimacy. 

“Right. So that should put you around the 7 or 8 week mark, so there is a good chance we will be able to hear the heartbeat today,” the doctor started fumbling with the machinery and the screen on the top turned on. 

“Okay, Mommy, I’m going to ask you to change into this gown really quick. You can step behind that curtain if you would like,” she gestured towards the back corner and Ziva obediently hopped off the table and went to change. 

“I thought ultrasounds were just done on the stomach. Why does she need to be in a gown?” 

“You must watch a lot of movies, Tony?” 

Ziva let out a hearty laugh from behind the curtain.

“I guess you could say that,” he answered.

“Well, then you must know that in movies they often sacrifice accuracy to make a situation seem less awkward. In the real world, the first ultrasound is normally done transvaginally since the fetus is too small to see in a typical one,” Dr. Brown reached underneath the exam table and lifted two metal bars with tube like attachments on top. 

Tony wasn’t sure he liked where this was going. 

Ziva returned in her hospital robe and hopped up on the table, unphased by the appearance of the metal contraptions. She laid back on the table and reached for his hand, pulling him closer toward her head as the doc lifted each of her legs and guided them into the waiting stirrups. 

“Don’t make this weird, Tony.” 

He looked pointedly at her lower half as the doc pulled out a long tubular instrument and approached the table, “Everything about this is weird. I’m the least weird part of this right now.” 

She rolled her eyes for what must have been the hundredth time that day and nodded toward Dr. Brown, giving her the okay to start the exam.

[factoffictionwriter]

Tiva Fic Amnesty #3

Another piece of the multi chapter fic. Just Tiva talking about their lives (something we did not get enough of in the show). Enjoy!

Note: there’s a Hebrew phrase in here that didn’t translate very well. Basically: if you’re a native Hebrew speaker, I’m terribly sorry for botching your beautiful language. 

“Anything else interesting in those boxes?” 

She looked over at a particularly large box he now noticed was sitting on top of the piano, and caught her lower lip between her teeth. She seemed to be mulling over something big as she chewed lightly on her lower lip. 

Finally she looked back over at him, a slight smirk drawing the corners of her mouth up. 

“Can I show you something?” 

His eyebrows went up at her tone, seemingly mocking the way he had asked her the same question more than a year ago, sitting in the break room with a stack of pictures in his hands. 

“Yes,” he responded. She motioned for him to sit on the couch and he did, watching her as she got up and crossed the room, reaching into the mysterious box. 

She pulled something out of it and held it low in front of her so he couldn’t see. She fingered it in her hand for a moment before pivoting around and walking over to him. She held the object in front of him so he could grab it as she sat down beside him, halfway on his lap, and wrapped an arm around his shoulders. 

He slipped an arm around her waist as he looked at the small photograph in his hand. 

There were two people in it. One a small girl, all smiles and unruly curls as the other one, a young woman with dark features as thick rimmed glasses, held the child over her head, circle of life style. 

He squinted at the little girl, “Is that you?” 

She nodded, her eyes trained on his face as he kept staring at the photo.

“And that’s your mom,” he stated it rather than asked, but she nodded anyway. 

A small smile spread across his face as he looked at the tiny Ziva, so clearly content to be held by her mother and so obviously full of that spunk he knew so well. His eye drifted back up to her Mom. 

“She looks just like you.” 

“I believe it is me who looks like her, yes?” 

He shrugged, “Either way.” 

She turned her head to look at the picture with him, lowering it to rest right in the crook of his neck as they both stayed silent for a long time. 

“Do you think she would have liked me?” He barely whispered the question, hesitant to break the comfortable silence they had been in. 

Ziva laughed lightly, “Oh, no.” 

“What?” 

“Rivka David would have hated you,” she said it with such amusement in her voice that he couldn’t bring himself to be offended, “At least at first.” 

“Really?”

Ziva sat up a big and puffed out her chest in what he assumed was a dramatic impression of her mother’s voice, “Req at hetveb beyvetr 'ebevr Ziva shely. Ayesh nhemd. Adem yhevdey.” 

He looked at her expectantly, waiting for the English translation. 

“Only the best for my Ziva. A nice man. A Jewish man.” 

He chuckled, “So she wouldn’t approve?”

“Not at all. She would probably call you an Italian American cowboy and try to kick you out of the house.”

“But you said she might come around?” 

“Oh, I know she would come around… eventually. Once she saw the way you looked at me or how happy you make me. But it would take some time.” 

He nodded, his thoughts drifting off to fantasies about bringing flowers to the door as he stood nervously, his hand locked with Ziva’s as he awaited a final verdict as to whether or not they had her mother’s approval. 

“Well, my mom would have adored you,” he mumbled into her hair as she rested her head on his shoulder again.

“You think so?” 

“I know so. She would have probably cornered me right after meeting you and asked just who I thought I was making deals with the devil because there is no way I could score a woman like you without some divine intervention.” 

She lifted her head and pressed her lips to his cheek as she ran a hand through his hair. Then she leaned her head against his as the comfortable silence returned. 

Once again, he was the one to break it. 

“You know, you accused me other never talking about my mother, but I’m pretty sure you have avoided talking about yours even more than I have. You’ve never even told me how she died.” 

Ziva seemed surprised, “Really? I thought I would have mentioned it. Well, I guess my mother’s death was the least traumatic out of all the deaths in my family, so I don’t find myself in too many positions where I have to talk about it.” 

“What happened?” 

She shrugged, “She got sick.” 

“Cancer?” 

“Not exactly. She was told she had a brain tumor shortly after she gave birth to Tali. They said it was benign, but inoperable. They monitored it for years, but it didn’t seem to be growing or causing any problems. She eventually got tired of all the hospital visits and scans, so she stopped going. A year or so later she died in her sleep. They said the tumor wrapped itself around her brain stem and cut off the oxygen supply. They told us she died quickly and without pain.” 

“How old were you?” 

“I believe I was 12 or so. Tali would have been 6 or 7. We went to bed one night with a mom, and woke up without one. It seemed like the end of the world at the time, but I am just thankful that she went peacefully.” 

He nodded. 

“You haven’t really told me how your mother died either.”

“Yes I did. She had cancer.” 

“Yes but you have always left it at that.”

He shrugged, “There really isn’t much more to tell. She was in the hospital a lot while I was growing up. She went through a lot of treatments. In the end, she underwent an experimental surgery that they thought had been successful. It seemed like she was getting stronger. But they messed something up, and she died a few days later.” 

“Were you there?” 

“I was the only one there. Dad had run out to get us all dinner. Mom hated the hospital food, so she convinced him to buy us all hamburgers. We were just watching a movie, waiting for him to get back, when all her monitors started going off. I didn’t know what to do. I didn’t even yell for a nurse, I just watched her breathing slow until someone came running in. She was long gone before my dad got back with the food, and I felt like I had let him down somehow. Like it was my fault. He sent me off to my first boarding school not too long after it happened, and I think that really solidified it in my mind that he blamed me. I realized years later that wasn’t the case, but the damage had been done.” 

“How old were you?” 

“8.” 

“Wow. So young.” 

He nodded, “It wasn’t fair.” 

“It never is.” 

He looked up at the emotional hitch in her voice. She had tears brimming in her eyes as she carefully took the photo out of his hand.