Two quick chapters in this post.
Chapter 28: The Funeral
Tim was right, the next time they gathered together to mourn, he was the one she turned to.
And he had been hoping that it would have been later rather than sooner.
But it happened, because nothing holds death at bay for good. It's always there, waiting to jump out.
They
made food for Ziva, kosher jambalaya, because it's a mitzvah to feed
those who mourn, and took it to her, something to eat for the flight
home. And she stood by his side, head on his shoulder, when they helped
lay Mrs. Vance to rest.
And the one thing Death does, always does, though the further it slips out of memory the duller it gets, is sharpen priorities and make personal frictions seem insignificant.
Hours later, when the funeral was over, and Ziva flying home, Tim said to Tony, who looked like he might be contemplating doing something stupid and romantic, "Tony, I want you to remember something, she's an orphan now. She's thirty-one and has buried every other member of her immediate family. She's hurting. She's vulnerable. And if you don't want to screw this up, you'll pull back, lay low, and be a good friend."
"When she cries, I want to hold her," Tony says, looking beyond Tim to the memory of Ziva's back as she boarded the plane.
"Then hold her. But for right now, shove her in the sister column and keep her there."
Tony nods, that he can do. That he has been doing. Though when he mentioned thinking about everything all the time, he'd come awfully close to saying something... maybe not stupid, but given the timing... unwelcome.
"We okay?" Tim asks, pulling him back to the here and now.
"Yeah."
"Good."
"Tim?" He focuses on Tim, and sees McGee look a little startled, probably because this is likely the first time he's used his first name in a year or three.
"Yeah?"
"I am happy for you and Abby."
"Thanks, Tony."
And he had been hoping that it would have been later rather than sooner.
But it happened, because nothing holds death at bay for good. It's always there, waiting to jump out.
And the one thing Death does, always does, though the further it slips out of memory the duller it gets, is sharpen priorities and make personal frictions seem insignificant.
Hours later, when the funeral was over, and Ziva flying home, Tim said to Tony, who looked like he might be contemplating doing something stupid and romantic, "Tony, I want you to remember something, she's an orphan now. She's thirty-one and has buried every other member of her immediate family. She's hurting. She's vulnerable. And if you don't want to screw this up, you'll pull back, lay low, and be a good friend."
"When she cries, I want to hold her," Tony says, looking beyond Tim to the memory of Ziva's back as she boarded the plane.
"Then hold her. But for right now, shove her in the sister column and keep her there."
Tony nods, that he can do. That he has been doing. Though when he mentioned thinking about everything all the time, he'd come awfully close to saying something... maybe not stupid, but given the timing... unwelcome.
"We okay?" Tim asks, pulling him back to the here and now.
"Yeah."
"Good."
"Tim?" He focuses on Tim, and sees McGee look a little startled, probably because this is likely the first time he's used his first name in a year or three.
"Yeah?"
"I am happy for you and Abby."
"Thanks, Tony."
Chapter 29: For Abby Lying Naked In My Arms
It was a sheet of
heavy, good quality stationary, folded in half, and propped on Abby's
keyboard. On it was her name in Tim's handwriting.
She opened it and found, also handwritten:
For Abby: Lying Naked In My Arms
You're sleeping right now,
and I'm not about to wake you to tell you this.
So, I'll write it, if I remember when I wake.
(Looks like I did.)
But I feel like
with you curved into my arms
that you were made for me.
I know that's not right.
You were made for no one but you.
So maybe it's coincidence,
(Though we don't believe in coincidence.)
or possibly luck, amazingly good luck,
(Because we do believe in luck.)
that your neck is the exact right length for my arm to fit under it.
Or that your back snugs perfectly against my chest,
and that our legs tangle together seamlessly.
I lie here, in what's rapidly becoming our bed,
feeling you breathe against me,
smelling the cucumber perfume of your hair,
and I know what peace is,
and blessed is suddenly more than a trite syllable to express fortune,
and I drift off, never wanting to sleep alone again.
—Tim
She opened it and found, also handwritten:
For Abby: Lying Naked In My Arms
You're sleeping right now,
and I'm not about to wake you to tell you this.
So, I'll write it, if I remember when I wake.
(Looks like I did.)
But I feel like
with you curved into my arms
that you were made for me.
I know that's not right.
You were made for no one but you.
So maybe it's coincidence,
(Though we don't believe in coincidence.)
or possibly luck, amazingly good luck,
(Because we do believe in luck.)
that your neck is the exact right length for my arm to fit under it.
Or that your back snugs perfectly against my chest,
and that our legs tangle together seamlessly.
I lie here, in what's rapidly becoming our bed,
feeling you breathe against me,
smelling the cucumber perfume of your hair,
and I know what peace is,
and blessed is suddenly more than a trite syllable to express fortune,
and I drift off, never wanting to sleep alone again.
—Tim
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