Here I am, finally updating. So sorry it took so long- writer's block is a bitch. Hope you guys like the epilogue.

He is in a suspect's bedroom, executing a routine search warrant, when a gunshot comes from nowhere. The sound barely registers before red-hot pain rips through his shoulder.

With a cry, Tony falls to his knees and fumbles clumsily for his gun. By the time he has it aimed toward the doorway, there is nobody there. He tries to get to his feet, but his vision swims and he sinks heavily back to the floor. Footsteps echo through the house as somebody pounds down the stairs. A few seconds later, a screen door slams. The assailant is gone.

"Idiot," he berates himself, because he should have heard the guy coming. He tries not to look at the blood blossoming on his white dress shirt as he wiggles his phone from his pocket and shakily moves his thumb over the nine and then the one. "NCIS Special Agent Tony DiNozzo." His voice comes out raspy. "Gunshot wound to the shoulder. Thirty-eight Monroe, Silver Spring. Need an ambulance."

The operator presses him for more information. He loses consciousness with her voice in his ear.

0000000000

"Listen, lady, I told you. I don't know any freakin' dead guy."

Frustration boils up in Ziva's chest, and she snaps her case file closed before leaning across the table toward Dean Keller. "Once again, I will remind you that I am to be addressed as Special Agent David. Secondly, we currently have an agent searching your apartment. If there is anything to be found linking you to this murder, he will find it, so, for your sake, I urge you to make your confession now."

Keller looks away. Feeling smug, Ziva interlocks her fingers and tilts her head to the side. Silence presides over the interrogation room until, at the same moment Keller opens his mouth, Gibbs flings open the door.

Ziva stares at him, bewildered. Did he not see that Keller was about to talk?

"Come on," Gibbs says, beckoning her outside.

Careful not to show her confusion, Ziva tucks her file under his arm and follows him into the hallway. "What is it?" she asks once the door has closed. "Did Tony find something?"

"No," Gibbs says. The nature of his tone sets off an alarm in her brain; he is being too gentle, too careful. "He was shot."

"What?" Her heart jumps into her throat. "Is he alive?"

"Yeah. Lost a lot of blood, but he's alive."

"Who shot him?" she demands. "Keller lives alone, and he's here!"

Gibbs shrugs. She knows, she knows this is not his fault, that he's only the messenger, but she is actively fighting the urge to shake him. How can he be so calm? "Somebody else was in the house."

"I have to go."

"I know." He reaches out to take the case file from her. "Go. Call when you get an update."

Ziva takes two steps, then spins back around to face him. "Isabella-"

"We'll bring her to you," Gibbs promises.

She exhales, nods, and hurries away. As she flings open the door to the stairwell- there is no time to wait for an elevator- all she can think about is the previous night, when Isabella upturned one of Tony's shoes and a velvet box fell out. Ziva had stared, briefly, before quickly replacing it and directing the baby elsewhere. For hours afterward, her mind raced and heart pounded. She could not sleep because she was desperately trying to figure out whether or not she was ready, what to do, what to say.

It's funny how one change in circumstance can make everything more clear. Because suddenly, her most desperate hope is that she will still get the opportunity to tell him yes.

0000000000

The next thing he's aware of is steady beeping and a thumb gliding over the back of his hand.

Fighting the effects of whatever drugs he's been given, he forces his eyes open. At first all he sees is the white of the ceiling; then a chair clatters and Ziva is standing over him. Mascara is smudged along one of her cheekbones. Strands of hair have fallen from her ponytail. She looks completely exhausted, and he hates himself for worrying her.

"Did I die, or is this heaven?" he teases.

"That's not funny." There is a little pull at the corner of her mouth, though, so he counts his joke as a success. "How are you feeling?"

"Better than the last time I got shot."

Ziva sighs. "I should have been with you."

"Keller was in custody. There was no reason to think anyone would show up at the house. Did you figure out who it was?"

"His brother. Neighbors heard the shot and called the police; he was found at a gas station down the road."

"Think he was in on the murder?"

Shrugging, Ziva combs her fingers through his hair. "No idea. Right now, I don't care."

He sends her a smile, then turns his head to evaluate his shoulder. Thick bandages bind the injury; he must be pumped full of meds, because he doesn't feel any real pain, just general soreness. His forearm rests across his chest in a sling. It'll be months before he can properly shoot again, much less return to the field.

Ziva's phone chimes from a nearby table. She leans over to check it. "Gibbs is here with Isabella," she says, and the despair that had begun to settle over him is alleviated somewhat. "I am going to meet them. Be right back."

"I'll be here," he says, as if he possesses the energy to go anywhere else.

With a wink, she turns away. "I know, my love."

0000000000

Gibbs doesn't linger. He makes sure Tony is okay, smacks him on the head for being unaware of his surroundings, and then heads back to the office. He still has a case to solve.

Tony and Ziva are off the hook, though, and she is glad for it. She has had enough worry for one day; she could not stand to leave him alone in the hospital. Once Gibbs is gone, she helps him into a semi-upright position, then places Isabella on his bed. She immediately begins crawling on top of him, bunching up his hospital gown in her chubby fists. He places his uninjured arm on her bottom to keep her from falling and, otherwise, does not interfere with her activity. Ziva stands quietly beside them, content to observe. There are few more beautiful sights in the world than the way Tony looks at Isabella- with complete adoration, sometimes even awe or disbelief. She can relate; she feels it too. Especially lately. At fourteen months old, Isabella walks and says Mama and Dada and has an emerging personality. Her hair, dark at birth, has grown drastically blonder and curlier. She has already grown and changed so much. Sometimes Ziva feels almost panicked about the time that has come and gone; she wants to stop the clock, hold her daughter close, and stay like that forever.

But time goes on. They must too.

Isabella has climbed up Tony's chest, and her face now hovers in front of his. "Hey there," he greets, kissing her nose. She rolls onto her side, landing right on his bandaged shoulder.

By the time he is done groaning in pain, Ziva has snatched the baby off of him. "Are you alright?" she asks worriedly. "Should I call a nurse?"

"No, it's fine. Come on, give her back."

Ziva sighs, but if he wants to risk injury by toddler, that is his problem. She carefully situates Isabella along the side of his body and on top of his good arm, letting her head rest on his uninjured shoulder. His eyes drift shut as he presses his face against her hair. In turn, their daughter lightly touches his stubble.

Tears prick the backs of her eyes, and she blurts out, "Tony."

"Yeah."

She is not going to confess that she found the ring. That would ruin his proposal plan, whatever it is, and she doesn't want to take that away from him. Or herself, for that matter.

Forgoing words, she leans over him, one hand braced on the pillow beside his head, and delivers a short kiss to his lips. He returns it. Sandwiched between them, Isabella begins to squirm. Everything about the moment is absolutely perfect. There is not one thing she would change.

And this is going to be their forever.