Ladies and gentlemen, this has been one long, crazy ride and I think it's time to get off. I can't tell you how many of you I need to thank, to lay praises on, to hug and kiss and write gushing letters for. I am continuously stunned by the reviews, the favorites, the follows and alerts. It's amazing. I am so lucky. Thank you and thank you and thank you.

There will be follow-up, but this is it, for now. Kisses, The Mecha.

. . . .

Can I come home for the summer?

I could slow down for a little while.

Get back to lovin each other.

Leave all those long and lonesome miles behind.

-Ray LaMontagne, "For the Summer."

Tony wouldn't remember that they got married on a blue-sky day in June. He wouldn't remember the small venue overlooking Belmont Bay. He wouldn't remember the standing-room-only crowd or the sailboats bobbing on their mooring balls or the skylight or who held up the chuppah. He would remember only her. Ziva. Her simple strapless off-white dress, the flowers in her hair, the way she rolled slowly down the aisle with Gibbs' hand on her shoulder. He would remember the glow of happiness on her beautiful face and the way his heart thundered and how he'd fidgeted in his new grey suit.

Dorneget shoved a chair under him. Rabbi Ellen greeted the crowd with gentle, welcoming remarks. Tony didn't hear them.

"Drawing flies, DiNozzo," Gibbs muttered, and he shut his gaping trap.

Ziva giggled softly and took his hand. "This is it."

"Yeah," he agreed, grinning. He felt a little punch-drunk. Love-drunk.

There was a small table under the chuppah with them. Rabbi Ellen smiled and handed each of them a pen. "I'm going to have Tony and Ziva sign their ketubah now," she said to the audience. "This is the contract that binds them in matrimony and outlines their responsibility to one another. It will be read aloud after the exchanging of rings and blessing over wine."

Tony scribbled his name before his fingers could go numb from nerves. Ziva took time to write her name in both English and Hebrew.

The rabbi smiled. "Eli, can you pour a cup of wine for me?"

"Of course," he stammered, nervous, and popped the cork on a bottle of kosher red.

The silver Kiddush cup was a David family heirloom. The rabbi held it aloft. "With this Kiddush I am sanctifying not just the wine, but the union and the occasion."

She made the blessing in Hebrew and passed the cup to Tony, who sipped and held it out to Ziva. She swallowed delicately and gave a tiny smile. The cup was passed around. Everyone drank—Eli and Senior, Tim, Abby, and Gibbs, and Dorneget drained it.

"A good nose on this," he said seriously.

The audience tittered. There was a sniffle and the prayer shawl dipped above them—Abby was crying, and she'd nearly dropped the chuppah pole to cover her face. Gibbs put his hand over hers and gave her his handkerchief. Abby giggled through her tears. The crowd tittered a second time.

The rabbi held the two plain gold bands on a scrap of satin. "Jewish law calls for the groom to give the bride something of significant value in order to confirm the act of matrimony. To honor the halacha, I am going to ask Tony to place the ring on Ziva's finger first."

Tony's hands shook but Ziva's were steady. He slid the ring onto her right index finger and she made a tight fist, symbolizing that she'd accepted.

"Success!" the rabbi cawed, throwing her fist in the air. "Ziva accepts Tony's gift. Now she will place her own ring on his finger."

Tony exhaled unsteadily as she threaded his left ring finger through the simple gold band. Almost done.

Rabbi Ellen smiled. "Anthony Senior," she said warmly. "Would you read the ketubah in English, please?"

He held up the parchment. Formal calligraphy atop an abstract watercolor in reds and purples. "On the eighth day of the month of the Tamuz of the Hebrew year 5773, Anthony agrees to work to provide his beautiful wife, Ziva, the food, clothing, shelter, and honor she deserves. He agrees to pay her two hundred silver zuzim should he fail to clothe, feed, shelter, or provide her adequate marital relations."

Tim coughed and went red. Abby shushed him and dabbed her eyes again.

"The couple is joined in matrimony as friends, lovers, and confidantes," Senior continued. "On the eighth day of the month of Tamuz in the Hebrew year 5773."

"Thank you," the rabbi said graciously. "Yashar koach, Anthony Senior. "Eli, would you be so kind as to read the ketubah in Hebrew, please?"

Eli accepted it from Senior and cleared his throat. He cast a glance at Ziva. She nodded and laced her fingers with Tony's.

Eli chanted in monotone for a moment, but relaxed and began to sing. He had a beautiful, melodic voice. It filled the room, the day, the crevices in Tony's heart. He squeezed Ziva's hand and swallowed back tears. She squeezed back and wiped her eyes. The ketubah was deliberately brief—a symbol more than a legal contract—so his song was short. There was silence until the rabbi took the document, signed her name, and rolled it into a tube. Gibbs tied it with a ribbon. She handed it to Tony.

"Thus concludes the ceremony. Tony, kiss your wife."

All the anxiety left him in a rush and he heaved forward to press his lips to hers. His hands found her sides, then her back, then her face as he kissed and kissed her. Relief. Joy. Love. All of it and all at once.

The rabbi lead the crowd, clapping and singing siman tov u'mazal tov as Tony and Ziva went up the aisle and out of the hall. Everyone streamed out after them, still singing and clapping. Tony stuck close to Ziva, sensing she was made a little nervous by all the commotion.

But she held her own through the smorgasbord and receiving line. Guests noshed on canapés and lavished mazal tovs and blessings on the newlyweds while the staff changed over the room from ceremonial space to eating-and-dancing space. Eli delegated, marching around with his hands behind his back, one eye always finding Ziva amid the crowd. He shook Tony's hand when all twelve round tables had been rolled out of storage.

"Thank you," he said sincerely. "I did not expect to be included in this jubilant event."

Tony squeezed a little harder than necessary. "We wouldn't exclude you," he said, and meant it. Eli and Ziva had been making amends, speaking via video chat once a week and exchanging emails. He'd volunteered the family heirlooms for the ceremony. Now he handed Tony two small envelopes.

"I know you want children," he said lowly. "This is to help you get started."

Tony's chest constricted. "Eli, you've already given us—"

"I know," he interrupted. "I have saved and saved and now I am old and my family is gone. What will I do with it—take it with me to my grave? Feh." He waved a hand. "Let it go to you and to my grandchildren. Let it go to people who will not build lives like mine."

He pocketed the envelopes before Ziva could see. "What are you living on?"

"I am fine," Eli said, patting Tony's shoulder. "I am fine." He went to Ziva then, putting his arm around her shoulders and kissing both of her cheeks. She leaned into him but only for a moment—Abby was offering a toast point hor d'oeuvre.

Gibbs sidled up next to him. "Doin' alright, DiNozzo?"

He gazed and gazed at his wife—his wife—as she worked the crowd. She'd gone to a four-week rehab boot camp in Atlanta before the wedding. The separation had been difficult, but worthwhile. Her naps were shorter, their evenings longer, and she was even beginning to experiment with gait-training again. She looked strong and beautiful as Adi kissed her cheek and Tal climbed into her lap.

"I'm fine," he finally murmured.

"Then get your girl and get in there," he said, motioning with his head. The guests were funneling in to the room again, hungry and ready to dance a hora with the bride and groom.

"Yeah, Boss," he said vacantly.

Ziva slid her hand into his. She was smiling and rosy-cheeked. "I spoke to Rabbi Ellen. We need to spend five minutes alone in yichud before we greet the crowd. Come with me?"

"Yes," he sighed.

She took him to a small conference room and locked the door behind them before pawing her dress aside and sliding an envelope from her under-seat pocket. "Here," she said, pushing it at him. "This is my gift to you."

Inside were two airline tickets to St. Croix and a confirmation slip for a fancy resort. A printed email from Vance granted him time off. He felt himself go hot and he grinned again, stupid with happiness. "Yes!" he cheered. "Blue Lagoon. Where's my loincloth?"

"In your suitcase," she retorted, but frowned and put her index finger to her chin. "At least I hope Abba packed it." He went red and she laughed. "I would never ask him to do that, Tony. I packed your bag. It is waiting at home. We leave tomorrow morning. Abba will take us to the airport."

He opened the resort brochure and damned near salivated at the white sand beaches and clear blue water. He badly needed a vacation. He badly wanted one with Ziva. "Zi," he sighed, close to tears again. "Thank you." He held out his hands. "I didn't know about this or I would've gotten you something. I was just so wrapped up with you being in Atlanta for six weeks, and then this shindig, and scheduling interviews for our home study..."

She took his hand and tugged him down for a kiss. "You are my gift, Tony, and one day we will have children and they will be gifts, too."

He kissed her again. "You sure you can wait?"

She gave him a knowing look. "I am very patient."

Loud rapping on the door startled them. "Hey, lovebirds," Rabbi Ellen called. "It's time to make your grand entrance."

Ziva laughed and put her forehead on Tony's. "We are married."

"We are."

"You promise?"

He wanted to float away with her in his arms. "Yeah," he sighed, brow still pressed to hers. "I promise."

. . . .

Tony clicked the green button and the burbling dialing noises began. One ring, two, and then a blorp on the third and the sound of clicking before Rochelle, the Florida state social worker, appeared on the screen. She wore beautiful dark red lipstick. Ziva wrung her hands. She hadn't bothered with makeup—the day was too hot. "Hello," she greeted carefully.

Tony bumped her shoulder and smiled. "Hi," he burst. "How's it going in the Sunshine State?"

"It's great. I have one very excited little girl here to speak to you. Are you ready?"

Anxiety leapt in Ziva's heart. "Is there anything we should know first?"

Rochelle shrugged. "You should know that she wants to be your kid. She fell asleep last night with your photo in her hand. She also thinks she's grown now that she'll be flying independently."

Ziva shook her head, rueful and disgusted. She wanted to fly down to Miami to pick up her daughter, but Gibbs and Dr. Monroe put the kybosh to air travel after their disastrous trip home from St. Croix, which had been complete with a cascade of seizures so severe she landed back on the neuro floor for a forty-eight hour watch. Liana would have to fly as an unaccompanied minor. Failure nagged at Ziva. "I am terribly sorry about that," she said lowly. "We did not—"

Rochelle waved her hand. "Stop. It's fine. She has a guardian and a flight attendant assigned to her, and Li is one savvy kid. You have not earned any black marks on your record."

Ziva nodded and opened her mouth, but Tony interrupted. "Can we talk to her now?"

She nodded and beckoned to someone just outside the frame. There was movement, soft, anxious voices, and then Liana moved behind the desk and sat. She was a tiny thing—a shadow—but her eyes were bright, clear hazel and her hair had been combed and clipped back. Oh, Ziva thought. There you are. Relief closed in on her. Recognition. "Hi, baby," she cooed, but her throat closed around you are so beautiful or how are you or I love you or I cannot wait any more for you.

Tony took the right one and traced the arc of her wrist with his index finger. "Hey, sweetheart," he croaked. He was emotional, too. Ziva found comfort in that. "How ya doing?"

Liana blinked and opened her mouth, but hesitated and closed it again. They could hear her breath catch. "I want to come to you," she finally said. She reached into a zip-top plastic bag and pulled out the photo book they'd sent. She thumbed through it. "I like the pictures and I want...I want to come to you."

She swallowed and tensed, closed to tears, and Ziva felt her whole body reach. "You will see us very soon, Liana. Did you see the photo of your room?"

"Yes. I liked it."

"Would you like anything special for in there?"

"No, thank you."

Ziva ached to touch her. Did Liana still have smooth, babyish skin? Was her hair silky, or did it snarl easily and need frequent conditioning and combing? She would find out tomorrow. Tomorrow. Always tomorrow. But she'd waited this long, hadn't she? What was one more day?

Tony's arm snaked around the back of her chair. He stroked her shoulders in long, even strokes. She relaxed; he was so steady when she was off her bearings. "Did you get the other things we sent?" he asked. "We thought those were things you might like to do on the plane."

"Yes," she said again. A small smiled played across her sweet face. "I liked the books you picked out. And the art supplies. I like to draw, but Louis ate my crayons."

"Bummer," Tony commiserated.

She sighed ruefully. "He's only a baby. I can't get mad."

"You have new crayons," Ziva said gently. "And we have more for when you get here. I like to draw, too. Do you think we can do that at the big desk in your room?"

Liana nodded, chin creased, eyes big in her tiny, pixie-ish face. "I want to do things together."

"Me, too," Ziva soothed. "And we will. I know it is hard to wait. I am impatient, too."

"Tomorrow," she echoed.

"Yes, tomorrow." Ziva hesitated and looked at Tony. "I know this may be hard to...hear, especially right now, but we love you, Liana. We love you very much. Can you understand?"

Her lower lip came out and she nodded. "Yeah."

"Remember that today when you feel impatient."

Liana looked away. Rochelle's arm appeared in the frame and she looked back at the screen, eyes sad. "I have to go," she said tearfully.

"We will see you tomorrow, baby," Ziva cooed, heartbroken already. "I love you."

"Me, too," Tony chimed in.

Liana stood up from her chair, glanced around the room, and blew four quick kisses at the webcam. Ziva and Tony waved and the call ended with another blorp.

Tony looked at her wide-eyed and grinning. "Did you see her?" he wondered aloud. "Did you see how perfect she is?"

She didn't bother to swallow her tears. "I saw," she echoed, and wiped her cheeks. He kissed her. She kissed back. "Can you take me to the Navy Yard?"

He huffed. "Killing the romance, Zi."

She slid Liana's referral from the table to her lap. "I want to ask Ducky about her issues. I want to know what we can do to help her."

He nodded and rose. "You want to go now?"

She nodded and adjusted her cotton sundress. She felt better in the warm weather. Hopeful. She would be a mother, and mothers wore cotton sundresses and sandals and sunglasses. Mothers watched their children play in the park. Mothers made sure their children's needs were met, and that meant a trip to Ducky for advice. "Yes," she said simply. "Now."

. . . .

She hummed in response to the familiar bing of the elevator. Her heart slowed it's noisy pumping and she bumped over the gap. Ducky kissed her cheeks. Jimmy grinned and shook Tony's hand.

"Congrats, Dad," he gushed.

Tony's bravado failed to appear. "Thanks," he muttered humbly, smiling.

Ducky took the file folder Ziva held out and opened it to the first page. Liana's photo was there, along with her kindergarten report card and last medical evaluation. "What a beautiful girl," he mused, skimming the reports. "And so bright. I can assume she's had an IQ test?"

She nodded. "Yes, her scores are all high."

He nodded and pointed at her medical records. "Her intelligence quotient matches her school performance. There is obvious evidence of past neglect and abuse, but not within the last twelve months. When did she come into care?"

"A year ago."

He hummed, thinking. "There are no indication of developmental delays or disabilities, but I am certain that malnutrition and physical neglect will leave a permanent thumbprint on her growth."

Her hackles rose. "What does that mean?"

"She is a peanut, Ziva. Six years old and thirty-five pounds? I would fatten her like a Christmas goose. Maybe you ought to prepare your famous matzo balls with chicken schmaltz rather than olive oil. I might also recommend a quality daily multivitamin."

Her ire cooled. "We have some at home. Tony has been helping himself to them. He says they taste like candy."

"The cartoon ones?" Jimmy asked. "I love those things. I still take them for my daily dose of B and C vitamins."

"Imagine my surprise, Mr. Palmer. Liana was on anti-anxiety medication for a while. She may need to go on it again as she transition from foster care to adoptive home. Do you have a therapist lined up for her?"

Ziva raised her chin. "Yes. We have already chosen a pediatrician and mental healthcare providers for her."

"Good. Then I suppose I shall offer you a mazel tov on the arrival of your beautiful daughter. When does she arrive?"

"Tomorrow afternoon."

"You are terrified."

"Yes."

"I'm not," Tony interrupted.

A tiny spark of irritation leapt in Ziva. It felt good. "Of course you aren't," she simpered. "Our application and home study would have been approved immediately if I was able-bodied. Now we will have an active child in our home and I worry that...that I will not be enough for her. That I will fail as her mother because I am disabled. Did you see her, Tony? You said it yourself—she is perfect."

Tony looked at his shoes. Shame colored his cheeks. "We didn't tell her, Zi."

Time slowed and stopped. Ziva's heart dropped into her stomach. She struggled to draw air. Not once had the time seemed right for her to say, I cannot walk, Liana, I use a wheelchair. A tiny noise slipped past her lips and she stiffened. Anger replaced her panic. She clung feebly to her self-control. Her voice was tight when she spoke again. "Already I have failed."

"It is in your home study document, certainly," Ducky said. "And couldn't she see your chair during your video chat?"

"And your photo book, right? If not, I'm sure the social worker has already told her," Palmer said buoyantly. "I mean, she set you guys up—isn't it her job?"

"No," Ziva snapped, furious. "It was mine and I did not do it. Tony, we need to call Rochelle right away." She wrenched her handrims and spun toward the elevator.

He caught up in two strides. "I'm sorry," he said tearfully. "I didn't mean to make you feel bad, I just forgot and—"

"It is fine," she said heavily. "But we need to go home. I will call her right away. I cannot believe that I would...how careless, Tony. How selfish. And yet the state of Maryland say I am qualified to parent."

She went ahead of him into the parking garage. He caught up again. "So we'll call Rochelle and have a chat—no big deal. And—" He trailed off while she transferred and broke down her chair. "—So what if it's a surprise? I saw the way she looked at us. Do you really think she'll care that you use a cool set of wheels to get around?"

She slammed the door. He started the engine and cranked the air conditioner. "What if I am not what she wants?" she asked rhetorically. She did not want the answer.

"What if you are?"

She scoffed, incredulous. "You cannot tell me a healthy, energetic six-year-old would choose a disabled mother, Tony."

"She's not any old six-year-old," he said softly. "She will be ours."

She took some deep breaths and put on her sunglasses. The day was bright. Things were blooming. Her anxiety quelled as they drove through the Navy Yard gates. "Maybe," she said quietly. "Maybe it will be ok."

"I got you, baby," Tony said happily. "How can it not be?"

. . . .

Ziva wrung her hands and rocked on her rear axle while the plane emptied. Tony shifted beside her, holding his Welcome Home, Liana sign the two of them had lettered and die-cut with Abby's scrapbooking equipment. Would she like it? Would she like them, live and in-person? She worried more and more. There were several long minutes of no passengers in the jetway and then a flight attendant appeared in her navy blue uniform and heels. She was tugging a little girl by the hand. Their little girl. Liana.

Ziva held her breath while she caught sight of them and hesitated. Perhaps Rochelle hadn't told her. Perhaps Ziva's wheelchair was a surprise. Was Liana going to turn around and get back on the plane? Would she beg the pilot to fly her back to Miami? She drew a deep breath and held it. No, Ziva was prepared to shout. I'm your ema. I love you. Please do not go.

Liana stared for a moment, eyes bright and blinking, then let go of the attendant's hand and took one step toward them. It was followed by another and another until she was moving at a steady clip across the worn terminal carpet. Her tiny leather moccasins made no noise. Ziva's breathing was loud, and then she stopped before her and Tony, hugging her backpack, cheeks flushed. "Hi," she stammered. "I..I'm Liana."

Ziva was overwhelmed by that same feeling she'd felt the day before. It was odd. Wild, even. Instinct. Mother's instinct. She lunged with her whole body and Liana came easily into her arms. Ziva's erratic pulse steadied and slowed. Recognition. This was her baby. Oh, here you are, she thought, and all the nagging fear and failure stopped it's relentless pounding in her head.

Liana was sturdier than she looked, more muscular, more confident, but yielded in Ziva's embrace like an infant. Her skin was dewy. Her hair was thick and soft. It tickled her arms. She stroked it and marveled, like Tony, at how perfect she was.

"I am Ziva," she whispered in her tiny child's ear. Liana's warm weight was grounding, centering. She could stay there forever. "I waited a very, very long time for you."

. . . .

FIN.