By the Grace of Sim Gods

Eliza: Fun in the City

It is infuriating; Eliza enjoyed bouncing e-mails, a conversation with her sister, a small gesture on a long road to reconnect with her and Rylan has put a stop. The last e-mail came through from Emilie explaining how Rylan believed Eliza had run from her family eager for alone time and so she should be that way. He banned everyone; Ziva mentioned he had told her to ignore Eliza; instead, they talked for hours with Ziva secretly relaying messages to Charlotte. Patrick suffered the effects of her abandonment; he held a grudge, refused to e-mail, call or send a message; Eliza knew he ignored her, hating her for leaving. His big sister, his role model, vanished overnight without saying why or a hug goodbye. Eliza’s efforts to explain, Patrick rebuffed as lies to leapfrog the apology and get to the normality she wanted, without acknowledging the hurt she caused.

Eliza knew Patrick needed time to accept her choices; she could see some hope when he had a slight smile at being able to taunt, calling her a “quitter” or “deserter”. She needed friends; the city school had its cliques, so when former classmate and debate master Lee wanted to let off steam in the city, Eliza was eager in accepting the invitation to party. Their budget would cover the door fee and a couple of drinks at the Skyline Lounge, and it was the place. The doorman looked them up and down, unimpressed by Lee’s fake ID; he gave both red stamps. It put a dampener on their evening; the red stain on their hands meant zero alcohol, the bar had a strict policy on underage drinkers. Situated uptown, atop the glamourous expensive high rises, the lounge breathtaking view of the city lights made her feel small and how much she needed to save have the dream of a penthouse apartment.

Lee made numerous toilet visits, eager to remove the red evidence was under eighteen; they were free of parents, so what was one lousy drink with a friend. Eliza shrugged; they would be graduating soon; she fancied either dipping her toes, a generous pool her wishing she had a swimsuit or embarrassing herself with some tuneless attempt of a country duet that screamed desperate for love. It would be the latter; Lee’s efforts to bribe the barman into giving him a beer had been acknowledged by the grump security; they came to have fun, however, kicked out, perhaps barred, was a definite no.

They had outstayed their welcome; after a tuneless rendition of “Sweet Green Hills”, security gave them a look making Eliza shudder. Pulling Lee into the elevator, Eliza checked his phone for any raves they were missing. A trip to Windenberg made a dent in their budget, but where else were they going to find fun and cheap alcoholic drinks sold to minors. Lee handed her a glass of red wine; as he disappeared into the crowd chasing a girl. Eliza stood awkwardly, stomping her feet to the rhythm, hesitant to taste the watery liquid. Vicky hollered, waving to her, with Emilia and Ziva, they headed her way, she stared at the glass, knocking back the contents as her aunts embraced her. She coughed the unexpected strength of the wine, knocking the wind from her. Her friend cringed, leaving Eliza to have her styled cramp by middle-aged women recapturing their youth.

Eliza: Cockroach Dinner

Choices considered; Eliza picked an apartment that would work with her limited budget. Rent control meant undesirable apartments, the one she rented came with a host of unwelcome guests. Emilie offered to find another apartment, make regular payments to help cover the rent, but Eliza declined, determined to prove she could survive alone. She preferred the Arts district with its varied cultures, as she visited the museums and galleries, feeding the soul. Her mother’s suggestion would move her to the spice district, while she may gain space, it would bring her back under her parent’s control, where she lived may mean she has to share her apartment with rats, but she could live freely.

Eliza prepared dinner: her thoughts wandered; the school encouraged future consideration, would she go to university, take an apprenticeship, or apply to the bottom of any career ladder. As a child she thought she would become a doctor or a vet; having a love for animals, Eliza had really believed in the latter. The changes in her life altered her perspective; a future career seemed rooted in a manual labour job; the supervisor offered her a position after high school, which may start her on the road to becoming a botanist. She cringed, spiky shrubs, and getting the dirt from out her hair and nails, a permanent state of uncleanliness made her shudder. Charlotte enjoyed her reflection, proud acceptance of her vanity; Eliza knew her sister had a point when it came to self-care, her current regime made her skin dry, despite the lotions. Water bubbled furious, awaiting the pasta; above this, she heard a noise, as though someone was tapping the wall, except quieter. On the wall, a half dozen cockroaches were circling, shrieking; Eliza dialled the landlord, praying they could visit, unconcerned, he agreed to “fit her in” the following week.

Grabbing her rucksack, she needed space from noisy neighbours and the addition of rats chewing her shoes. Eliza made her way to the park, hoping fresh air and quiet would soothe her mood; the hot dog smell did nothing to help as her stomach growled. She tried remaining polite with her neighbours, appealing for reason, or understanding for a young woman’s education needs, but they were rude, telling her to “Get a Life”, which they failed to see was what she was trying to do. What added to her stress was starting a new school late in her academic life; they insisted on makeup exams. Her grades slipped, concerned, the teachers threatened to hold her back from graduating, the syllabus and teaching were different, which impacted her understanding. It was another price to pay in order to seize a life free of her oppressive father. Finishing the essay, Eliza hoped for change, that settling here would include a night partying, this was the city and she needed to embrace what it offered.

Vicky: Stresses and Stains

Ziva’s new role, which she claims is as a consultant for the police, appears to fill her time. Vicky surveys the carnage of their home, Milly’s enthusiasm for all things, sticky fingers cover the walls and furnishing, the cats decorated with hair clips, bows, and Fiona has a glittery ribbon fastened to her tail which she keeps chasing. Milly giggles, chasing Libby, food twisted in her ginger curls and paint-splattered clothes; Vicky sank exhausted, the sofa and a toy sticking into her back keeping her awake, pleased Milly was happy. Motherhood had distracted her, the freelance artistry Vicky intended, postponed in favour of Milly’s needs. Missed were the long walks with Fiona and taking her easel to the beach to create her work.

It occurred to Vicky she resented Ziva’s freedoms, the ability to leave the chaos of home in favour of suits and adult conversation. The paintbrush danced against the canvas, another attempt to create a showpiece for the gallery, and her daughter’s nonsensical babbling grating her nerves. Deadlines looming the pressure mountains, Vicky snapped, but a toddler had limited understanding of a need for creative peace. Startled eyes enlarged, her mouth open mid-story, it closed, quivering, Vicky gasped, hand over her mouth, tears stinging her eyes. Milly rocked forward, pushing herself to stand; she gave an apologetic look, disappearing to the sofa, the cat making room.

Vicky calmed; glancing over her shoulder, Milly played; her daughter’s silent game with the cats elicited guilt. She needed space, a time to breathe, Milly demanded attention, something Vicky wanted to give, but she had to provide double cuddles and playtime, making up for Ziva’s absence. The stress-relieved by her art had failed her, the relaxation of listening to the water sploshing, colours sweeping, lost in the constant conversation and narration Milly shared. Rinsing her brushes, Vicky knew things had to change; she missed Ziva and Milly missed her mother; they needed a day together building sandcastles, a picnic where they could unwind, and Milly could talk without anyone yelling.

She settled next to Milly; the toddler shuffled to the edge, worried there would be shouting. Vicky suggests a round of her favourite flashcards by way of apology; Milly screwed her nose, a semi-toothless grin, “Bubbles”, she loved bathtime, if Vicky was sorry, splashing, and foamy fun was a must. Wriggling off the sofa, Milly commanded her mother, bath, dinner and a bedtime read; this made her happy, although Vicky knew it was another Ziva would be missing.

Ziva felt the strain; taking the job was to support her family, provide for Milly’s future. She pulled another file, a growing mountain of investigations; with her advancing years, Ziva knew she should be slowing down, taking a leisure approach to life and spending quality time with her family. The memory of the cute ginger girl, the lush green meadows that depicted her eyes made her smile; Milly needed them both to read to her, teach her life skills, create memories to tell her children one day. Vicky would greet her tired as she headed to bed, leaving Ziva to enjoy the cold dinner she was late for, the distance growing each day. This job consumed Ziva’s energy, her usual family calls, checking in on Eliza were infrequent. Rylan hounded, his messages reflected selfishness, feelings which failed to consider those closest to him. All Ziva wanted was to give her wife and daughter the attention they deserved, she knew this was the autumn of her life, the literal changing of the season doing nothing to improve her mood. What would Milly remember of her when she was no longer alive?

Charlotte: Popular, Yet Alone

Patrick slammed his bedroom door; Charlotte pulled her head back to avoid the hit, she asked if he wanted to play the monster, but his mood remained icy. Rylan told them to disown Eliza; if she was so inclined to avoid them, he believed they should give her the distance she desired, complete isolation. The middle child had taken this bad, worse, Charlotte let slip Eliza e-mailed her, and the two were engaging in a secret exchange. Charlotte embodied the popularity, thriving on being the centre of attention that Eliza’s disappearance brought. She smiled, a flair for language; conversations flickered across her tongue as she knew how to influence friends. Blue eyes possessed an innocence; a smile wrapped teachers into believing lies, and a growing intellect tormented her brother, confusing and tricking him into doing her chores. He grew insulated, avoiding her, their parents, preferring time playing video games or reading, confiding in no one, Eliza seemed to ignore him, and it hurt.

Charlotte enjoyed watching the moves adults used in chess, memorising predictable ticks, rotations, and clues to how she could take down the opponent. Sitting eyes fluttered, a churlish smile asking to learn; the game went as planned, her stories meant to distract and lend sympathy. A mean older brother, burying her teddy, a cricket sandwich he gave her when she was five and her favourite, the one they gathered for, a lost sister who may have found herself in the nether realm at Grim’s behest. She multitasked, her focus on the game, her opponent distracted as Charlotte planned the next three moves, with a “checkmate”, she thanked them for listening and teaching her; their confused expression her biggest reward.

What got her through the day was hoping Eliza e-mailed; her messages were short, sporadic, but Charlotte needed them. It was hard work living up to the demands of popularity; her face ached from smiling, the forced bounce that said “Yes, I am happy”, people who clung to her as though their lives depended upon invitations to parties aboard the pirate ship. She could see the pain in her mother’s eyes, and while Patrick was alone in his anger, at least she had the wannabe gang, despite her quiet, gloomy days, when she resented the “Social Butterflies” and the leadership she inherited.

Charlotte, a gardener and the defeated champion

Emilie chose to ignore her birthday; Rylan made a cake, provided cards, presents and with a brief visit from Ziva, Vicky and Milly; the day passed without genuine joy. Arguments were rare; Emilie tolerated Rylan’s behaviour, his distant parenting methods, the workaholic lifestyle he insisted on living. What she chose to confront him with was Eliza. He banned her from the house and communication with the family; he monitored their calls, Emilie cried, her voice cracked, pleading with him to stop the callousness; they argued, these were words needed for them both to share bottled emotions, to reassess the relationship and how they got here. It frightened Emilie; she wanted Rylan and Eliza to make things better, to heal their family; she called them both stubborn, yet neither backed down, claiming the other should apologise. Eliza, he suggested, should crawl home, beg forgiveness; Emilie sighed, he was the father; she continued to hope he would be the better man and realise both were in the wrong.

Eliza: Not so Rosy

Part Two

Rylan wanted to discuss inside; her stubbornness matched him as they continued staring, the cold, stale smell of the hall adding to the discomfort. Eliza broke the silence, reiterating she would be remaining in the city, finishing High School and in a place she felt was home. He seethed, words growled within him, they no longer scared Eliza, but Rylan needed to make himself heard. Abandoning her family for some naive notion, she was ready for the world. From his perspective, Rylan gave her every opportunity, a home, food, clothes, motivated her to demand the best of herself; she repaid this with reckless and irresponsible behaviour. She scoffed, cursing, home life was stressful, it suffocated her, a life devoid of the pleasures enjoyed by her peers. As her friends partied, Eliza would study, improvements forced, unable to find a path to unlock her potential, follow the dreams she imagined. What made Rylan target her above her siblings, Patrick and Charlotte? They were free, developing their character and abilities without Rylan losing his temper, their below average grades or if they ditched homework to hang with friends.

To Rylan, Eliza represented the world and he believed himself better because of her, proud to see her develop. Eliza influenced her siblings when they became toddlers. It was her encouragement that helped them rather than the natural ability she possessed. He wanted to stop her squandering this talent; he pushed her harder because he felt it necessary. The siblings were different; he confessed he refused to give them all the same level of care and encouragement, as Eliza showed such promise. Shaking her head, tears brewing, witnessing family life, Eliza knew he was distant with them all; the care and support he gave made her feel cold and empty. Where was the comfort when she fell from the pirate ship or achieved first place at sports day? Listening to him read was her favourite memory of their time together. For the rest of her time in the family, she recalled her mother and siblings but he was absent.

Eliza held him responsible, friends alienated, drifted leaving her in perpetual isolation. Home changed nothing, her needs ignored, watching him devote his time to writing at the expense of family. Emilie devoted herself to them; dividing her time had a price as one would feel neglected, and Eliza understood her siblings needed that attention. Rylan provided gifts as affection; seeing Eliza choose to live in squalor made him sick, as he failed to understand she would rather have the time listening to him read to her than all the money and creature comforts.

Anger grew; his face reflected the pain in his daughter’s words, accusations disproportionate to the truth. He loved her; the money was so they could have the best start and access to things his mother failed to provide. Rylan felt her rejection of all he was and what he offered. Eliza blamed him, said he lacked compassion, but he was here talking to her, listening, when he could take her, force her to come home with him. His daughter wanted to disown him; the mutual feeling he had at that moment made him hate himself. Those cruel words, each cutting deeper, their relationship, broken, Rylan unable to form sorry, the word caught in his throat, Eliza narrowed her eyes, screwing her face as tears stained her cheek, her father no longer welcome. She locked the apartment door, falling back on it; she let herself cry, sinking to the floor.

Eliza: Not so Rosy

Part One

Freedom had its price; learning to manage her finances, school work, and neighbours was a balancing act; despite planning her escape, Eliza came unprepared for life in the city. The noise seemed louder; for retired people, they knew how to party, her request to turn the music down, met with rude comments and how she needed to “get a life”. Collapsing on the lumpy sofa, Eliza considered the catch-up school work provided alongside her job; it was exhausting. Regardless of how tough it was, she would keep moving forward, each step an improvement.

Emilie voiced her opinion, articles discussed apartment living conditions, flea-bitten bedsits complete with dodgy electrics; Eliza admitted nothing. Aside from the luxury of the former tenants’ furniture, Eliza inherited rats, who she called Remy, Templeton and Roscuro as they evaded capture. The dripping water pipes and sparking fuse box were apartment quirks she learnt to live with; doing homework by candlelight strained her tired eyes. A steady paycheck meant she owned a second-hand computer, television and games console, perfect for unwinding with new school friends. Eliza relaxed as Emilie chose to respect her daughter’s wishes, although her mother refused to hold Rylan to that same choice as he messaged her furious, questioning where she could survive this world alone.

Their phone conversations were short; Eliza steered the subjects to Sparky and her siblings. Emilie saw the positive; Sparky had been her rock, the empty house had given her time to think, she panicked reading stories of missing children, overwhelmed with grief, she began regular jogs with Spark gave her a chance to relax and refresh. Dogs are therapeutic; brushing Sparky, fussing him helped Emilie deal with everyday life. No amount of puppy love would replace Eliza; the fear one day the police would call, that heart-wrenching news no mother should hear. She had to make Eliza understand, perhaps when she has a child, Emilie stops herself, concerned Eliza was pulling away, the sudden distance in her voice. Her daughter had pleaded for space; Emilie sighed; why did Eliza get to set the rules; when Emilie suffered for this selfish choice. Rylan blamed Emilie, his wife, soft on their children; when a firm hand, strong discipline, and a focus on achievements was all they required. He witnessed family life across the table, the comfort of his laptop, knowing Emilie had everything in hand; why should take the blame, when he should have been the guiding force. Since both Rylan and Eliza shared the same stubborn streak, Emilie hoped the daughter could show the strength of character, end this feud and may return home.

Taking a breath, Emilie believed she could impart some wisdom to her daughter, persuading her that a part of becoming a mature and independent woman was speaking to her father. Determined to prove herself, Eliza agrees, hoping her father will see she can cope with life outside her parent’s rules. Rylan maintains his stubborn approach insisting that he comes to the apartment; Eliza refused entry, locked the door and waiting for him in the hallway. They stood for a moment awkward as her neighbours observed passing to and from the lift; Eliza folded arms, defensive and Rylan glared an uncomfortable standoff.

Emilie: My Daughter

Ziva needed discretion; accepting the role meant a limit to sharing information; she held the phone, fingers poised. Eliza had disappeared for a reason; Ziva wondered if Eliza was ready? This call would force her from hiding, to confront the parents and why she choose to leave. If Ziva had declined the job, she could have avoided this dilemma, got on with life unknowing; instead, the file contained a grey photo, address and phone number for her missing niece. Her discovery was easy, CCTV access, the SIA (Secret Investigative Agency) followed Eliza from the train, tube and although lost her in the Spice District, they knew to look for cash rentals. A cautious answer greeted Ziva rather than relief; Eliza growled, wanting to stay lost, but she remained on the phone listening to Ziva, the aunt’s effort to encourage a meeting with her parents.

Emilie bit her lip; a coffee shop in Windenberg, an agreed neutral location, Eliza felt it would prevent her mother from following her home. Months had passed, hearing her daughters voice brought Emilie to tears; at least she was alive. Eliza refused to meet if Rylan came, her father had insisted, but Emilie made him wait in the car until she had a chance to convince Eliza things would be different when she came home. The tension was palpable; Eliza steadied her breathing, keeping a safe distance from her mother. She peered into the cafe, expecting Rylan; assurances he was home failed to convince, Eliza remained stuck, hoping the distance and public meeting place would stop Emilie making a scene. Relief at seeing Eliza, replaced with indecision, Emilie wanted to hug her, make her realise she was foolish and get that happy ever after. Reality had a different plan; Emilie needed to consider every word, uncertain how Eliza would react. This situation had a fragility to it that scared her.

Despite the meeting being her choice, her mother’s questions made Eliza feel smothered, frustrated by the interference in her life; Emilie wanted her to admit she made a terrible decision. Eliza craved freedom and independance, her father’s idea of what was in her best interests had been the main reason, and she had no regrets. Her mother refused to give in, implying Eliza was ignorant and childish, learning to talk to people came with barriers and negotiations, running had solved nothing. The pain in Emilie poured; Eliza held tears, determined she could go it alone.

Emilie knew where Eliza lived; she and Rylan could have forced her back home; this meeting, she hoped Eliza would learn compromise and an understanding of the hurt caused. A family of five, it was difficult and as the big sister, Patrick and Charlotte, looked to her for guidance. Eliza dropped her head, clenching her teeth together, feeling unheard. They were looking at her to fit a mold, a design in their minds, a perfect daughter to an ideal family, she had attempted to talk to them, help them see her viewpoint, but it seemed to grab their attention, Eliza needed to take radical action. Her mother stressed the importance of school; if she planned to remain in her apartment, Emilie wanted Eliza to attend San Myshuno High. An agreeable compromise, Eliza missed her studies.

As Ziva had tracked her down, Eliza wondered with her new freedoms; what surveillance would track her activities through the city?

Eliza: Breakfree

Eliza breathed the cold night air; essentials packed, money she withdrew through the months of planning hidden in various pockets. She walked quick, Sparky barking in the house; Eliza wished he would be quiet; the noise forced her to move quicker as she saw the bedroom light. The cinema was open, a late-night showing of “Tapped for Carnage”; she watched through the glass door as Rylan chased Sparky. It was a risk to leave her hiding place, but the train would be waiting, and the manager looked displeased at her lack of cinema ticket. Rylan had her life planned, what she would do, the ideal job; she guessed her choice of partner would meet strong disapproval and opposition. A romance was way down the list of her priorities, but Eliza realised she had much in common with her Aunt Ziva. Aside from their intellect, the detailed discussions they enjoyed, Eliza knew her future would be with a female companion.

The train was quiet, the last to leave for San Myshuno; the inspector eyed her with suspicion, wondering why someone this young would travel alone. Eliza gave her practised story; a sick relative needed her to visit first thing. It sounded convincing when she thought of it; the inspector stamped her ticket with a look that queried her honesty. She had to keep her head down; by this point, her parents must know she was missing; Eliza disappeared, taking the tube she hoped no one noticed her.

She required a cheap apartment that overlooked her lack of references and accepted payment in cash. In the Arts Quarter, her one-bedroom apartment, its threadbare carpet and peeling paint were unwelcoming, the lack of natural light held no favours either, but it was hers. Eliza cringed, the bathroom stank, the former tenant moved in a hurry, leaving the furniture and a gift several days old in the toilet. The landlord cared little for their property, informing Eliza she could keep the furnishings, and since it was a bargain price, he expected her to redecorate. That was tomorrow’s problem; closing the toilet lid, Eliza took a final look at her thick black hair, scissors in hand, it fell to the floor. Her transformation had to confuse those looking for her; she reached into her bag, reading instructions, her old life bleached from existence, and her new short platinum blonde look would launch her new life.

The weeks she had filled with school were spent in her apartment, reading or talking with her elderly neighbours. Maximus lived alone; he spoke, his military days, working in Strangerville when a ship crashed carrying a beautiful purple plant with delicious fruit. Eliza had to take his stories at face value; he would claim a scientific life, inventing a serum to turn people into temporary ghosts or making dolls real called a “metamorphium”. He watched television every day which inspired him to create a varied and wonderful life; Maximus sighed, his real-life was unexciting, the grumpy lady next door interrupted his fantasy to inform Eliza, he worked in retail selling televisions and how Eliza should stop indulging these fables.

Eliza had to generate an income, staying here used most of her savings. Work followed the same rules as her apartment, with no references and cash in hand. She worked weekends, manual labour, lugging railway sleepers and soil for a gardening company. Digging and weeding, caring for plants, Eliza took the initiative with her work, utilising her creativity, a talent notice when she decided to improvise a new centrepiece. The team dropped the fish intended as the focal piece to the garden, in a panic the team rang the florist hoping to secure another, but it took a week to make. Improvising, Eliza considered the remaining aspects, the oversupply of shrubs and flowers, in combination, she designed a Swan, winding white roses together for the long neck and adding the petite yellows, whose name she forgot, as the beck. Luckily, the lady, whose garden they were reimagining, exclaimed it was beautiful, preferring it to the fish she had requested; the team received a large bonus and Eliza a promotion.

Ziva: Corruption

A space ranger, Ziva believed she was doing a respectable and law-abiding role, the intergalactic police regulating rocket ships, aliens and trade. Ziva was proud, representing the rangers, preventing a parasitic species from escaping into her homeworld, capturing several cowboys trying to leapfrog their way to the outpost and its unregulated currency. What shocked her were the underhand dealings; some were harmless, a wrist slap, the promise to stay clear of trouble. It was the corruption Ziva discovered, it shocked, a fellow ranger, someone she trusted, was loading contraband; he winked at her, hoping she would be on board with the deception. Investigating and arresting rangers, omitted from the job description, instead, policing the rangers contracted to another independent unit. She had witnessed this same individual on two previous occasions; neither gave cause for concern as her partner assured her they were looking into the situation. Making a passing sweep, she counted boxes stacked in the cargo bay; this time, she would make the arrest herself. The spectacle which followed, rather than going with her quiet, subdued, the ranger made a scene, yelling at her. Mistakes were common, Ziva needed to show confidence in this decision; opening a box, unregulated alcohol, communication devices, stolen laptops, onlookers with phone in hand captured the moment as she wrestled him, handcuffed and led him to the holding cell.

The high profile arrest forced management to make changes, firing or paying-off those involved in the deception and the arrest. In this was the requirement for Ziva to resign, an offer of a hefty payout and ample pension to ensure she kept quiet. It seemed she disrupted the delicate power balance, the SpaceY leader liked to grease his palms with illegal trade without question. He had to appear to uphold the law, and protect the galactic community; Ziva had exposed major flaws in, so she took the offer relieved that his unblemished reputation was under scrutiny, although she knew he would receive a mere warning, it might deter future deceit.

Ziva worried, Emilie talked, their phone conversations flowed, with Rylan, a rare text since he hated the phone. It was coffee, the key to helping her brother open a dialogue, communicate his feelings. His nerves frayed, Eliza showed such promise; in his eyes, she was his redeeming feature, the one who would succeed where he had failed, at least from an academic stance. Emilie had turned her attention to keep routine with the younger two, but Rylan knew he was the reason, putting pressure on Eliza. Rylan’s initial comments were dismissive when Eliza expressed her annoyance in the presence of family; Rylan blamed hormones; he had a similar feeling at her age, and he expected rebellion instead, she ran. Her leaving put a strain on the family, his relationship with Patrick and Charlotte, who blamed him, and Emilie, who hid her pain and tears, pretending she was positive. The weight of holding the family together overflowed into an argument, resulting in Rylan sleeping alone with his guilt, wishing he could repair the damage by bringing her home.

The question of “what next?” rested in the silence; Vicky looked shocked, suggesting Ziva enjoyed her retirement. They were comfortable, it could be tight on Vicky’s small wage, but her paintings were selling. Vet bills was a strain on their resources; Patches ill health and the extension for Milly made a dent in Ziva’s savings. Ziva wondered if they could save enough for Milly to attend university or assist her in buying a house on the sole income. A withheld number brought the answer, praying for Eliza, Ziva answered, her hope faded, a cryptic voice invited her to join him. His suit, smart patent leather shoes an odd pairing amongst the sand, he fussed Asher who purred contented as Ziva approached.

The government was still sifting through the chaos brought by the arrest, it had made them pay closer attention to the rangers regulation and Ziva. Recruitment from the rangers was common, they wanted Ziva to take a position as lead detective in the Secret Service, her cover with Vicky would be simple, she was a liaison with the police department, her experience with computers and recent role would support this. Ziva had one request, could she make use of their resources to locate her missing niece, the man smiled, handing her a small file, they knew where she was, and in exchange for her discretion he was happy to share.

Ziva: Beautiful Baby, Overshadowed by Woe

It had been a difficult situation, workmen trampled through the house, scaring the cats, waking Milly and leaving muddy boot prints for Vicky to clean. Ziva reassured her the place would be beautiful and perfect, the ideal space to raise their daughter. The opportunity to stay with Emile, from this perspective, was a welcome change; she wished the circumstances were happier. Milly’s birthday passed uncelebrated as the family feared for Eliza’s whereabouts. Rylan dismissed the notion of its affect on Milly since she was a year old; Vicky and Ziva found little comfort, knowing they failed to do something extra special.

The bedroom in pastel hues completed with excellent timing, as another sleepless night next to a wriggling toddler took its toll. Milly exclaimed; her green eye grew large at the spaces her mothers created, toys, a bear chair and the view toward the rural aspect of Brindleton Bay. She crawled to the window, fingered the glass as she stood, pointing at birds. Libby pulled uncomfortable into her arms, the cats front paws ridged against the glass, as her back paws, reaching for the floor, danced as Milly swayed.

Their beautiful daughter smiled, her tongue licking her gums, waiting for her front teeth to come through. Her hair, thick ginger curls, kept short after a knotting incident saw her in tears for hours. It was those eyes that sucker-punched the people in her life; Milly could charm anyone with a look; disciplining her would be difficult. Ziva believed it unimaginable that Milly would ever be naughty, but it took a few minutes for her to get Vicky’s paints and dispense them; the cats watched from a safe distance unimpressed as Fiona rolled in the mess. The girl squealed delighted, followed by dramatic tears as Ziva dealt with the naughty behaviour and wrestling her into the bath.

Milly’s days were full of mini-adventures; her best friend was Libby, the cat had little choice in the matter, but her tolerance for hugs and imitation meant she remained the favourite. Her first meal is some fish and chips Ziva made. She had blocks to build, stairs to climb, places to hide and worry her mummies, and food; she loved eating. Whatever her mummies were having, Milly wanted some; from the moment they introduced her to solids, she wanted to try everything. Fish and Chips was her favourite; the crunchy batter gave way to soft silky cod or haddock if Ziva was home. When contrasted with the salty taste of the chips with their crispy shell and fluffy middle, it was magic. It held her attention, the fun, squeezing textures through fingers, tearing them apart, much of it landed on the floor or her clothes. Vicky grinned, wondering if Ziva had the same fascination when she was small; since no one could remember, she liked the idea, wanting Ziva to feel she had a familiar influence on who Milly would become.

Ziva worked late, missing bedtimes; she would sneak in to watch her daughter, hoping those dreams were peaceful. Milly preferred Vicky’s storytelling, and her closeness to her meant she pouted when Ziva attempted to read. Perched on the bear chair, Ziva listened to her wife make all the animal voices, bringing the story to life. The scene brought heartache, and yet, it swelled with love as she watched the two women, lucky she had everything. A phone call interrupted, Rylan sobbed, his words dripped with anger and frustration as another lead failed to conclude in Eliza’s discovery. She wanted a way to ease her brother’s suffering, her efforts to find Eliza through her computer network were useless since Eliza had remained offline. Ziva had been through their email correspondence, handed it to the police to see if she missed any vital clues, breadcrumbs for them to follow, but nothing transpired.

Sorrow came for Ziva; her long time friend Arian had died. The death appeared sudden, an unnecessary waste of life, he was a few years older, but the news shocked her as he died in his sleep; there were no warnings or signs. His wife requested the funeral be for family, and friends should mourn him another way. Ziva pushed her dumplings, the sauce dripped, pooling on the table, her father died young, a similar age to Arian; neither her brother nor herself had lived the healthiest of lives, what if she were to go, to die leaving Vicky and Milly. She stabbed the dumpling, staring as it broke, falling to the plate; Ziva had lost her appetite, the beautiful meal overshadowed by what had come to pass and what might be. Vicky held her hand, the joy which blessed them, Ziva found herself unable to reconcile with the grief that came; it made her guilty for being so happy.