Tony doesn't get to keep his women.
It's a lesson he learned hard, learned fast when he was thirteen. His mom might have dressed him in sailor
suits and draped his world in Louis the Fourteenth, but she was also his moon and stars. When she was
shot...well, in the few moments of self-reflection he's allowed himself in his life, he knows that becoming a
cop isn't the only way her death influenced his path.
Flitting from woman to woman might not be the best solution, but it seemed to work just fine. Up until Kate.
He never even touched her, not that way. Maybe that was the problem; she was too pure. Unsullied, like his
mom. So the world had to come up with a way to correct that spot of brightness in Tony DiNozzo's world.
That's one of the reasons he likes Ziva. The world wouldn't dare touch her. She'd kick it in the balls, slit
its throat, then turn around during its death throes and laugh at the egg on Tony's face.
(He tries to pretend that Abby isn't really a girl. Oh, it's definitely hard sometimes, with all of her pretty
girl parts and pretty girl smiles, but the way she geeks out like McGee and crows about naughty things like a
frat brother helps maintain his little fantasy. He hopes it's enough to keep her safe.)
Paula...Paula confused him. She wasn't pure, not like Kate, but she wasn't just a fling, either. They never
could click right. Tony has his issues, and she had hers, and never the twain did meet. But he thinks, if
they were better people, they could have been in love.
He thinks she would have liked to know that. He probably should have made sure she did know.
Jeanne. He has no words for the way he feels about Jeanne, except he knows that whatever is between
them is doomed. The world doesn't love Tony DiNozzo's women, no matter what he tries. And he thinks about
Paula, and Kate, and his mom, and he knows that sometimes words are the only thing left.
"I love you, Jeanne," he tells her, and for now, he gets to keep her.