Tony stood in the center of the living room with his hands in his pockets, mesmerized by the sight in front of him. On the couch sat Ziva and in her arms was Azalea, the baby sucking desperately from her bottle as her mother held it and murmured soothing, unintelligible words.
It just didn't make sense to him. Azalea was three days old and had been home from the hospital for all of five hours, and yet Ziva knew exactly what to do with her. The new mother was always able to get her to stop crying, and her arms always curled around Azalea so naturally, as if she'd been doing this for years. She talked to the baby as if there was an actual conversation taking place. And for the life of him, he couldn't figure out how. They had both gone to the classes and read the books. The pregnancy had not been one-sided; Tony had participated in everything but the morning sickness.
Maybe it was just maternal instinct.
But wasn't there supposed to be a paternal instinct, too?
Azalea detached her mouth from the bottle; Ziva set it aside and transferred the baby to her shoulder, patting her back lightly. She smiled at Tony. "She was hungry."
"I saw," he said as Azalea burped.
Ziva gestured at the empty spot beside her on the couch. "Why don't you come hold her?"
"Nah. She cries every time I do that," he said, trying to keep his tone light.
Some trace of bitterness must have entered his voice, though, because Ziva stood up and held Azalea out to him. He opened his mouth to protest, but the look she gave him made it clear that this was not a discussion. Carefully, he slipped an arm under her neck and held her legs with the other, drawing her near to his chest.
Once he was certain that he was holding her correctly, he looked up and saw that Ziva was on her way out of the room. "Wait, where are you going?"
She laughed a little at his panic. "Just to the bathroom, Tony. I will be right back."
Left alone, Tony gazed into his daughter's face. Her eyelids were drooping; her meal had made her sleepy. One little fist peeked out from under the top of the blanket she was swaddled in. She was beautiful and fragile and perfect.
"I love you so much," he whispered, his voice hoarse, pressing a kiss to her tiny button nose. "I want to be a good daddy."
Azalea opened her eyes fully. Her big brown orbs were twinkling as she extended her hand, looking for something to grab onto; he offered his finger.
She curled her tiny hand around it, held fast to it, watched it in wonder.
What she didn't do was cry, and when he realized that, he broke into a wide grin. "Hey, you don't think I'm so bad, do you?" With new confidence, he began to rock her back and forth, and he could have sworn the corners of her eyes crinkled.
Maybe he could get the hang of this parenting thing, after all.
If you're new to this series, hi! And if not, welcome back! I'll be posting a drabble every day until the whole series is up. : )