A/N: This idea might be a bit used but I hope you enjoy nonetheless. If I'm lucky it'll be just as good as the famous "My Girl" (if you haven't read it then you really must, it's definitely something.) of NCIS. Anyway, I don't own NCIS, though I do own the season 3 DVD and the computer used to write this.

Angry rain pounded down on the roof of the NCIS squad room, sliding down the windows and onto the various employee's cars. Inside, her chair tilted backwards, a lone women sat, staring upwards at the soft pitter-patter of soothing rain. She wasn't planning on leaving that night. It was hard to go anywhere when she was, technically, homeless, and had no car after her recent recovery from the damage Salim had done. Not to her surprise, her co-workers, superiors and friends offered her places to stay, but she declined. This was probably more of a home to her than anything had ever been.

Vibrant orange walls. Four matching, shining desks. Four matching, dull grey chairs. Stacks of paperwork. Her team - no, her family. She'd missed it all. Being left by yourself, strapped to a chair and being tortured for information, gave one much time to think. Especially if her last moments with her co-workers had not been positive. Gibbs kissed me like he does Abby. He told me to take care, she reminded herself of the slightly more positive gesture first, I put a gun to Tony's chest. I didn't even say good bye to McGee…

Now was not the time to think of such things. She was supposed to be repairing broken bridges, severed ties… but no matter how she thought about things, it was hard to get over Tony's harsh actions. Now she knew why he had killed her love. But if you drop glass, you can repair it, but there'll always be that crack. If you drop it again, it may never be repairable...

Ziva smiled to herself and leaned forward in her swivel chair. If she wanted to get some sleep and be ready for the next day, punctual as usual at zero four hundred. Her gaze swept everything once more before she got up. Tony's desk. Gibbs's desk. McGee's desk. Child. Child?! She refocused, hoping it was an illusion, but standing in the middle of the bullpen, hands on his hips and green eyes staring, was a child. From his looks, he was about two.

Her heart skipped a beat. She knew those brilliant, intelligent green eyes. The familiar, messy brown hair. Without a second thought, her hand reached for her phone. "Gibbs!" she cried in a strangled voice. "Answer, damnit… Yes! Gibbs! We have a problem."

"Well, Ziva? You call me at twenty-three thirty to be quiet?" his voice at the other end of the line. She nodded to herself.

"How do I start this? Gibbs, I've been staring at the ceiling. I know you wanted me to stay with someone but-"

"Ziva!"

"Right, sorry. I decided to stay here because it's more of a home than anywhere. I was just going to sleep behind my desk - maybe take Tony's jacket that's still hanging on his chair as a blanket - but as I went over everything, something wasn't right."

"Well?" Gibbs prompted as the little boy turned to look at Ziva. Wonder lit up his eyes and he ran to the Israeli woman, wrapping his arms around her legs. I'm a total stranger! she realized, that's not mine. How does he know me?!

"There's a kid here. Green eyes, light skin, brown hair. Looks about two. He's hugging my legs. I don't know who he is, but I know who he looks like."

The meaning of her words dawned on Gibbs and his eyes widened. "Damnit! I told DiNozzo he'll get into trouble one of these days. I'll call him, you handle the kid."

Ziva looked ready to protest, or cry, but the phone was dead before she could say a word. She smiled down at the little child still desperately clinging to her - not a genuine smile, but close enough. He seemed to gobble it up, his face stretching into a wider grin. Just like Tony.

"Hello, kid," she tried to make her voice gentle and kind. You called him Kid. What are you thinking? Sounds like he's a goat.

"He-wo," he replied, his head cocked to one side and eyes gazing at her with wonder. "Up!"

"Oh… okay." It didn't take much effort to pick up the tiny toddler and hold him to her hip. She raised a hand to tickle his face, glad he was too young to sense her uncertainty. "What's your name?"

The unidentified child put a hand in her hair and began to play with it, giggling madly, before answering. "David Anthony King!"

His name's David Anthony, her eyes were wider than his. Anthony.. Definitely someone wanted a Tony. David. That's crazy! Tony can't know about this kid, there's no way he'd name his son after me. It's not pronounced the name anyway. Day-vid. Da-veed.

"Where's Daddy?" David demanded, kicking her with one of his dangling feet. "Don't see. See you. You not Daddy!"

"No, I'm not your daddy!" Ziva laughed, almost offended by his words. "Who's your Daddy, Tony? Sorry-- David."

"Tony!" the boy squealed in delight, "You know?"

She hesitantly picked up a picture that was poised at the edge of her desk. It showed her smiling, her partner beside her, and the rest of the "family" around them. "Him?" she asked, a delicate finger pointing to David's obvious father. When the boy nodded, she went on, "Where's Mommy?"

"Mommy!" She instantly regretted asking the tiny child. "Don't know. Auntie said angels." He pointed overdramatically to his heart. "Mommy's here. Auntie can't keep me. Say I live with Daddy."

Yeah, but does "Daddy" know? Ziva turned around at the elevator's beep. A very angry-looking Gibbs smacked Tony on the back of the head and led him into the main room. Their faces were the exact opposite at first sight of the young boy, positioned so naturally in her arms. Her partner's face screwed up in instant panic. He looked ready to scream and cry. Gibbs looked calm and serene.

"Hey!" Gibbs poked the little boy in the stomach, pushing his senior field agent forward. "What's your name?"

"David Anthony King!" he announced again, sounding impatient. His eyes then grew rounded (if possible) and he reached for Tony. "Daddy? Daddy! Let go!"

Ziva quickly handed the boy to Tony, smiling with relief. She'd gotten tired of the angry kicks, glares and demands a long time ago. Whomever this boy belonged to, he was definitely a handful. Then again, she'd met him just in time for the dreaded "terrible twos."

"Hello," Tony said awkwardly, "Hello, David. I'm Tony…"

"I know!" David squealed, burying his face into his father's arms. His voice was muffled by the suit. "Mommy sent me."

"Mommy?" the panic on Tony's face became ever more evident. "Who's Mommy?"

"J is for jam!" he exclaimed, trying hard to pronounce the women's name right. "J-een Beny-oit."

"Jeanne Benoite."

"J-een Beny-oit."

"Why's your name King, then?"

"Step-Daddy's King."

"Why're you here, David?"

"J-een Beny-oit's angel. Step-Daddy's angel too. Auntie can't keep me." David sounded sad, his face drooped and eyes were heartbreaking, as if someone had kicked his dog.

"You've sure got into a mess now!" Gibbs smacked Tony on the back of the head again, glowering angrily.

"Oh yeah," he whispered, "Oh… oh shit."