Ziva bonding with her teenage daughter. I don't know where this came from.
I guess this could be a belated Mother's Day fic, it certainly fits, in a roundabout sort of way.
"Mom." Ziva knew that tone of voice, the uncertainty behind her daughter's words, not unlike her own voice when she had something important to talk about but didn't know how to begin the conversation.
Ziva turned to see Marina, her sixteen-year-old daughter, leaning casually against the doorframe of the master bedroom, her arms crossed lightly around her stomach. She waited silently for her mother to invite her in, and Ziva patted the bed beside her, indicating that she should come in and sit down.
"What's wrong, honey?" Marina sucked in a breath at her mother's words. How did she always know that something was wrong? Her father had always said something about her mother having some sort of sixth sense, and although she'd been skeptical, she had to admit that her mother's intuition was off the charts sometimes. She sat down on the bed next to her mother, settling her hands on her lap and biting her lip in hesitation.
"I don't know how to say this," she began, looking down at her hands as she picked at her cuticles absentmindedly. She lifted her head up and looked directly into her mother's eyes. "But promise me you won't tell dad."
It was evening, and Tony still hadn't come home from work. After having left NCIS and getting what he considered to be "normal" employment, Tony often got stuck in the evening rush hour and didn't make it back to their house until after six. It was still an improvement from all-nighters and out-of-towners, he often joked, and Ziva couldn't help but agree.
Ziva reached over and brushed Marina's hair away from her face, giving her a light smile as she encouraged her to speak. "Tell your father what?"
She bit her lip as she drew in a deep breath, exhaling the words so quickly that Ziva almost hadn't caught them. "I'm pregnant."
"Oh, honey," Ziva said quietly, drawing her daughter into a hug, wiping away the tear that had already begun to make its way down her face.
"You're not mad?"
Ziva drew in a breath. "I do not think mad is the word I would use. Would you like to tell me what happened?"
"You want me to tell you about … it?" Marina's eyes widened in shock, and Ziva couldn't suppress the chuckle she felt bubbling up inside her.
"No, I don't need to hear about that. You were using protection, yes?"
"Of course we were, but you know condoms–"
"Are only 88% percent effective. Yes, your father used to say that all the time." They both laughed, despite the heaviness of the conversation, though Ziva could sense her daughter's nerves even beneath the laughter. She brushed another strand of hair away from her face, her gaze fixed on her daughter's. "So what do you want to do?"
Marina sobered up almost immediately, her expression turning again to worry, and Ziva wished she could take all of it away. "You don't want me to just … get rid of it?"
"It would not be right for me to make that decision, tateleh. It is your choice entirely. I am going to be on your side no matter what decision you make. But if you choose to keep it – and I am not going to tell you that you cannot – then you will remain in school and finish college, no matter how difficult things get. Do you understand?"
Marina couldn't speak for a moment, her surprise written all over her face. "You mean that?"
"Of course I do. But no matter what you decide to do, it will be up to you to tell your father. I do not wish to have any secrets between us."
"Oh," came the reply, followed by a nervous gulp. "Why are you being so cool about this?"
"Because I have been exactly where you are," her mother replied quietly, the memories of a lifetime ago coming back; the way her own parents had reacted. Ziva recalled the way her father's slaps had stung her face, and she instinctively reached to touch her cheek, as though the pain were fresh upon her skin.
"Mom?"
"I was younger than you are now. I was always careful, but I found myself pregnant by my boyfriend. My parents were not understanding. My mother did not speak to me for nearly a month, and my father, he shouted at me so loudly that I still recall the way I recoiled from the sound of it. I'll never forget the things he said, things I refuse to repeat. He slapped my face, then he grabbed me by the wrist and tossed me down to the floor.
"I'd always known he had a temper, after all, I had watched him argue with my mother for so many years, but up until that day, he had never directed his anger at me. I could not look at him the same way after that, and no matter what I did, I would never look the same in his eyes, either."
The words Eli shouted still rang in her ears. "You are the reason this family has fallen apart, do you hear me? You are the reason your mother has left. You are a disgrace!"
"What happened? Did you–"
Ziva's lips pursed together as she swallowed her anger at her father. "No. I am not sure if you know this, but abortions have to be approved in Israel. He subjected me to this … well, I suppose it was like a trial, where I had no say in the matter. I wasn't sure then if I wanted to keep it, but I was never given the choice."
"He made you have an abortion?"
Ziva nodded, drawing Marina in for another hug, tucking her daughter's head under her chin. "He did." They sat together for a few minutes, Ziva lightly stroking her daughter's unruly curls and Marina listening to her mother's breathing. There was something comforting about her mother's embrace that she would never, ever tire of.
"Do you regret it?"
"How can I regret a choice I did not make?" She tried so hard not to sound bitter, but she couldn't help the way her voice sounded clipped as she spoke, the way that her anger toward her father surfaced even after all this time. Of all Eli's sins – and there were many – perhaps this was one of the greatest he'd committed.
Taking a deep breath, Ziva drew back and looked her daughter in the eye. "There is a part of me that wonders, and I think that always will. But there is a part of me who has had … all of these experiences that led me right here. How can I regret that? I have your father. I have your brothers. And I have you."
Marina blushed and ducked her head. "Mom," she groaned, rolling her eyes.
Ziva reached over and brushed her daughter's hair away from her face again, and Marina looked up and into her eyes. "Take a few days to figure out what you want to do, okay? There is no hurry. Whatever you decide, I will support you."
"Thanks, mom."
"But remember, you're on your own when it comes to talking to your father."
"He's gonna kill me, isn't he?" Ziva could sense the dread in her daughter's tone.
Ziva stood up, pulling Marina with her and into a tight hug, running her fingers through her daughter's hair. "I promise you, Mina, you will not have the same experiences as I did." She blushed at her mother's nickname for her, one that she'd unwittingly given herself as a child since she'd been unable to properly pronounce her own name. "Your father will not react the way Eli did."
She drew back, holding onto her mother's hand and looking her in the eyes. "Does he know?" Ziva closed her eyes, nodding silently. She remembered that conversation, right after they'd found out they would have a girl. She'd made a promise that her own daughters would not live out the same experiences as she'd had, and Tony had agreed. They would not be the demanding parent that Eli had been, nor the absentee parent that Senior had been.
"I am sure that he will be shocked, honey. You are still his little girl, after all. But he will support you, just as I do. Just give him time, okay?" This time, Marina was the one who nodded, a small smile playing at the corner of her lips.
"I'm so lucky to have you and dad." Ziva gave her hand a light squeeze, pulling her toward the doorway.
"We're all lucky, sweetheart." They walked toward the stairs, pausing for a moment at the landing. "Now come on, let's get dinner started. Whatever you want to do, I'm going to make sure you're eating well." Ziva started down the stairs, already intent on cooking something delicious and comforting.
Marina rolled her eyes, following her mother down the stairs. "Okay, mom."
As Ziva strode into the kitchen and began to pull out the supplies she'd need for dinner, she couldn't help but reflect on the conversation she'd just had with her daughter. Maybe some would say that she failed as a mother, letting her daughter get pregnant at sixteen. Letting her, she thought to herself, as though she'd not told her a thousand times to wait. But looking at her daughter, calm and collected, the only remnant of her tears a slight redness at the corner of her eyes, Ziva couldn't bring herself to believe that she'd failed. She'd given her daughter the only thing she'd wanted all those years ago – support. This would not tear her family apart.
Nothing would tear her family apart. She and Tony had made that vow on their wedding day, and Ziva intended to keep it until her dying breath. "What do you think, should we have your favorite?"
"You're making chicken parmesan? I love you." Marina stood up and walked to the fridge, helping her mother gather the ingredients to make her favorite meal.
"This is what gets you to say you love me? Not the supportive mothering I just did, but my cooking? You're so much like your father sometimes." She was rolling her eyes, but her smile gave her away.
"That's why you love me," Marina said, flashing a grin Ziva so like Tony's that she swore sometimes that Marina had taken it right off of her father's face.
Ziva shook her head with a smile. "Among other things. Now hand me that chicken so I can get this started." She handed the chicken over, and then threw her hands around her mother, wrapping her in a tight hug, one leaving Ziva standing open-armed with chicken in one hand and a saucepan in the other.
"I mean it, mom, thank you." Ziva's heart swelled as she managed to put the pan down and wrap her now free hand around her daughter, giving her a slight squeeze.
"You're welcome, honey. And I love you," she murmured against her daughter's forehead, giving her a kiss there.
"Love you too, mom."
"Now get out of here before I put you to work," Ziva said, stepping away and looking through a drawer for a suitable knife. Behind her, Marina seemed to dash out of the kitchen so quickly she might have taken lessons from the Flash.
"So much like her father," she smirked to herself, and set about cooking her family's dinner with a grin of her own.
Sorry for the attack of feels and fluff and I don't even know where this came from. I just had the idea and suddenly I was writing it. My feels, sometimes they have minds of their own. Please let me know what you think - this is kind of a departure for me.