New to NCIS fanfiction but definitely love the show. Hope you guys enjoy this. If I get a positive response, well... greater things might be in store. This is short and confusing, but if you are eager to understand, stick with it and review. :D happy reading.
Ziva watches the little boy tap a Ticonderoga number two pencil against the desktop, his curious green eyes darting up and down with the beat of the pencil drumming. Freckles dotted his porcelain face, across his nose and spreading to his cheeks, the trait only adding to his adorable, childish presence. He was patient for a child of merely four years old however. He'd been sitting in the chair too large for his barely four foot frame for almost thirty minutes without the slightest complaint. He kept himself occupied with scratch pieces of papers, pens, pencils, and sticky notes he'd posted all across his father's monitor.
Ziva snickers. The sticky notes are, yes, adorable, but she knew when he showed up, another thought would enter his mind.
She wasn't particularly bad with kids; actually, she had a special connection with children. But she couldn't build the courage to talk to the child. He was so full of life, with a little smirk plastered across his face, yet he kept to himself. Well-behaved, good-natured… Ziva was beginning to doubt his DNA was a match to his father's.
She didn't even know his name. Hell, she didn't know much about him. Only of who his father was… and even that seemed to be fabricated, or greatly far-fetched.
Ziva sits up straight in her chair, elbows pressed against her desktop. She fiddles with a seriously chewed up blue felt tip pen and smiles, a warm and welcoming smile.
"Um… hello. I'm Ziva."
The little boy glances in her direction, his expression changing from hypnotized to interested.
"I… I'm Thomas. But Mama calls me Tommy. You can call me Tommy too."
His voice is quiet and reserved, his eyes the only real communication between him and Ziva. She smiles at his answer. She's been welcomed whole-heartedly.
"Okay… Tommy. That is a very cute name, Tommy," she adds.
Tommy puts the number two pencil down gently. "Ziva doesn't sound like a real name."
Ziva chuckles, shaking her head. Honesty. This child is definitely not related to his 'father'.
"Yes, well it is a Hebrew name," Ziva explains. "It means brilliance and brightness."
Tommy seems satisfied with the answer. He furrows his brows. "What is Hebrew?"
Ziva smiles at his curiosity. Curiosity. That's definitely one thing his father doesn't lack, but one thing he could definitely do without.
"Hebrew is the language spoken by my people. Others speak Hebrew, but it is mainly a Jewish language."
Tommy stares at her, his emerald green eyes sparkling with desire for more information.
"What is Jewish?" he asks, leaning forward.
Ziva smiles. She is beginning to like this kid. His personality is definitely from his mother. She would have loved to meet her.
"Jewish is a religion. It is something people believe in. That is why I wear this."
She lifts her necklace and holds the Star of David in her palm, reaching her hand out to show Tommy just exactly what she means. He leans forward; his blonde locks falling into his eyes. He pushes his hair back aggressively and stares at her pendant.
"It's pretty… I have one too." Tommy pulls something from his pocket and hands it to Ziva.
A cross.
She smiles and opens her mouth to speak, but is interrupted by the sound of footsteps approaching. She bites her lip and Tommy runs back to the oversized chair.
Tony approaches. His tie is undone, hair askew; stubble dots his chin and above his lips, adding to the intensity of his rushed morning and rushing afternoon. His eyes are bloodshot, the usually playful light greens a darker, more brooding shade. The harsh light irritates him, but he manages and takes two large strides toward his desk.
Tommy glances at him, a smile tugging at his lips. Ziva watches eagerly.
"Thomas, I need you to go with Abby, okay? She'll take good care of you while I work."
Tommy's lips turn downward. "But I want to stay with you."
Tony sighs and runs a hand through his hair, tugging on his locks harder than necessary.
"At the moment, that can't happen. Sorry, sport," he apologizes.
Tommy sighs and wiggles out of the chair, walking toward the elevator doors leading to Abby's laboratory. He walks to Ziva and hands her his cross.
"Mama says giving friends things that mean a lot to you means that you want to be friends forever. So I want you to have this…" he smiles.
Ziva stares at him. She lifts his hand and kisses it gently. "Thank you, Tommy. I will take very good care of this."
Tommy giggles and runs to the elevators, blushing dramatically.
Tony pecks at his computer, his fingers slamming the keys with such force, the desktop vibrates and shakes. Ziva glares hard at him. He doesn't look up, but only focuses his eyes harder on the monitor. Ziva clears her throat, placing the Tommy's cross in her desk drawer beside her gun.
Tony doesn't look up. "Is there something you wanna say or are you gonna keep me guessing?"
Ziva raises a brow and smirks, playfully. "Who says I'm keeping you guessing, Tony?"
"Wipe that stupid smirk off your face. This isn't a time for hazing, so you can just continue making nice with my son and leave the taunting for when you're hanging out with McGee later."
"Excuse me?" Ziva blinks, taken back. "I am not hazing you in any way."
Tony stands up. "Yes, I have a son and yes, I'm not prepared. I know this amuses you and everyone else in this goddamn building, but you don't need to make it so fucking obvious. He is my responsibility. I don't need help from you, I don't need help from Abby, McGee, Ducky or even Gibbs. This is my problem."
Ziva stands up, fists clenched in anger. "Your son is not a problem, Tony! Your son is your son! And no one here is enjoying seeing you struggle, Tony. We barely even know your situation."
Tony backs up to the elevators, brows furrowed. A single vein in his jugular throbs uncontrollably.
"I'm not ready to be a father."
He walks in the elevator and closes the doors.