Dear Father, it is father's day here Aba so I thought I should email you. It is cold today, which still amuses me. I wonder what it is like in Israel today. I hope it is warm, I know how you hate the cold. I know we have not spoken in a while. This was of course, my fault entirely. I have been busy, with my family, the team. I never told you when you were here, something I regret Aba, I had just had another baby when you came to see me. My daughter, Alaigha, is now three weeks old. I should have told you. I am sorry I did not. I went on a mission, to England. I nearly died father, seven shots to the abdomen, a broken femur, a cracked shin, grade three concussion; I was unconscious for two weeks. You would have shouted, called me unprofessional and would have been well in your rights to. I came home though, to my family, my husband, my children. I think I understand better now father, why you found it so hard to talk to us before and after you went away. You had to prepare yourself before in order to be able to not see us, contact us, for sometimes months on end. And after, you had to spend time pushing the flashbacks away, the nightmares, the pain. I get it now father. I understand. I guess I just wanted you to know. I really should get back to my children; they are helping their father in the kitchen make dinner: a tradition in our home. Alaigha is smiling Papa, she looks so beautiful. I hope you would be proud of them. I suppose some part of me still hopes you are proud of me. I hope I made you proud, at least once. My greatest wish was to please you father. I hope I succeeded more than once but I would settle for one. Right, I really must go, there was a crash which means that Tony will have dropped the bowl, no doubt covering himself, Oscar and the entire kitchen in flour, not to mention the baby. I love you Aba. I will speak to you soon. Your Ziva.
Ziva sent the email and turned around in her chair to find Tony stood in the door way. She smiled sadly as the computer beeped, telling her that her email had been sent to a nonexistent address and had been returned to her.
"I managed to keep it off my self and the kids this year, but the kitchen is pretty well covered." He joked half heartedly. "I've left Oscar with a damp cloth, he wanted to help. So I thought I'd come see what you were up to. If I had of known Zi, I'd have left you to it." She shook her head.
"There is no need to apologise Tony, I had just finished. I know he will never read them. That they do not even go anywhere but…I guess it…helps." Tony nodded.
"I get it. It's like when I talk to my mom, or Kate." Ziva smiled sadly and wiped her suspiciously wet eyes. "I'll leave you to finish up." She called out his name just as he turned to leave. "Yeah?" He turned to face her just in time to see the first, and only, tear fall.
"Could you just…maybe hold me? Just for a little while?" He enveloped her in his arms and held her close.
"Always Baby, always." He held her tightly as she gripped the back of his shirt. He knew she emailed her father every now and again. She'd done it shortly after Oscar was born; he'd seen it saved in her 'Drafts' folder. She'd never sent them, not until he died. Something in her told her that she shouldn't be divulging her deepest secrets, her innermost fears, to the one man who could use them to destroy her, so she never let them get to him. But to be able to pretend for ten minutes that her father cared enough to listen, to care, was the greatest comfort for her. Tony never said a word, never would. He could sense when she needed it and would distract the kids so she could write in peace. This was the first time since he had passed. He knew the comfort of talking to the ones he had lost. If it helped her find solace and to get through everything, he would support her. He always did.