"Mommy. Mommy."
The tearful, terrified voice of a kindergartener jarred Ziva from her sleep. She immediately rolled over, out of the crook of Tony's arm, and peered over the edge of the bed. Azalea was squatting on the floor, face red, clutching a stuffed rabbit to her chest; it looked like a vertical version of the fetal position. Ziva lowered one hand to stroke her daughter's hair. "What's wrong, baby?"
"I had a bad dream," she sniffled. "There was, um, there was a monster, like the one in the movie. He chased me and I, I couldn't find you. It was scary."
I told him not to let her watch that movie, Ziva thought grumpily. Out loud, she sighed and reached both arms downward. "Daddy and I are right here, Aza. Everything's okay."
Azalea was still crying a little and remained drawn in against herself. Ziva hoisted her up and set her down in the middle of the bed. Tony grunted as the mattress beside him dipped.
"You can sleep with us tonight," Ziva murmured, rubbing her back. The little girl's muscles slowly began to relax, and she snuggled close to her mother.
From the other side of Azalea, Tony opened his eyes halfway. "H'Aza," he slurred, scooting closer to wrap an arm around her, and quickly fell back asleep. His wife stared at him, anticipating the conversation they would have in the morning about what kinds of movies were and were not appropriate for six year olds. For now, she kissed Azalea's forehead.
"Love you, Mommy."
Ziva smiled. She never got tired of hearing that little voice saying those big words. "I love you too, Azalea. Sleep well."