"Petty Officer Small's kid," Gibbs says suddenly.
Tony looks up from his computer. He recognizes the name of the man killed by his wife in a case the team solved last month, but isn't sure why the couple's only child is being mentioned now. "What about him?" "He's downstairs. Richie took him to Small's mother during the investigation, but now she's brought him in. Says she can't afford him. I need you to watch him until the social worker gets here."
"Why me?"
"You're good with kids."
"So are you."
"Yeah, but I don't wanna do it."
The power to delegate is one of the advantages of being the boss, so Tony can't really fight this. He takes the elevator down to the lobby and finds a security guard waiting for him. A boy of about two with brown eyes and blonde hair sticking up in all different directions sits on the guard's hip. As he nears them, Tony tries to remember the boy's name. He's only heard it in passing from Richie. Was it Austin? Dallas? Dakota? It's some place; he knows that much.
"Hey, DiNozzo," the guard says. "Here for Houston?"
Oh, yeah. "Sure am," he says, and leans down to the kid's level. "Can I call you Texas?"
Houston's eyebrows scrunch together. "No."
"Ah, fine. Alright." With a nod to the guard, Tony takes Houston, and then he starts in the direction of the break room. "Let's see what we've got for you in here, man," he says absently. As they walk through the corridor, Houston's fingers curl around Tony's bicep, and he finds himself watching the toddler, a sinking feeling in his stomach.
Cases involving children bother him more than they did before he became a father, for obvious reasons. It amazes him, now, how lucky Angelina is: she had a broken home at one point, but there was still somebody who met her needs, loved her, provided her with stability. And Houston… this kid is going to end up in foster care.
Just like she might have, he realizes suddenly, if he and Ziva had handed her to Melinda Anderson.
This jarring thought makes him desperately want to see his daughter, but the only child around at the moment is the one in his arms. Tony briefly tries to smooth down Houston's cowlicks, but every time he removes his hand, the tufts of hair spring back up.
"Where Grammy?" Houston asks.
He purses his lips, puts on a cheery voice. "She asked me to hang out with you for a while."
They reach the break room. Tony gets a package of mini Oreos from the vending machine, then sits Houston down in a chair. Slumping into another one, Tony takes out his phone and sends Ziva a text message, asking her to come meet them on her lunch break.
Half an hour later, Houston has only eaten a few Oreos. The rest are all over the table. Tony has been letting him do what he wants; the kid is having fun and entertaining himself, after all. It's making the babysitting a whole lot easier.
Then Ziva walks in and gasps. "What happened in here?"
Houston giggles mischievously and makes a kaboom sound as the two cookies in his hands collide.
"We're playing with our food," Tony says nonchalantly, running a hand lightly over her hip as she passes by. It's been three months since she started going to therapy. Not a lot of leeway has been made on the baby front. He does think that it's helping her accept this reservation of hers, though he sometimes catches her staring out the window or looking wistfully at Angelina. These depressed moods come over him, too. He desperately hopes that time really does heal all wounds.
"Clearly," Ziva sighs. She immediately begins to gather the Oreos into a pile, and then she pushes them all over to Houston. "Why don't you eat these?" she asks him, smiling. "They are very good."
With a somewhat hesitant look at her, he picks up one of the cookies and dutifully drops it in his mouth. Chews. Swallows. Reaches for another one.
"The calming powers of the ninja," Tony quips, earning himself a smirk. A relative peace has fallen over the room. He's grateful for it. Lightly, he taps her leg with his foot, and she returns the gesture. The sun bounds through the window and glints off of her wedding ring. "So, Mrs. DiNozzo. How's your day?"
"Fine. I have mostly been arguing with a French government official," she says, making a face. Tony pictures her yelling into the phone while her colleagues look on. Inevitably, she will win whatever fight she's engaged in.
Ziva's eyes land on Houston, who is still happily munching away. "What is the story here?" she asks quietly.
He turns his entire body toward her, away from Houston, and mutters, "Mom killed Dad. Grandma can't or won't keep him, not sure which. Waiting for child services."
Something in her face changes. She starts at Houston, appearing stricken. Tony touches her elbow. "What's wrong?"
"All done!" the toddler declares. Tony glances from his wife to Houston and back again. He starts to press Ziva further, but now she is sliding her personal phone across the table. Houston puts his dirty fingers on the touch screen, experimenting. Ziva watches. And Tony remains silent.
0000000000
A couple hours after Ziva returns to work, a social worker arrives. Tony has recovered a bouncy ball from Abby's lab (without asking why the hell she has one), and he and Houston have been tossing it around for a long while. Tony says goodbye as he pockets the ball. Houston begins to wail. For some reason- maybe because he knows that the kid's life isn't going to get any easier from here on out- Tony is filled with guilt. He eventually has to avert his eyes and walk away. Houston's cries follow him down the hall.
That night, after Angelina is in bed, Ziva approaches him, wearing a funny expression. Bashful, maybe. Tony turns off the TV and pats the spot beside him on the couch. "What's up?" he asks, squeezing her knee.
"I have been thinking," she sighs, "about that little boy."
He looks at her, surprised. "Houston?"
"Yes." Ziva slumps against the cushion behind her. "His mother… abandoned him. And so did his grandmother. Just like I did with Angelina."
His eyebrows shoot straight up. "Ziva. His mom is a murderer. It's not the same at all."
"He is without a family, and it is because of her. Angelina was more fortunate; she had you and McGee and the others. But whatever differences there are, the fact remains that me and that woman both betrayed our children."
Tony exhales loudly. "Look, I get your point, but… Small's wife was having an affair. She killed him because she wanted to run off with the mystery man. She was selfish. You had reasons for what you did. Legitimate reasons."
"I want to help him, Tony."
He's caught off-guard. "How?"
She laces her fingers through his, presses her small, soft palm against his large, callused one. "I regret not being able to give you another child. You know that."
"Yeah, and I understand why-"
Ziva interrupts, leaning forward urgently. "My therapist has brought adoption up to me before, thinking it might be a viable option because I wouldn't have to go through a pregnancy. I dismissed it until… well, until today, when I actually saw Houston and realized that we could give a home to a child like Angelina."
Tony studies her as his brain makes the connection between her words and her meaning. She looks serious. Determined. "You want to adopt him?"
"I want to look into it."
He remembers how bad he felt for Houston, how much it pained him to think that Angelina could have ended up in foster care, bouncing from place to place, never finding a permanent niche. Adoption is not something they've discussed before. This is out of the blue, really… but maybe it's not that far-fetched.
Then Ziva gets up and leaves the room. Tony wonders momentarily if he's offended her somehow, but then she returns, and something is in her hands. She gives it to him.
Small's case file.
"Did Gibbs let you take this?" he asks.
She shrugs. Code for 'no'.
"You do realize I'm the one who's gonna get headslapped if he finds out?"
"Tony. Think for a minute. Do you believe Gibbs when he says that there is no such thing as a coincidence?"
Tony thinks about it. About her warmth beside him. About their daughter, sound asleep down the hall. Nods slowly. "Yeah."
"Okay. So open that file. Look at his middle name."
He does as she says, not knowing her angle until he reads it.
Houston Anthony.
0000000000
They have a meeting with the social worker. She is more than willing to work with them, and she begins by explaining the adoption process in detail. Armed with brochures and pamphlets, they go home. Discuss it at length. Look over their finances. Offhandedly ask Angelina how she would feel about a sibling.
They decide to go for it.
0000000000
It's a long ordeal. There are visits with more social workers, a couple of whom come to observe them at home. They need letters of recommendation and psychological evaluations. There is so much paperwork- something they both get more than enough of already- but, by Thanksgiving, it's been determined that they're not psychopaths, and they are allowed to visit Houston while they wait for the rest of the legal proceedings that come with adoption to get underway.
The house is small and run-down. As Tony parks on the street in front of it, he asks, "Are you sure this is it?"
Ziva double-checks the address in her hand. "Yes."
"How the hell are they keeping eight kids in there?" It's a rhetorical question; he doesn't wait for an answer. Instead, he opens the door and steps out into the autumn chill. Ziva does the same. As if a gravitational pull connects them, they immediately fall into step beside each other. Tony squeezes her hand. Just once. Just as a quick reassurance.
They mount the porch steps. She rings the doorbell. From inside, they hear a flurry of activity and a young voice yelling, "Who is it?"
A few seconds later, the door swings open to reveal Delores, the single foster parent who lives here. She is a stout woman with cropped gray hair- pretty much what Tony imagined, based on her name. He opens his mouth to offer a greeting, but she interrupts him in a businesslike, no-nonsense fashion. "Mr. and Mrs. DiNozzo?"
"Yes," Ziva answers.
"Come in." Delores steps back, giving the two of them room to enter the house, and Tony decides that she's not unpleasant. Three older children have a game of Uno set up in the middle of the foyer. Their wide eyes are on the newcomers. It's obvious that they are not comfortable around adults. And, really, who can blame them? The adults who should be taking care of them don't, so they've spent their lives being traded among strangers.
A knot forms in Tony's gut. He wishes, suddenly, that he could find permanent homes for all these kids.
"You've been allotted an hour to visit, correct?" Delores asks.
Tony nods.
"Addison," she says, and a little girl immediately stands up as if she's been trained. "Houston is in the kitchen with Jeremiah, having a snack. Bring him into the living room." Then Delores turns to Tony and Ziva. "This way."
They follow her into the other room and take a seat on an old floral couch while she remains standing, arms crossed, staring expectantly into the doorway. Tony and his wife share a short nonverbal exchange. He can tell that she finds this place every bit as creepy as he does.
Houston and Addison appear a minute later, though Addison vanishes very quickly. Tony's eyes rake over the former's tiny body. Admittedly, he looks fed and clean. Healthy.
Not happy, though.
Ziva raises a hesitant hand in the toddler's direction. "Hello, Houston," she says. He stares at her.
There is a crash from elsewhere in the house. Delores turns red in the face and storms out of the room. As she passes Houston, she accidentally knocks him onto his bottom, then doesn't stop to help him up. His lip quivers for just a second before he begins to cry loudly.
"Crazy lady," Tony mutters, walking over to the little boy. "Hey, man," he says. "It's okay."
Houston doesn't cease in his blubbering. Tony glances back at Ziva, who orders, "Pick him up!"
Right. Duh. He swings Houston onto his hip. "You're okay," he says softly, feeling kind of awkward, which makes him nervous. Has he lost the skills that helped him survive when Angelina was younger? Or, worse- what if he's never able to connect with this kid the way he does with his biological daughter?
Ziva has sidled up beside him and is lightly stroking Houston's blonde locks. "Don't worry," she says, and for just a second, Tony thinks that she has read his mind and the words are meant for him. But then she continues with, "What's in your hand? Is it a toy?" This doesn't elicit a response, so she mimes taking something. "May I see it?"
Houston hands over a blue top that Tony hadn't even noticed before. She crouches in front of the coffee table, pinches the top's handle between her thumb and index finger, and twists her wrist. Almost immediately, Houston's sobs subside into sniffles as he is mesmerized by the resulting blur. When the top falls off the table's edge and onto the worn carpet, he wriggles in Tony's arms. Tony lets him down, and he walks over to pick up the top and hold it out to Ziva.
"Make go," he says.
Ziva spins it a couple more times before Houston decides to try on his own. The top repeatedly falls on its side without making even one revolution; then Tony leans over and guides his tiny hand.
"Here we go," he says. "Ready? One… two… three."
Both of them pull away. The top spins.
And spins.
And spins.
One more chapter, and I really mean it this time! :P