It happens slowly - the switch from 'abba' to 'daddy' - so slowly, Tony barely notices it at first.

But to be fair, he barely notices a lot in the early days. He goes from single man to single father in denial in a matter of hours, two-year-old Tali dropped in his lap with a scarf and a photograph and her mother's eyes.

Her mother's eyes and her mother's language.

She's a little chatterbox, but Tony can't always tell if she's just babbling or if she's actually speaking Hebrew. Then when a word comes through clearly - Abba and Ima and Kalev are a handful of favorites - his heart just hurts because she's supposed to be here, she's supposed to be teaching their daughter more words and the right inflection and then he feels guilty because he knows he won't be able to keep Tali fluent. At least not in Hebrew. Italian, definitely. Spanish, likely. French, a little bit.

But not Hebrew.

It's not even a conscious decision, when he refers to himself as 'dad' or 'daddy' or even 'your old man.' In one of the parenting books he picked up it said that parents should talk to their kids as if they were adults and understood everything. So Tony talks to Tali like she's a two-foot-tall adult, narrating everything that they do.

("Tali, I'm pretty sure that your red tee doesn't really match the neon yellow leggings Auntie Abby thought were funny, but hey, what does your old man know."

"Tali, dad's thinking baked ziti for dinner. Thoughts? Opinions?")

Then, late at night, when she's asleep and curled up on his chest - the only place she feels safe and secure some nights - he whispers, "Daddy's sorry, Tali. That I'm not her, that she's not here, that I might not be enough for you."

And as they grow comfortable with each other, as Tali comes out of her shell, she refers to him more casually.

"Abba! Chien!" she squeals, pointing at a tiny dachshund on the sidewalk. She picks up words so quickly, in every language.

"Abba! 'Ghetti!" she grins, masterfully getting strands of angel hair pasta on her toddler fork.

"Daddy! Higher!" a command as he pushes her on the swings.

Tony notices her Hebrew slowly fading away when Tali's almost three. He's tried. Maybe not hard enough, but to the best of his ability. Maybe he should've found a Hebrew daycare for her and maybe it's selfish that he didn't. Maybe it's selfish that he wants to be able to understand his daughter, that he doesn't want anyone but Ziva teaching Tali her native language. Maybe he's a fool.

He does make sure she knows Ima. The one word in Hebrew he will make sure she never loses.

Ee-ma

A squeaky little voice, pronouncing the syllables just right. The faint accent, breaking his heart and mending it all at the same time.

And then.

Then he's getting a call and hopping a plane and landing in Cairo with a cranky as hell almost three-year-old and navigating the hot, dusty streets and there.

She's there.

Alive and whole and found.

He finds her and he doesn't know it yet, but he'll lose her again. But for now, he's found her.

"Hey," he says, the weight of the world held in one syllable, the weight of their daughter in his arms.

"Hi," she says, dark eyes roaming over his face and the back of Tali's head like she's trying to memorize them. Like she knows this is the last time for a long while that she'll see them.

He wants to kiss her and kill her and cry and scream and laugh because of course. Of fucking course it wouldn't be easy for them.

Tali stirs in his arms and rubs at her eyes and turns her head, catching a glimpse of Ziva. She squints at her mother, trying to figure out why she looks familiar. Tony rests his cheek on the top of her head, kisses her forehead, whispers, "You know who that is, T."

"Ima?" a tired little squeak, her fingers holding tight to the collar of Tony's t-shirt.

The look on Ziva's face is heartbreaking.

Tears fill her eyes even as they light up with joy. Her mouth twitches in a smile, a frown. Her hands shift at her sides, like she desperately wants to snatch Tali up, but stops herself. Her voice is watery when she sighs, "Oh, Tali. My love, my heart. I have missed you very much."

Tali looks up at Tony and her eyebrows draw together in confusion. "Daddy? Where we are?" she asks.

"Daddy?" Ziva asks and Tony looks at her, shrugs one shoulder and smiles wryly.

"Hebrew's not my specialty," he explains. To Tali, "we're gonna visit Ima for a little bit, okay, bug?"

Tali shrugs, an easily adaptable and agreeable toddler when she wants to be.

Ziva's smile is shaky. "Ima?" she breathes.

Setting Tali down on the couch and handing her Kalev from his bag, Tony scratches at his neck and nods. "I figured it was the most important word for her to remember, right?"

Ziva brings a hand up to cover her mouth and Tony notices her fingers tremble. Her voice muffled, Ziva says, "Tony, I - I am so sorry."

He nods, doesn't say 'it's okay' like he would've before, like he's expected to say, because it's not okay. "How long do we have?" he asks instead because it's clear that Ziva doesn't intend for this to be the big reunion where she comes home and they start a life together.

"I do not know," she shakes her head sadly. "A couple of hours? It is not safe, even for this short period."

Dragging his hands through his hair roughly, Tony growls low in his throat. "Ziva, you've got to let me help," he hisses, frustration finally bubbling over.

"Daddy?" Tali looks up from her stuffed dog, reacting to Tony's sudden tension.

He squats down next to her immediately, running a hand over her curls. "Hey, sorry, bug. Everything's okay, daddy just got a little upset, but we're allowed to feel upset, right?"

"Right!" Tali exclaims. "Upset is okay and happy is okay."

"Yeah," Tony says affectionately, kissing her forehead.

"You are so good with her, Tony," Ziva says quietly and there's no surprise in her voice. "I knew you would be a good dad."

He hums in acknowledgment, not wanting to say something that might start a fight in their limited time together. Offering an olive branch, he says, "T, why don't we show Ima a snuggle pile?"

The toddler shrieks happily and bounces up on her knees. "Snuggle snuggle snuggle!" she chants, much to Tony and Ziva's amusement.

And then they're being pulled into a pile of arms and legs and only slightly shaky laughter. And it's good, for just a moment, Tony can pretend that life is normal and that he's got his girls, safe and in his arms, forever.

And then it's two days later and Tali's throwing a tantrum on the kitchen floor, shrieking, "Mean daddy!"

And then she's curled up on his lap, thumb tucked loosely under her front teeth, eyes half-closed, patting his cheek with her free hand, mumbling, "Love you, abba."

Her little voice, breaking his heart and mending it all at once.


a/n: everyone blame coffeedepablo for this angst-fest lol. i'm weak when it comes to writing tony and ziva and tali, except everything always ends up with a shade of angst (probably because we've yet to see them be a happy family on screen together). as always, let me know what you think!