Tony furrowed his brow in concentration as he slowly, oh so carefully measured out a teaspoon of sugar and dumped it into the steaming mug before him. Then he reached for the milk, eyeballing the amount as he knew she always did, and setting it aside before taking a deep breath and evaluating his work.

Don't get him wrong: Tony DiNozzo loved Ziva David with every fiber and ounce of his being. He'd give anything to have her with him and with their daughter for every second of every day for the rest of their lives.

But this few day buffer period between knowing she's coming home and her actually arriving? It's the best damn thing that's happened to them in 3 years.

Because today? He was good. Strong. Steady.

Yesterday? Not so much.

It started with waking up on the couch in a cold sweat. Tali was still curled around his arm and the blue screen of the DVD player was accompanied by sunlight peeking around the edges of the black out curtains. Everything was fine, technically speaking, but that didn't stop his heart from racing or his mind from screaming at him to run. She's gonna be here soon. You've gotta get out. Pack your things and run.

He didn't run. Instead he carried his daughter up the stairs, tucked her into bed (he knew he'd regret it later, but he couldn't wake her) and called the Martins - a sweet elderly couple across the street who adored little Tali almost as much as he did. They agreed to watch her for the afternoon and, thankfully, asked very few questions.

Then, hands still shaking and sweat dripping down his back, he called his therapist.

Now, this was a key development from the past few years. Old Tony scoffed in the face of psychology and all it's mumbo jumbo. But New Tony? He saw a shrink. Regularly. And actually listened to what they said and applied it to his life outside of their office. It was an excruciating process… but it did actually help. Most of the time.

Initially, the receptionist told him that Dr. Bisset was booked for the afternoon, and that he'd have to wait until the next day or possibly next week to make an appointment. But then he'd said something about his dead lover coming home any day now and… well… that caught her attention.

Luckily, the therapist was only mildly horrified by his opening line - "So, uh, you remember Ziva? Love of my life, mother of my child? Yeah, she's not dead. And she's coming home. Soon." - and promptly set about rescheduling her other clients because, oh yeah, this was gonna take a while.

And it did. They started with finding the root of the issue here. He had known Ziva was out there, and he'd always hoped she would come home. So why, now that his dream was becoming a reality, was he spiraling so hard?

Easy. It's because he never quite healed from the pain of rejection way back in Israel and has since been simultaneously aching for the return of his lost love and pushing away any notion that she could come back because he's scared that if she does come back she'll eventually choose to leave again because he wasn't enough back then and so why would he be enough now? Oh, and not to mention the fact that she had his child and didn't tell him about it until she was literally being hunted for sport and had no choice but to send the kid to him for safety and while this should have been a significant point in their relationship and he should have gotten answers, he instead was thrown into this crazy situation where he's raising a kid while her mother ducks and dodges bullets every day so he can't stay mad because she could die at any minute and as much pain as she's caused him he still can't live without her and has no idea what he'll do if this family thing doesn't work out - which is a real possibility that he has been refusing to acknowledge - and if he not only loses Ziva again but also their daughter who is the only real light in his life and his only reason for being then he will have absolutely no one and nothing and his entire existence will have been one big tale of not being enough.

Okay, maybe not so easy. But knowing you have a problem is the first step.

From there, they set about making a plan. Reintegrating Ziva into his and Tali's life was going to be tricky. It would involve lots of time and space and talking. It meant they'd have to be open and honest with each other (possibly for the first time in their lives) and have to respect each other's boundaries. Which meant there'd have to be boundaries, and it didn't take a highly trained and well certified psychologist to realize that - when it came to Ziva David - Tony had none.

It was a long process, identifying sensitive topics and planning for adequate space for self reflection (so shrink-y, but he'd do his best). But when he finally left her office - several hours and many dollars later - he felt better. A lot better.

He swung by the house to pick up Tali and the Martin's for a little thank-you dinner, then took his little girl to the park. He needed to tire her out if there was any chance of her sleeping that night.

That's where they were, sitting on a couple of swings and having a much needed conversation about Ima's return, when he got the message. He was just explaining what would change ('We'll eat way better food.') and what wouldn't change ('I'll still love you more than all of my movies put together.' 'Even Bond?' 'Even Bond.') when his phone buzzed.

Delta Flight BA2390. Leaving first thing in the morning. Arriving at 2:35 pm your time. It might be time to start counting.

"Abba?" Tali asked, pulling herself up to standing on her swing and trying to lean over to read his screen, "What's wrong?"

"Nothing's wrong, T-Dizzle. Ima's gonna be home tomorrow."

"Tomorrow?" She asked with wide eyes.

"Yeah. That okay with you?" He reached over and gently tugged the bottom of her shirt, signaling he wanted her to sit. She did so automatically.

"Um…" Her eyes darted back and forth for a few seconds as she searched for an answer, then she looked up at him warily, "You're still staying, right?"

"I'm staying. You can't get rid of me that easy," The sentence was punctuated with a gentle poke to her ribs, which made her giggle.

"Then it's okay!"

"Good," He pulled himself off the swing and checked his watch, "It's getting late. Tell you what: we head home now and you go to bed, I'll take you with me to the store tomorrow. We've gotta get some things for Ima's return."

"Deal!" She jumped off the swing and clapped her hands, "Race to the car?"

"You're so on."

She beat him to the car. Shocker.

And while she didn't go to bed right away, he still made a point to wake her up and take her to the store with him the next day. They picked up some general stuff for Ziva - food he knows she likes, shampoo, conditioner, coconut scented lotion (her favorite), fuzzy pajamas. He figured they'd go shopping all together in the coming days (living out of a go-bag for three years didn't result in many outfit changes), but he wanted to make sure she felt comfortable for the first night. He wanted her to feel at home.

It was that desire that led him here: cooped up in the kitchen, trying and absolutely failing in his replication of Ziva's favorite cup of Early Grey. He'd seen her make it a thousand times - in the break room, in her apartment, in his apartment - and yet couldn't seem to get the right balance of sugar to milk.

He glanced at the clock. They needed to leave soon.

The decision had been made last night (during a brief and of so bittersweet phone call with Ziva in which they clarified their timeline) that Tony and Tali would meet her at the airport. It just seemed logical. Why have her pay for a taxi when they live close enough? Plus, it was probably best to make initial contact on neutral ground (per the recommendation of Dr. Bisset).

"Alright, Tiny Tongue. Last cup before we head out," He set the mug in front of Tali on the island and she looked at it with mild interest, only scrunching her nose slightly at the nickname. He'd admit, it wasn't his best, "No pressure or anything… but if this one isn't it, we're doomed. Your mom will have to drink mediocre tea all day."

She set down her crayons and pushed aside her drawing with dramatic grandeur (okay, so she wasn't a Ziva clone. She was definitely his kid), and pushed herself up onto her knees in order to get a better look in the mug.

"It looks light."

"She likes it light."

She scrunched her nose again, "Not that light."

"Just taste it, eh?"

She shrugged and reached for the cup carefully. Smell, as it were, was the strongest sense linked to memory. He had barely been through steeping his second cup when she'd declared that she remembered that tea. Ima used to drink it all the time. And she was strangely confident that she could identify the proper mix (though Tony had his doubts. No way Ziva had let her 18-month-old consume caffeine… but honestly, this was his best shot at getting it right).

She took a tiny sip and set the mug back down. She tilted her head, as if considering the flavor. Then tilted it the other way, as it comparing it to her memory. When she tilted it back in the first direction, he knew she was stringing him along.

"Well?"

Then she smiled, "That's it!"

"Yeah?" He leaned forward to peer into the mug. It did look a little light… "Then I guess we have a winner, huh?"

"Winner winner chicken dinner!" She announced proudly, putting her hands on her hips and leaning further across the counter. He knew this routine, so he leaned forward too and gave her nose a solid boop. She giggled and booped his nose in return before wiggling her way off the barstool.

"Now it's Ima time?"

"Oh, yeah," Tony chuckled to himself as he turned to clean up his tea-making mess, "Mind grabbing your jacket and putting on your shoes?"

"Okay!" He heard several little footsteps leaving the kitchen, then she seemed to circle back for something. He heard the barstool move and then the sound of something falling to the ground, but by the time he turned to look she was gone again. As was the white paper she had been drawing on before.

Hm.

Crayons were scattered across the island counter and onto the floor, so he took a moment to clean those up before making his way toward the front door.

When he stepped into the foyer, Tali was finishing up the tie on her second shoe.

"Double-tie?" She asked, holding up a foot and nearly falling over in the process.

"I got you," He knelt in front of her and added a second knot to her laces. Then she stood up and he helped her fasten her winter coat.

"You ready?" He asked once she was all bundled up.

She nodded excitedly. A little too excitedly. Maybe caffeine was a bad idea.

"What are you gonna do when you see your mom?"

"I'm gonna run up and give her a hug," She said confidently. That was another part of their conversation yesterday: he wanted to make sure Tali knew what she wanted to do and was ready so when she saw her mom she didn't freak out. He could only imagine the horror of Ziva walking up and Tali running the opposite direction.

"Great. And what are you gonna say?"

"Welcome home, Ima! I love you!" She rolled onto her toes and gave a wide-toothed grin. She was laying it on a little thick, in his opinion, but he figured bigger was better.

"Great. She'll love that," He tapped her chin approvingly before struggling to his feet and reaching for his own coat off the rack.

"Abba?"

"Hm?"

"What if she cries?"

He smiled, "She's gonna cry. I know it."

"What do I do?" She seemed genuinely distressed by the thought of her mom crying in front of her.

"Hey," He held out his hand and she took it, "Not all crying is sad, okay? Sometimes people cry when they're tired or mad. Or even when they're really happy."

"Why cry if you're happy?"

He leaned down a bit and lowered his voice, almost as if sharing a secret, "Because sometimes people get so happy they don't know what to do with themselves. So they cry."

She licked her lips then tilted her head, "Are you gonna cry?"

He didn't actually know the answer to that, but he had a decent idea, "I might. Like I said, I love your Ima very much. And we haven't seen each other in a long time."

"But if you do, it's not a sad cry, right?"

"No, Tali. It's not because I'm sad."

"Okay…" She nodded as if she had just made a big decision, "I think I might cry, too. But don't worry. I'm not sad."

"That's good. It's okay to cry."

Then she smiled and for a moment she looked so much like a young Ziva smiling at him over her desk monitor that he had to clear his throat.

"Alright. Let's go. It's Ima time."

"Ima time!" She echoed, shaking her hips side to side in a little dance.

Tony remembered once reading that Charles De Gaulle International Airport was the tenth busiest airport in the world.

And as far as he was concerned, that made it the last place on earth he wanted to cart his five year old through, much less when she was bursting with so much energy that she could have fueled their car ride over.

That's why they'd barely made it 10 steps inside before she was wrangled and relocated to his shoulders where she could 1) not escape and 2) keep watch over the crowds of people so maybe, just maybe, they'd have a chance in hell at finding Ziva.

Had this been 3 years ago, he would have happily flashed his badge and made up a story about a suspect evading arrest and boarding a flight set to land any minute now. He'd be at the gate and sipping on a tall one by the time Ziva got off the plane. But alas, no badge. He was now a mere civilian. Which meant he had to wait in the mere civilian area: Baggage claim.

He checked his watch. Then the arrivals board. She'd landed 40 minutes ago. He couldn't imagine she had much more than a backpack to her name, so customs shouldn't take her this long.

"Hey, Helmschick. How's it looking?"

Tali leaned forward, tangling her fingers in his hair to keep her balance (sound familiar?), "Nothing yet. There's a lot of people here."

She said it in that detached tone that preschoolers seem to have mastered. Nevermind the fact that a lot of people paired with a lot of emotions was a recipe for disaster. He knew all about Ziva's panic attacks.

"Well, keep an eye out. She should be coming through any- Ouch!"

"Ima!Ima!" She was yanking desperately at his hair now, as if she could pull him in the direction she wanted, "I see her!"

"Alright - ow," he reached up to carefully remove her hands from his delicate locks and hold her in place, "Which way?"

"There!" She threw her arm in a direction and nearly slipped off of her perch in the chaos.

He tried to catch her point, but was a little too busy keeping her from crashing to the floor for it to really register.

"Okay, okay, can she see you?"

"I don't… Ima!" She let go of his other hand and starting waving her arms, shifting her balance and weight all around, sending him scrambling yet again to secure his precious cargo, "She saw me! She's coming!"

"Okay, how about we sit on that bench over there and you can climb off of my-"

"Ima!" She started squirming, digging heels and elbows and even little fingernails into him as she slid off his shoulders and tumbled to the ground, catching herself last minute on his arm and swinging like a monkey until she reached the floor.

Then she disappeared into the crowd in what he could only pray was the direction of her mother and not a stranger she'd mistakenly identified.

Damn ninja children, he thought while straightening his back and assessing his wounds. She'd gotten him good on the arm, leaving three distinct scratch marks down its length, ending barely above his wrist.

He sighed, turned in the direction he swore she'd taken off in, and was about to go find her when he heard his name coming from the opposite way.

"Tony," Her voice broke through the buzz of the terminal like a whip, and he felt it's vibration in his chest, "I've got her right here."

He turned to find Ziva standing there, maybe three steps away, with a duffle thrown over one shoulder and Tali's little body buried in the other. The little girl had clearly jumped her mother, causing her to catch her in a precarious position and make the most of it. Little arms were wrapped around her neck and dark curls covered the majority of the sandy ones.

"You've got her," He practically whispered, "That's good - you've - got her."

She held out her hand then (well, she slid the duffle off her shoulder, kicked it to the side a bit, and then held out her hand), beckoning him.

Tony had imagined this moment a million times. Okay, two million. Or a billion. Point being: he was sure he'd considered just about every possible configuration of their grand reunion. Every reaction she might have, every emotion he might feel, every possible way that little Tali could or could not be involved. But in every scenario, he was the strong one. He was the one squeezing her hand or telling her it was okay.

In reality? He was far from strong. He was tired and scared and lonely. These years had been hard, and he'd learned so much about himself as a man and a father. But she was here now - Ziva was home - and the sheer relief that he felt in her presence was overwhelming, to say the least.

So he let her be the strong one (she was better at it anyway). When he reached out for her hand and she gently pulled him toward her, he went willingly. When she squeezed his fingers and shifted her body so she was standing in front of him with her back pressing into his chest, he brought his other hand up to rest on her shoulder and shamelessly buried his face in her hair.

And when she leaned into him, coaxing his arm farther around until he was absently stroking Tali's back where she still clung onto her mother, he closed his eyes and just soaked up the moment. Holding Ziva, who was holding their daughter. Holding his girls. His entire world.

"We've got her," Ziva whispered, leaning her head against his shoulder and letting out a long, slow breath. She was home.

It was several minutes later when Tali spoke, bringing them all out of the emotional haze they'd entered. She leaned back, emerging from beneath her mother's hair and sniffling twice (they were all crying at this point but hey, can you blame them?) before making quick eye contact with her dad and breaking into a dazzling smile.

"Welcome home, Ima. We love you."

Oops, there was a reunion!

Slightly different take than most I've seen. I just figured that Ziva has been living for the moment she gets to see her family again... so she'll probably be the more composed of the two. Tony, on the other hand, has probably been suppressing and ignoring his feelings on the topic of reunion for so long that he'll likely get overwhelmed. He is an emotionally scarred cancer, so what more can you expect?

But Ziva's not gonna be composed the whole time. Promise.

Hope you guys liked my little reunion scene. I've got a few more things I wanna address in this story, so stay tuned. Hopefully, I'll be updating again very soon.

Thank you for all the awesome reviews on chapter 1. They really do help me write. Sometimes I feel like my headcanons and takes on Tiva are a little... idk... unpopular? But seeing that so many of you like the direction that this fic is going really keeps me motivated to finish it. More reviews would be great. Fantastic, even.