"We need to get her a bed."
"We need to decide where we're going to put it, first."
"What do you mean?"
"Where is she going to stay? Where is she going to live? Here? With me? Or with you? I mean I only have one bedroom. There's not really a whole lot of space to put her."
"She can't sleep in your bed with you," he points out.
"Not long term."
"We should buy two beds. One for my place, and one for here. Should we get a crib? Or a bed?"
"I don't know," she shrugs.
"We need to figure out who she is going to stay with, on what days."
"You want to split it evenly?"
"I don't know," he shrugs.
"I don't think it's a good idea to do one week here, and one week there."
"No, that's too much. She's just getting to know us, we can't expect her to spend a week away from one of us, at a time."
"So how are we going to do it?"
"She could spend one day with you, one day with me."
"I think that may be too much back and forth," she postulates.
"There are seven days in a week," he points out.
"You're saying that it is going to be uneven?"
"Yes. How many days do you want her?"
"Seven," she answers.
"You can't have seven."
"Six?"
"No," he shakes his head.
"Five?"
"I don't think so."
"You're greedy," she tells him.
"She's my daughter too."
"Four?"
"You get her four, and I get her three?"
"Yes," she nods.
"Which four?"
"I want her on the weekend."
"I want her on the weekend."
"Why don't we both spend the weekend with her?"
"Split the weekend?"
"No, we will both spend the weekend with her. You stay here, or I can stay over there. She should get time with the two of us, together."
"I think you're right. So what about the other five days?"
"You get two, and I get three."
"Which ones do you want?"
"I can take Wednesday, Thursday, Friday."
"Why?"
"I thought you might like to spend Friday without her, so you could..."
"My social life is not that important here. She is the priority."
"So why don't we alternate, each week? I'll take her on..."
"No because then someone gets to spend Wednesday, Thursday, Friday, Saturday, and Sunday with her."
"That happens either way. The other person gets to spend Saturday, Sunday, Monday, Tuesday with her."
"Yeah, but if we alternate the person who spent Wednesday through Sunday with her, gets to spend Monday, and Tuesday with her, too."
"Then we won't alternate. You get Monday, and Tuesday."
"Fine."
"Ziva?"
"Huh?"
"We have to go back to work. Where is she going to go?"
"I guess we'll have to find someone to watch her."
"Like daycare?"
"Daycare? I don't think that..."
"I think it would be better."
"Why?"
"Because she is already sort of antisocial towards kids. I think that she should spend some time with other kids her age."
"I don't like the thought of putting her in daycare."
"Why don't we find her a pre-school, and we'll hire a nanny for her to be with, after pre-school. I think that's a fair compromise."
"Except it is April. No school is going to take her now. And pre-school waiting lists can be three years long."
"I have a connection that could get her in, to a good school. Someone owes me a favor."
"I think that she is too young to be in school."
"You want her to have a nanny?"
"Yes."
"Ok," he nods, "We'll get her a nanny."
"There's just one problem."
"What's that?"
"We don't know any."
"I have a buddy who uses a nanny service, I'll give him a call, see if he can help us out."
"And until then?"
"I still have over a week left of vacation. I'll stay with her."
"You want to stay with her, at your place?"
"It has more space."
"Your second bedroom is full, of crap."
"No, it's not."
"The last time I saw it, it was."
"I put it all in storage, this morning, before I came over."
"Oh."
"So should we go get some beds?"
"Where am I going to put a bed?"
"I think you need a bigger apartment."
"I think that..."
"You think what?"
"That this would have been easier, under different circumstances."
"Easy? I don't know anything about easy, do you?"
She smiles, "No." From their seat on the couch, they stare at the little girl, playing with a puzzle on the floor. She looks up at them.
"Hi," she smiles.
"Zafirah, come over here," Tony suggests.
"No," she answers.
"I'll read you a story."
She looks over, to the coffee table, at a stack of books. She looks to Tony, then to Ziva. She smiles, "No, mommy."