Apologies for the confusing pronouns. That's what I get when I shy away from naming the AU child.
jae
Hanukkah
He waits with the patience that doesn't become a typical six year old little boy, and surely he doesn't inherit this from him.
He is her in so many more ways, but this has never troubled nor hurt him. She's in his quiet, thoughtful expression, his golden skin, his careful smile, his patient nature. His untidy hair may be his own light color, but it's unruly, curly state is all her.
And the look of blatant adoration he regards her with now, as he settles beside her in earnest to watch her set up the menorah, is the kind of heart-stopping look of unconditional love he himself has only been privileged to for the better half of the years he's known her, a look she doesn't reveal freely.
He emulates her in so many ways, and no, he wouldn't change it even if he could.
Ziva's hands aren't idle as she sets the menorah on the sill of the window, righting the candles with careful concentration and a secret smile pulling at her lips. For so long she had no tie to this part of herself, no connection to her heritage, her home, a lifetime that feels absolutely separate from the life she lives now. But now, she has someone to share it with.
The little boy is far too engrossed with watching her; misses the fleeting looks she bestows on him, the way her eyes warm with utter affection at his bright anticipation.
He gets up from his seat on their lounge chair, twirling the matchbook between his fingers as he crouches down beside the pair, and Ziva pulls her hands away from the menorah, exchanging an affectionate smile with him over the little boy's head. Her eyes are mischievous, and he gives her a wink and a knowing look before her gaze settles on their son.
"Neshomeleh, would you like to light the candle this year?"
His head snaps up to Ziva, her own smile mirrored back at her on his face.
"Really?" The excitement in his tone cause them to chuckle, and Ziva nods, smoothing her hand over his cheek.
"You are old enough now, yes? It is your turn."
He nods importantly, his face assuming a most serious expression, and Ziva helps him get up and shuffle closer to stand before her. Her arms stretch around him to help guide his smaller hands with hers. He moves closer himself, lighting a match to hand over to the pair. Once his job is complete, he settles back comfortable on the floor beside Ziva, and watches mother and son as their faces glow against the flickering flame, enhancing the pride in each their eyes.
"Like this, mom?"
The worry in his tone punctuates with the slight shake his hand in hers makes, but her fingers curl instinctively tighter around his own, steadying him, and her voice is kind as she soothes his nerves.
"Ken, just like that."
His chest aches warmly as Ziva begins murmuring hushed, quiet words in hebrew against their son's ear, punctuating the end with a kiss she brushes against his cheek.
And these are the moments in which he falls in love with her, all over again, the weight of it crushing him with a force that momentarily steals his breath away.
She leans into the touch he places on her back; his hand trailing absently up and down her spine. As she turns to look at him, the look on his face warms her inside and out.
And if asked what the greatest gift of Hanukkah is, without hesitation, she would reply with them.