Gidon hurled his phone across the room. He had been calling Ziva constantly for the whole night. He had held off until the time distance had made the hour in England not completely anti-social but after showing Ziva that courtesy she did not answer him. His relationship with Ziva was strained, had been strained since that night and especially strained since Director David had sent him to fetch Ziva from NCIS after their mission to Somalia. He completely disapproved of her attitude towards their daughter. Although his relationship with his daughter was fiery, he did love her and made an effort to convey that to her. Ziva had never even tried.
He hated her for leaving him with the sole responsibility of raising their child but he also understood. He despised her for abandoning their daughter but he also envied her for not having to deal with all the problems she caused. He pitied Ziva for not wanting to know her only child but almost wished he had made the same decision. He also hated himself for even thinking these blasphemous thoughts. She was his daughter. His only child. He created her. She was part of him. But made up of the worst parts.
He unclenched his fists and took a couple of tentative steps towards the filing cabinet before chastising himself for being so idiotic and striding purposely over. He rootled around for a while. 'Quite a long while actually,' he thought, 'considering that it was his only photo of his only child that he was trying to find. It shouldn't be that difficult to locate.' But he had thrust it to the back of the cabinet. Every time he accidentally came across it he pushed it further back. Any thoughts of his daughter hurt him in ways he did not know were possible. He finally found it and took it out. He found that he was squeezing his eyes tightly shut. 'You're acting like a spoilt toddler,' he told himself. 'Get a grip.' He slowly opened his eyes and saw the photo. The girl was standing in a field holding an automatic gun. She had a finger on the trigger and had a taunting smirk on her face. The butt of the gun was trained on the camera. To anyone else it would have looked like a joke, a bit of fun, maybe a tad tasteless for a ten year old to be holding such a weapon, probably not the best idea, but she wouldn't fire it, would she? She was just a kid. To him, it was sinister. There was every chance that she had shot the photographer, he never knew who took it. His daughter was dangerous.