Tony sits on the couch, watching her. She tiptoes out of her bedroom, backwards. She carefully closes the door. She turns, and walks towards him. She takes a seat on the couch, next to him.

"He's asleep?"

"Yeah."

"He's not at all what I expected," he admits.

"And why is that?"

"Because he looks like Malibu Ken."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"He looks like a little surfer. The wavy blonde hair, and green eyes, and tan. He doesn't look much like you."

"No, he doesn't."

"Does that drive you crazy?"

"It used to. Every time I looked at him, I saw someone else's face. When he was little he looked just like Chris. Then when he was about three, I started seeing someone else. He just looked like himself."

"How did Chris find out about him?"

"He didn't find out recently. He's know about him, since before he was born. He just refused to have anything to do with him. I was young, and I thought that he would want to, but I quickly realized that he didn't. He was young too, and he didn't want a kid. I sent him a picture after Caleb was born. He sent it back, and told me not to contact him anymore."

"His parents know?"

"I don't think that he told them. He didn't want them to know. He was away at college by the time that Caleb was born."

"Why do you think that he popped up now? I mean Caleb is thirteen."

"I don't know," she shrugs.

"I still can't believe that you have a kid."

"Most days I don't believe it either. I made some very selfish decisions. I have always put myself first."

"What does Caleb call your mother? Does he call her mom? Or grandma? A Hebrew version?"

"He calls her by her name."

"Ouch."

"It drives her crazy."

"You taught him to call her that?"

"Yes."

"So what does he call you?"

"Mom?"

Ziva looks up. She finds Caleb in the doorway of the bedroom.

"I thought you were asleep."

"I woke up."

"Do you need something?"

"I forgot to tell you something."

"What's that?"

"Love you," he smiles.

"Love you too. Goodnight."

"Night," he closes the door, and goes back to bed.

Tony just looks at her.

"He's always been like that. When he was a baby he wanted to be held all the time. And when he started to talk that was one of the first sentences he learned."

August 20th, 1999,

She opens the door, and steps out of the room. She follows the screaming down the hallway. She twists the doorknob and steps into the room. She finds her mother sitting in a rocking chair, rocking the wailing toddler.

"What is going on, in here?"

"I came in to check on him, and he just started crying."

"Give him to me," Ziva insists. Caleb squirms, trying to move towards the sound of her voice.

"Ziva it's one o'clock in the morning. You have to get up for school soon. I'll take care of it."

Caleb manages to twist himself around. He looks at Ziva, and reaches for her. The screaming stops. His face is still red, and their are tears on his cheeks.

"Mom," he pouts.

Ziva reaches for him. Her mother reluctantly lets go of the sleepy boy. Caleb rests his head on Ziva's shoulder.

"Are you ready to go to bed now?" she asks.

He lifts his head up, and looks at her, "Love you," he smiles.

"Love you too. It is time to go to bed."

He lays his head back down, on her shoulder. Ziva turns, and begins to walk away.

"Where are you going?" her mother calls after her.

"I'm taking him to bed."

"His bed is in here. You can't take him to bed with you."

Ziva stops in the doorway, she turns around, and looks at her mother. "You can try as hard as you want, to pretend that he is yours. You can pretend that you are his mother, but you're not," she walks away.

"So he's always preferred you over her?"

"Since the day he was born, and it drives her insane. She's tried everything, even bribery, but given the choice he always chooses me. For a long time, I wasn't in a position to choose him back."

"You know that you have to tell him the truth."

"About what?"

"His dad."

"I know."

"Is there anything I can do for you?"

"You're getting ready to go?"

"It's been a long day, you could use some sleep."

"Can you do some research for me?"

"Yep. I'll take care of it."

"Thanks," she smiles.

"That's what friends are for," he reminds her, heading towards the door.

She wakes up early the next morning. Not early, her usual time, 0500. Waking up that early meant only four hours of sleep. That wasn't too bad. So why was she so tired? Oh, yes, maybe it was the emotionally draining day, before. She kicks the blanket to the end of the couch. She gets up, and stretches. She tiptoes to her bedroom, and stops at the door. She quietly turns the knob. She pushes it open a crack, and peeks in.

Caleb lies in the center of the bed, with the covers tangled around him. He lies on his side, facing the window, instead of the door. He doesn't move.

"You don't have to be so quiet. I'm already awake," he tells her as he looks at the alarm clock.

"It's only 0500."

"I'm always up this early," he rolls over, to face her.

"Why?"

"I guess I have the same internal alarm clock you do."

"I shouldn't be surprised. You have always gotten up early. And for the most part you always woke up smiling, and happy. So what do you want to do, today?"

"Don't you have to go to work?"

"I don't have to."

"You should go to work."

"And what will you do, while I'm at work?"

"I brought my laptop. I am perfectly capable of entertaining myself. And I do know how to use a microwave."

"I can't leave you here alone."

"I'm thirteen."

"Caleb, that's not going to happen."

"Can I go to work with you?"

"I... let me make a phone call."

"Hurry up."

"Why? Are you in a hurry to get somewhere?"

"I want to go for a run before we go."

"Ok, it will only take a minute."

"DiNozzo was right, I don't look like you. But I certainly do act like you," he smiles.

"That isn't always a good thing."

"No, it's not," he agrees.

She steps out of the bedroom, into the living room. She dials a familiar number.

"Hello?" the voice on the other end answers after seven rings.

"I know it's early, and I'm sorry that I woke you up."

"Is something wrong?"

"No, nothing is wrong. I just need to ask you a favor."

"What?"

"I have a visitor from out of town. Would you mind keeping an eye on him while I'm working?"

"Him? Is he cute?"

"He's thirteen."

"Oh."

"But he is cute," she admits.

"What's in it for me?"

"You can't ask any questions," Ziva adds.

"I can't promise that. What do I get out of it?"

"The usual."

"Really?"

"Twice the usual amount, since I made you get up early?" Ziva offers.

"Ok," she agrees, and hangs up the phone.