Thank you, thank you, THANK YOU for all your wonderful reviews (and you too, lurking readers that don't review; I know you're there! :D)
I have to admit, these recent updates have been shorter, as I'm working on one that has become rather long, and possibly may become a side story, I dunno yet. It's going up here as part of the Themes, but hey hoy, it might have enough potential to become something bigger once this is done (I'd rather not think about that, I'm enjoying this far too much). You'll know which story I mean once it's been posted, and I'd hugely appreciate major feedback on it, particularly if I'm thinking of dragging a story out of it.
For now, though, I'm afraid you'll have to make do with these little shorties (:
Shalom!
Red
Ziva had always known that, thanks to both Tony and herself, there was a threat to her children most did not bare. The list of possible grudge matches was near endless; if Mossad, or an enemy country, didn't get her, one of the Baltimore/Philly/Peoria gangs had plenty against her husband, not to mention anyone released from prison. They'd been careful, as the children had grown up, to teach them quickly not to speak to strangers, not to stray, to watch for anything, even the smallest things, out of the ordinary, but at the same time, to keep them naive enough not to realise just how valuable they would be to a kidnapper, or vengeful criminal.
This time, though, Ziva couldn't blame her children, not in the slightest. This was brutal, this was uncalled for, this was...barbaric. It may have had a happy ending in the respect that she had her son in her arms, but the implications, she was certain, would follow for months. She could already see it; the guilt that read across her husband's face ("I should've been there, I'm his father.."), the guilt that had no cure, because it was undeserved.
The sick idiot had picked him up at the park. He'd been playing with his friends, the usual post-school activity a normal ten year old. What had ensued was a twelve hour man hunt, one shaken child, and his two terrified, horrified parents. The idea that someone could simply snatch their child, that easily, without warning, left them both sick to their stomachs. Ziva hadn't let any one of them out of her sight since, out of sheer fear of losing one of them again. Not again.
So much so, that it came to this. She'd been coaxed to leave Abi and Tim with Ducky, but Tony stayed. On the other side of the glass sat the man who'd put her in this state, and Ziva could feel her blood boil. Tony was silent, hand clutching his mother's, eyes wide. When Gibbs joined them to watch, Ziva knew what was coming; she knew before the door slammed, before the chair was almost thrown across the room as he sat down, before she saw the malice, the pure, unfilitered hatred in the man she loved's eyes. She adored Tony, but even she knew that once lit and that curtain of red fell, his temper burned white hot, and God help those for who the fuse was lit.