A little bit drable-y, but fluff all the same. Enjoy! :)
Pride
Tony hated admitting his age; mortality was not something he dealt well with.
As much as he loved watching his children grow and mature into the men(and woman) that they were, and the immense sense of pride he had for them, he still hated to face his age.
Part of him argued that it was irrational; he loved his family, he loved his job, and he made far less mistakes than ever before, with some sense of wisdom and general common sense. The other part, however, ached for the days when he could lift Tony on his shoulders, when Tim was just a curly haired toddler begging for a bedtime story, when Abi had been small enough to fit into the crook of his arm, and he'd felt...needed. He knew one day he'd have to face this morbid fear, and somehow conquer it. The question was, when?
He didn't have a choice, as it turned out. The reality was thrust upon him, and he realised with a jolt, that it was bitter sweet, something he hadn't quite expected. Sitting in a hospital chair in the maternity ward, he practically bathed in nostalgia. Almost everything had remained the same, yet felt so very different. He was pondering this when a blue blanket was gently placed in his arms, and he looked up into the face above him, taking in the red, puffed eyes, and megawatt grin.
" It's a boy. His name...his name's Tony."
He glanced down, taking in those same blue eyes staring up at him, the tiny little face crumpled and flushed, but perfect down to the smallest eyelash. He felt the smile grow across his face as the baby yawned, naturally nestling into his chest. And suddenly, it was him; his face that had handed him the baby, years younger, the same eyes, the same grin, his son, newborn and innocent.
Then everything swam, and he looked back up into the the face, and that baby was suddenly twenty-five, handing him his own son, with that same proud grin on his face, and it hit Tony that this was his grandson he was holding. The rush of euphoria was almost instant, and he grinned with Tony, hugging him tightly with his free arm.
Later, as he watched his own boy cradle his son, Tony had to will himself not to cry. If anyone had asked, he would have sworn that it was yesterday that was him with the baby, that it was Ziva on that bed, that it was his little family under the halo of the hospital lamp. Now, though, he was merely a spectator, and by God, it was bittersweet. He turned to leave, taking one last glance into the room, catching sight of Tony murmuring gently to the sleeping baby, and he felt pride bubble in his chest.
Everything he'd ever done, everything he'd ever achieved and worked so hard for, suddenly paled in comparison to watching his son with his greatest achievement.