When Ziva awoke the next day, something had her immediately on edge. Something was different, and different wasn't good. She took a silent inventory, keeping her lids closed and relaxed, feigning sleep.
The pain was there, but moderate— the pain of healing wounds. She was warm, but pleasantly so. Whatever she lay on was soft and inviting, and lacked the perpetual stench of sweat and un-cleanliness she had grown accustomed to.
It was then she recalled where she was. Sanctuary. She was lying on a bed, amidst freshly laundered sheets and blankets. She could feel the threads of the linens because her skin was no longer caked with dirt. She had bathed, with Abby's help, which was why she could no longer detect that effervescent malodor that had become a constant in her life. She'd shifted position during the night, she realized, to revert back to laying on her side— a position from which she could easily protect her vital organs without fully exposing her back.
It was a position she should no longer need, she realized, though she acknowledged that it was possible she might forever prefer that position from there on in.
She was just about to finally open her eyes when something brushed against her face.
Instinct took over, and her hand darted out to grasp a tiny wrist in a steel grip, eliciting a breathless gasp of fear from whoever had been caught in her fist. Her eyes flew open, and were met with wide, startled eyes that almost seemed to glow in the morning light.
It was a little girl.
Maybe three years old, the child stared at her, frozen in fear and startled alarm. The wrist she had trapped in her bony hand had curled into a tiny fist, attempting to retract the offending appendages from sight. Heart pounding with adrenaline, Ziva stared into the eyes that were mere inches from her own.
With sudden clarity, she realized that she knew those eyes.
The skin beneath her fingers turned red hot, and Ziva released it as though it had physically burned her. As soon as she did, the child backed away until her back collided with the wall behind it, and Ziva pulled away as well, pushing herself onto one elbow as she stared that child who had woken her.
The blue eyes that had haunted her since her Capture—those peaceful blue eyes she struggled to keep with her throughout everything that had happened—filled with woeful tears, though the brown-haired little girl did not run away as Ziva had half-expected her to. Instead she stared up with pleading eyes that threatened to break Ziva's heart.
"Don't tell my daddy I woke you," came the soft, wobbly plea. Her tiny lower lip trembled fearfully. "I didn't mean to, promise."
The child's voice was so pitiful, so heartrendingly fearful that Ziva was overcome with guilt for having been the cause of it. She was too used to feeling that fear herself… she couldn't be the cause of it.
"I won't tell your father," she reassured her quickly, nearly stumbling over her own words in her haste to comfort the child. "And I won't hurt you. You do not need to be afraid."
The child stared back at her without responding, but brown eyes tracked the movement of two tiny hands drifting up towards her chin. A black shirt hung from one, and the other bore the tell-tale marks of fingers having clenched too tight. It was in that moment she realized that she had already hurt the little girl.
She took a moment to take a long blink, to steady herself with a deep breath. When she opened her eyes once more, a gentle smile had settled over her lips. She needed to earn the child's trust, she knew—to prove that she would not ever harm this little girl again.
"Did I startle you?" she asked softly. After a tense moment, the girl nodded. "I'm sorry for that. But do you want to know a secret?"
Blue eyes lit up in excitement, and the following nod was much more enthusiastic than the first.
"You scared me too," Ziva revealed, whispering theatrically. To her delight, the girl gave her a full-blown smile.
"I was looking at your mark," the little girl admitted, taking a step towards the bed. "I have one on my knee."
Ziva gave a small grin of her own, seeing the opening provided. "Will you show me?" With another eager nod, the little girl's pant leg was rolled up and the bare knee presented proudly, revealing a thin short scar that curved over the smooth skin.
"I fell on a rock," delicate lips explained. "How'd you get yours?"
Ziva froze, though she was careful to keep the smile on her lips. The child's question was innocent enough, but she could not share that story. Not here, not with her.
"Not nearly so exciting a way as you, I'm afraid," Ziva responded finally, her voice light despite her apprehension. "Do you have many scars, Tali?"
The name slipped before she'd even realized she'd thought it. For a moment, she was afraid that she had been wrong, that the eyes that stared at her in surprise were not the eyes that she'd been hoping to see before she died. But then the girl stepped even closer, pressing up against the bed in curiosity.
"You know my name," Tali whispered in awe.
Tears prickled at Ziva's eyes in relief, amazement, and awe at the child she'd hoped to one day find again. "Yes, I do," she whispered quietly, not trusting her voice.
"Daddy says you're my mommy," the child stated simply, without preconceptions. "Are you my mommy?"
Suddenly, Ziva felt as if the air had been sucked from her lungs.
She knew she shouldn't say yes. It would hurt both of them if she did and the worst happened. Claiming Tali would only put the child in danger.
But there was only one answer she could give.
There was only one truth she had ever accepted when it had come to the little girl standing before her with innocent eyes. The eyes which, even though they were blue, reminded her so much of her sister's brown hopeful gaze that it hurt her heart to even look at them.
And then, against her better judgment, her head was nodding in affirmation, even as the impending tears rolled down her cheeks. She tried to stop, but it was as if she'd lost all conscious control of her faculties.
"If you want me to be…"
The whisper was added at the last moment, as a safeguard against resistance and rejection.
She wouldn't force herself into the life that Jethro had created for their daughter, what was left of their dysfunctional family. She wouldn't force her presence onto this little girl, who beyond all logical reason seemed to be perfectly well adjusted in the crazy world that had been thrust upon them. She wouldn't blame the girl for not wanting to share her father, for wanting to keep the normalcy of her life so far.
It would break her heart, but she wouldn't place blame.
But to her surprise, the mattress dipped, and the three-year old wordlessly climbed onto the bed. Ziva watched in shock, her eyes catching sight of the black shirt again, the Shirt Abby had mentioned.
She vaguely remembered that shirt. She'd picked it up before they'd settled in the Warehouse, though she couldn't recall when or where. It had been one of her favorites though, since it had breathed a little bit easier than her sole other shirt. Than the shirt was now torn to shreds in the pits of DC.
Her thoughts were disrupted when arms soft as only child's arms could be wrapped around her neck.
They pressed against the raw skin left behind by her collar, but she was too surprised to do anything more than silently wince at the pain. The short reach of Tali's small arms brought the girl's head under Ziva's chin, and soft brown curls tickled her nose. Her own arms came up to embrace the child, and she felt her cheeks dampen with tears she was glad the little girl couldn't see.
As she held the little girl close, she ignored the strain on her stomach wound from her awkward position and the violent stinging in her neck. It was easy to do so, because underneath the discomfort the knot that had gripped her stomach for the past—did Jethro say two years?— finally relaxed. Suddenly, she could feel peace, and it did not feel like a cruel trick.
It felt right. So very, very right.
"Uncle Tony says you're a Warrior Princess," Tali said, pulling away to kneel on the bed in front of her. Her blue-eyed gaze was quizzical, but not accusing.
Ziva's brow furrowed, unsure of how to respond. What was a warrior princess? And why would Tony say she was one? She would have expected a ninja, or simply crazy chick. "Uhm…"
Luckily, the child didn't seem to be waiting for a reply.
"In the Mem'rees, you always beat up the bad guys," she continued. "Is that how you got your scar?"
A small hand came up to touch Ziva's left cheek, split by the scar in question.
All of a sudden, Ziva wondered just how gruesomely the torn flesh twisted her features. Every so often, over the past few months, she'd caught glimpses of it on her nose out of the corner of her eye, an annoying hint of what damage still lingered by that single devastating knife. But she had yet to see it for herself, beyond that niggling reminder in the periphery of her vision. Tali seemed preoccupied with it, though with a childlike wonder rather than disgust or horror.
She was suddenly very glad that Abby had helped her wash.
"Yes," she found herself saying. "Fighting bad guys." It wasn't too far from the truth, and it was simple enough to satisfy a small girl's curiosity.
As expected, blue eyes lit in excitement.
"Whoa!" came the hushed exclamation of wonder and awe. For a moment, Ziva expected the child to start firing questions at her, but to her surprise Tali's gaze grew puzzled once more. "Are you still sleepy?"
The question took Ziva by surprise. "Why do you ask?"
"I woke you up. When Daddy wakes me up, I'm always tired."
Ziva smiled. "I don't think I would be able to sleep now," she responded, not truly answering the question.
"Why not?" Tali asked curiously. "It's easy. See, I'll show you!"
To Ziva's shock, the little girl laid down next to her, pulling the blanket over her small legs until she was covered from the waist down. Her small head settled on the pillow, and Ziva mimicked her motions, smiling softly in amusement. Soon both of their heads were laying on the pillow, their eyes level with one another's. Ziva stared into those blue eyes that were so familiar, despite having not seen them in two years, and watched as they closed tightly.
"Watch," Tali instructed firmly. Ziva obeyed, and observed the little girl remaining still as stone, her eyes closed—the picture of sleep. But then one blue eye popped open accusingly. "You have to close your eyes!"
"But you told me to watch!" Ziva returned with a grin, poking Tali's belly as she did so and eliciting a delighted laugh. Blue eyes closed once more, but this time they squinched closed in mirth. There was no doubt that the little girl was ticklish, and soon Ziva's fingers were exploring for any more sensitive spots, and it was not long before Tali was doubled over with gut-busting laughter.
When Ziva began to doubt the child's ability to breathe between laughs, she paused in her assault, instead occupying her hands by brushing wayward strands of hair away from Tali's face. For a moment, she simply looked at her, the child she'd thought lost to her forever. When blue eyes opened to look at her, happy tears shining back at her, Ziva smiled.
"You are so beautiful," she whispered softly.
"Bwoodiful," Tali echoed. "That's what daddy says." She snuggled closer to Ziva's chest, her eyes blinking heavily. Ziva let her come, and even hugged her closer until the little girl's head was resting on her bony shoulder. Small knees came dangerously close to the healing slice in her abdomen, but Ziva couldn't bring herself to care.
"Well, your daddy is absolutely right."
For a moment, Ziva thought Tali had already drifted to sleep, but then another soft question drifted up to her ears.
"Are you anyone else's mommy?"
"No," came the instantaneous answer. "No, I'm not."
Thank god for small favors.
Her answer seemed to satisfy the little girl, for she relaxed into Ziva's hold. Her breaths slowly evened out, and Ziva felt herself relaxing as well. Her hand came up to stroke Tali's smooth curls, unnaturally soft under her calloused fingertips. She pressed a light kiss to the top of the child's head, unable to resist bestowing the tender affection she'd been waiting years to impart.
"I love you, my sweet girl," she whispered ever so softly. She didn't bother brushing away her tears of happiness. These tears, she was proud of. "I have missed you so."
Tali sighed tiredly, snuggling deeper into Ziva's shoulder.
"Wuv you too, Mommy."
---
When Gibbs finally realized the only place he hadn't looked in his mad chase to locate his wayward daughter was the one place he should have checked first, he quietly poked his head into his bedroom to find his wife and daughter sleeping soundly.
Ziva was on her side, one arm folded under her head as an added pillow. Her other hand had been pulled over Tali's waist, the little girl's hand wrapped tightly around several of her mother's fingers, keeping the hand in place. Tali's other arm was tucked under her head in a mirror image of Ziva, and her back was pressed up against Ziva's chest.
Gibbs recognized the little girl's position as one of Tali's signatures. When she had a nightmare, she would climb into the bigger bed, and snuggle up against his chest, pulling his hand around her as a sort of protective blanket. It seemed as though the child had had no qualms about using Ziva for protection instead.
Seeing the two of them together, so close to being perfectly identical in poses and small smiles of content, lifted Gibbs' spirits. Finally, the piece of his life that had been missing for the past two years was back in place. Ziva was home, and, it seemed, had reaccepted her role in Tali's life, just as he'd known she would. There had never been a doubt in his mind that she would reclaim Tali as her own. Their bond was too strong to believe otherwise.
And Tali was too sweet to be wary of the strange woman that had so suddenly come back into their lives.
His family was whole again.
This time, he had a second chance.