A/N: Do *NOT* read this if you have yet to view the latest NCIS season finale, "Family First". Just turn your Internet browser right around before you get slammed with spoilers. I spent the entire episode, from about five minutes in, absolutely ugly-face weeping over this stupid episode, so obviously had to write a fanfiction about it. I don't know if there will be more to come or not, so I'm saying it's just a one-shot for now. I just wanted to explore Tony's emotions. I also don't know if the Hebrew is right in this, outside of 'mother' and 'father' because, obviously, that's what is used in the actual show. I just Google-searched it, so it may be unreliable and I apologize if it is incorrect. Ugh, okay, I'm going to keep rambling nonsensically about that excruciating episode if I don't stop, so here we go. Hopefully this created a big enough buffer to shield the innocent from spoilers.

Tony clutched the scarf to him, the last he had of her. Ziva David was murdered, labeled as merely collateral damage. Her -their -child could have been killed too, but it was just by God's will that the poor baby had made it out alive. He inhaled deeply, wanting to catch one last bit of her scent. It only brought an onslaught of memories.

Babysitting Director Vance's kids after his wife's death, he'd known that Ziva would be a wonderful mother someday. He hadn't known, but she'd thought he would make a good father that same day. And now he was a daddy. He wished he could have seen Ziva interacting with Tali, kissing her chubby cheeks and holding her as a newborn. He wished he could've been there for her throughout her pregnancy and...everything.

Going to Paris, he'd known that Ziva was a free soul like he was: a world traveler-wannabe with an eye for the beautiful. He hadn't known then that she'd be the most beautiful thing he'd ever know. Tali was that now. Ziva, too, had realized that trip that Tony could have a deep appreciation for things other than movies. He still kept the photograph of Ziva from that trip in his wallet.

Tony sobbed. He couldn't help it. He was a wreck, after all. It was worse than in the movies: he couldn't pick himself back together; simultaneously he was feeling everything and nothing at all. Nothing he could do would stop the mixture of numbness and pain. He curled in on himself as if he'd been stabbed, and gasped in pain as he remembered Ziva's kiss.
"Tony, you are so..."
"Handsome? Funny?" he grinned teasingly at her upturned, solemn face.
"Loved," she said simply.

He hadn't known that that would be the last kiss they would ever share. Some part of him had always hoped, always prayed, always dreamed, that she would come back. He didn't know, but she'd considered running back to him time and time again for the first few months in Tel Aviv, but then that positive pregnancy test had deterred her.

Ziva's name was all Tony could cry out, over and over again into his pillow as he attempted to muffle his screams. When he closed his eyes, all he could see were the fire, Trent Kort, and Ziva's beautiful face. Never would he find someone like her in his lifetime. His mourning, though, was interrupted by a quieter cry.
"Imah! Imah!"
Tali. Tony scrambled out of bed and padded down the hallway to the child's makeshift bedroom-geez, he had the kid on an oversize mattress on the floor; he thought he was an awful father-and then flicked on her light. When she saw him, her fearful eyes widened and she started shrieking even louder for her mother.

This was just their second night together. Of course she'd wake up scared, crying and wondering where her mommy was, and not quite remember yet that she was with her father. During the day, she was okay. During the night...of course she'd have nightmares. Her home, her mother, everything she knew had been blown up and all she knew was the sudden stranger who she now lived with.
"It's okay, Tali. It's me, Daddy," Tony said, slowly approaching her. He hadn't expected to use in-field talk-down tactics in his own home, but here he was. "It's okay. You're okay, baby girl."
Her whimpers slowly subsided, but she still stared mistrustfully at him. The knowledge that she still didn't quite link him with the man she'd seen in Ziva's photograph seemed to tear his already broken mind. Another hole was torn into his stabbed and bleeding soul. Suddenly getting an idea, though, he left her, bounded into the living room, and grabbed the photograph from the shelf above his fish bowl. He returned quickly, holding it out to his daughter.
"Abba's here. It's Abba," he said. She seemed to know very limited English, something else he'd have to remember and work on with her. She stared at him for a moment, sniffling, before repeating him.
"Abba here?" she asked, pointing to him. He nodded, kneeling down to gather her up in his arms. He looked around the room and found her stuffed dog, which he used to pretend that it was kissing her cheeks. She soon brightened and began giggling and burying her face in his chest to escape its tickle-y nose.

Once she'd quieted, Tony sat down on the mattress with her. She was cuddled up against him so, almost drearily -gosh, Whatsherface Director of Mussad had it wrong; Tali's eyes were Ziva's through and through, especially when they were tired- that he couldn't possibly leave her. She was all he had left of the woman he loved, and he'd already missed a good bit of her tiny life. He just wanted to hold her forever. Suddenly remembering something Ziva had taught him, years and years ago when she was still mixing up English idioms, he kissed Tali's forehead and murmured, "Ani ohev otach, Tali. Daddy-abba-loves you." He wasn't certain she would understand it, nor if he'd gotten the pronunciations right, but she just grinned at him sleepily and cuddled a little closer.

He spent the rest of the night holding her.