Disclaimer: I own nothing.

A/N: I have been a Tiva fan for many years, but have been mostly a spectator in terms of fanfiction. I've read many wonderful Tiva fics on this site over the years and never once had the urge to contribute. In the wake of "Family First," that has changed. Set before (and then after) Tony's conversation with Gibbs at the end of the episode.

Tony was quickly finding out that parenting had a learning curve akin to hurtling oneself off a cliff without safety gear. With your eyes closed. Backwards. That wasn't even taking into account the fact that the child in question was not quite two and had a poor grasp of the English language (and Tony's Hebrew wasn't too great, either). Not to mention his zero childcare experience. All in all, it was adding up to be one of the most exhausting weeks of his life. Worse than his days a beat cop and the hours he'd kept as Senior Field Agent. All night stake-out in an agency car? Nothing compared to the weariness that seemed to settle to his bones.

Tali was far more perceptive than Tony had given her credit for. Her first three days had sailed by with relative ease—her issues with his idea of good food notwithstanding. Shy smiles were given freely and the slightest tickle set off a tirade of bubbly baby giggles. She was quiet and inquisitive. She had spent a full two hours one morning exploring every inch of his apartment, eyeing his central heating with interest and pulling all of the pots and pans out of the kitchen cupboards. Senior had gotten a real kick out of that, and had shown her how to use Tony's stock pot as a drum and a saucepan as a hat. Tony had feigned annoyance, but couldn't deny the pictures he'd snapped on his phone. She had been held and fussed over by every member of the MCRT team, much to her apparent delight.

Seventy-two hours in, and something suddenly changed. She woke early, awakening Tony with an ear-piercing scream in the night. She refused breakfast, sweeping her arm across the high chair tray and sending the bowl crashing to the hardwood. She threw a glare her father's way when he protested, and pushed his hands away with an enraged squeak when he moved to loosen the straps. She zoomed away from him as fast as her little legs would carry her as soon as her feet hit the floor. Tony had cleaned the mess and walked into the living room to find her curled in a ball on his couch, sobbing desperately into one of his throw pillows. She curled tighter into herself as he approached, and he could make out words through the sobs. Not many he could understand, but one that made his heart clench as she repeated it over and over. Ima. It hit him like the proverbial ton of bricks. Tali was beginning to realize that Ziva was gone. Her Ima was gone. This wasn't a vacation. Ima had been there, and now suddenly she was not. He wondered momentarily if the full-bore inspection of his home had been his daughter searching for her mother—and coming up empty. Tony had felt like curling up next to her and joining her.

Since then, it had been an uphill battle. Senior was a regular in Tony's apartment, but didn't know much more about raising children than Tony did; he had infamously been a hands-off parent. Nothing Tony did or said seemed to help, and it certainly didn't do either of them very good that Tali understood very little of what he was trying to tell her. He had tried to reassure her in clumsy Hebrew that she was safe and that Ima loved her. It had only made things worse. Eating was a fight, and he was becoming seriously concerned that the only thing she'd ingested in the last two days had been a small amount of yogurt. Sleep was hard to come by, and often happened after Tali had cried herself into exhaustion. It had taken two hours to get her to sleep tonight. An improvement over the previous night's two and a half hours, but that was little consolation. He'd worn a path around his apartment walking with her and rubbing her back. The only thing that seemed to help remotely was the scarf Tony had pulled from Tali's go-bag. Tali had used it as a pillow, bunched up against Tony's shoulder, with the slightly frayed edge rubbed between her tiny fingers. Surrounded by Ziva's scent, Tali had fallen into a fitful sleep. Tony didn't know what he would do when it needed to be washed.

Tony tip-toed carefully out of his bedroom, shutting the door most of the way, but enough so he could hear her if she woke. He had tucked her securely into his small twin bed, surrounded by pillows so she didn't roll off. The bedside table bathed the room in a soft glow; he wasn't even sure if Tali was afraid of the dark, but he wasn't taking any chances. Seeing Tali dozing in the small bed, her curls splashed over the white cotton sheets, reminded him starkly of when her mother had slept there, also grieving the loss of a parent. He hoped he would be able to provide more comfort and support for Tali than Ziva had allowed him to give to her.

Once in the living room, he toed off his sneakers and all but fell face-first onto the couch, groaning into the cushion with exhaustion. He was seriously going to have to look into getting Tali her own bed. He had another night on his couch to look forward to, and it wasn't doing his back any favors.

Tony rolled to his side and reached for the remote. He flicked on a random channel and willed sleep to come. Tali wasn't the only reason Tony's nights were long. His dreams were filled with her—her voice, her smile, her scent. Fading quickly into a blast of mortar fire and a house engulfed in flames. Him on the sidelines, shouting himself hoarse as windows smashed and sirens wailed. Sometimes inside, with the panicked screams of his daughter from her room in the far wing. He woke often feeling more tired than when he had fallen asleep. He glanced at the framed picture Senior had unearthed from the go-bag; he placed it on the end table for Tali's easy reach. Paris. An easier time.

Given the late hour, all that was on were old sitcom re-runs and infomercials. He stared blankly at the screen, not really taking in the plot or the characters. He could have been watching an I Love Lucy marathon, for all he knew. He considered putting in a movie, losing himself in the world of cinema as he had done following his own mother's death, but balked. He felt too tired to move and too tired to sort out a movie he had any interest in. The television show erupted into a fit of canned laughter before seguing into a commercial break. He let his eyes drift closed as a deep-voiced narrator expounded on the benefits of using their professional cleaning service following a flood or fire. Like it never even happened, it promised. No smoke or mildew scent.

It took Tony's brain less than two seconds to jump from mostly-asleep to wired-awake. He pushed himself up to a sitting position and stared at his television screen. He glanced at Tali's go-bag, now mostly empty, tossed in a corner of the room. He scrambled to where it was, and rifled through its remaining contents. He took a deep breath as he held the bag close to his nose. Baby powder, lotion, Ziva…no smoke. He reached for the scarf, now hanging on the back of the couch. He sniffed it. A heavy dose of Ziva's perfume. But no smoke. Tali's Doggy didn't smell like smoke, either. Orli had said Tali had been in a corridor of the house untouched by the fire. But Tony had watched the house be consumed by flames, great plumes of smoke reaching miles-high into the sky. All of the items in the go-bag, which had reportedly come from the farmhouse, should reek of smoke. Tali's Doggy should. But they don't. The bag had been packed earlier. But why? He played back his conversation with Orli in the Navy Yard. There had been no body found, and her story had some holes in it. He had been too busy coming to terms with fatherhood to really pay much attention. As he pictured Orli's face and her distant sympathy, Gibb's voice echoed in his mind:

Rule 36: If you think you're being played, you probably are.

No body had been found.

A/N: Seeing as how this is my first NCIS fanfic, any and all criticism (but hopefully constructive criticism) is welcome! Let me know if I should continue or scrap it and return to my lurker ways. Also, I take no credit for the theory presented in this chapter; it's been floating around online all day.