A/N: I am very self-conscious in publishing this.

I fully believe that Tony and Ziva will be parents someday. At the same time, it's difficult to write them as parents together, because in order for that to happen, they will need to grow and develop, both as individuals and in their relationship together. As much as I feel like I know these characters pretty well, it's difficult to foresee how that will change them.

The reason I'll go ahead and press publish anyway is because this came to me all at once while I was driving the other day and it's haunted me ever since. I can only wonder what challenges Tony and Ziva will face when they have children of their own. Whether or not they're married in this is entirely up to your imagination.

So please let me know what you think, whether negative or positive.

As always, I don't own the show or the characters. Happy holidays! :)

"Alright, Leila, go pick out a bedtime story," Tony chided to his four-year-old daughter. Her hazel eyes lit up and she scurried over to her bookshelf, her dark curls bouncing with each step.

Her father stifled a laugh as he sat down on Leila's bed and pulled the navy blue quilt over his legs. He leaned back against a pillow, watching his daughter make her decision. She was holding several books in her hands and considering her options carefully, her little brow furrowed in concentration. Bedtime stories with Daddy were a serious affair.

Eventually, Leila clutched one book to her chest and bounded back to bed, climbing under the covers and settling on Tony's lap. He wrapped an arm around her tiny waist and planted a kiss on her head. "Which one did you pick?" he asked. She beamed up at him and revealed her selection, shoving the paperback into his hands. "Ah! The Lion and the Mouse! One of my favorites!"

The cover of the book was nearly falling off, and the spine was so worn that the letters were no longer visible. The pages were held together with copious amounts of tape, but neither father nor daughter seemed to mind. He held the book open and began to read aloud.

"Once upon a time," he narrated, "a lion lay asleep in the forest, his great head resting on his paws..."

As he continued the story, Leila curled into his arms contentedly. Although she was not yet a fluent reader, she'd heard the story enough times to know it by heart, and she insisted upon turning the pages herself. For a four-year-old, she was very engaged. Of course, it helped that Tony was an animated reader. He growled for the lion, and he talked in a high-pitched squeak when he spoke for the mouse, causing his daughter to erupt in a fit of giggles.

Her enthusiastic laughter pealed through the house; it was a sound her mother recognized even from the living room. Ziva smiled, abandoning the case files she'd been reviewing and tiptoeing towards Leila's room.

She stopped outside, peering in through the crack in the door. Her daughter was too enveloped in the story to notice Ziva lingering outside her bedroom, but Tony looked up and met her eyes. He smiled at her lovingly, but did not let on, and continued to read without stammering.

"'You were right, little one,'" Tony read, his tone low and deep as he spoke the lion's words. Leila felt her father's chest rumble with the force of his voice. "'Even a little mouse can help a lion!' And from that day on, the lion and the mouse were the best of friends," Tony said, lowering his volume as he said the final line of the story. Leila's eyes were fluttering. She was fighting the forces of sleep, and losing badly.

He tucked the well-loved book under his arm and slid his body out from underneath Leila's, gently lowering her onto the mattress. She opened her eyes momentarily and mumbled, "Laila tov, Daddy." Then she drifted off once more, her face melting into the tranquil innocence that Tony loved most. He smiled and stooped over, kissing her forehead and brushing a stray curl out of her face. "Goodnight," he murmured.

Watching from the door, Ziva felt gratitude flood her veins. Although their family was not perfect, these were the moments that reassured her.

Tony turned to Leila's bookshelf. He paused for a moment, weighing the book in his hands and running his finger along the spine before placing it back where it belonged. He made his way to the door and flicked the light switch; his eyes strained in the darkness to make out the shape of his daughter, fast asleep, her chest rising and falling with each slow breath.

He quietly exited her room, closing the door behind him. Ziva was leaning against the wall, her arms crossed and a smile tugging at her lips. He wanted to ask her what was so amusing, but he knew his voice would cause Leila to stir. He curbed his curiosity, instead taking Ziva's hand and tugging her to the living room. They sat down next to each other on the couch.

"You know," Tony said sarcastically, "if you wanted to join story-time, you could've just asked." He wagged his eyebrows at her, and she bit back a humorous retort. Instead, she tapped into the gratitude she'd felt watching the loving interaction.

"You are a good father, Tony," she told him, her eyes conveying her sincerity. Tony met her gaze and searched her face. The humor drained from his expression, and seriousness overtook his features.

"That book is the same book my mom read to me when I was little," he confessed quietly. Ziva bit her lip, surprised. She'd read The Lion and the Mouse to Leila numerous times, and she'd noticed that the book was falling apart, but she'd always forgotten to ask Tony about its origin.

"It was her only posession that I insisted on keeping. I used to sit for hours and just smell the pages because I thought I could smell her, and that it would help me remember." He exhaled, shaking his head with a small smile. "It was my favorite story," he said simply.

She nodded slowly. They sat in pensive silence for a moment. Ziva reached over and placed her hand on Tony's, and he met her eyes.

"Is it… Should we be reading her those kinds of stories? Are we doing the right thing?" she questioned. He cocked his head at her, unsure of her meaning. Her eyes focused on something distant—a memory, perhaps?—as she tried to decide how she should elaborate. Tony threaded his fingers through hers and waited.

She took a breath. "I do not want Leila to have the childhood that I had," she started, and Tony nodded. That much he certainly understood.

"I do not want her to grow up as quickly as I had to. I want her to be a child while she can. But…" Ziva hesitated, choosing her words carefully. With her other hand, she gestured to the open case file on the table. "We live with this," she said simply. The bloody photos spoke for themselves.

Somberly, Ziva looked into Tony's eyes. "I do not want her to grow up thinking that a lion can be friends with a mouse," she said gently. "The world, especially our world," she squeezed his hand, "is different. It is colder. Lions eat mice." She shrugged. "It is how it is."

Tony began to nod, then a thought occurred to him. "When you were a kid, did Eli tell you stories?" he inquired, trying to envision a young Ziva lost in a Hebrew version of Cinderella. He couldn't imagine it.

"No," she said, and there was a note of regret in her voice. "My father didn't believe in filling the minds of his children with 'that foolishness.'" She cast her eyes down. "I want for Leila to be able to imagine, to dream… but I also want her to know that there are bad people in the world." Her tone was tinged with indecision. She wanted to protect her daughter from the world's horrors, and at the same time, she wanted Leila to understand that cruelty existed.

Tony was equally conflicted. He remembered the bitter resentment he'd harbored against his father for so many years; he remembered Ziva's unwillingness to speak to Eli after returning from Somalia. He met her gaze and spoke honestly.

"You're not Eli, Ziva. And I'm not Senior."

In spite of herself, Ziva chuckled. As much as she truly enjoyed spending time with Tony's father, she was certainly grateful that her lover was vastly different from the man who raised him. "Thank God," she said under her breath, and Tony rolled his eyes in agreement.

"Yeah, I don't plan on leaving Leila alone in a hotel while we're on vacation," he said with a snort, remembering his trip to Maui when he was twelve. His smile faded and he looked into Ziva's eyes.

"We aren't perfect parents, Ziva. But hopefully—"

"Hopefully," Ziva cut him off with a sly grin, "we have learned from our parent's mistakes." She sighed. "I suppose it is not a bad thing for Leila to hear fairytales," she said thoughtfully.

Tony placed a chaste kiss on her mouth and looked into her eyes, stroking her cheekbone with his thumb. She hummed appreciatively. "No," he said softly, "it isn't. Besides," he said with a smirk, "she's four, and she's in the advanced eight- to ten-year-old class in karate. She can take down fifth graders! At the rate she's going, she'll be able to fight Gibbs when she's fifteen!"

Ziva narrowed her eyes, and motherly instinct rushed to the surface. She couldn't imagine her daughter at the age of seven, let alone ten. "Don't rush her, Tony," she scolded quietly, tugging his earlobe.

He kissed her forehead apologetically and pulled her into his arms. They clung to each other, relishing in the comfort that closeness provided. "We're new at this," Tony reminded her in a gruff whisper. He felt Ziva nod against his neck.

"We will do the best we can," she agreed.

After all, that was all they could really do.

xXxXx