This will be a two or three parter, not sure yet.

Uses my Tiva baby from my drabble series, Family for Observation… this takes place after the drabbles Over and Faith. You'll probably understand what's going on even if you haven't read those.

Next chapter will be more Azalea-centric.

Written because Sophie begged me.

Enjoy!

Ziva was coming down the hall with a basket of unfolded laundry when she heard the familiar, lighthearted song that really shouldn't have made her heart drop the way it did. She abruptly changed direction and entered the living room. As she expected, eight-year-old Azalea was on the TV screen, performing her first ballet solo.

Teenaged Azalea reclined on the couch, her ankle and its cast propped up on a pillow.

"Aza," Ziva sighed, putting down her basket. She leaned over the arm of the couch and rested her hand on one of her daughter's knees. Azalea refused to look away from the younger version of herself. "Sweetheart."

With a loud exhale, Azalea mumbled, "What."

"Why don't you turn this off and help me fold these clothes? You will still be able to sit down."

"No thanks."

Her hair was a mess and her skin was paler than usual. Her eyes, normally bright and a tad mischievous, were now empty. She was a shell of her former self. She only spoke when spoken to and she only ate when forced. Tony and Ziva originally thought that all she needed was time, but it had now been a week since Azalea was released from the hospital, and, if anything, she had only gotten worse.

For the first time in the seventeen years they'd been parents, they had absolutely no idea what to do.

Ziva grabbed the remote from the coffee table and turned off the TV. She expected a protest, but got none. Instead, Azalea's chin quivered. Guilt surged through Ziva.

"Don't cry," she said, hurrying to the edge of the couch and palming her daughter's cheek. "No, no, Azalea-"

"Leave me alone," Azalea choked out. She pulled a throw pillow over her face to muffle the loud, ugly sob that escaped her lips.

Ziva stood there for several seconds. In the end, however, she could not keep her own tears at bay. She grabbed her laundry basket and left, nearly running into the doorframe because of her own blurred vision.

0000000000

She knew when Tony got home because she heard the front door open and his overly cheerful voice asking, "How's my girl?" His conversation with Azalea was short-lived, of course. Soon, his footsteps were headed toward their room, where Ziva had been curled up on the bed for a good half hour.

He stepped inside and seemed to sense that all was not well, because he greeted her softly. "Hey."

"Hey."

As he sank onto the edge of the bed, his fingers slid into her hair. Her eyelids drifted shut. "Tough day?" Tony questioned.

Ziva hummed in the affirmative. For a few seconds, they were both silent as he massaged her scalp. Then she turned onto her back so she could look directly into his face. His hand cradled the side of her head. "She mostly slept, but I walked in a while ago and… and she was watching that tape again."

He sighed. The worry lines on his forehead had become very prominent since the day he and Ziva saw Azalea collapse onstage. "Damn."

"Maybe we should just… take it away."

"No." Tony shook his head. "She's grieving. We need to let her do that."

"You cannot tell me that this is healthy."

The words came out sharper than she had intended, but he did not appear bothered. Living with two David women for so long had more or less desensitized him to confrontational tones. "She's lost her future, Ziva. We gotta let her deal with it in her own way."

Ziva threw her hands up in frustration. "For how long, though? At one point do we say, enough is enough?"

He pursed his lips. "I don't know," he replied honestly, and motioned for her to scoot over. Once she had made room, he stretched out on his side next to her. It took all of two seconds for their limbs to become entangled, for her head to find its rightful place on his chest.

Tony had been her best friend, her protector, and her comforter for over half her life now. Tonight, he was exactly what she needed.

She melted into his arms.

And everything instantly became a little bit better.

0000000000

The doorbell rang at a quarter past seven, as usual.

Tony and Ziva were still loitering in the kitchen after their dinner of leftovers. As soon as the chime echoed through the house, they looked at each other.

"I answered yesterday," he said quickly. "Your turn."

She narrowed her eyes. "Since when are we taking turns?"

With a shrug, Tony replied, "Since now."

Ziva heaved a defeated sigh and started down the hall. She paused as she reached the living room. Even though she already knew the answer, she called, "Azalea, do you want to see him?"

There was not a single moment of hesitation. "No."

She proceeded to the front door and, after a quick glance through the peephole, pulled it open. Standing on the porch was Azalea's boyfriend, who was also the most persistent person Ziva had ever met in her life. Since the accident, he had sent Azalea a text every morning (it always went unanswered), and he showed up every evening to see if she is ready to talk to him yet.

Honestly, it was sweet. Very sweet. But also exhausting.

"Hi, Mrs. DiNozzo," Javi said with a smile. "How's it goin'?"

"Fine, thank you," she told him. "I'm afraid Azalea is not up for company tonight, though."

Even as he chuckled, Ziva didn't miss the hurt that crossed his face for a split second. "Yeah. Figured as much." But he didn't leave. Even though Azalea had turned him away time and time again, he always stayed to ask about her well-being. "How's her pain?"

"Better. She is not taking as much of the pain medication."

"Good." Javi swallowed hard and stuffed his hands in the back pockets of his jeans. "Um, okay. I should go. Would you tell her I came by?"

This was always his parting question.

"Of course." Ziva stepped back into the house. "Have a good night."

"You, too."

She shut the door and, after a second of deliberation, went into the living room. The TV was off. Azalea had her hands folded over her stomach as she stared at the ceiling.

"I spent a long, long time pushing your father away," Ziva announced without preamble. "And I regret it. Even now. I regret it because I hurt somebody who cared about me. He cared about me enough to keep trying, no matter how many times I shut him out."

Azalea released a long breath.

"When Javier comes by tomorrow, I want you to see him."

Silence stretched between them before Ziva prompted, "Azalea."

"Fine."

She inhaled, nodded, and leaned over to kiss her daughter's forehead. "I'm just worried for you."

As Azalea blinked quickly, her long eyelashes brushed Ziva's cheek. "I know."

0000000000

Twenty-four hours later, Ziva opened the front door wide and told Javi, "You can come in."

His eyes widened in surprise before the corners of his mouth turned up and he practically bounded into the house. Ziva hoped with everything she had that Azalea would at least be civil to him- that this visit would not be an utter disaster.

She strategically placed herself so that her figure was mostly obscured by the doorframe but she was still able to see into the living room, and she watched as Javi circled cautiously to the front of the couch. He tentatively ran a hand over Azalea's hair. When he received no response, positive or negative, he gingerly lowered himself to sit on the edge of the coffee table. "Hey, Zale," he greeted so quietly that Ziva almost didn't hear him.

"What're you doing?"

She jumped and turned to find Tony standing behind her, brow furrowed. "Shh," she hissed.

"Did you actually let him in?"

"Yes." Ziva returned her attention to the scene in the living room. Javi's lips were moving, but she was unable to make out his words. "Shhh," she told her husband again.

His large hands closed over her hips, holding her steady as he peeked over her shoulder. Nothing happened for a minute or so until Javi grabbed one of Azalea's hands and lifted it to his lips.

Suddenly, the moment felt very intimate, too intimate, like something she shouldn't be spying on. "Let's leave them to talk," she said, wriggling free of Tony's grasp and starting toward the kitchen. Once there, she grabbed a dirty dish from the soapy water and began to scrub it. He leaned against the counter beside her, his eyes burning into the side of her skull. She could only take so much of his staring.

"What?" she snapped, plunking down the newly cleaned plate.

"Are you okay?"

Ziva paused in picking up her sponge. Tony waited.

"No," she admitted finally. "No."

He grasped her hand and pulled her into him. She went willingly, flattening her palms against his back, burying her face in the crook of his neck. His scent surrounded her. Enveloped her.

"I cannot shield her from everything," Ziva murmured. "This is not a bruise that I can kiss and make better."

"No, it's not."

"But I want to fix it for her, Tony. And I can't. I'm her mother, and I've turned her boyfriend loose in there because I couldn't get through to her."

"That doesn't say anything about you as a mother," he said, rubbing her forearms. "She's almost an adult. Hell, if this were, you know, 1583, she'd already be a mother."

Ziva, despite her angst, found it within herself to sock him in the stomach. "Don't say things like that."

"Sorry. But my point is-"

That's when a giggle carried into the kitchen, causing them both to freeze. Azalea had not so much as cracked a smile all week, but that was, undoubtedly, the sound of her laughter. Ziva strained her ears. No other sounds, joyous or otherwise, came.

But that did not change what she had already heard. It did not stop the coil of tension in her stomach from loosening just a bit.

"She's okay," Tony said, embracing Ziva once more. He kissed the top of her shoulder twice. "Did you hear that? She's okay. She's gonna be okay."