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Her breath is like tiny feathers tickling the air. Her short rust-red hair sticks up in cowlicks that will embarrass her when she's all grown up and her mother is showing off the pictures of the baby girl she used to be. She'll be beautiful even then and Addison won't see a bit of herself in her—even though she's everywhere.
Beautiful skin, lovely eyes, and when she's glad, a smile that would make the Pope reconsider what defines a child of God.
She is a perfect product of the love that was unexpected, but simply inevitable all the same.
~!~
She is a liability.
Small and fragile, nestled in the crook of her arm, Ziva fears she shouldn't be so still. So, she taps her nose and, for her effort, receives a shrill cry in response. Placated, but affronted at her own insecurity, she soothes her to slumber again.
She is a liability with grey, grey eyes and a smile that is undeniably Addison. The responsibility of guarding the infant has fallen to Ziva while Ziva herself just feels like she's fallen.
Addison Montgomery was only supposed to be an asset.
Her daughter was never supposed to be an orphan.
She is a liability. A liability with grey, grey eyes and a smile that is her mother through and through. Ziva can refuse her nothing although that's exactly what she should do.
She should deny her everything: her time and her affection, her protection and, in some small measure, her worship. Only saints can do the impossible and this little one certainly has. The warm arms that envelope her are a sign of that. My greater saint, she thinks.
Nestled between the idols that have transformed her world, she says a prayer for a better day.