Today I am posting my six final stories as a part of the NCIS fan fiction community. Thank you so much for reading, reviewing, favoriting and alerting my stories- you all have made my time here worthwhile.

This story is a twoshot companion to my longfic, Worthy, and won't make a whole lot of sense unless you've already read that. Angelina is fourteen here.

Angelina is seething as she stares at her mother's retreating back. She inhales deeply, trying to calm herself… and then she replays the argument they just had in her head and gets angry all over again.

She stuffs the last bite of her sandwich in her mouth and plunks the empty plate down in the sink with a little more force than necessary. Houston looks up from his own lunch.

"What?" she snaps. Without waiting for an answer, she starts for the door. "I'm going to the park."

"Dad said you're not supposed to leave after you and Mom have fights," Houston reports. As if she'd forgotten.

She sends a glare over her shoulder. "I don't care."

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The July sun is hot, and beads of sweat roll down her face, but that doesn't keep her from hurrying along the sidewalk. Her only objective right now is to distance herself from the house and her mom. She needs peace to clear her head.

When Angelina arrives at the park, she takes a quick scan of her surroundings and is relieved to find that nobody else is here. She lowers herself onto a bench and presses her thighs against her chest. Her mind's eye begins to replay the earlier drama, but her anger had been so intense; she seems to have forgotten a lot of the specific words used. It had started when her mom asked if Angelina was going to study for her math test. Angelina had snapped in response; from there, it escalated quickly. Soon, she was yelling and her mother was crying, face red with rage.

The two of them had never had a big fight until about six months ago; recently, they've become a weekly occurrence. Angelina hates it. She hates having her parents mad at her. She hates that her little brother keeps witnessing his mom and sister at their worst.

And yet, when the time comes to bite her tongue, she can't do it.

A sudden sense of loneliness sweeps over her. Tears sting the backs of her eyes, and, as she rests her forehead on her knees, she allows them to spill over for just a minute. Then she tells herself to suck it up. She stops crying, but keeps her head down. To raise it would mean to face the world, and she's not ready for that.

Some time passes before she looks up. The park is no longer deserted; a woman is walking toward the jungle gym with a little kid in tow. The kid breaks away from her, but she scoops him up, tapping his nose as she does so. Angelina has to avert her gaze. Scenes like this are sometimes hard for her to watch, because lately, she is very aware of the fact that a large portion of her own childhood did not include her mother.

"Ang?"

She cringes even as a small part of her is relieved to hear her dad's voice. A second later, he has come around the bench and is standing in front of her, hands in his pockets.

"Heard you and your mom had another problem," he begins gently. When she doesn't answer, he adds, "Houston told me you left."

"Of course he did," she grumbles.

"We don't want you running around outside when you're upset. It's not a good idea."

She clenches her jaw. "So you want me to be held hostage in the house with her?"

"Angelina," he says. She hates the tone- so exhausted, so sad- and mentally berates herself for doing this to him.

"Sorry," she mumbles.

Her dad sits on the bench, leaving a good chunk of space between them. Angelina places her feet flat on the ground and stares at them. It is he who speaks next. "What's going on?"

"I don't know."

"You don't know why you're screaming at your mother all the time?"

"Isn't that what teenagers are supposed to do?" she challenges. "Fight with their parents?"

He pauses. Then: "I guess so… except that this family has a bit of a… strange history. And I'm concerned about the role it might be playing here."

Angelina sighs.

"Sweetheart. Talk to me."

She stubbornly stares into the empty space beside her. Even though she refuses to look at him, she can feel her dad's expectant stare drilling into the back of her head. Their silent standoff lasts almost a full minute before she says, "I'm not stupid. It doesn't take a genius to figure out that I'm the least important member of this family."

"What?" His hand is on her chin, gently pulling it toward him. "What are you talking about?"

This is so wrong, because his face is twisted in genuine hurt and distress, and it shouldn't be. Angelina adores her father; he is the last person in the world she wants to cause pain. "Not you, Daddy. You… you're the only one who's always wanted me."

"What?" he asks again, more incredulous this time. "Where is this coming from?"

"Mom disappeared. She didn't want me," Angelina says matter-of-factly. She is proud of herself for keeping a steady voice. "And then, you know, she came back, and suddenly she decided she did want a kid… you guys spent, like, forever trying to adopt Houston. Because you both wanted him."

Her dad is shaking his head vigorously. "No, Ang. It's not like that."

"Then what is it like?" A little bit of her patience is lost. "Nobody's ever told me why Mom didn't used to be here, you know."

"Yeah," he sighs. "I know." When she sneaks a glance at him, she finds that he is pinching the bridge of his nose.

Angelina has memories of her early childhood, a time during which she lived only with her father. Most of them are good and involve ice cream or movies or laughter. Then there are others- one in particular is of him looking at a photo of her absent mother and crying.

Angelina has never been given an explanation- a real one- as to why she didn't meet her mom until she was five years old. Whatever the reason, she knows it was bad. That her dad was hurt terribly.

Did they honestly expect her not to wonder?

He slips an arm around her. "Come here." Angelina willingly leans into his side, rests her head on his shoulder. Even on her darkest days, her dad is her greatest comfort. "Listen. You absolutely have the right to know what happened… but it's so complicated. I couldn't possibly sit here and explain and make you understand within the next ten minutes."

Angelina slumps. "Just try."

He pauses, then pats her knee. She sits up straight and meets his eyes. "Ever heard of postpartum depression?"

She is reminded of her health class last year, when the teacher took it upon herself to share every single potential downside of pregnancy. "Kind of."

"It's where you, like… you feel a disconnect from your baby. Fear… hurting it and stuff like that. That's why she left. Because she loved you, and she couldn't bear the thought of anything happening to you."

"Did she do something to me?" Angelina asks, her heart rate speeding up. She imagines her mom holding a baby while being as angry as she was earlier today.

Before the thought can be completed, her dad is shaking his head. "No. Never."

"So… in other words, that was an excuse to abandon us."

She knows that she's crossed some sort of line even before her father knits his brows together and sternly says, "Angelina."

"Sorry."

"You just… you need to give her a chance to explain. She didn't want to go. There has never been one moment in your life when she didn't love you. I know it's hard to understand, but… try?"

He is pleading now, and what else can she say? "Sure, Daddy."

"Thanks."

He pulls her close again. Into her hair, he whispers, "You're my girl."

Angelina wipes her eyes. "I know."