A/N: Just trying to make sense of where they left us with the last episode.

NOTE: This story will move from present to past to present at various times. Watch for the dates heading each section.

SEASONS

October 27, 2016

The wind had been gusting off and on, all day, bringing the promise of colder weather ahead, and with it, the comfortable sounds of his home's creaks and murmurs as it stood up to the growling wind and chill outside. In the quiet of his basement, Gibbs stood over some plans he'd sketched out long ago, a brittle sheet pulled from an stack of old technical drawings he had kept over the years, and drew out his well worn metal measuring tape to make some preliminary markings on the cedar plank before him. The soft yellow light overhead cast familiar shadows just outside its reach, but did little to keep the evening's chill at bay.

Another creak. But one that was not just the settling of an old house. One that was more than the natural sound of wood and time, in this house or elsewhere. One so fleeting it could slip in and out of the night as if no one had passed at all.

Breath held, Gibbs continued to work methodically as if nothing was amiss. His first thought was too unlikely and too impossible to be true, and at the moment, he was too far from his gun to have its comfort for anything else.

Another sound. Nearer, and more ... overt. More human; the slightest brush of clothing against clothing. All pretense gone now, Gibbs straightened, turning slowly, as he would to avoid spooking a skittish animal. His voice was low and gentle, carrying no evidence of the surprise and relief and question he felt as he spoke.

"Ziva."

The figure who now wavered on the last step, in shadow, seemed haunted, thinner than the last time he'd seen her. Smaller. Back from the dead yet again? Even in the dusky light he could see her try a small smile, falter. After another moment, she nodded, clearly trying to maintain her composure. "Gibbs," she said softly. Her voice was like the rustle of dry leaves on pavement.

A thousand questions lay between them, but the longer he looked at her, the less insistent they became as he sensed that the woman before him had suffered even more, both physically and mentally, than she had before, and he fought to keep his immediate instinct toward protective rage under control. She's here, under her own power, he reminded himself. She's here for at least this moment. She's not dead, and not dead to us, at least for this moment. Find out why she is here.

"We've missed you, Ziver."

The eyes, huge in her gaunt face, flickered in pain and appreciation, and he thought he saw her lip tremble slightly. Again, she paused a moment before she nodded. "And I ... all of you."

"You know ... we all thought you'd died. Did you know? Your family's farmhouse." He began slowly, hoping it was a safe place to start, wanting her to know right away she still had family here who cared about her. "It was on the news. Orli came herself to confirm it." He watched carefully for a response to his words, listened closely to her breathing, for any movement from her.

She was motionless, silent, for long moments. Finally, she nodded yet again, her expression so flat that he knew it took all of her effort to hide whatever the truth was behind it all.

The investigator in him saw all the signs. He knew she was fragile, knew that pressing her now could ruin his chance to learn what had happened, and what had brought her back here to the U.S., to the District, to him. For all her apparent reticence, she seemed to want to be there, to see him, and because of it his gut was certain that this was likely his one chance to get her to open up to him about what had happened to bring her to this point. But he was just as certain that a misstep could cause her to break, and she might never again want – might never again be able – to acknowledge everything that had happened, whatever had beaten her like this. The team leader in him, the paternal figure in his teams' lives, wanted to ask so much more – about her child, about her life, about her push-pull relationship with DiNozzo, about ...

DiNozzo.

He forced down the next flood of questions he had about Tony – if he'd found her, if they'd spoken, if he even knew she were alive, if she knew he knew about Tali – and focused on the woman he once knew to be as strong as anyone he'd ever known, clearly pushed time and time again to the breaking point, and now teetering on oblivion. He pulled from his memory all he knew about talking someone down from a ledge, from harming themselves, and softened his tone, just enough that if she saw through him, it wouldn't set her off. After all – she seemed to be here for something, and had positively responded to the fact that she had been missed.

"Then you know I'm surprised to see you," he went on, "but mostly, relieved that you're alive." He paused, and watched for a reaction. He thought he saw her expression soften slightly, as a moment of sadness crossed her features. On a whim, Gibbs put down the tape measure he'd been holding since she came in and turned to pick up a couple glass jars, tossing the screws from inside the second one and watching her as he blew out the dust.

He was rewarded with a sudden intake of breath, almost like a rusty laugh, as Ziva's eyes misted over in recognition.

He slowly poured a couple fingers of Maker' Mark in each jar and came toward her slowly, lifting one of them toward her. He saw a small tremor in her hand as she took it from him. Before she could lift it toward her lips, Gibbs raised his jar and tapped the rim gently against hers. Stooping slightly to look her in the eye and hold her gaze, he said softly, "I'm glad you're here."

She met his glance and held it too, clearly battling competing thoughts in response. But the sense Gibbs had initially that she might be falling into oblivion – or even on the brink of running away again – was lessened, and when she finally smiled a little, and nodded, he relaxed. Knocking back his drink, he knew what he needed to do, for the moment. He might not like waiting, but some things just took time. And as Ziva stood at the foot of his steps, still wrapped in her coat and turning the jar of bourbon in her fingers, Gibbs stepped back to the cedar board before him, picked up the measuring tape, and leaned back to finish his markings.

June 23, 2016

From the moment Tony had heard that Ziva's family home had been attacked – destroyed – no matter how much he was able to hide on the outside, inside, he was an adrenaline-fueled mass of panic and worry and hurry, feeling every mile between him and the olive groves mocking him, demanding that he drop everything and run to Israel, without ticket or bags or plan. He couldn't process beyond the need to get his own eyes on the ground, because if Ziva had already survived being blown up – twice – that he knew of – and survived her own personal hell from Saleem and his men, she would have found a way out of this, too. Early intel hadn't even documented her whereabouts at the time. He would go and find her, protocol or safety be damned.

So his first frenzied hours spun by as he worked to get to Israel, his emotional resources too drained to rationally process the blow when not one, but two, of his closest friends came to break it to him. Both of them – Tim, Abby – apparently so certain that Ziva was gone this time, and so determined to limit his pain, their words left no hope. He barely paused to ask them how they knew, how they had confirmed it was Ziva, who provided the information and what they had done to confirm the information for themselves beyond the initial inevitable dead ends. Instead, Tony found himself lost, adrift, once again grieving for her loss and for what had never quite become what could have been between them, if they had just learned to throw down those final walls and be open and honest with each other...

And before he could right himself and start thinking again, Orli swept in, and in tones low and soothing and so very sorry, her detail and her official presence as always making her larger than life, she delivered the one -two punch that changed him forever: first, confirming Ziva's death, then, confirming she had a child. His child. From that moment, he heard without hearing Orli's insistent tones that Ziva was most assuredly gone, but most assuredly the child's mother and most assuredly keeping his child a secret from him, intentionally, even while was most assuredly her father...

And after all that – he'd run. Not away, this time, but toward responsibility. Toward this new life. He was dazed and confused and a little insane with everything he had learned, but he was also smitten by this tiny stranger who so favored her mother already, yet shared his grin and the twinkle in his eyes. Within hours he was as certain Tali was his, as Orli promised; he didn't need Abby's subtle note confirming the DNA match to tell him so.

But he still wasn't himself. He had been in a controlled panic, and fled with Tali to Israel and Paris, and when he finally broke down, at least it was in a relatively safe place, so that Tali was exposed only to her father alternately sobbing and trying to rip the hotel pillows in order not to throw things across the room and frighten the tiny child.

He'd lost her again. And he'd been played ... hadn't he?

By whom, he wasn't sure, but the answers – and probably the culprits – had to be in Israel. Looking back, several weeks after learning the terrible/wonderful news, and calmed down enough to look again at all the materials they had gathered at the time, Tony wondered at the temporary insanity that had overtaken him back then. So many red flags and things that just felt wrong, so many gaps in logic, all missed in his pain and shock of Ziva's death and Tali's existence.

Where was his team in all this? Where was Gibbs? Why had they just accepted what Mossad had fed them at the time? Had they, or did they follow up to confirm the reports? Sure, a good bit of the intel was convincing, and would have fooled most, but it wasn't like them to just take Mossad at face value. It wasn't like Gibbs. But then, over the past year, maybe more, the Gibbs he thought he knew hadn't been around much at all. His own senses had taken a pounding with the news; no reason to think that Gibbs' hadn't as well.

Tony had told everyone he was going to Israel for some answers. His first stop there had been almost pointless, he was still overwhelmed in grief and shock. Now it was time to channel his inner-former-Gibbs and find himself again in the process, and see if he could determine, to his satisfaction, what the truth was this time. It turned out that his first key lay in an intelligence briefing document he remembered being provided by ONI when they first learned of Ziva's involvement in events, suddenly seeing a line that had eluded him before – and which he did not recall ever hearing anyone mention.

"She rejoined Mossad and became an agent again."

He gasped, cursing under his breath at the words he could not believe.

"She rejoined Mossad and became an agent again."

The information and its implications brought him out of his chair and on his feet, pacing the room. So she hadn't put away the badge? Couldn't? Did, but went back? Or was all that a bunch of horseshit? And if it was, whose lies were they? Ziva's, for saying she wanted to walk away from that life, or Mossad's, for putting it out there, if it wasn't true? Or letting it slip if it was?

He'd been so sure of her sincerity; he'd seen her pain. Sure, just a matter of days – hours, really – before then, she'd invited him to come see her, then flipped to wanting him anywhere else but there. Did she again flip from having to 'find herself' to going back to Mossad without a fight? Or worse, voluntarily? And where and how did that all square with her having Tali?

She might be many things, and she might have even played him, he found himself finally admitting, but he could not ever imagine Ziva abandoning her child – could she? There was no doubt Tali was biologically hers, and biologically his. Abby's results were firm.

But her DNA was all he knew for certain.

If he'd had his wits about him at the time, he would have found too many gaps to be just swallow everything whole as he had – like the Director of Mossad, coming over personally to deliver a child to him, Ziva's child ... his child ... just like that? Everyone's unquestioning trust in Mossad's word that Ziva had been a casualty? Orli handing over the grandchild of Eli David to him, an American she might now grudgingly respect but still an American, and one whom none of them at Mossad particularly liked ... all, just like that? Especially when Orli knew damn well he had no idea Tali existed, and easily could have kept her in Israel, with him none the wiser. And the random things included in Tali's go-bag. Why would those particular things be packed and with Tali to have escaped the blast? And had they even proven that the two of them had been living at the farmhouse when it went up?

Orli may be many things, but no one accused her of being altruistic. Or particularly caring of anything beyond what was best for Mossad. In retrospect it all sounded lame, sloppy, as if Orli couldn't be bothered to put together a decent story...

... or had to plan one at the last minute?

He turned to look at his daughter, sleeping peacefully in the crib provided by the hotel. He'd learned his lesson quickly, when he was first overcome with grief, that Tali might not know English yet, or even much Hebrew, but she read his moods like a book and her radar was sharp – and his grief hit her hard, scared her and made her first shy away from him, then, when he worked to gain her trust again, overly clingy at times.

He had a responsibility to his child – and to Ziva – to make an honest attempt to discover the truth. And he had a responsibility to protect Tali from being hurt any more than she had been already, with her mother taken from her, one way or another. And he vowed to move heaven and earth not to let Tali see him grieving or angry or frustrated again. He would investigate this case as he would have any others before him, keep his child safe and happy, and keep his grieving and raging silent, and away from her.

October 27, 2016

Gibbs had been working for a good twenty minutes before Ziva finally sat on the step and sipped at her bourbon. She was beginning to relax in his presence, in the familiarity of his basement. He felt a small victory and began to hope for more. He could wait.

Another thirty minutes passed. He heard her draw a breath, as if to speak, and then heard her do so again, again without more.

It would come. He was glad he'd thought to give her a drink. Not only the familiarity of the ritual, but the tiny lessening of her inhibitions could only help her if she had come to him to talk.

"Gibbs..." She began. He hid his relief that the dam had finally begun to crumble, but already worried about her tone. He remembered moments, after Saleem, when she sounded broken, bereft. Even then it was not quite like this. "Since I left ... since I spoke to you, on the phone..."

The pause became long enough he felt he needed to prod. "Mmm-hmm."

"S... so much..." She trailed off. "My plans..." He stole a glance to find her staring into her now-empty jar, mind clearly racing ahead of her words. "Other things took precedence. I... I was not able to stay away from Tel Aviv for long." She glanced up and looked at him long enough that he felt her eyes on him, and knew she was waiting for him. Stopping for the moment to turn and look at her, Gibbs couldn't tell what she wanted from him as she spoke. "I ... have a daughter, Gibbs. Tali. T...Tony's daughter."

He nodded slowly, at her words. "I know."

"I know, I ..." she swallowed, her eyes suddenly glittering again in the dim light, and for the first time since her arrival she showed more emotion, the threads of her despair unraveling. "He is so angry with me, Gibbs," she whispered.

Tony? He didn't know who else she could mean.

"I don't know if he can ever..." her words trailed, leaving the sense of their speaker's torment in the air.

"You've talked to Tony?" He tried not to change his slow, soft tone, but this was news, and he immediately needed more – about his agent, their daughter, what the hell had happened and was happening to them all. When he last saw DiNozzo, he would not have assumed he would be angry at finding her, just the opposite. But then, their lives had all been upended in the last few years. He would not have assumed that Tony would not have kept in touch over the months since he'd left, either. But basics before details. At her nod, he forced himself to take a breath before trying, "what about Tali?"

Her eyes darted up to his, a question there, and Gibbs wasn't sure what she was asking of him. But she nodded yet again.

When she said nothing else, Gibbs pressed, feeling an uncomfortable worry flicker past. "Where are they, Ziva?"

Her troubled eyes settled slightly, as if suddenly understanding his confusion. "They are here. Here, in the District, I mean; in Virginia. They went to Jimmy and Breena's. Jimmy offered to let Tali stay there tonight, to get some sleep, while Tony figured out what to do about a place to stay..."

Gibbs felt an involuntary pang that DiNozzo would turn to Jimmy for shelter and a place to stay, when he hadn't even let him know he was in town.

"He could have come here. All of you could come here, you know that..."

"He trusts Jimmy," she murmured, looking away, her own emotional turmoil letting her miss the effect her words had on her former boss.

And he doesn't trust me...

"When did you get here?" Gibbs forced his own reactions away and tried for information, now that Ziva was talking. "When did he get here?"

"A couple hours ago."

"Both of you?"

"Yes." After a moment, she looked up to see him weighing her words, and shook her head, unable to meet his eyes suddenly and finding her voice uncooperative. "But we ... are not ... we have not ... " She took a breath and tried again. "The only thing decided for now is to come here, to the U.S., for Tali's sake." She swallowed, hard. "We agreed she needs to be in a safe place, in one place, for a time ... around people she can trust. Whom we can trust."

He had to ask at least this much. "If Tali is staying with Palmer – and Tony is looking for a place to stay ..." He watched her closely. "What about you, Ziver?"

The question seemed to wound her, a sense of hopelessness welling up in her eyes. The exhaustion she radiated was clearly more than physical, and Gibbs was left wondering what the hell DiNozzo had done to add to her pain.

But it would wait, and he would do his damnedest not to throw fuel on whatever fire this was. "C'mon. There's some of Ducky's tea, upstairs," he pressed, the interrogation over for the moment. Looking at his former agent, the complex, unpredictable and inexplicable woman who had once again beaten the odds, it struck him again, suddenly – she was alive. And no matter what else what going on or had happened ... she was, and always would be, one of his... He stepped closer to look down at her in concern, his brows knitting as she dropped her eyes, unable to meet his...

"Ziva," he urged, reaching a hand, gently, toward her elbow, to cup it softly, as she began to crumple into herself, even if only slightly. She would not let herself go, but stood trembling from the will to keep herself together. She let him circle her shoulders carefully and pull her to him slightly, not resisting, but not giving in either. Frowning, unsure what it all meant, he kissed the top of her head tenderly and said. "Tea. C'mon."

And followed her as she made her way, as silent as a ghost, up his stairs and into his kitchen.

To be continued.