Hey there! Back for chapter 2! Thanks for all the positive response to the first. I'll note that this is (from what I can tell) slightly noncompliant with the timeline of the episode, but hey, it's AU :)

Let me know what you think! Kinda fun to be writing these two again.

ii.) if she wanted a them

After saying hello to Ducky ("my dear girl, I cannot tell you how happy I am to see you again") and reassuring Abby for the sixth time that, yes, Ziva and Tali were absolutely coming back, he gathered all of Tali's things — babies came with lots of things — and carried those as she carried Tali outside. "How did you get here?"

"Uber," she said. "From the airfield."

"You still drive like a schizophrenic escaping the asylum?"

Her eyes flicked down. "Not with Tali in the car."

He followed Ziva's instructions for installing the carseat, futzting at her bossiness only a little, and then they wrestled a noncompliant Tali into the seat. They stepped back from the Charger's door at the same time, suddenly very close, and she took a step back, very aware of their proximity.

"Wait," he said, tugging her back and wrapping his arms around her. He hadn't held her yet, and he needed to. She sank into the hug and they stood there for an eternity. "I really am glad you're alive," he said hoarsely. "Really. I meant it when I said I couldn't live without you."

"I know. And I am really glad I am here," she replied, placing a tiny kiss at his neck and burrowing her head in his chest, inhaling deeply for a second. They finally pulled apart when Tali's squawking brought them back to reality. He noticed three damp spots on his shirt from her tears.

As they started driving off base, Tali babbling at her doggy in the back, he said, "So. Tell me about her."

Ziva looked at him, surprised. "About Tali?"

"Yeah. You've got twenty-two months to catch me up on. Go."

She nodded. "I brought photos. Lots of them. And video. Anyways," she sighed. "She is happy, generally. She was an easy baby, very happy, slept early. She gets into trouble easily — escaping her crib, tiny bits of naughtiness — but that is to be expected, no? She is always climbing over gates and getting into the baby powder and into the pasta sauce and things. She loves animals, especially elephants and butterflies. And dogs. After ima and abba, kalev was her next word."

"Abba?"

"Papa, of course."

"She … learned that word?"

"Yes. Every night, after her story, I would show her your photo, and tell her a story of us. She is so little, I could give her the … whole story, you know? We are not telling her the story of the Sophie and Jean-Paul when she is seven, for crying out loud."

His chest tightened at the we. "So you told her … about me?"

"Yes, of course," she said. "Tony, I made a lot of mistakes, I know, and I know you're angry … But it was never my intention to keep you in the dark indefinitely. I just … I did not want to interrupt your life, to help me put mine back together. I wanted you to move on too."

"I would have come in a — "

"Heartbeat. I know. That is why I didn't ask," she held up a hand. "We've been living off my inheritance for a long time, but it was never going to last forever. I've acquired a job through a contact at the United Nations, in Paris, that begins in July. I'll be working to help women, specifically those who have been abused, resettle and begin new lives across Europe. I was going to move there, get us settled, then contact you. Tali would have been two; I would be … more whole; Paris is ...neutral ground, as you say. And it has good memories. I was going to call you then," she said fervently, and he believed her. "I did not want her to grow up and remember a time without knowing you and knowing that you loved her. I promise." Not knowing how to respond, he looked ahead and nodded tightly.

They were quiet until they pulled into his parking spot, and he realized something. "Shit."

"What? Also, I know that was mostly for McGee's benefit, but I really would not like her to learn how to swear. She has an unfortunate habit of picking up exactly what you don't want her to."

"I could have guessed that. I'm sorry. It's just … Senior's here."

"Here?"

"Yeah. He also, um, you know …"

"Thinks I am dead?"

"Yup."

"Well that one spread quickly," she sighed. "I will have to talk to Orli." She unbuckled. "Come on. Look, she is already asleep. Hopefully she will stay that way."

He leaned backwards to get a look at her, listed against the side of her car seat and oblivious to the world. "How do we extract her?"

"Gently. She is a small sleeper, and a grenade if she wakes up."

"Light. Light sleeper. You know, you lived here for eight years." He wondered, fleetingly, if she was doing this on purpose; giving them something to bicker about as a distraction.

"I have been only speaking and thinking in Hebrew for nearly three. It is a long time."

"Don't I know it," he sighed. "OK, what if I undo the straps? She'll fall forward, then you catch her. We don't have to move her, just take advantage of gravity."

"Done. Can you handle the bag?"

He rolled his eyes. "Yes, I can handle a bag."

"She has a lot of things. It is heavy." By this time, they were outside the car door; Ziva put a finger over her lips and opened the door quietly. He slipped his hands in and carefully unbuckled the straps. One retracted easily while the other got caught in front of her shoulder. He carefully wound it around her and inched her forward; once it was gone Tali tipped, and Ziva caught her and slid her out. "I have to say — that is easier with two parents," Ziva said.

"Yeah, well, only one of us knew," he said before he could stop himself.

"Tony — yes, I know. I am sorry. That was an olive branch."

"I know. I'm sorry," he said, grabbing the bag.

Ziva, Tali flopped over her shoulder, paused on the steps. "So … Senior. You two have reached a detente?"

"You could say that," he sighed. "He's … contrite. I'm … being open."

"That is good. You never know, with fathers, when you are out of time. Even if it is hard."

"You can say that again." He pushed the door open to the building before he noticed her stricken face. "I didn't mean it that way. I'm mad; I'm not trying to punish you. That was about Eli and Senior. Here. The elevator." He used the bag and the stroller and the other bag to hold it open for them. "Don't be surprised if he's emotional," he warned her. "He's always loved you."

She chuckled. "As long as he doesn't wake Tali we'll be good. I should make him lasagna tonight though, for giving him a scare."

"You've been exposing her to the Italian side of her food heritage, right?"

"Friday nights are pizza nights," she assured him solemnly as he pushed open the door to his apartment.

"Israeli pizza has nothing on American," he reminded her. "And you should probably take a step back if you don't want her to wake up."

Senior was pacing the living room: "Son, I just got the most absurd phone call from Ms. Sciuto —"

"Yeah. Did she tell you that Ziva is actually alive and showed up this morning at NCIS with our daughter in tow?" He asked.

Senior stopped dead in his tracks. "Yes. Exactly that."

Ziva popped out from behind him, Tali cradled in her arms. "Good morning, Senior. It is good to see you again. I am sorry for all of the fuss."

"Ziva," he cried, moving quickly forward. "Oh thank god. Oh, sweetheart." He enveloped both her and Tali in a crushing hug, and Tony felt, again, that his muted response had been somewhat lacking.

"It is wonderful to see you. But please — do not wake Tali."

He stepped back. "This is my granddaughter." It was not a question.

"Yes," she said. "Natalia Rivka Elisheva David, after my sister and her grandmothers." She cast her eyes sideways at Tony and explained, hesitantly, "I did try to put your last name on the birth certificate, but could not, especially since I was living largely off the grid and without proper documentation. I would very much like to change that."

He nodded, head fuzzy. "Let's, uh, add it to the list. To discuss."

She bit her lip, then nodded. "I should put her down. Is your room ok?"

"Uh, yeah. Still, uh, in the same place."

She nodded and headed back. Senior seized his arm. "Junior, this is amazing! Are you two … You know, together? I've always loved her like a daughter."

He laughed nervously. "Uh, Dad, you're like right steps ahead of anyone, right now. And we've got three years and a kid to talk about before Gibbs wants us back in," he checked his watch, "three hours and thirty-six minutes to catch the guy who firebombed his house, so if you could …"

"Got it," Senior replied with a pronounced wink. "I'm going to the toy store. What should I get?"

He sighed heavily, feeling the nerves in his forehead pinch. "She likes animals. That's all I got so far."

"I can work with that," Senior said, and he was out the door in a flash.

He didn't want to feel useless and unnecessary while watching Ziva's undoubtedly-well-practiced nap time routine, so he put on a tea kettle and shuffled and reshuffled a stack of magazines in the too-clean kitchen. Yup, totally unnecessary out here, too.

She came out a few minutes later. "She is asleep," she announced. "Given the time changes, I imagine she will still be napping when Gibbs wants us back. Maybe Senior can watch her? Would he be OK with that idea?"

"He just went to the toy store to drop a mortgage payment on toys, so yeah, I think he'd be interested," he said wryly. "Tea?"

She nodded, surprised. "Yes please," she replied, then paused. "You drink tea now?"

He shrugged. He'd picked it up after he'd come home alone. "It's an acquired taste."

She looked at the tins on his counter. "I see you acquired a taste for all my favorites."

"Well, you're an acquired taste too. Package deal." He poured a cup, then nodded at the island.

She took it and sat down. "Okay. Get it out. You should be mad at me and you're taking this far too calmly. Yell. Let me have it."

"I can't yell, because I don't know where to start. With you just … the last two years of her life, and everything that I have missed? I think that would be a great starting point. Or we could start with you parachuting in and telling me that you wanted to give her my last name, but you didn't want to tell me about her? I mean, God, Ziva, there is actually a point where your insistence on independence is just actually selfishness and inflexibility. Or how about: What the hell do you actually want here, Ziva? What's next?"

Tears welled in her eyes. "Thank you," she murmured. "I deserved this."

"Oh, this is a great starting point too: Your freaking martyr complex! Without which none of us would be in this situation, because you never would have left!"

She nodded as she considered, then raised a hand. "Also true. May I begin?"

"Be my guest."

"When you left — when I all but forced you to leave — I had a very clear goal. I wanted to start fresh. Figure out who I was without expectations of being a good soldier, and without being content to let the greater good take precedence over my desires and sense of self. My god, Tony, we were standing on the precipice of … something big, and I barely knew what my favorite food was. I was beyond romantically dysfunctional; I couldn't function without applying a battle-zone mentality to the simplest of exchanges. I was angry, I was upset, I was … Full of hate. There was no way I could … commit, meaningfully, without actually knowing who I was. So I wanted — I needed — to better understand myself. My hope was, maybe I would find peace in a year or so and then … check in. If you had moved on, I thought, I could be OK, because I would have a stronger sense of who I was and my purpose. And if not … I felt I could finally be in an actual relationship. This is not me using a martyr complex as an excuse; this is me saying that while I wanted something adult with you, I was not ready — nor were you; we were too codependent in our dysfunction — and a little bit more time —" she held her thumb and index finger a smidge apart — "would greatly improve our chances of success in the long haul."

"With you so far," he said. That was sort of what he had assumed, mentally, when she left.

"And then — six weeks later, I found out I was pregnant," she took in a deep sigh. "That changed things tremendously. I was no longer responsible only for myself. And I knew — Tony, I never doubted that you would be a wonderful father. That you would throw yourself into it, and do so much better than Eli or Senior. But I could also see, very clearly — maybe too clearly — the dangers into rushing into something, in coming together for a child. And I did not want that. And I did not want to disrupt your life, not when I had just thrown you out. And I still did not yet know my favorite food or who I was. So I told myself to wait. I was actually trying to be less selfish."

"Keeping her from me wasn't your decision," he insisted.

"So if I would have told you, then what? Tony, I did not want to be back in America. You would have quit everything, come to Israel. I would have resented you for doing so, because I was not ready to not be a martyr. I would have closed up, picked fights, not let you in. You would be uncertain and hot and cold. And you eventually would have resented me. We would have been the worst versions of ourselves and break up. I would have stayed there, you would be here, Tali … would be on airplanes every month or so. It was a bad decision, and hurtful, and I regret it … but I do not think it was wrong, at the time. I still do not. I just wish everything had happened differently. But we can only accept the past and change the future, yes?" She lightly tossed his words back at him. "And then Tali was born."

"How was it?" he couldn't help but ask.

"Terrifying. Foreigh. Lonely," she paused. "Transformative. And after, after a while … I had a purpose again. I was able to think through the other questions, because I was grounded. I had something permanent." She swallowed. "I started volunteering with refugees. Completing my degree. Dancing Tali around rooms. Laughing more. Chasing butterflies. Eating hummus. Going to the beach. Mending hedges with Orli. And at that point yes, I should have called you. But I was … chicken. I thought you would be so angry, and rightfully so. I didn't want to upset your life; I couldn't face Gibbs." She spread her hands, pained and shocked and akimbo. "Of all the sins I have committed, of everything I have done that I wanted to walk away from — killing others, killing my brother — this suddenly seemed, to me, like the biggest. The most unforgivable. The most senseless. I had a hard time facing the solution." She cast her eyes downward. "For that I am truly, deeply sorry."

He reached out a hand, took hers. Squeezed it. Raised it to his mouth for a kiss. "Hey," he said, knocking her out of her reverie. "When I let you go in Israel, you promised me you would take better care of yourself. You gotta stop beating yourself up, Zi."

She looked at him, eyes watery. "Thank you." Then: "What are you thinking?"

He sighed. "I … I don't know, Zi. I'm … upset." It sounded trite, but it seemed like the only fitting word. "This is a lot to process." Also, four hours ago I thought you were dead.

"You feel betrayed," she surmised. She had been an investigator and his partner, besides.

"Should I feel another way?" he asked. "I mean … It's either that, or you don't trust me. With yourself, with your heart, with our daughter. It's been years since …"

"Since what?" she asked, then — "Since Rivkin? Oh, Tony. Oh. No. This has … nothing to do with that. You … I have trusted you for a very, very long time. That has not changed. I trust you with Tali. I would trust you with my life."

"But not your heart, though," he repeated, because that is the only logical conclusion. "Not to split night shifts or drive you home from Aunt Nettie's when you've had an extra glass of red wine or to argue about the dishes or to talk about your day or to know where you hide all the knives. All the knives, Ziva, not just some of the knives. Everything you say you do to protect me — it just hurts more. You don't tell me about Tali so I can have a chance to move on?"

She was very, very still. "I know. But as I have said, I needed to know I could stand on my own. And you did, too! We were too complicated then. We hurtled from Ari and Kate to Gibbs to Jeanne to Jenny to that summer to Somalia to Paris to Ray to EJ to Berlin to my father. Hurtling into parenthood — Tony, that could have broken us. It would have broken me. We needed to press the reset."

He couldn't deny that was true. Until that last year or so, their relationship had been desperate, fragmented, borderline unhealthy in their pathological inability to commit the way adults would; he was guilty of pulling as much as pushing, of deflecting instead of stepping up for her. To the others the decision to not tell him, the fear — it might seem undeniably selfish. Surely, Abby would have plenty of sharp words for her. But it made a sort of sick and twisted sense. But her self-punishment urge — "You can't keep trying to be kind to avoid being cruel. That hurts so much more."

"I do think, now — this is the last big thing. I have learned those things. I just did not know how to tell you this, and I got scared and … It snowplowed."

He had to think about that for a minute. It had been a while since he needed to flex the Ziva-ism Translator. "Snowballed." He tugged one of her curls, so short and springy now, teasingly. Has her hair always been this curly? Or was there product in it? It reminded him of the look she had when she arrived in America, but with more defined curls now.

"Yes," she said, dipping forward into his space with a smile. Her eyes were serious though, telegraphing her true feelings. "What I am trying to say is … I know you are upset with me, I know we have much to work out. But I have changed. And I can change with you, now. I want you in Tali's life. I want you in my life."

He processed all his declarations to her through the years, filtered through her words. If he had learned anything in the last three years, it was that he could live without her; not well, but he could. The difference was that he simply did not want to.

So he leaned over and kissed her — because he loved her, and he had missed her, and he had thought she was dead twelve hours ago. And because that was what the guys in the movies did when they decided they were going to spend the rest of their lives with someone.

She clutched at his face, keeping him close, and then rose to stand between his legs. Since he was still on the stool they were nearly the same height, and he quickly wrapped an arm around her waist to keep her close. The kiss was hungry, but not particularly lustful; it was a promise and a welcome home. Besides, their child was sleeping in the only bed in the apartment.

Their child. He still couldn't believe it.

He'd stood, had her pinned to the counter, palms roaming her back over the silky tunic shirt thing she was wearing languidly, when his cell phone trilled in his back pocket. She laughed a little, kissed him lightly. "I bet that is Gibbs," she murmured into his ear.

"Bossman always had a hell of a sense of timing," he said with a heavy sigh, then looked at his phone. He held it in front of her so she could see it, and she laughed at the knowledge she was right. "Hey boss," he said, putting his other hand on the counter so she was trapped there. She didn't seem to mind: Instead of protesting, she tipped her chin up so she could hear Gibbs' side of the conversation as well. "Whaddaya got?"

"Abby's got a lead on Kort's location," Gibbs said. "Some dirt he left behind when he got Fornell. It's radioactive."

"Uh, do you really need me, boss? Still kinda process the whole Ziva's-not-dead-she's-in-my-kitchen-and-we-have-a-kid-thing," he said. Ziva, who was playing with the buttons on his shirt, harrumphed at his analysis, and he bumped a no-hard-feelings kiss onto her forehead in apology. "And said kid just went down for a nap."

"Don't need you, need Ziva. I just don't have her international number," Gibbs said.

"You were giving us four hours," Tony protested petulantly. "We have two hours and forty-eight minutes left."

"Why do you need me now, Gibbs?" Ziva called into the phone. He handed it over to her and she repeated the phrase.

"Need to talk to you about Kort."

"I do not know anything. He was after my father's files, nothing I had anything to do with."

"Because that's how investigations are conducted," Gibbs said. "Need you in."

"Tali is still napping," she protested.

"I'll stay with her," he said. "You can take my car."

"Are you sure?" she asked.

"You're going to have to leave me alone with her sometime, you know."

"I know," she said, leaning up to kiss him briefly, phone tucked into the crook of her shoulder. "Thank you." Then she lifted the phone. "Gibbs, I'll be in in thirty." She hung up and handed the phone to him. "I will try not to stay long," she said. "We need supplies for Tali."

"Supplies?"

"A Pak'n'Play, so she can sleep — we do not need to get the toddler bed, I do not think — a high chair ... Your apartment is not babyproofed," she said bluntly. "I don't know how long we'll be here —"

"What did we just go over?"

"Tony," she cut in, "It's a one-bedroom condo. We cannot stay here indefinitely no matter what." She kissed him. "And we do not have time to make decisions now. But yes, hopefully this will not take long, and then we can pick up some things for her. And perhaps I should invite everyone over for dinner? I believe I owe them that."

"They'd all probably love to get to know Tali, too."

"Good idea. So yes, I will try and be quick," she said for the third time. He liked hearing her repeat that. "Count to ... one hundred thousand. I will see you soon."

With a flash and a kiss, she was gone.