Disclaimer: You think I really own something?
A/N: Tough crowd. One review last chapter. It only hurts cause I really liked it. Anyway, hope you like this one.
As he watched, she struggled to continue her exercises. Pain contouring her face, her hair hanging limp in a simple pony tail over one shoulder and her clothes bathed in sweat all signalling that she was near done for the day. Not for the first time he wondered where he had gone so wrong. In what world would a reasonable man bring his daughter up only so that she had little more to embrace than agony? He brought his hand up from the railing to rub his tired eyes. 'How had he ever convinced himself it would be different for her? Why had he even tried?'
He stood at the raised entrance to the gym and watched those below, watched his daughter continue her rehabilitation. He struggled not to wince at the sight. Simple manoeuvres caused her pain, bending over brought a grimace, squatting caused her to hug herself. The gunshot wound accounted for some of that, the later complications the rest. She would be fine, they assured him, fine with time. He had nodded and smiled as much as he could. She may well live but whether his daughter survived was another matter. Who she may become, he was not sure he would recognise. She had been withdrawn before, this would only make it worse.
He was a proud man, but not too proud to realise he had been a fool. Ziva had lost her mother too young, her sister as well and he had been in no fit state to be what she needed either time. He had done what he knew. He hunted for those responsible, hunted for those that took the light from his world. Wherever they went, wherever the trail led, he followed. Days turned into weeks and weeks to years and all the while as he came closer to what he sought he had not realised what he was losing.
The daughter below him, the one struggling to lift a small weight that placed a light strain on her abdomen, was not the one that would have been if he had been a better man, a better father. She was strong, independent, resourceful and determined. For that he was relieved. She was also cold, closed off and seemingly unable to maintain the simplest of relationships with those she cared for, unable to reach out and unable to express herself. She was emotionally restrained to such a point that she was in danger of walking through the rest of this life alone. And for that he was responsible.
He had tried later in her life to be better, to do better. Yet nothing he could say or do would breach those barriers; that wall that had grown slowly but steadily over the last ten years. He had hoped that some time away from the struggle would allow her to relax and grow and for a time it seemed that he was right, though god seemed to be punishing him if the reports on her time at NCIS were accurate. Make friends, he had hoped. Learn to let them in, work with them, care for them. But the connection she seemed to have formed with one of them.... And to a man that was just as lost as she, even if for different reasons. Unspoken words, unfilled desires and relentless tension had eventually led to anger and she had come back worse then she left. And now…now she was near broken.
He turned and started down the stairs, signalling for his escort to remain near the doors. They did not need to hear what passed between the Director of Mossad and his suspended agent. Or even between father and daughter. Taking the steps slowly he prayed for guidance. He had never pretended to be a wise man, but just this once he hoped he could be, for her sake. She needed to get away, and Washington was a good a place as any other, despite the difficulties, or perhaps because of them.
She finished her session when he hit the landing halfway down and had spotted him before he reached the bottom. He tried not to notice the way her back straightened when she saw him or the way her face was suddenly blank. She simply stood and watched him as he walked closer, towel forgotten in her hand. She had her mothers face and her smile too, when she chose to use it, which was not often enough as far as he was concerned, though it pained him every time he saw it. To be reminded so clearly of what one has lost, is perhaps something no man should ever have to experience.
When he finally came to stand before her they silently regraded each other for a few seconds, her eyes searching his, questioning. She was the first to look away, her eyes flickering down and to the right, her head bowing as she spoke quietly, "Shalom father."
He forced a small smile onto his face to hide his wince. He held no delusions. That was not the way a loving daughter reacted when she saw her father. He clasped his hands behind his back before leaning over slightly and asking as mildly as he could manage, "Is this how you greet me now Ziva, am I that much a stranger?"
She shifted slightly from foot to foot before her blank face came up to meet his, those eyes now guarded and unsure. "Forgive me," she stated before reaching up and quickly kissing him on either check, "you will never be a stranger. It is just the last time we spoke…"
She trailed off; not wanting to bring up the fact that the last time he had seen her was at her hearing. The hearing where she had been found guilty of recklessness and had been subsequently suspended. She had not liked the fact that her leadership ability had been brought into question and later had not shied away from letting him know. Yet making amends for that was not what he had come here for, as far has he was concerned it was already forgotten.
He held out a hand toward his left and began guiding her towards the windows. "I understand. Come Ziva let us speak of other things." For a moment he thought she would not follow, that she would just continue to stare after him, then turn and walk the other way. Yet if he had learned one thing in his life, it was that if you lead, others would follow, and he was not disappointed this time. Though it was difficult to keep a rueful smile off his face, 'long passed were the days where she would come running just at the sight of me.' But they had passed long ago, he would not mourn them now.
He stopped walking in a relatively deserted part of the gym, bathing in the sun that streamed through the windows as Ziva slowly made her way towards him. He studied the people passing in the street below as he waited, watching as they moved in every which direction. A seething mass of humanity all moving with unknown purpose. Something highly organized yet chaotic. When his daughter finally moved alongside him her gaze followed his and he was surprised when she was the first to speak. "They walk without fear." She stated, before looking at him from the corner of her eye, "Do you think they know of the sacrifices that are made to make such a thing possible?"
"Would you wish them to Ziva?" he asked softly. Her gaze left his face at his words but he continued anyway. "Would you want them to know how many have died, how many suicide bombings have been prevented, just so they may walk down a street and think of nothing but what they wish for lunch?"
"No, of course not." She crossed her arms across her chest and sighed. "They are happy, unconcerned. I would never wish to take that from them. It is just, I think of Kira, Seth, all the others…Sometimes I just wish those they protected knew what had been done for them. That is all"
"Ah, I see." He smiled as he replied, "They may be ignorant but I believe they are not ungrateful. Perhaps they do not think of us as often as they should but perhaps that is our reward to yes, their happiness? That they continue to live their lives without fear, is that not what we are fighting for? Is that not what we wish to protect, their innocence?"
"It is what I was fighting for," she muttered, "what I wish still to be fighting for."
"So eager to return are you?" he said as he laughed, "You can barely walk, let alone run or fight and you wish to already be on active duty? Not so fast my daughter, your time will come again, if you wish. For now take some time, you have earned it."
"My whole command was killed, father." She replied softly, "I do not believe I have. You yourself declared me incompet-"
"I did nothing." He cut her off before she could restart the argument, "The recommendation was put before me by the committee and I simply did as I would for any other officer, or would you prefer special treatment?" Her mouth tightened and when it became clear that she was not going to respond he continued, "And reckless is different from incompetence. They are aware that your junior agents were assigned to support and you were hit by a blind shot that was fired as the traitor ran. You were only reprimed because you did not allow for the possibility that you may be shot in yo…" he stopped himself and sighed. "I grow weary of talking of this. Nor is it the reason I came here."
"Then why did you come?" she asked angrily before turning and facing him, the street forgotten, "You did not bother to come see me in the hospital but here is more convenient?"
"I was not in the country Ziva, by the time I heard, you had already undergone surgery. Sometimes duty keeps us from where we wish to be. But this you knew already." He reached out and squeezed her arm, hoping that some of the regret that he felt would be conveyed to her. "I came to see if you were well. To see how you were progressing with your rehabilitation. I understand there have been problems?"
Some of the fire died in her eyes and she simply shrugged, "There was some internal bleeding, they had to redo some stiches, that is all." A ghost of a smile touched her lips, "And I am progressing as expected even though last week a could lift no more than a five year old. I should have full mobility in two months."
He nodded, silently relieved before venturing as evenly as he could manage, "And how are you sleeping?"
"As well as can be expected," was all she said and what that meant he was sure he was never meant to find out. When she had been a child, nightmares had plagued her more than once and judging from the circles under her eyes now was no different. He would, however, not put it past her to feel guilt for what she could not control either and the way she would not meet his eye…
"I understand and am relieved," he said finally, deciding not to push the issue, "your words make an old man happy."
She scoffed, "You are hardly old, merely…advanced."
He laughed, truly laughed for what felt like the first time in months. "That is debateable, my daughter, yet I thank you just the same." He paused and watched the smile linger on her lips for a few seconds before deciding that now was as good a time as any. 'May she not hate me for it', he begged silently. "Tell me, do you believe that anyone at NCIS may bear a grudge against the agency? Is there anything that may have happened that I should be made aware of?"
To her credit, she did not show her surprise. He shoulders slumped slightly in a way that screamed of disappointed yet her face was merely concerned. When she spoke, her words were once again void of any feeling, "No, I do not believe anyone disliked Mossad, nor did anything occur that may have made anyone bear a grudge. It is feared, misunderstood maybe, but not disliked." She frowned, "Why what has happened?"
He nodded, "You are sure? No one held any animosity toward the agency when you left?"
She glared at him, "No, father, no one. What ha-"
He stopped her mid sentence as he raised his hand and asked quietly, "Not even Senior Special Agent Anthony DiNozzo?"
This time she visibly flinched, her hands clenched into fists at her sides and her jaw tightened. "No not even Tony," she said softly before her voice strengthened, "What has happened?"
He waved his hand before him, wishing he could dispel her anger, "Forty-eight hours ago Agent DiNozzo shot and killed a man while investigating the apparent suicide of a marine who had overdosed." He pulled the autopsy photo from his pocket and handed it to her, "He was an undercover Mossad agent investigating a drug cartel which we believed had been funding Hamas operations. We have no reason to believe he would not make himself known to an NCIS agent, or resist arrest."
"And what does NCIS say happened?" she asked while she studied the picture.
"They say nothing." At her surprised look he continued, "They do not know he was a Mossad agent. We feel it would be best if it remained that way until we have completed a …investigation."
"Investigation?" she said, surprised, "You believe that Tony murdered a Mossad agent?"
"That is one explanation, yes." He sighed, "Another is that he had turned, or felt that he could not make himself known, or did not know that they were federal agents or any number of things. We simply wish to know the truth and without the Americans having time to prepare any contradicting evidence of their own. That is all."
"I still do not believe that Tony knowingly killed a Mossad agent and he would never kill a man who was surrendering. It is not in his nature." She handed him back the photo, "So you will send someone to conduct this investigation? Or has it already started?"
"It will start when you arrive in Washington." As he said the words she rounded on him, wide eyed. A pain began to grow in his chest as he imagined her leaving him once again but he continued before she could speak, "Who else will not raise suspicion? Who else knows him and the MCRT team? You can use those relationships, and despite any past emotional attachment we believe the death of a fellow agent will allow you to be objective."
"You are not serious," she asked, her voice low and fierce, "I cannot possibly investigate them. They are my friends."
"You can and you will," he held one hand behind his back and brought the other up and pointed at her, "You will be transferred to a security position within the embassy which will be held open while you complete your rehabilitation in America. While you are recovering, you will re-establish your relationships at NCIS and quietly begin your investigation."
"And if I refuse?" she simply asked.
"Then the committee has decided that there will no longer be a place for you at Mossad. It is your choice." As he spoke she glared at him, her back stiff and her shoulders taunt. She continued to stare long after he had finished talking before she turned and, without a word, walked away from him.
He didn't watch her stalk across the floor, he didn't notice the angry glares she through over her shoulder. He once again found himself watching the people that passed in the street, wondering how many of them had to push away what they loved so they could protect it. He too, did not believe DiNozzo had killed the agent with ill intent but the committee wanted the truth, and they were sure Ziva would be able to get it. He had been only too happy to comply. After all, that bullet could just as easily have taken the last of his light from this world.
A/N: Until next time peoples.
