"I am a trained agent, Papa," she said, the door slamming open as she stormed into his office, complete disregard for the debriefing she was interrupting. "Not a bargaining chip for you to gamble!"

"Ah, Ziva, home so soon?" he said, leaning back in his chair and steeping his fingers in front of him. One quick glance to the men in front of him, and they quickly excused themselves and slipped out the door.

"As you demanded," she replied, arms crossed firmly across her chest. "You sent Michael to 'fetch' me."

"You're a good daughter, Ziva."

She glared at him. "I will not marry Michael, Papa."

"Two months ago you were not so adamant, Ziva."

"Two months ago, I thought I'd never go back!"

The room was quiet, each casting thoughtful glares at each other.

"We are your family here," he said.

She nodded. "As are they."

"You care for them more than your Papa?"

Ziva sighed and mentally rolled her eyes in a very DiNozzo-esque move. "They have saved my life. I have saved theirs. We work together. We laugh together. We cry together. We have become family through death."

"You have had death here, too."

"I have had life there, Papa," she replied, thinking of the nights out with Abby, Ducky's stories, the book-exchange with McGee, movies with Tony, and all she had learned with Gibbs. "Here I have missions."

He nodded. "You are a Mossad assassin, Ziva. Your life is mission to mission."

Ziva threw her hands up in frustration. "Papa I am an assassin because you made me one since I was a child! You put the first gun in my hands - You put the first target on the wall. And I have never once complained. I have never questioned your wisdom. I have been a good daughter to you- and a good agent to Mossad." She stopped and strode to his desk, resting her palms against the desktop, leaning into his space. "I'm more than an assassin now- I'm an investigator. And I'm good at my job."

"I have no doubt that is true, Yaldah," he said, calling her his child.

"You cannot ask me to sacrifice my happiness for your political desires. Marrying Michael is what you need – a line of succession – a new Assistant Director. And you want nothing more than for me to create your next heir. All the better if he, too, is Mossad from birth."

Eli half-shrugged, unconcerned about using his daughter as breeding stock. "I am not getting any younger, Ziva."

"Neither am I," she said simply.

"I would like some grandchildren."

She stood, crossing her arms again. "I know."

He shifted, leaning forward and resting his arms on his desk, his posture relaxing and a less calculating and more fatherly gleam to his eye. "What is his name?" he asked.

She cocked an eyebrow; "Who's name?"

"The man you love."

Ziva sighed. Hiding it was futile. He was incredibly intuitive; Gibb's called it his 'gut' but Eli David called it years of Mossad training and parenthood combined. "Tony. His name is Tony."

"Anthony? An Italian?"

"Yes, Papa."

"You prefer a Catholic to a Jew?" he asked, his voice not at all indicating prejudice or hatred, merely cultural bias from years of tradition.

"No." She smirked. "I prefer Tony to Michael," she replied.

"You love him?"

She nodded, feeling a sense of calm pass through her.

Dancing around the term 'love' had been exhausting. It was only as she cried herself to sleep last night after leaving Tony's that she had finally admitted to the word 'love' to describe what she felt for him. It was a revelation, certainly, but also the biggest opportunity for hurt.

Tony was worth the risk, she had decided.

Eli David leaned back in his chair and allowed himself to smile a genuine smile at his daughter. "Does he want children?"

"Papa, you're screening my future husbands based on their desire to give you grandchildren?" she asked, chuckling at the absurdity.

He shrugged. "A man wants to enjoy his grandchildren as he gets older. It is only right."

She rolled her eyes at her father. "I will let you know when we discuss it, Papa."

"This is what you want, Ziva?"

Ziva nodded, her brown curls bouncing as she did so. "Yes, Papa."

Eli tensed his lips as he thought. "I will make arrangements for your stay in the United States to become more permanent."

"Thank you, Papa."