Note: long time no see, folks! And unfortunately, it will probably be a while again before I update. Summer activities are in full swing, as is preparation for next year. The lyrics are here for show, skip them and read the actual stuff, they're totally unrelated haha.


When I was younger I saw a house burn down, and I walked past it for the next six years.
Derelict, black, chalky, and dangerous; I wondered if squatters lived there.
I'm still not sure but I know there were never any parties 'cause it was a shithole.
After a while the council got around to tidying up the town. They decided it was an eyesore so they tore it down.
Behind the house was a wall with a few bits of crappy graffiti and the word 'cunt' written in giant letters, and now I walk past that.

"You really are afraid of my driving, Tony?" she said, hardly daring to turn her head to look at him for fear of bursting into laughter, breaking her miffed façade.

He stiffened beside her, not knowing how to approach the situation. Surely she knew he was kidding. However, as he warily glanced at her out of his peripheral vision, noting her narrowed eyes and pursed lips, he wasn't convinced. How many times had she backed him into a corner like this? Hell, how many times had she done it today alone? The girl was crazy, that much was certain.

"Well yeah, Ziva, I'm gonna have to say that you drive like a maniac. I thought we'd been over this before," he responded, praying to every deity he could think of that her mood was pleased enough that she wouldn't freak out and castrate him…or worse, leave.

Her sharp bark of laughter echoed through the room as she leaned over and playfully slapped his stomach. He winced exaggeratedly, not expecting such a mild reaction. That is, if he could call the red mark and potential bruise 'mild.' But compared to what he imagined as the gruesome, horrifying damage which she was capable of, slight discomfort was a reasonable affliction.

"When have you ever been truly in danger when I drive?"

"I don't know, how about that time we were following the Venezuelan protocol officer and you bumper tapped his official government car? Didn't feel so safe then. Or those other seven thousand times when you drove like twice the speed limit."

"Okay. Hitting the car was perhaps not the…best idea, but it would have been perfectly acceptable had he actually been in the car. And you rode in the car with Gibbs for several years before you ever rode with me, so I do not understand why you are so upset at my driving. Gibbs has no problem with my driving," she said, propping herself up on one elbow. She could not tell if they were still joking around or if his complaints were serious. Their banter had unfortunately taken a similar turn in the few weeks immediately following their return from Somalia, always afraid to be the one to push a little bit farther, always awkward around each other. Hopefully this conversation would not fall to a similar demise.

"I never said Gibbs's driving didn't scare the hell out of me, because it does. And if Ducky's stories are truth—and I'm sure they are—I don't believe I'm going to want to get in the car with Palmer behind the wheel either. At least not if I want to stay not lost," he replied, straying the topic ever so slightly as to hopefully move on from this subject.

"You know, you never took me up on piano lessons," she said, apparently attuned to his change. "I was being serious. Although I do not know how I would have taught you, or how I would now, seeing as neither of us has a piano."

"I don't need to be re-taught. Maybe just tinker around for a little bit, get myself used to it again. Like riding a bike, right? You never really forget." He momentarily thought of playing the piano briefly at Dana's house before Ziva had arrived. And just like she interrupted his thoughts then, she did again.

"I am familiar with that idiom, no need to explain it. And yes, I understand. But you can always use the practice."

"Well as soon as either of us has the funds to buy a piano then we can have this discussion again. I know I don't have that kind of expendable money in my accounts," he concluded, not realizing his words until it was too late. Ziva still probably thought he had thousands saved away for his cruise, which definitely constituted as 'expendable money.' He didn't know how to explain to her how the cruise had happened weeks ago and he stayed in DC, having given the money to his father.

The look she gave him asked the question, much as he expected, before she opened her mouth. "I thought you said you were going on a cruise? Did you finally realize that you are too old for that kind of behavior?" she teased, her eyes sparkling. She saw his stony expression and concern replaced the mirth. "What happened, Tony?"

"My father happened," he spat, teeth clenched. "Because guess who is in debt up to his eyeballs? Guess who needed a personal bailout from his only son? Yep, dear old dad. Had to pay for his room at the Adam's House when I realized…well, when McGee found out that he was completely broke and couldn't afford it."

"I suppose that is why he kept his name on the account as a trustee, in case he needed to ever tap into the money. Did it really take all of that money to pay off his bill?" she asked softly. He had draped an arm across his face and his eyes were pressed into the crook of his elbow. She saw his jaw flex as he repeatedly grit his teeth, his temper ready to boil over.

"I have about three hundred bucks left in that account. His suite was enormous and he got room service for every other meal; I'm surprised it didn't cost me more. He's been sneaking his way out of crap like this for years, and I honestly have no idea how he's done it," he continued sourly.

She ran her fingers through his hair and sighed. "I am sorry, Tony. You deserve better from him."

"He's been a ghost in my life for the past twenty five, thirty years. It's not really surprising."

"Yes, but you have talked to him, have you not? He told me that you mentioned me at some point, so that tells me you have been in contact at least in the past four years," she said, turning her eyes towards him and giving him a knowing look.

"You've been around me too long. I've made you too good of an investigator," he told her, only half mocking. "He called me a few years ago, before all the La Grenouille fiasco, and then I talked to him again before I went afloat. They weren't meaningful conversations. It was like I had run into an old college buddy and was just giving him a brief recap of my life. So naturally you came up. I hope you weren't excited to hear some juicy father-son gossip, because it didn't happen. Never has and probably never will."

He groaned, thinking of the conversations. She didn't know the real extent of what he had told his father, and he had no intention of telling her. She didn't know that for once he had dominated the exchange over his father, telling him stories about this new, exotic, dangerous officer. She didn't know that he called when the team was split up, yelling, furious that Vance would dare to separate them. His father had hardly cared, pulling some 'son, it'll be okay,' generic response. The calls had been so one-sided and pointless that he hadn't bothered to get in touch again and was relatively shocked that his father remembered any information relayed during them. And he was equally surprised that he hadn't told Ziva the more interesting parts of what he knew.

"Well you do not need that extra stress in your life. You were a mess when he was here, and would have been even if the case had not involved him. He…worries you unnecessarily, Tony, that much was obvious. Although I do not know why you feel the need to prove yourself to him," she said, her eyes squinting slightly as she observed him.

"He's my dad, Ziva. As much as I've tried, I can't ignore him. But I can only handle him, if I have to, in small doses. Sure, it'd be nice to never have to deal with him, and I've done a damn good job up until now of keeping him out of my life. It's not realistic though."

"I know. Just like I know that I will have to answer for abandoning my father sooner or later. Promise me that you will not bring it on yourself, though. If it has to happen, you do not have to be the one to start it." Her hand, once resting atop his head, slid down to his cheek and turned his face to hers. His eyes still held a muted anger, but it dissolved into sadness as she refused to break his gaze.

"It's times like that that make me glad I never had kids. I would hate for them to have to deal with him as a grandfather, and I would hate it if I ever turned out to be remotely like him. I don't know how a kid is supposed to be raised. And besides, they hate me. You remember that one boy, whose dad was kidnapped?" She nodded. "Yeah, you remember, the kid hated me."

"You would learn. Your own children would not hate you. But I understand. I had never really given having children a thought until Gibbs brought it up once. It haunted me that I had never given it any consideration, but I guess it did not make a difference. There is no such thing as maternity leave in Mossad. I would have been permanently removed. After he asked me though, I wondered if it was something I would even want. And I do not think it is. Not now. Perhaps if I had left Israel sooner—younger—then I would feel differently but I cannot envision myself as a mother." She laughed bitterly, shaking her head. "I am sure that my father would want me to have children, to continue the family line, but I do not think he deserves that from me after killing his only other option."

He wrapped his arm around her waist, pulling her close to him. In the terrible father department, Ziva won hands down. Saddened by her confession, he wondered what pressures would have been placed on her had she remained in Israel. Would they force her to eventually wed and reproduce? He didn't think it would be arranged, she would never stand for that, but would the glances and comments and insinuations be enough for her to settle down?

"Well for what it's worth, I think you would be a fantastic mother," he whispered into her hair. She pulled back slightly and looked at him incredulously.

"I do not. There are far too many weapons in my apartment."


Note: Hooray, another chapter done! And as last time, I had no intentions of this going where it did. What's up, family issues? (Again- I know I mentioned them briefly several times before this) Where did this children talk come from? Beats me. Also, as I was writing this I noticed how little plot there actually was. But I think that's okay, this story is more supposed to be about their thoughts and conversations and getting back onto solid ground. I'll write more stuff later that actually has things happen and isn't 95% dialogue. As always, hoped you enjoyed this and I would love for you to review! There are only going to be probably 2, maybe 3, chapters left of this so we're on the home stretch!