Heya everyone! It's been a while, hasn't it? I hope you're all doing alright with everything still going on. I've been pretty busy trying to keep my life in order, but I think I'm getting there. Slowly but surely, at least. Anyway, my fanfic series for Alex Rider and NCIS is nowhere near done, and really I'd hoped to start working on this sooner but... you know, life has been kinda sucky recently. Either way, it's here now, and I'm glad to be working on it now!

So, here's the next installment in the series! This one is, obviously, Tiva focused. Because that is my favourite ship and I couldn't not write something about Tiva in this fanfiction series. Anyway, this story is all Tiva-focused, encompassing the second half of season 10 and the beginning of season 11. You know, the whole Ziva leaving timeline. I'm actually finding it a lot easier to stay mostly canon-compliant with a few twists to make it my own thing and, you know, add in things that the writers obviously could have added in. I don't really plan to change too much, maybe just make my own interpretations. This fic will be starting from Season 10 Episode 12. Yeah, you know the episode. So quite a bit of this fic will be rehashing, rewriting and fixing up what happened in some of those episodes and writing the scenes we probably didn't see, because there's a lot of juicy character growth to do there. I'm kind of looking forward to doing all that character growth and making the little changes that (hopefully) do the characters justice.

Considering the story itself is Tiva focused, even though the fic is set in my "The Soldier and The Spy" universe I won't be having Andrew and co. from the earlier fics cameo too much in this. After all, this is all focused on Tony and Ziva and everything that happens between them. This means that if you haven't read the previous instalments in the universe, it shouldn't affect how the story flows too much. Just a few things with Gibbs may be a bit different, but Gibbs has always been a father figure to everyone. So I hope you're all able to enjoy it anyway!

Anyway, as usual, I've got a prologue here for you. As usual. You guys should know by now how much I like my prologues. I hope you all enjoy the fic I've got planned for you! I'm going to try and update once a week, maybe more frequently if I'm able to, but hopefully the first chapter will go up later this week and we'll go from there.

Read on and enjoy!

"McGee!"

The car doors were opening even before the car stopped, both Gibbs and Ziva leaping out as the engine cut and the car basically parked itself. The female agent rounded the car, the sounds of an ambulance departing still ringing in the air. Gibbs was the first to reach McGee as he headed down the driveway, the field agent looking more than a little shaken by everything that had occurred but trying to cover it up with a mask.

"The Director just left in the ambulance," McGee explained, trying to keep as neutral as possible. "He's okay, but Mrs Vance was hit. Not sure how bad." It would have been considered good news to know that their Director, Leon Vance, was okay... but as Gibbs looked towards the shot-up house, he was distinctly aware of the fact that McGee had mentioned that Vance's wife, Jackie, was in an unknown condition.

And he hadn't even mentioned Eli.

"What about my father?" Ziva demanded as she ran over from the car, looking a little dishevelled. She was still on edge from the chase, anger and adrenaline still pumping through her veins. McGee's gaze turned to her, but he said nothing. Dread began to pool in the pit of Ziva's stomach at his silence. And it only got worse when McGee turned to Gibbs without a word.

Gibbs only stared back, waiting for him to speak. But knowing what he would say.

Ziva grabbed the front of his jacket, forcing him to look at her. "McGee." She wanted him to say something, anything, to show that her father was okay. That he would come out at the most a little injured. But the look in his eyes said everything she didn't want to hear. She couldn't just take his word for it, couldn't just guess from the look in his eyes. She needed to see for herself.

So she ran in.

Entering the Vance household, it was silent. Eerily silent. The sounds of sirens outside were still whirring, the lights in the house were either dimmed or broken — as if they hadn't been changed from the Shabbat meal they'd been about to have before it all happened. Some furniture was intact. Other furniture was broken, shot to shreds. Ruined.

Just beside the cabinet, in front of the entrance to the kitchen, Tony stood. He looked stiff, as if he didn't want to be there. He didn't want to be the bearer of bad news. But if he didn't do it, who else would?

Ziva slowed as she entered the house and slowed not too far from him, dread building from where it had pooled in her stomach. She knew the look on his face, the sorrow in his eyes. She had seen it before. With Jenny. With Mike. With so many others who had left them. "No..." Her feet moved of their own accord, approaching him slowly. And then her head turned.

And she saw him. The broken, deceased form of her father, blood staining his chest as he leaned on the doorframe. Peaceful. Unmoving.

Dead.

The well of emotion — of anger at the shooter, of frustration at her father's lies, of hatred towards the world of espionage and battle she'd grown in — finally cracked. Her face crumpled as tears welled in her eyes, the sobs coming before she knew it.

"Abba!"

It suddenly didn't matter how much he'd hurt and disappointed her, how often he'd lied to her or forgotten her or been a man unworthy of forgiveness. Because now he lay unmoving in the home of a friend, killed by a man who had killed himself to escape. She stumbled over to his body, "Abba!" escaping from her mouth once more. As she reached him, she lowered herself to the floor beside him and pulled him into her arms as she sobbed. Her body rocked slowly as she held him, words of pain in her native tongue uttered from her lips. Her keen hearing picked up Tony conversing quietly with Gibbs and McGee... but she could not bring herself to contribute. Not now.

Now was her time to grieve for her father.