Here's the next chapter! Sorry, this is a bit late, but I've been very distracted recently. By Sims 4. Oops. Anyway, thank you to DS2010 and rebecca-in-blue for your reviews! Apologies if mentions of my OCs are a bit jarring - I'm trying to find a way to include them a tiny bit in the story whilst referring to the lore I've already built, since this fic is technically still part of my series The Soldier and The Spy. Most stuff about them is available in the other fics, but if you have any questions about them feel free to PM me. (That being said, if people want me to summarise who the OCs are just let me know.)

I hope you guys are enjoying the fic anyway! Read on!

"Ilan?" She knew the surprise showed in her voice, but it wasn't as if she was going to hide it. After all, he had to have known that she would not expect him to contact her at all, let alone on someone else's computer. Instead, she made herself comfortable in front of the computer, sitting down so that… well, so that they could have a chat, of course. Since that seemed to be what he wanted. "I… heard you were here." Her brows furrowed a little, feeling concerned and a little exposed. "H-how did you find me?"

She tried to see whether he was covering up something on his face, in his expression, but he remained blissfully neutral. Like her father would. Like her father had taught. Was that even a skill she still had? "We both learned things from your father," he responded calmly. Which, in all honesty, riled her up a little — she did not need a reminder of how Ilan thought himself part of Eli's family, thought himself Eli's own son, and behaved as if he were blood. "We are Mossad."

Ziva resisted the urge to roll her eyes. "Speak for yourself." She hadn't been Mossad for years — not since her father had left her for dead and NCIS had rescued her. She wasn't going to be referred to as Mossad. (Of course, she was briefly reminded of the conversation she had with Tony earlier and realised that she was more than glad to not be Mossad anymore — there were certain privileges that came with the foreign agency, of course, but the treatment was poor; she didn't want to go back to that. She didn't regret leaving them for a single second.)

And then he was changing the subject, drawing her out of her thoughts. "I need to see you, Ziva. Mourn the loss of a great man. I loved him like a father. Mine was always too busy to spend time, but not yours. Not Eli."

Ziva ignored the alarm bells ringing in her head, how Ilan was so clearly appealing to her desire to openly mourn the death of her father with others around to comfort her. After all, Ilan had loved the man as though he were his own father — would it not stand to reason that he loved Ziva like a sister too? He could be trusted, right? But then… had Eli ever had the time for his daughter when she was younger? Eli had seemingly had the time for Ilan, but not for his own daughter? Feelings of anger and resentment were starting to rise up against the sorrow, now.

"He was, um…" Ziva took a moment to think of the exact words she wanted to use, trying not to agree to meeting with him. Not until she was absolutely certain that she wanted to, considering he'd gone to NCIS before even considering coming to her. "He was fond of you."

"And of you. He was so proud, always boasting about his American daughter."

Somehow, she didn't believe that. How could her father boast so much about her when he barely even called after she had been rescued? Referring to her as American when, whilst she'd been officially an Israeli citizen, he hadn't even given her the time of day? Even the word American sounded like it was distasteful on Ilan's tongue — he tried to hide it, but she could see the slight twitch of displeasure on his lips. As if it was absolutely disgusting that Eli David's own daughter would turn away from him and join the country that had saved her from certain death. Honestly, Ziva would not have been surprised if Eli hadn't even spoken about her anymore… but then, what reason did Ilan have to lie?

And then any sense of that displeasure on Bodnar's face was gone, and he was smiling softly at her. Like they were old friends. Like they were reuniting family. "We should meet. Talk, face-to-face."

Even if she had wanted to, even if she had the means to do that sort of thing, she knew she couldn't. She couldn't risk her safety. She couldn't betray Tony's trust. She couldn't go against everyone and get involved in the case. Not again. She shook her head a little. "There are rules." Rules, of course, set by her own agency, her own people. To "protect her", they had said. She understood why, of course, but that didn't mean she liked it any more than she had to. "I cannot."

"Your father is dead. You shouldn't bear this alone."

I am not bearing it alone. She wanted to say that, wanted to point out how all of her friends were rallying around her even though this case was going on, and they were doing things for her and caring for her even when they didn't need to. They were being true friends, giving her the opportunity to mourn with them if she so needed — even Ducky had opened up autopsy for her if she ever needed to talk. It was just… her. She was not taking it. She should, she knew deep down that she should. But she just didn't. She was forcing herself to mourn alone… and why? Because her friends had said she wasn't allowed to go out and search for her father's killer? That was seeming petty to her now.

Bodnar's lips quirked up into a half-smile. "Come on, don't make me find you. You know I can, and will."

She didn't miss the threat hidden beneath those words, how Ilan clearly meant that he was going to find her whether she liked it or not, and it made her question him. Why was he so desperate to find her? What did she have that he so needed? Surely he wasn't so desperate to mourn with her in person that he'd have to come after her? Part of her wanted to point out that if it were Abby, she would make the same threat and it would be harmless. She would just mean that she absolutely did not want Ziva to be alone. But somehow this felt different.

Very different.

She did not like it.

The rest of the call was more of a blur to Ziva, her mind still reeling a little over his words. The words were definitely a threat that was not so empty, if Ilan was following so much in her father's footsteps. She was more than a little concerned about what he would do if she refused to meet him voluntarily and he came after her — she knew he would find her, regardless of where she decided to go.

That was why she decided, at the end of the call, to tell him exactly where she was so that he could come and meet with her. To mourn together. So that he wouldn't hunt her down and cause more trouble than necessary.

And that was why, when she got the call from the office not long later, she felt dread pooling in the pit of her stomach.

She was folding some more of her laundry when she got the call, and she wanted to roll her eyes when she saw who came up on the caller ID. She didn't know why she had even bothered hoping that he wouldn't call that day — he had texted her earlier, and she was pretty sure that she hadn't even ended up checking his message in the end. He was probably calling to see what her answer was to whatever question he'd actually asked her. She was half-tempted to ignore the call and just carry on with folding her laundry, but she knew that Tony would be persistent and keep calling her until she eventually picked up if he got worried enough — he might even turn up at the apartment to get the answer in question, which would most definitely irritate her.

She was better off answering the call now, just to save her the pain later.

Picking up the phone, she answered the call quickly before tucking the phone between her shoulder and her ear. "What is it, Tony?" She realised her voice sounded more than a little snippy, but at that point she didn't really care.

She certainly wasn't expecting Gibbs' voice to come over the line instead of that of her partner's.

"Ziva, does the word 'virtue' mean anything to you?"

Not even a 'hello', of course. Straight to business — and seemingly important business, if he was using Tony's desk phone to call her instead of his own. Her mind began to race with thoughts as the question began to play on her mind. Did that word mean anything to her? Well, technically, it did. It definitely did. In fact, it could mean many things, if she really thought about it. "Of course, Gibbs," she answered, reaching out for another of her clothes to fold and put away, "if you mean by definition." Perhaps if this call ended quickly enough, she could finish packing and relax a little before sneaking back to her apartment after Ilan came over.

"No. No, more like a name."

A name? That definitely caught Ziva's attention, her actions in folding her clothes slowing a little so that she could properly pay attention to what Gibbs was saying. Virtue meaning anything to her with regards to a name… no, that didn't ring any bells. In fact, it didn't really make much sense to her.

"Um… family business? Someone's company?"

"Ziva," McGee's voice came over the line now, "it's the account that paid the hit man."

"Mean anything in another language? Farsi, maybe?"

The questions and information were coming at her quickly, almost too quickly. She had to take a moment to actually think about what was being said to her, otherwise she'd get lost in all these questions. But calling using Tony's desk phone, and all of the different questions being fired at her, suddenly made sense. If anyone had any idea of any links to her father's possible killer using the word "virtue", it would be her. Forgetting about her laundry and packing, she focused on holding her phone to her ear as she spoke — after all, this was her father's murderer she was talking about now. She had to have her whole focus on this conversation if she was going to help at all. "In Farsi, the word for 'virtue' is 'taqwa'," she responded, running through the language in her head and any possible meanings for the word. She came up empty. "It means… nothing to me."

"I know it's not Russian." Gibbs said that as if he knew the word himself and has tried comparing it to any possible meanings. That certainly made it easier for her. "What about Hebrew? Arabic?"

Ziva paused as she thought about the word in those languages, straightening up as realisation dawned on her. How had she not realised before? How had the thought not even occurred to her? The conversation earlier had been strange. How had she been so stupid and naive? She should have seen this — whilst at Mossad, she would have seen something like this. She definitely would have. "In Hebrew…" She heaved out a sigh. Of frustration, of anger, of disbelief… she wasn't sure. "Yes, in Hebrew the word is 'tohar'." She grit her teeth as she said the word, and she felt her blood beginning to boil. Yes, she was more angry than anything else.

"Connection?"

"A man's middle name."

"Whose?"

She didn't even regret giving it up, no matter how close they had once been — not when he had been responsible for the murder of her own father. "Ilan Bodnar. He's on his way here."

When Tony's voice piped up, Ziva realised she'd completely forgotten he was there. Heck, she hadn't even thought he was part of the conversation. "My apartment?"

She almost wanted to get defensive about it, but now wasn't the time. "I'm armed." After all, that was the important part, right? If Bodnar turned up, then she would be able to defend herself if she needed to. In fact, her defending herself wasn't her highest priority at that moment — if she had a weapon, she could get that revenge she so desperately needed. In the background, she heard shuffling around as Gibbs gave orders to the other two, likely to track down Bodnar and give her backup. She could probably guess who would be coming over without thinking too much about it.

"Ziva, there's a gun taped to the back of my toilet Godfather-style," Tony's voice came over clearly, and if this hadn't been a serious conversation she would have rolled her eyes and cracked a grin at that. Only Tony. "Use it."

There wasn't even a goodbye as the line cut, leaving Ziva alone in Tony's apartment. Alone, and waiting to possibly be attacked by the man who had ordered the death of her father. The man who had once thought of Eli David as his own father. What sort of child ordered the murder of their own father with so little remorse? Bodnar was absolutely despicable for even considering doing anything of the sort, and if she saw him next she would be putting bullets through his skull. After all, as neglectful and ignorant as her father could be at times, he had still been her father. He had still cared for her. He had still loved her. He had been willing — desperate, even — to reconcile with her. To regain her forgiveness.

And her last actions towards him had been those of a betrayed daughter who had watched her father make one too many mistakes, and turn her back on him.

Pushing those thoughts aside, she quickly shoved her clothes away in Tony's room, laying them down on the bed so that they were out of the way. If she ended up shooting anyone, she didn't want to get any blood spatter on it; those clothes were freshly washed, and she did not plan on washing them again before leaving. It took a few moments for her to grab her gun and check the magazine, briefly considering the gun Tony had strapped to his toilet (and then deciding against it when she realised just how many germs that gun could have collected just by being there), before heading right back to the living area to watch for anything happening through the front windows. After all, they overlooked the street below — if Bodnar turned up, she would see him first. It would give her the advantage.

And if he was coming for her himself, she would definitely need that advantage.

It felt as though she had been standing there for hours, just watching through the windows at periodic intervals to see whether Ilan Bodnar would actually turn up at an NCIS agent's apartment to kill her, when there was suddenly a jangle of keys in the door and it burst open. Spinning and ducking down behind the couch, Ziva had the safety pulled off and her finger tensed and ready to pull the trigger when she registered exactly who had come in — the familiar silvery hair of Gibbs, and the ever-so-familiar face of Tony. She was almost disappointed that it had been those two instead of the man she so desperately wanted to shoot dead, just as he'd ordered for her father. And that disappointment clearly translated into frustration.

"You should have knocked!" she snapped as she brought her gun down (but didn't sheath it, or turn off the safety, in case she needed to use it).

Tony appeared affronted. "I live here!"

"Yeah, and you almost died here, too!" When she really thought about it, how close she had been to actually shooting them both kind of scared her, but she pushed that thought aside. If she had ended up shooting Tony, it would have been a non-fatal blow at worst. Gibbs would not have let his agent die.

"Where's Bodnar?" Gibbs asked, cutting into their argument and Ziva's train of thought. He looked just as ready to kill as she felt, which relieved her a little. Her father figure, a man she thought of more than her actual father, was ready to kill on her behalf. And he would not hesitate to go for the kill shot.

"He never showed," she admitted. Which disappointed her more than just a little. She would have liked to shoot someone involved in her father's death. Or rather, kill.

Gibbs seemed to murmur something to Tony, something that made him pull out his phone and make a call, before he headed over to where Ziva stood. He walked like he was on a mission, Ziva had seen him walking that way enough times to know that he meant business, but the expression on his face said something completely different. In fact, his expression softened ever so slightly, like it did whenever he knew he was about to broach a more sensitive topic with her — something that he knew could easily push her away. "Hey." The man's tone had even changed, from its usual business tone to that one he used whenever they were in a more casual atmosphere. "You alright?"

Was she alright? Was she really alright? She felt as though she was ready to explode — she finally knew who was behind it, who had ordered for her own father to be killed, and she didn't know where he was. She wanted to talk to him, to confront him about his terrible sin. To interrogate him on what stupid thought could have ever made him consider killing the man who had given her literal life. The man who he had considered family for himself. What could have compelled any man to kill someone who had seemingly brought him into his own family? It did not make sense to her at all, and she hated it. She hated every single bit of it. She deserved peace, deserved stability, and she had been so close to getting it. But that man had taken it into his own hands to ruin her life irreparably, and get rid of the last remaining member of her biological family. The family she had grown up with and loved despite it being more than a little dysfunctional.

So many thoughts were running through her mind right then that she almost forgot to give Gibbs an actual answer to his question. Instead she pursed her lips briefly before giving a sigh of what felt like defeat. "I… I don't know what I am right now," she answered honestly. The most honestly she had answered that sort of question since her father had actually passed. And it had been to the man who had essentially replaced the role of her father over the past seven years. Turning, she began to head back to the window — to her scouting position. "My father trusted Ilan." Perhaps too much, considering all the bitterness she had heard in the man's voice over the video call earlier. But if he had not trusted Ilan, with his daughter gone and all of his other children dead, then who could he have trusted?

"Rule number eight: never take anything for granted."

Perhaps there was a meaning behind him saying those words; perhaps he was right in pointing them out to her, to show that he had those rules for a reason and that reason was situations like this, but she didn't particularly appreciate him questioning her father's logic so casually.

That was when Tony walked straight back into the conversation, the phone still against his ear. But he looked… almost frustrated. It wasn't easily visible, but she could read it in his eyes. Something wasn't going right. "Bodnar's in the wind. McGee says his hotel room's scrubbed clean."

At that little bit of information, Ziva wanted to scream. The man was gone? He had killed her father, and then had the nerve to try and disappear off the face of the earth without a single warning or, you know, a goodbye? At least with a goodbye she could have put a bullet in his chest as a farewell gift.

"Yeah, he could be anywhere," Gibbs muttered.

Ziva's focus had turned to the window, gazing out of it for any prime attack spots. It wouldn't be too difficult for a man with his resources to attack through the window right then. "He could be watching us right now." A terrifying thought, considering all of the buildings around them. There was plenty of leverage. Plenty of places for Bodnar to attack from, and then escape on foot before any of them could find him. There was no way they could get the equipment to monitor the surrounding buildings for him presence without obtaining something like a warrant or giving a valid reason for the equipment use — it wasn't as if it was an active crime scene or anything. It was an NCIS agent's apartment. That was all.

She could tell that Tony wanted to say that they'd find him, that they'd get him and take him down for that he'd done to not only the Director of Mossad but one of their own, but he couldn't. She knew that he couldn't promise that when Bodnar was in the wind, gone and untraceable for all they knew. He could fake his death and disappear and they would be none the wiser. But, even though she didn't even need to look at him to know that he was thinking those things, she appreciated the sentiment. She appreciated it a lot, actually. Just knowing that she wasn't alone, that there were so many people on her side, willing to fight for her. McGee, and Abby, and Ducky, and Palmer. Gibbs.

Tony.

She felt a gentle hand on her shoulder, pulling her away from the window. She knew what Gibbs' rough, woodworker's hands felt like, and this hand certainly wasn't as calloused. This was softer, more taken care of.

This was Tony's.

"We'll find him," her partner said softly in her ear, and she felt some of the tension from being on such high alert melting away. If she wanted to, she could relax now. Step away from the window. But letting her guard down would only leave her more susceptible to attack, to being killed by Bodnar if he did happen to be in one of those other buildings. And she couldn't have that.

She also couldn't have the other two being attacked if they decided to watch for her and Bodnar spotted them there. If he had so ruthlessly killed her father, then how much easier would it be for him to kill two agents he had absolutely no care for? The answer was much easier, of course. If she were in his shoes, she wouldn't even think twice before shooting someone like Gibbs, or Tony. Turning her head, she lifted her hand hesitantly to rest it on his where it was resting on her shoulder, and then she remembered.

Gibbs was in the room.

Rule twelve.

She gently patted his arm, before moving herself away from the window and back towards Tony's room. It was at this point where she finally turned the safety on on her gun. She couldn't have it accidentally going off into Tony's floorboards. "I suppose we will both need somewhere else to stay until I leave?" she asked, glancing over her shoulder at Tony and Gibbs. Tony looked almost exasperated at the thought of staying somewhere else. Gibbs' expression was schooled, as usual, but she thought she could see the slightest bit of worry in his eyes. Whether it was at the idea of them still staying in Tony's apartment, or at the knowledge that the next place to be suggested would be his own (which was definitely not safe if there was a killer on the loose, considering he had two children in the house), Ziva wasn't sure.

Tony looked down at the phone in his hands, seemingly debating something as Ziva entered the room and finished off packing her things. "Are you sure you don't want to sleep in a coffin?" he called out through the open doorway. Rolling her eyes, Ziva could picture the look of disappointment on Gibbs face for even considering suggesting something of the sort.

"I will next sleep in a coffin when I die, Tony." As much as she loved and appreciated Abby, she refused to put her friend in danger because of something like this. Abby was not particularly skilled with a gun — at least, she wasn't skilled in the sense that she didn't like to use it on people. Ziva didn't want to be protecting her and herself. And McGee's place was rather small — she didn't want to impose on him either. Which left one place, really.

Gibbs'.

(No, she was not including the rather defenseless Ducky and Palmer in her train of thought. And there was no way she was spending the night in an NCIS-mandated safe house, no matter what the rules were.)

Gibbs heaved out a sigh, and Ziva knew that he had given in. She, at least, was staying at Gibbs' house until she left for her father's funeral. There was no questioning it. That was Gibbs' sigh of defeat — she'd heard him use it enough times on Andrew to know what it meant. "Then you both better bring dinner," he finally answered. As Ziva finished off her packing, she heard his footsteps approach the apartment door.

"For all of us." Those were his last words before the door shut behind him, leaving Tony and Ziva in the apartment alone.

Not that anything would happen now, anyway.