A/N: Hello there! This is the first installment of a tale that will take a number of chapters to tell... so settle in for a long ride! I expect to publish about one chapter per week; the first five chapters are already written and ready to go, so expect chapter two to go up one week from today on October 29th. I hope you all enjoy the story... it's close to my heart! It will be a Tony/Ziva story, though the first couple of chapters are heavy in set-up. This is set in season 9. — xoxo, Clara

Edit—I'd like to acknowledge a lovely reviewer, Acrwdof1, for pointing out a technical error that I made in this chapter... hopefully, I've fixed that mistake across the board! If so, this story is now a little more accurate than it was before. Thanks for the help, new friend!

"Love has little to do with blood relations and more to do with who you choose to bleed for."

— Trista Mateer, Aphrodite Made Me Do It

"David, my office."

Ziva glances up from her computer screen to see Vance looking grave. He jerks his head toward the stairs, and, bemused, she nods. "Is something wrong?" she asks.

Vance makes a troubled face that tells Ziva the answer is yes. "You'll have to see for yourself."

"Yes, sir."

Ziva pushes back from her desk and rises to her feet, following the Director with no further questions. As she passes by Tony's desk, though, they exchange looks, and Tony makes a comment under his breath that she barely catches.

"Nice knowing you, I guess," he says.

Something about this does give her a feeling of trouble brewing, and she hopes she's wrong.

Vance's office isn't empty when they enter it, so it's unlikely that Ziva has been summoned purely so she can be fired or rebuked. That's something of a relief, but the sight before her is troubling either way.

There's a young woman sitting at Vance's conference table, looking distraught; she has her elbows on the table and her face rests in her hands, hidden from view. There's no hiding the fact that she's shaking, though, probably either in tears or nearly to that point. She's dressed in a Navy officer's uniform.

"Shalom, Ziva."

Ziva's gaze is pulled away from the young woman toward something she should have noticed sooner—her father's face is on the tv screen, clearly attached to some kind of video call. Like the woman at the table, the Mossad director looks worn down, beaten.

Something has most certainly happened, and from the looks of it, it's not something good.

"Shalom, Father," she answers formally. Then she looks back at Vance, a question in her eyes, but he just shakes his head and gestures her toward the conference table. Dutifully, she purses her lips and sits where he indicated, a few chairs down from the unknown young woman.

Vance stands between the two women, eyes on the television screen. "You should probably be the one to explain to your daughter what's going on, Eli," he tells Ziva's father. "I'm not clear on all the details myself."

Eli's lips twist in a grim smile that's almost a grimace. "I do not yet have all the information, either… but yes, I will explain."

The Navy woman finally looks up then, and it's immediately clear to Ziva that she has been crying for quite some time; her face is red and damp, eyes swollen and still glistening with new unshed tears. Though something about her is familiar, Ziva can't place where they might have met, and the woman never looks at her. After a split second, Ziva disregards that slight mystery and turns her gaze back to the screen, too.

Eli waits until he has their attention before beginning. "Approximately two hours ago," he starts, "there was a bombing in Safed, suspected to be a Hamas strike. It was in a public market, so the target was not immediately clear, but there were more than two dozen casualties. I was informed an hour ago that two of the confirmed deaths were that of Noam and Liora Levy."

The woman in the uniform lets out a loud sob at that, but Ziva only has eyes for Eli. "Daughter and son-in-law of—"

"Zedekiah Cohen, yes."

Ziva now fully understands Eli's heavy countenance. Though as a Middle Eastern world leader, he's well used to dealing with terrorist attacks, this is not something he can so easily distance himself from… Zedekiah Cohen passed away last year, but before that, he was Eli's closest friend for more than sixty years.

As a consequence of that friendship, Ziva had often spent time with Liora during childhood; the Davids and the Cohens sometimes holidayed together in Haifa, back when Eli still occasionally took time off. Ziva hasn't seen Liora in more than a decade, but the unexpected loss still feels like a punch to the gut.

"I am sorry, Abba," Ziva murmurs after she processes this; no one else has said a word.

Eli nods, and he temporarily looks so defeated that Ziva unexpectedly feels for him—their shared losses are one of the few things they still have in common. "That is not all, however," Eli continues, and Ziva remembers that there has to be a reason for this meeting beyond simply informing her of what has happened.

"Oh?"

"At the time of their deaths, Noam and Liora were undercover for Mossad."

That surprises Ziva, because last she'd heard, Liora was working in Tel Aviv as a doctor. "Doing what?" she questions, her tone guarded. She wonders if Eli is telling the full truth.

"I am afraid I cannot say."

Ziva knows better than to argue, and she nods, curt. "Please explain, then, what you need from me. I am sorry for the loss of two undoubtedly good Mossad officers, but as you know, I am no longer Mossad myself. I have a job to do at NCIS that I am neglecting right now to be here speaking with you."

"Liora and Noam have a son," the young woman next to Ziva interjects quietly. "He's here."

"Here as in—"

"He's been living with me," the woman explains. Her tears have stopped and she's looking a little blank, empty.

"In Washington?"

"Yes."

Ziva glances back at her father. "They knew they were in danger," she guesses.

"Yes," Eli agrees.

"What will happen to the boy now?"

"That is where I need your help, Ziva." Eli pauses briefly, but before Ziva can truly think through what he means by that, he soldiers on. "We do not yet know whether the Levys were the target of the attack, but we cannot assume that they were not. That means that if the boy was to return to Israel now, he might too become a target. He needs to stay in America for the duration of our investigation."

"I understand, but—"

"Eitan—Liora's son—was supposed to go home tonight," the young woman interrupts. "The mission was supposed to be over. Why wasn't it over?" The last part is snarled with sudden vitriol, directed at Eli.

"Lieutenant Shulman, please, have some patience," Vance cautions, speaking for the first time in several minutes. "I'm sure Director David was about to finish explaining—weren't you, Eli?" he adds pointedly.

"I was," Eli agrees, apparently taking no offense to the way he was just addressed. "Unfortunately, the Levys had not yet found the very important answers they were tasked with seeking out, and the mission was just extended. Regardless, that mission must take a backseat now in the wake of their deaths… and the immediate priority is finding a temporary safe space for Eitan."

Ziva's eyes flicker back to the grieving woman sitting nearby. "Why can he not stay with Lieutenant Shulman?"

"I'm due at Andrews Airforce Base at 0600 tomorrow to deploy," Lieutenant Shulman answers, back to sounding quietly numb.

Ziva's brow furrows; she's sure that she's missing something. "Director Vance," she tries, "would it be possible to grant her emergency leave, under the circumstances?"

Vance shakes his head, looking more troubled again. "She's needed on that deployment," he says shortly. The tone of his voice makes it clear that he can't or won't explain more at the moment.

"I need you to take Eitan in for now, Ziva," Eli cuts in gravely before Ziva can ask another question.

A number of responses float through her mind… they range from alternate rational suggestions to indignant reminders to Eli that she doesn't answer to him anymore. In the end, though, all she says is two words: "why me?"

"He only speaks Hebrew," Lieutenant Shulman replies, though she isn't the one Ziva had been asking. "He needs to go to someone who can communicate with him and someone who can be trusted."

"What about someone from the embassy?"

This time, it's Eli who answers. "If the Levys were targeted, we do not know who gave away their undercover identities and their location. Ziva, you must understand the gravity of this situation! Not only is there a child in danger, but this may not have been a singular attack! We cannot read anyone else in, not now, and it is imperative that we solve this quickly and quietly. There are no other options."

This brief speech is given rapidly, angrily, reminding Ziva that grieving or not, Eli's only true allegiance still lies with Israel as a whole. He'll do whatever it takes to get the job done, and if that involves pressing Ziva back into service, then so be it. In deference to the strained nature of their relationship, he has framed this entire thing as a request—a favor, even. It's clear, though, that he expects her to say yes. He expects her not to question what she was asked to do, almost as if she's twenty-one again and she's eager for his approval.

Ziva can still say no. Logically, she's aware that Eli has no power over her.

She's afraid for the boy, though.

She remembers how it feels to be alone and friendless somewhere far from home, and she knows how it feels to lose the most important people in her life. Adding in the fact that Eitan doesn't speak English and the fact that his life could be in active danger, there's just no way she can in good conscience turn him away. It doesn't matter that she's never met him or that she knows very little about caring for a child of—actually, she doesn't even know how old he is! She just knows that she'll have to manage whatever comes next.

Ziva must deliberate for just a few seconds too long, because Eli speaks one more time before she can answer. "Eitan is the same age as Tali was the night of the bombing in Bat Yam." His voice is softer again, pained and tired.

Ziva remembers that night all too well. She was young herself, just a few years older than Tali's four, when they found themselves in the wrong place at the wrong time. A suicide bomber blew himself up across the street from the synagogue where the Davids were attending a bat mitzvah that weekend, and the three of them—Ziva, Tali, and their mother—were very nearly caught up in the blast.

The sounds and smells are still fresh in Ziva's memory over two decades later—the sound of the bomb ripping through everything in its path; the eerily muffled screams that followed quickly after, only barely audible through the damage to Ziva's eardrums; the scent of her mother's perfume as Rivka cradled her daughters' heads against her chest, shielding them from seeing the horrifying chaos around them; worst, perhaps, was the unadulterated fear in Tali's voice as she cried, holding onto Rivka with one hand and Ziva with the other. Tali had been so very young at the time that she seemed to forget what had happened within a few weeks, but her terror in the middle of everything that night will stick with Ziva forever.

"I will take him," Ziva finds herself saying, swallowing back her old memories and the grief that has always bubbled up when Tali is mentioned.

"Good," Eli responds, and Ziva wonders if the pride and relief she can hear in his voice are genuine.

After that, the immediate details are quickly hammered out.

Ziva will depart NCIS at the end of the meeting, forgoing the rest of her workday in favor of going home to ready her apartment for a second inhabitant. Then, this evening, she'll go to Lieutenant Shulman's house in Arlington for a crash course in minding a 4-year-old boy, and when she leaves, Eitan and all of his things will be with her.

After that, the future is worryingly unclear. Eli can't tell Ziva how long Eitan will be with her, and he can't tell her what will happen when the investigation concludes. They're just going to have to take things one day at a time.

Vance grants Ziva a week of emergency leave to adjust to sudden foster parenthood, which she's sure will be useful. In that time, she'll have to make arrangements for Eitan's day-to-day care after she returns to work. She'll also have to learn the basics of childcare; it's going to be sink or swim.

Finally, Ziva is told fiercely that she is not to tell anyone in her life what's happening.

"What!?" she demands, indignant. This additional instruction is the first to break through the old familiar shell of stoic pragmatism that she has crawled back into. "Do you think no one will notice the fact that there is suddenly a child living with me?"

"People may well notice," Eli concedes shortly, annoyed with her emotional reaction, "but you cannot tell them the truth."

Ziva lets out a frustrated laugh at the sheer lack of helpfulness in her father's reply. "And what do I tell them instead?"

"I trust that you will come up with something. The Americans will not question it! You are not the first person in history to unexpectedly become acting guardian to a child you did not previously know about."

Ziva snorts and drops the subject; she should know better than to expect Eli to help.

After that, there's only one matter left to resolve—Eitan himself.

Ziva hadn't realized when they were talking about him earlier, but apparently, the little boy is already in the building. A social worker is entertaining him in the conference room, and toward the end of the meeting, Vance steals away from the room to get him.

Ziva's attention is caught by the office door opening… she watches as Vance leads a small, nervous-looking boy into the room. The four-year-old has a thick mess of light brown hair and dark, soulful eyes; Ziva can see bits and pieces of her childhood friend in his little features, a thought that makes her heart ache.

Lieutenant Shulman rises from her chair immediately, moving to crouch on the floor by the table. "Eitan!" she calls, her tone falsely cheerful.

"Zo!" Eitan answers, brightening considerably when he spots her. He pulls away from Vance and rushes into Shulman's embrace. Then, ignoring everyone else in the room, he starts to explain to her in Hebrew about the painting he got to do with the social worker.

Shulman lets him chatter for a moment before gently interrupting. "Eitan," she says, giving him a little smile, "there is someone I want you to meet." Like the boy, she has switched to Hebrew, surprising Ziva with her fluency.

"Who is it?"

Shulman tilts her head toward Ziva, who gives a little smile and wave when Eitan looks at her. "This is Ziva. She is going to take care of you for a while, and you are going to stay with her like you have been staying with me."

"Why?"

"Because she is really, really nice! She will be a good friend for you."

"But why do I have to go to her house? I like your house, Zo!"

Shulman brushes Eitan's messy hair out of his eyes and lightly rubs his cheek with her thumb. "Remember what I told you about my job?"

"Yeah. You go to cool places and fight bad guys!"

"Good job remembering! Well, it is almost time for me to go to one of those cool places."

"I want to go with you," he whines.

"I know, little one. But it would be really boring for you… I promise, you are going to like Ziva's house much better."

Eitan glances back at Ziva, who tries to look as friendly and unthreatening as she can. "But…"

"But nothing," Shulman contradicts, kind but firm. "This is important."

"Are you sure I have to?"

"Yes, my love."

Eitan's little body deflates, and he curls into Shulman for a hug. "I want to go home. I miss Ima and Abba."

No one knows quite what to say to that.

Ziva emerges from the office several minutes later, feeling slightly overwhelmed by everything she has just learned. The day is far from over, though, and there's a lot to do.

When she starts down the stairs into the bullpen, she catches Tony and McGee wondering what Vance called her into the office for.

"There's no way it's not Mossad-related," Tony is saying.

"Tony, she hasn't been part of Mossad for two years now," McGee points out.

"Yeah, but if it was something else, we all would have been called up there, right?"

"Me and Ziva weren't called in when Director Shepard told you to go undercover. This could be that same kind of thing."

"Mm, not Vance's style. It's Mossad-related."

"Undercover assignment."

"Mossad!"

"Undercover!"

"I have a twenty that says you're wrong."

"You're on."

The mundane familiarity of Tony and McGee's arguing pulls Ziva back to reality a little, and she interrupts them with a faint laugh. "You are both wrong," she informs them, "so I think that money goes to me."

Tony and McGee both turn to look at her, startled.

"Sorry, Ziva," McGee says sheepishly. "We were just…"

"I know."

Tony, as usual, is unembarrassed. "So if it's not Mossad and it's not undercover work, what is it?"

Ziva hesitates ever-so-slightly and decides to go with an explanation that's as close as possible to the truth. "There has been some… family trouble."

"Is everything okay?" McGee asks, concerned.

Ziva shakes her head. "Not exactly."

Before she can say more, though, a voice interrupts from the catwalk above. "Agent David! Didn't I send you home for the day?" Vance's tone is light, sympathetic-sounding… but Ziva knows what he's doing. He's reminding her not to tell her team too much.

The refresher is unnecessary, but she nods, knowing he will take that as acknowledgment of what he didn't say. "I will be leaving shortly, Director," she calls back.

The three agents stare up at Vance as he gives them one last look before walking away, and then Tony wastes no time in returning to the Q&A. "What happened, Ziva?"

"My father was there on a video call." Ziva watches Tony and McGee's expressions sour at the mention of Eli, and she feels a surge of fondness toward the both of them for their protectiveness. "He called to tell me that my cousin passed away unexpectedly last night in a car accident."

This announcement is met with condolences from her friends, but Ziva holds up her hand to silence them. "I appreciate the sympathy, but that was not all Eli had to say. The cousin that died was… well, she and I were not close, and I had not talked to her in several years. Apparently, she had moved to this area with her husband and her son... and the accident last night ended the life of her husband, too. Now her child needs somewhere to go until other arrangements can be made. I have been asked to take him in."

For several long moments, there's silence—Tony and McGee gape at Ziva and at each other. "Well, are you going to?" McGee finally questions.

"Yes. I am his only family here. He needs me."

"Sounds like it won't be for long, though, right?" Tony guesses.

Ziva shrugs. "I do not know yet."

"Do you even have a place for him to sleep?"

"That is why I have been given the rest of the day off. I need to childproof my apartment."

"That sounds like an awful lot to do in one day. Do you need help?" McGee kindly offers.

"No, but thank you, McGee. Really." Ziva gives him a tired smile, grateful.

Tony glances between the other two, uncertain. "I'd offer to help with whatever else you might need, but… you know I'm not great with kids."

That makes Ziva laugh, and she rolls her eyes because she knows she would under other circumstances and some normalcy is much needed right now. "Your selfless support is truly inspiring, Tony."

She turns her back on them to gather her things from her desk. "I am taking a week of leave," she explains as she packs up the few items not already in her bag. "I will be back after that."

"We'll miss you, Ziva."

"I will miss you, too, McGee."

Ziva straightens and looks back to give them one more smile. "See you soon," she tells them, slinging the bag onto her back.

Then she heads for the elevator, her mind already moving on to plan out everything she needs to do before picking up Eitan this evening. Her thoughts are interrupting, though, by Tony jumping onto the elevator at the last moment before the doors close.

"Miss me already?" Ziva asks wryly.

Tony shakes his head to dismiss her weak joke, looking unusually serious. "This has been an eventful morning for you. Are you okay?"

"I am fine," she assures him.

"Are you really?" He gives her a disbelieving look. "Don't shut me out, Ziva."

Her automatic impulse is to do just that—she will get through this on her own, just as she always does. Something makes her hesitate, though… maybe it's because she knows she can trust Tony, or maybe it's just because he's right about the difficulty of the day so far. "No, I am not fine," she answers finally. "But I will be."

"I know you will, 'cause you're tough as nails. But…" The elevator reaches the ground floor, and rather than stay in the car to return to the bullpen, Tony follows Ziva out. "Do you want to talk about it?"

Ziva starts in the direction of the parking lot, looking anywhere but at her friend. "What could talking possibly help?"

"Probably nothing, but it's always good to get things out."

"Of course you think that," she quips back. "You like to talk about everything."

Tony is undeterred by this attempt at a subject change. "Maybe I talk too much, but you don't talk enough. Come on—you don't have to handle everything alone."

Ziva stops walking so suddenly that Tony almost runs into her, and she turns around to frown at him. "Yes, I do," she argues, quiet at first but quickly gaining in momentum. "Once again, the burden has fallen on me. This happens every time I begin to feel settled, Tony!"

Tony starts to reply, but Ziva cuts him off.

"You want me to talk about how I feel? Fine. I am sad. I am tired. I am shocked, I am worried, and I am afraid. I do not know how to take care of a 4-year-old, but one is depending on me anyway. I know what is expected of me but I do not know if I can do it! Are you happy now?"

Ziva can see in Tony's expression that she surprised him by answering at all, and his determined look softens into something more compassionate. "I'm sorry. I am. That's a lot to put on one person."

"Yes, it is, and saying it out loud has done nothing more than waste time."

"You make it sound like you're just talking to yourself."

"Does it matter who I am talking to?"

"Yes, because when you're talking to a friend, they usually talk back. That's the whole point." Tony gives her a look, revealing another wave of sympathy that is tinged this time with a hint of frustration. "I can't fix anything that's happened, I know that, but I can at least try to reassure you, right?"

"I suppose I cannot stop you."

"Good. Now, I know you have a lot to do, but you listen to me for a second, David."

Ziva crosses her arms and raises her eyebrows, impatient.

Her annoyance makes Tony bark out a laugh, and he nods in response to the implied challenge in her posture: 'you have about ten seconds to talk before I start to walk away.' "Alright, here we go… this is not forever. Somewhere out there, there's a permanent home for this kid, okay?—so take it an hour at a time. Get through today, and then worry about tomorrow, one hour at a time. You're smart, too—you may not know much about kids for now, but I'm sure you'll learn quick."

Ziva understands the logic in what her partner is saying, and though she just doesn't have it in her right now to respond the way a friend should, she does appreciate it. "I hope you are right," is all she says back.

Tony doesn't seem offended. "You're gonna do great," he finishes firmly.

Ziva nods and slides her cell phone out of her pocket to check the time. "I need to go."

"Alright." Tony pauses slightly, though, before opening his arms in invitation.

Ziva is a little surprised by the offer, but she's also surprised when she decides to accept without letting herself question any of it. She steps forward and wraps her arms around Tony's waist, releasing a deep sigh when his arms settle around her shoulders. "You're gonna do great," Tony repeats quietly into her hair. "And I'm sorry about your cousin."

"Thank you, Tony." Ziva is slightly horrified to feel her eyes prickling with tears.

They stand there for a few seconds without speaking, and finally, Ziva breaks the hug. She knows Tony can see the overwhelmed tears that are starting to leak slowly down her cheeks, but he doesn't comment. "Good luck," he offers instead.

Ziva nods uncomfortably. "I will see you next week."

"Right. See you when you come back."

Tony doesn't move as Ziva turns to walk away, and she's fifteen paces away when he calls her name one last time. She looks back. "I'd be a crappy babysitter, but if you need someone to… I don't know, shoot some hoops with the kid when you need a few minutes to yourself to shower or something, you know where to find me."

The offer is clearly sincere, and—knowing how much courage it must have taken Tony to volunteer for something like this at all—it makes her feel just a little bolstered. Eitan may be her responsibility now, but at least her friends have her back.

"Thank you." She hopes her inability to say more doesn't make her sound insincere.

"Sure thing. Hey, what's his name?"

"Eitan."

"Sounds Hebrew, alright. Well, tell Eitan that Uncle Tony's up for a ballgame whenever he wants some guy time."

"I will."

"Good. Okay, well, call me if you need me."

Ziva nods one last time and waves. "Bye, Tony."

"Bye, Ziva."

She feels his eyes on her back as she climbs into her car and pulls out, her mind already filling again with thoughts of her to-do list.