A/N: There's a storm a-comin', folks! We're moving the plot forward a little in this chapter, though I apologize in advance for the lack of smut or fluff… things are going to trend darker here for a while, so please pay attention to the notes at the tops of the chapters as you keep reading. There will be some trigger/content warnings that'll be important to heed for some people. (None of that in this chapter, just something to keep in mind for chapters soon to come!) The brief flashback Tony has in the second to last section of this chapter comes from chapter 20. One last note—I've gotten a couple of slightly worried reviews and PMs, lol, and I want to reassure everyone: this story (and this author!) are very firmly committed to Tiva, so you have nothing to fear from the continued presence of Jeanne. As far as this fic goes, she is a friend to Tony and nothing more… though, like with every other storyline in the bigger plot, there will be difficulties and roadblocks for them as we move forward!

Despite never having the chance to fully adjust to Israel's time zone, Tony finds his sleep schedule to be very off balance when he returns. His flight is uneventful, but not restful. He lands at Dulles in the early afternoon—nighttime in Tel Aviv—and the sleepless night hits him all of the sudden. He's asleep by 5pm and awake again by 1am, and he can't get back to sleep. Frustrated, he texts Ziva.

R u busy? Guess I'm on Israel time bc I can't sleep. Would b nice to talk if u have time.

Unfortunately, he doesn't get a message back, and he tries not to let that bother him. He knows it's around 8am for her, well after the start of her Mossad workday, and it's very possible that she's simply not in a place where she can check her messages.

He still can't find a way to fall asleep again, though, and so, grumpy, he rises and starts the day. He goes to the gym, normally something that relaxes him, but today, his pounding heart as he jogs on a treadmill just makes him feel worse. He's tired and he still has what seems to be a displaced sense of anxiety; it might just be missing Ziva.

He ends up in the office behind his desk shortly after 5am; he's the first one in today, which hardly shocks him. Most of the team won't be in until closer to 8.

After his brief absence, there are emails to answer, voicemails to listen to, paperwork to catch up on, and reports to read. That kills a couple of hours, but the concentration required gives his tired head a new throbbing ache that doesn't make anything easier.

By the time the usual day shift people start trickling into the office, Tony DiNozzo is in a thoroughly bad mood.

"Welcome back, Tony," Bax greets him as she slings her bag down behind her desk across from him and settles in, yawning. "How was your trip?"

"Great," he says snappishly, then winces, aware that he's being rude to Bax for things that aren't her fault. "Sorry. It was good, I'm just tired. What did I miss while I was gone?"

Is it just him, or do Bax's little features start to look a little shifty? "Nothing much," she replies, and Tony doesn't trust something in her tone.

"See, the way you say that makes me not believe you." He stands up, grunting as the move makes his overworked and underrested muscles ache, and he goes to stand in front of her desk. He crosses his arms, intending to look intimidating but probably not succeeding because he's fighting off a yawn as he leans in. "What went down this week?" he demands. "Tell me, probie. Clearly, it was something."

Bax sighs, shaking her head. As usual, she doesn't let his bossiness and grumpiness get to her, but she does seem mildly sympathetic to his frustration. "Tony, whatever happened wasn't on one of your cases. Drop it, please. I'm pretty sure I'm not allowed to talk to you about it."

'Not on one of your cases' almost certainly means that whatever happened has to do with the René Benoit problem, and his desire to know more skyrockets. He's pretty sure he won't get much out of Bax, though, since she's fairly resistant to both his charms and his self-appointed authority as senior field agent. Thinking that, he resigns himself to grilling McGee once he's in instead, and he grunts under his breath and returns to his desk. "Fine. Fine."

Bax snorts, not bothering to reply to this, and gets to work quietly on her computer.

McGee steps off the elevator a few minutes later, and Tony, who's been watching for the younger man, gets to his feet immediately.

"Good morning, Bax, Tony," McGee greets his teammates genially, but the friendly greeting quickly gives way to confusion when Tony grabs his arm and starts herding him back to the elevator. "Hey! What are you—"

"We're going to get coffee," Tony informs him pointedly, pressing the down button by the elevator door.

Tim wrenches his arm out of Tony's grasp. "First of all, I don't want any coffee. I've already had some this morning. Second, what's your problem!?"

The doors open and Tony unceremoniously shoves McGee so that he stumbles over the threshold and into the car. "What's wrong with you, Tony!? Can I at least put my stuff down first before you kidnap me?" Tim asks, straightening up and glaring at the senior field agent, but the doors are already closing behind them.

Tony ignores him, waits a beat in silence for the car to move, and then flips the emergency stop switch so they shudder to a halt. "René Benoit. Eli David. Spill. Now."

"Not your case, not your problem," Tim replies, annoyed at the abruptness with which he's being treated.

"You know that's not true, McGoo. Come on."

McGee gives him a look. "What do you think's going to happen if I fill you in? You'll solve the case yourself, save the day single-handedly despite already being in trouble for what you've done during this investigation, and everything will magically be solved? No. Let us handle this one without you."

Tony looks to the ceiling, begging some unknown deity for patience, and counts to three, trying to keep himself in check. "That's not why I'm asking, Probie," he contradicts shortly, irritation leaking into his tone despite his best efforts.

"Then what are you asking for?" Tim challenges.

"Use your head!" Tony replies in exasperation. "You know I have a dog in this fight. You know this has to do with Jeanne, and now it has to do with Ziva, too. What would you do if you were trying to protect someone you cared about?"

"Your emotional involvement here is the main thing that got you kicked off the case in the first place, Tony, and that's exactly why I shouldn't tell you anything," Tim reminds him, but his expression softens slightly.

"Please." Tony lets some vulnerability into his voice, and it's enough to finally sway McGee and change his mind.

"Look, you can't tell anyone I told you, but… I'll give you the basics, okay?"

"You've got a deal… now spill," Tony commands again, back to his usual pushy manner of communication now that he's won.

McGee rolls his eyes, but he does as told. "So, we've been getting reports from all over the world with Benoit spottings, right? You know most of the tips have turned out to be worthless, I'm sure. Half the governments in the world want this guy, but no one seems to know exactly where he is. Well, last week, someone spotted him in Be'er Sheva, Israel, and from the photos we were sent, this seems to be the first legitimate sighting we've had in weeks." He pauses and gives Tony a calculating look, obviously wondering why he doesn't already know this from Ziva, but Tony just impatiently gestures for the other man to continue. "Okay. Well, Shepard got in touch with Mossad, and apparently they received the same tip right before we did, only they had just figured out that he was already out of their country. They had reason to believe that La Grenouille was headed here."

"And then what?"

"Shepard managed to convince Eli David that we should all join forces, especially if Benoit was headed for Washington. David agreed, and the morning after you left for Israel, a team from Mossad showed up here. As usual, they weren't overly interested in sharing with us what they were doing, but they were alright with working alongside us while they were here. Problem is, Benoit is still a ghost. Each place we went to, we were reasonably sure he had been there, but there was nothing to tell us where he was going next. He's been one step ahead of us all the time, and he still seems to be."

"So if you didn't find him, why isn't Mossad around right now? You said 'while they were here', so clearly they've left."

"Well, we got new information. Rumor has it that La Grenouille has turned up in Belgrade, so Mossad left to follow that lead," McGee explains.

"Hm. When did they leave?" Tony asks, speculative.

"Yesterday."

Tony nods pensively and starts to pace the confines of the car, his thoughts racing. Some of what McGee just told him, of course, he already knew, but some of it was new information. "Did we send anyone with Mossad?" he asks after a moment.

"Not from our team, but Shepard is coordinating with a couple of our European field offices to get eyes and ears on the ground in Serbia."

"Do you know which agents they've got on it? It had better be some damn observant people, because you know Mossad isn't just going to volunteer to share whatever they find."

"No. I'm assuming we'll hear from the European field agents soon, though, because it's got to be close to the end of their workday by now. They're supposed to check in daily, or get in touch with us immediately if anything urgent happens."

Tony, still pacing, taps a finger against his lip. "Has anyone talked to Jeanne? I told her I would keep her updated, but obviously I can't do that now if I'm not officially in the loop myself."

"Don't worry about it. Gibbs went to tell her what was going on and find out if she knows anything about why her dad's been in town. She says she hasn't seen him or heard from him."

"Any word on what he's been doing? Jeanne said that the last time she talked to him, he seemed terrified."

"His business doesn't seem to have picked up, at least not from the chatter we've heard, but beyond that, it's anyone's guess. He could still be running."

"Why would he run here, McGee? He knows we're after him. Pretty sure he and Shepard have some kind of history, too, and he can't be unaware that she wants his blood."

"Maybe just because this is where his daughter lives?"

"You just said she didn't see him," Tony points out, his tone more than a little condescending.

McGee sighs, frustrated. "Look, I don't have all the answers, alright?—so please stop jumping down my throat. Maybe he came to see Jeanne but whoever he's running from got close and he had to leave before he saw her. Maybe Jeanne was lying to us about not being in contact with him, but Gibbs doesn't think so. Maybe our information was wrong and he hasn't been here recently at all. Whatever might be the case, we didn't find him, and we're virtually no closer to catching him than we have been since you were abducted."

"Fantastic!" Tony mutters with great sarcasm.

"Hey, I don't like it, either."

"Well, what are you working on now?"

"Basically the same things we were working on before we heard he was in Israel… following up on tips and leads. Working other cases in the meantime."

Tony lets out an explosive sigh, feeling awfully helpless and hating the feeling. Maybe Ziva will find out more from her coworkers, or maybe the NCIS agents on the ground in Serbia will have something useful to share soon. There's nothing for Tony to do, though, except wait.

"Did we ever get any information on what Benoit is running from?" he asks after a pause to consider.

McGee shakes his head. "Pretty much everything we have on this case at all is just… speculation and maybes. So little is definite."

"God, what a mess," Tony says to himself, running his hand through his hair and for once not caring that he's throwing his carefully coiffed style into disarray.

"You can say that again," Tim agrees, and then pauses briefly. "I swear, that's everything. Now can I please go to my desk? I have things to do this morning. I wasn't expecting to be abducted."

Tony rolls his eyes, but he releases the emergency brake and sends the car back to their floor.

Tim nudges him lightly while they wait. "How's Ziva, by the way? I didn't even get a chance to ask you about your trip before you so rudely interrupted my 'good morning'." There's no heat in Tim's voice, maybe even a little teasing, and Tony reminds himself that McGee has his six. He's not the person who deserves Tony's frustration about any of this.

"She's… alright," he replies reluctantly, following McGee out of the opening elevator doors back at the bullpen. "She's still not thrilled to be there, but spending some time with me and away from her office helped a little, I think." Though he might usually, he's not bragging or preening this time; it's simply true that him just being there temporarily alleviated some of Ziva's difficulties.

"Glad you went, then?"

Tony, feeling like this whole conversation has been all too heavy, has to make it gross. "Oh, you have no idea, McLovin'," he taunts, deliberately making his tone suggestive. "Ziva was very… appreciative of my efforts to visit."

Tim groans and stalks off. "Okay. I'm done with this conversation. Thank you very much for sharing," he says dryly as he goes, making Tony laugh.

He still hasn't heard from Ziva by the time work is over, and though he's curious as to the reason for her lack of contact, he's too tired and distracted to worry about it very much. His general plan is to return to his apartment, do his damnedest to stay awake long enough to watch a movie, and then go to bed once it's reached a more reasonable hour.

As he passes his favorite grocery store, though, he spontaneously changes plans. He swerves into the parking lot at the last minute, earning a long, angry honk from the car behind him, and heads into the store with determination.

Half an hour later, he's standing outside Jeanne's apartment with grocery bags in hand, knocking on her door. He hears footsteps and the peephole flap lifting and then, a moment later, the door unlocks and opens. "Tony? Did we have plans that I forgot about?" Jeanne asks, guarded, once they've looked one another over.

At least she doesn't look openly hostile right now, and Tony takes that as a good sign.

Wearing a wan smile and shaking his head in answer to her question, he holds up his shopping bags as evidence. "Thought we could have a drink and talk… just talk."

Jeanne considers this for a moment, maybe judging both his sincerity and her own feelings, but in the end, she nods and steps back to admit him.

Her place hasn't changed much—the furniture is the same, the art on the walls is just how Tony remembers it—and it makes him feel nostalgic as he steps over the threshold to set his bags on the kitchen counter. He has the briefest flash of longing for simpler times, because everything feels backwards and turned around and out of sorts with Ziva oceans away… but he reminds himself that he's gained a lot in losing the simplicity of months ago. For starters, back when he often spent time here, he was acting on Shepard's orders by lying to everyone he cared about. There's little he has to lie about now.

From the bags, Tony pulls out a six pack of beers and a couple of energy drinks. "Pick your poison," he tells Jeanne. "I'm tired as hell and I won't be able to stay awake if I drink a Yuengling, but I brought some for you."

Jeanne gestures to the energy drinks. "As a doctor, I think I should warn you that those things are terrible for your health," she points out, clearly aiming for stern, but there's a smile threatening at one corner of her mouth.

"Probably healthier than crashing and dying if I fall asleep at the wheel on my way home," Tony replies dispassionately, but Jeanne, shaking her head at him in reluctant amusement, goes around his energy drinks to grab one of the beers.

Tony grabs a Red Bull and follows Jeanne as she leads him to the sofa, and they sit on opposite ends. After popping the top of her beer and taking a sip, Jeanne raises her eyebrows. "Okay, we've got the drinking part down. Now what did you want to talk to me about?"

"We need to talk about your dad," Tony replies, his voice as gentle as he can make it without crossing the line into paternalistic-sounding.

Jeanne's face hardens a little, but she nods. "What about him?" Her body language tells Tony that she's expecting bad news, and he gives her a small smile to try to reassure her.

"You talked to my boss, Gibbs, over the weekend, right?" he checks.

"Yes."

"Okay, well, since then, there's been a new development. While we think your dad was in Washington, intelligence now suggests that he's in central Europe. Did anyone tell you that?"

Jeanne shakes her head, looking troubled. "Is he okay?"

"I wish I could tell you that he is, but I'm sorry, I just don't know anything for sure yet. We're still having trouble finding him."

Jeanne purses her lips. "Why are you telling me?"

"I thought you wanted to be kept updated," Tony replies, a little thrown by the question.

"I did—I mean, I do. But why are you the one telling me? Your boss said you'd been taken off the case," Jeanne clarifies.

Sheepish, Tony shrugs. "Ah, didn't know you'd been told about that." Thanks, Gibbs, he thinks wryly. "Yeah, I'm off the case, but it's still important to me to see things through. I just… I thought you deserved to know what's going on."

"How do you know about 'what's going on' if you're not on the case?" Jeanne persists, parroting his words back to him with something like suspicion coloring her tone.

Tony snorts. "To be honest, I'm not supposed to know. I bullied my coworker into telling me everything I had missed while I was out, and what I've just told you was the biggest thing that happened."

"Out?"

"Ah, sorry, it's been a long day. Of course you don't know where I've been." He sighs, annoyed with his own clouded thinking. "I got back from Israel yesterday. I was visiting Ziva."

"Visiting her?"

"Yeah, she had to move back… after she was, you know, shot." He adds the last part awkwardly since that whole sequence of events is already something of a sore spot between them.

Jeanne raises her eyebrows and sips at her beer. "Sorry to hear that," she says simply, and to her credit, she sounds like she means it.

Tony shrugs that off with murmured thanks, not wanting to talk about it, and steers the conversation back to the key things he came here to discuss. "Anyway, I'll try my damnedest to keep you in the loop."

"I appreciate that." Jeanne tilts her head to one side, considering him. She looks like she wants to say something else, but she doesn't speak further without prompting.

"What is it?" Tony finally asks, mildly uncomfortable with being studied like that.

"Do you believe me?"

"About what?"

"When I say I haven't seen or heard from my father in months, except for that one call. Do you believe me?"

"Yeah, I do," Tony tells her sincerely. He thinks he knows her well enough by now to read when she's lying, and he's backed up by Gibbs' gut. "More importantly for you, though, my boss believes you. He's a hard guy to trick."

"So you don't think I'm lying."

"No," he confirms. "Why do you keep asking?" He's sure he's missing something.

"Because you've made it hard for me to trust you," Jeanne answers frankly. "I want to make sure that you're actually here for the reason you say you're here, and not because you're trying to get information out of me again."

Tony winces, feeling as if he should have seen something like this coming. He's starting to realize that coming here might not have been the best idea he's ever had, but he can't take it back now. "I get why you might think that, given our… history... but I swear I'm not, okay? I'm just trying to do the right thing."

QLuckily, Jeanne seems to sense his sincerity, because she lets it go. "Alright," she agrees, gracefully accepting that he's doing his best here.

He smiles at her a little, appreciative. "Guess I should get out of your hair. Thanks for letting me in and hearing me out, though."

Jeanne hesitates slightly before coming to some sort of decision. "Do you want to stay for a little while and watch a movie or something?" she proposes.

Now it's Tony's turn to be suspicious. "Why?" It's hard not to make the question an incredulous demand.

Jeanne laughs, looking mildly embarrassed. "Because I'm trying to work on rebuilding our friendship, you dolt." She smiles at him, genuine and probably kinder than he deserves, and Tony remembers just why he liked her so much from the beginning.

He laughs, too, a little rueful. "Sure. But I can't promise I'll stay awake through the whole thing."

"Jet lag?" she asks shrewdly.

"Jet lag," he confirms.

"Then pick a movie you've already seen, and let's watch it."

Ziva's radio silence continues overnight and into the next day, and what begins as a nagging thought grows into a full-blown worry. It isn't like her to go completely incommunicado, and though Tony tries texting, calling, and emailing, he doesn't get a response on any medium. He reminds himself that she's more than capable of taking care of herself… but the concern for her wellbeing that he tries to suppress doesn't listen to his rational thoughts.

He does what he can. He reaches out to Adam to see if he knows anything about where Ziva is or why she's not answering; Adam is quick to answer, but he can't help much. He doesn't know any more than Tony does.

Two days turns into three, which turns into four. On the fifth day, Gibbs' team learns that Mossad has withdrawn from its investigation in Belgrade, though the Israelis have shared no new leads with NCIS. When McGee quietly passes on to Tony what they've learned from the field agents on the ground in Serbia, there's little he can say to answer Tony's questions... because there's just no new information to be shared. Still, there's no word from Ziva.

Tony finds himself distracted at work—he earns more than a few headslaps from Gibbs, and McGee and even level-headed Bax both get irritated with his lack of attention. When Abby, always kind and cheerful, starts snapping at him to get him to focus, Tony himself has to agree that his ability to concentrate has deteriorated worryingly.

"Calm down, Tony. The last thing you want is to piss Ziva off when you finally talk to her… you know she would shoot you if she got the idea you were afraid for her safety, right?" McGee asks pointedly as they snap photos at a crime scene on day six.

"I'm not afraid for her safety," Tony scoffs loudly in reply, but no one else believes him.

By the time he and Ziva have exceeded a week without talking, Tony is seriously considering making his own damn way back to Israel to drag an explanation out of her; he thinks that by this point, if something had happened to her, he would have already heard. If nothing has happened to her, than she'd better have a damn good reason for dropping off the face of the earth. They've been so careful up 'til now to communicate, making a great effort to mind the delicate intricacies of keeping a long-distance relationship alive; surely Ziva wouldn't abandon that.

As a last-ditch effort, one he knows might backfire on him, Tony convinces Tim to ping Ziva's phone. Tim is reluctant at best… but he, along with the rest of the team, quietly share in Tony's anxiety. None of them speak to her as regularly as Tony does, but for her to be out of touch entirely is something new.

Unfortunately, Ziva's phone is inactive. "There's no recent activity," McGee explains, using the mouse on his computer to highlight what he's looking at so it's easy for Tony to see. "I don't see anything in her call log since…" He glances quickly at the calendar and then turns back to his friend with a grimace. "No outgoing calls or texts since you got back from Israel, looks like," he says apologetically.

"No outgoing… hm. What about incoming calls?"

"None that were picked up… and they're pretty much all from you, Tony."

McGee even tries to remotely turn the phone back on with a little extra hacking, but he's unsuccessful—either the battery is dead or removed, or the phone has been destroyed entirely.

"Well, at least I know she's not just ignoring me," Tony says grumpily.

"She's Mossad, right?" Bax asks, dropping into the conversation and making her way over to McGee's desk with a green apple in hand; she munches as she talks. "Have you tried reaching out to them? Maybe she's just out on official business somewhere and she can't use her phone. Ya know, undercover or something?"

"Have I tried reaching out to them," Tony mocks, irritated. "No, Probie, of course I haven't f—"

"Hey!" Tim interjects sharply with a frown, unable to sit idly and watch Tony berate their young coworker. "Leave her alone, Tony, she doesn't know any different. Calling Mossad wouldn't be a bad idea if not for Ziva's dad."

Tony's about to turn his ire on McGee when Abby rushes into the bullpen, out of breath and wild-eyed. "Tony, Tony, Tony, Tony!" she cries in one rapid string of syllables, stopping abruptly in front of the three gathered at McGee's desk.

"What is it, Abby?" Tony replies urgently, whatever rude McGee-targeted insult he was about to use dying in his throat. "Are you okay?"

"Turn on the news!"

Tim tries asking, too. "Abby, what's going—"

"Just do it!" Abby emphasizes.

Doing as told, McGee grabs one of the clickers and turns on the screen across from his desk; they all turn to watch as a BBC newscaster appears on the screen. "MI-5 has just confirmed that earlier this evening, the body of wealthy Parisian businessman René Benoit was found in Amstelveen, an affluent suburb of Amsterdam in Holland. Foul play is suspected, but no further information has been released at this time. Stay tuned to BBC News for the latest as more details unfold."

Tony feels rather suddenly like the ground has been pulled out from under his feet, a feeling that's compounded with irritation when his three coworkers eyes' all flicker to him, watching for a reaction.

He turns on his heel and marches back to his desk, grabbing what he needs to take home for the day and yanking his bag up onto his shoulders. "I need to go," he says shortly to McGee, Bax, and Abby.

Abby's expression melts into one of worry. "Tony, don't you think—"

"Not my case, not my problem," he reminds her curtly. It's a reminder for Bax and McGee, too, who are staring at him as if he might explode. Frankly, he's not sure they're wrong, because he can't decipher how he's feeling. "Tell Gibbs I had an emergency come up. I'll be back tomorrow."

He realizes as he heads for the exit, though, that the others won't have to tell Gibbs anything on his behalf at all, because the Marine is stepping out of the elevator as Tony gets there. It's clear from Gibbs' face that he already knows what news Tony has just received.

He doesn't try to stop Tony from leaving and he doesn't try to make him talk, but as they pass one another, Gibbs lightly grabs Tony's arm. "You can't save everyone, DiNozzo," he says gruffly, quietly enough that Tony's the only one who can hear, and Gibbs lets Tony go just as quickly as he caught him.

Tony grunts in answer, jerking his arm back to his side and getting in the elevator car with no answering comment.

He makes a beeline for Jeanne's apartment for the second time in a week; he's not sure if she's been told the news yet, but she absolutely deserves to know as soon as possible if not. It occurs to him on the way there that he has very little in the way of actual information to share with her, but he can't fight down the urge to let her know the bare bones of it anyway. As many problems as he's had with his own father over the years, he'd certainly want to know immediately if anything happened to Senior.

Knocking on Jeanne's door yields no answer, though, and, at a loss for what else to do, Tony sinks down to the floor next to it. He sits on the ground, leaning heavily against the wall and dropping his face into his hands, musing darkly. He could call Jeanne, he supposes, but this isn't really a conversation to be had over the phone and he doesn't know what else he could say to her until she knows what's going on. He might as well wait for her to get home and try to sort through his tangled thoughts while he has relative privacy; the hall that Jeanne's apartment is on is empty for now.

His first concern is for his friend; he knows that this news will hurt her, as much as he thinks she might have seen it coming. They may not be as close now as they were months ago, but he's sure he can still say with certainty that this will devastate her. She loved her father deeply when he was alive, even after finding out what kind of a man he really was, and no daughter or son deserves the pain of losing a parent, no matter what… especially not someone like Jeanne, who has a gentle heart and works hard every single day to save the lives of others.

Unfortunately, he knows that there's a high likelihood that she will blame him for this development in her father's case. A while back, they spoke about it explicitly.

"I'm holding you responsible for his safety, Tony Whoever-You-Are," Jeanne had informed him fiercely over the phone. "Got it?"

"I can't make any promises. I learned that a long time ago, okay?" Tony had admitted, wishing he had something more real to offer her than empty words. "But I'll do my best."

"And what if your best isn't good enough?"

"Then you're free to hate me for the rest of your life."

"Right. So long as that's settled." They'd moved on in the conversation at the time... but that doesn't stop the words from bouncing around Tony's skull now that he thinks about them with the benefit of hindsight. She's going to hate him, and there isn't much he can do about it.

Of course, if Jeanne wasn't in the picture, Tony wouldn't spare a single regretful thought for La Grenouille's death. There's never been any lost love between the arms dealer and anyone at NCIS… and given Ziva's shooting and his own kidnapping, Tony thinks he'd be justified in being glad for the man's death. Considering the amount of damage René Benoit did to the world as a whole during his years running an arms empire, Tony's sure there will be many people celebrating tonight.

Therein lies the crux of the matter, doesn't it? Tony's own reasons for hating René Benoit may be personal, and that may be true for most of the NCIS team… but they were never the only players in the game. Many, many people had a vested interest in stopping the man. Judging by the location of La Grenouille's death, it's possible that the responsible party is the Dutch intelligence and security service, but if not the AIVD, it would have eventually been NCIS. If not NCIS, it would have been MI-5, or any one of a handful of European or South American governments… or Mossad.

That's an idea that Tony's trying hard to push out of his brain—the sinking feeling that Ziva just might have been involved in Jeanne's father's death. It would at least partially explain her absence over the last week.

While he tries to wrestle with that, though, he hears the sound of footsteps and looks up quickly—it's Jeanne, coming down the hallway. "Tony?" she asks hesitantly, holding back in mild distrust in case it's not him; her father's warning from months ago still rings in the back of her mind.

"Yeah, it's me. Hi, Jeanne." Tony gets to his feet, considering her. Clearly, she wasn't expecting to see him this afternoon, and just as clearly, she has yet to receive any major bad news today. Besides a little suspicion from finding a man sitting outside her door, her features are clear, not yet weighed down by grief or anger.

"What are you doing here?" she asks, going around him to unlock her door. "Didn't your parents ever teach you that it's rude to invite yourself to someone's house without calling first?" She's gotten over the surprise of seeing him and her question is no worse than a gentle rib; she's not angry at him for showing up unexpectedly. Of course, it's possible that will change soon.

With an attempt at passivity, Tony watches her let herself into the apartment. He stands awkwardly on the threshold until she invites him in.

"Cat got your tongue?" she asks as she goes through her normal home arrival routine, putting her purse down, taking off her shoes, and flipping through the mail she was carrying when she walked in.

"No, it's just…" It's not like Tony to be at a loss for words, but delivering bad news has never been his strong suit. He'd rather be chattering away about something unimportant; this promises to be difficult at best and painful at worst, and suddenly he doesn't want to have to be the one to do it. It's far too late for that now, though, and he owes this to his friend.

Finally, Jeanne finishes what she's doing to look up at him again, and this time, she notices his expression and looks him over with greater attention. "Tony? What's wrong?"

"You might want to sit down," he answers gravely, and she must sense his mood, because she does so without questioning it. While she does, Tony steps quickly into her hall bathroom and grabs a box of tissues before going to settle lightly next to her on the sofa. "Jeanne…" he starts, his tangled emotions finally settling on empathetic heartache as he takes in the fear flashing across his friend's features. "You need to know something. This evening, your father was found in the Netherlands."

"Is he—is he...okay?" Jeanne looks afraid to ask even as she raises the question; Tony feels a surge of guilt-ridden gratitude that she brought it up and he doesn't have to find a way to sensitively volunteer the information.

"No. I'm sorry, Jeanne, I'm so sorry, but he was found dead."

He waits for that to sink in, watching disbelief chase away the fear before it, too, is replaced by shock. Tony gently offers her the box of tissues, but she ignores it. "How?" she implores, her voice taking on a little sharpness.

"How did he die?" Tony asks uncomfortably, and Jeanne nods, tight-lipped. "We don't have the details yet, unfortunately. You'll be the first one to know when we do."

"Don't give me that!" she snarls suddenly, and though Tony was expecting this, it still makes him wince. "You're the one that knows he's dead and it's your stupid agency that was after him, so tell me what happened!"

"Jeanne, this isn't coming through official channels, okay?" he tries, not sure how to convince her that he's telling the truth. "I saw it on the news and came over here as soon as I did. I swear, I don't know any more than you do."

"But you could ask someone instead of just—just sitting here!"

Tony gets where she's coming from, but that doesn't make her accusatory tone any easier to hear. "I can't, remember? I was taken off of this case a long time ago. I'm sure my coworkers will tell me once they know more, but none of them can officially talk to me about any of this, either. They're putting their jobs on the line by saying anything at all, and they could be fired if anyone higher up even found out that I know what little I do."

"Their jobs," Jeanne growls. Tony sees with horror that her eyes are filling with tears. "My dad's life was at stake! You said he wouldn't be killed, you said he'd get a trial!"

"I know what I said. Believe me, I know! But you have to understand—"

He jerks back in reflex when Jeanne's palm connects with his cheek, the slap coming too quickly for him to evade it. His skin stings, but far worse than the physical pain is the fury on Jeanne's face and the venom in her tone. "I don't have to understand anything," she retorts coldly, "because you haven't told me anything."

"Jeanne…" Tony starts desperately, feeling as if he's lost all control of the situation.

"Get out," is all Jeanne says in reply.

Tony gets to his feet; he looks at Jeanne carefully before moving toward the door, knowing she meant it when she told him to leave. "I'm sorry for your loss. I really am," he tells her, tired and heavy, and walks out into the hall.

Jeanne wastes no time in slamming the door after him, but Tony pauses, listening. He doesn't hear her move away, and he thinks he can make out her shuddering breaths from the other side of the wood. He tries one last time because he won't be able to forgive himself if he doesn't. "There were a lot of people after your dad," he tells Jeanne soberly through the barrier between them. "We don't know for certain yet if he was murdered, but if he was, it could have been one of any number of people... I know you don't want to hear any of this from me, okay? But if I learn more—when I learn more—I'll make sure someone tells you, because you deserve to know. I'm sorry for how this ended. I'm sorry for the way I hurt you, and I'm sorry that I couldn't protect you or your family. Just know that…"

Tony sighs deeply, exhausted and full of borrowed pain. "Just know that if you ever stop hating me, I'm here. Tell me what you need and I'll do it. I'm sorry, Jeanne." As soon as the last apology leaves his lips, he's turning and marching away; he can't deal with her pain and his own guilt anymore.

He thinks he hears a muffled sob as he walks away, and it breaks his heart.

It's not five minutes later when, on the drive home, Tony's phone rings. He wrestles it out of his pocket, his mind flying through the possibilities of who it could be; somehow, each possibility is worse than the last. Honestly, he doesn't want to talk to anyone right now, and there's no one that could possibly be calling with good news this evening.

The name that pops up on the caller ID, however, makes him feel even worse, something he didn't think possible.

Ziva David.

After more than a week of silence, she's calling just hours after they found out about the death of La Grenouille, and Tony's been working with Gibbs long enough to have rule thirty-nine memorized back to front—there's no such thing as a coincidence. There's a damn good chance that Ziva had something to do with today's headliner, and Tony doesn't have a damn idea of what to say to her about it.

He stares at her name on the front of his screen for just a little too long and only realizes when he hears frantic honking that his attention has left the road; his car has drifted across the center lane, and he jerks the steering wheel back to the right, his heart pounding.

By the time he's got that sorted, his phone has stopped ringing. Maybe that's for the best anyway, he reasons silently, clenching his fists on the steering wheel in an attempt to dispel some of the tension in his muscles. This is not going to be a cheerful conversation, and it's best had when all of his concentration is firmly in one place.

He'll call her back once he's home—maybe he'll even call her over Skype instead so he can see her face when she talks. It might help him gauge how truthful she's being, and it might give him some insight into how she's feeling.

He just has to figure out how he's feeling between now and then.