Ziva stared at herself in the mirror, almost unable to believe what she saw. A bride. A beautiful, glowing, happy-butterflies-dancing-in-her-stomach woman who was about to marry the man of her dreams…dreams that she'd only recently allowed herself to remember.

She was alone for the moment, as Abby had gone to check on the guys again before taking her place at the entrance to the Drawing Room in order to walk down the aisle before Ziva. Jackson would be coming to get her soon. It was almost time for the ceremony to begin and – thank God – Jethro was at the other end of the hall getting ready, too.

Last night, she'd asked him to call her when he got to their house after the flight landed. He hadn't wanted to wake her, but she'd assured him she wouldn't really rest well until she knew he was home. The call came in the middle of the night, and she couldn't help but shake Abby awake to give her the good news. The Goth's still-half-asleep attack hug had nearly cracked her friend's ribs. Ziva then had fallen solidly asleep for the first time since Gibbs had left and had even managed to sleep a great deal of the morning away. A bouncy, excited Abby had brought her breakfast in bed and then they'd gone to a salon to have their hair done. A couple of hours ago, they'd arrived at the hotel in the limousine that Tony had arranged for them.

Every time she looked at her dress, Ziva fell in love with it all over again. She and McGee had indeed gone looking at wedding dresses that Sunday eight weeks ago. Ziva had discovered she liked the halter-style dresses best, and had even tried a few on in the third shop they visited. Without explanation, McGee had suddenly told her to call Abby. Right now. Though she had been a little confused, she had done as he directed, and the maid of honor had arrived in record time.

Flashback…

Ziva tried persistently but unsuccessfully to get McGee to show her what he'd obviously seen that had prompted his order to call Abby. They were both glad to see their favorite forensic scientist burst through the door of the shop in short order, moving as quickly as her stacked heels would allow her.

"What's wrong? Did something happen? Are you two all right?" Her anxiety at being summoned so quickly and mysteriously had Abby's speech running at breakneck speed.

"Everything's fine," McGee reassured her. "Ziva was just doing some looking at wedding dresses and I tagged along. I happened to spot one that I think you both should see."

Tim directed Ziva to stand over by the mirrors and close her eyes, and motioned for Abby to join him across the room. Ziva heard a gasp from Abby that was quickly smothered. The Israeli tried to peek, but McGee was having none of that. Her friends brought the dress over and held it in front of her.

"Look," Tim ordered softly.

She opened her eyes and her world narrowed to the vision in front of her.

"Ziva, you have to try it on," Abby breathed. That was all the urging she needed to do just that, and before long she was back in front of the mirror.

The dress was white satin with a ruffle that curved up from the bodice around her neck forming the halter, while the neckline dipped slightly between her breasts. The ruffle was soft, yet stood up to frame her neck and set off her face beautifully. There were pleated gathers under her breasts that pulled up toward the center of her chest to meet the ruffle. She was more than a little pleased to see that the fit actually gave her small frame a hint of cleavage. Her shoulders and upper back were left bare; a hidden zipper closed the dress into a slight V shape just above the middle of her back. The slim A-line skirt fell to the floor in an elegant sweep, gently flaring – not too narrow, not too wide. The slight train just brushed the floor, which was perfect. Ziva had no desire to wear a dress that she had to keep picking up just to walk in.

She was quite certain she'd never seen anything so beautiful, and the awe on her companions' faces told her they agreed.

The dress shop owner was a delightful woman who was completely enchanted with this group. Always prepared for just such an occasion, she brought out champagne and hors d'oeuvres to celebrate, and Abby called Tony to join in on the fun. Sharing this moment with these friends who had become her family created a memory that Ziva would always treasure.

Back to the present…

Coming out of her reverie, the bride checked her hair again in the mirror. She had decided to wear it swept up high with curls cascading down in back. The hairstylist had arranged it so the curls could be seen spilling around her crown and peeking out from the back of her head; she had also pulled a few loose tendrils around Ziva's face and neck for a flirty, yet romantic touch. The former assassin had never worn her hair like this, but she had to admit, it went perfectly with the dress. A few pearls and tiny sparkly white silk orchids were pinned strategically into her curls for an almost magical effect.

For the final touch, she added her mother's earrings with a slightly pounding heart.

The earrings made her think of the countless times she'd picked up the phone yesterday to call her father. The one time she'd actually dialed the number, the call had gone to voice mail.

"Hello, Father. This is Ziva." She'd paused to berate herself in her head; after all, she was the only person left to call him father. "I…I just wanted to say … thank you for … for the package." She'd stayed on the line for a few more seconds, but did not know what else to say, so she'd hung up. She'd held the phone to her forehead feeling awkward and dissatisfied about the call. She hadn't heard back from him, and couldn't decide whether to be disappointed or relieved about that. Either way, she was determined not to dwell on it today.

She looked around the lovely room she and Abby were using as a dressing area and allowed herself the pleasure of reliving the past two months in her mind. Somehow the time had managed to move at lightning speed and at a snail's pace simultaneously.

She and McGee had returned to the house after the surprisingly successful wedding dress outing, while Abby took said dress to her apartment so the groom wouldn't see it. Tim had readily agreed to help search for possible locations for the ceremony, and they decided there was no time like the present to begin. McGee asked several questions about what they were hoping for regarding size (not too large) and style (preferably something with character, not too modern or plain). Ziva shared her thought of a hotel where the guests could stay overnight if they wanted, especially since it would be New Year's Eve. McGee hit upon the idea of looking at small historic hotels in the area and three possibilities looked especially intriguing.

Jethro was in and out of the room, but as soon as he heard McGee read aloud that one place had previously been called the Soldiers', Sailors', Marines', and Airmen's Club, his own interest was snagged. For more than twenty years now, it had been named the Morrison-Clark Inn and it was located in DC. They did find a couple of other options in the capital and Annapolis, but Ziva and Gibbs both liked this one best.

She had been a little worried about finding a place for a wedding that was only a couple of months away, so she'd talked Jethro into going to look at it after work the next day to get a feel for it in person. She'd fallen in love with the hotel's Victorian-style charm and elegant furnishings. It was not large – only forty-odd guest rooms in all – but the more intimate feel was one of the things that she appreciated about it.

The concierge, Hector Castillo, was an engaging man who brought the words "dapper" and "solicitous" to mind. He'd informed them that there had been a reservation in place for some time for a private New Year's Eve party, but it had been cancelled the week before in order to move to a larger venue. He had been immediately captivated by this lovely young woman with the appealing smile and the nearly-silent older gentleman who clearly adored her. It had been his pleasure to tell them that the date was still available at that point, then he'd given them a full tour of the inn.

There were two rooms that could be used for the wedding and reception, though they weren't terribly large. However, they weren't planning for a big group, so these areas would work well for them. Ziva loved the dual marble fireplaces in the Drawing Room which Hector had suggested for the ceremony. The Garden Room could be set up with a few tables where they could have dinner and had enough room for a small dancing space, as well.

He'd also shown them a large guest room that continued the Victorian theme and was the most popular choice for a "honeymoon suite." The king-size Mansion bed with its tall, curved, ornate wooden headboard and carved newel posts dominated the space. The room also included a working fireplace, a balcony that looked out over the city, and a small sitting area. The attached bath managed to combine old world charm with modern features such as a large, raised tub with Jacuzzi jets. Ziva had practically danced as she moved around the room.

Hector had offered them a few minutes to discuss privately everything they'd seen. With a twinkle in his eye he'd said if they weren't down shortly he would assume they were booking the room for that night. Ziva had blushed, while Jethro smirked. With a wink, the concierge had left the room.

"What do you think?" Gibbs asked her, although he could read on her face that this was the place.

"I love it," she confessed.

"Let's book it," he smiled. Her face simply beamed as she leapt into his arms.

They'd gone downstairs and signed a contract on the spot. For themselves, they reserved the room they'd seen; they also held a block of rooms for any of their guests that wanted to spend the night. Hector was advised that the wedding would be after sundown given that it was being held on a Saturday. Ziva was not including many Jewish wedding customs, but she did want to observe the tradition of waiting until after the sun had set on Shabbat.

Other details had fallen smoothly into place, as well. Ducky had been delighted to be asked to stand up with Jethro. Tony and Tim had agreed to usher. Tim had also volunteered to handle the music, and Tony had immediately assigned himself to assist with a snarky comment about McGee's ability to handle it without him.

Hector had proven to be invaluable. He'd connected Ziva with a florist and a photographer, and procured a chuppah from someplace, as well.

Abby and Ziva had returned to the shop in which they'd found Ziva's dress and had been excited to find one for Abby, as well. They'd selected a deep emerald green satin gown that brought out the color of Abby's eyes. It was a wrap-around style with a deep V neck and a jeweled snap that held the two sides together at the left side of her waist. The neckline continued seamlessly up to form a standing collar that framed her neck; the material then curved down just past her shoulders to form a hint of a sleeve. There was an attractive slit up to her knee on the left side as she walked.

On one of Ziva's visits to the hotel, the pastry chef had shyly offered to the concierge that he would be honored to create their wedding cake, and was immediately enamored with Ziva when she'd accepted in his native French. The two excitedly began discussing possible ideas right then and there.

A judge in Ducky's bridge club had gladly agreed to perform the ceremony. She also happened to be Jewish, which wasn't necessary, but felt like a nice touch.

Ziva didn't have to think twice about the flowers – she wanted red and white roses mingled together. Jethro had just smiled at the reference to the flowers he'd gotten her for their "first" date. Ziva looked at her bouquet now, catching her bottom lip in her teeth as she thought back to that magical evening. Amusement curved her lips as she remembered later that night, tangled in the sheets and around each other, when she'd admitted that he'd have gotten lucky without the flowers – but that she had really, really loved the flowers. He'd simply grinned, then proceeded to kiss her brainless again.

There had been stress this past week, of course, when he'd been in LA, but the only other hiccup had been about seven weeks ago when Ziva had been wrestling with finalizing the menu and invitations.

Flashback…

The invitations needed to be sent out soon, but a response card for choosing a meal for the sit-down dinner was necessary. Therefore, the entrée choices had to be chosen before the invitations could be printed. The real planning had only been in full swing about a week, but the number of details for even a fairly simple wedding was nearly dizzying. Ziva still wanted the New Year's Eve date, but she was feeling some pressure due to the short amount of planning time.

She found Gibbs in the basement with his boat. Carrying the notebook she'd started with various questions and plans, she launched into her dilemma. They had already decided that prime rib would be one choice, but now she was trying to choose one or two additional options from among several different chicken, fish, and vegetarian dishes. He kept working as she talked it through out loud. When she stopped, he answered, "Whatever you want is fine with me."

That had been his standard answer whenever she'd mentioned anything thus far. For some reason, her emotions got the better of her tonight and she'd snapped, "Well, since you apparently do not care one way or the other about all of these details, perhaps we should just cancel everything and stop at the nearest courthouse after work one day and be done with it."

With that she was moving quickly up the stairs and didn't stop until she reached their room. She was blinking back tears and didn't know whether to throw herself on their bed and have a good cry or go twenty rounds with a punching bag. True to form, she opted for the latter.

Jethro appeared in the doorway, leaning against the door jam with his hands in his pockets, watching as she threw a few items into a duffle bag.

"Going somewhere?" he asked.

"Gym," she answered succinctly.

"Sure you don't want to just punch me?" he asked wryly. "Save you the drive to the gym."

Maybe it was that gently teasing tone he used so often with her or the banked understanding in his eyes, but she found her mad quickly deflating in spite of herself.

She plunked down on their bed beside the partially-packed duffle. She leaned forward, placing her forearms on her knees clasping her hands. Eyes on the floor in front of her, she said, "I want all of this to feel important to you."

Her hands came up to hold her head as she shifted from being irritated with him to being frustrated with herself. "And, yes, I realize I am being stupidly emotional about it, but I cannot seem to help it."

He came over and sat beside her, running a tender hand along the curve of her back.

"Apparently there's a lot to decide and you've been doing all the heavy lifting," he pointed out. "Not surprising you're feeling sensitive."

He turned her eyes to his with a finger under her chin. "Getting married to you is important to me. Just because I'm flexible about some –" Ziva raised an eyebrow "- OK, most – of the details doesn't mean I don't care."

He rubbed his nose against hers. "This is the only wedding you're ever going to have, because I'm not letting go of you. So, I want you to have exactly what you want."

Ziva closed her eyes against the tears that threatened again. "I'm sor-"

He laid a finger over her lips. "Don't ever apologize for letting me know that you need something from me – even if it's weighing in on chicken versus fish." His blue eyes twinkled in earnest then and she chuckled as she wiped at the tears in the corners of her eyes.

He leaned back against the headboard and pulled her up to lay between his legs against his chest. Wrapping his arms around her, he told her, "As long as I get prime rib with a side of you," he leaned down to nuzzle her cheek, "and you get whatever you want, the rest of them can eat whatever Chef what's-his-name gives them, far as I'm concerned." He felt her smile against his chest. "But I'll help you decide if you want."

She nodded. "I want," she said softly.

"You know," Jethro reflected, "I've been through a wedding or two –"

"Or four," she injected archly. He smirked.

"All I've ever had to do was show up at the right place at the right time in the right clothes," he admitted.

"Even with Shannon?" she asked, surprised. He nodded.

"I was overseas during most of that planning," he admitted, "but her mother had definite ideas about how things should go, so not sure I'd have gotten a word in edgewise, even if I'd been stateside."

"I know the food is not that important," she said quietly, "but I want our wedding to be meaningful to both of us and I would like us to decide most things together."

"Get your notebook and let's see what we can do," he directed her, pressing a kiss to the top of her head.

She looked up at him hopefully. "Really?"

"Really," he confirmed. Then he asked, with hope in his own eyes, "Don't suppose we could do it naked?"

She laughed. "We could, but I do not think we would get anything done."

"Oh, we'd get something done," he murmured pulling her up on a level with his mouth, "just not the menu."

She grinned until he kissed it off her face.

When she could form a coherent thought again, she suggested, "How about a drink to go along with my notebook for now and then we get naked later?"

"Sold," he agreed.

Ziva retrieved her notebook from where she'd practically thrown it onto the dresser, while Gibbs poured them a bourbon to share. They spent the rest of the evening cuddled together on the couch in their sitting room going through her notes. Prime rib, chicken Cordon Bleu, and vegetarian lasagna were chosen for the menu. They decided on the invitations, finalized the guest list, and even looked at tuxedos online. Rather than black, they opted for charcoal gray matched with a tie that had black, white, and silver stripes that angled down the front.

Later in bed Gibbs had been amply rewarded for his patient participation. Funny how that worked…she had been, too.

And back to the present again…

As she checked her makeup one last time, a quiet knock came at the door.

"Come in," she called.

Jackson walked in, all smiles. He took her hands and kissed her on the cheek.

"You sure do look beautiful, honey," he said.

"Thank you," she said, returning the kiss. "You are looking very sharp yourself."

"I think the show's about to start," he pointed out. "You ready?"

"I am more than ready," Ziva affirmed. "Let me get –"

A second knock interrupted her as she was about to reach for her bouquet.

She cast a surprised look at the door. She wasn't expecting anyone else. Jackson went to open it. Ziva couldn't see who was there, but Jack clearly didn't know the person as he asked, "Can I help you?" in a puzzled tone.

Then she heard his voice.

"I would like to speak to my daughter," Eli David said softly.

Jackson's eyes narrowed and he straightened to his full height.

"I don't think that's a good idea," Jackson responded, not opening the door any further.

"Perhaps you should allow Ziva to decide that," Eli responded, his tone carefully mild, yet unyielding.

Jack stared at him for a moment longer so that this interloper would know that he was not intimidated and that he was willing to stand between Ziva and the door for as long as necessary.

He turned slightly toward her. "Honey?" he asked softly.

Ziva was too stunned to say anything at first. She looked at Jackson a little helplessly.

"You don't have to let him in," Jackson assured her.

She closed her eyes, then opened them.

"It is all right," she acquiesced. "I will speak with him."

"You sure about that?" Gibbs' father asked. He didn't know the details of what had gone on between Ziva and this man, but he didn't have to work hard to imagine that it was all her father's fault. "Maybe I should get Leroy."

"I am sure," she said, "and not just yet."

Jackson turned back to the door and gave the visitor an admonishing look. Then he silently stood aside and opened the door further.

Eli walked in. He looked at his daughter and smiled. "Ziva," he said softly, but with feeling. "You look lovely. It gives me great pleasure to see your mother's earrings on you."

A lump formed in her throat. "Thank you again for sending them," she husked.

He inclined his head in response.

"Why are you here?" Ziva asked quietly.

"I thought I would walk my daughter down the aisle at her wedding," he admitted. He glanced at Jackson. "But it appears you have made other plans."

"Yes," Ziva confirmed.

"Surely it is a father's place to do that," Eli said. Both Ziva and Jackson stiffened at that; it had been a father's place to do plenty of other things, as well.

Jackson started to lay into him, but Ziva gentled him with a hand on his arm. Though there was a smile in her eyes just for him, he could see a hint of confusion swirling in their depths as she struggled to find her balance with this unexpected development. He wasn't about to cause her any pain or uncertainty on this day.

"Maybe he's right, honey," he assured her, squeezing the hand that was still on his arm, "though there's more to being a father than walking someone down the aisle." The last was directed at Eli with a level look.

"Jackson, no-" Ziva's voice was husky with the unshed tears that had turned her eyes to diamonds at his magnanimous gesture.

"I'll give you two a minute, but I'll be right outside if you need anything," he continued, looking at Ziva with nothing but love and acceptance in his eyes.

With a kiss to her forehead, Jackson started toward the door. A vision popped into Ziva's head and cautious hope breathed to life inside her that it might come true.

"Jackson," she stayed him with her voice. "I would like to talk to my father, but you will wait for us, yes?"

He seemed a little confused at her choice of words, but Jethro wasn't the only Gibbs who would do anything for her. "Sure, honey." And with that, he stepped out into the hall.

Ziva turned away from her father, fiddling with the hand mirror on the dressing table. Neither spoke at first, but the silence was pregnant with their unvoiced thoughts.

"When I was very young," Ziva began after a moment, as though telling a story, "I looked at Ima's earrings and imagined myself at my own wedding someday. I always pictured you and her walking with me toward the chuppah, and we were all so happy.

"I could never get a clear picture of the person I would marry; I know now that is because I had not yet met Jethro." She allowed a fleeting smile as she thought of him. Her face sobered and she continued.

"As I grew older, things changed. Ima died, you directed my focus on your vision, and I stopped picturing a future for myself based on such wishful thinking."

She walked to the window and looked out over the darkened garden area covered in snow that sparkled from the candles and white lights placed out there by the hotel staff. Now that the words were finally coming, she could not seem to stop.

"Then I came to America…and over time that changed me," she acknowledged. "Oh, at first, I resisted. To become soft like them? Pfft – 'not me,' I thought."

She paused.

"But I have come to realize that real strength can be gentle…and that love has a strength all its own.

"And Jethro? He is the gift I stopped dreaming I would ever receive. I would not change my life now for anything." She finally looked at him. "Or anyone.

"I will not deny that a small part of that young girl still exists and wishes for her aba to love her exactly as she is…but she is afraid." Had she really just admitted to this man that she feared something? Anything? Then, reaching for her fiancé in her mind, she steadied herself.

"I want to have a relationship with you, but I do not want to be hurt. And I will not alter the woman I have become," she said clearly. "Jethro loves that woman and because he does, I have learned to, as well."

Eli had remained silent through what was without question the longest running, most revealing dialogue he'd ever heard from his daughter. When she seemed to have run out of words, he spoke.

"I am who I am and I will not apologize for that," Eli began less-than-auspiciously. "And while the director in me cannot help but wish you still followed orders without question, the father in me has always been proud of the daughter you were…and of this woman you have become."

Eli walked closer to his daughter. "I cannot change the past, but perhaps you will give me another chance to be the father you deserve."

A tear trailed silently down each of Ziva's cheeks in response to his words.

Sometimes life did indeed surprise you.

"I will undoubtedly make mistakes, and you may have to point out the error of my ways," he continued. Then, with dry amusement in his tone, he added, "If you do not, I am quite certain that your husband will."

Ziva's tears turned to light laughter that danced on the air between them. "I am sure you are correct," she confirmed.

Eli held out a hand. "So, Ziva, may I walk you down the aisle?"

She put her hand in his and squeezed his fingers.

"I want to say yes, but I have one condition," she temporized.

Eli raised an eyebrow as he waited for her to continue.

With a deep breath, Ziva shared her earlier vision. "Jackson accepted me into his family – into his heart - without question. I will not hurt him by pushing him aside because you have arrived. If he agrees, I would like you both to walk with me."

Eli was silent for a few seconds.

"As you wish," he agreed gently with an incline of his head.

Ziva's smile was brilliant.

Then he smiled as well, and for the first time in what felt like a lifetime, her father wrapped her in a warm embrace.

After a long moment, Eli held her at arm's length. "Now, we should get you to your wedding before your Special Agent Gibbs comes looking for you," Eli pointed out with a small smile.

"Give me a moment to fix my makeup and then I will be ready," Ziva said.

Eli walked to the door.

"Aba?" she called softly. He turned. "I am glad you are here."

"As am I, Zivaleh," he returned with a ghost of a smile.

After he'd left her alone, Ziva dabbed at her face with a tissue and quickly repaired her makeup. Then she took a deep breath and gazed into the mirror one last time. She was actually about to marry Jethro. Joy bubbled up inside her and she laughed out loud in pure happiness. And her father had come…another dream she had locked away had become a reality.

She met her father outside the room and took his arm. Her eyes found Jackson just down the hall, standing alone near the entrance to the Drawing Room. Abby had just walked in to take her place and the doors were closed in advance of Ziva's entrance. A few feet away, Ziva stopped, causing her father to do the same.

"Give me a moment?" she asked, glancing up at him. He nodded.

Walking the rest of the way to Jackson, she held out a hand and he took it.

"I have a favor to ask, but you must feel free to say no," she said with a slight curve to her lips. He cocked his head in question.

"Could he walk with us?" she asked, looking into the blue eyes that he'd bequeathed to his son.

He glanced at Eli involuntarily, who allowed a small smile.

"You don't need me-" Jackson started.

"You are wrong; I do need you," Ziva broke in to correct him, catching his gaze again. "I am hoping that both of my fathers will walk me down the aisle."

When he stayed silent, she squeezed his fingers meaningfully and, with a twinkle in her eye, played her ace in the hole. "And Jethro says I should have exactly what I want today."

"Well," Eli drawled as he stepped closer, "that would be enough to make me consent."

All three of them broke into grins, the lingering tension erased, at least for the moment.

"It is your day – and we don't want Leroy on the warpath," Jackson agreed. Holding out his left arm, he asked, "Let's try this again. Ready?"

"I have never been more ready for anything in my life," Ziva declared firmly.

"Then we'd better get you in there before my son comes through that door," Jackson said, not really joking.

With that, each man grasped a door handle, and the double doors swung open.