A/N:I don't own anything I'm not supposed to. The characters, references, some dialogue + anything else all belong to whomever. Please don't sue me - it is just for fun. The rest came out of my brain.
Happy, a little late, U.S. Thanksgiving!
The dates of the 'Enemies' episodes only dawned after it was nearly written and I amended the chapter a bit.
I did mess with the time-frame to make it all fit.
The usual for the background details….
"For Hell is empty and all the devils are here."
William Shakespeare
November 2010
McGee groaned.
"What is wrong, McGee?" Ziva looked across the squad-room, a small frown of concern on her face.
She was perched against the partition, behind Tony's desk, as they researched backgrounds on a case.
"Nothing." Their colleague sighed. "Except they've changed the Thanksgiving duty assignments." – Staring disconsolately at his screen. "I'm down to cover."
"Is Charlie Brown worried he'll miss the Great Pumpkin?" Tony smirked.
"No Tony, my sister's coming." There was a little hint of complaint at the lack of sympathy in his voice. "Well she thinks she might."
His sister was unreliable and somewhat disorganized in her lifestyle. However, the occasion was less than a week away and there was no cancelation - yet. He had been hopeful of a sibling get-together this year. And no-one would find the prospect of having a four day weekend sliced in half appealing.
"I am sorry." Ziva made up for Tony's unfeeling quip. "Perhaps Sarah could come to the Navy Yard for a few hours? I am sure it will be quiet and you could order in Holiday food."
She smiled brightly at the Junior Agent as she offered the band-aid solution. "It would not be the same but it would be better than spoiling her trip completely, yes?"
Slowly Tony rotated his chair around and looked speculatively at Ziva. She was doing it again. Taking what he would describe as a 'feely-touchy' approach to the problems of others.
It wasn't that Ziva was cold or unemotional. Contrary to the popularly circulated rumor, she was exceedingly tenderhearted. However, this characteristic was masked and subdued beneath a layer of usually unflappable logic. Tony – far more than anyone else – was aware of her caring nature. And he recognized the delicate dynamic which propelled her behavior.
Ziva had been raised and trained to resist indulging feelings. They were a weakness; an immaterial, dangerous distraction. She could – should - exploit and manipulate them in others; she must never leave herself at risk for reciprocal treatment. Ziva's conditioned response to McGee's plight would be a steady reminder of their obligations as Federal Agents; stoic commiseration for a set of unlucky, but necessary, circumstances.
"Why don't you launch a covert op. against the pardoned turkey and then you could bring La Famiglia McGee dinner?" Tony's opening gambit was a mix of curiosity and teasing.
Ziva tilted her head. "As it happens, Tony, I will be cooking a Thanksgiving dinner – my first." – A sweet flash of anticipation and pride tinged the comment.
Ziva was, as Abby termed it, a kick-ass cook and she enjoyed the pastime immensely.
Tony's initial, encouraging - though typical – rejoinder was still-born when she added. "I have company coming."
"Who?" His careful, one word, question indicated Tony had a pretty good idea of the identity.
The month had already reached its quota of unwanted visitors. Earlier Tony's father had cruised into town resembling an aging, incorrigible Pied Piper. Schmoozing and conning his way through the middle of an investigation. Tony's relationship with his father was a difficult blend of affection and annoyance fossilized by the passage of time.
Salt was very effectively rubbed into the wound by the indignity of watching the old man accompany Ziva to a high-powered cocktail function. Whilst Tony was left undecided – from the alluring peek of cleavage on view – whether she was wearing any underwear at all beneath the clinging dress, his father's wandering hands would have provided the debonair trickster with absolute confirmation.
"A friend is visiting." Ziva's remark was too casual.
Tony leaned back in his chair, putting his hands behind his head. "A friend; how nice." – Pleasant, sharply false, enthusiasm in his voice. "A friend? Or the friend?"
"Yes." The retort was a text-book dodge as she regretted opening the topic.
"Yes to which one?" Tony pressed.
Her news was disheartening. For the past few weeks, Tony thought he'd detected a reduction in contact between Ziva and 'the Unsub.' The back and forth email and IM chats had seemed to cease. Clearly, communications had advanced into a different forum. Additionally, it was a relatively last minute development; a couple of days ago, Ziva had no definite plans for the extended break.
"Yes, a friend." Irked by his manner, she persisted with smart-alec wordplay. "Yes, the friend who will be visiting Washington."
"Visiting Washington or you, Zee-vah?" Tony cocked his head.
"Both." She sighed in frustration; moving from the partition and walking past his desk. "His job is bringing him to Washington and I will see him."
Her comment was a vexed admission. Ziva had been surprised when Ray 'phoned and announced the plan – his duties for the CIA seemed to keep him in Miami. The contact between them had been constant but low-key and still purely platonic. She was looking forward to seeing him. However, this was just dinner and Ray certainly wasn't staying at her apartment.
"He's gonna be in D.C.? Working? For the Thanksgiving weekend?" There was a deliberate, disbelieving pause between each phrase.
Now Tony's hackles were really raised; though he failed, singularly, in appreciation of the rationale. The nation's capital would resemble a ghost town in terms of employees – their places taken by tourists and sightseers. Most Federal offices would be closed or operating skeleton staff. The busy hub of national and international interests briefly hushed. Ziva's friend would be hard pressed to find anyone with whom to work.
The sudden discovery of a work-related trip was an obvious ploy for visiting Ziva. The entire country was moving heaven and earth to be with family. If the friend didn't have any family, that was most unfortunate and the guy should set about finding some immediately. As far away from Washington as possible; the moon would be an eminently suitable place in which to start.
She stopped and turned around, hands on hips. "Yes, Tony. Why not? McGee will be in D.C. Working. For the Thanksgiving weekend." – Acidly mimicking his delivery.
"And yet, despite this urgent workload, he can find time for dinner." Ziva's point was valid and Tony sarcastically shifted the focus. "At your place?"
It was a ridiculous argument which neither of them could win. Tony's objections and Ziva's justifications stemmed from more complex issues than who was spending time with whom. Unfortunately, they shunned analyzing the cause and embraced the pattern of friction. Discord was a familiar, manageable outlet for other suppressed emotions.
"I am being hospitable for my friend." Her sentiment was genuine. "He will be away from home during a holiday."
Ray had offered dinner at an expensive restaurant. On an impulse, Ziva made the invite – as a way of returning the favor for his assistance and attention during the summer. Moreover, under the barrage of seasonal images and advertising, sometimes she experienced the twinge of emptiness which had occurred on the ship.
The glowing representation of families and close affinities sparked a tentative, confused search for a missing element. Ziva wanted to spend the Holiday with someone. Not romantically – she didn't view it as a date – she would simply be at home, with someone. Tony's reaction didn't aid in solving the muddled longing. Instead it honed the jab of unidentified dissatisfaction.
"Just a friend in need, huh?" Tony considered the development strictly from the perspective of a guy; namely himself.
Once inside her apartment, a relaxed atmosphere, a few glasses of wine meant Ziva and her friend would be – inevitably - waking up together on Friday morning. It was a strangely discomfiting notion.
"So what's his contribution to this little friendship party gonna be?" Tony's eyes ran the length of her body; the grin was purely salacious. "What are you in need of Zee-vah?"
Although Ziva was seeking companionship, not sex – Tony's snide, knowing observation was sort of accurate. Irritated and perturbed because he understood – and because he didn't - Ziva resumed the path to her side of the squad-room.
To begin with, McGee had ignored the squabble. It was just Tony and Ziva needling each other because Tony and Ziva needled each other. Since they showed no sign of an imminent truce and the mood was becoming distinctly charged, he intervened – in pursuit of a more peaceful morning.
"How about you? Someplace with pretty girls dressed up like turkeys?" – Still smarting from Tony's earlier lack of solidarity, McGee teased on the Senior Agent's reputation.
"Congratulations, McGee, your imagination's improving." - Glancing across at him. "Tempting, but no. Missoura." Tony adopted an atrocious Mid-Western accent. "I'm gonna see Tom and Juliet."
Tom was one of Tony's closest friends – he'd known him for over fifteen years. They'd been cops in Peoria; stationed at the same precinct. As Tony had moved East, up the scale and into the big leagues, Tom had moved West and down-sized. Married to a teacher, with four children, he was now the very contented Chief of Police for a small town in the Show-me-State.
Tony didn't always visit during a holiday. And his trips were more frequent – perhaps once or twice a year - now the children were well past the leaky, sticky, bringer-of-destruction phases. The two men had an on-going competition for who'd investigated the weirdest case since the last stay – it really was surprising how often Tom won – the loser paying for a boys' night out. Tony would make fun of summonses for improperly positioned lawn ornaments. Tom would declare Federal Agents were always busy because they couldn't find their own asses with two hands, in broad daylight.
"Haven't been out there for a while and I've got…one, two…" - Theatrically counting the total on his fingers. "FIVE days leave." Hiding how much he was looking forward to going by triumphantly taunting McGee.
"You know, Tony, I'm sure there's some kind of modification therapy available for that gloating spasm of yours." McGee drily refused to be baited.
"But…" Tony switched his attention back to Ziva, renewing the mocking tone. "If I was here in Washington, I could meet Zee-vah's special friend."
"Well you will not be here." - Sitting at her desk, sounding matter-of-factly victorious.
"Maybe I will be." Tony was returning Monday afternoon – he wasn't flying out until Wednesday night. "When does he hit town?"
"You will not meet him this time." She firmly denied any possibility their paths might cross.
"Why not?" - Leaning forward, across his desk, Tony posed the plain, abruptly direct, question.
She was caught off guard. "I have never met the friends you are visiting."
Her parallel was a quick-thinking parry. It was also annoyingly unfair. Tony hadn't kept his friends away from Ziva; there had never been an opportunity for introduction.
"That's 'cause they live in the middle of fucking nowhere." - Exasperated and nettled by her implication. "And have four kids. They don't exactly pop up to D.C. for a weekend getaway very often."
Gibbs walked purposefully into the bull-pen. "The girl's talking – get on surveillance. And we got three bodies from the Coast Guard in Florida."
November's triumvirate of unwelcome guests was on the verge of completion.
"I wish to use the bathroom."
As the elevator pinged its arrival, Liat made her sulky request. The journey to the Navy Yard was sourly civil. The two teams acting like estranged relatives at a funeral; observing all the proprieties whilst each faction itched for an escape – in order to start the bitching sessions. Even McGee's normally affable temperament was flattened beneath an aura of suspicious annoyance.
"Very well." Ziva had been locked in taut contemplation since the discovery of the Israeli team and the tactical sparring in the alley. "Follow me, please."
"Ladies first." Tony stood aside, next to the control panel, when the doors opened.
Then McGee exited, following them automatically in the belief he and Tony would escort Ben-Gidon to the conference room between them. His back foot had barely cleared the threshold when Tony hit the door close button - flipping the hold key before the car could continue its descent. And the reason for Tony's maneuver, apart from inherent chivalry, became apparent.
"Let's get one thing straight." He spun around, leaning into the Mossad Officer's space, his voice deadly quiet. "Go after her again, criticize her again and I'll fucking break you. Understood?"
Malachi had never rated Tony in particularly high esteem. Mossad was an organization staffed with human beings which– just as at NCIS - dictated tribal loyalty. The Tel Aviv agency whispered Tony had only been able to take out Michael Rivkin because Rivkin had been three sheets to the wind. Ben-Gidon dutifully ascribed to the myth. He had never rated Rivkin either – believing him uncouth and irresponsible.
Tony's extremely aggressive yet tightly controlled snarl instantly changed his mind. Malachi caught sight of the man who'd extracted Ziva from Saleem's camp. Reminded of the fact the agent was one of the team which had eradicated the terrorist, his supporters and their stronghold. The mission Malachi's expert Kedon unit had been tasked with fulfilling. His urbane exterior ruffled and he recoiled against the wall – nodding acquiescence.
The doors opened for the second time, Tony rolled his head around his shoulders and grinned apologetically at a waiting McGee. "Wrong button."
In Tony's opinion, Malachi should have been hauled over the coals for gross dereliction of duty – he'd abandoned Ziva. Totally partisan in the condemnation; Ziva's temperament, Ben-Gidon's injury, or their compatriot's more serious wounds didn't factor as legitimate excuses. Quite simply, Ben-Gidon should never have let Ziva out of his sight.
As yet, no-one knew why there was a Mossad team in their territory. However, the spiteful swipes at Ziva had already stretched Tony's tolerance beyond its boundary. The intention behind accosting the Mossad Officer was two-fold. Firstly, Tony wanted him left harboring no illusions; here Ziva was fiercely protected. Moreover, he had astutely concluded Ben-Gidon would keep Liat in check. He wasn't worried by Liat. McGee's thoughtless comment the girl was the 'new Ziva' was completely wrong. Liat wasn't even a decent portrait of the old Ziva. She might have some of the fearsome skills - she definitely had some of the attitude - but that's where the likeness ended. Liat possessed few of Ziva's other qualities.
"You didn't know?"
As the report of Eli David's pending arrival filtered out, hasty preparations absorbed much of the time. Gibbs disappeared, Vance was tied up with his conference and the MCRT went into crisis mode. When Tony finally snatched an interlude with Ziva, she was pacing in the stairwell – lost in thought.
"No, Tony." Spitting out the reply, temper flaring – hurt by the inference of deceit over Mossad's activities. "I did not know."
He wanted to ask if she was OK. She wasn't and he knew it; the tense, kinetic energy radiating from her and the dark look in Ziva's eyes all indicated tremendous strain. However, Tony couldn't ask because the inquiry would be increased pressure. When troubled, Ziva did detached, rational – not vulnerable. The screen always registered self-discipline and iron subjugation of emotions.
Any perception she was betraying that rigid display would only magnify her distress. All he could do was alter the backlight, adjust the contrast setting from light to dark and make her mad. In inciting a reaction, Tony permitted Ziva to release some of the pent-up turmoil and maintain the fiction of ambivalence toward seeing her father.
"Sorry. Figured a plague of locusts might've invaded your apartment or the faucets started dripping blood." - Studying her demeanor, he leaned back against the wall – hands in pockets. "Isn't that what usually happens when Hell misplaces one of its own?"
"This is not funny." – Dismissing the joke in a snapped rebuke.
"There is a terrorist cell targeting Washington, Mossad agents are conducting a mission." - Listing the problems as if Tony hadn't grasped the gravity of the situation. "There is a high profile conference of NCIS directors. Our security resources are stretched. Protection duties…..
"And your father will be here." – Calmly declaring the one item she was avoiding.
Its omission and the cause of that absence were painfully obvious – she didn't trust herself not to reveal churning disquiet. Tony made the pronouncement in order that Ziva didn't have to risk mentioning the subject.
"Yes." She stopped moving, her head down as she stared at the floor.
"Director Vance wishes to see me." - Uncertainty slipping into her voice. "He will remove me from the case."
Such an action would be twisting the knife. It would cast doubt on Ziva's cherished capabilities; she couldn't remain impartial, professional. The humiliating suggestion of incompetency created in full view of Eli. Moreover, it would leave a disastrous gap – too much time for brooding. Tony didn't believe Gibbs would allow the measure.
"He probably wants a little insight on Dumb and Dumber back there." Tony inclined his head in the direction of the bull-pen.
"It takes a thief and all that." - Grinning reassuringly. "Or in this case, a crazy assassin."
Ziva glanced up at him, realizing she was regaining composure. The swirling fog clouding her mind was coalescing into order. Unobtrusively, with charm and his presence, Tony was supplying her with desperately required steadiness. It was a dimly recognized, exceedingly confusing idea.
A weak smile dispelled some of the shadows haunting her expression.
"I do not like this. The command structure will be unclear." - Shaking her head. "Mossad cooperation is untrustworthy. Any joint operation with them is a mistake."
Tony took a couple of steps nearer, holding her gaze for a second.
"Oh I don't know." His voice was low and soft. "The last time there was a Mossad Liaison with NCIS it turned out pretty well for us."
"I was lucky too." Ziva's quiet answer was equally sincere.
The mysterious, exclusive cloak briefly enveloped them; an unguarded moment of exposure wrapping them together in a private bond. Tony's meaning – though not precisely personal - was explicit and Ziva didn't reject the notion.
Nevertheless, time was ticking away - the demands of events shrieked in the background of the encounter. Ziva began moving toward the squad room and the connection dropped. Tony accompanied her to the bottom of the staircase before dealing with the Israelis. On her way to Vance's office, Ziva could hear the next round of exchanges beginning and laughed.
"Who could possibly want Eli dead?" His question was full of irrepressible goading.
"Director David." Liat waspishly corrected the disrespectful title.
Tony grimaced in derision. "Whatever."
Tony's threat proved most effective. Malachi acquitted himself admirably over the next few days. Restricting his complaints to ones aimed generally at NCIS – not Ziva - and restraining Liat's outbursts. Three attacks, an enthralling snapshot of Special Agent Vance – before he became a suit – plus one death meant everyone was left somewhat stunned. The atmosphere in the Navy Yard was one of immense gratitude as the fraught investigation concluded.
Tony showed the Israelis into the Director's office – where Gibbs was ensconced. That in itself was a bizarre occurrence. The former Marine was a natural leader yet coveted no promotion to the Director's post. There was too much political machination, bureaucracy and paperwork for his taste. However, until Vance recovered, he would be the de facto man in the chair.
"DiNozzo, conference room." Gibbs' growl held no clue as to the reason for the instruction.
When Tony opened the door, any sense of shell-shock over recent happenings paled into insignificance against the jarring sight which greeted him. Standing at one end of the table - apparently waiting for Tony - was Eli David.
"Now this, this is what I'd call an assembly room." – Covering his surprise with a taunting allusion to the interview at Mossad H.Q.
"Let's see, we've got t.v., 'phone, refreshments, painted walls, even plants." The viciously polite litany was unrelenting. "Windows and…Oh hey look, no armed thugs outside." - Opening the door with a dramatic flourish.
"Want me to adjust that sling for you?" – Indicating Eli's dressing. "Just, you know, in a spirit of mutual discussion."
Eli impassively withstood the onslaught; he expected this reaction. The last – only – time the two men had met Eli interrogated Tony; about Rivkin's death, about Tony's motivations and about Ziva. Using the considerable might of his position as the Director of Mossad Eli had tried intimidating Tony. Actually inflicting minor physical harm; compressing his broken arm and grabbing his throat.
Tony had remained steadfastly impudent and insolent throughout. Eventually causing Eli's patience to snap and adroitly proving his innocence. Eli was forced into conceding Tony had killed his Officer in self-defense, rather than a rage of unrequited love. Nevertheless, the Director of Mossad, privately, believed jealousy had also played a rôle.
"And you are wearing an exceptionally well-cut suit, Special Agent DiNozzo." Eli's droll riposte informed Tony the message was clear. "Now I should inquire as to the name of your tailor, yes?"
They squared off for a moment. Eli had an inch in height over Tony; in his younger days as an operative, he must have made a very imposing figure. Yet now he seemed tired and worn – much older than the passage of two years should show.
"Sit down." – Casually waving his hand at a seat. Eli David never said please.
Tony wasn't in the mood for niceties. "No thanks."
He strode to the other end of the room; partly as a signal this was his turf and he wasn't obeying orders. Partly that he could mask a huge, internal 'WTF?' whilst he tried to figure out why he'd been summoned by Ziva's father.
"Hmn." Eli's little snort and rueful smile were mildly amused; as though Tony were a rebellious child, taking a stand for the sake of making a point.
He pulled out a chair and sat down; leaning back and getting comfortable.
"You asked to see me?" Tony didn't know for sure but it was the only likely explanation.
He propped himself against the counter; arms folded and one leg crossed in front of the other. The relaxed, lounging pose matching his expression; which was an extraordinary blend of recalcitrance and disengaged boredom.
"I did." Eli nodded.
Everything he did, every gesture or word was carefully and exactly executed. The rich, mellifluous voice rarely altered cadence – merely contained more or less passion depending on the topic.
He took a slow, deep breath and glanced out of the window. "I wished to acknowledge your contribution in the removal of Al-Masri."
Both Tony and Ziva had shot the PRF leader and, in spite of Ziva's misgivings, it had been a successful – not always smooth – joint operation. He was unconvinced by Eli's rationale. Although, he resolved if McGee had already been subjected to one of these acknowledgments and not warned him, Tony was going to scare the shit out of the Junior Agent – next opportunity he got. He remained stonily silent.
"He is the second terrorist threat you have neutralized." - Pausing on purpose. "Thus saving lives. Mossad is not unimpressed by your actions." This time he looked at Tony directly.
Tony stared back coldly. "It's my job."
The veiled reference to Saleem couldn't be a coincidence - Tony was one of Gibbs' protégés. Moreover, it was improbable Eli David would fall prey to anything remotely coincidental - ever. It sounded as if Eli was bestowing oblique gratitude for Ziva's rescue. The vague phrase 'saving lives' could include Eli's life, or those of potential general victims – or Ziva's life. Discounting the last unsettling idea, Tony waited for whatever angle her father was working.
Eli David was a deeply complex personality. In common with most people he was an amalgam of vice and virtue. Unlikely as it seemed, he and Tony shared more than a love of sartorial elegance and bespoke tailoring. Tony's devil-may-care attitude was nearly identical to Eli's sang-froid in the face of danger. A trait most recently exhibited by using himself as bait.
He was intelligent, could be very charming and was remarkably gifted in judging people or situations. Like Tony, Eli could be extremely tough and ruthless. He was undoubtedly arrogant, supremely self-confident. However, these qualities combined and manifested themselves differently within each man. Superficially, they were so similar that the disparities took on enormous significance.
Reaching for one of the upturned glasses in the middle of the table and the pitcher, Eli poured a glass of water. "You are close to Ziva still?"
Tony stiffened. "I think you gave up the right to ask if my intentions are honorable right about the time you left her to die."
"Do you have intentions toward my daughter, Agent DiNozzo?" - Raising his eyebrows as he took a sip.
The discussion was becoming a verbal - borderline demented - tennis match. Tony's flippant comment was intended to be a barbed critique of Eli's failures as a father. The attempt lost some of its impetus with Eli's pleasantly interested volley. And Tony opted for netting the ball – he didn't reply.
"I did not leave her to die…." Eli refuted; taking off his glasses with his customary care. The man was, essentially, a study in stillness; minimal, deliberate movements.
"Seriously?" Tony interrupted, laughing mockingly.
"'Cause it sure looked that way from where I was sat. You know, actually in the terrorists' camp, when she was all beat up." He paused for control, cooling his temper. "With Saleem's knife to her throat." - Temporarily thrown off-balance by recalling the scene and the most frightening moment of the entire undertaking.
"Have you ever considered our search must be kept invisible?" Eli intoned. "That if her identity, my daughter's identity…." - Stressing the last three words, Tony's attitude was beginning to grate. "Became known, became available, in trying to locate her, the consequences for Ziva would be worse?"
Tapping the fingers of one hand on the table, Eli shook his head. "Ziva would not yield that intelligence."
Tony's jaw clenched at the dispassionate appraisal of her resistance. The suggestion it was assumed as standard, not noteworthy.
"Jesus Christ, how hard were you trying?" Equilibrium slipped and incredulous, sardonic anger burst into his voice. "You had the fucking coordinates for the camp."
Tony hadn't considered the fact Eli's actions might be curtailed by the need for circumspection. If word escaped the Director of Mossad's daughter was being held, her ill-treatment would increase exponentially. He was unmoved by the defense; it was simply further evidence she had paid excessively for her father's position.
Eli was rearranging the glasses and pitcher as though they were pieces on a chessboard. "If our efforts were detected, she could be removed from Somalia altogether, bartered by a minor figure and handed over to more powerful enemies."
He looked up at Tony, the trace of tolerance in his voice implying the younger man had an imperfect comprehension of the realities. "We may have lost track of her completely…."
"So instead you just left her there." Tony's summary was harsh and scornful.
"My best team had not succeeded. Asking for outside assistance would concede defeat." Eli continued stating his case, impervious to the accusation.
"Mossad's reputation would be damaged and" – Half closing his eyes in realistic assessment. "We are not always trusted….."
"Shocker. How'd that happen?" Bitingly sarcastic, Tony cut short the commentary.
Eli studied Tony for a few minutes, his head on one side, and settled back into the chair once more. Tony's manner of contemptuous indifference had vanished completely. He was exuding quietly seething resentment at the cold, calculated decision to sacrifice Ziva.
In truth, Ziva's father wasn't really concerned whether Tony accepted his justifications or not. Which was fortunate really, since Tony most definitely didn't. Eli David had been immersed in the intelligence community for more years than he cared to remember. In Eli's world there were no big or little pictures. Only the picture – a constantly shifting, murky composition and it never left his vision. Furthermore, the issue of Ziva's captivity was merely the warm-up game; establishing Tony's credentials for another difficulty.
Huge thanks for the reviews and alerts.
Reviews for this chapter would be very wonderful. It's always nice to hear if you're enjoying the story – or if you're not. What worked/what didn't, good/bad comments really are helpful and appreciated.