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.
OK, a very wee cliff-hanger at the end of the last chapter. I couldn't decide between one long one or two shorter ones. With luck, I made the right choice for balance. Feel free to let me know if I didn't.
The usual for the background details….
"If you prick us, do we not bleed? If you tickle us, do we not laugh?"
William Shakespeare
November 2010
"What do you know of this man with whom my daughter is involved?"
It was an impeccably conceived, beautifully executed ambush; an elegant exercise in psychological guerrilla warfare. Her father had enticed Tony from his fortress of disdainful forbearance in an antithesis of the encounter in Tel Aviv. Eli used the subject of his own stance on Ziva's imprisonment for an instrument – and had provoked Tony's temper. With the suspected weakness probed, Eli had expanded his advantage and outflanked Tony.
"That's it." Tony straightened immediately and began walking out. "This conversation's over."
Eli held up a hand imperiously. "I do not possess the Wisdom of Solomon." – Nodding in recognition of this flaw, a serious edge in the deep voice. "I have made mistakes."
Tony's back was to Eli, reaching for the door handle. He rolled his eyes, muttering cynically, 'yeah, staying alive being one of them' under his breath.
If Ziva's father heard, he didn't react.
"Mistakes cannot be avoided – only learnt from." His stillness took on a predatory quality, although his tone remained incredibly even. "I wonder what mistakes you might regret, Agent DiNozzo?"
The candid confession of fallibility and, more importantly, the enigmatic hypothetical arrested Tony's departure. Eli was nothing if not an arch manipulator. Tony turned around and walked over to the table. Belatedly, he recognized the tactic; one he had employed on countless occasions. Distract the person, rattle them and then strike. Pulling out a chair, Tony sat opposite Eli - the interrogation room format.
"OK. I'm listening." The chair was slightly angled in relation to the table. Tony was slouched a little, his legs extended and one arm resting on the table. Although the body language was arrogantly casual, his expression was full of unmistakably level-headed, watchful curiosity.
"She has discussed the relationship with you?" Having thoroughly succeeded in his aim of gaining Tony's attention, Eli resumed the air of easy lethargy.
"That's between me and Zee-vah." Unsure of the objective, Tony blocked – neither denying nor confirming the charge. The depiction of an actual relationship was unpleasant.
He chewed his cheek, studying Eli. "I said listening, remember?" – Cocking his head with an icily pleasant smile.
This was Eli's game; Tony was going to make him play the ball. He could do effortless non-cooperation all day.
Eli nodded. Then he glanced away, inhaling through his nostrils.
"You do not like me, this I understand." The remark was a clinical statement; neither offended, nor conciliatory.
"Is it because my son murdered Special Agent Todd? Or because he tried to kill Special Agent Gibbs?" - Adjusting the signet ring on his left hand. "Because of Officer Rivkin's misconduct?"
It was a practical, open inventory of potential grievances – until the tiny, meaningful hook at the end.
"Or is it because you believe I have harmed Ziva?" – Shooting a long, penetrating look at Tony.
This time Tony didn't take the bait.
"Take your pick." – Smooth condescension highlighting there were, indeed, many reasons Tony despised Ziva's father. And placing the onus on Eli – he should form his own opinions.
The criticism of Michael Rivkin was unexpected. More so was the inclusion of Ari and the clearly discernible somber tinge in Eli's voice. Tony was surprised by both the mood and the claim of paternity. At times, Ziva's family ties bore more than a passing resemblance to the Borgias. He assumed Ari's love-child origins, tormented personality and treachery toward his father would nullify his pedigree as Eli's son.
"Of course." The flicker of emotion disappeared and Eli smartly answered Tony's challenge. "I choose the latter."
"And what if I said you're wrong?" Despite being caught off guard, Tony coolly bounced the point, meeting Eli's look with a steady gaze.
"Then I would insist you give me your word upon the matter." - An easy deuce.
Tony had given his word that Rivkin's shooting was not the result of malice-aforethought. Integrity was exceedingly important to him; Eli was keenly aware of Tony's personal principle.
There were a few minutes of an oddly equable lull as each pondered their next strategies. Tony stared at the t.v. screen whilst Eli precisely repositioned his water glass a fraction of an inch.
"Why'd you wanna know about him?" Tony decided to fight fire with fire; he was also a talented interrogator. Moreover, the renewed spotlight on his particular connection with Ziva was making him uncomfortable.
"It is all about perspective." Eli adopted Gibbs' phrase.
He was intrigued and entertained by the former Marine's unique approach. The gruff, deceptively straightforward, outlook was refreshing. "I have learned from many mistakes and wish to apply that knowledge in this instance. There are questions."
Ziva's father had access to a wide variety of data, from innumerable sources. Recently, certain intelligence had appeared as a small blot on Eli's horizon. He had a mind like a steel trap – with the emphasis on steel. There was an intersection of interests and he intended to take advantage of this state of affairs. Naturally, because he was Eli David, his motivations spanned several categories; none of which needed sharing with Tony.
"Well, if you want answers, you should probably get Zee-vah to give them to you." There was a little smugness at the unlikely prospect.
And Tony wasn't moving from the baseline. What he and Ziva discussed was off limits; he wouldn't supply Eli with background. The fact Tony didn't have any background – not even a name – notwithstanding.
"Hmn." Eli gave another little amicable snort.
"The better part of valor is discretion." – Clasping his hands together and leaning forward onto the table.
"Tell me Agent DiNozzo, have you ever tried to persuade Ziva to do something which she does not wish to do?" - Pausing for effect, a wry smile of appeal on his face. "Or dissuade her from a course of action upon which she has set her mind?"
Tony was struck by a stunning, disturbing realization. There was a distinct hint of commiseration in the inquiries; as if Eli felt a peculiar fellowship with him. Her father was sharing a fondly conspiratorial joke with Tony over Ziva's idiosyncrasies. Tony also realized Eli's command of idioms was superior to that of his daughter. It wasn't a mangled version, or even the colloquial one – Eli's was verbatim.
"My daughter believes I have no feelings…." Eli's voice held a trace of resignation.
"Well, she would know." Tony's acerbic laugh reset the score.
The fleeting confrontation in the parking garage, Ziva's selfless dedication to duty in the kitchen had evoked memories and reflection. Eli recalled a previous incarnation. One in which he had been a more complete man, a happier man – by some reckoning, a gentleman.
Hadar had been a good, reliable operative. More than that, he was a trusted, very old friend from Eli's active duty days. His loss coupled with Vance's condition, added another poignant dimension. And Tony's untainted animosity, the external negative of an internal positive – devotion –elicited admiration.
Eli was a pragmatist. He knew there would never be reconciliation with Ziva – the relationship would never be whole. The damage stretched further than her ordeal two years ago. They may, eventually, arrive at a kind of peace. Perhaps it was too late for any major rehabilitation of his reputation in her eyes – only time would tell.
"This liaison, it is a….development." - A masterpiece of non-committal warning. "One which merits surveillance."
"I'm not gonna fucking spy on her for you." Insulted and downright appalled by the implication, Tony's patience snapped again.
"Spies? Of these I have sufficient." Eli chuckled phlegmatically, shaking his head at the misunderstanding.
"No. I am asking that you exercise vigilance. Caution if you prefer." – Shrugging as he amended the inference. "As you did before - for Ziva."
That was the kicker. Eli based his request solidly in the middle of Tony's concern for Ziva - knowing he wouldn't decline. One didn't become the Director of Mossad unless one could keep secrets. Vance was stable but gravely ill. Eli had no intention of jeopardizing relations with the C.I.A. by blithely blowing a cover. Ziva's father surmised Tony didn't know very much about Ray. He furnished him with just the requisite amount of information – or rather lack thereof - for the creation of suspicion. Tony's exceptional abilities could do the rest.
"We're a team, I'd do that anyway." Tony asserted his autonomy and reclaimed ownership of the issue.
"Gibbs wants to see you before the new Security Detail show up." Tired of the annoying expedition, Tony ended the encounter on his terms with a matter-of-fact dismissal.
Tony had never been so grateful for ceding jurisdiction to the Secret Service in his life. Standing by the elevator, chatting with Liat and Malachi, Tony noticed Eli walking toward Ziva. He wondered what they might say to each other. More importantly, he wondered about his own exchange with her father – and how the hell he was going to explain it to Ziva.
Tony spent most of Wednesday assiduously avoiding Ziva and tying up loose ends. He weighed confiding in Gibbs over Eli David's remarkably accurate Sphinx impersonation. Unfortunately, it wasn't a viable option. With Rivkin, Gibbs and Tony had been on the same page. Whereas, currently, all Tony had was an instinct and Eli's riddles - hardly concrete proof from an exemplary figure.
Furthermore, Gibbs was embroiled in running NCIS. It wasn't an auspicious moment at which to mention he had a problem with Ziva's relationship – again. Tony had debriefed his boss once the Israelis left the Navy Yard. In reply to Gibbs' raised his eyebrows, Tony held out his hands and shrugged – an eloquent gesture of incomprehension.
He nearly pulled off a clean getaway. Just after four o'clock, Ziva trapped him in the Break Room.
"Why did my father wish to speak with you?" Already there was the merest sign of annoyed accusation in her tone.
Tony had a faint hope she wouldn't find out; alas the Bush Telegraph was working to its usual efficient standards. Although, because there had been neither violence nor bloodshed – Security hadn't even been called - a marked sense of anticlimax pervaded when the 'so, what happened' part of the tale was reached.
"Um, I don't know." This wasn't quite as untruthful as it might seem. Tony was thoroughly perplexed by the whole scenario. "Is he still in D.C. by the way?"
"No." Her short reply was laden with expectation.
These days Eli never traveled abroad and he had originally planned an extension for his stay in Washington. He would use the time for cementing old alliances and forging new ones. However, shots and an RPG fired in the city streets, plus one explosion later had the State Dept. counseling early departure for his well-being. Or in non-diplomatic language, he was asked to leave - rather bluntly. His own government also advised returning home for security and the Israeli contingent had flown the previous night.
"Oh good, I'll tell McAlmanac the eclipse is canceled." Tony reached down for the bottle of water; acutely aware of the 'I'm-waiting' beam boring into his back. "Zee-vah, I don't know…not really anyway."
"What did you talk about?" Her tone was slightly less sharp; accepting Tony's plea.
"Uh, you." Slowly he turned around, bracing for a possible eruption. Encouraged by maintained peace, he continued cautiously. "I think it was a thank you."
Completely taken aback by the outlandish notion, a frown registered on Ziva's features. "A thank you?"
"That or he was hoping I'd die so he could devour my soul." Tony's cavalier response was a reflex. The alternative seemed equally unlikely.
"From my father?" Shock transformed into utter disbelief as an expression and in her careful phrasing.
It was a miniscule, though, marked alteration in reference. After the attacks Ziva had begun calling him 'my father' again – not Eli. Tony hadn't heard her use those words in years – not since her early days at NCIS.
"Yes." Tony smiled in helpless accord with the sentiment. Gratitude might sound implausible yet it was the only explanation he had.
After a few minutes of quiet absorption, Ziva tilted her head – suspicion growing. "For what?"
"For bringing you back….I guess or killing Al-Masri….both." Toying with the cap on the bottle, he shook his head. "I'm not sure."
There was a hard edge of determination in Ziva's manner. With a jolt, Tony recognized the likeness to Eli; the constant assimilation of the circumstances. Evaluating each new factor and slotting its significance into her judgment. The controlled, focused stillness before action or response. In many ways, Ziva was unquestionably her father's daughter.
He wondered if it was nature or nurture. And he decided it would inadvisable to share this realization with her - at least not whilst they occupied the same continent. Tony also found himself considering the idea that Ziva's mother must have been extraordinary. Her influence had countered and molded those traits; forming the irresistibly captivating, complicated woman in front of him.
"I'm not." Although he grinned slightly in protesting his innocence, the defense was earnest. She was beginning to doubt him – that was bad. "I'll tell you; just as soon as I figure it out."
The offer was genuine. His position in the meeting with Eli was true; Tony wouldn't betray her trust. Either by revealing anything she might tell him or by lying to Ziva. However, that placed him in a difficult situation for the present. Until Tony fully understood, he was reluctant to enlighten Ziva – in the event his conclusions were wrong. The chances and downside of miscommunications were considerable. And, this evening, he was trapped by time.
Ziva scrutinized him. "This is very strange."
She guessed instinctively Tony was withholding information and the evasion was unsettling. Especially since Eli was involved. Despite the unease, Tony's manner was somewhat reassuring. She was anxious, in part, because she felt Eli might be setting up Tony. The tension level picked up slightly.
"Yeah." Tony laughed drily. "And then it gets weird." – Looking her steadily in the eye, hesitating over his next statement. "I think he's….um….worried about you."
For nearly two months, Tony had been bugging Ziva about 'the Unsub.' If she discovered Eli had been bugging Tony about bugging Ziva about the 'Unsub.', it would assuredly ignite a conflagration. The inferno would match that of the Hindenburg – only quicker. Tony was optimistic the upcoming break would allow him to figure out a solution. He could devise an effective, sensible account for Ziva. As a temporary measure, Tony opted for an abridged transcript – redacting the more disconcerting passages.
"My father?" Ziva's question managed an impressive feat; extending the scope of its mistrust to include both Tony and Eli.
"Look he could've been killed three times. One friend's dead, one's in the hospital." Tony shrugged. "Maybe it shook him up a little." Inwardly conceding Eli wasn't a good candidate for being shake-able.
"My father?" Her range narrowed; the incredulity targeting Tony.
"Will you stop saying that, who else is it gonna be?" – Raising his eyes heavenward in exasperation. "Jesus."
Ziva was shaking her head in thoughtful - though absolute - contradiction. "He lives under the permanent threat of death, every day."
"Maybe it was different this time." Tony's efforts at persuasion were a little disingenuous. In reality, he didn't buy the concept either. However, keeping Ziva pre-occupied with non-specific vagaries in Eli's behavior meant he wouldn't have to divulge more details.
"How?" The slight snap was a warning. As her surprise waned, the perception Tony was being deceptive initiated upset; which, in turn, was triggering anger for safety.
"You were in danger." The shift in atmosphere increased and Tony flatly stated the obvious; trying to dampen escalation. "When was the last time he witnessed it up close and personal?"
"I was not in danger." Meeting his eyes, Ziva issued an unflinching denial.
Tony cocked his head. "'Cause it was a water pistol in the kitchen and Al-Masri had a sparkler." – Sarcastically agreeing and mocking the untenable claim.
"Tony it was my assignment." She wasn't admitting he was right but the delivery was softer as Ziva backed down.
"Yeah. That doesn't make it harmless." – A relaxed admonition, matching her tone.
Peril came with the badge, ignoring its existence wasn't helpful. Tony was reminded of her father's allusion to Ziva's stubborn streak.
"You were worried too, Zee-vah." Tony's gentle testament was risky. Tackling the agitation stirred by Eli head-on might help settle Ziva. Or it would snag the tripwire and detonate.
"Director Vance was unaccounted for." Ziva glanced off his gaze, walking around Tony before stopping.
He swiveled, making eye contact again. "Zee-vah." - Firmly challenging her on the partial truth.
He had noticed the small Israeli flag on her desk last evening and its continued survival through today.
"Alright." – Very carefully. "I was….somewhat concerned."
"OK." He nodded then posed the extrapolation – Ziva liked logic. "And when was the last time that happened?"
Abby had preached a touching, heartfelt sermon in her guise as unofficial 'Team Gibbs Emoter'. Before the drive to the conference, Eli had revived reminiscences of her past when Ziva and he were constituent pieces of the same sum - a family. Like looking through an old photograph album at a different time - when he had simply been her father. The thoughts had all chimed with her underlying sense of want.
Ziva shook her head, a puzzled look in her eyes. She couldn't remember.
"When he was leaving, he told me he had lost something." Her head dropped. "His job had taken something from him. My father said he worried that it was gone forever."
Her foot traced a circle in the floor and Ziva surveyed its route for a few minutes. "I believe he was sincere. At least, it appeared honest." There was a mix of idealism and bitterness in the remark.
Tony moved a pace nearer. "Dad showed me a photo of me and him taken when I was a kid, before my Mom died….Says he looks at it every morning."
Intrigued by his revelation, Ziva looked up at him.
"Do I believe him? Probably not." Tony smiled philosophically. "But there's a part of me that wants it to be true….."
He stopped uncertainly. Usually, Tony disguised anything that could be even remotely misconstrued as depth. "It'd be stupid to pretend that part didn't exist."
He gave her a searching look. "There's….there's a part of you that….uh wants Eli to care. And that's OK."
The observation was extremely tentative because if his guess was off he could be flat on the floor within seconds – and not in a good way.
Ziva was staring at him intently. He was doing it again. The gnawing, lonely stress and wearying struggle of the past few days was lifting. Tony seemed infinitely capable of providing a foundation from which she could derive balance. It was perplexing.
"Did you just imply that I am stupid?" Her charge was lighthearted; an attempt to contain the intense mood which had sprung up between them.
"Well kinda." Tony grinned, seizing the reprieve from tension. "No stupider than the rest of us though."
Ziva definitively undermined her earlier success by inching closer, unconsciously seeking the support.
"If my father was referring to me….it would be confusing." Briefly, Ziva contemplated the snack-vending machine as if it might also dispense advice.
Then she glanced up at Tony. "I do not know whether to believe him, which makes it difficult."
"Not really. He is your father – you can't control that. Same with Dad and me." He shrugged carelessly. "If he cares or not doesn't matter. What counts is the bit of you that cares if he does."
He smiled at Ziva with amused affection. She could defuse bombs, assemble and disassemble numerous weapons - practically in her sleep. She was highly intelligent, an excellent investigator and multi-lingual. Ziva could expertly perform a myriad of other functions. She couldn't handle a basic human need – the interaction of emotions. The unruly and insubordinate quality of feelings baffled and alarmed her. They suggested - had resulted in - destruction and insecurity.
Tony didn't trust Ziva's father and he neither knew, nor cared if Eli was seeking redemption. Tony was fascinated by the shift in Ziva's resolute distance; the barely perceptible admission of vulnerability behind the barriers.
"It's like this." His index finger sketched along the outline of her Star of David pendant. "It means something 'cause that's all part of who you are, Zee-vah."
She didn't wear it for religious symbolism. It was a statement of cultural and personal identity. That part of her individual history which remained unchanged - both the good and the bad. Tony's comparison was cleverly drawn. However, his physical demonstration was an astonishingly terrible idea. Her skin was soft, she was wearing one of those low-cut tops again and Tony's fingertip lingered. It also remained intact - he pulled his hand back awkwardly.
"I gotta get this stuff signed then I'm out of here." Tony picked up a folder from one of the tables, tucking it under his arm. As he strode away, he half-turned. "Hey, maybe I'll run into you at Dulles."
Ziva hadn't moved, she was watching Tony pensively. "You will not see me."
Tony grinned victoriously because she'd fallen for the tease. "I'm kidding."
"No, Tony. He is not coming." Ziva gave a small sigh. "The plans were altered at the last minute."
Tony halted and swung around completely, the grin evaporating.
He was on the verge of walking back to her when Ziva's quiet order forestalled the movement. "You will miss your flight."
In the recesses of his mind, a quiet voice begged Tony to make a link. The whisper was drowned out by the multiple reactions which shot into the forefront of his thoughts. Puzzling, disloyal relief; Ziva and friend wouldn't be shacked up in her apartment. Disappointment because she appeared disappointed. And anger; the son-of-a-bitch had let her down. Tony was very familiar with the burdens and constraints of an unpredictable schedule – that also came with the badge. However, there was a clear remedy; leave arrangements in the realm of the permanently unfixed.
Ziva was looking forward to celebrating her first Thanksgiving as an American citizen. Her friend would have to be brain dead not to notice. Tony's ire – fair or not – was born of a prejudice against broken promises. His principle was simple; don't make the promise unless it's a sure thing. Very few things can, actually, be considered sure; Tony subscribed to the standard limit agreed at death and taxes. And so his rule could be reduced further. Don't make promises - ever. Tony applied this theory liberally in many areas of his life. It was also a bilateral intolerance; there were only a handful of people whose word he accepted as a guarantee.
"Hi." Tony's greeting was too full of spur of the moment geniality.
He opened the refrigerator, retrieved two bottles of beer and placed them on the table.
"Tony." Ziva's reply was too full of carefully polite neutrality.
There was a deathly silence on the 'phone.
She opened a closet – surveying the contents. "Are you enjoying yourself?"
Tony began rummaging through a drawer for a bottle opener. "Yeah."Unsuccessful, he pushed it closed.
"Apart from the flight delays and severe thunderstorm watches. I mean, it's November for Christ's Sake." He was, after all an East Coast boy.
"It snowed here." Ziva considered her wardrobe of coats and jackets. "Only a smitter."
"Smattering." - Spontaneously grinning as he made the correction, trying another drawer.
"Well it is chilly." Ziva frowned, lost in her process of choice.
There was another cringe-inducing gap. They were conversing about the weather.
"What are you up to?" – Slamming the drawer shut.
"Waiting for Penni to collect me." Finally selecting a coat, Ziva pulled it from the hanger. "We are going to a birthday party for Ben, one of the Australians."
Ziva had a number of acquaintances at the Israeli embassy; Penina was P.A. to the Cultural Attaché. In the vaguely cocooned world of the overseas missions to any cosmopolitan city, friendships always cross and overlap – everyone is away from home. Tony usually lost track of the various nationalities, where all the connections worked and who was sleeping with whom.
He remembered Penni was dating a guy from the Argentinian delegation. The Argentinians participated in an informal Rugby sevens league with – amongst others – the Australians. Tony winced at her announcement. She would have fun. She wasn't home alone and hadn't gone to help McGee with paperwork. Nevertheless, Ziva was spending her American Holiday amidst the cheerful nomadic tribe which encompasses the entourage of the Diplomatic Corps. The irony was painful.
"What about you?" – Choosing a scarf.
Tony stood in the middle of the kitchen, scanning the cluttered counters. "Right now…I'm looking for…a goddamned opener."
Ziva smiled; picturing the frustrated scene in her head from the note in his voice.
There was a third toe-curlingly awful pause.
Ziva walked over to the window and peeked into the parking lot. "I think she is here."
"OK. Just wanted to wish….uh the American Ninja a Happy Thanksgiving." – Making fun of her nickname and sounding ridiculously casual despite the minor stumble.
Tony had almost called her 'my' American Ninja – abandoning the personal pronoun at the last second.
In the background, Tony heard her door buzzing. "Tony?"
"Uh-huh?" - Glancing over his shoulder when Juliet reappeared in the kitchen, tapping him on the arm with the misplaced bottle opener.
There was another interval; though this one was filled with inexplicable mutual anticipation.
"Thank you." Ziva pressed end instantly - before she told him she missed him. And then she answered the door's insistent call.
Tony tossed his cell onto the table, preparing to open bottles.
"No, not there." Working space was already at a premium. Juliet raised a questioning eyebrow at the 'phone's visibility as she handed it back to Tony.
"Sorry." Tony stuck the offending article in a pocket. "Had to check-in with the office, there's a case on…."
Years as a police officer's wife – from beat cop to Chief - meant she knew the routine. If there were a case Tony wouldn't be drinking beer, watching a football match. And, especially given the sophisticated nature of his job, if there were a case he'd still be on the 'phone – arranging transportation back to D.C.
"How is she Tony?" Juliet sympathetically interrupted him – as good friends will do – before he completed the patently idiotic excuse.
"Which one?" – Tony grinned wickedly; nonchalantly brushing off the inquiry with his reputation for a string of girlfriends.
Juliet fixed him with a stern look. She had never forgotten the summer night he pitched up, out of the blue, looking horrible. So dreadful in fact, the next morning she had hastily arranged play-dates plus sleep-overs for the kids. And told Tom she would divorce him on the spot if he offered Tony the merest whiff of alcohol. For two days his friends had provided an understated, solid refuge whilst Tony wrestled personal tragedy and pulled it together. He hadn't really spoken of the event; basically just told them Ziva was dead.
Accustomed to losing colleagues and friends in the line of duty, they hadn't pushed for details. When Ziva had risen Lazarus-like weeks later, Tom and Juliet were enormously relieved. Again, the specifics were minimal. Although this time the reasons seemed to be the result of 'classified' information – not Tony's inability to talk about the subject.
Tony wilted under the 'don't-bullshit-me-I've-known-you-too-long' stare.
He shrugged in sheepish acknowledgment, smiling ruefully. "She's had a tough couple of days….but Zee-vah's doing OK."
"Good." Juliet glanced pointedly at the t.v. which was playing a music channel. "Now shoo - else Tom'll come in here and we'll never eat."
Tony collected the beer and obeyed her banishment. "Niiice bootleg."
As Tony's voice floated from inside, Juliet shook her head over the seamless transition from sensitive worrier to enthusiastic fan. Occasionally, she debated persuading Tony to open up about Ziva. She always talked herself out of the idea. Meddling in the love-life of others was never a sensible activity.
They had to achieve the relationship and manage the progression by themselves – otherwise it wouldn't work. Unfortunately, Tony and Ziva were particularly incompetent when it came to this assignment.
Many thanks for the reviews – you are truly lovely readers! Please do keep letting me know how this is going if you get a chance. Likes/dislikes, what worked/what didn't – any comments are always very helpful.
Thanks also to the alerters – hope you weren't disappointed. As ever make of it what you will and hope you enjoy the read.