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, little jump forward in time. I'm still setting up the pieces for the whole end of S8 bit – so apologies if you're getting bored with the wait? This is a bit fluffy and maybe a bit angsty – in fact I'm not really sure how it turned out…

Note; I know as much about American Football as I do baseball = very little! Also on 'The Polar Express'; I know it's not a new movie but they do re-release it [here at least] in IMAX theatres during the Holidays.

And the usual for the background details….

"Grief is the price we pay for love"

Her Majesty Queen Elizabeth II

January 2011

Contrary to the popular proverb, virtue is not always its own reward. Tony was reminded of this fact the very first weekend following his trip to Missouri. The 'Unsub.' was in Maryland for some job-related reason. And he had invited Ziva to join him for a long weekend on the picturesque Delmarva Peninsula. It may have been a lucky coincidence or he may have been trying to make amends for the Thanksgiving debacle. In Tony's estimation the motivations were irrelevant. From the minute Ziva arrived at the office on Monday morning, it was evident the 'friend' had transformed into the 'boyfriend'. With all the rights and privileges bestowed by that prefix – only there was definitely nothing boyish about the progression.

The development provided Tony with several sources of grief. The first was practical. Whilst away, Tony had pondered his meeting with Eli David. He was uncomfortable with not being completely open with Ziva. He was still somewhat baffled by the confrontation; unsure of Eli's purpose and its significance. Nevertheless, Tony intended to keep his promise that he would tell Ziva once he'd figured it out; he simply had to find the right moment. There was also the possibility Ziva would be able supply an alternative interpretation of the matter. Tony's noble plan backfired; he'd wanted to minimize any upset for Ziva – until he had sensible answers, or any answers. Unfortunately events overtook Tony before the opportunity presented.

Now it was no longer a case of vague warnings about an acquaintance. Now it would be Tony drawing a question mark over Ziva's lover; with the punctuation supplied in large part by Eli. The notion was likely to be received with less welcome than the visit of a debt collecting pædophile. And Tony was extremely reluctant to spark the argument. The inevitable quarrel would be pointless, bruising and detrimental; he had no actual proof. Furthermore, at present, he and Ziva seemed more adept at avoiding the really nasty fights; preserving that détente was eminently desirable.

"Hey Ninja, you ever watched a movie in IMAX?" They were walking slowly down a gallery in the National Museum of American History.

"No." Ziva was scanning a guide pamphlet; occasionally looking up and around with a small frown of concentration on her face.

"What is IMAX?" She'd heard the label but never really paid much attention to its meaning.

"Well, it's technical - basically it's bigger, much bigger and louder." Tony pulled out his 'phone and began searching the listings. "And it can be kinda cool for the right movie. There's a screen here."

It was 2nd January. They had met for breakfast and Ziva announced they should do something – to mark the beginning of a new year. Tony suggested the Smithsonian – the day was cold so inside seemed a smart idea. He took her to see the Hope Diamond; she liked diamonds. Tony was yet to meet the woman who didn't and he conceded the jewel was an impressive chunk of rock. In addition, he always got a kick from Ziva indulging what he termed her 'girl streak' – he did draw the line at viewing the antique dolls' houses display. Then she insisted they visit the American Art exhibit where, despite sleep walking through parts of the galleries, Tony revealed himself to be not quite the total Philistine he portrayed.

His parents' marriage had been a classic old money meets nouveau riche scenario. Tony's mother came from an old East Coast family – respectable, cultured and refined. She was a genuine Daughter of the American Revolution - who had fallen for the charm of the wheeler-dealer businessman descended from Italian immigrants. Tony had spent much of his childhood in one of the wealthiest hamlets on Long Island. And although that particular aspect of his life had been abruptly curtailed, his mother's background clung to the edges of his consciousness – he knew a little about art and American historical culture.

"Here they are." Ziva had acquired her target and her delight showed in the smiled exclamation.

Finally after a long lunch, Tony persuaded Ziva they should hit the National Treasures of Popular Culture collection next – his original idea behind the museum. They had wandered through rooms of movie, t.v. and a host of different types of memorabilia. Ziva was familiar with some of the items and their associations, not with others and simply baffled by many. Here Tony was in his element; simultaneously explaining the Americana – in categories of the truly great, the not-so-great and the dear god why – whilst mocking her fun-challenged, sober upbringing. And he was entertained when Ziva expressed sweet determination in seeing Dorothy's ruby slippers - so they'd tracked them down.

"Um, maybe not IMAX, this evening anyway." He seemed slightly disappointed upon discovery of the options.

"We've got space pictures from the Hubble. That's gonna be full of stoned college students." – Grinning at the first movie's likely audience and attempting a swift slide over the next. "Some narrative thing on Arabia."

Ziva was interested in history so that choice might be attractive – which meant Tony would probably be taking a nap in the theater.

"I believe I am sufficiently familiar with the Middle East." Ziva drily took the hint with a little smile – spotting his dodge.

"Or 'The Polar Express'." He grimaced. "And that'll be full of screaming kids and pissed off parents."

The breakfast rendezvous was an unforeseen side-effect of Ziva's sleeping with Ray. Tony and Ziva had begun socializing with each other – it had started innocuously with the annual West Point versus Annapolis football game in December. She had never attended a football game which Tony declared un-American. He promptly inveigled tickets and they passed a whole Saturday either in transit or in Philadelphia. She hadn't really followed the contest's finer points – Tony's best efforts notwithstanding - only managing to keep track of the Center because he was the guy who snapped the ball and the Quarterback – he was the guy who did most of the throwing.

However, Ziva was intrigued by Tony's playing days, how he'd broken his leg and she made a mental note to ask Tony if he had any photos of himself wearing all the kit. He still had the physique and carried himself with the easy self-confidence of a natural athlete – although Ziva convinced herself she only noticed because it was an important detail for assessing professional capabilities.

The match was followed by a couple of casual meetings; lunch one weekend and, one night dinner and a movie. Because she was dating someone, because Ziva was in a relationship, the after-hours time couldn't be viewed as violation of The Rule; they were just friends. And much to their surprise, Tony and Ziva found they actually mixed rather well outside of the Navy Yard.

There were still squabbles and disagreements over anything from where they would meet, who would drive or which parking lot to use. At several points en route to and from Philly, Tony would have happily ejected Ziva from the car – and she would have willingly slit his throat. Nevertheless, by virtue of the fact the practice was on-going, clearly they enjoyed being together – which was, essentially, the equivalent of playing with gasoline and an open flame whilst blindfolded.

Ziva glanced back at the famed shoes in the case. "We could always order take out and watch…."

"Uh-uh." Tony shook his head; one step ahead of Ziva and looking even less enthusiastic than he had done over the family film.

"Why not?" She demanded, a little indignant.

"'Cause it's a musical." – With a trace of 'do you really have to ask' in his voice.

"It is a classic is it not?" Ziva's smile widened and she looked up appealingly. "I thought you told me a classic movie is one which can always be re-watched."

"Yeah, well I've already seen 'The Wizard of Oz' more than once and I'm a straight male." He couldn't help grinning at her obvious tactic. "There's an acceptability quota for some movies and I've reached the limit for that one."

"Tony, you took me to see a movie about ballet." - Pointing out Tony had persuaded her to accompany him because Ziva had taken ballet classes as a child.

Tony wasn't certain when the transition from regular girl to lethal weapon had taken place. Yet she still possessed the poise and deportment instilled by the dance lessons. He usually only witnessed the finest manifestation of Ziva's balance and timing during fights with suspects. However, though he mightn't admit to the pleasure, Tony loved simply watching her move.

"Which had hot girl on girl sex in it so I rest my case." - Outrageously charming in his shallow excuse. "How 'bout a regular theater and 'True Grit'?"

"What is that?" Ziva sounded dubious.

"It's a Western." Aware it would be a hard sell – she didn't like the genre.

"Cowboys, ugh." She wrinkled her nose in complaint. Chilling out over wine, food and a streaming version of 'The Wizard of Oz' seemed a much more alluring prospect.

Thus far, this type of conversation was the sole downside to these encounters; the end. There was always a degree of shared, anonymous reluctance over separating and a peculiar air of thwarted ambitions.

"Jeff Bridges, the Coen brothers, plus it's Gibbs with an eye-patch." Tony cocked his head and shrugged. "What's not to like?"

"Mmn." Ziva thought for a few moments, unconvinced. "Tomorrow is Monday and I think I am still jet-lagged; another night?"

This was the second of Tony's woes. Not only had her relationship escalated; it was blossoming at a fairly rapid pace. Granted she'd known the man since the summer. However, following one weekend at the beginning of December, Ziva had flown to Europe and spent Christmas with her boyfriend; who was apparently traveling on business. Employing unused vacation days, she'd been gone a week on what appeared like a very romantic break.

The knowledge engendered a curious reflex of loss within Tony. Creating an elusive feeling that something had been taken from him; except Tony couldn't quite identify either the missing piece or the cause. He'd resisted the temptation to initiate a search for any hotel or travel reservations in Les Deux Alpes made under Ziva's name. Tony only discovered the resort because Ziva told Abby who told McGee who'd let it slip a couple of days after Ziva left. Partly because the idea smacked of Eli's spying. Partly because Tony knew if she ever found out, Ziva would shoot him – without hesitation. Mostly because such a strategy would be a betrayal of her trust; the trust he valued so very much.

"A rain date….check. I meant rain check not a date." - Hastily making a superfluous correction.

Either word was adequate for conveying her meaning and Ziva's confused amendment served in underlining the awkwardness. There was an unspoken accord in place. Under no circumstances should their interactions be referred to, conceived of or perceived as 'dates.' Of course, neither Tony nor Ziva articulated why this distinction was so vital.

"I got it, Zee-vah." Tony grinned at the muddled English and the frustrated smile.

"Not next weekend, but sure some other time when you're not gonna be….uh busy?" The grin became exceedingly suggestive and was augmented by an equally unsubtle look.

"He is still overseas and will not return until later this month." Ziva held his gaze steadily; both annoyed and amused by Tony's attitude.

The advance to a fully fledged relationship with Ray had been sudden but relatively straightforward for Ziva. From the very beginning, Ray had made no secret of his attraction toward Ziva and, during the weekend getaway, launched a very thorough, exceptionally smooth seduction. She was tired of the single life. Being wanted – desired - felt wonderful and soothed the hollow ache for which she was seeking a remedy. There is an excitement surrounding any new relationship and Ziva was merely enjoying the safely uncomplicated thrill.

In an obtuse twist, the pre-Thanksgiving talk with Tony had spurred her decision. Ziva was activating her caring side and taking a risk. Somehow Tony knew, without being informed, that she was sleeping with Ray - the realization was irritating and disconcerting. Which denoted their discussions about Ray always became rather charged. Moreover Tony seemed to dislike him without knowing anything about him, not even his name – and that also increased tensions.

"Jesus. That's a long trip." – Trying to sound innocently concerned and not like he was prying.

Ray had been in Spain when he made the offer of a French Christmas and now his assignment was taking him to the Far East – although Ziva was ignorant of the precise destination. The requirement for obscure agendas was part of being a C.I.A operative – one she didn't question based upon her previous life in Mossad.

"It was extended and we should go." Her short answer effectively ended any further elaboration on the topic.

Inwardly Tony cursed her dismissal. On the surface, Eli's apparent misgivings over the 'Unsub.' should count as a vote of confidence for her boyfriend – in a 'my enemy's enemy is my friend' type of way. After all, Ziva's father had never managed anything even approximating approval of Tony. Nevertheless, a nagging doubt remained; what if Eli's warning was accurate.

Tony was still determined to enlighten Ziva should the chance arise. He hated keeping Eli's involvement secret and would like nothing better than to debrief Ziva with the all of the elements. All but one; he would omit her father's opinion on the nature of Tony's affections. Tony classified the theory as merely an attempt to rattle him; although he stopped conveniently short of analyzing why such conjecture should be disturbing.

"This is just like 'Goldilocks and the Three Bears' 'cept with blood splatter and shell casings." Tony's falsely gleeful proclamation floated into the bedroom.

He moved to one side as Ducky and his assistant maneuvered the body-laden gurney through the doorway.

"A little to the left if you would be so kind Mr. Palmer. No, your left." Ducky patiently advised.

"Yes, Anthony, many folktales have their origins in cautionary fables. And, although we do not yet know the exact circumstances, it would appear caution would have been most appropriate in this instance." - Indicating the corpse with a smile.

Palmer looked up. "Did you know, Dr. Mallard, Pinocchio was actually meant to frighten children into being truthful?" - Making a cheerful contribution and scraping the woodwork in the process.

"Yes, Mr. Palmer, I did." Ducky sighed. He enjoyed the chitchat with his apprentice; occasionally he wished Mr. Palmer could be a little more intellectually stimulating.

Undeterred, Palmer carried on. "And 'Snow White and the Seven Dwarves' is really about…."

"Necrophilia and height diversity?" – Tony sarcastically terminated the lesson and a slightly stunned Palmer began backing down the hallway.

With his path clear, Tony entered the room. "Still Zee-vah's found her Prince Charming." There was a mocking edge in his voice. "You could be Ray's Rapunzel."

Finally, he had a name. Making the discovery wasn't especially gratifying; when the 'Unsub.' had returned from abroad, she'd immediately traveled to see him. Ziva arrived back in the bull-pen glowing, looking very happy and ridiculously gorgeous. Significantly, she'd given a name whilst listing Ray's considerable attributes. And the worst moment was the faithful defense; 'I promise you Ray is a good man'. The entire description had made Tony's heart sink.

She turned around, narrowing her eyes. At times, recently, Tony had been very moody and since the revelation of her boyfriend's first name, the obliquely critical teasing had been relentless. The omens presaged another series of sharp skirmishes.

"I have always preferred 'The Nutcracker'." - Tilting her head with a tight smile and shooting a meaningful glance at Tony's crotch.

"The identities are confirmed; Chief Warrant Officer Tara Andrews and David Foster – the homeowner." McGee had cross-referenced the data from the portable fingerprint app. "He owned a local chain of auto shops."

Gibbs appeared after a quick consultation with Ducky outside the property. "Preliminary cause is GSW. Someone tell me something I don't know."

His impatience was justified. The two bodies were found, in the bed, with starkly brutal head wounds. If another cause of death emerged, bizarre wouldn't come close.

"Foster's clean. Divorced a couple of years ago, he has a daughter studying…." McGee checked his information. "Engineering." - Nodding his head appreciatively. "She's in her final year at George Washington."

Gibbs grunted. "Andrews?"

"Single, never married and there are no problems in her service record. She was a good Marine." Ziva outlined the dead woman's history in four bare points.

"According to Metro, Foster filed for a restraining order against his ex. about twelve months ago." Tony looked at his boss and raised his eyebrows. "The Court's verdict was; don't be a pussy."

"Looks like they were wrong." Gibbs' terse comment indicated he'd grasped Tony's point. "Andrews involved in the divorce?"

Tony shook his head. "No. Neighbors say they'd been dating since the summer. She just picked the wrong boyfriend."

He glanced over at Ziva, grinning slyly. "Relationships can be deadly. Does your Ray of Sunshine know he's sleeping with an assassin?" - Deliberately needling her with the joke.

Before she could retort, Gibbs intervened.

"DiNozzo, Ziva; you finish up here. McGee; go talk to the daughter." A grim half smile crossed his features. "I'll take the ex. wife." Gibbs had three of his own and they weren't all friendly.

McGee collected his bag, returning the items he'd removed to their rightful places. "Can you imagine finding out your Dad's been killed, in bed with his girlfriend who's also dead - and your Mom's the prime suspect?"

His unhappiness over the assignment was evident. Their boss divided up the 'delivering the bad news' duties based on varying factors. Tony had years of experience and could be relied upon to break the news tactfully for victims. Or, in the case of suspects, drop the bombshell with impeccable timing. Ziva was excellent in gauging reactions although she was uncomfortable with overtly emotional outbursts. And McGee was extremely considerate. Today Gibbs decided the daughter would need the kindness. Additionally, McGee's science geek background may be of assistance.

"It will be upsetting." Ziva offered commiseration, looking over at her colleague. "She will be in shock I think."

Tony was setting up the camera. "Just keep it simple."

McGee winced in protest at the careless advice. The crime was convoluted and being the messenger was an unenviable job.

"That's easy for you to say, Tony. I'm the one who's got to tell her. What if she didn't know her father was dating?" He hovered uncertainly in the doorway, delaying his departure. "She's bound to ask questions."

Tony stopped taking pictures of the bed, a little irritated. "Look, it doesn't really matter how she finds out. It won't change the fucking facts."

"Tony." Ziva was taken aback by the unusually harsh statement.

"You might wanna leave out the girlfriend for now. Plus she's in college – deep down she probably knows Mom's a bit flaky or even clinically fucking insane." Suitably chastened by Ziva's reproach, Tony dispensed encouragement. "And she knows her Dad had a girlfriend."

He waved his hand at a photo montage on the dresser; his talent for noticing minor details displayed again. A compilation of snapshots which chronicled the close, loving father and daughter relationship: from cherubic tot through graduation, Holidays and vacations. The latest entry included the Chief Warrant Officer. There was a perverse angle in knowing the finger depressing the camera's button for many of the photos was, in all likelihood, the same finger which pulled the trigger.

"Thanks Tony." McGee's manner of being a doomed Russian volunteer lifted slightly as he left.

Ziva watched Tony speculatively for a few moments.

"I heard the reports of the bomb blast. I knew Tali was going to that café." She began the recollection carefully. "It was a clear target because of the mix of customers. Tourists, Palestinians, Jews everyone liked the atmosphere."

Ziva continued her inventory of evidence as she spoke. "I had warned Tali but it was popular and her friends were going. She wouldn't listen." - Smiling reflectively at her sister's personality.

"Why am I not surprised your kid sister was stubborn?" This time Tony's joke was purely affectionate.

Ziva laughed. "Not stubborn; Tali loved life, an eternal optimist. Everything would always be fine." The smile became a little sad, matching her tone. "I hoped Tali would be safe. Once the number of casualties started rising…."

Ziva sighed matter-of-factly. "I was prepared for the worst. And Ari, I….saw."

Ziva hadn't ever corrected the belief Gibbs had shot her half-brother. They had decided on the official version and, until he issued instructions to the contrary, Ziva would not break operational confidentiality. The fictitious story was both a refuge and a burden – flip sides of the same coin.

"She didn't pick me up from school." Tony was staring into space.

"She always picked me up from school. And that day she wasn't there." His voice was incredibly quiet.

"It was one of her friends Lily….no Linda…" Frowning, annoyed he couldn't remember all the specifics.

"Lisa, her name was Lisa. She wouldn't tell me where my Mom was. She kept…kept asking about school, what I'd done at recess, what I'd had for lunch. Telling me we'd be home soon." He bit his top lip, shaking his head as if he were still puzzled by the journey. "Which was really dumb 'cause I knew the route."

Tony swallowed, hesitating. Ziva could see the battle between distance and engagement playing in the balled fists, the bowed head and stressed near-whisper. "She was gone, you know, just like that."

For a split second Ziva glimpsed the bewildered, desperate hurt of Tony's eight year old self. A little boy who wanted to be Han Solo when he grew up, struggling with a disaster he couldn't fully comprehend. Whose concept of death vied for understanding with such complex issues as the existence of Santa and why god invented mosquitoes. Whose chief dilemma was weighing the trouble he'd get into against the potential splat: if he threw his decaying jack-o'-lantern out of the highest window onto the drive. And who wondered if his arm was good enough to avoid hitting the cars.

Ziva wondered if the hapless friend's attempt at distracting a child – instead of giving a direct, circumspect answer – had sown the seeds for Tony's uncanny gift in discerning anomalies. The more someone projects normality in a situation, the more likely the chances for abnormality.

Tony became more focused, less lost in reverie. "It was an accident. It wasn't anyone's fault." He made eye contact for the first time. "I've been doing this long enough to know it happens, every day, to someone."

He looked toward the bed with a wry smile. "Christ, it could've been a whole lot worse."

She was almost holding her breath. Standing in the middle of a crime scene, bagging blood soaked, brain-matter smeared pillows and Tony was talking about the day his mother died. He never talked about the subject – ever. Tony rarely mentioned his mother at all. Ziva remembered the fleeting hint at his past in the helicopter. And she didn't want him shutting down as he had on that occasion. The rationalized assessment – from his adult perspective - was an attempt at withdrawal.

"But it happened to you Tony." – Taking a few steps closer, a serious gentle expression shadowing her features.

"She was your mother. That is what makes this different." - Reminding Tony that whilst private pain is constantly replayed in countless ways, each individual's suffering isn't trivial.

He turned away from her slightly. "Yeah, maybe." – His tone was a casual, conversational level.

"No. Definitely." Ziva pulled off the latex gloves, moving around in front of him and refusing the rejection. "Your life was altered forever."

It was a typically Ziva approach; dispassionately stating the truth, placing it within the context of practical impact – not emotional distress. And the tactic worked.

Tony looked down at her. "That pretty much sums it up, I guess. Dad was, I don't know, coping with his own….whatever…"

He rolled his eyes in helpless admission; he had no idea of whether his father was grief-stricken or not. "Had a string of girlfriends. I was always in the way. They weren't unkind, like your standard evil step-mother routine or anything. It wasn't even their fault."

He glanced off her look, thinking back and absolving adults who should have known better. "They were interested in Dad; he was interested in them and…"

"You were another woman's child." Again, Ziva pursued her access point by way of plain appraisal. Tony seemed more responsive if she didn't trespass directly on the incomplete scar tissue.

"Yeah." He nodded. "Kinda like the extras that come on a car. You know the stuff you don't want but you have to take 'cause you want the car?"

There was a touch of cynicism in the analogy. A signal Tony was relaxing, more assured on discussing the topic. "Then Dad got married."

"And they sent you away to school." She was quietly leading him through revisiting the experience.

Ziva remained sympathetically neutral because he would be thrown by a stronger reaction; which enabled the establishment of her unique bond with Tony. Internally, she was amazed Tony had emerged as relatively unscathed as he had done. Whereas Ziva's losses and vulnerabilities had been manipulated and exploited, Tony's had been ignored. His father wasn't domineering or cruel – he was indifferent. Basically, he'd been abandoned – certainly emotionally - and cut adrift to handle the tremendous ordeal on his own.

"In some ways school wasn't so bad though. I mean the school wasn't gonna leave me alone for days 'cause they were closing a deal." Tony stuck his hands in his pockets, looking quizzically at Ziva to see if she understood.

"Or pick out the babysitter based on her measurements and then sleep with her." A faint grin of wicked appreciation flickered. "Although I had some indecently beautiful babysitters, he always did have great taste in women."

Slowly she was assembling the structure. Throughout his formative years women had appeared and vanished with depressing regularity. Initially, he would have been too young to grasp the reasons. Later the pattern evolved as an orthodox behavior – relationships form and fall apart. And, at its core, was the unreasoning, untreated wound inflicted by his mother's death. Ziva realized why first Kate's and then Jenny's death had hit Tony so hard. Both people for whom he cared, both very sudden. However, because she hadn't actually died, Ziva couldn't envision the devastation from her abrupt demise. She wasn't able to complete the links in the chain.

"Then he got divorced, more girlfriends. And by that time I was sick of all the bullshit." These memories brought a flash of anger.

Tony had a temper. It was usually exceptionally well-controlled and there were very few triggers. These days Ziva was the primary fuse. When he lost it, the anger was ice cold, unflinchingly rational and distinctly unpleasant. The discipline must have taken years to perfect. Ziva suspected 'sick of all the bullshit' translated into a period of fierce arguments and conflict.

"Dad wanted me to become a fucking equities trader or a banker. Guess he figured a financier'd come in useful." The remark was accompanied by a disparaging shrug. "I just walked away from the whole fucking deal, went to college on sports ticket and became a cop."

He held her gaze – almost seeking validation he'd made the right choice.

"A very good cop." Ziva smiled warmly. Another undecorated comment delivered with just the right amount of affection.

A veteran Federal Agent with a not undeserved reputation for excessive womanizing would seem an unlikely candidate for empathizing with a High School pupil wrestling sexual identity and homophobia. Yet Tony had recognized the discipline problems as a symptom of some other ill. Sensed the young man was hiding something about the murdered Navy recruiting officer and picked up on a difficult father and son dynamic. The boy's mother had died; he was searching for an escape from a troubled home life.

"It's weird. I don't even know if they were happy." Tony smiled philosophically, leaning against the wall.

"No-one ever knows if their parents are happy – as children we see our parents as parents." Ziva shrugged at the strange nature of familial interactions.

Her parents had separated when she was nine. She didn't understand the causes for the rift completely until a few months ago.

"They do not become people until we are older." She returned his smile and conceded her own confusion. "And then sometimes we see things we would rather not learn."

"I miss someone I never knew, not really anyway." He closed his eyes for a minute and Ziva could feel his tension building again. He was confessing an intangible and feared it was foolish.

"You knew what was important, Tony." This was Ziva's opportunity for delicately offering an emotional response.

"You have a sense of her and that is what you miss. Your best qualities are part of her." Ziva was gently sincere in the compliment.

Tony had survived - not undamaged – but he hadn't succumbed to the trauma. Through his resilience and integrity Tony forged an admirable life, on his own principles. He fashioned a strong, dependable character whilst either alone or surrounded by chronic instability. The rationale behind Tony's biting contempt for the Devin Lodges of the world – apart from the playboy's generally revolting persona – became crystal clear.

"I do not think they come from your father." – Adding a lighthearted codicil. "The charm? Yes, that is your father's."

He stared thoughtfully at Ziva, finding the conversation inexplicable. Tony didn't know why he'd started talking to Ziva about his childhood – just that it felt good. He was dimly conscious it always felt good talking to her, being with her. Even when they were fighting, there was an underlying sense of comfort, that they were connected.

"Gibbs should've sent you to talk to the daughter, Zee-vah." - Perplexed by his conclusion.

"Perhaps you are the only one upon whom I can have this effect?" Ziva intended the query as a joke – making fun of her alleged inability for empathy.

However, the phrasing was a little misleading. Suddenly, Ziva was acutely aware she did want to reach him because Tony affected her on an extraordinary level.

"How many others have you tried it on before me?" The beguiling self confidence was firmly resumed as Tony tried to dissipate the intimate yet strangely unsettling shift in mood.

"I wonder how poor McGee is managing." - Snapping on fresh gloves, Ziva moved back to the bed. The gruesome skull fragments were disgusting but harmless.

Counter intuitively, Ray's promotion into the role of boyfriend eased the pressure on Tony and Ziva. From a tentative starting point of friendship, they were learning to communicate - without using the Copiale cipher as a how-to manual. And this development was drawing them closer. Naturally, because they were exceptionally gifted in screwing up even elementary progress, it was a case of one step forward and at least seven in any other direction possible. However, some of the mistakes Tony and Ziva made were inadvertently errors in favor – not against – their relationship.

Think this topic might get touched upon in S9 – as it hasn't been so far, I took the liberty of getting creative. Hope it worked.

Huge bunches of thanks for the reviews – you are very wonderful readers and the encouragement is appreciated! Likes/dislikes, good, bad or ugly – any comments are always very helpful.

Thanks also to the alerters. As ever make of it what you will and hope you enjoy the read.