Thanks, per usual to JSQ & Cindy for feedback

Mexico is nice for spring break. All the drinking, laying on the beach and chasing the girls around in their bikinis – that's the Mexico I remember. I came here every year, different beaches but the atmosphere was still the same.

But now when I have to head south of the border, I'm missing the beaches and the drinking. I don't have to come here as much as Gibbs. He will be tied to this shithole forever. I don't find fault with his decision to seek revenge on the person who claimed the life of his family – his heart. Fuck, I would've done the same thing. Actually come to think of it, I have my own Mexico. Somalia.

I imagine that if I get flashbacks from being there, Gibbs' mind must fucking be shattered. He leaves the Gulf on the last day of service and when he gets home, his world has changed. Worst news ever. When you were defending your country, Gunny, your family was killed. I wonder if the last moments he had with Shannon and Kelly play in his mind; the things he could've done differently, the things he should've said, the extra seconds of hugs he should've held onto.

We are different, though, because my heart is still beating. I feel my heart skip beats when I look at her every damn day. Gibbs, well, he only has memories.

Whenever Vance says, "Agent DiNozzo, I need a minute," I know my plans are ruined.

I step inside the Director's office. "Sir?"

"I need you on the next flight to Mexico. Observe and report."

"Who, Director?"

"Alejandro Rivera. . . DiNozzo, wheels up in one hour. You better get packing."

With that dismissal, I go back to my desk and contemplate whether or not, I should let Ziva know I will miss her ceremony. A broken promise. At least I already got her a gift, something that will prove to be useful. That should sweeten the deal, right?

I made a promise. A promise I would be there when the ninja officially became an American. (What do I say to the Director? Sorry, Leon. I can't fly to Mexico, send someone else.) I'm just following orders. I hope she knows I would rather be with her, watching her as she recites the Oath of Allegiance, making sure she doesn't stumble on a word and cause me to break into a laughing fit. (I know it would not be appropriate.)

Another fucking plane ride. I don't know what is worse, sand wise: Somalia, Arizona or Mexico? I have a checklist and all of them are terrible. I have hours before I touch down to begin my assignment.

I didn't tell Ziva I was leaving. I didn't have time to tell her in person. I suppose I could have called her, but that didn't seem right. "Oh, hey Ziva. You know how I promised I could go tomorrow. Yeah, I'm in Mexico now. See you when I get back." Ummm. . .yeah. I don't think so. What is she going to think? Maybe she'll be so nervous about it that she won't notice I'm not there. I feel like she knows that I'll disappoint her. Is there ever going to be time that I can tell how I feel?

Being alone in a C-130 gives a man a lot to think about. It's brings back the memories of Ziva. The first time we left her with her father in Israel. One short. That of course, leads me back to joyful experience of hell on earth. Not knowing she was still alive. The fury, the rage, the sadness still clings to my insides. I've done a pretty remarkable job trying to not think about it, to let it go, to not let it take hold. If I'm thinking about it, then Zee-vah has to be. There's no way around it. We don't talk about it, but I know.

I manage to sleep on the plane, which gets easier with this job. Being able carve out time to clear my head and go to a place of no thoughts, no demons, no expectations.

Rivera is about five feet in front me. I'm walking through the street market, not caring about the fruits, or the jewelry. . . oh wait, Ziva might like that. . . guys carrying umbrellas, and kids running. Oh, there he is - my buddy Alejandro, stopping to talk to some lady about an apple. I mean come on, really. This is what I'm here for. Should I write down that he seems to be enjoying it?

I continue to follow him. Still angry, because he's just walking around, nothing wrong yet. Plus, he's an officer of the law here, highly regarded. I'm supposed to be dressed in my Ermenegildo Zegna suit, standing next to Ziva while she pledges her allegiance to the United States and finally becomes a citizen. Yet, here I am in jeans and a khaki safari shirt following Alejandro Rivera around this shit town. How detailed does he want me to be?

Then I get pushed against the wall by Mike Franks.

Before I know it, I'm on another plane, heading back to the comforts of home. Home.

I can't let it go. Alejandro knew we were following him. I can't stop watching the video of Franks getting shot. Alejandro fleeing the scene. Law-enforcement, my ass. I'm lucky that Somalia is behind me, no one is coming to get me. But people are after Gibbs and that doesn't fly. This entire situation involves all of us. You take one away, we are less effective. I suppose that's what being a family is all about.

Rules in the 40s, they don't come very often. (Which is a good thing) But when there a slightest whisper that a rule in the forties will be uttered it can only mean one thing - shitteth has hitteth the fan.

I'm here with Gibbs myself. It reminds me of when I first started but we have other people now and they are on vacations. McMounty is still in Canada and Miss David gets to be in Miami with good sand and beaches. But Gibbs needs her back, so she saunters back into the office complete with a straw hat, a glowing tan and the smell of ocean and shea butter. The smell of heaven, a place I'd rather be than here.

"I don't see any tan lines."

"I don't have any tan lines."

My head goes to the clouds. No tan lines. I would've rather been in that sand with her. Okay, relax – someone is trying to kill Gibbs' and everyone close to him. I need to concentrate. The smell of ocean and shea butter are distracting, though.

But Ziva is back, and she met someone down there. I don't like that – do I have a right not to? I haven't made my intentions known. It can't be too late.

After all . . .tomorrow is another day.

Thank you for reading. Let me know what you think so far. . .