So begins the current season.

Thanks for reading.

Disclaimer never changes.

I don't like hospitals. I guess it started when I used to come to visit my mother.

My father would walk into to my room and announce, 'Junior, time to go.' A man of few words, well, to me anyways. I would have to stop the task at hand. He would wait in my room for me, follow me and then slide next to me in the back of whatever expensive car he had just bought.

We would visit my mother every other day. Some days were better than others. She is the reason for my love of movies. My father loved my mother so he would watch them and recite lines to me. (When she was still alive) Sometimes, she fixated on movies; next thing you know, the entire house would be remodeled and redecorated. I slept in a bedroom fit for a French prince and had nightmares. Thanks, Mom. She called me "Le Petit Prince." She kept us together. Without her, I had nothing to say to my father. I was eight.

I remember leaving the hospital after she died – my father looked at me and said, "Now what, Junior?" I was eight. I didn't know. I still don't.

The nurse came in to ask me if there is someone she should call. I say Gibbs. I don't even want to drag him into this but I'm treading water here. This isn't like the deep undercover work Jenny used to task me with. This is much deeper, with more repercussions and a director who won't quit. I don't have to say anything about it, he knows something is up. The thing I admire most about Leroy Jethro Gibbs is that he doesn't quit. Especially if it's his team.

He asks me, what happened? I keep repeating, I don't know. He says there may be someone that can help. Dr. Kate's sister. I just look at him. He's going to call her no matter what I say. I fucked up. I was played. I have no idea how the fuck to get myself out of this mess. Maybe that was the plan. I own you. Know it. Accept it. Comes with the detail.

I begin to remember the photo. The mole. The reason our team has been one short. The reason I've been off the grid. The reason I've been playing golf. (Poorly.) I can remember all that. But the fucking person who shot NCIS agents, I can't.

Per the assignment, I had to retrieve something from the Squad Room. The team was talking about Ziva's credentials. No more Probationary Officer David. Special Agent David it is. I am so proud of her. Really.

"Oh! Probie, no more. Who am I going to pick on now?"

"I am sure you find something else to pick on me about."

"In the meantime, Tony, we are now equals."

"Equals, huh? Careful what you ask for."

"I'll take a raincheck. . . I have some homework to do. But, ah . . . have some fun, David. You've earned it."

Fucking special assignments. It was bad enough I missed her citizenship ceremony. Now, I have to miss the celebration of her becoming an Agent. A raincheck, how fucking lame does that sound. You've earned it. No, shit.

I can feel her eyes follow me to the elevator along with Gibbs and McGee's. A part of me wants her to run after me, corner me, flip the emergency switch and have there face to face. She'd prod and I show my resilience. But she doesn't come after me; she just let's me go. So I stop the elevator, by myself, and just stand in there for a minute. I think of all times we've been in here through the happiness, the tears, the jokes, the campfires, the dinner theaters for one. Yet now, I'm standing here by myself when Ziva should be here, too. Just her presence has to be enough – even if it's just in my mind.

"You have time for me now? She actually looks upset as she answers the door. "Come to cash your raincheck?"

"Ziva. . ." I know this sucks. Not being able to tell my team anything. The people I depend on, the people who depend on me. I stop going to the office because I have been tasked to do the impossible. Well, it feels impossible. A deep-undercover assignment from directly from SecNav. I can't say a fucking thing.

"Do you know how badly I want to tell you what is happening? I can't. I trust you, I do. But I can't tell you. Know that I'm protecting you. You have to know that. I tried to get out of this assignment. But I can't."

Playing golf is not exciting but since Secretary Jarvis enjoys it, I have no choice. I used to play when my father would take us to the south of France for the summer or wherever he needed to be. All the golf jargon, so much information passes on the links, so many political discussions are talked about, reviewed and resolved on a course. Out in the open. A bag of clubs, hoping you choose the right one for where you want your ball to land. There are do-overs but they are marked. Everything is recorded. Another tally. Another person keeping score. Fuck that.

"What if you don't come back?"

"Me, not come back? You'd miss me too much. I can't have that."

I hand her a wrapped gift. "Wrapped it myself."

She smiles. She unties the bow then goes for the tape. She's a careful unwrapper. Most people just rip the paper off. I figured a ninja would but now she's a NCIS agent, things change.

She utters the title accentuating every word from the back of her throat, "The Best Years of Our Lives." She was reading it again silently, like she was missing something. She looks up at me waiting for an explanation.

"My mother's favorite movie. Harold Russell won two Oscars for his role. That had never happened before. Also, he was veteran. Lost his hands in combat in 1944. Started AMVETS. I think my mother had a crush on him."

"You don't talk about your mother much, Tony."

"I don't need to. I have the memories. . . you don't either, by the way."

"I didn't know your mother. . . Are you going to watch this with me?"

"I would love to but I can't."

"Tony." She says as she catches my gaze. "Be careful."

"I expect a full review, Agent Dah-veed." Just like that, I turn around and head back to the world of undercover.

"Why do you think you keep getting involved with dysfunctional women?"

"What?"

"Well, the women you date are, well. . . messed up."

"I date all kinds of women."

"You know, I think you're drawn to them because you want to help them."

Help them because I couldn't help my mother? Every other day, watching her try to respond to my questions. We would just sit here and watch movies. We didn't have to say anything, we all laughed at the same parts. Sometimes we cried. But we did it together. Just like the family I have now, except that I can't tell them anything without risking there safety.

The only woman who has been a constant in my life is Ziva. Do we know everything about each other? No, maybe that's the fun part. Discovering new things everyday. I'll spend all my days learning if I have to. I've known her almost as long as my mother. What does that say about me? Us? Our relationship is definitely complex. But it works for us. Most of the time. She's home.

I remember the first time I met Dr. Kate's sister. I was standing over the body of an XO. It dawned on me who she was and she asked me, "What do you see when you look at him, Agent DiNozzo?"

"Man works his whole life. Dedicates himself to his job. And he has nothing to show for it."

"How does that make you feel?"

". . . Afraid"

Who the hell isn't afraid?

You know, I had a dream. I dreamt I was home. I've had that same dream hundreds of times before. This time, I wanted to find out if it's really true. Am I really home?