Tel Aviv /Herzliya. 9 November 2002

'Anything I should know?'

Gibbs asked the question just as a motorbike cut in front of Ziva and, instead of replying, she swore loudly and let out an angry blast on the horn.

'Idiot!'

He didn't think it was a good idea to point out that she had done exactly the same thing just a few minutes before, and waited until she had turned onto the highway out of the city before he asked again.

'Anything you wanna tell me before we get there?'

She looked over at him, smiling.

'She does not bite, if that's what you mean'.

'It wasn't'.

'Yes, it was. But I promise you do not need to worry'.

'I'm not'. He paused. 'Eli gonna be there?'

Ziva snorted.

'I very much doubt it. He has not made it home on time for dinner in over ten years. I do not think he will start now - even for you'.

'Hmm'.

Maybe, he reflected, it was just as well. The few dealings that he had so far had with Ziva's father - who also happened to be the Deputy Director of Mossad - had left him uncertain as to what he thought. On the one hand, the way that the man seemed to consistently place work above family did not sit well with Gibbs. He had gathered from Ziva that Eli's attitude had put considerable strain on his marriage as well as on his relationship with his children, and that attitude was not one that Gibbs could easily understand. On the other hand, he knew that the pressures of Eli's work had to be considerable, especially in a country where security was so dangerously fragile.

And, to be fair, he didn't really know the man well enough to judge him.

He thought he could probably foster a decent enough working relationship with Eli David. But dinner...well, that might have been stretching it a bit far. For now, at least.

Zva continued talking, breaking his train of thought.

'And I am sorry, but she threatened to bring dinner to us if we did not go'.

Gibbs chuckled. He wasn't really worried about meeting Ziva's mother - in fact, Ziva seemed more concerned about it than he was. Perhaps she knew something he didn't. But he was hardly a tongue-tied teenager anymore, and meeting the parents wasn't exactly a new experience. And he had to admit he was curious. Ziva had not spoken of her mother much but, when she had, he had got the impression that Rivka David was a formidable character.

He was almost looking forward to it.

They were heading out of the city, north on Highway 2 towards Herzliya, and the traffic was still quite heavy. Rather than watching the tail lights of the cars in front getting heart-stoppingly close before Ziva pulled out to overtake, Gibbs turned to look out of the passenger window at the glow of the city outskirts. It was just past six in the evening, but darkness seemed to come quickly here, with none of the prolonged sunsets and dusks that he was used to. It had taken him by surprise the previous day, when it had been full daylight as they had prepared to leave the office. Half an hour later, the sun had already fallen behind the buildings and into the sea.

They had ended up going for a drink in a small bar near the Mossad headquarters with Malachai and Ben, and, although socialising with colleagues was not usually his strong point, it had been a good opportunity to get to know his new team a bit better. Watching, listening, and occasionally joining in with the talk and the banter had, he thought, given him a pretty accurate first impression. And, based on that, he didn't think he could have asked for much more. He had found himself liking both Malachai and Ben; although they were very different, both in their styles of working and in their professional strengths, they were complementary to each other and he thought that they would work together well. They had both been friendly enough without being over the top. And, most importantly, they both had a good attitude. He had no worries about being in the field with either of them.

There was just one thing that had been niggling at him, but since Ziva had been working all day while he unpacked, he had not had a chance to broach the subject.

'You and Malachai'.

He closed his eyes briefly as Ziva pressed her foot on the accelerator to overtake a goods truck. Thank God, he thought, that he didn't get car-sick.

'Malachai?'

Her brow wrinkled before she realised what he was talking about.

'Oh. No. Well, not really'.

'Not really?'

'Once. It was nothing'.

Gibbs had guessed as much. He had seen Malachai's record, and knew that Ziva had chosen him for no other reason than that he was a very good agent. He did wonder, however, whether Malachai thought of it as 'nothing'. Something in the other man's eyes yesterday evening had made him suspect not.

'And he's ok with this?'

'Of course'.

'Hmm'.

Gibbs hoped she was right...but he decided not to worry about it unless Malachai gave him cause to.

There was just one more thing he wanted to clarify.

'Who's the other one?'

'What, the other team member?'

Gibbs nodded, even though, for once, Ziva was looking at the road and not him. A fifth desk had been set up in the office, and he doubted that it had been put there for show.

'That is for you to decide'. She smiled briefly at him before flicking on her indicator to turn off the highway. 'If you stay, that is. Maybe someone else from NCIS'.

'If?'

'You do not have to stay if it does not work out'. Her tone was teasing, but he knew she was serious. 'You do have a choice'.

He didn't reply, but watched her as she drove through the suburbs of Herzliya, finally turning into a residential street and pulling up outside a detached house that was set back from the road. Switching off the engine, she turned to him and took a deep breath.

'So we are here'.

He nodded and, sensing that she was far more nervous about this than he was, leaned over and gave her a warm, reassuring kiss.

Something told him that, where Ziva was concerned, he was already too far gone to have a choice at all.

It was past midnight by the time Gibbs found himself, once again, looking out of the car window at the city lights flashing past, his hand reaching over to rest on Ziva's knee. The traffic was light now, and he smiled at the window as he felt her fingers gently entwine with his on her lap. It meant that she was driving one-handed, but he suspected that she did that half the time anyway.

'So'. Ziva glanced over at him. 'How bad was it?'

'Not bad'. He turned his smile from the window onto her.

'Not bad?'

'Pretty good'.

'Hmmm'.

Ziva sounded disbelieving, but there was a smirk of satisfaction on her face as she turned back onto the highway that would take them to Tel Aviv.

'I did tell you that she did not bite'.

'Yeah. You did'. Gibbs squeezed her hand, but hesitated for a moment before continuing. 'Coulda warned me about Ari and Aisha, though'.

Ziva chuckled quietly, and inclined her head in acknowledgement.

'I did not know for sure that they would be there tonight'.

'Yeah, you did'.

She looked over at him, a thoughtful expression on her face, before turning her attention back to the road just in time to overtake a silver Audi that was crawling along in the inside lane.

'Remind me of that in future'.

'What?'

'That I cannot lie to you. You catch even the little white ones'.

'Good to know'.

As he waited for her to elaborate - or not - he reflected on just how like her mother she was. For some reason, he had always assumed that she took after Eli, and that her strength of character, her occasionally fierce temper and her drive, her determination, all came from him. Now, he realised, she had got them not just from Eli, but also from Rivka.

He had not known what to expect. He had been surprised, firstly, at how tall she was, slightly taller even than Ziva, and at how athletic she still looked at the age of sixty. Her hair, cut short into a stylish bob, was now streaked liberally with grey, but he guessed that it had once been the same lustrous brown as Ziva's. And the dark eyes and the enticing smile were almost identical.

What had really struck him, however, was her personality. In the six hours that he had just spent in her company, he had discovered a forceful, strong character with a sharp tongue and a wicked sense of humour. Not so very different from Eli, whom Gibbs suspected could be the life and soul of the party if he chose to be. But he had also sensed a deep compassion in Rivka, the kind that could only come from a life that had seen pain, and loss, and hardship first hand. He had not yet seen that in Eli.

In a way, it broke his heart that he could see it in Ziva too.

Rivka had welcomed him warmly and, without seeming to try too hard, had made him feel at home. So much so that he had not felt awkward when she had walked back into the dining room after the meal, and seen him looking at a framed photograph that could only have been of Ziva's younger sister.

'She is not a taboo subject, Jethro'. A light touch on his arm, a knowing smile. 'You can ask'.

'Ziva told me'.

A slow nod, as Rivka looked contemplatively at the photo.

'You must have seen death a lot in your job. Like Eli and Ziva'.

He had not known what to say to that, so in the end he had just nodded.

'So you must realise that sometimes it is the one thing we cannot protect our loved ones from, no matter how hard we try'.

He had immediately recognised that comment for what it was. It was not a defensive remark from a mother who felt like she had failed to protect her youngest daughter from a suicide bomber. It was a veiled reminder of what he was getting himself into. Of the fact that he would not be able to protect Ziva no matter how much he wanted to. And of the fact that he was now essentially living in a war zone, and that he would not necessarily be able to protect anyone else either.

For someone who didn't take to others particularly easily, Gibbs had decided very quickly that he respected Rivka, on a far deeper level than just that of ordinary politeness. Instinctively, he trusted her. And, after an evening in which he had laughed and talked more than he had done in a long time, he decided that he liked her.

The only sightly awkward moment in the evening had, fortunately, been over and done with quickly. Rivka had left them in order to go and get some drinks, and Ziva had led him through the hallway and into the living room. He had watched, slightly puzzled, as her face broke into a wide smile. The dark haired man who was sat on the sofa stood up and hugged her tightly, his own face creasing into laughter as he released her and saw the happy look on her face. Still with one arm around him, she had turned to Gibbs.

'Jethro, this is Ari. My brother'.

Gibbs had been quite proud of himself. As far as he was aware, none of his shock or surprise had made it as far as his face.

'Half brother'. A quick correction from Ari.

But the twinkle that Gibbs had seen in his eyes, and the indulgent expression on his face as he looked at Ziva, suggested that while the 'half' might have been technically correct, it was generally ignored.

'Details'. An airy dismissal. 'Is Aisha here?'

Aisha, it had turned out, was Ari's wife. Petite and dark, very quiet, but with a slightly musical voice and a bubbling laugh that, when she allowed it to escape, seemed to infect everyone else as well. Gibbs had guessed that Ari was around thirty five, but Aisha was younger - probably, he had thought, just a couple of years older than Ziva. Over dinner, he had learnt that they were both doctors at the Hadassah hospital in Jerusalem, and that Ari specialised in emergency medicine while Aisha was still training, working on her surgical rotation. But living and working in Jerusalem, hectic work schedules and the pressures of the ongoing conflict meant that they didn't make it over to Tel Aviv nearly as often as they wanted to.

'It is like a different world'. This from Ari. 'When you are settled, you must come and visit us sometime'.

When Gibbs had said that he would like that, he had found that he meant it.

Now, though, settled in the car and with the quiet space to think, he couldn't help wondering whose child Ari was. Eli's, or Rivka's? The physical similarity to either of them ended with his height and his dark hair, and he was just about to ask when Ziva spoke again.

She had obviously decided to elaborate.

'I did not deliberately not tell you about Ari'.

He looked over at her. She was looking straight ahead, one hand on the steering wheel and the other still held in his on her knee.

'I just did not think you would be meeting him so soon. And it is a...well. A slightly complicated situation'.

'All families have them'.

She smiled.

'Ari is my father's son'.

So that answered one question.

'With an Arab woman. He had an affair while he was undercover, not long after he had married my mother. She was from Gaza. I do not know if she is still alive, but she decided that she did not want her child growing up in a refugee camp. She asked my father to take him when he was born, and my mother agreed since they thought that she could not have children of her own. At least, that is what we were always told'.

Gibbs narrowed his eyes slightly.

'You don't believe it?'

She shrugged, and slipped her hand out from underneath his in order to put her indicator on. They were coming into Tel Aviv.

'I have no reason not to, really. And she loves Ari like he is her own'.

So it was her father that she wasn't sure about. Did she think that perhaps Ari's birth mother had not wanted to give him up in the first place?

But when she moved on, he didn't press the issue.

'Ari is ten years older than me. We were always close, he loved playing the protective older brother'.

Gibbs smiled. He wondered whether little Ziva had liked that as much as Ari. Deep down, he thought, she probably had.

'He's not involved with Mossad?'

'Yes and no'. Ziva paused. 'He does not officially work for us. But...he works in the emergency room at Hadassah. It is used by both Israelis and Palestinians from the West Bank and East Jerusalem. And people do not seem to watch what they say in that kind of environment perhaps quite as well as they should do'.

'You mean he's an informant'.

'Occasionally, he hears things, which he passes on to me'. She shot Gibbs an ironic smile. 'It's the only time we ever get to see each other any more, just the two of us'.

He nodded. Ironic indeed.

'And Aisha is an Arab-Israeli. She is an Israeli citizen, but most of her family still live in Gaza and getting permits to cross the border is all but impossible at the moment. It's hard for her. She and Ari have only been married two years...it was the year after Tali died'.

Evidently, Gibbs thought, he had been wrong. Not all families had situations as complicated as that.

'She know he works for you?'

'He does not...' Ziva paused, before deciding not to argue the point that Ari didn't technically work for Mossad. 'No. And that was Ari's decision. Aisha is clean. But he did not want to burden her with that'.

Aisha is clean...Of course.

It would be embarrassing, to say the least, if the Deputy Director of Mossad's daughter in law turned out to have ties to terrorists.

'Have I had the background check yet?'

Ziva glanced over at him, a small smile on her face.

'No need. NCIS had already done the job for him'. She paused. 'So, have I put you off at all?'

He couldn't help chuckling. It was certainly a lot to take in. But for someone as special as Ziva...it would take more than that to put him off.

'Why'd you think that?'

'You have moved to one of the most troubled countries in the world, and become involved with possibly one of the most...how do you say it? Ballsed up?'

His chuckle became a full-on laugh.

'Screwed up?'

'Yes!' She sounded triumphant. 'With one of the most screwed up families you could find. Are you not having second thoughts yet?'

Gibbs was still laughing, but he didn't hesitate with his reply.

'No'. He reached over and ran his fingers quickly, lightly through her hair.

'Not sure I ever will'.