Pivotal Moments

A/N Yes, I am continuing this, although the chance this will happen on your TV screens in September is remote at best. BTW, the last chapter (Aliyah: Tel Aviv) was the second chapter I posted last Wednesday and from the traffic it seems that because it didn't pop to the top of the list a lot of readers couldn't find it. Or maybe half of you gave up after the chapter before, but I hope not! So check it out if you haven't, or this chapter won't make any sense.

This chapter takes place sometime during the montage at the end of Aliyah. Settling in in Tel Aviv, Ziva begins to face the consequences of the last few days of her life.

______________________________________________________________________

Tel Aviv

"Ziva."

She ignored him, watching the plane fly off, willing herself not to cry. Her father's hand took hold of her elbow, his fingers digging into her skin until she flinched and turned to him.

"Come ride with me."

She tensed against him, wanted to say no, wanting to pull away. But she had to be his good daughter now, it was the only way to stay safe. Ziva turned to him with a smile, trying to seem only mildly nostalgic. "It's hard to say good-bye after so long," she said softly.

Her father tilted his head, studying her. Ziva could remember looking up at him like this as a child, waiting for his approval, sure that he knew every detail of her inner mind. He'd seemed omnipotent then, and she'd been drawn to that, to the sense of surety and power he exuded. Not until later, having become her mother's daughter instead of her father's, did she understand the danger of being so close to that power when she had no influence over it.

"Go home then," he said gently. "Take tonight and tomorrow to recover yourself and adjust to the time change. I'll see you the next morning."

"Thank you," Ziva said formally. Her father leaned forward and kissed her gently on the center of her forehead, and she was surprised by the gesture. It had been so long since there had been any spontaneous gentleness in this man.

Eli released her elbow and walked back toward his car, and Ziva turned back toward the plane, but it was gone. She walked to the other car, got in and gave directions. She could still feel the plane, flying off toward home, could already feel the absence of Gibbs and Tony and McGee and Abby like a sinking grief in her stomach. Closing her eyes, she sank into the cold, blank exterior she'd been trained to present. She was Mossad again.

***

She picked the lock to the apartment, found a note from Rebekah: Working overnight, back in the morning. Love you. Ziva sighed with relief. She wanted to see her friend, but she had so much to process in the meantime. In the last 72 hours she had slept with Tony, lost Michael, narrowly avoided being blown up, conspired to commit espionage and treason, and gone into a deep undercover op among people who would not hesitate to kill her. Ziva laughed tiredly, hysterically, as she listed the recent traumas in her mind. Dropping her bag beside her bed, she laid down and slept.

Ziva woke in darkness. She looked at her watch in confusion for a moment before realizing she hadn't reset it after leaving DC. She added seven hours. That made it...four o'clock in the morning. With a sigh she scooted up the bed to rest her head on the pillow.

After several minutes of shifting and stretching, she gave up. So much for adjusting to the time change. Ziva rose, washed up, and wandered into the living room. Now wide awake, she noticed for the first time that beside Rebekah's note were the cellphone Gibbs had given her and a newspaper folded open. She scanned it quickly before her eyes landed on the notice Rebekah had surely intended for her: an obituary.

Michael Rivkin, son of Oskar and Sara Rivkin, died two days ago at the age of 38 and is survived by his mother and younger sister, Ruth.

The simple sentence overwhelmed her, and she sank into the couch, clutching the newspaper. The other details had been falsified—the obituary claimed he was a banker, that he had died of a heart attack while traveling. She wondered how much of the truth his family knew, hoped that they had been spared the sight of Michael's body. The last sentence took a full minute to register: Shiva will be held at his mother's home. The next lines gave her address.

As her brain wrapped around the words, Ziva found hot tears welling in her eyes. How exhausted and lost she must have been to tell Ducky that Michael's body need not be treated as religious rites dictated. Shouldn't it have occurred to her that it might be important to his family?

Her guilt and grief and disorder drove Ziva into motion. She searched through Rebekah's room for running clothes and threw them on, took to the streets and ran.

If asked, she couldn't have repeated back the Rivkins' address, but quickly enough she found herself there, just as the sky began to lighten. Ziva retreated into an alley opposite their house. It wasn't upscale or fancy, but it was well kept, and she could imagine Michael as a child, playing in the narrow yard.

She drew back further as the front door opened, and a woman stepped out in a nightgown and bathrobe. Her hair hung limply, and Ziva could see despite the distance that there was a deep tear in the fabric of her nightgown, on the left side, above the heart. This was Michael's mother. Sara. She walked further into the yard, seeming confused, then located the newspaper. She stared down at it for a long time before stooping to pick it up.

***

When Ziva reentered the apartment, she found Rebekah bustling about the kitchen. She stopped at once as Ziva came in and rushed to hug her. Ziva rested her cheek on her friend's shoulder, grateful for the comfort.

"Went for a run?" Rebekah asked gently, pulling away and wrinkling her nose at Ziva's sweaty form.

"I went to see Michael's family," Ziva said softly, looking away.

Rebekah at once put her hand back on Ziva's shoulder. "Are you alright?"

Ziva shrugged, honestly unsure. She took a seat at the kitchen table, while Rebekah poured her a cup of tea and sat down beside her.

"So, I met Gibbs," Rebekah said after several minutes of watching Ziva sip her tea.

Ziva smiled reflexively. "What did you think of him?"

Rebekah's eyes sparkled. "Quite attractive. When he first told me he worked with you at NCIS, I wondered if he was Tony."

Ziva clapped a hand over her mouth before she could spit out her tea from laughing and Rebekah giggled.

"They are very different," Ziva said when she could speak again.

"And why is it you need this phone?" Rebekah asked, humor gone from her voice.

Ziva looked her over carefully. "I could get you in trouble by telling you."

"You think I care?" Rebekah's tone hardened.

"No," Ziva's voice was inversely soft. "But I want to be sure you understand."

Rebekah nodded. "Alright, then. I understand. Clearly your old boss wouldn't be giving you a secret cellphone if everything was above board with your Dad. So tell me what's going on."

Ziva took a deep breath, then began, laying out the last several months of romance and intrigue with Michael, stopping at his death. She left out Tony for the time being.

Rebekah cocked her head as Ziva finished, and raised her eyebrows in a way that Ziva knew from long experience meant she was preparing for sarcasm. "Didn't I tell you not to sleep with Michael?" she asked wryly.

Ziva laughed, a hint of wildness creeping in.

"So what's with the phone?" Rebekah asked when she'd calmed.

"The Americans also want to know what my father is up to. I'm working for them still, though without his knowledge."

Rebekah nodded slowly. "I figured."

Ziva shrugged. "So that's that." Her voice wavered just a bit, surprising her.

Her friend noticed at once and reached out to take her hand. "What's wrong?"

Ziva took a deep breath, swallowing tears.

"You're upset over Michael?"

She shook her head, then shrugged. "As much as everything fell apart, NCIS still feels like home to me, and I had to watch them fly away, Gibbs and Tony. And Tony..." she didn't finish the sentence, but raised her eyes to Rebekah, communicating with a single look of pleasure and guilt and fear of judgment what had passed between them.

Rebekah studied Ziva for a long moment. "I asked you last year if you loved him."

Ziva shook her head. "Don't ask me now."

Rebekah slid her chair closer so she could wrap her arms around Ziva again. "With any luck, you'll be back there sooner than later," she said softly.

Ziva nodded, resting contentedly against her friend.

After a moment, Rebekah pulled away. "Okay," she said firmly. "You go shower while I eat something, then come sleep with me. It seems like you could use some snuggling."

Ziva smiled, relaxing, and followed orders.

In the bathroom, stripping off her running clothes, she stiffened as she saw her reflection, saw the lingering traces of her encounter with Tony. She ran her fingers over the faint bruises on her hip, then sighed and turned to step into the shower. If only she could wash them away too—there could be nothing distracting her in the coming days, or she'd never see him, see any of them, again.