Thank you for all of your lovely comments and reviews; they make me happier than Abby with Caf-Pow, and that says a lot. It really does mean so much that you are all still reading, and enjoying the one-shots.

Shalom to you all!

Drink

Tony had always had a somewhat tentative relationship with alcohol. After watching his father pickle his own liver as a child, he'd sworn never to drink. Of course, then he'd been introduced to the boarding school, then college lifestyle, and there were many a night he couldn't remember, or had spent in a drunken haze, much to his delight. The nights spent clubbing, and drinking, as he'd grown older seemed to tick on and on, until one particular morning. He'd awoken up on his floor, smelling of bar, and smoke, and general stale. His hangover had lasted nearly two days, and he'd finally been forced to admit that he was no longer a party-loving teenager; more, a party-loving middle aged man. It had been a large blow to his pride.

Ziva, on the other hand, tended to avoid much to do with alcohol; she believed it was possible to have an extremely good evening minus a large intake of the stuff. Not that she didn't enjoy a glass of wine, or perhaps a cocktail or two, but just that. She had her own vices, and alcohol was far from it.

So with their children, there had always a slight butting of heads. Tony was far more lenient, a beer here, a glass of wine there, much to his wife's chagrin. It had taken a long time for Tony to convince Ziva that, yes, the law did state 21, but surely one beer while they were watching the game wasn't out of the question for their eldest at 18. And Abi was a young woman, a glass of wine on her birthday was perfectly acceptable; Timmy's desire to sip a glass of bourbon, however, was quickly denied by both parents (Tony was more afraid there'd be boats in their basement next). Tony fought that a relaxed approach to drink would ensure that, when the time came for parties, the children were less tempted to push the boundaries, and more responsible with their drinks.

At least, that was his idea. However, his children had always had a horrible way of surprising him. So it was that, at 2am as he dozed happily, Tony's cell began to vibrate. Groggy, he picked it up, glancing at the name; it was his eldest. Awareness suddenly came to him; Tony had been a party, promised to be home by 1. He silently slid away from the bed, praying to some God somewhere, that his wife remained asleep, and crept into the hall, flicking open the phone, voice barely above a whisper.

" Tony?"

" Heeeeey! Dad! Pops! Old man! How are ya!"

" Tony what the...how much have you had to drink?"

" Not muuuch, I swear! Just some beer. Oh, and the guys were doing jaegerbombs, you know how good those things are? And margaritaaaas, and tequila shots! One tequila, two tequila, three tequila, FLOOR."

Tony felt himself mentally Gibbs-smacking the boy.

" So where are you?"

" Umm...gas station at 4th? I kinda wandered off and tried to get home..."

" Tony, that's 15 miles away!"

" Pro-athlete Dad! I'mma proooo!"

" I'm coming to get you kid, stay where you are."

Tony hung up with a sigh, creeping back into the bedroom to grab a pair of sweats and a tee, holding his breath in hopes of his wife staying asleep; she could be furious in the morning, not at 2am. He crept downstairs, cursing the floorboard that creaked slightly, and scaring himself silly as the front door clicked. Once inside the car, and pulling out of the drive, he focused on his son. The gas station at 4th. He could've sworn the party was the other side of town.

As he pulled in to the gas station, Tony initially panicked; there was no sign of the boy. Pulling up and getting out, however, the pounding in his heart he hadn't even noticed beginning calmed, at the sight of his eldest leaning against the side of the station shop, having a conversation with the empty newspaper stand.

" So I said to her, babe, you've got a fine pair...and she slapped me. I thought it was quite charming."

" Didn't you ever pick up those one-liners I taught you?"

Tony Jr's face lit up, enveloping his father in a large hug, before somewhat collapsing on him.

" Easy, kiddo. Let's get home huh?"

He wrapped an arm around him, carefully helping him over to the car, seating him in the passenger seat and clicking his belt on. Once in the driver's seat, Tony leant down, pulling a fast food bag out, and handed it to his son.

" Woah Dad. It's like...EPS. PSE. ESP! I'm starving..."

Tony couldn't help but chuckle as he began the drive home, radio on in the background, his passenger slurping happily on a large milkshake and chowing down a double cheeseburger.

" So, a good night then?"

The younger DiNozzo nodded furiously, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand.

" Yeah, awesome! We played Ring of Fire, I remembered all your tips, the girls had a wet t-shirt contest. Kirsty McSmith, I mean..."

He wolf whistled, holding his hands in front of his chest with a rather crude gesture of impossibly large breasts. His father chuckled, shaking his head, running his tounge over the front of his teeth.

" So how come you end up this far away, off your face and alone?"

Tony froze in his impersonation, glancing over at his father, who simply looked back, catching his eye with an eyebrow raised, before fixing his own back on the road.

" Dad, I...I'm sorry."

Tony said nothing, his eyes still fixed on the road as he spoke.

" You know? I remember this one time, when I was home from boarding school? I must've been...16. Maybe 17. Went to a friend's birthday, and ended up hardly able to walk. My dad, he wanted nothing to do with it, told me to get my own way home or find someplace else to sleep. Wouldn't even send one of the guards out for me. Ended up sleeping in someone's bath tub..."

His son snorted, stuffing his mouth full of fries.

" There'a point to th' 'tory?"

Tony shrugged.

" Nah, not really. Just...reliving my youth. And don't apologize, it's a-"

" Sign of weakness."

That brought a smile to the elder's face.

" I've taught you well kid."

There was a comfortable silence between the two, before the younger, somewhat sobering up now, spoke.

" You ain't mad?'

" Should I be?"

" Well, you had to come out and pick me up, I'm not quite sober, it's 2am, you've got work tomorrow..."

" So...?"

Father and son looked at each other again.

" It's my job, son. I'm your old man."

" I'm drunk?"

" C'mon, Tony. I didn't grow up in a convent. Sure, I'm a little disappointed you got in this state and wandered off. We'd never have known if you'd been kidnapped. But as for the drink? You're a kid, live a little. Do some shots, dance your ass off, make out with some hot blonde, stumble home. I'd be more worried if you weren't."

His son sat back, amused, and clearly relieved. As they pulled up in the drive, Tony flicked the lights off as quickly as possible and motioned for his son to be silent.

" Your mother was asleep when I left. Work this right, you can be in your bed and just feeling a little under the weather tomorrow, alright? I don't think they did tequila shots in Israel..."

With expert precision and care, learnt through combined years of sneaking in after nights out, or stealing midnight cookies, the two DiNozzos crept upstairs, one stumbling and using the other as a crutch. It took less than two minutes to get the boy in his bed, and he was almost out cold, sprawled out and snoring happily. Tony chuckled softly, leaning down to kiss the teen's forehead and tug his duvet up around him.

Slipping back through to the master bedroom, stripping and sliding back into bed next to his (thankfully) still asleep wife, he breathed a sigh of relief. Ziva rolled over, snuggling into him with a content sigh, and Tony had just closed his eyes when he felt lips at his ear.

" More responsible with his drink, right?"

Tony groaned, as wife laughed darkly, rolling back over. He hated it when she was right.