And here it is... the very last chapter of NCIS: Apocalypse. It's been a long journey, but we made it! This chapter is dedicated to all the lovely readers who left reviews, particularly those who continued to poke me until I posted again. Because without them, it very well could have taken me even longer to finish.

Enjoy!

Eli David was not a patient man. Nor was he a benevolent one, particularly when something occurred that was outside the realm of his control. It was why he had refused to speak to his daughter in the years since she had chosen to leave Israel, leave Mossad, leave him to remain with the juvenile team of one Special Agent Gibbs. And it was why he had been in a state of constant rage since America had fallen to a computer virus.

As the months passed, then years, with the United Nations failing to do anything more than watch as fires burned in American cities and oceans of blood were spilled in the dark corners of the country, his rage grew to the point that he told his insertion team that they would return with his daughter, or not at all.

Now he sat waiting in front of his computer screen, his fingers tapping harshly on the smooth wood of his desk. The screen remained dark for several minutes, but when it flashed into life he was greeted not by his daughter, but by an empty chair set in a tactical tent. Somewhere, off in the background, the speakers transferred low voices, and then a body moved into the frame, making the feed crackle as the motion jarred the faltering signal.

His daughter sat delicately, in that way she did when she would rather be anywhere else. But she did sit, and she did look into the camera with a fierce gaze no one else had ever been able to master.

"Shalom, Papa."

"Ziva…" Her eyes—so like her mother's—were sharp and clear, but split by a roping scar that reached from hairline to chin. And a mark, foreign in its design, darkened her temple and framed her right eye. She'd been damaged; he could see it in the glint of her eyes, the angle of her chin. But her strength remained in the fire he found in her gaze.

"You're alive," he stated.

"I'd noticed," she drawled, ignoring his attempt to slip into Hebrew. The English was as insulting as her tone, and he silently cursed the influence of Leroy Jethro Gibbs. "I was touched when I heard you sent your goons after me."

"I was concerned for your safety—"

"So you send a tactical team five years after the world goes to hell." Her voice was biting. "Your concern is heartwarming."

Eli took a deep breath. "Come home, Ziva."

"I am home," came the surefire response. There was no hesitation, no second thought.

"Your place is here—"

"My place is with my family. With my husband," she taunted, her eyes glinting, "and with my daughter."

Eli's heart skipped a beat. No, her family was here, in Israel. In Mossad. She could not have started a family there, in the bowels of hell. She knew better—

"I Survived years of torment to keep them," she was saying, her voice tight with coiled anger. "I am not leaving them. Not for all the comforts you could offer. So don't waste your breath barking orders at me. You have nothing but words. My family is everything."

Her fingers motioned a kill signal across her throat, looking to someone offscreen. The video blinked out, but not before Eli heard the low timbre of another voice, one that had plagued him for years before America went dark. Gibbs. The man who had destroyed his son, polluted his daughter—stolen his family's legacy. Even now, he didn't even have the decency to die with the rest of his cursed country.

But the voice of Ziva's mother whispered in the back of his mind, accusing him that he had brought this upon himself.

"You just hung up on the Director of Mossad."

Ziva snorted at the awed technician, forcing herself to ignore how plump he looked. That was all she could see in the warriors who had sought them out. Not their well-trained muscles, not the fine quality of their gear, but the safe layer of emergency energy stored in the fat under their skin. It had been years since she or anyone else here had such reserves.

"I hung up on a man pretending to be a father," she countered icily. "I do not have time to listen to a man sitting safe and warm behind a desk an ocean away."

A warm hand on her shoulder announced Jethro's approach, and she leaned into him, welcoming his support. He'd tried to make her wait, see what else her father had to say… she hadn't listened. She knew he wouldn't hold it against her; he'd only played the devil's advocate for her sake. "He won't ever understand what happened here," he said softly, rubbing her shoulders as they left the tent together.

"I don't think any of us truly will," she returned. "But it doesn't matter anymore. We have enough to worry about now without agonizing over the past. We're safe, we have shelter, and we have the stability we need." That Tali needed.

Staff Sergeant Michaels was waiting for them, a respectful distance from the tent. Ziva liked Michaels. He'd been so sheepish when it turned out his helo ride had been sponsored by the Director of Israeli intelligence, and that she was the one they'd been sent for. Her gaze flitted towards a lonely placard near the tree line, bearing the name of the man whom the staff sergeant reminded her of. Ethan would have liked what they had here. And he would have laughed his head off if he'd heard her conversation with her father.

"We've spoken to our superiors at the Hague," Michaels reported. "They want to discuss the possibility of your helping us rout out the rest of the gangs up north."

Gibbs shook his head, his hand tightening on Ziva's shoulder. "They can discuss all they want," he responded. "But my men aren't mercenaries. I'm not going to let them die for the President's gain. Let him use the Army for that."

"That's pretty much what I told them you'd say," Michaels smirked as he started walking with them. "So they came up with a different idea. About how many people do you think you get through here?"

Ziva's brow arched. "As many as twenty or so a month, but most don't stay here." It was surprising how many people had become used to be vagrant. Even now, it unsettled many to remain in one place for too long. The threat of gang violence still hovered over many. But between the Sanctuary and their sister location three days' hike deeper into the mountains—a site now run by Tony and his Rosie—they did see a fair number of Survivors.

"Someone came up with the idea of starting a log of people who come through. And I know what you're thinking," Michaels headed off when Ziva felt Gibbs tense in protest, "you guys value your role as being independent and neutral. But I think you might be able to negotiate the idea to your advantage."

Ziva glanced at him. "How do you mean?"

"Well, you guys have a lot of people still looking for friends and family right? What if you guys asked anyone coming through who they've seen and what they've heard about different areas of the country?"

Jethro and Ziva shared a look. That was something they could start doing on their own, without the support of external governments. They already had a memorial wall of sorts, laden with pictures of the fallen and letters to those who might yet live.

"I mean, I think the President's already starting to realize that no one's really going to appreciate a whole bunch of soldiers coming to take everything back over. Right now he'd settle for the most basic of information."

Ziva felt Jethro give a silent scoff. He knew as well as she did that as far as any of them were concerned, the President longer had a country. No one cared why he didn't issue aid instead of martial law; all they knew was that when the fires died out, the President and the rest of the government were nowhere to be found.

"You could find out where they could send relief efforts, and where to send troops, depending on the reports from the area," Michaels continued. Then he shrugged. "But it's just an idea. You can do battle with the suits whatever way you like. I just follow orders." He winked at them. "But for the record: I like what you're doing here. It's a good thing, and from what I've seen so far… this country could do with a bit of good."

What could they say to that? The staff sergeant only had a vague sense of what they'd been facing for years. But he meant well enough, Ziva supposed. "You're right," she said. "We'll think about it."

"But in the meantime," Jethro hummed pleasantly in her ear, "there's someone who I'm sure has run Abby ragged already." He pressed a kiss to her hair. "She's gotten used to having you around all day."

Ziva grinned as they peeled away from Michaels, heading towards their home. It still stood in the center of the camp, grand in comparison to some of the newer homes they'd built. It had taken time to get used to it, but now she couldn't imagine residing anywhere else in the camp. It was her home, Jethro's home, and Tali's home… and they could afford to become attached to the place. That was greatest blessing of all. Ziva's nightmares were fresh enough that she remained acutely aware of how easily it could all disappear.

As they approached the house, Jethro loosed an ear-splitting whistle. Ziva elbowed him sharply for the lack of warning, but ultimately grinned when she heard the tell-tale patter of little feet pounding against hardwood. A second later the screen door slammed open with a bang, and Tali charged full-tilt towards her parents.

"Mama!" Ziva lunged forward just in time to catch the flying leap off the porch, and slung Tali upside down for a moment before righting the child who was roaring with delight laughter. "Mama! Is it time for the picnic?"

"You bet it is," Ziva answered happily. "Why don't you go find your Big Bear and we'll head over to the Garden, all right?"

"Okay!" Tali squirmed down and then dashed away, just as her Aunt Abby and Uncle Tim stepped out onto the porch. A small basket hung from the bend of Abby's elbow, and Tim had blanket draped over one arm.

"You two ready?" Jethro called.

Abby responded by bouncing down the stairs and hooking her free arm through Ziva's. "Yep!" Ziva rested her head against the taller woman's shoulder, inviting Abby to snuggle closer. "This has been too long in coming."

"Tell me about it," Tim chimed in. He clapped a hand on Jethro's shoulder in greeting. "And it's a good thing we're doing it now. With everything that's happening, I think things are going to be getting a whole lot busier around here."

Ziva took a deep breath. It had taken her a long time to get used to the relaxed nature of the Sanctuary, and now that she was used to it, she dreaded the chaos that seemed sure in coming. Jethro squeezed her hand reassuringly.

"We'll take it one step at a time," he said. "Nice and slow. We won't forget what's important."

"Family first," Abby supplied. Jethro nodded.

"Always."