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OK, I'm sorry that I didn't upload yesterday, even though I said I would, but it was crazy busy. but it's here now..? XD
this chapter is dedicated to SilverStella, who understood the Dr Who reference! :D

DISCLAIMER: characters not mine

Chapter 30

Ziva stared at her reflection in the mirror staring right back at her, as if she did not recognising who she was. There was nothing different about her outwards appearance; she was dressed a little more darkly in her reserved black clothing, with her hair straightened so it sat neatly across her shoulders. No, it wasn't her appearance that made her unrecognisable. It was the expression she had on her face.

She stared blankly back at her reflection, for once not categorising what she liked and disliked about her face. Staring right into her dark brown eyes, she searched for an answer in her own reflection. The question was simple. What should she feel? The answer was not so simple.

The day had been inevitable for quite some time, and she should have known that her trip to Israel would most certainly contain this ritual, no matter how long she surrounded herself with loving, caring relatives who welcomed her back with open arms. And yet as the day came, she was almost surprised at its presence. But the event, no matter how uninvited was still a stark reality, and would be for the next twenty-four hours.

Ziva closed her eyes, taking the moment to collect her thoughts and put them in something that resembled order. Tony would be wondering where she had got to, there was only so long a normal person could spend in the toilet without it being strange. When she opened her eyes, motives were not clear. Sighing she turned her back on the bathroom mirror, and unlocked the door. It was time to meet the inevitable.

Tali wasn't stupid. Everyone would tell her that, her teachers, her peers. And she never liked to acknowledge it, thinking that even the mere self-congratulation would lead to arrogance and conceit. No, she was content in deceiving herself that she was mediocre at best. But her intelligence no matter how doubtful was not questioning herself for once. For she was absolutely certain that her big sister was hiding in that bathroom.

Tali was sitting perfectly still on the sofa in the living room, having got changed quickly and efficiently. Out of all the siblings. She was the one least effected by the day. She could not pretend that she had more that distant memories of her father, and even those she had come to question as the time had passed. Had the man who had tucked her in at night been the same one who had sent was siblings off to fight in wars that were far beyond their years? How could the monster he was be so kind and affectionate in her memories? And now, she was not able to meet him, so her adult mind could match the man of her memories and the reality. The loss was of a significance to her. But as her thoughts returned to her sister and brother, she thought that she was the once who had got off lightly in this whole scenario…

Ari paced his room like the cages lion that his name suggested he was. His formal trousers were pulled onto his frame, and his shirt was hastily pulled on. But his tie hung loosely around his neck, the hangman's noose to his impending death. Suddenly he rounded and struck the wall with his closed fist. There was a moment when the world went black and white, as the pain that shot through his hand was the only thing that he felt. There was the refuge that he so desperately sought, the one that meant that the only thing he had to focus on was the pain. The thoughts that raged in his mind were quietened, and there was silence. But as the throbbing subsided, the feeling didn't last forever, and all he was left with was a dull ache in his knuckles. The anger that had possessed him to strike the wall was still there. Why should he honour the death of a man who had caused him such pain for so long? Why should he not curse the man from there to kingdom come? It was his fault that Ziva had nightmares, that Tali never had a father. And yet just because he was dead, Ari was expected to forget all that, and even respect the man? He looked at the dent in the wall that he created, suddenly feeling guilty. His Aunt was going to kill him when she saw what he had done. But that didn't matter at that moment.

He wished that he could talk to someone. But what kind of older brother would he be if he burdened his sisters further. His mother was just about holding it together, pretending that she was not going to miss the man who she had once loved. Love was a bitter friend, one that bestowed kindness onto some, and then refused to let go when the person turned out to be a monster. Ari understood what his mother was going through. But it was different for her. She had married the man, she had made children with the man. And now the man was dead. Ari sighed. He could not talk to his mother about it. She had enough troubles of her own not to worry about her temperamental son.

Reaching for his phone, Ari found himself flicking through his phonebook, searching for someone to call. He had never been one to reach for others in a time of need, but today it felt like it was what he needed. He did not enjoy showing weakness, but then he remembered who had taught him all about weakness. And the very man causing this weakness in character was the one who taught him about it in the first place. Ari almost laughed at the irony of the situation. Karma was a bitch.

Hitting call, he put the phone up to his ear before he could change his mind. It was not logical to shut everyone out. It was not human, no matter what his father said to him. And he was making the first move. He pressed the button, and called the only person he could think of who would understand him.

"Hello?"

"I do not want to go," Ari said, not registering the groggy voice on the other end of the phone, and the confusion that tinged their words until his own had left his mouth.

"Ari, is that you?" the voice at the other end queried.

"Yes," Ari said, trying to figure out why it wasn't obvious.

"Ari, it's 0200," the voice at the other end of the phone moaned, and then he remembered. Time differences between Israel and America. Dammit.

"Sorry I disturbed you so early in the morning. I will let you get back to sleep," Ari said.

"No, no, you've woken me up anyway. Where don't you want to go?"

Ari could hear the shuffling of bed sheets that signalled the voice sitting up in bed.

"It is my father's funeral today. I do not want to go," Ari said.

"Why not?"

"Why should I?" Ari said defensively.

"Is that your only reason?"

Ari had to think about his answer before it came out of his mouth. But before he could say it, he was beaten to it.

"Go. You will regret not going."

Ari smiled. She knew him too well.

"Thank you."

"You're welcome. Now go, I'm going back to sleep."
"Good night, Caitlin."
"Good bye, Ari."

Smiling, Ari hung up the phone. Well that was one problem averted.

oooOOooo

The funeral was surprisingly simple for such a complex man. Naturally, being the director of Mossad meant that there were more international delegates present than in a bad joke. But there were also a large gathering of the David, from cousins, siblings, and with Tali, Ari and Ziva sitting in the front row, children. The synagogue was plainly decorated, with flowers or adornments, things that were deemed unnecessary and frivolous. But as the David's stood, and before the service began there was a silence. And it was in this silence that K'riah was performed.

Ziva had been to enough funerals in her time to know the tradition well. There had been fallen comrade, family members who dies for the cause. And even when she had not been close enough to the deceased to practise K'riah herself, she always watched the family in awe as they ripped that black ribbon, pinned to the left of their clothing. The symbolism was not lost on her, she had attended enough Shabbat services to know that origins of such a tradition. And as she grew older she came to understand the significance of tearing clothing in despair. She knew the grief that came with the death of a loved one. And she understood how dark the mental place must be, that despair was almost overwhelming.

Although she had never predicted the amount of people who would take part in this practise. Her father had never been a "family man". And yet she was surrounded by men women and some smaller ones who stood with her, the sign of strength in grief. Before, she had felt alone, she had felt that no-one knew exactly what she was going through. That was still applicable. However now, as they recited the blessing in familiarly muttered voices, she felt something different. She may not be fully understood then, and never would. But there were people there who understood, who knew at least a little bit of what she was going through. And these people loved her.

"Blessed are You, Adonai Our God, Ruler of the Universe, the True Judge."

The Hebrew words rung out around the hollow dark space. The words that had previously held nothing but familiar dread now were viewed in different light. They spoke to her, telling her that there was something out there, something that was beyond anything that she would ever fully understand. And instead of scaring her, it gave her hope. And for the first time that day, she smiled.

Outside, the hot sun beat down on them, and as the plain wooden coffin was lowered into the ground, Ziva's hand found Tony's, and he squeezed her digits gently. Ziva closed her eyes, thankful for the silence support that Tony had offered. For these past few days, Tony had been perfect. He had not questioned her about Malachi, knowing that her mind was going to be occupied with the thoughts of her father's impending burial. Throughout the reading of the Psalms and eulogy, he had been respectful and looked suitably downcast, an impressive feat seeing as based on Tony's perception of Eli, Tony would not mind his death.

As the coffin was lowered into the ground, the family began Chesed Shel Emet, Ziva began to feel a sense of unease cloak her like a sheet of darkness. This was supposed to be the ultimate act of love and kindness. Ziva could think of the emotional turmoil that would be going through her brother's mind. He, like her, would feel something wrong about participating in physically burying their father along with family and friends, as the tradition dictated. With the whole thing being an unselfish act of love and kindness, Ziva could never honestly say that she could participate. But just as the thoughts entered her mind, the line that was separating her and the casket was getting ever shorter, and she was getting ever closer. And as she reached the side of the grave, she felt her body going through the motions that those had done before her. And as she felt the dirt hitting the casket, she felt the first twinge of sorrow hit her. Her father was in that coffin. He was dead. He may have been a monster, but he had tried to amend their relationship. He was trying to be the father he never was, and she had shot him down. Maybe if she had given him the chance, maybe if she had allowed him the right to speech, they could have at least left each other in good terms. But she hadn't and all she had to prove that was a dull sad ache.

As she moved down the Shura, she felt comforting words being showered down on her from the double line facing each other. And it was there, for the first time that she allowed herself to mourn the man who she used to call Aba.

oooOOOooo

The funeral of Eli David was held today. Friends and family gathered in The Belz Great Synagogue to pay tribute to the director of Mossad, including delegates from America, Britain and Ethiopia. The director of NCIS made a statement earlier today, speaking of his condolences towards the family, and the loss of a great leader.

The slightly muted television was what captured Kate's attention, as she rubbed her eyes. She may have been happy to help Ari at the time, but now six hours later and still as tired, she was not so amiable. Taking a sip of her coffee cup, she addressed McGee about the contents of the news report.

"He did?" Kate said, and McGee looked up from his computer screen confused.

"Director Vance. He made a statement about Director David's death?"

"It wouldn't surprise me. Vance and Director David did have a strangely close relationship despite their obvious differences," McGee replied.

"What obvious differences?" Kate said. In her mind, the two directors were fairly similar, both were influential and took no nonsense.

"Vance has a wife, kids. Director David has a clan as estranged offspring," McGee pointed out. Kate tilted her head in agreement.

"It's like we're in a really good scripted television show…" Kate mused, and McGee rolled his eyes. Yeah, as if.

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