Disclaimer: If I owned NCIS, there would be something in my pockets besides lint.

Tag to 10x08: "Gone."

This… has been a rather awkward evening, Ziva reflects as she texts Tony for information on Commander Jennifer Wade's travel arrangements.

"I'm going to start cooking, if you want to help me," Abby says in what is clearly her best attempt at a bright tone.

It doesn't work.

"I'm not hungry," Lydia responds quietly. "I wouldn't mind a shower, though."

"A shower! Great idea!" Ziva says with some relief, slipping her cell into her pocket. "I can get you going on that."

Finally, here is something concrete that she can do.

Taking Lydia by the crook of her arm, Ziva leads her up the stairs to the house's sole bathroom with a shower.

Briskly pulling a towel and washcloth out of the cupboard, Ziva tells Lydia, "There are several types of shampoo in here. Feel free to use any of them."

"Thanks," Lydia says quietly, eyes still red-rimmed. In a forcedly cheerful tone, she adds, "I wouldn't have taken Gibbs as the kind of guy to have more than one type of shampoo. My dad –" She cuts off abruptly and shrugs. In a more subdued tone, she finishes, "My dad was that way, anyway."

Determinedly keeping her own voice upbeat, Ziva says, "Well, you would be right about Gibbs being a one-shampoo man."

Lydia gives her a weak smile and says, "So why…?"

"Why are there so many types of shampoo here?" Ziva finishes. "All of us have stayed here at one point or another. Eventually, we all broke down and purchased some hygiene products to leave here so we didn't have to keep using Gibbs'. Gibbs is a good man, but his shampoo…" Ziva trails off and shrugs. "Well, it works for him, but the rest of us feel that it leaves something to be desired."

Lydia nods. "That would explain why you're so familiar with the house," she says.

Ziva smiles gently and says, "Yes. We are all – close."

"That's nice," Lydia says quietly.

"It is," Ziva agrees. It is, in fact, much more than just nice, but without knowing their backgrounds, Lydia has no way of knowing this. Abruptly realizing that she has been zoning out, Ziva snaps back to attention and says, "The farther you turn the knob in the shower to the left, the hotter the water will get. To turn the water off, you just turn the knob all the way to the right."

Lydia nods and says, "Sounds pretty straightforward."

"Mmm," Ziva agrees. "Is there anything else I can get you?"

"Actually…" Lydia says hesitantly. "Do you have an extra shirt or something I could borrow to sleep in?"

"Of course!" Ziva says, silently scolding herself for forgetting so simple a thing. "I believe that Gibbs has a few spare sweatshirts, if you are alright with that."

"That would be fine, if he doesn't mind," Lydia says.

"Lydia," Ziva says, "You are our guest. Trust me, Gibbs will not mind."

Lydia shrugs her shoulders awkwardly and says, "Then sure."

"I will hang it on the outside doorknob to the bathroom," Ziva tells the girl, patting her lightly on the shoulder. "If you are hungry at all or just want some company, feel free to join us in the kitchen. If not, just pop in and I will show you to your room."

"Thank you," Lydia says.

"You are welcome," Ziva assures her. "Have a pleasant shower. And if you need anything – absolutely anything – just call."

And with that, she exits the bathroom.

On her way back down the stairs, Ziva stops to take a few deep breaths. Being with Lydia… brings back some memories, that is all. Lydia – so bright and sweet and innocently mature – reminds her a great deal of Tali. That Lydia is the same age that Tali was does not escape her notice either.

Of course, she knows that she is not the only one struggling. In looks, Lydia closely resembles the pictures that Ziva has seen of Kelly. Therefore, it is unsurprising that Gibbs is so invested in this case. Of course, add in the probable fate of Rosie Martin and… well, everyone's on edge.

(Ziva refuses to let herself dwell on what may be happening to Rosie Martin at this very minute, refuses to let her mind travel back to a dark room with rough, wandering hands and rancid breath and –)

Firmly shoving the thoughts from her mind, Ziva walks down the stairs and into the kitchen.

"Mmm, it smells good in here," she announces, entering the room. "What are you making?"

"Spinach and cheddar frittata," Abby announces.

"Gibbs had spinach in the refrigerator?" Ziva asks.

"I know, I was surprised too," Abby says with a small grin, turning around from her position at the stove. Wrapped in one of Gibbs' large aprons, she presents quite the picture of domesticity.

"Do you need any help?" Ziva asks.

"Oh no, thanks though," Abby says. "I'm almost done here anyway."

"I feel bad not doing anything," Ziva protests.

"Don't!" Abby says. "You helped me so much earlier. I don't know what came over me. It was like I was ten times more awkward than I normally am, and every time I brought up a new subject, I only made things worse."

"Do not beat yourself up, Abby," Ziva says. "It is… difficult, knowing what to say in these situations. And you helped me too."

"Well, that's what family does, right?" Abby says. Lowering the flame on the stove, she adds, "Actually, could you set the table? The frittata's almost ready."

"Of course," Ziva replies, going to one of the cabinets and pulling down cups and plates.

She is just setting out the napkins and flatware when Abby turns off the stove and places the frying pan on a trivet on the table.

"Ta-da!" Abby says cheerfully. "One large frittata."

"It looks delicious," Ziva assures her.

Abby beams and plops into a chair.

After a quick grace from Abby ("Dear God, thank you for family and for this food. Please look out for Lydia and her mom and Rosie and her parents. Amen."), they proceed to dig into the frittata.

"So, Abby," Ziva says after taking a sip of water, "How was your night out with McGee last week?"

"Which one?" Abby asks, tone innocent but eyes mischievous.

"Abby!" Ziva says. "Are the two of you dating again?"

"No, no," Abby says shaking her head back and forth so quickly that her pigtails form a blur. "Nothing like that. Just… it's nice hanging out with him. And since neither of us are dating anyone…"

"I understand," Ziva says. "And I did not mean to pry."

"Speaking of prying," Abby says, "I hear you have a 'friend' coming to visit you from Israel?"

"Ah yes, Shmeil," Ziva agrees. "How did you know?"

"Tim told me," Abby says.

"He did, did he?"

"Yeah. He also told me that Tony's acting nosier than an anteater."

"An anteater?" Ziva asks, utterly baffled by this new expression.

"Yeah," Abby says. "You know, 'cause they have really long noses?"

Ziva shakes her head but smiles nonetheless.

"So?" Abby asks.

"So?" Ziva asks back.

"Shmeil," Abby says. "Spill."

"I have known him for a long time," Ziva says with a shrug. "He is kind and wise and influential. And he is someone whom I love, trust, and esteem."

Abby shakes her head, grinning.

"And I suppose you told Tony all of this?" she asks.

"Yes," Ziva says.

"No wonder he's so nosy about the guy, then," Abby says, rolling her eyes. "You couldn't have gotten him more worked up about your gentleman friend than if you'd plann– Ziva David, you sneaky minx!"

Ziva smirks and adds, "Did I mention that Shmeil is also eighty-two?"

Abby bursts out laughing. Then, looking guilty, she abruptly stops.

"I shouldn't be laughing right now, should I?" she says. "Not with what Lydia's going through. I mean, it's kinda disrespectful, right?"

"That is one way of looking at it," Ziva says. "But we have been trying to get Lydia to laugh or smile and forget things all evening, have we not? It is… unhealthy… to dwell on sad things without pause. Besides, I do not think that she is the sort to begrudge you your laughter."

"Yeah," Abby says with a small, uncomfortable shrug. "Probably."

Ziva polishes off her last bite of frittata, puts her fork on her plate and pushes it back.

"Well, that was an excellent frittata, my friend," Ziva says with a sigh of repletion.

"Do you want seconds?" Abby asks.

"No," Ziva says, putting a hand to her very full stomach. "No, no, no. I have had plenty."

"You didn't like it," Abby says disappointedly, eyes wide and anxious.

Ziva chuckles. "Abby, look at this paternal side in you!"

"Yeah, well what about you?" Abby says. "I… walked in… when you were talking about… death and your family and everything. …That was really amazing. I almost lost it."

For some reason, this statement – so sweet and serious and terribly Abby – hits Ziva hard.

"But you didn't," Ziva murmurs, hoping that her eyes aren't bright with the unshed tears that she can feel threatening to escape. "Instead, you walked in with Lydia's cell phone and you became the instant hero."

Abby grins wryly and says, "It's a teenage girl. And a smartphone. That? Is a no-brainer."

Ziva smiles and shakes her head ever so slightly. Without consciously making a decision to share her thoughts, she says, "You know, when I was her age, I was about to go into the military."

Abby's eyes light up, then become contemplative. "I was…" she says slowly, lost in thought, "I was trying to figure out re-atomization as a mode of safer transport. And – I won my first bowling tournament."

Ziva smiles. That was Abby for you. Ridiculously smart and multi-faceted, even as a teenager.

"You bowl?"

Ziva turns her head in surprise at the reentrance of Lydia. Pale and damp, she is dwarfed by Gibbs' large cotton USMC sweatshirt.

"Oh yeah," Abby says in response to the question.

"Are you feeling better?" Ziva asks.

It is a stupid question, of course. Of course Lydia is not feeling much better. Her father is still dead, after all. Nonetheless, she has to say something.

"Kind of," Lydia says slowly, walking over to the table and sitting down. "You know how thoughts… pop into your mind while you're in the shower sometimes?"

"What?" Abby asks, suddenly focused. "What popped?"

"The other guy from the van," Lydia says. "He was kind of pudgy, with a beard. I think I can describe him now."

For some reason, this description is ringing a bell somewhere in Ziva's head. She has seen a man like this recently. She knows she has.

Pushing her chair back, Abby says, "That's… great. I'll get my laptop –"

Her statement suddenly cuts off as the lights go out.

Harah.

"Wow," Abby says. "Blackout."

"It appears so," Ziva says cautiously.

Something… does not feel right about this.

"I've a flashlight in my bag if I can find it," Abby volunteers.

"I got you covered," Lydia says, bringing out her phone and turning on the flashlight app.

"Alright!" Abby crows.

"A teenage girl with her cellphone," Ziva murmurs, echoing Abby's earlier words.

In a reassuring tone, Abby insists, "It's nothing to worry about, it's just a power outage. Whatever happens, we're cool."

Ziva peers out the window and the sense of wrongness that has been jingling at her senses intensifies.

"No, we are not," she tells her companions, an edge entering her voice. "The streetlights are still on. So are neighboring houses'."

"Maybe it's a fuse," Abby says hesitantly. Hopefully.

Something creaks and they all jump.

"Get back upstairs! Now!" Ziva hisses, taking her gun out of its holster.

After ushering them to the stairs, she proceeds to case the area, slowly moving from one corner of the room to another, pulse thudding and body tense.

Upon hearing another creak, she calls out, "NCIS! Identify yourself."

No one responds.

She slides against the wall and into the kitchen and then –

Ouch.

A shadowy figure has tackled her to the floor.

Stupid. Stupid. She should have checked that corner.

Grunting, she punches the man as best she can, but he has the advantage of superior weight.

"Where is she?" he growls, holding a cocked gun to her head.

"That's just what I was going to ask you," Ziva pants, abruptly kicking him hard in the groin.

He jumps back in pain, gun still leveled at her.

She is trying to roll away when she hears a clang and the thud of a body.

Looking up, she sees her savior: Abby, eyes wide and breathing hard.

"It's a… frying pan," Abby gasps as Ziva catches her own breath. "It's a little cliché."

Grinning in relief, Ziva gives her a thumbs-up and says, "Works for me."

"Are you guys OK?" Lydia whispers, eyes huge in a nearly ashen face.

"Hand me your phone," Ziva says, rolling to her side and painfully dragging herself to her feet.

Lydia hands over the phone. Switching the flashlight function on, Ziva lifts it over their felled opponent's body.

He certainly looks familiar…

"Oh my god," Lydia gasps. "It's Fred."

Right. Fred. From the bowling alley.

"Abby, I have a set of handcuffs in my duffel," Ziva says abruptly. "Could you get them for me?"

"Of course," Abby says, handing Lydia the frying pan and hurrying out of the room.

"I can't believe it," Lydia whispers, slowly lowering herself to sit on the ground. "He was friends with my dad. He taught me how to bowl when I was six. What… why would he do this?"

"I do not know," Ziva says face grim. "But I promise you, we will find out."

A mere thirty seconds later, Abby dashes into the kitchen with the handcuffs and thrusts them into Ziva's hands.

Ziva promptly handcuffs the unconscious man.

After calling Gibbs and updating him on the situation, she settles onto the floor next to Fred (just in case) and across from Lydia and Abby.

"I must admit, Abby, I am impressed both at your aim and the strength of your swing," she comments.

Abby shrugs and says, "I guess those Wii workouts have been helpful after all."

Lydia glances up from her musings and says, "You know, that move of yours reminded me a lot of Tangled."

"Oh my god, I love that movie!" Abby half-squeals promptly.

"Tangled?" Ziva asks.

"Yeah, it's… an updated version of Rapunzel," Lydia says, "in, you know, Disney movie musical format."

"Ah," Ziva says.

She does not recollect the tale of this Rapunzel. Clearly, she will have to look it up.

"But this guy is so not Eugene," Abby adds.

"No," Lydia says, looking sad again. "No, he isn't."

"You know that this isn't your fault, right?" Abby says hesitantly. "Whatever his reasons, this has nothing to do with you."

"Yeah," Lydia says quietly. Unconvincingly. "I know."

"Would you… would you like a hug?" Abby asks. "I only ask 'cause I know some people are big on their personal space and I don't want to impose or –"

"I… yes," Lydia says. "A hug would be great."

Abby immediately swoops in and wraps the girl in a fierce hug.

"You know," Ziva says as lightly as she can, a few minutes later, "Abby was once reprimanded at an NCIS sexual harassment seminar for hugging people."

"Seriously?" Lydia snorts from within Abby's arms.

"I know, right?" Abby agrees. "If anything, Ziva here is the one they should have been telling off. Miss let-me-lick-Tony's-ear."

Ziva rolls her eyes.

"I only did it to wake him up," Ziva protests.

"Oh please," Abby scoffs. "You enjoyed it and you know you did."

"Maybe," Ziva concedes.

Lydia looks between them curiously.

"So you and Tony…" she asks.

"Are very good friends," Ziva says firmly.

Abby snorts and rolls her eyes but lets it go.

A mere fifteen minutes later, Gibbs strides into the house and takes all of them – Fred included – back to NCIS.

"She OK?" he asks Ziva in a whisper, jerking his head towards Lydia as they roughly pull Fred out of the vehicle.

"She is physically unharmed," Ziva says quietly. "But emotionally…"

She sighs.

Gibbs gives her a sharp look.

"She is feeling betrayed and lost and guilty," Ziva says. "I promised her that we would get to the bottom of this, Gibbs."

He nods and his eyes spell his assent.

And so they carry Fred into the building and drop him off in Interrogation. They'll let Ducky check on him later… maybe. Not that the bastard deserves it.

And when he comes to? Well, that's when the real work will begin.

They will find Rosie Martin before it is too late. They have to.