Part II - Friends In Low Places

The rest of the day was spent doing paper and other clerical work, in silence for the most part. It was nearly 7 P.M. and everyone else had gone home, Gibbs and Vance included. Only Ziva, the cleaning crew and few other stragglers, whom she did not know remained. Ziva had been staying late since her return from Somalia, not because she had actual work, but because she dreaded going 'home' to her new apartment. She'd never given much thought into the feeling of home, until about a year before her apartment exploded. And if she were being honest, feelings and Ziva David didn't really equate until then either. She had feelings, yes, but she knew, no thought, that her life served a higher purpose of protecting Israel and all that it meant at the expense of her own happiness. So, home? That did not exist, housing did. People did. Tangible items did, but they did not mean anything, not until they were gone. But now, she desperately clung to the feeling of what it used to feel like and how it lacked that luster now. She had lost nearly everything she'd accumulated in her four years as an NCIS agent in the explosion and what had been salvaged was shipped with her back to Israel when she had returned with Michael's body. But now, the office provided a distraction, from the loneliness, abandonment and thoughts of Somalia, from everything. But she couldn't avoid these new emotions forever.
And almost as if it were on cue, she was snapped out of her reverie by the vibration of her cell phone. Opening it, she considered not bothering to open the text message that had been sent from Tony, but her curiosity got to the best of her.

'Z- NYN 911, UR APT.'

With that, she grabbed her gun and bag and ran to her car as quickly as possible.

Within ten minutes, she had arrived at the building, no small feat in D.C.'s seemingly endless rush hour. As she made her way to the steps, she saw Tony, sitting somewhat calmly on the steps. Not what she had anticipated upon receiving his distressed message.

"What the hell? What is the emergency?"

He looked up, knowing she very well may injure him for this stunt.

"Can we just go up to your apartment?"

She stood before him, wary eyed and wordless, wondering just what the hell was wrong with him.

"Do you know how many laws I broke getting here?" She fumed.

"Twenty-two?" he guessed. "Can we please just go to your apartment?"

Sensing the odd urgency in his voice, she gave in and followed him.

"There had better be masked gunmen in there, DiNozzo." She said, unlocking her door.

"Or blood, or Gi..." she stopped, astounded by what she saw.

And no, there were no gunmen, not even weapons, other than her own assortment, no monsters, no bad guys. It was her home, decorated warmly with photographs, some she did not know existed. Her cedar chest that had survived the explosion was at the center of her living room, a make shift coffee table in front of a small olive green love seat and a new plasma television, surrounded by new furniture, a patented "Welcome Home" banner signed by her new family. And wait, cedar chest? What the hell?

"What? Tony, how, how did you do this?"

"It's a welcome home...thing. Not so much a celebration." He gave her a small smile and hesitantly placed a hand on her shoulder, a grand gesture, given the past few months. "How? Well I told your landlord I was your husband and I locked myself out. She even made me a new key!" he said excitedly, brandishing the shiny object from his pocket. "You really should consider better security, by the way. I was surprised you hadn't already had the place booby trapped." he gave her a whirlwind of information, temporarily distracting her from everything. "And I didn't do this alone. Well, this set up, I did but the buying the gifts, everyone helped. We planned on a surprise party but weren't sure...short story, you needed this now, so welcome back, Ziva."

"I have not had time to set up these 'booty traps''" she said, not missing a beat. "And I mean, how did you get my stuff?" She kneeled next to the chest, opening it.

"Well," he took a seat, cross legged next to her "you're not the only one with connections in foreign intelligence agencies."

He smiled, watching the elation spread across her face as she pulled a small purple throw, a photo album and a book from the chest.

"I know, but I also know that YOU do not have any connections in Mossad, other than my father and myself."

"I don't." He shook his head. "But Gibbs and Vance do.

He leaned in, as she opened the photo album, running her fingers across the images.

"Who is that?" Tony asked, pointing to a picture of a young girl, with unruly curly hair, who looked about six or seven, she was grinning, as the boy next to her had his hand threaded in her curls, he had a pained look on his face, causing Tony to giggle a bit realizing that the young girl had her heel digging into the boys foot.

"That is Aadil and myself," she smiled, vaguely recalling the memory. "He was a Muslim family friend."

She spent a good part of the next hour showing Tony the album, answering "who's who?" and telling the memories behind the images.

He was genuinely surprised she'd kept such a scrap book, she never seemed to be the sentimental type.

"And the rest do not need explanations of who, where and what." She smiled, attempting to shut the album, unsuccessfully as Tony stopped her.

He was surprised more by the last few pages of her album, more so than the fact that she had the album at all. There were photos of her and Abby, he and Abby, he and Ziva, McGee, Gibbs, Ducky, Jenny, even Palmer and Vance! Actually, there were a lot of he and Ziva, he didn't even remember a good portion of them being taken.

"You should not need any explanation of these." Taking in his confused look, she asked: "Do you need your memory walked, Tony?"

"Not at all." He laughed, then looked at her, seriously for a moment. "Welcome home, Ziva." he reached over and wrapped an arm around her, as she still held the album and gave her a hug with no apprehension or fear.