A/N: So this story came about before we even got the promo for Shabbat Shalom. Some of it was just writing through some stuff in my life, and then we got spoilers, and the plot really lent itself to that. A little angst, little fluff and a little bit of speculation. I hope you enjoy it. :)

It had happened quickly. Eli had shown up out of the blue just days before seeking asylum in his daughter's arms, seeking forgiveness. Ziva had approached the situation with a fair amount of caution, not quite knowing what to make of Eli's sudden return to her life supposedly looking to renew the relationship she was never sure they had.

He had reentered her life at the most inopportune time. She had just figured out her life without him in it, and his presence shook her to the core. She was content with the knowledge that they were not on good terms, nor would they ever truly be. Yet there he was, finally acknowledging that he had done wrong. But after a long discussion with Tony about fathers, mistakes and family, her need for familial connection outweighed her skepticism and she allowed Eli to stay in her apartment as an olive branch of sorts. A sign of good faith that they could at least try to make it work. It was probably the longest amount of time that they had spent alone together since her childhood. The significance was not lost on Ziva.

That night Director Vance invited Eli and Ziva over for dinner, on the surface a lovely affair. Exchanging stories about the Vance's children and Ziva's childhood, life in service to their respective countries. Everything seemed to be turning out alright when Gibbs received a phone call that night. Something was not right. Vance was panicked, said that armed men had broken into his house and that they were taking fire. Gibbs told him that he was coming, hearing glass shatter and the line go dead before he could tell himto stay on the line until he got there. He immediately called Tony and McGee, who rushed to aid in turn, arriving just before Gibbs.

Outside the house they found a small pool of blood on the pavement, and a blood trail leading up to the door. It was ajar and inside they found an unconscious Ziva and no Eli.

She'd been shot. Her right shoulder, a through and through. Her right wrist was visibly broken, and she had a gash in the side of her forehead. Tony rushed to her side, taking an immediate sigh of relief when he found her soft, but very present pulse. He tried his best to rouse her while they waited for the ambulance.

Gibbs searched further into the house, finding Leon and Jackie huddled in the bathroom. The Director had ushered Jackie away from the violence quickly, but not before she took a round to the thigh. He held her wound tightly, using a towel to stop the bleeding as best he could during what would be the longest fifteen minutes of his life waiting for the ambulance.

One long night in the ER later they learned that four men had broken into the house intent on abducting Eli, which clearly they had, Ziva noted bitterly. She had urged Jackie and Vance to take cover while she had attempted to stop the abduction, but they were too many. They had slammed her wrist into the dining table to disarm her when the shot wasn't enough, and pistol whipped her to knock her out. They succeeded.

Eli was taken by a yet to be identified enemy. His body was found the next morning near the front gates of the Navy yard. A warning. For what they were still not sure. The list of Eli's enemies was long, and there were many possibilities. Why they would make a point to abduct him from the Director's house was also still a mystery, one that they would like to solve sooner rather than later. It was over a week into the investigation and they were still running down leads.

That, however would have to wait. Gibbs was watching Ziva from across the room of a hotter than hell assembly hall in Israel. Her still-injured form looked much younger than he remembered, her dominant hand sitting ineffectually in a sling, only her fingers popping out of her cast and a bandage across a bit of her forehead. She looked much younger than her thirty years. It was her duty to attend her father's funeral, and their duty to protect her at all costs while she was there. Though events like this often aged people, Ziva simply looked small, vulnerable; something she rarely was. There were arrangements to be made, papers to be signed and assets to be seen to. As Eli's only remaining family member, this responsibility fell solely to her, and he'd be damned if he let her do it alone.

He could already see the frustration playing across her face, the conflict that was waging a war within her. She was an emotional timebomb. Though seven years ago that would not be what he expected from her, but he was content to watch from afar, ready to catch her if she fell. Though he may not have to, DiNozzo was standing only 10 feet away from her. Gibbs was surprised he managed to stay that far away. He watched Tony approach, his hand gently grazing her back. It was time to stand down, at least for now.

Ziva hated funerals. Though the number of deaths she had experienced was quite high, the number of funerals she attended was surprisingly few. In the past she had no time to stop and recognize the loss she had suffered. She simply had to move on. There was no time to stop, feel and mourn. That is the absolute opposite of how she felt today. She was entirely morose.

She could feel eyes on her from every direction. Gibbs across the room to her left, McGee slightly to her right, Tony from right behind her, but those eyes were a comfort. The eyes that made her uncomfortable were those of Mossad operatives and family members alike whom had not set eyes on her since she left for the Damocles over three years ago, some even longer than that. She could sense them whispering about her. About her supposed betrayal of her family and country alike, about her American colleagues. Their judgement was oppressive. Their sadness nearly non existent.

She watched the government dignitaries milling about, discussing their next strategic move now that he was gone. They did not particularly care that he was gone from this world, much less her loss. Their only care was how they could compensate for the situation, or how they could use it to their advantage. Yet she had to stand there thanking each man for their condolences and numerous floral arrangements that had made their way to Israel. Why, she was not certain. It was not Jewish custom to receive flowers at funerals, though she doubted very much that the secretaries of the men that sent them give much thought to the customs of the country they would be visiting. She could feel herself growing more and more frustrated, more agitated. She just wanted to go home, away from the relatives whose names she could not remember and the former co workers whose spiteful stares could not be ignored.

Ziva felt a hand graze the small of her back, breaking her out of her trance. She knew immediately who the hand belonged to before she even looked his way. A hand further up towards her shoulder blades could have been Gibbs, but the low back was strictly DiNozzo territory.

"I know that face, David. What are you thinking about?" He asked.

"Many things. This event, in particular. This is supposed to be about mourning. I am expected to be observing Shiva, which I will do, of course, but these people cannot even manage to falsify their sadness."

"I thought you would be used to that by now."

"What do you mean by that?" she asked, sharply.

"I just mean that we've been to enough of these things to know how it works. They come, they talk shop, they fulfill their obligation and then they leave."

"It does not change the fact that it should not be this way."

"No, it shouldn't."

"I should not have to stand here at what is clearly a meaningless function staring at my father's lifeless body as people I do not know pretend to care about his death." Her voice had risen slightly towards the end of her mini-rant, and she had begun to attract some attention from those around her.

"Well what do you want to do?"

"I would like to get a drink, and I would like to sit down, preferably someplace quiet."

"Alright then, let's go."

She looked up at him for the first time since he showed up at her side. "Let's go?" she asked, confused.

"Yeah. Let's get out of here, just slip away for a bit You can't be expected to torture yourself like this."

She nodded minutely, taking that hand he offered her and lacing her fingers between his.

He led her to a small, empty meeting room, locking the door behind them. The places that they could actually get a moment of privacy were few and far between. They sat on a small couch, Ziva's tired form slouching uncharacteristically into the cushions and her head dropping back with a wince. Tony sat slowly next to her, careful not to jostle her injured arm.

"Better?" Tony inquired.

"Much. Thank you."

"I couldn't leave you out there much longer."

"I appreciate your judgement."

There was a moment of comfortable silence before Tony spoke again.

"I know this is a stupid question, but how are you?"

"I am fine." she replied coolly.

"Bullshit." Tony stated calmly. "I know you, Ziva David, better than I've ever known anyone. I know beyond a shadow of a doubt that you're not fine."

"What would you like me to say?" she asked, her voice tired, not putting up an ounce of fight.

"What you're really feeling."

"What if I do not know?"

"Then I'll help you figure it out. I have been through this before. I mean, I was twelve, but I still remember it like it was yesterday. Everyone constantly asking you if you're okay, but not really caring to hear the answer? Sucks."

"I have been through this before, too. I was not subjected to nearly as much scrutiny as I have been today, but I still remember exactly how I felt."

"With Tali?"

"Yes. I was much younger then, but I remember it vividly. In many ways it feels very similar to what I feel now, but in many ways very different."

Tony wasn't sure if he wanted to prompt her to continue or let her work it out in her own time. Her face was calm, but her eyes were empty. Her thoughts had wandered off, the conflict of emotions within her clearly taking a toll. He remained quiet, letting her work it through in her head before she spoke again.

"The pain I feel is very similar, as is the guilt, but there is something different now. A regret that was missing before." Her face pinched in frustration. The inability to articulate her emotions was one of Ziva's greatest irritations in life, especially now.

"I do not know. It is all mixed up. He just showed up, Tony. He just showed up in DC, and expected us to reconcile and for him to actually be my father, which is something that I do not actually think he has ever been. It was like he had finally realized that fathers do not do the things that he has done. How does one come to that kind of realization? How do you just figure out thirty years into fatherhood that you have been doing it wrong?"

"I don't know. You could ask my father, but I don't think you'd get a decent answer."

"Tony, your father is sweet. He has been trying to be better for you."

"Maybe to you, he is," he scoffed, "My dad had sex with my neighbor in my bed the last time he was in town. He broke the one rule that I had set, and then told me it wasn't a big deal. The man is many things, but sweet would not be a word I would choose."

"I am sorry, Tony."

"Hey, this isn't about me. It's about you. Keep going with the feelings. I think you were getting somewhere."

"I am not getting anywhere. All I feel is sadness and guilt."

"You shouldn't feel guilty. It wasn't your fault."

"It wasn't my fault that I purposefully shut my father out of my life for three years, and when he came to try to reconcile I failed to protect him?" She spat bitterly.

"No. It's not."

"hmph." she scoffed.

"Do you want to know what I think?"

"Yes," she said, her tone softening significantly.

"My dad and your dad, they're not good guys, alright? They've done a lot wrong in their lives. So much that there's really nothing they can do to truly fix what they've broken. When your father came to DC, he knew that something bad was going to happen. He had to have known. The last time he left Israel, he hadn't left the country in 12 years. There was someone after him when he left here, and there was nothing you could do about that. This was not your fault, and he was wrong to put you in danger in the first place." he paused. "Again."

She sighed in response, sadness filling her tone.

"It's okay to be upset with him right now. It's okay to be a little bit relieved, too."

"But I should not be."

"You should. You have every right to be."

"He is dead. There is nothing to be done about it now. I cannot make up with him. I cannot tell him...anything. There is no use feeling this way. It will do me no good."

"Then tomorrow, or in a few days, or in a week, you wake up, you tell yourself that you can let this go, and you try. Someday you will. For now you're allowed to feel like shit. It's the way of the world. Be down for a little while. But pick yourself back up. And if you can't, I'll be there to help you."

She turned her head up towards him, her eyes watering slightly. "Thank you." she said sincerely.

He placed his arm gently around her shoulders, cautiously pulling her closer to him. She responded in kind, lacing the fingers of her good hand loosely between his and resting her head on his shoulder, nestling into the crook of his neck.

"I'll always be here."

"I know."

They sat in comfortable silence for quite some time. Ziva allowed a few tears to fall, and every once in a while, Tony kissed her temple.

"This sucks." she murmured.

He couldn't help but chuckle humorlessly. "Yeah. I know."

"But it will get better." she said, a hint of question in her tone.

"Yeah. It will. I promise."

She nodded almost imperceptibly. "Okay...Do you think they miss me out there yet?"

"Do you care to find out?"

"Not particularly. But I know I should."

"Alright. Let's do it."

They reluctantly left their private little nook and prepared to face the world once again.

"I have yet to see my Aunt Nettie, you know."

"Is she the one that I uh..."

"Yelled at over the phone? Yes. She still thinks that you are my husband, by the way. I have been unable to convince her otherwise."

"Well I'll just have to play the doting husband, now won't I?"

"You think it will be easier to play my husband than to convince my eighty year old Aunt that you are not?"

"Yes. Or maybe it's just because it will make you smile. You'll never know."

As they entered the reception hall once again, Tony noticed that their hands were still entwined. Apparently they were going to face this together, the rest of the world be damned. He fought back a smile at the notion.

Tony saw a short, older woman approaching them more quickly than he thought were possible for someone of her stature.

"Zivaleh, it has been too long." she exclaimed.

Ziva squeezed his hand tighter.

This is it. Tony thought. Bring it on.