A/N: You guys missed me, didn't you! So here I am, back with another fic while still in the process of writing countless others. I know, I know, I should really finish what I start, but this idea randomly popped into my head and I had to write it down. It took me all of an hour to write down and a little longer to type it all, but here it is.

So, say Ziva moved to the US with her father after her mother and Tali died and she and Tony became friends. What if Eli was abusive? No, this is not, nor will it be, a sequel to What Happens in High School. The rating will tentatively stay T for the time being, but please tell me whether or not I should move it up. It will be as non-graphic as possible, but abuse is mentioned.

Disclaimer: I do not own NCIS or anything affiliated with it. It all belongs to CBS and DPB. I do own this story line.

It was a few weeks ago when I noticed them. Just a few bruises on her upper arm. When I asked her how she'd gotten them, she pulled down her shirt sleeve to where it had been before accidentally riding up and said they were nothing. She claimed to have gotten them by bumping into something and I let the matter drop, knowing, or thinking rather, that Ziva would never lie to me. I'd known Ziva for a few months, since she'd started school here after moving with her father from Israel.

She'd seemed almost miserable at first and, when I'd gotten to know her and she'd told me the story of why she'd moved here, I couldn't blame her. Her mother and sister had died and her father felt it necessary to get Ziva out of Israel so that she did not suffer the same fate. The two of us had become friends after that and I told her my story too, how my mother died when I was younger and my father just stopped caring about me. He was barely around, always flying off to God knows where, being gone more than he was ever around. He'd given me his car on the day I'd gotten my license, telling me he needed a new one anyway and not to kill myself. As long as I listened, he'd pay the insurance. It kept me out of his hair.

Ziva and I started hanging out both in and out of school, whether it was at the library doing homework or at my house or whatever. Since I had a car, it was easy to get around and her dad never seemed to care either.

After seeing the bruises and having her write them off as nothing, I almost forgot about the little incident. Almost. I was a new bruise a few days later, below her elbow this time, on her other arm. Then, today, when she'd reached up to get a book of a higher shelf in the library and her shirt had ridden up, I saw bruising along her lower back, both old and new, which I could tell because of the multitude of colors.

When we left the library, put our bags in the backseat and were both seated in the front, doors closed, and the car still off, I decided to breach the subject. I knew something was wrong and I had to know what.

"Ziva?" I said, but it came out more as a question.

"Yes, Tony?" she asked, not knowing what was coming next and how it would affect either of us.

"Is there something you're not telling me?" I asked her, dipping my toes in rather than plunging in all at once.

"No, there is nothing," she said, calmly as if I'd asked her about the weather.

"If there ever was something wrong, you'd tell me, right? Like, if something was bothering you or something like that. You know you can tell me anything, right?" I asked her, knowing that she knew that, but wanting to hear her say that to me.

"Yes, Tony, I know I can trust you and I would. I do. What is this about?" she asked me.

"Where did you get that?" I asked, pointing to the bruise on her left arm by her elbow.

Ziva drew her arm from the console in the car between us and put it so it was resting in her lap. "It is nothing. I hit it on my locker," she told me, the calmness from her voice partially gone.

"And the ones on your back?" I asked. She looked up at me when I said that and her eyes betrayed her emotions. She looked scared. She didn't answer. "Ziva?" I asked, quietly and as gently as I could.

"When did you see them? How?" she asked.

"You reached up to get a book in the library earlier and I saw them. Ziva, where did you get them?" I asked her. I saw her eyes fill up with tears before she looked away from me again and my eyes were stinging too. It hurt me to see her hurting and I wanted to reach out and take her hand to let her know that I was there, but I couldn't move. I was paralyzed.

"My father," were the only two words she could say before she broke down. That was when I reached over and gently lay my hand over hers. She didn't push me away and I took that as a sign that she was letting me in, was willing to let me help.

I moved so I was sitting on the console between us to shorten the distance and tenderly wrapped my arms around her. She leaned into me and I let her cry it out as I stroked her hair and drew small circles on her back and let a few of my own tears fall in the process. I couldn't understand how anyone could do that, least of all a parent to their only living child. My father wasn't exactly father of the year either, but the man had never laid a hand on me.

A while later, when Ziva had stopped crying, but neither of us had moved, I asked, "What can I do?"

"There is nothing you can do," she told me.

"Ziva, you can't stay with him. It's not safe," I tried to reason with her.

"Tony, I have nowhere else to go," she said.

"Come with me. Stay with me," I said.

"If I do that, he will only get angrier. He will tell the police that I have been kidnapped, you will get arrested, and I will never be able to leave him," she told me, telling me what I already knew but didn't want to believe. I just wanted her to be safe.

"Then we'll tell the police what's going on. People do not look highly at abuse, never mind child abuse," I offered.

"Where will I go when he gets taken away? And what will I do when he gets out? Tony, I know you want to help, but you cannot right now," she said.

I sighed and slipped back into my seat, holding just her hand now. "I'm so sorry," I told her.

"You have nothing to be sorry for," she said. "I think I should probably be getting home soon."

"Yeah," I said, fishing my keys out of my pocket and starting the car.

We pulled out of the parking lot and headed toward the North end of town, where Ziva lived. I lived on the West end, about fifteen minutes away. Even though her house wasn't exactly on the way to school, I picked her up every morning and dropped her off whenever we were done hanging out every afternoon.

Today, knowing the truth of what she went home to everyday, I didn't want to drop her off where that monster would hurt her, but I didn't have a choice. We drove to her house, holding hands the whole way.

When I pulled up in front of her house twenty minutes later, I got out of the car when she did and got her bag from the back seat for her. I gave her a tight hug, holding her as close as I could, promising to see her tomorrow morning at seven sharp and told her to be careful. She hugged me back and told me she would.

Driving off that day was the hardest thing I'd ever done.

A/N: Okay, so it was a short chapter, but I wasn't sure if people would like it. Please review and tell me if I should continue, or just leave well enough alone and not write anymore. Hey, did anyone like the title? Know where it's from?