Oct 5, 2009 Dark Blue Summary- With all the buzz about tiva, this fic just had to come along. Written with the song "Dark Blue" by Jack's Mannequin as an inspiration. A few short snapshots of life with Tiva, never romantic, just the type of flirty fun we currently get on the show, and a little bit of a sad bit at the beginning because I wanted to. Italics mean lyrics of the song!
She barely heard the shots. She hit the ground fast, the universe liquefying in slow motion around her. The chorus of shouts and boots fading into the back of her mind.

No...

'You are not going anywhere.', a muddy voice whispers into her ear, the words drowning in the pit of quicksand that was becoming her thoughts.

'Nobody's allowed to die on my watch. Part of my 'do something Gibbs never did' plan. You will keep breathing. You just...come on Ziva!'

Oh. She knows him, at least knows the only one person whose voice would be filled with pleading and anguish even when she can barely decipher the syllables. Tony.

She looks up at his blurry outline, holding her, shaking her, his mouth moving to keep the inevitable truth at bay. All that blood...

He is cradling her head now, bringing her close enough to see his face. Trying.

'Okay. Okay. Hey, stay with me, Ziva. It's okay...hey, hey. I'm here. I'm gonna be here until the EMT's get here. I'm beside you-'

Forever?
She kicked off her heels and threw off the sweater she'd had over surely expensive dress.

'I will never understand these cross-agency functions. They are pointless displays of endless formalities and office politics! Ugh, it makes me lazy!', she shouted, pouting at her reflection in the lake's still face.

'Crazy, Ziva, it's crazy.', Tony was on the grass, a blade between his lips, grinning.

'Yes, it is! Who honestly expects us to care that the FBI has gotten another Hi-fi system and why does the director of the CIA wish to know where I bought my dress?

It was horrible, Tony! How can you stand it?', she plopped down on the dewy grass, and sighed.

'Because it's a human nature thing Ziva. People brag, people always wanna be better than the next guy. I mean, we see it everyday. How many of our cases just add up to jealousy and a loaded shotgun?'

She paused to consider that. 'Far too many. But that does not, no, should not make sense.' Ziva frowned across the lake, focusing on the brightly lit Navy Yard.

'Yeah. Lot of things don't. You just have to wait and see where they take you.'

This week had been tougher than most. The team had taken down a child prostitution ring tied to a Navy Sergeant's wife. He wasn't sure the images of those lost, pleading faces, the dirty, insect-infested concrete cells they'd been forced to sleep in, or the laughing bastard he just couldn't bring himself to shoot would ever fade.

Even into their sixth drink, his smile was burning in Tony's eyes. Ziva sipped hers slowly, glancing around the musky bar with tired eyes.

'Uh, I'll call a cab.', he yawned, having given up on forgetting the guy.

The big screens behind the bartender had switched from the game to a ZNN feed, live from the scene of a gang shooting.

'...Yes, Dale, it appears as though a thirteen-year-old boy, who cannot be named, broke in through a first floor window and shot the other boy inside. Both boys were apparently members of rival street gangs and details are still emerging at this point...'

Tony inwardly groaned. Those boys probably never knew a gun could blow your brains to the carpet. How on earth did a thirteen-year-old even conceive that?

Ziva glanced at the shots of the boy's home and sighed. It was no different from any other day. He was a victim, she didn't know him. His home would be searched, his body would be autopsied. It was business as usual.

He edged closer to her. The world seemed much less cruel with Ziva in it.

'This is very good, Tony.', she chuckled, spooning the largest possible amount of extra-cheesy salsa on her nacho.
'Better than the dinner at Sylvester's, the ride in Gibbs' car, and the flowers with the 13 free passes to torture McGee?', he asked, nibbling on extra-butter popcorn.

'Perhaps not the passes. But Tony, everything else was slightly in excess. You said we were simply 'hanging out'. One does not spend two hundred dollars on hanging out.', she said through a mouthful of nacho.

'I got the money. Hey, never mind, you pay for rounds at the shooting gallery next week.'

Ziva took a long sip of her Berry Mango Tango and shook her head.

'That is not what I meant. I meant, Sylvester's was Ducky's idea. The car was Gibbs. And do not try to tell me the flowers and coupons were anyone's idea but Abby's. But this, a movie marathon late at night, this is your idea Tony, That is what makes it better.'

She was on her second nacho as she glanced at Tony to see his response.

'Oh. Well, uh, when you put it that way, yeah, yeah, I get it. I'm way too used to high-maintenance women.'

Ziva sighed. 'What is the marathon anyway?'

'Classic Bond. Y'know, from about Sean Connery on? Agh, actually you don't know. Okay let me explain this...'

She munched on the remainder of the nacho tray, letting Tony's voice fade off, until the screen lit up with studio logos.

She wasn't quite sure how on earth they had ended up in the bullpen at 0300 hours.

Oh, yes, Tony had fallen asleep, drooling over his case report, threatening to turn the spidery script of names, evidence, and situations into a river of ink.

She'd just been down in the showers, deciding it was too late to go home and she'd rather catch up on the sleep over the upcoming long weekend. She really hadn't meant to wake him. In fact, she'd tiptoed around his desk, whipping out her weapon, imagining she was back in Mossad, taking out the top of the pyramid while lesser (or perhaps less favored) agents occupied the cameras and guards.

Ziva had even nearly head slapped him, her fingers touching the very ends of the hairs on his neck, pretending to be Gibbs. Many would never know it, but Ziva David was a dreamer. As a child, she'd dreamed of peace and perfection, but soon enough of a perfect shot and a warm bed. Then, when she'd come to NCIS, a couple of the dreams had come true. But hey, there was room for some more.

She circled Tony, with a tube of super glue, imagining the praise she might earn from McGee. She slowly opened the bag at his feet and drew out his camera, focusing it on his eyes, pretending she was reporting a body to Gibbs.

Male. Late thirties. No suggestions of a struggle. Appears to have been absorbed in this paperwork before death. He seems to have fallen asleep, to his death.'

'That's good work David!', she said in a deep, staccato voice, chuckling.

'She flicked on the plasma, tuning it to a network that played foreign dubs of older shows.

Ha. They were showing old reruns of the cartoons that had always been playing in the screens of her more easily amused partners in the command room the last summer.

She could have almost gotten used to the scene, she watching television, Tony asleep, the lights dim, and a hum of noise in the background. Except, perhaps in a house, on a queen-sized bed, with candles rather than fluorescent bars...

Agggh!Anthony DiNozzo...How dare you! She fumed silently, chucking the pink tiger stripe stapler Abby had bought her at his smug head. To her utter surprise, he sprang up and caught it.

'Jeez, Dah-veed. You checkin' to see if the beast is awake? 'cause I always got the time of day for you.', he chuckled.

'Oh, and where did you learn that? The stick-up line commercial?', she shot back.

Tony giggled. 'Nah, but tell me where I learned this.'

He stood and held his gun close, circling around his chair, whipping his weapon to the headrest. Ziva's eyes widened.
'But....but you were asleep! You were drooling!'

'Drooling? What? Oh, yeah, I spilled my water bottle on those files Gibbs wanted. Meant to clean it up, just wanted to put my head down for a bit. You do a great Gibbs impression, by the way. And hey, is that the Israeli dub of Family Guy?'

Ziva groaned. This was prime blackmail material, and by tomorrow, would probably be in the inboxes of the entire agency. She opened her mouth to protest.

'Aw, hey, now, Ziva! I'm not telling anyone!' Tony stepped across the bullpen and grasped Ziva's hand in his, pressing them together

His breath was hot and his body hard against her chest.

'Now let me tell you a secret.', he whispered, dawn breaking just outside the window.

She frowned and pushed the thoughts away. No. This was not the time, nor place, nor really the person, no matter what her dreams were like.

'Let me go!', she whisper-shouted, pushing him away.
Tony sat on the steps in Gibbs' basement, sipping on his beer, while the bossman sanded his boat.

'So I've been thinkin', there DiNozzo, you ever wanted to know the history behind rule #12?', he asked, taking a gulp of bourbon.

'Uh, wasn't sure there was a history, boss. I mean, I knew there was but I thought it had something to do with an ex-wife and that's private, I get it-'

'DiNozzo!', Gibbs roared.

'Yeah, Boss.'

Gibbs sighed and leaned on the boat's frame, as the flood of memories threatened to bowl him over.

'It was for Kelly. Thought we could use it to keep her off guys in her class until at least, well, Shannon said sixteen, I was for thirty-five.' He was surprised at how easy the names had come out.

'Oh. Uh, so why are you telling me, Boss?', Tony asked, trying to seem unaffected by the story, by how much Gibbs had cared about his daughter.

'Hell, DiNozzo, you spent your entire life chasing women, and you don't know? Aw, well it's probably my fault too. I'm crap at all this metaphorical feeling junk.'

Tony was surprised a word like 'metaphorical' was even in Gibbs vocabulary.

' Uh, okay, Boss.'

'It's Ziva, dammit. Don't tell me you think I'm such a dinosaur I can't tell you two have got something between you. And don't try to pull that crap about your girlfriend in undercover, because I know you, DiNozzo, and personally I am sick of having you two glancing at each other's asses in the middle of interrogation and getting all touchy-feely at a scene. You will either grow up already, or stop that behavior otherwise your ass will be off my team and don't think I'm not kicking David back to Israel.'

'Boss! Okay, okay, so she's a hot lady, and I did a couple things, but it doesn't mean I want her. Not like that, anyway. Besides...it's not entirely right. I mean, what the hell am I gonna do if a whole restaurant gets blown up 'cause Mossad doesn't like me . I gotta think of that. And what about kids or a house, or what the agency's gonna think. I mean, look at how it worked out for McGee and Abby!' Tony's voice had risen, and he threw his hands up with the 'Abby'.

Gibbs sighed. He dealt with all sorts of sickos, with homicidal morons and idiots who ran off scot- free on sketchy conspiracies. They'd say all sorts of things, they loved the girl they stalked and killed, the money from the drugs was going towards their children's college fund, the guy in the dumpster was threatening to rob their uncle's grocery shop. Protection. Justification. Plain old easy ways out. Yet none of it had ever made him as sick as it did now.

In a low voice, he spoke to his senior field agent. Not as an employee, not as a friend, as a son.

'Anthony, for God's sake, are you really that selfish? Her idea of love is someone who won't turn on a dime and shoot her when a mission goes wrong. She's put up with your crap and hasn't even complained once in four years! Y' wanna know what I think about kids or a house? I say you better be there for it all, and you better not give a damn about your job or anything but them. The Agency-', he raged, 'The Agency can go to hell, and you know it. Tony, you have got a real chance here, to make it right for her. So you better grow a damn backbone, drop the act, and be there for her!'

They were silent for a few minutes, the sawdusty smell of the basement stifling and strong.

'Boss, any reason why this is such a big deal for you?', Tony asked nervously, slightly afraid a hammer of 2x4 would come hurtling towards his head.

'Cause you and Ziva live a dangerous life, DiNozzo. I don't want you dead with regrets.'

_________________________________________________________________
If you've ever been alone in the dark
If you've ever been alone you'll know (you'll know)

______________________________________________________

She rode up to their floor on the elevator, surprisingly Gibbs-free and strode into the bullpen.

Tony was with another woman, a trainee off from FLETC for a week or so.

He caught her eye and waved her over with a smile.

'And this lovely lady here, Sheila, is my partner, the awesome Officer Ziva David.', he introduced, giving Ziva a slight hug.

'Your partner right? Nothing more?', Sheila immediately asked, She apparently had a reputation for scuttlebutt, so Ziva had heard.

'Of course not! Our boss has a rule about this, and I do not think of Tony as attractive in that way to begin with.', Ziva told her matter of factly with a smile.

'Oh. Well, uh, I'm gonna go see what Tresser was telling me about the ME, then.', Sheila said, heading down to Autopsy.
They shared a grin, catching each other's eyes with the same thought.

Of Course not?
Sept 18, 2009

Straight in the Eye
Summary- Kate helps McGee out and ends up helping herself quite a bit too. It's kind of before and after, and a little bit sad at the end.


Kate Todd would've usually liked to go shopping. This was all before she found out that Shopping with McGee equaled slow, painful torture that nibbled away at the corners of your brain, persistently hacking away at sanity.

The Probie had a Date with Abby, and Kate, the best friend, had been forced to go with him to a quaint strip of shops deep in the city. Really. Gibbs had left two fifty bills under her coffee. She silently reminded herself that she'd never rush into a house and accidentally say CSI over NCIS. If this was the first offense...well, the risks were just too big. 'Hey, Kate, how's this?', Tim asked, holding up a piece of lingerie beyond description. They were in Sears now, just a couple blocks from the Navy Yard, both McGee and Kate giving up on the shops after they'd been chased out of a Future Shop and told not to harass the Geek Squad. Kate knew McGee couldn't help it. Sighing, she shrugged. 'Tell me what it is, McGee, I'll tell you if Abby already has one.' McGee frowned. 'Jesus. We're girls. We go through each others closets. Hanging with Tony?', she replied with a slight smile. He considered it for a moment, then returned the thing to a rack. 'How about-' He was cut off by Kate raising a hand. 'I see Starbucks in the future. Coffee, Now.' Kate just about pushed him out of the store and into the familiar coffee shop. She ordered the necessary Caffeine of course and a bag of Brownies. She needed the chocolate. 'Abby's gonna be mad.', Tim groaned, breathing in steam. Kate munched through a couple brownies. 'Y'know, Tim, maybe you don't need to give her a thing.', she said through Chocolate dough.

__________________________________________________ She was convinced Jesse McDonald was the best thing since sliced bread. Or at least peanut butter and jelly. The boy was mysterious in that way that a dark forest was, never speaking and silently drifting through life, yet she'd always felt like she'd known him. He did something to his hair that made it stick up in all the right places, tousled, yet still clean. And his eyes won her over. They were sharp when he looked on from far away, but when you looked Jesse straight in the face, his eyes were soft pools of blue light. Jesse loved music, and he would spend hours on the shore, sitting on a barrel, hunched over a guitar. She would watch him, but only passing glances. Any more would scream stalker. Eventually, on a gloomy overcast afternoon, she did get the courage to approach that barrel. She stood silently beside him, letting the chords vibrate through the sand in her toes. Jesse's song finished and he tilted his head up to look at her. He blinked, but didn't speak. Instead, he opened his case and passed her a single piece of paper, with the lyrics to a song on the reverse. She took it, the paper still heavy with...him. His touch and scent. Wordlessly, Jesse Put the guitar back in the case and turned up the beach, his footprints washed away by the late surf. She studied those lyrics in her room, running over the title on her tongue. ' If I could Say'. It was about a boy wishing he had the power to change things and people, yet knew he never could. It was strangely bittersweet and slightly even heartbreaking. The next week, she'd snatched a song about Sunshine from a songbook at school and folded it into her pocket. It was almost like the first time. He played, she waited, and then he reached into the case. She tapped his shoulder and held up the paper in front of that beautiful face. Jesse paused, then took it from her.

He laid it out in his lap and stuck a hand back into the open case. He offered her another sheet and nodded.
Just like the first time though, he was gone, his trail vanishing underwater. It was like that for weeks, months, years. They exchanged the lyrics on that shore, then later by mail when they were in school, and email when she joined the CIA and he moved to the UK. They never really spoke beyond those words on the page. There were no formalities, no hi-hello's on the headers. He had her number, yet never called. Somehow though, he gave her more every week than any king could have tried to.

________________________________________________ 'It's sweet, Kate, but Abby. I mean, what do I do, Google Android Lust?', Tim sighed. Kate shook her head. 'Give her what you can, Tim. Show her yourself. Make sure she knows that you can be right beside her forever, if that's what she wants.' McGee considered this. 'I'll make her my Mom's famous meatloaf. I mean, Women love guys who cook, right?' Kate groaned. ________________________________________________ Much, much later, Jesse did call. It was, to Kate, any other morning, she pulled a light brown sweater over her head, brushed her hair, and was right in the middle of pulling on a pair of matching slacks when the phone rung. 'Caitlin Todd speaking,', she said, on leg in her pants. ' 'Hey, Kate. This is, uh, it's Jesse McDonald.', his voice sounded like honey on gravel. Even all these years later, her mind called up the image of his face and made her flush. 'Oh, God. Jesse. Hi. Hello. I'm sorry. I was just going to work.' There was a laugh on the other side. 'Is this a bad time?'

'Oh. No, no, my boss can wait.'

'You tell federal agents to wait for you? Nice, Kate'

'The guy lives in his Basement on Coffee and Bourbon. He Can wait'

'Uh-huh. Not to keep you on, I just gotta tell you something'

'Shoot'

'Kate, I was diagnosed with terminal cancer. Got two months to live. I.. My parents are dead. The wife and I broke up years ago. My kids don't know me. I just wanted to tell you to...y'know, live your life fully. You gotta just stare death in the face and say well, here I am. Y'know what I mean? You can't live scared, okay, Kate? You can't lie down and expect thing to come for you. So, Fight hard, girl. The nurse is coming, so I gotta...well, bye. Kate.'

She can't even say goodbye when the phone clicks off.

_______________________________________ Later, his words ring in her head when her heart is pounding, right after she's saved Gibbs from a bullet. She's grinning, between Tony and the boss, joking, telling herself to breathe when the next shot comes. 'You've just gotta stare death in the face and say here I am.'

September 17, 2009-

Some Things Never Change

Summary- Just a bit of a tester. Post Aliyah Tony-Ziva fic that's not at all romantic. Plus Abby for the Abby!

Tony DiNozzo hated desk clean-up. He didn't just hate it, if it was a perp, it'd be on it's way to the morgue, the nasty remains resembling a scrambled Greasy Burger left to Ducky, Palmer, and Abby to make sense of.

God...did he really think that? Could he... Tony sighed and bit his lip. Just a couple months ago, he might have said it out loud, left it out for McGee to groan at, Gibbs to give an exaggerated roll of the eyes, Abby to grin, and Ziva to give a small reserved chuckle, catching his eyes with that magic sparkle.

Magic...or had it just been the glittering eyeliner she'd suddenly become a fan of, the thing that had made her stick out in the crowd of agents (at least to him), who wore functional make-up in nude shades, suddenly as unique as her words and sweaters. But all still a mask. Just a shell on the outside, hiding whatever else he didn't know.

Tony liked thinking he knew her. Really knew her. He liked thinking she trusted him, that he would be the one she called when things fell apart. But that was...Gibbs...it was Micheal. It would never be him.

He pulled open the top drawer, spilling over with old Playboys and TV Guides, bookmarked with fast food wrappers and post-its that listed crucial numbers. Between pens and a half-open tube of Lifesavers, someone had wedged a foreign object, a clean, white, envelope, with a tight, thin, script outlining his name.

Tony's eyes flew right to it, his fingers hungrily ripping the seal, a return address sticker for a street and apartment number he had gotten to remember far too well over the past weeks. He didn't look up at the name. Didn't need to. Her touch, the soft and precise strokes of her writing clung to the envelope as he did, grappling and yearning for someone that just wasn't there...anymore. Tony read the letter, or note, really, a short little thing in the center of NCIS copy paper quickly, just like ripping a Band-Aid off a cut.

Dear Tony,
Yesterday you told me that I am not in my country anymore and whatever I found acceptable there, is not tolerated in yours. I think perhaps you are right. If you are reading this, then you have probably either began cleaning your desk (How angry is Gibbs?) or you have learned about the entire mess I have put myself in. I have been thinking, and I believe there are some things I never said to you, because I never had the courage to, and for a time believed I had the freedom never to have to tell you these things. Why am I writing this? Why do you need to know? I don't know. Lately I don't know much of anything, but it is nearing time I decide where I truly belong and where my loyalties truly lie. I am sorry I hurt you. I am sorry for what my actions have caused and sorry for my mistakes. This will just end up crumpled in a crash bin but I needed to write it down, to see it in black and white. For me.
Your Crazy Mossad Ninja Chick,
Ziva David

He shoves it back in the drawer, far, far, back. Tony puts his head down on the desk, to keep from crying. He can see her signature, burned in his mind, Ziva signing off on case reports, writing a check for rent, doodling little knives around the elaborate curves of her handwriting when McGee would go off about the newest Mac model. He remembers giving her the name, but for a Crazy Mossad Ninja Chick, she'd sure learned to smile. And laugh. And see humanity buried deep in the superficial motives of their cases. Ziva was smiling at her reflection in the interrogation room mirror, laughing when Abby suggested Vance looked like a frog. Destroyed when Agent Lee's sister...no...he doesn't want to see another life their work has demolished. Sometime later, he realizes exactly what he needs. Abby Scutio.

_______________________________________________________

She's sprawled across her desk, gazing teary-eyed at a serial number match, a superb and shining handgun, clutching Bert, when Tony comes through thous sliding double doors. She points it out to him. The same expensive model Ziva had cut out of a catalog and showed her, a few months ago, with a rakish grin and a promise she'd somehow get her hands on it, silly things like the economy be damned. Only Ziva, they agree.

So Abby sips Caf-Pow while Tony minimizes the match screen. How many times had he been in this same lad, with her at his side, Abby sharing some case-breaking discovery, McGee carefully moving his mouse closer to her hand. It's the things like that which hurt the most, because Ziva's leaving had signaled a sort of leaving of those moments to Abby. Things haven't been the same, and they haven't gotten a replacement shot right at the them like when Kate died. They have no new Ziva, no shadowy replacement that in time will form a solid comrade that will strike a harder blow when she leaves. Abby thinks the position is just bad luck.

Tony doesn't tell Abby about the note, but just lets her babble on about who knows what for a few minutes, a charade of perky happiness that does little to convince him, before the topic turns, like it has every time these past couple months, to Ziva David, whose presence Abby misses the most. She beats herself up over those few months, when she was nothing but terrible to their new teammate, as cold and heartless in truth as she'd called Ziva. Abby wonders if she was thinking about those moments when she stayed behind in Israel. Maybe Ziva thought she wasn't wanted, just another reason for her to leave.

Tony tells her that when Abby Scutio is cold and heartless, hell will freeze over, but given Global Warming, neither can happen. And she laughs back, just like old times. In a golden moment, nothing is different. Machines beep behind them, and the computer flashes through a set of prints. Agents trudge by in the hallway, balancing coffee cups and paperwork, phones in the other hand. The sun shines though the window, reflecting off flecks of a broken beer bottle not yet swept away on the sidewalk, where businessmen and crackheads and little girls who want their daddy home form his tour all walk together.

They meet each others eyes, reaching a solution, a mental lightbulb pops up and reminds them of what it seems they can't remember. Life goes on. You meet others along the way, try to help them, or hurt them, you love some, and you lose some. It's...cyclical, in Abby's mind. It's like spinning a ball with candy inside. Colors shift and change and nothing stays the same, but it settles. It'll be okay again, before another spin rocks them to the core. And they survive again. Even if the only way to do so is put on a mask, and fake it, then cry at night in your bed, before waking to accept the challenges of a new day, pushing through when you don't want them there, hiding the scars of yesterday that make you weaker.

So when Tony leaves, on his way back to the bullpen, swishing out those doors, Abby does think of Ziva, finding some other girl to show which gun she wants to, a friend that's more like her, one that won't call her cold and heartless, that she probably throws knives and shares body armor with, that speaks her language, instead of throwing strange looks her way and secretly searching her in spare time. Maybe Ziva feels wanted over there. Like she's really part of something, not just a square peg in a circle hole, which will fit through, though with a lot of struggle and bending plastic. Abby tries not to be too sad. If Ziva's happy, then it's her duty as a friend to be happy for her, even if those words, friends and duty, have elusive meanings she barely ever tries to comprehend...or to separate.

____________________________________________________

Back at his desk, Tony folds the letter neatly and puts it in a frame, behind a picture of he and the team, the one time Gibbs had enough bourbon in him to take them on a fishing trip. They're soaking wet, which is enough of a clue. Ziva is holding a trout, speared with a sharpened twig, at the camera like a trophy, radiant and mysterious at the same time. He allows himself to think of her now, still his Crazy Mossad Ninja Chick, showing all those guys who's boss, listening in with a smile to the ones who complain about Eli David. Probably flipped Boss Daddy off at least once. And when she's not kicking butt? She's sneaking seasick pills on the missions where they're on water, putting on eyeliner in a reflection of herself in a lake in the woods.

She's still Ziva, and no matter how lost she gets, and how much crap gets thrown at her, she firmly believes she is achieving something and making a difference, if it is purpose or vengeance that drives her, Tony knows that never changes. So whatever Mossad is up against better say their prayers.

These thoughts bring a foreign comfort to Tony DiNozzo, because though he still wishes she were here, he is happy thinking she's okay, she's alive and living her life. Maybe she's still finding herself, still learning exactly what and who she is. And he's okay with that. Because when she comes back (and she will) Ziva David will mess up her English and be obsessed with mustard and snap out a paperclip at him. Things come and go. Rock the boat. But there are some things that never change.

The End!