(Rating: K/ Word Count: 1498)
It was Tuesday. As Ziva rode the elevator up to the bullpen alone, she could not avoid dwelling on the last three weeks. A desperate search to find Jackson Gibbs, days of terror, a thrill of relief at seeing his kind, if exhausted, face, blessedly unharmed, the fearsome crack crack of two gunshots during the rescue–-and suddenly, just like that, it was over. Paloma and Alejandro lay dead in the battle, McGee shaking as he replaced his gun in its holster and ran to Jackson’s side.
Today was boring, but boring was a relief. It was just another Tuesday, just the team doing what they did best.
The elevator gave a faint ding, and Ziva stepped out. She had walked barely five paces before her eyes truly registered the scene before her. Five sets of eyes were fixed on her, staring from the motionless figures of Gibbs, McGee, Tony, Abby, and Director Vance.
“Yes?” She asked assertively. Her hand flew to just below her waist and her fingers fidgeted with the zipper of her pants. No, she was not unwittingly displaying the leopard print of her panties to half the bullpen. Why, then, were they looking at her as if she had just done something shocking?
Her frustration escalated as she saw Tony lean over to Director Vance and whisper something angrily in his ear, to which he got the whispered response: International Incident, DiNozzo.
Ziva’s heart sunk, and sure enough, as the team snapped from their revelry, Gibbs took her by the arm and led her back to the elevator.
Ziva hardly waited for the doors to slip shut before she turned to Gibbs and confirmed her suspicion. “Eli?” she inquired, her voice more tentative than she intended.
“Yeah. Ziver, we can’t stop him from coming, not with such a high-ranking position in an agency of one of our allies but we can...,” Gibbs paused, as if choosing his next words carefully, “keep you away from him while he is here.”
She shook her head violently. “No, Gibbs. I will not hide from him.”
“He’s not going to give up, Ziva.”
“He will have to. I am an American citizen now. Maybe he will finally see that he does not own me.”
Nodding skeptically, Gibbs allowed the elevator doors to open. Ziva watched him leave then followed behind him, meeting the stares of her colleagues with her own steely gaze, exuding a confidence she did not feel.
As she did the post-case paperwork Tony had annoyingly dumped on her, her stomach clenched uncomfortably. Despite her assurances to Gibbs, she dreaded the encounter with her father. Feelings of betrayal, hurt, and rage resurfaced with a fury. Such concentration was required to keep her focus on endless lines of records that she didn’t even have the energy to snap at Tony who was carelessly tossing paper balls into the trashcan at the side of her desk.
A crumpled piece of paper collided with her curls, and Ziva merely furrowed her brow. “Hey!”
“Yes, Tony?” she groaned.
“You’re no fun today,” he pouted.
“Sorry to spoil your childish amusements,” she muttered as she tossed the files in a drawer, locked it, and darted into the elevator before he could respond.
His feet were faster than his voice, or so it seemed. He slipped into the elevator beside her.
“I suggested tossing him into a cell to rot somewhere, if it makes you feel any better,” Tony said conversationally. “But, ol’ Leon thought it might cause a teensy weensy ‘international incident.’ I disagree. I mean, your government can’t actually like Eli David!”
It took a moment for Ziva to realize why his words seemed to strike her, and when she did, she widened her eyes in hurt. “Not my government, Tony.”
Tony Gibbs-slapped himself before muttering, “well, I doubt the American government likes him much either, so it’s all really the same thing.” They rode the elevator down and walked to their respective cars in pensive silence.
. . . . . . . . . . .
As Ziva walked into the bullpen on Wednesday, apprehension gripped her. Today was the day. Why couldn’t she just have a normal Wednesday? The team had just been getting back to the way it was; trust Eli David to ruin their fragile tranquility.
Ziva sighed as she hoisted the paperwork from the drawer and got to work once more. Tony lounged lazily on the edge of her desk.
“Don’t you have something better to be doing, DiNozzo? You could help me get this done,” she gestured to the nearly centimeter thick pack of paper she was bent over.
“Nah, already got a job, Zee-vah!” She rolled her eyes.
“And what is that? Surveying all the female agents from my desk while annoying those who are actually working?” Tony shook his head, and then bent down until his forehead was only an inch from hers. She didn’t back away, even as their noses threatened to collide.
“Guard duty!” Ziva tried to suppress the flutter in her chest, and she steadied her voice.
“I do not need protection, Tony. Here.” She tossed him half of the stack, and he got to work.
“Race yah!” Tony proposed. Ziva laughed softly, and they scribbled and flipped pages, pens darting over paper until their writing grew sloppy. The older agents that walked past simply shook their head at the antics they had learned to expect in the young partners.
Laughing at the distraction, Ziva’s head shot up. “Done!”
“You cheated!” Tony accused, finishing his last page. Feeling uninhibited, Ziva stuck out her tongue and began walking away.
“See you when you are done, slow-folk! I am going to get tea.”
Tony darted after her. “Poke. Slowpoke. Careful, you’ll get deported for mistakes like that!”
They settled at a table, Ziva clutching a tea and Tony an over-sugared coffee. Ziva was feeling more carefree than she had in weeks when she saw him in her peripheral vision and she almost choked on the hot liquid.
Eli was here. Now. At the NCIS headquarters. Walking straight toward her. How? But of course; he was friends with Vance.
Panic filled her as Tony continued to banter. She did not want to do this in front of Tony. Now that the confrontation was here, she was not sure that she was ready. All the familiar feelings arose - pain, hatred, anger, rage, betrayal - but a strange one accompanied them. Rebellion. What right had this man to be here, invading her life again? With that emotion, the way to get rid of him hit her. It wasn’t clean, passionate, angry, or mature. She hadn’t even considered this, but now that he was here and these strange feelings filled her, it seemed crazily obvious.
The words were out of her mouth before she could reconsider them, loud enough that the approaching man could hear them.
“I’m pregnant, Tony.”
His shock was fitting, she thought. She imagined the thoughts going through his mind and in her mind she begged him to understand.
“What!” His banter had stopped, replaced a pure, astounded monosyllable.
Ziva injected just the right tone of desperation in her voice. “I am sorry, Tony! I didn’t know when to tell you, and it just came out now.”
“Wha- whose?” he spluttered.
Ziva pulled a look of hurt. “Yours, Tony! I would never cheat on you.” She saw his eyes reach Eli and realization fill them.
“Of course you wouldn’t, Ziva. I love you, in fact...,” and then Tony did something that shocked even Ziva in her crazy plan.
“...Marry me, Ziva!”
Eli stopped their passionate exchange. He walked up and without any preamble struck Ziva across the face. “You slept with him! You slept with Rivkin’s killer.” He let out a string of curses in Hebrew that made Ziva wince but she held her ground. “You are no daughter of mine!”
She raised her bruised haughtily. “Good.” The rest of the team had run into the room, and she walked straight up to Gibbs and said, “Gibbs. How would you like to be a grandfather? We have a vacancy.”
They all turned and saw Eli David disappear around the corner.
Tony waited a moment before speaking. “Well, that was easier than I expected…”
Gibbs just stared at Ziva. “You’re not really pregnant, Ziver?” He said, concerned. She smiled and put a finger over her lips.
“He’ll learn eventually that you’re not-” Gibbs began to say, but was cut off by a shriek.
“Ziva’s pregnant!” a newly-arrived Abby screamed. “Tony! Ziva! You’re going to get married! I don’t believe it!”
They turned and explained the truth to her, both of their voices a little wistful as they told her it was just to anger Eli David.
He’d be back, Ziva knew. But when he came again, she would just be even more integrated in the team and further from him.
Ziva grinned to herself. Who knows? Maybe they wouldn’t even have to lie then.
It was Tuesday. As Ziva rode the elevator up to the bullpen alone, she could not avoid dwelling on the last three weeks. A desperate search to find Jackson Gibbs, days of terror, a thrill of relief at seeing his kind, if exhausted, face, blessedly unharmed, the fearsome crack crack of two gunshots during the rescue–-and suddenly, just like that, it was over. Paloma and Alejandro lay dead in the battle, McGee shaking as he replaced his gun in its holster and ran to Jackson’s side.
Today was boring, but boring was a relief. It was just another Tuesday, just the team doing what they did best.
The elevator gave a faint ding, and Ziva stepped out. She had walked barely five paces before her eyes truly registered the scene before her. Five sets of eyes were fixed on her, staring from the motionless figures of Gibbs, McGee, Tony, Abby, and Director Vance.
“Yes?” She asked assertively. Her hand flew to just below her waist and her fingers fidgeted with the zipper of her pants. No, she was not unwittingly displaying the leopard print of her panties to half the bullpen. Why, then, were they looking at her as if she had just done something shocking?
Her frustration escalated as she saw Tony lean over to Director Vance and whisper something angrily in his ear, to which he got the whispered response: International Incident, DiNozzo.
Ziva’s heart sunk, and sure enough, as the team snapped from their revelry, Gibbs took her by the arm and led her back to the elevator.
Ziva hardly waited for the doors to slip shut before she turned to Gibbs and confirmed her suspicion. “Eli?” she inquired, her voice more tentative than she intended.
“Yeah. Ziver, we can’t stop him from coming, not with such a high-ranking position in an agency of one of our allies but we can...,” Gibbs paused, as if choosing his next words carefully, “keep you away from him while he is here.”
She shook her head violently. “No, Gibbs. I will not hide from him.”
“He’s not going to give up, Ziva.”
“He will have to. I am an American citizen now. Maybe he will finally see that he does not own me.”
Nodding skeptically, Gibbs allowed the elevator doors to open. Ziva watched him leave then followed behind him, meeting the stares of her colleagues with her own steely gaze, exuding a confidence she did not feel.
As she did the post-case paperwork Tony had annoyingly dumped on her, her stomach clenched uncomfortably. Despite her assurances to Gibbs, she dreaded the encounter with her father. Feelings of betrayal, hurt, and rage resurfaced with a fury. Such concentration was required to keep her focus on endless lines of records that she didn’t even have the energy to snap at Tony who was carelessly tossing paper balls into the trashcan at the side of her desk.
A crumpled piece of paper collided with her curls, and Ziva merely furrowed her brow. “Hey!”
“Yes, Tony?” she groaned.
“You’re no fun today,” he pouted.
“Sorry to spoil your childish amusements,” she muttered as she tossed the files in a drawer, locked it, and darted into the elevator before he could respond.
His feet were faster than his voice, or so it seemed. He slipped into the elevator beside her.
“I suggested tossing him into a cell to rot somewhere, if it makes you feel any better,” Tony said conversationally. “But, ol’ Leon thought it might cause a teensy weensy ‘international incident.’ I disagree. I mean, your government can’t actually like Eli David!”
It took a moment for Ziva to realize why his words seemed to strike her, and when she did, she widened her eyes in hurt. “Not my government, Tony.”
Tony Gibbs-slapped himself before muttering, “well, I doubt the American government likes him much either, so it’s all really the same thing.” They rode the elevator down and walked to their respective cars in pensive silence.
. . . . . . . . . . .
As Ziva walked into the bullpen on Wednesday, apprehension gripped her. Today was the day. Why couldn’t she just have a normal Wednesday? The team had just been getting back to the way it was; trust Eli David to ruin their fragile tranquility.
Ziva sighed as she hoisted the paperwork from the drawer and got to work once more. Tony lounged lazily on the edge of her desk.
“Don’t you have something better to be doing, DiNozzo? You could help me get this done,” she gestured to the nearly centimeter thick pack of paper she was bent over.
“Nah, already got a job, Zee-vah!” She rolled her eyes.
“And what is that? Surveying all the female agents from my desk while annoying those who are actually working?” Tony shook his head, and then bent down until his forehead was only an inch from hers. She didn’t back away, even as their noses threatened to collide.
“Guard duty!” Ziva tried to suppress the flutter in her chest, and she steadied her voice.
“I do not need protection, Tony. Here.” She tossed him half of the stack, and he got to work.
“Race yah!” Tony proposed. Ziva laughed softly, and they scribbled and flipped pages, pens darting over paper until their writing grew sloppy. The older agents that walked past simply shook their head at the antics they had learned to expect in the young partners.
Laughing at the distraction, Ziva’s head shot up. “Done!”
“You cheated!” Tony accused, finishing his last page. Feeling uninhibited, Ziva stuck out her tongue and began walking away.
“See you when you are done, slow-folk! I am going to get tea.”
Tony darted after her. “Poke. Slowpoke. Careful, you’ll get deported for mistakes like that!”
They settled at a table, Ziva clutching a tea and Tony an over-sugared coffee. Ziva was feeling more carefree than she had in weeks when she saw him in her peripheral vision and she almost choked on the hot liquid.
Eli was here. Now. At the NCIS headquarters. Walking straight toward her. How? But of course; he was friends with Vance.
Panic filled her as Tony continued to banter. She did not want to do this in front of Tony. Now that the confrontation was here, she was not sure that she was ready. All the familiar feelings arose - pain, hatred, anger, rage, betrayal - but a strange one accompanied them. Rebellion. What right had this man to be here, invading her life again? With that emotion, the way to get rid of him hit her. It wasn’t clean, passionate, angry, or mature. She hadn’t even considered this, but now that he was here and these strange feelings filled her, it seemed crazily obvious.
The words were out of her mouth before she could reconsider them, loud enough that the approaching man could hear them.
“I’m pregnant, Tony.”
His shock was fitting, she thought. She imagined the thoughts going through his mind and in her mind she begged him to understand.
“What!” His banter had stopped, replaced a pure, astounded monosyllable.
Ziva injected just the right tone of desperation in her voice. “I am sorry, Tony! I didn’t know when to tell you, and it just came out now.”
“Wha- whose?” he spluttered.
Ziva pulled a look of hurt. “Yours, Tony! I would never cheat on you.” She saw his eyes reach Eli and realization fill them.
“Of course you wouldn’t, Ziva. I love you, in fact...,” and then Tony did something that shocked even Ziva in her crazy plan.
“...Marry me, Ziva!”
Eli stopped their passionate exchange. He walked up and without any preamble struck Ziva across the face. “You slept with him! You slept with Rivkin’s killer.” He let out a string of curses in Hebrew that made Ziva wince but she held her ground. “You are no daughter of mine!”
She raised her bruised haughtily. “Good.” The rest of the team had run into the room, and she walked straight up to Gibbs and said, “Gibbs. How would you like to be a grandfather? We have a vacancy.”
They all turned and saw Eli David disappear around the corner.
Tony waited a moment before speaking. “Well, that was easier than I expected…”
Gibbs just stared at Ziva. “You’re not really pregnant, Ziver?” He said, concerned. She smiled and put a finger over her lips.
“He’ll learn eventually that you’re not-” Gibbs began to say, but was cut off by a shriek.
“Ziva’s pregnant!” a newly-arrived Abby screamed. “Tony! Ziva! You’re going to get married! I don’t believe it!”
They turned and explained the truth to her, both of their voices a little wistful as they told her it was just to anger Eli David.
He’d be back, Ziva knew. But when he came again, she would just be even more integrated in the team and further from him.
Ziva grinned to herself. Who knows? Maybe they wouldn’t even have to lie then.
