Interagency Cooperation

Disclaimer: I don't own anything.

Summary: Fornell pays a visit to Gibbs, who's just recently moved in together with Ziva. However, it's neither of them he bumps into at his friend's place… It's CGIS Special Agent Abigail Borin. While waiting for their friends, they're killing time by… cooking. Not a good idea, or is it? (a little Zibbs included)

This is a thank-you-fic for Zivacentric for being her wondrous self. It's a little late but I think it can't be too late. And, ZC, as for giving me ideas… I blame you for this. :D

Tobias Fornell pushed the car door closed then started towards his best friend's house with a potted plant in hand. He was feeling somewhat awkward with that plant in his hand while going to visit Gibbs but he wanted to be nice… to Ziva. It had been the first time that he went to the house since Gibbs and Ziva moved in together about three weeks ago. The plant was meant to be a housewarming gift.

Out of habit, he reached for the doorknob, turned it then stepped into the house, only wondering about the fact that the door had been open after closing it behind him. Ever since Gibbs started to date the Israeli woman, Fornell had found himself bumping into a closed door more times than he could count. Not that he would complain – everybody had right to a little privacy after all.

"Anyone home," he called out before turning towards the living room and noticing a woman sitting on the coach thumbing through a magazine. At hearing him, her head snapped up and, standing up, she regarded him with a suspicious look that reminded him of Gibbs.

"What are you doing here?" she inquired. She even sounded like him.

"What are you doing here?" In spite of his surprise, Fornell was quick to toss the question back at her.

"Came to see Ziva," the strange woman shared in a tone that almost made Fornell feel like he'd been the one doing something wrong. "Told me she'd be late. Said the spare key's under the mat so I let myself in, she explained then cocked a challenging eyebrow. "So what are you doing here?"

"Just popping in," Fornell shared aiming to be casual, putting down the plant and discarding his jacket on the armchair.

"And just why should I believe that?" she went on. "For all I know, you came to clear the place," she accused him, indicating around the mostly bare room and it boosted Fornell's quickly fading self-confidence to see her just slightly sheepish about her accusation.

"Darn, I just put on the wrong suit for that," he looked down theatrically at his neatly pressed suit and immaculate white shirt that, together with his suit, cost more than everything taken together in the room they were currently standing. "And anyway, if I were here to mean any harm, you wouldn't be standing there going all Gibbs on me."

"I seriously doubt that."

"And why should I not think that you are not here to clean the place?" Fornell challenged stepping closer to her.

"Seriously?" the woman arched an eyebrow admitting to the fact that it was a stupid supposition at the first place.

"I wasn't the one who began it," Fornell pointed out then offered, "Tobias Fornell."

"Abigail Borin," the woman returned then ran her eyes over him. "So… FBI?"

"What gave that away?"

"The suit," Abby shared with a smirk.

Fornell chuckled. "So… NCIS?" he tried.

"What gave that away?"

"The bravado."

At that Abby actually laughed out.

"Nice try but no. CGIS," Abby corrected him and Fornell couldn't help the chuckle that escaped his lips. "Got a problem with that?" Abby arched a disapproving eyebrow, crossing her arms on her chest.

"Oh, no," Fornell answered, his chuckle easing into an amused smile. "I like the Coast Guards. Bikini and all…"

"That's Baywatch," Abby enlightened him, apparently not sharing the man's amusement.

"Geez," Fornell frowned. "Somebody forget to stand in queue when the sense of humor was handed out."

"Geez, somebody stood in the 'Bad Jokes' queue twice," Abby retorted.

"Did Ziva mention when they'll be home?" Fornell decided to change the subject because he was quickly losing ground again.

"Said it could take a while…" Abby seemed willing to go with him but then she added, "…the idiots at FBI screwed something up with their case."

"All right…" Fornell said giving in. "I'm sorry."

"Sorry for what?" Abby challenged.

Fornell rolled his eyes before answering, "For calling you a Baywatch Babe."

"You know, it's quite flattering if you put it that way."

He gave her an are-you-kidding-me look before stepping aside and sitting down on the couch. He took the magazine Abby had been reading.

"Cosmopolitan?" he looked at her ready to discharge a round of remarks but the warning look woman's face stopped him and instead, he opened it and started to read the first article he found. While he read in silence, Abby settled down next to him and, having nothing better to do, she started fidgeting, occasionally throwing a look into her companion's direction.

After a rather long stretch of awkward silence, Fornell couldn't bear Abby's fidgeting any longer – and the articles in the magazine annoyed him, too – so he spoke up.

"God, where the hell are they? If they don't get home soon, I'll go and help myself to some dinner."

"At last," Abby sighed relieved and Fornell watched with surprise as the woman shot up from her seat and started for the kitchen.

"Hey… here," returning from the kitchen, Abby tossed a can to Fornell.

"What's this?" the man arched an eyebrow looking down at the can then back at the woman.

"What the label says. Chili, I think."

"Are you serious?"

"No. I was just kidding. It's tomato soup." Abby deadpanned. "Who cares what it is," she shrugged. "It's eatable." Fornell looked at her stupefied, still holding the can. "That's good enough for me," Abby added pulling open the lid of the can then turning to look for a plate.

"Well, it's not for me," Fornell retorted stepping up to her and taking the can from her.

"What the… What are you doing?"

"Making dinner," Fornell announced then looked at his companion pointedly. "And you're helping me."

At that, Abby gave him a look that made him smirk – it was just like Gibbs when, at a loss for anything better to do, he gives him a stare, not really believing that it would discourage his friend from his intentions and already resigned to go with it anyway.

"So, let's start with assessing our possibilities," Fornell said with a satisfied smile. "It's a good thing Ziva's living here – all the more chance to be able to make something decent." And with that he started looking for ingredients for a proper dinner.

After half an hour of searching through the kitchen the duo was standing in front of the counter – Abby wearing a smug expression while utter dejection was visible on Fornell' face.

"I can't believe that Ziva's not keeping the kitchen stocked," Fornell shook his head looking at the meager – and quite pitiful – assortment of food in front of them.

"I say we go with the tomato soup… or whatever," Abby proposed but Fornell was not to be deterred.

"No, it's all right. We just have to be creative," he stated, he himself looking slightly dubious. "And anyway – what would life be without a little challenge?" he suggested slyly, suspecting that a woman wouldn't turn down a challenge.

"Well, can't refuse a challenge," Abby straightened ready to tackle the task. "Let's make some dinner from this,"

A huge grin appeared on Fornell' face that was quickly mirrored on Abby's as they looked at each other with the building excitement of having a problem to solve – even if it was only making dinner.

"What do you say we make some pasta," Fornell offered taking another look at the items in front of them and choosing the safest way.

"I say it's a safe bet," Abby nodded. "There is grinded meat, too."

"That's good. We can make some sauce then put it into the oven. Easy."

"All right… What do you need?"

"Onion, flour, some milk… cheese…" During his enumeration, Abby left in search of some onion because it wasn't among the things they had gathered.

"Do you think it tastes better if it's in liquid form?" she asked holding up a not-so-fresh onion bulb as she returned.

"On second thought, we don't need any onion."

"You sure? It's just a little pulpy... and moldy but otherwise looks fine. I have the philosophy that you can eat anything after putting it into the microwave. Bet nothing living can survive that… though, I've never tried it with onion."

"Thank God, Gibbs doesn't have a microwave. Throw it out."

"If you insist," Abby sighed.

"I do."

It was after the meat looked cooked when Fornell asked for some milk to make béchamel sauce. He was occupied by watching the oil in the pan not to get too hot then putting some flour in it when Abby pushed a carton of milk into his hand. He took it and was just about to pour it into the pan when some awful smell hit his nose.

"What the hell is this?" he almost gagged, looking at Abby.

"You asked for milk, that's milk."

"Oh, no. That's not milk. It stopped being milk a long time ago. It's not even liquid anymore," he complained tearing open the top of the carton, unable to keep a disgusted frown from appearing on his face.

Abby took the cartoon from him and looked into it.

"If we call it sour cream, you'll feel better?" she asked handing back the cartoon to him.

"Hardly," Fornell responded grabbing it and taking it out to the back porch. He'd get rid of it later.

Finally they had to prepare the béchamel with water but after putting more pepper into it, it tasted quite decent.

Fornell was mixing the pasta, the meat and the sauce when he looked up to check on Abby.

"God, woman, what are you doing?" Fornell exclaimed when he saw Abby just finish to cut off the moldy parts of a piece of cheese then start to grind it.

"What? It's perfectly fine," she protested. "They say that you have to throw it away if it's dried. If it's only moldy, you can still eat it. Just have to cut the moldy part."

Fornell looked at her in disbelief.

"That's exactly the reverse. You do not eat anything that's moldy."

"Of course you do – cheese."

"That's not that kind of mold," he indicated the cheese in Abby's hand.

"You're such a fussbudget," the woman sighed, rolling her eyes.

"A fussbudget? Really?"

"Really," Abby stated continuing to grid the moldy cheese.

"Stop doing that," Fornell grimaced. "There is a perfectly fine piece of cheese over there. "Grind that. I won't eat from the one that could start protesting for his rights any minute."

"His?" Abby raised an eyebrow. "How do you know it's not a she?"

For a moment, Fornell stopped short, then, when seeing the corners of Abby's mouth twitch with a teasing smile, he shook his head frustrated. "Well, technically, it's a they but I really don't care. Throw that thing out."

"All right, all right…" Abby said, raising her hands in defense. "Somebody needs to loosen up here," she observed, making a great show of disposing of the cheese then turning towards the living room.

"What are you doing now?" Fornell called after her, he himself getting to grind the cheese.

"I saw something here…" she said accompanied by the sound of shuffling. "And here it is," came Abby's triumphant voice.

"What's that?"

"It's a 2005 Chateau Guiraud," reappearing in the kitchen, she stated matter-of-factly – and in a horrible French accent – before starting to look for a crock-screw.

"That's an excellent dessert wine. Good year, too," he explained before registering what Abby was doing. "Wait," he exclaimed. "You want to drink Jethro's expensive wine?"

"How expensive?" Abby turned to look at him with an interested look.

"Very," Fornell informed her. "You not just down it, you have to sit down and enjoy it."

"Just to make you happy, I'll sit down when I drink it," she reassured him before turning back to search further. "And anyway… It's not as if he drinks it," she shrugged before opening a drawer. "And Ziva drinks red wine," she continued, a triumphant expression appearing on her face as she felt for the crock-screw and found it. "Most probably it would end up being your next birthday present," she finally stated, standing in front of him with the bottle in one hand and the crock-screw in the other.

Fornell gave some thought to that then nodded with a shrug. "True enough. So, open up," he urged Abby. "I'll put this into the oven then we can sit down and I can teach you how to appreciate the flavor of a good wine," he smiled.

"Now, that sounded hot," Abby all but purred with a seductive look then laughed out when a visible tint appeared on her companion's face.

Two hours later dinner was eaten, the wine bottle was emptied and Abby and Fornell were sitting on the couch, having grabbed Gibbs' bourbon from the basement.

Sitting on the couch with legs pulled under her, Abby was laughing so hard that tears were flowing on her face while Fornell listened to her account of a disastrous blind date with an FBI agent.

"…was trying really hard to be nice to that douche bag," she recalled, her account interrupted with laughs of amusement,"… after all he was the brother of my colleague… but it was getting really hard… so I excused myself to the bathroom. And oh my God," her sudden shriek made Fornell stare at her in surprise, "when I got back he was sitting on the couch wearing only his tie and a smug expression. Can you imagine that? And he looked so refined at first… with his dark suit and serious look… Turned out to be just another idiot."

"Now I see where your prejudice comes from."

"He damaged me for life," she informed him, downing the last of her bourbon and putting the glass on the coffee table. "Can't really take a man in suit seriously. All I can see is them naked with a tie hanging in their necks."

"Good thing I took off my tie," Fornell chuckled, leaning back and resting his head on the back of the couch, and Abby chuckled with him, leaning with her side against the back of the couch and giving an appreciative look to the man's white shirt whose sleeves were casually rolled up and the upper buttons were open.

"It definitely is," she agreed, absentmindedly reaching out and playing with the collar of his shirt.

The gesture made Fornell swallow hard but he didn't make any remark, just kept looking at the woman with a fond expression. It turned out that after a glass of wine, her sharp attitude softened into a friendly demeanor that made her look less like Gibbs. And he gave thank for that – having a female version of Gibbs around felt somewhat creepy.

"Thank you," he finally said.

"For what?" Abby looked up at him, and Fornell noticed that her eyelids had become heavy with sleepiness. He found that really adorable. "Not making you eat canned food?"

"That… and the moldy cheese," they shared a laugh at that. "But mostly for this – I missed this," he indicated around them.

Abby gave him a strange look. "Cooking for a totally inapt special agent who comes with a bad attitude, too?"

"If you want to put it like that, yes," he chuckled then sobered somewhat. "Since Ziva's cooking for Gibbs, I don't get to spend much time with him like this."

"I'm not sure whether I should get offended by being called a Gibbs substitute," she half drawled, half chuckled, all the while trying to suppress a yawn.

"I had a really good time, Abigail," Fornell admitted and Abby's frown formed into a huge grin.

"Well, as far as I'm concerned, you can consider yourself invited to my place whenever you feel like cooking…" after just a little pause, she added, "… or want some company."

"I'd like that," he admitted, pulling the woman close to him and smiling when she rested her head on his shoulder.

"Are you cozying up on the couch with Gibbs, too?" she asked in a whisper before drifting off to sleep.

"Home, sweet home," Ziva sighed as she entered the door with a grocery bag in hands.

"My thoughts exactly," Gibbs whispered into her ears as he pushed the door closed, his hands being full with a bag, too.

"You know I still can't believe that when we finally manage to find time to bring my things over – and we actually do it, I might add –, we spend the next three weeks basically stuck in a wan on some impossible mission that finally gets…" here she stopped looking for an appropriate expression.

"You can say it Ziva…," Gibbs chuckled. "It got screwed up by the FBI. I hate cross-jurisdiction."

"Speaking of which…" Ziva stopped on her way to the kitchen and turned back to her boyfriend. "I think someone did manage to establish a successful relationship with the FBI."

"What the…" he began in his surprise but then a smirk appeared on his face as he continued. "You know, you're right. That's what we call a successful interagency cooperation," Gibbs remarked looking at the sleeping couple on his couch.

"Yes, indeed," Ziva agreed with a smile, turning her attention towards the kitchen where her smile turned into a tired sigh. "And NCIS is left to clean up," she remarked while she went to put the shopping bag there.

"Typical," Gibbs shook his head. "Gimme your phone," he called to Ziva then took the offered object from her while Ziva took the shopping bag from him and returned with it to the kitchen. He trifled with Ziva's phone for a little while then, with a frustrated sigh, he pushed it into Ziva's hands when she returned. "Make it take a photo."

"Are you serious?" Ziva looked at him bemused.

"Of course I am. Will have some fun with this," he shrugged and Ziva chuckled.

"You can be such a Tony sometimes."

Gibbs shrugged and watched as Ziva took a photo of the snuggling special agents.

"They drank your Chateau Guiraud," Ziva pointed out, spotting the bottle lying on the floor.

"Good for them. Most probably, it'd have ended up as Tobias' present anyway," he explained. "But I'll make him buy me a bottle of bourbon," he remarked before sneaking an arm around Ziva's waist. "Let's go to bed," he suggested in a whisper.

"You don't want to wake them?"

"Oh, no," he shook his head. "Want to let them get more comfortable. But I'll be up bright and early and I'll watch them squirm," he smiled smugly as he led Ziva towards the stairs and their bedroom.

THE END