Disclaimer: Emperor, King, Macaroni, Adele, Gentoo, Rockhopper, Jackass, Humboldt, Little, Chinstrap…
Spoilers: The last scene of Inside Man and an imaginary future that certainly isn't two years distant. Because it's imaginary.
Summery: hot with clear blue skies; beach weather.
Ultimately, Tony blamed himself; specifically, he was able to condemn his own lack of motivation to floss, which had led to the cavity, which had necessitated the dental appointment, which had prevented him getting to the office before ten the previous Wednesday. McGee, who had arrived on time, had taken the opportunity to switch desks with Agent Lewis, giving himself a perfectly innocuous view of the stairs and a better view of the Anacostia to boot.
Tony was left with The Wall.
The Wall had betrayed him only once before, two…no, she'd been gone – really gone – for over two years now, so the case had been…had it really been three years since the last time The Wall had…?
He shook his head violently, drawing a confused look from Agent Megan You-Can-Call-Me-Meg-Instead-Of-Just-Lewis Lewis, who hadn't so much as raised her voice in protest because McGee had offered to take care of the move while she went and had a latte on his dime. Or so the story had gone.
Tony tongued the sore spot on his lip where he'd bitten it after sitting down at his desk that day and made the mistake of looking up. All the usual suspects had been present and accounted for, but a new picture had been the cause of his teeth opting to gang up on his still-numb lower lip in an impromptu battle royal that had given him something else to freak out about, at least on a temporary basis. Apparently the anesthetic had been well on its way to wearing off.
The picture had still been up when he'd returned from the bathroom with his swollen but no longer bleeding lip. McGee hadn't burst into laughter or even apologized for causing Tony to hurt himself over a stupid prank. A week later, the picture was still there. The whispering had stopped, or maybe just died down to the point where it could again be considered whispering. The pointing was apparently over, too, though the furtive glances were unlikely to end anytime soon.
Tony stared over McGee's head at The Wall, where the picture stared back. It wasn't even a good picture. It looked like a mug shot taken after a drunk driving arrest. Where had the person in charge of picking out pictures to put on The Wall even gotten it? He had a dozen better…not a dozen, but…several, some of which were notably better than others. Would that make it easier to stare at all day?
He checked the list of most wanted fugitives on the agency's website. Same photo. FBI's list? Same photo. Interpol? Same. He pulled out his own ID and checked the photo. If some jerk ever decided to frame him for crimes on an international level, he was going to have an equally unflattering portrait plastered all over the Internet. And The Wall. And presumably various other agencies' walls. He frowned. Given his track record, a new ID photo might not be a bad idea.
He opened his top drawer and returned the smirk to a picture he much preferred. Agent Let's-Be-Friends-Who-Use-First-Names Lewis had apparently had enough of his silent parade of facial expressions. "Are you feeling okay, Tony?"
"Just fine." He slammed his drawer shut more for effect than anything else. "Why do you ask…Lewis?"
"How many times do I have to ask you to…?" She gave her infuriatingly bouncy bob a shake that resulted in…it returning to its usual conformation with no further assistance. Tony suspected a plastic wig, or something of that nature. She continued, "I suppose I can't make you call me by my first name, but I would really prefer…"
He interrupted, "You just don't get the…huh." He wasn't actually sure what she didn't get. Maybe the picture on The Wall could stare some sense into her. He made eye contact for a moment, hoping for some help with his explanation, but none was forthcoming. He finally concluded, "Names should have two syllables."
"I don't understand."
"Uh, well, you keep saying we should call you Meg, but it doesn't fit. You gotta have two syllables. Like, Tony. McGee." He opted for the picture in his drawer rather than the one on The Wall, but skipped both syllables, moving on to, "Abby. Ducky. Palmer. You see where this is going?"
Agent Confused-By-Simple-Concepts Lewis was regarding him skeptically. "What about Gibbs?"
"Gibbs is the boss. Boss only has one syllable too, as you might notice, Lewis."
"You could just say Megan."
"What's wrong with Lewis?"
She shook her imperturbable bob in McGee's direction. "I'm going to the ladies' room."
McGee waited until she was out of the bullpen to say, "Kate was…"
"Lewis doesn't know that," Tony cut him off. "And what's wrong with Lewis anyway? Like, Lewis and Clark. Jerry Lewis. Huey Lewis, with or without the News. Daniel Day-Lewis. A bastard in a basket!"
"Tony…"
Not liking the seriousness in McGee's tone, he pushed harder. "I drink your milkshake, McGee! I drink it up!"
McGee fixed him with a stare worthy of someone pretending fairly unsuccessfully to be Gibbs. "I'm sorry I got the desk, but I can't….all day long, just seeing…" He jerked his thumb over his shoulder. "Why aren't we doing anything?"
"Because it's not our responsibility, one way or the other," Gibbs answered, striding through with a cup of coffee. Tony was consumed by a burst of anger, brought on both by Gibbs' attitude and the fact that he hadn't been able to keep down so much as a sip of water in the squad room since the picture had gone up.
He turned toward Gibbs, who was now focused on his computer screen. "So you're saying we can't do anything?"
"Not even if we wanted to."
"Huh." Tony leaned back in his chair, putting his feet up on his desk. It was harder to leap out of his seat and fly across the bullpen if he was pretending to be relaxed. "When you say 'we,' are you including McGee and I? 'Cause, to me, it doesn't really sound like…"
"Drop it, DiNozzo. She made her choice and it got her on every most wanted list on the planet, including Moussad's."
"Funny you should mention choices. I remember her first one being to resign from Moussad in order to come work with us full time. Of course, then you had a choice. And you made it wrong."
"And she's made her own choices since then. Based on the list of charges, most of them haven't been good ones."
Tony had stopped reading the alphabetical list after the third specific item under 'espionage.' Whoever had decided to include all of the allegations had clearly belonged to the kitchen sink school of thought, which he found hard to take seriously. Even if one of the charges on the exhaustive list could be supported with the slightest shred of evidence, it was no reason to dump everything else on her. He fought to keep his feet up, adding his fingers laced behind his head to further force his composure as he flippantly asked, "So that's it? No regrets on your side of the table?"
Gibbs finally looked at him. "You got any?"
"Hey." Tony heard her voice as clearly as if he were answering the door two years before. "I am sorry for just showing up at your door without warning, but…"
He shrugged. "No big deal. You, uh…come in." She followed him silently to the kitchen. "I, uh, I've got some beers, if you…"
"I wanted to say goodbye."
"How come?" He opened the refrigerator, reaching far back to grab two longneck bottles.
"It seems the right thing to do."
"No, I mean where are you going?"
"Back to Israel."
"Moussad wants you back?"
"I have resigned from Moussad."
He felt himself relax. "And now you have to go take care of paperwork and stuff. So, two days? Three?" The bottle opener was proving elusive in his catchall drawer. "Not that I mind you coming here, but I wouldn't have felt bad if you'd just called and given me the good news."
"It is not good news."
"Why not? Are they refusing to transfer your 401K or something?"
"I mean that this will not be a short trip. It would be…difficult for me to get a job here, so I am leaving."
Rummaging for the bottle opener suddenly seemed less important. "You have a job here."
"No. No, I don't."
"You quit Moussad and NCIS?"
"Not exactly. I left Moussad with the intention of working for NCIS, but I don't think that is possible now."
"Fucking Vance." He grabbed the bottle opener, which he had just seen sitting on the countertop. "Why'd he bother approving the mission to Africa if he…"
"This has nothing to do with Director Vance."
He froze in the act of prying the lid off the first beer bottle. "Ziva, I…I never meant to make you feel like…I want you to stay."
"I know." She pulled the bottle and opener from his hands. "It is Gibbs who does not want me here."
"What are you talking about? That's….that doesn't make sense."
"It does. And I understand. I should have known that I would have to leave, I had just hoped… I am disappointed, but not surprised."
"You…you're just gonna leave? Just like that?"
"I am sorry to…"
"You can…you can get a job somewhere and…it's not like you need Gibbs to vouch for you. If Vance puts in a good word… and I bet Fornell would give you a recommendation. Hell, you should have agencies fighting over you! And if Vance isn't the problem anyway, why can't you just stay with NCIS and not work for Gibbs?"
"I am not an American citizen, which is a problem now that I will no longer be a liaison."
"I'll marry you." He had spoken without thinking, but wondered only briefly if he should take it back.
"What?"
"You can marry me and become a legal citizen. Then you can stay, no problem."
"I cannot…"
"If I'm the problem, we'll convince McGee or Palmer. If you don't mind driving north for the ceremony, you can marry Abby. She'd probably do it, too."
"Tony…"
"Ducky would, no problem, but he's not American, so that would defeat the purpose, but…" He stopped when he felt her hands settle on either side of his face.
"Thank you."
"I'm not joking. We can get married." He thought about taking a swig of his beer, but he was afraid she'd let go if he tried. "It can just be…an arrangement. I'll clear out my spare room or we'll find a bigger place where we'll each have our own bathrooms or…" He wondered why marriage didn't seem as scary as he had thought it would in the past when she cut him off with a kiss.
She seemed sad when she eventually pulled back. "Goodbye, Tony."
"Oh, and you think I'm just gonna let you walk…" His attempt to follow her was seriously hindered by the fact that at some point, she had handcuffed him to the refrigerator. "Very funny. Ziva?" The front door was already closing. "Ziva!"
"DiNozzo! Wake up!"
"What?" He swung his feet off his desk as Gibbs shouted him out of his memory.
"Answer the question. Do you have any regrets?"
"One." He pulled open his top drawer. "I didn't pay enough attention when she showed me how to pick handcuffs."
Agent Convinced-She-Had-The-Moral-High-Ground Lewis gave a superior snort from her desk. He ignored her, taking the photo from his drawer and walking over to The Wall. His plan had been to tuck the kinder, gentler picture in the frame of the threatening one to show everyone else how wrong its presence on The Wall was. Instead, he grabbed the frame and removed the whole thing.