Disclaimer: No NCIS for the bad sheep. Perhaps if I were a good sheep…No, it would still be property of other folks.

Spoilers: Bury Your Dead. And all that has been and ever will be. No, just the first part of that…fond memories of season three are at no cost to you and not at all spoiler-y.

Summary: Not everything was so quickly and easily returned when Tony came back to life.

Tony reached into the rearmost recesses of his bottom drawer, his arm disappearing nearly up to the shoulder in assorted files, discarded pens and various articles of clothing desperately in need of laundering. At least he finally knew where some of his silk ties had been hiding; no time to take inventory now. His fingertips traced the seam of the metal along the side of the drawer and he muttered, "Figures no one would want anything from…" He trailed off as his fingers hit a corner of the drawer that he was sure should have been occupied by a small box – a small box containing a small jar of something he really didn't want it to be known he kept at work.

"Huh." He risked a glance across the aisle, but his prime suspect was nowhere to be seen. He continued feeling around the bottom of the drawer, hoping he had simply misremembered the location of his little package, a gift he hadn't had the chance to deliver. A sudden prick on the palm from a bit of debris that vanished the moment after it struck him seemed to call him on his self-deception. He'd had ample opportunity to deliver the package, a cross between a joke and dead seriousness, but he'd lacked the guts. Then the moment had passed and everything had been turned on its ear and now… He blinked, doing his best to clear his head of how and why things were different than they had been a year ago.

Best to take the Scarlett O'Hara approach – he just wouldn't think about it now. He'd think about it tomorrow.

All he really needed now was to find a box he hadn't thought about in months. His tactile search was fast turning futile as he encountered only loose paperclips and an uncapped gel deodorant that had dried into a strange semi-solid puddle, sealing the metal lockbox in which he stored Gibbs' unclaimed commendations to the bottom of the drawer. That was probably just as well. There was more than one box in the drawer he didn't want everyone knowing about.

He pulled his arm out of the detritus of his career at NCIS, conceding defeat. Someone had raided the drawer in his brief absence. He looked to his right and saw that McGee was watching him carefully. He didn't want to have to explain his search to McGee, the only colleague who'd taken the high road and left all of his, Tony's, stuff in relative order. Well, Gibbs and Jenny probably wouldn't have thought to take anything and Abby had freely admitted that she simply hadn't had the chance to choose a memento… Tony sighed and leaned back in his chair, rolling his sleeve down and saying, "Need something, McGee?"

"No. But if you tell me what you're looking for I might be able to help you find it."

"Did you see anyone in my bottom drawer?"

"Um, no." McGee ran a hand through his hair and Tony resisted the urge to making a biting comment about a visit to the salon. "Ducky and Palmer didn't get past the first drawer."

"Thanks for the help, Probie, but I think I know who's got what I'm looking for."

"I only saw her take the letter opener, and that wasn't even in a drawer. Anyway, I think she might be gone for the day."

Tony angled his neck to peek around the edge of the desk across the way. The light was still on and the chair wasn't tucked firmly into the…chair-hole. "I don't think so."

"Right. Well…I've had a long night. And day."

"And night?" Tony asked, standing and moving toward McGee.

"Yeah. Sounds kind of lame when nothing I own got blown up. And I didn't…well. I'm sorry, Tony."

"Not your fault, McGee." Tony took a deep breath and extended his hand. "And thanks. For not going grave robbing."

McGee's grip was firmer than Tony had expected. "It just didn't seem right." He glanced furtively around the room. "For the record, Ziva started it."

"Big surprise. Have a good night, McGee."

"See you tomorrow."

"Yeah, sure." Tony was starting to feel like a personal day might be in order. First, however…

He waited until McGee was safely in the elevator before altering his search parameters. He sank into Ziva's chair, pulling the lever to decrease its height as he did so. That would be sure to annoy her. Pulling his letter opener out of the plastic holder where she kept her pens and tucking it into his breast pocket, he opened her top drawer. "Why does a person with this many knives need my letter opener?"

"Maybe I just like pointy objects."

He surprised himself by barely jumping at all. He swiveled Ziva's chair, taking the long way around to face her as she leaned her arms on the partition. "I'm actually interested in something of the non-pointy variety. Something someone snitched from my bottom drawer."

Her smile faltered for only a moment. "Well. Feel free to search all you like. You won't find anything else of yours."

"Because you've already put it in your car?"

"Because I didn't take anything else." The hard edge disappeared from her voice when she continued, "But you can still search my desk if it will make you feel better."

"It might." He didn't believe it, but it was worth a try. She'd had some interesting things in her drawers the last time he'd been through them. He pushed her knives, brush and deodorant aside and looked up. "Didn't you have a couple condoms in here?"

"I did."

"Hm." He tapped his fingers on her blotter, debating whether or not to take the topic further. Instead, he closed the top drawer and opened the middle one, quickly finding the GSM in between the folders and papers. "Is this mine?"

"No."

"Let me guess – you get it for the articles?"

"Exactly. It's like a tactical report. Know your enemy."

"So you're saying I should read Cosmo?" The comment was out of his mouth before he'd really processed whom he was defining as 'the enemy.' He was going to have to be a little more careful with his jokes from now on. Ziva seemed to sense his discomfort, staying silent as he tucked the magazine back into a sheaf of loose papers. He opened the bottom, deepest drawer and found that hers was far better organized than his. "I should go through your stuff more often, I guess."

"Wouldn't recommend it, DiNozzo." He looked up at Gibbs, who was now standing beside Ziva. "What are you looking for?"

"Oh, well…with the sticky fingers in this office…I'm, uh, just making sure I've, uh, got everything that…" His eyes went wide as Gibbs placed the box he'd been hunting for on Ziva's blotter in front of him. "Boss…you?"

"Yup. Don't have any interest in the stuff in the other box in that drawer." He paused and gave Tony a significant look that might have been hiding a 'thank you,' and went on, "I wasn't gonna forget the good stuff, so I wanted a reminder that'd make me miss slapping you, too."

Tony shrank more from the sentiment than the light tap Gibbs placed on his head. "So you're not mad at me?"

"Oh, let's just say you're lucky you nearly died."

Tony nodded, leaning back in Ziva's chair to put a little more distance between himself and Gibbs. "So we're not just going to forget about the deception and lies?"

"Aren't those the same thing?" Ziva chimed in, sneaking around the corner and grabbing the box before Tony could react.

Gibbs ignored the question, walking out of the bullpen and saying, "Don't do it again, DiNozzo."

Ziva sat on the edge of her desk and smirked. "Do you think he meant the need to know undercover mission or keeping Honey Dust in your desk?" She closely inspected the box. "Strawberries and champagne? Never had a chance to try that one."

"Me neither. It was a gift for…someone." Breaking eye contact wasn't awkward, as he was fairly certain she'd looked away first.

She traced her finger on the top of the box, not attempting to open it. "Speaking of dust…"

"It's been in there for about a year." He recalled hot summer nights and the slightest scent of sandalwood.

"A year…" There was a question in her eyes as she looked at him.

He nodded in spite of himself. "Yeah. Funny. I never thought…I don't know."

"A year is a long time." She placed the box on her desk. "It's only been a few hours. She'll come back." After a pause she added, "Jeanne."

"Wasn't exactly her thing," he muttered, standing and tossing the Honey Dust at his own desk, bouncing it off his chair.

Ziva allowed him to pass before retrieving her backpack. "Things change. Can I give you a ride?"

"No…" He tried to think of an excuse, but found that he didn't want to make one. Ziva was surprisingly good at being quiet, as she'd demonstrated when they'd gone…when they'd gone out earlier. "Actually, yeah. That would be good."

Ziva glided to a stop outside Tony's apartment building. He stared out the window for a moment before unhooking his seatbelt. "Well…thanks for the ride."

"Not a problem."

"I especially appreciate the non-demolition derby driving."

"Right." He looked at her suspiciously with her simple agreement. She wondered if it would have made him more comfortable if she'd reacted in a more stereotypical manner.

"Yeah." He opened the passenger side door and swung his legs out, but didn't stand. "Ziva?"

"I'll have my phone on."

He nodded without turning. "I know. Thanks for that, too."

He gave her a tired smile just before he went through his front door. She waved in response, whispering, "Goodnight, Tony." She inhaled deeply, enjoying his cologne in her car more than she felt she had a right to.

As she drove away, she pulled her backpack into the front seat, reaching into the deep rear section to ensure that she hadn't been dreaming immediately after she'd left MTAC. The shirt she'd taken from Tony's bottom drawer carried the same scent of cologne.