This originally started life as two separate stories - a first time Zibbs (just for the fun of it) and a case fic with Monique. The writers never revealed exactly what she was mixed up in at the end of 'The Missionary Position', so this is partly my take on what that could have been. I merged it with the Zibbs story when, as one of Ziva's closest friends, Monique decided she wanted to play matchmaker :).

As always, hope you enjoy! Reviews always welcome :)

Disclaimer: I own nothing. As usual.

Ziva pounded along the path, her breath beginning to come harder now, her heart thudding. It was still early on a frosty morning, and she had the park almost to herself. The cold air was sharp against her warm face as she pulled up to check her time. Not bad. And she was over halfway round her route. She pulled her hat further down over her ears and was about to set off again when she felt her cell phone vibrate in the pocket of her hoodie. She swore under her breath and pulled it out. She did not recognise the number on the caller display and frowned as she pressed 'accept'.

'Ziva David'.

'Ziva. Monique'.

Ziva's frown disappeared as she recognised the voice of her old friend and mentor. After she had left Monique in Colombia six months ago, she had doubted whether she would ever see her again. Monique had been operating freelance after retiring from Interpol, sometimes working for official agencies, sometimes not. Ziva guessed that she often played both sides. In such a dangerous game Colombia, it seemed, had not been kind to her. She realised that this was not likely to be a social call.

'Monique. So you are still alive'.

She heard Monique's familiar, throaty laugh, and could not help smiling herself.

'What a way to greet an old friend. How are you?'

'Fine. And you?'

'Fine. Where are you?'

Ziva's brow wrinkled at the question. Her mentor was in Colombia. So why is she asking….?

'Where are you, Monique?'

'Washington'.

Ziva froze. She was not sure whether she wanted to know the answers to all the questions that were suddenly buzzing round in her head. She decided to start with the simplest.

'Why, Monique?'

There was silence for a few seconds before Monique answered.

'I need your help, Ziva'.

Ziva did not hesitate.

'What can I do?'

'We should talk. Not on the phone'.

'Then where are you? I will come and meet you'.

A pause. 'No need. I am at your apartment'.

Ziva sighed. She did not bother to ask how Monique knew her address. Or whether she had let herself in and made herself at home. The older woman had not been her mentor for nothing.

'I will be as quick as I can. Help yourself to whatever you want in the kitchen'.

She ended the call, and shoved the phone back in her pocket. She was worried. Monique often operated alone, and she was a capable agent who was used to looking out for herself. In that respect, they were very much alike. It was not like her to ask for help. With a sinking feeling in her stomach, Ziva began to run again.

Monique was apparently taking no chances. When Ziva tried to enter her apartment she found it locked from the inside, the key still firmly in place. Still panting from her fast run home, she banged loudly on the door.

'Monique?'

After a minute of silence, she heard the key turn and the door opened slightly. She pushed it further open and stepped into her living room, shutting the door carefully behind her. She stood for a moment to catch her breath, hands on hips, her eyebrows raised in indignation at the tall, dark haired woman now standing by the window.

Monique caught her expression and smiled, her brown eyes softening.

'You can never be too careful, Ziva'.

'So you locked me out of my own apartment?'

'Of course. Until I was sure it was you'.

Ziva shook her head, smiling. Monique never changed. It was probably why she was still alive.

'I would give you a hug, but….' She gestured to her running clothes, and Monique laughed.

'I will let you shower. We can talk after. Can I make you some coffee?'

Ziva nodded, unable to decide whether to be amused or annoyed at being offered her own coffee, in her own apartment. She decided on neither, and headed towards the bathroom instead. 'I take it you know where everything is. I will not be long'.

She showered and changed quickly, still worried but relieved to see Monique in one piece. As she walked back through to the kitchen, rubbing her hair with a towel, she found herself wondering how long she had known her mentor. Ten years, twelve? Long enough to be comfortable with each other and to dispense with the small talk, anyway.

'I should ring NCIS and let them know I will be late'.

Monique handed her a steaming mug. 'Already done. Special Agent Gibbs is on his way here'.

Ziva almost choked on her coffee. 'You rang Gibbs?'

Monique nodded, smiling. 'I do not know how you concentrate, Ziva. Even his voice is….good looking'.

Ziva did not answer. She suspected that, somehow, Monique already knew about the lapses of concentration that occasionally occurred when Gibbs was around.

Monique's expression became serious. 'I called him because I need his help too, Ziva. And also because I have some information for him. Information that I would rather not be associated with'. She paused to take a sip of her coffee. 'You trust him. That is good enough for me'.

Ziva felt the sinking feeling in her stomach return. Things must be bad if Monique had thought it necessary to involve Gibbs as well. Not to mention the flak she would take herself if this information turned out to be….problematical.

Monique smiled again. 'I would not worry, Ziva. I think Agent Gibbs has a….what do they call it? A soft spot. I think he only agreed to come as a favour to you'.

Ziva raised her eyebrows. She had forgotten how annoying it could be when Monique seemed to read her mind. It was what made them such a good team in the field, but when it came to personal matters, it could be a pain in the ass. She was just about to say so when her cell phone rang.

'Ziva. You gonna let me in?'

She walked to the window that looked down over the entrance to the block, and saw Gibbs standing on the sidewalk. Pressing the buzzer that opened the entry door, she ended the call and went to open her front door. Gibbs appeared at the top of the stairs a moment later. He did not look happy.

'This better be good, Lisson'.