A/N: Sorry for the delay in posting fics- I've had some writer's block. This kind of helped me break through it. Enjoy :)
His French was never very good, not like his Russian. He tended to rely on his partner for the translations. You didn't get over, you just got through, he'd heard Ziva say once. It had been years since he'd walked into that run-down diner in the Mojave desert, and he hadn't thought of her in almost as many years, but you got through. Memories of Paris were still there, including the way she chided him for not bothering to learn. Why learn, I've got you, he had teased her.
Today though his French managed to get him where he needed to go, asking where the local refugee center was located, as he got coffee at one of the many cafes in town. It wasn't where the last known address was, he'd already checked. The woman had pointed him down the street, saying it changed locations now and then, because people threatened them. "C'est dommage," she'd said, shaking her head at the plight those people went through only to be treated like lepers. What a shame.
"Je sais," he'd only replied. I know.
With a lift of the coffee cup in the woman's direction, he departed the café, making his way down the meandering, cobblestone streets. In his time in France he'd never made it west, which seemed a shame given how much he liked military history. Things just never seemed to work out where a trip to Normandy was feasible. He was here on business and unfortunately it seemed like even though he was in a town along the coast, only miles from the beaches, he wasn't going to have time to see them. He sipped his coffee, looking around and noting how different it was from Paris. There wasn't any rush. People took their time. The world could be more like that.
He followed the directions until he located the building, a rather nondescript stone structure, which only told him it was the building he was looking for due to the women in abayas and headscarves leaving the front door, clutching folders and handfuls of paperwork, chattering to themselves, children jumping about like butterflies in the small yard to the side, kicking around a soccer ball and laughing with each other. He smiled, nodding to two women who were walking out. "Bonjour," he greeted them.
They immediately ducked their heads and hurried away. He was fairly sure he heard the word 'police' from one of them. Yeah, it's kind of obvious. He stepped in through the open door, into what looked like a nice office. There was a reception desk in front of him, a young girl working at the computer. She lifted her head, smiling politely. "Bonjour, bienvenue, est-ce que je peux vous aider?"
"Je trouve…" He wondered what she called herself these days. He chuckled. "The boss. I'm looking for the boss." There. That should do it.
"Ah, oui," the girl said, standing up. She gestured for him to step into the next room and he followed. She pointed for him to wait and disappeared down a hallway. He turned a little, smiling at some of the women and children who were waiting. The place was decorated in pale yellows and taupe. Soothing colors. Brightly colored children's toys were scattered around with magazines in Arabic, French, and English. He noted the artwork wasn't something from a catalogue, but seemed to be picked out with care. Everything seemed to be taken care of very well, including the women and children waiting.
He didn't like waiting. He'd waited too long. So he walked into the hallway and glanced around. The building was bigger than he gave it credit for on the outside. There were exam rooms and an office for a doctor. He poked around into a few others and found classrooms. People came and went, some gave him strange looks, but said nothing. He found himself back in the foyer again, looking up a flight of stairs. He turned a few more times and then shrugged, heading upstairs. The layout was similar but seemed to be more offices than anything else. He stopped in his tracks when one of the doors opened, a woman in a veil stepping out with two young girls, one on her hip and the other holding her hand. "Thank you," she said, speaking in accented English, grinning widely. There was no other way to describe the joy on her face. "We are so happy. Thank you for all your help."
"It was my pleasure. Please let me know when you arrive in the United States." She knelt to the little girl's height, her hand touching her small shoulder. "And you Maryam, you will enjoy school in Washington, D.C. Let me know when you get that first perfect score on your math test, I know you will do great."
The woman thanked her again and walked down the hallway, the little girl chattering about how excited she was they could go to the United States now. He looked up from the happy family and smiled over at her. She stood in the center of the hallway, staring at him with a curious, but bemused expression. "Gibbs," she greeted him.
He smiled. "Ziver."
"Can I help you?" she asked, walking towards him, her arms wrapped around a leather portfolio. She arched her eyebrow, voice soft and questioning. "You are in need of…employment training? Assistance with refugee status applications?" She pursed her lips and shrugged again. "We also offer recreation classes for the children. Ballet? Basketball?"
He only chuckled and stepped towards her. The sense of humor was still there. Good to see. He reached out and she stepped into his arms, her head resting onto his shoulder. He hugged her quick and tight. "Good to see you."
"It is wonderful to see you, but…" She squinted. The dark hair that rarely wasn't pulled back, the last few times he saw her, was wild around her face. She pushed it from her eyes, still smiling. She didn't finish her question, only crooked her fingers towards her, gesturing for him to follow. They made their way down the stairs and to the reception desk, where the young girl jumped up, immediately trying to explain how he got upstairs. She waved her hand. "It is no problem Chloe, this is an old friend of mine from the United States. We are going to get…" she trailed off at the sight of his coffee cup and chuckled. "Ah…I am going to step out for a coffee. Tell Dr. Adams, she can take over."
"Very well."
They left the center and he nodded back towards it. "I came to talk to you about that and you just up and leave."
"You make the women uneasy," she said, blunt. Her dark eyes darted to meet his. She gestured, explaining herself. "They have fled war, famine, and unspeakable horrors, much of them committed by men. Many have lost their husbands and in some cases their husbands were the ones who did the atrocities to them. The center is a safe space. Strangers make them nervous." She tucked her hair behind her ear. "I am very surprised to see you. You did not notify us you would be visiting."
"In the middle of a case." He glanced down at her. "A Marine Captain was accused of murder. Killed the husband of a woman she was helping. I don't think she did it. It's creating a bit of a…incident."
"Why?"
"Because the woman she was helping was a refugee. I think the husband wasn't really the husband. I think he used her and she fought back and because it would put her status in jeopardy, a Marine Captain is taking the blame. I want to talk to an expert on that."
"On taking blame?" she chuckled. She looked up, shaking her head again, whispering. "Gibbs I do not know how I can help you with that."
"I'm not talking about that. I'm talking about helping people. You're the expert I trust on what these women go through." He shrugged again, sipping the coffee he still held. He sensed her hesitation. She did not want to get back into the darkness. This might be a way to lose herself back in the world of good guys and bad guys. She wasn't a spy anymore. She wasn't an assassin. Not even a cop. She was just someone who helped. He smiled again. "I just want…something. Help me understand. I trust you."
And I wanted to check on you, he thought. They remained in contact, but it was rare. She didn't visit the United States often. He could see each time she came back the difficulty and the pain she felt at being in her old stomping grounds. The wedding was the last time he'd seen her, that was almost a year ago. McGee and Delilah were looking at adopting a baby now. He suspected she would come back for that. It had to be worth it to get her to return. It wasn't like any of them had a lot of excuses to fly to the French countryside either. She turned to him and smiled wider. "What is it you want to know about what I do?"
He only smiled, following her to a different café, where she got tea and chose a table away from others, leaning back in the chair and waiting patiently for him to sit across from her. "You're drinking tea," he said.
"I drink coffee."
"Hmm, you're not though." He nodded towards her hand, which she'd rested on her stomach. It was subtle things. The tea. The glow in her face maybe. Or just a guess. He smirked. "DiNozzo going to be a proud papa again?"
She wrinkled her nose, her eyes squinting as she smiled. Then she chuckled, done playing coy. She rolled her eyes and eventually let out a laugh, picking up her cup. "Yes, well…I am surprised you have not heard him all the way in D.C., shouting to the world about his virility. As though he was the first man in the world to ever have a child." She shook her head, sighing hard. "You will stay long enough to see him, yes?"
Of course. He just had to get this done first before he stopped by their house and checked on his other kid. And grandkid, he supposed, given that their daughter had taken, completely on her own, to calling him Grandpa Jethro instead of what all the other kids in his life called him. Gibbs. Uncle Gibbs, if they wanted to get specific. He leaned back in his chair, sipping his coffee, as she twirled her cup around on the table, talking about her work. He listened intently, not to what she was actually saying, but how she was saying it. It didn't matter what she really did. He could care less about the administrative BS that went on with charities and outreach programs. That wasn't the point of his investigation.
The inflection in her voice when she spoke of the women was soft, loving almost. She grew fiery when she spoke of the horrors they endured. She lifted her fingertips to the small Star of David charm she wore on her neck, plucking at it as she spoke of how it did not matter that their religions had been at war because the reasons for what she was helping them weren't rooted in religion. It was just giving back. Trying to make the world a better place and this was how she was going to do it. The children were happier, they learned English and French, and they played in soccer leagues and ran on the beach. The women acquired skills to help them get jobs when they landed where they needed to land. They weren't all just women who had never worked before, but she helped people who may have had medical degrees or law degrees that didn't have the certification or the ability to use them in their new homes.
Her eyes grew somewhat misty when she spoke about some of the things that they went through. The frustration in her short, clipped words about the way people treated others. She just wanted to help these families. It was only her way of trying to make the world better. "I hurt so many people in my world Gibbs. I may have had good reasons at the time and yes, it may have been my job, but I willingly signed up for it and I relished in some of it, and after an entire lifetime of it, I realized that my choices were not…they were my choices and I had had enough of it. I had hurt so many. Each person I killed, someone mourned for them, regardless of whether that person was guilty or innocent. Whether the world was better without them. This is my way of trying to…to help that."
You don't need to explain that to me, he thought, finishing his coffee. He turned the cup around on the table a few times, his voice cracking when he finally used it after she'd finished talking. "This will help, thank you." He watched her face, the shadow of emotions she still kept hidden from outsiders. She was softer, but her eyes were still wary and watching. He didn't think she'd ever be able to stop sizing up the angles and seeing around every corner.
She squinted, glancing down at her cup. "You do not want to ask me why I have chosen this?"
"You already said. To give back."
"Why this instead of something else though?"
"You teach ballet too, don't you?" Abby had said it, after she'd come back from visiting them a few months ago. He hadn't known that.
Her cheeks flushed pale pink. "I only do it from time to time, I am not an expert," she murmured. She patted her stomach, the bare swell of it now noticeable if you were looking. "Besides. I cannot fit into a leotard soon enough. No one wants to see a dancing hippo."
If he recalled that was in some movie, dancing hippos and crocodiles. A Disney movie that her daughter had forced him to watch at one point. He quirked his lip up. "You're happy. That's all." He was glad to see her in her element. Yes, she still carried the weights of everyone she'd hurt around with her, but it did not seem as though it was carrying her into the ground as she walked. She was coping with it. He nodded down the street. "You need to get back to the center?"
"Soon enough."
"Where's your husband?"
She reached into her pocket and removed her cell phone, frowning at the screen. A mumbled Hebrew phrase came from her lips, which parted in a slight smile. She glanced up and smiled wider, pushing the phone across the table. "This is what I have to deal with," she said in explanation. He picked the phone up and only smiled. The photo she had received was of a miniature version of herself, wearing what amounted to a ballet leotard and tutu, with rainboots, a feather boa, giant hat, and numerous pieces of costume jewelry, her eyes shielded behind cat-eye sunglasses. The person taking the photo had leaned into the frame, also wearing cat-eye sunglasses, a boa, and a t-shirt that read "I Made This" and had an arrow pointing to the right.
"The t-shirt is something he bought because he thought it would be funny to walk around town beside me wearing it after I told him I was pregnant again," she explained.
Somehow that didn't surprise him. He passed the phone back to her, where it dinged in her hand. She glanced down at it, scowling once more and then nodded towards the street. They both stood and started walking down the street. "How did you get into this?" he asked.
"I volunteered at a center in Paris," she said. She shrugged. "And when we decided to move out here, I found another center. Started as just…providing an ear for them…and now it is what it is." She pushed her fingers through her hair again, walking along. She chuckled. "So you asked what Tony is up to, I take it he has not told you?"
"Nope." He didn't talk to them often, hence his visit. McGee was probably most in communication. They had to be careful, Tim had explained, and not make it obvious or use phones that were tied to NCIS, just in case. He cleared his throat. "You guys doing okay? No issues with…anyone?"
She read into what he was saying and nodded. "Yes. We are fine." She took a turn, continuing down another street. They were back where the center was and she approached a red Mini on the side of the street, opening the driver's door, chuckling at his smirk. "I really did miss it." She took off once he was belted in, talking over the sound of the tires bouncing on the cobblestones. "Tony sometimes helps out at the center. He plays basketball with the kids, but mostly he's a what do you call them? A house parent?"
He chuckled. "Stay-at-home-dad," he corrected.
"Yes, he is that. He also writes movie reviews for a bog."
"Blog?"
"Whatever, he watches movies all day and then writes about them and someone pays him for them and then people comment on his opinion. It is a terrible cycle, people paying him for his opinions, he seems to believe that I will care one day, which I do not." She cleared her throat again and smiled, in spite of herself. "He is actually quite good at it…I think he is writing something else, but he won't tell me."
The car spun around a corner, heading away from town and up a hill, into the countryside. They accelerated over another hill and suddenly screeched to a stop, before she jerked the gearshift into reverse and whipped into a driveway backwards, the car breezing by bushes and trees, until the house came into view. He stepped out once she'd braked and parked. Living in the Middle East again and then France hadn't helped her driving skills in the least. He looked over at the house, an old stone farmhouse with white shutters. The front door was red. There were gardens around the front and side, the remnants of summer flowers dying away in the autumn cool.
He saw a crudely built playset in the back, beside a smaller version of the house. There was something that looked like a stable and then a barn, the doors open to reveal it was used as a garage, two cars already parked inside. An SUV and a red convertible. Something told him that the convertible didn't belong to either one of them. He gestured. "So I take it Grandpa is hanging around?"
"You have no idea," she said with a groan, shaking her head. "He lives in the guest house. Just showed up one day and never left." She smiled again. "Tali loves him."
Which was why they tolerated his existence. Things have come very, very far, he thought, walking around the side of the house with her, taking in the copious amount of children's toys. He was pleased to see the bicycle he'd sent over for Christmas the following year was propped up against the side of the house. He followed her in through the open French doors, which she closed, with a shout into the house that they needed to keep the doors shut or else the cat would get out.
"You have a cat?" he asked.
"It's Tali's," she said, by way of explanation.
"Keeping the door open so the cat gets out is kind of the point, sweetcheeks!" a voice yelled from within the house. It grew closer and Tony came bounding down a staircase built into the side of the kitchen, spinning around the bannister. He grinned at her, holding his arms out. "That thing scratched me again. This time I think because Tali told him to, which is a bit scary. By the way, have you seen Rick Blaine anywhere?"
Was Rick Blaine the cat? His answer came a moment later, when a Bernese Mountain Dog bounded into the kitchen, followed by a little girl in a tutu screaming behind him. Tony jumped up a few more steps as the dog ran by him and into the other room again. "Afraid of your own dog, DiNozzo?" he asked.
"Boss!"
He fell back slightly as Tony launched towards him, giving him a half-hug and slap on the back. He chuckled and looked over at the former agent, who looked like fatherhood agreed quite well with him. He ruffled his hair. "You need a haircut." It came down practically to the collar of his shirt.
"Yeah, I keep telling him I'll cut it," Ziva chirped with a smirk.
"And let you get near my throat with scissors? I don't think so."
The little girl came sprinting into the room again, squealing. "Grandpa Gibbs!"
He lifted her up, patting her back and giving her a kiss on the cheek. "Hello Tali." He looked down at the dog, which had sat down beside his feet and was looking up at them with a lolling tongue and what amounted to a doggy smile. He chuckled and looked at Tali again. "This your dog?"
"Yes. Abba got him for me."
I have a feeling Abba gets you a lot of things, he thought, scanning the house, which was filled with child toys. He glanced at Tony, who was still wearing that ridiculous shirt, standing beside Ziva who was trying to stand on the opposite side of him so the arrow wasn't pointing at her. He only shook his head and walked away with Tali, listening to her talk about her new school, which she only went to a few times a week but she liked it a lot. It was in French and she could speak three languages, she boasted.
He sat with Tali for a little while, visited with Senior, and fended off a request to stay for dinner, which Ziva would not hear of. She said she would bring him back to his car in the city after dinner, so he had no choice. He wandered the house, noting how much of a home it actually was. DiNozzo's apartment looked like something out of a magazine. He had only seen Ziva's after it had blown up but it was similar, not something to be lived in. Photos of Tali graced almost every available surface. Art projects were framed and displayed like they were works of Grand Masters. The living room had floor-to-ceiling built-in bookcases that were filled with books and movies. He noted a unique filing system that had books paired with the follow-up movie. Tali showed him her room, which had a giant fluffy pillow for her dog, beneath a Casablanca movie poster.
"He's got a tuxedo," she explained, when he asked why she named her dog Rick Blaine.
That seems like a very good reason. He ruffled her hair, the dark curls sticking up every which way. "So how do you like living in France?" he asked.
"I like it." She beamed up at him. "Ima helps people."
"Yeah," he said, soft. She seemed to be really happy doing it too. He picked up the teacup that Tali had set down in front of him and held it up to her. "No tea."
"No tea!? I'll be back!" She took off out of the room with the teapot. He smiled and turned around at a creak in the hallway, looking up when Tony walked into the room, holding a laundry basket full of dresses.
He set it down on the floor, kicking it aside and then flopped into the pink armchair in the corner. They both remained silent. He cocked his head at Tony, waiting for him to start. There was nothing they really had to say to each other. He scowled slightly. "She getting you tea?" he asked.
"Yup."
"Well it might be awhile, she has a new soap that foams when she washes her hands. We can't get her out of the bathroom sometimes." He smiled over and then leaned forward over his knees. "So what do we owe the pleasure of your visit, Boss? Not that you can't visit, but…we're kind of out of the way a bit. Not really on the commute path you know." He paused, his voice dropping. "Not like you talk to us much anyway."
That's on purpose. "I had to talk to Ziva."
"About her work? McGee told me about the case you guys have. Seems intense."
"It is."
He swished his lips around for a second and frowned. "You know…she's really happy. She doesn't…she carries the work with her but not like how she did before. It's her giving back. I don't want her dragged into anything." There was a hint of warning in the words. You think I'd do that, DiNozzo, he wondered with a brief scowl at his former protégé. Tony stared hard at him, still quiet. "I'm glad she's helping. Gives her purpose. She's really big on that." Where is this conversation going, he wondered, but said nothing. It was too late for anything else, as the door opened again. Tali came into the room, holding the teapot carefully in front of her. "You got tea in there, Tali Bear?" he asked his daughter.
"Yup." Tali set it down on the table and grinned. "Now we can have a party."
"Am I invited?"
"No," she said clearly, looking up at him and smiling. She scowled at him. "I want a sister."
"It's not like you have a choice in the matter Tali, it's kind of predetermined."
"Senior says I can pick."
"Well Senior doesn't know what he's talking about, not that that's a shock to anyone." Tony stood up and pointed to the teapot. "Don't spill that all over the carpet like last week."
"You did that Abba."
He paused. "Oh…well…still." He swooped down and lifted her up, smothering her with kisses. Tali squealed, kicking her feet and laughing. He dropped her back at the table, grinning. "And now I've got my fix. I will leave you to your Grandpa Gibbs and your tea party."
"Goodbye DiNozzo," he said, looking up pointedly as Tony seemed unwillingly to leave immediately. He waved his hand and Tony sighed, trudging out of the room. He returned his attention to Tali, smiling at her. "Carry on with the tea party."
After the tea party, he let Tali show him her movie collection, showed him how she could ride her bike, and by that time they were ready for dinner. He listened to the two of them bicker, fended off questions from Senior over how he could help out with cases at the Paris office, and told Tali a story about one of the cases Ima and Abba worked where they were locked in a box for a day. "Ima how come you didn't kill Abba?" she rightfully asked.
"I think because one day I knew you would come along, nishema," her mother said, dropping a loving kiss to her daughter's forehead.
"More like she didn't want to clean up the mess," her father said instead, receiving a light slap on the cheek from his wife as she walked by him.
When dinner ended he helped Tali pick a movie, which she sat down to watch with her Senior, as she called Tony's father, and carefully slipped out of the room and onto the back patio, where Ziva was seated, reading through a file. He sat down beside her, smiling when she glanced over. "She's great," he said.
"Yes, she is her father's daughter."
"And her mother's," he said.
She lifted up the teacup beside her stack of files, sipping at it and smiling softly over the rim. "Yes, well…there are some qualities I do not want her to carry on. I want her to have the childhood I did not…did not get to have." And the same one her father didn't get either, he figured. He glanced over his shoulder into the house, where Tony was pontificating on when Disney animated movies went bad. Tali was arguing that they were all good. He returned his gaze to her and shrugged at her narrowed eyed smirk. "Have you talked to Tony?"
Tony didn't want to talk to him. Didn't need to. "We're fine," he said. He smiled over at her. "You guys have a nice place."
"It has its moments." She folded her hands over her stomach. "Tali enjoys it…we are happy." She cleared her throat. "If you ever need any other…information. I am happy to provide it, but…no more badge Gibbs." She looked so apologetic, her eyes shining. "We gave it up. For different reasons, but…I asked Tony when…when he found me…he could go back. I mean…I would support him if he wanted to go back. Tali had both of us again. He said no. He talked about two cups and…and family and the job and how you couldn't always have both. He decided that he wanted to be there for Tali. Our time with the job and everything…it wore on us both but in different ways. Tali will not know the life that we had as children. She will know both of her parents. No threats. No missing them because of the job. We are lucky to be able to give that to her."
He reached over and patted her hand, feeling the diamond on her left hand dig into his palm. He squeezed her fingers and she squeezed back. He smiled sideways. "I'm not asking you guys back. Just wanted some information. Like I told you earlier." Checking on you too a bit, he thought, glancing back into the house, where a loud curse had just come from Tony, who had tripped over the dog lying in the center of the kitchen. "He swears in Hebrew now?"
She called out to the kitchen in Hebrew and he replied back, walking over to lean against the door, saying something else to her. She smiled fast. "He knows enough."
"See Boss, I can still learn."
"Never said you couldn't." He was still surprised at Tony's fluency in the other language. He supposed that's what happened when you lived in Israel for a part of the year. He glanced at the both of them and then pushed up to his feet. "I better head back."
"Got work to do?" Tony asked.
"In the middle of a case, just getting some information." He got more than he bargained for. He stood and glanced down at Ziva. "You stay there, DiNozzo can take me back to my car."
She glanced at Tony and then frowned at him. "Are you sure?"
"Absolutely. Besides. I haven't had a chance to talk to him."
"I am standing here."
"Well," she said, getting to her feet. She reached her arms up to hug him tight around the neck. "Do not be a strangler," she said with a smile, pulling back.
"It's 'don't be a stranger', sweetcheeks."
"Oh." She frowned a little and looked up, wording it out silently and then shrugged. "That does make more sense. Do not be a stranger."
"I won't," he promised, kissing her cheek. He didn't want to upset Tali, so he just called out he would see her later, but she was so enthralled with her movie, he didn't want to break her from it. He gave a wave to Senior and followed Tony to the SUV. He wiggled his fingers, taking the keys from DiNozzo and climbing in the driver's side. "You went for the dad car, huh?"
"Only thing worse is a minivan, Boss and that's never going to happen." Tony grinned sideways. "Couldn't take the driving huh? It's weird, because when Tali is in the car she drives fine."
"It's because Tali's in the car."
"That makes sense." Tony leaned back against the headrest as they drove away. He was silent through the first few turns and hills, until he released a long sigh. "Thanks for visiting Gibbs. I know Tali liked it…and I know we don't get back often enough, but it's just…"
"You don't need to explain to me DiNozzo."
Tony glanced sideways, quiet. "But I feel like I kind of do, I mean…it's been like four years…and you know we can't call back all the time because of the…well just in case people didn't buy the fact that Ziva David died in an explosion four years ago."
"DiNozzo, I just told you, you don't need to explain it to me." That wasn't why he came to see them. He needed to get some information for the case. He got it. He checked on them, hung out with Tali, and now it was time to get back. He glanced at Tony, who still seemed unsure and just shook his head. "Aw DiNozzo. Don't do this."
"Do what?"
"We're fine," he said. It took a hell of a long time, there would be no replacing him, but they were getting on without him. He chuckled. "Are you fine? Writing on your blog?"
"It's for a blog, I don't have a blog," he said. He hit his head against the window again. "I like raising Tali. That's the only job I need."
And you're defensive about it. "Don't need to justify it to me."
"Well…even with Ziva back, I just…"
"I told you. We're fine." And so was he. It wasn't worth pursuing about. He didn't even know why Tony was so angst-ridden over this anyways. It didn't matter. Even with two parents, Tali didn't need to live a life of wondering if one of them wouldn't come home one day. That wasn't what Tony wanted anyway. It took him a long time to realize he wanted a family instead of a career. Now he had that. He glanced sideways again. "So another kid, huh?"
"Yeah. Kind of a surprise." He frowned a bit. "Tali seems happy about it."
"And you?"
He nodded. "Yeah, of course. We're going back to Israel in a few months so he can be born there."
"It's a he?"
Tony shrugged. "Of course." He laughed. "The universe wouldn't give me three David women to deal with, right?" All he did was arch an eyebrow and give his former agent another look. The confident look vanished. "Oh man. This could be bad. I'm not strong enough Boss! They'll kill me! I only learned Hebrew just so I could know if they were talking about me behind my back!"
"And were they?"
"Well I don't know because now they talk in French so I'm learning that too!"
"You live in France, DiNozzo."
"Well I let them translate for me and Senior knows enough to get by." The car came to a stop beside the center where he'd parked. He threw the gearshift into park and got out, walking around the front and smiling at DiNozzo. Tony shrugged. "Good seeing you Gibbs."
"You too." He reached his arms around to give DiNozzo a hug. He chuckled and ruffled his hair a bit, feeling Tony flinch slightly. He pulled away and clapped his shoulder. "You're taking care of your family Tony. That's the best job there is. Don't worry about the one you left behind."
Tony smiled quickly. "Yeah."
"See you when McGee has his kid."
"Oh you better believe it," he laughed. He walked back around to the driver's side of the SUV and climbed in, waving as he pulled way from the curb.
The phone in Gibbs's pocket rang as he watched Tony drive away. He climbed into the rental car. "Yeah?" he said, flicking the old phone open.
"Uh, hey Boss, it's McGee."
"I know, I saw your number. What?"
"Um, I just was wondering how France was? We've been um, wondering?" He meant that Abby and Ducky had been hounding him for information. Bishop probably had been too, but more subtly. "Did you get what you needed?"
He nodded, driving away towards the highway to get back to Paris. "Yup. Got what I needed."
"And, uh, everyone else?"
"You're going to be an uncle." He clicked the phone off to just let that sit with them and figure that out, laughing as he headed away. He had what he came for, in more ways than one.
THE END