Disclaimer: You've all been taken in! NCIS is property of the people! The people who own it, of course, none of which are me.
Spoilers: Just Silver War, I think. And a finger pointing from the shadows at Under Covers. I have no idea where this would pick up if continuity were concerned. Uh, maybe near the end of season 3 if we're talking team dynamics.
Summary: Okay, I don't have an LJ, but I do prowl around over there every so often, and this came to me when I saw the NCIS Flash Fic prompt 'deadlines.' So…they get a shout-out for the prompt, but I'm not starting an LJ I'll never use just to post one fic. Really, I'm just desperate for all (okay, there were two, but still…) the college courses I took on the American Civil War to have some application to, um…I can't even say real life because I'm talking about fic. Any errors are mine – not because I'm too lazy to look up and confirm the facts, but because I'm overly trusting in my memory. So, the actual summary – Ziva needs to finish a report and Tony needs to forget anyone he knows has seen him on this particular day.
Tony stared at himself in the full-length mirror mounted on his closet door, feeling hot, itchy, and slightly disgusted with himself, clad in a blue wool Union Army uniform. Looking for any small comfort he adjusted his cap to a more rakish angle and said, "At least I'm on the winning side of the war. And I'm an officer."
Even his mirror image found the assertion ridiculous.
"Reenactment my ass," he muttered, stomping toward his living room to pick up the rucksack and antique rifle, complete with bayonet, that had arrived in a package with the uniform the week before. "I can't believe idiots willingly participate in this crap. You don't see people scrambling to be Vietnam reenactors."
As if the situation couldn't get any worse, someone started banging on his door. He decided it would be best to pretend he wasn't home. Curiosity propelled him to find out who wanted to see him so badly, though. The move turned out to be a big mistake. At almost the moment he pressed his eye to the peephole, another eye filled the fisheye view. "I can hear you in there, Tony!"
He scrunched his face up in a silent expression of utter rage before saying, "Can you give me a minute?"
"No. I just want the Williams file so I can finish my report for tomorrow. Gibbs wants it at 0700."
"Yeah, well…I'm kind of on my way out and I'm running late."
"Look, I don't care if you're naked. There's nothing I haven't already seen. Just give me the file."
He struggled with the buttons on the heavy coat, beginning to panic. "You can't give me five minutes?"
"Oh, now it's five minutes?"
The sound of metal clicking on the other side of the door prompted him to unlock and open it. "No need to show off the breaking and entering skills."
Ziva stepped into his apartment, slipping her lock picks back into her pocket. "Where's my file?"
"On the table. I, uh, haven't finished with it yet."
"And yet you still have time to play dress-up?"
"I'm not…" he trailed off as he realized he couldn't deny the accusation. "It's not what it looks like."
She cast a derisive glance at the pack and rifle on the sofa. "Good, because I have no inclination to hear about your kinks. The file?"
"Yeah, it's right over here." He hurriedly rummaged though a stack of loose papers on the table. "Shit. They're all mixed in with the two other files I'm supposed to be finishing with." He began to separate the documents, glancing at his watch and hoping his wearing of a 21st century timepiece wouldn't start a fight. He could always leave it in his car. Ziva startled him by appearing at his side and he knocked some of the papers off the table. "Damn it! I don't have time for this."
She patted his forearm in a gesture that told him to back off rather than relax and dropped her bag on the floor. "I'll collect the file. You go change so you aren't late for wherever you're going."
"I am changed."
Her hands froze in the act of organizing the papers into three piles. "You're going out dressed like that? I'm afraid to ask where."
"Second Manassas. Or Bull Run, if you prefer."
"If I prefer what?"
"Oh, there's just this weird thing with Civil War battles – a lot of them have two names. It's the same battle, but the South called it Manassas and the North called it Bull Run. It has something to do with the name of the town versus the name of the closest river, or…" He stopped rambling as she continued nodding, her mouth curling up slightly at the corners. "I'm not dressed like this for fun."
Instead of asking for some clarification, she stated, "I've had some experience with grown men playing soldier. Isn't Manassas the same battle they were having last year when we had that case with the man buried alive in the iron casket?"
Tony flashed back to a bad case of indigestion and an unexpected arrival. "Wasn't that your first case with us?"
"Second. The first was Ari." She suddenly became very interested in the papers she'd been neglecting.
"Oh, right." He swallowed, not wanting to think about Ari and all that went along with him. "I just meant your first case as an official member of Team Gibbs."
"Yes." She said nothing for some time as she continued to search for the appropriate file contents, taking the time to sweep some crumbs onto a plate with some unfinished toast on it. He remained a few steps back, still tugging on his unfamiliar uniform as it found new ways to chafe him. She finally completed her task, tucking the pile of Williams-related documents into their folder. She took a moment to look him over. "So I see you've been promoted. Tell me, did you perform some kind of pretend battlefield heroics to achieve your promotion, from – what was it? Little poo boy?"
"Go ahead. Make fun of me. I would just like to state, for the record, that this is not something I do regularly, or enjoy on the rare occasions I do it."
"Mm hmm. So, for the record, why are you dressing up and shooting fake weapons at other people?"
"Real weapons, fake ammunition," he corrected. Taking a deep breath, he decided to see if she'd settle for a brief truth. "It's for my father's birthday."
"I bought my father a book for his last birthday," she said, sounding supremely unimpressed, as she sat calmly at his table.
"Well, aren't you the smart shopper," he grumbled. He knew he could ask her to leave, but he wanted her reassurance that she wouldn't spread the information that she'd found him in his apartment, readying himself for a battle that had been decided over a century before. She was going to want a full explanation before she gave him that. He sank into the chair beside her and leaned his elbows on the table. "My dad loves all this Civil War stuff and, in addition to his normal lavish mansion party hosted by his latest piece of arm candy this year, he's decided that all of his male friends and relations should have the wonderful experience of pretending to shoot Rebels. If I do this, I can skip the party, guilt-free. Oh, and you can feel free to refer to me as Lieutenant DiNozzo today."
Ziva smiled, but it wasn't the same sarcastic one she'd worn earlier. "Just for today?"
"Please."
"Well, you're the officer, Lt. DiNozzo."
He returned her smile. She seemed to sympathize with the difficult father song and dance. He quashed the urge to ask why, settling on being relieved by her consideration. "Thank you. Well, I should probably get going. I've got a battle to…I think lose. Do you know if the Union won the Second Battle of Bull Run?"
"I thought they lost everything up to Gettysburg."
"Not everything…hey, how do you know about…."
"World history? It's not a big secret, Tony. There are books and classes and movies even. I especially enjoyed the one with Denzel Washington."
"Glory? Yeah, that's a good movie." He stood to gather his things, but reconsidered and got a soda from the refrigerator instead. "Want one?"
"No, thank you. I should really get to this." She tapped a finger against the file in her hand.
"Yeah, don't want to miss your…hey! Got a little Civil War trivia for you." He finished off his can of soda, belched loudly to observe her disgust, and stood up a little straighter. "What word that came out of the American Civil War has a direct effect on when you need to have your report done?"
She tucked the file folder securely in her bag "I only know one word with an origin in your Civil War and I fail to see how it applies to my report."
He didn't bother to ask what it was, being far to excited to impart his kernel of knowledge. "Well, there was this Confederate prison called Andersonville in Georgia, and they had this no-man's land inside the fence and if you crossed it, you'd get shot. Know what they called the invisible barrier between life and getting shot?"
She considered for a moment. "And it has to do with me finishing my report before Gibbs shoots me? Is that what you're trying to say?"
"No," he replied, miffed. "The deadline."
"Yes, 0700."
"No, the deadline was what they called the line you couldn't cross at Andersonville and newspapermen picked it up and now it means the last moment you can hand something in!"
She was again unimpressed. "I'd say I'd come and watch the battle, but, if I'm remembering correctly, the civilians in Washington only had picnics on the battlefield at the First Battle of Bull Run."
He filed the bit of information away as something he could say to his father when they met on the field in an hour, stepping mutely out of the way as she walked to the door. As she pulled it open to leave, he called her back, "Hey, Ziva. Just out of curiosity, what's your Civil War word?"
"Hooker. See you tomorrow, Lt. DiNozzo."
She gave him a final salute as she left. He waited until he heard the screech of tires outside before picking up his rifle and pack and making his way downstairs, earning a disapproving sniff from one of his older neighbors as he exited the building.