Hello! :)

so, after a long break, here is my next multi chapter fic! just for you to know, this fic does include a case, but it is really an excuse to throw Tony and Ziva together in a less than conventional way!. also, I'm including a little McAbby, but would you guys prefer Kate/Gibbs or Kate/Ari? becasue Ari never was a mole in this fic, so anything is possible... ;D

DISCLAIMER: not mine

Chapter 1

The orange walls of the squad room glowed in the early morning rays of sun. As it hit the surfaces it careered off in different directions, lighting the room like a huge jack-o-lantern. He was already late. And yet the coffee coursing though his system had not quite kicked in, and he felt as half asleep as ever. He walked around and sat himself down heavily on his desk. Pulling out a toothbrush he emptied half of the bottle into a mug, also found in his desk. He swirled the water around with his toothbrush with his eyes still half closed against the harsh rays deflected off the walls.

"I frickin' hate Mondays," he grumbled, half to himself, half to the Gods who decided to punish him by creating Monday mornings.

The elevator pinged objectionably cheerfully, and out stepped Kate, her smile looking like it came from a toothpaste advert, and with a wardrobe to match.

"Morning Tony," she sang cheerfully, and Tony just sent her a withering look.

"Ouch! Someone is touchy this morning," Kate mumbled, throwing her stuff behind her desk and plonking herself down cheerfully onto the chair.

"A morning can only be classed as good if there is a reason," Tony mumbled with his toothbrush still in his mouth.

"So there was not girl this morning. But judging by your apparel there was a night before?" Kate questioned, and Tony could not argue.

Tony was saved from answering when the elevator pinged again (again, too cheerfully, in Tony's pessimistic opinion), and out stepped Timothy McGee. Despite the fact that he was the most junior on the team it had been a while since Tony had taken the opportunity to comment on his podgy probie body. That was because after a weeklong vacation to Italy, McSelfHelpless was no more. Instead, McSlimTim was in his place, a more confident, still dorky but more muscly and less timid version. And as much as his co-workers teased him about the rapid weight loss and the change in attitude, they respected him just a little bit more. Or maybe it was more to do with that time that be braved a woman's jail and lived to tell the tale.

Back with McGee as he entered the squad room, he turned to Kate.

"Good morning, Kate," he said, and even though the stutter was gone, there was a little bit of fear in his voice. But someone once told him that it was wise to fear. Especially seeing as this was Kate, who would probably castrate him if he said anything wrong.

"No-one asked you, McChipper," Tony grumbled, and dumped his water and toothbrush back into his desk drawer.

McGee looked over at Kate with one eyebrow raised.

"Tony slept with someone last night. He woke up this morning with a hangover and she was gone," Kate explained, answering his unasked question.

"I never said that!" Tony said, indignant at being the butt of the joke.

"You certain that there was a girl in the first place, not just a fragment of your imagination?" McGee asked, and Kate laughed. Tony, on the other hand was not so amused.

"You're going to pay for that one, McGiggle," he mumbled, just as Gibbs breezed into the squad room, the scent of coffee and sawdust following in his wait. Kate had the strangest feeling when she smelt that scent, the one that was uniquely and totally Gibbs. It was the same sensation she had when she was stuck in an elevator with only him, or that time she had accidently sandwiched him against the wall of the submarine. That was a good day…

"You can kill him later. Dead Lieutenant Commander," Gibbs said. Always a man of few words. But the words he did say… Kate stopped that thought in her mind. That was totally unprofessional and not appropriate. And he only dated red-heads.

"Where we going boss," Tony asked, slinging his rucksack over his shoulder. Forget coffee, the risk of getting his ass kicked by his boss was the best wake-up call you could get.

"David School of Dance," Gibbs answered, and Tony turned to McGee.

"Hey, McTwinkle-Toes, a chance to show of your inner ballerina!"

Tim just rolled their eyes and all crammed into the elevator. Going down…

oooOOOooo

They rolled up to the crime scene, the full circus cramming onto the busy streets of Washington. They clambered out of the car, pretending that they didn't notice the clamouring crowd that had gathered, trying to get a glimpse of the drama that was happening on their doorsteps. Tony did not know whether to be amused or disgusted about it. What was it with people's fascination with crime and murder? It was not like they were immune to it in real life, the occasional psychopathic killer making an appearance in their office. And yet there was an endless number of crime shows monopolising their television screens, with unrealistic scenarios, and the crime always neatly solved in the sixty minutes of the episode. He could safely say that that didn't happen like that in real life. And the real world was bad enough, and yet they still created their own horror stories?

Walking over to the body, Tony tried to ignore the smell that seemed to be complimentary to every crime scene that he had worked. He felt the effects of the night before more than ever now, as he tried to keep the contents of his stomach in his stomach.

"McGee, photos, Kate, sketching, DiNozzo, you take the witness," Gibbs said. Tony couldn't tell if Gibbs was being genuinely sympathetic, or if he just didn't want Tony's insides on his crime scene. Whichever it was, Tony, took it as the first good thing to happen to him today, and ducking the tape, he looked at the pad in his hand, and the name that he had scribbled down from one of the local LEOs. Entering the dance studio, he went in search of this Ziva David…

Classical music flooded through the hallways of the studio, reflecting off the polished surfaces. And Tony had never felt more out of place in his life. He had no idea where he should start, and the open plan of the reception did not help. He pushed open the first of the doors that he came to.

As soon as the doors were open the music became louder than ever. Tony's eyes were first drawn to the dancers all probably in their late teens, and all spinning and twirling, and doing things with their bodies that he didn't even know was possible. It all probably had a more impressive French name, but to him, it was just flips and twiddles. And then, his eyes and heart were drawn to the figure at the front of the room.

She stood there with the poise and elegance that had clearly come years and years worth of dancing. Her dark maroon leotard clung to her toned lean body, and her dark brown hair was swept up neatly into a low bun. And she was stunning.

For a few moments she was far too caught up in watching the dancers to notice the extra presence in the room. She was far too busy correcting her students over the loud music.

"Point your toes, POINT YOUR TOES… stretch… no REALLY STRETCH! Dance with your face!" she yelled, and Tony marvelled at how such a loud voice could come from such a small woman.

As she scanned her eyes across the group it was only then when she noticed Tony leaning up against the wall at the back of the class near the door. She gave him a small nod, showing him that she noticed her, and paused the tape.

"OK, you have 10 minutes to get watered. Don't be late back!" she yelled, and instantly almost all of the dancers fell as heaps on the floor, all exhausted and wanting the rest that the floor could offer them. A few more gracefully walked over to bags and began throwing water bottles at the prone figures lying on the floor. Like a well oiled machine the girls caught them and chugged at them gratefully. Tony had never known that dance could be so tiring.

"Can I help you?" the brunette beauty said to him as she reached his spot in the hall. There was something in her accent, something that was not quite American. That and her exotic beauty made Tony certain that she was not from around here, or at least not ethically,

"I'm looking for a Ziva Day-vid?" Tony said, now all strictly professional. There was a time to admire that dancer in front of him, and there was a time to do his job.

"Dah-vid," she corrected quickly, "and you found her," she added with a playful grin that lit up her whole face.

"You're Ziva David?" he said, disbelievingly, "as in, the owner of David School of Dance?"

"Why, do you think I'm not good enough?" Ziva said, but he could tell that she was joking. Sort of.

"No!" Tony, corrected her, "I just figured it would have been founded by some old woman with five cats."

"Compliment accepted. I think…" she said, "and you are…?"

"Special Agent Anthony DiNozzo, NCIS. It stands for N-"

"-Naval Criminal Investigative Service," Ziva cut in. At his curious look, she expanded, "I saw your truck pull up outside."

Suddenly Ziva became painfully aware of all the other presences in the room. Even though the girls were talking among themselves, she could feel their eyes on her back. It was not every day that a body turned up outside their dance studio, and a very handsome agent came to interview her. Wait, handsome? When had she had time to observe that? It was true, his NCIS windbreaker didn't exactly cover his muscled physique, and he did have a charming smile… she mentally shook herself out of those thoughts. Wasn't she too old to be crushing on cute guys? Had she not grown out of that phase?

"Can we take this outside?" Ziva asked after ridding herself of those thoughts. Tony noticed her eyes looking at her students, who hurriedly looked away. It was clear that despite the fact that she had been yelling at them a few moments ago she really did care about them. She didn't want to expose them to the harsh realities of the world, not just yet, and Tony respected her for it. She was like their second mother, to a lot of them.

Outside the studio, Ziva sent a brief look of appreciation at him.

"Thank you. Some of them are only fifteen..." she trailed off, and Tony understood.

"And you don't want them to hear this."

Ziva nodded, and for a moment Tony was too busy admiring her to remember what he was doing there. When he remember he cleared his throat loudly and awkwardly, pulling out a note pad to cover his awkwardness.

"So," he started, "what was your relationship with the Lieutenant Commander?"

Ziva sighed, and Tony had the feeling that they were close, and that it would be difficult to sum up what they were like in words.

"She had just come back from a tour, and she was diagnosed with PTSD," Ziva started, "the first time that I saw her she was in the studio dancing. You only had to look at her dance to see that she was hurting. I waited for her to finish before locking up. Then, one day I had somewhere to be, so I told her where the spare key was. And every time she used it, I always found it and a thank you note posted through the letterbox."

Tony was scribbling notes on his notepad, trying his best to absorb all the information that he had received. There was a moment when Tony's pen was catching up with what Ziva was saying. And then there was a beat of silence that Tony did not initially notice. And then he turned to Ziva.

She had her head tilted back, as if physically trying to keep the tears inside her eyes. Her mouth was pressed in a thin line as she tried to keep her emotions at bay. Clearly Ziva was not fully telling Tony how deep their friendship ran. Tony tried to write it off as a female who was grieving, but there was something that he knew was left unsaid. But he did not want to interrogate a crying woman. So instead of pushing her like he could have, he just thanked her and gave her his business card, just in case she remembered anything and left.

He turned away, making to leave, when Ziva called after him.

"Wait!"

For a mad moment he thought that she would do something radical, like run up to him in a completely movie star way and kiss him. He just felt something for her, something strange, for only just having met her. And if she had kissed him, he would not have minded.

Unfortunately she did not do anything of the sort.

"Do you want the CCTV footage?"

Outside, Kate and McGee were working the crime scene, their head down in the alley floor. Gibbs breezed in, with his usual style, and got to work straight away.

"What have we got, Duck?" he asked the old ME as he knelt with him by the body. She was a small women, petit and blond, with lifeless blue eyes reflecting the deep blue of the sky. Had she been alive she may have been considered attractive. But in death, they were all just corpses.

"No obvious signs of violence at all. Right now, my guess would be poison, but we will know more when we run a tox-screen later."

Gibbs nodded and turned around, only to be greeted by Kate calling over at Tony, who had just emerged from that building, and had now drawn up next to them.

"Building full of girls in leotards, I'm surprised you made it out!" she said sarcastically, and Gibbs had to turn away to hide his grin. Even just standing there, arguing with Tony in her standard issue NCIS windbreaker Kate was beautiful. She turned him into every single love cliché there was out there, and he had sat through so many Disney movies with Kelly. So that equated to a lot of love clichés. He defiantly felt something for her, something strange and alien and beautiful. But there were issues with this. For one, he had rules against things like this happening. And why would Kate want someone like him? A jaded, hardened generally irritating bastard. And then there was his other problem. His past. How could he possibly be longing for another woman, when he was still Shannon's husband? The very thought of it made him feel sicker than how he now felt in the presence of dead bodies.

"Boss, Ziva David said the Lieutenant Commander was suffering from PTSD, and came here to dance when she got stressed out. But there is something that she isn't telling us," Tony said, shocking Gibbs out of the past.

"Is that just an excuse to see more of her?" Kate jibed, and Tony pulled a face at her childishly. Gibbs rolled his eyes at their antics, but was secretly glad for them. The life of someone who investigated violent crimes was plagued with nightmares of unsolved cases and serial killers. He was glad to see that they handled it well, sometimes using humour to diffuse tension, but staying relatively normal. Well, at least as normal as any DiNozzo could be…

so, do you like it? let me know if you want me to continue uploading! :)