Mere Seconds
Author: Lawral
Rating: FR18
Pairing: McGee/Ziva
Summary: Sometimes your life can change in mere seconds.
Warning: Spoilers for Season 9
Author Note: This story was requested by Rory on . We threw some ideas around: taking some of his, some of mine and compromising on others. Takes place after Tim and Abby stop seeing each other in Season 1. Enjoy!

December, a time when there should be snow in the air, cold wind numbing your nose and people rushing about to find those last minute holiday gifts. This year Timothy McGee was surrounded by none of those things. He would be spending his holidays, not with his family in Indiana, but with strangers in Tel-Aviv, Israel. Sarah had been less than thrilled to learn that her brother was flaking out on possibly reconnecting with their father over a family meal. It had been months since Tim had been home and she was feeling the stress of being a neutral party between her two male family members. Their mother had also been trying to work her husband into accepting their son's career choice; it was still part of the Navy, despite not being the actual Navy.

Tim hoisted his bag further up his shoulder as he descended the transport plane. It was a quiet little airstrip with what looked like an aluminum shelter as its only cover from the sun. Thankfully, he didn't have to go that far. A car was waiting for him just at the edge of the air field. A tall man stood with his hands clasped behind his back and a scowl on his face. The rookie agent wasn't exactly sure if he was trying to shield his eyes from the sun or displaying his distaste for an American agent being his precious cargo for the Director.

"Uh, hello." Tim said as he walked up to the man. "I'm Special Agent Timothy McGee with-"

"I know who you are," The man intercepted. "Deputy Director David has been waiting your arrival."

The man turned on his heal and pried open the driver side door of the dark Sedan. Tim quickly followed the man, fumbling slightly as he knocked his hip against the trunk of the car in his haste and slid into the passenger seat with his bag between his knees.

"It's kind of nice here." Tim said, attempting some neutral conversation. "Back home it would be freezing and rumors of snow would be floating around."

The Mossad officer didn't even turn to acknowledge he'd heard Tim speak. His eyes were trained on the road they were driving. Feeling the tension in the small vehicle, Tim decided to remain quiet for the duration of their drive.

Tim had been sent to Mossad on loan for a week. Out of all the agents, Director Morrow had recommended him for the task of setting up some advanced computer and telecommunication networks to link Mossad directly to NCIS HQ in DC. Being only one of a few agents at the Norfolk Base, his assignment had been met with mixed opinions by his coworkers. Some saw it as a great opportunity for the green agent while others saw it as longer hours to fill the empty space his absence would bring.

He was jostled awake, having not realized he'd fallen asleep, as the car braked hard and stopped outside a rather large home. He looked up at the white exterior as he opened the door to climb out. Tim hadn't been sure what to expect when he came to Israel but he couldn't deny the beauty he'd seen since his arrival. His eye caught movement in an upstairs window; a woman with long dark hair was looking down on him. Instantly he found himself captivated by her. Her hair was loose, hanging around her face, and the sun caught the side of her tanned neck as she turned to the side and spoke in a native language.

"Come," The man said as he passed by McGee and started up the steps.

Tim's attention was diverted as he watched the retreating back of the stiff officer. His gaze rose once more to the window and felt disappointment slide over his chest when he found the window empty. Perhaps the jet lag he felt was playing tricks with him and there hadn't been anyone in the window after all.

The inside of the home was just as magnificent as the officer led McGee up a flight of stairs and down a hallway. He only knocked on the door a single time before opening the door and walking inside. The man spoke to a figure behind a desk in a tongue that Tim didn't understand.

"Azov Oti." Tim watched as the man beside him turned and left through the door once more. "So, you are the computer kid?"

"Yes sir," Tim said nervously. "Special Agent Timothy McGee, sir."

The gentleman behind the desk finally lifted his head and made eye contact with the young American agent. Tim took in the aged features of the man's face and the silver-white hair that reminded him of Agent Gibbs. He had leaned back in his chair and was studying the American. Finally a brief smile etched across his face and he rose to his feet, holding out his hand.

"I am Eli David." Tim shook his hand and then sat in the offered chair. "Director Morrow has told me great things of your computer skills. I presume your task here should be easy work?"

"Yes, sir. It's a simple connection with the-" Tim knew that bored, confused expression and changed course. "Yes, sir. Shouldn't take more than a couple days to get everything operational."

"Excellent," Eli said, picking up his pen and returning his focus to the papers on his desk. "You will be staying in west wing. I shall have my daughter call you for dinner."

Tim climbed to his feet and excused himself. He had no idea where the man was sending him but as he closed the door behind him an elderly woman approached him.

"Shalom. You are the American?" Tim nodded his head. "With me, please. I will show you to your quarters."

Tim followed the woman through the corridors of the large home trying to count how many turns they had taken and which flight of stairs they had climbed. Finally she stopped outside a plain white door and opened it. She waited as he entered the room and she spoke once more.

"Miss David will get you for dinner; three hours time." She smiled and then closed the door.

Tim walked further into the room as he was left alone. It wasn't large but not exactly small either. Staff quarters were relatively nice; it was about the size of his living room back in Norfolk. He threw his bag down onto the overstuffed brown chair and stood at the foot of the bed. It looked so comfortable after his long flight. The soft duvet seemed to be screaming at him with promises of relaxation and sleep. Tim found himself falling forward into the white fabric face first with a stifled moan. The comforter didn't disappoint as Tim turned his head to the side and closed his eyes. He could lay here for a few moments before changing into something slightly cooler.

The room is dark when a sudden knocking sounds at his door. He hadn't remembered falling asleep but given the time difference he wasn't surprised that sleep had taken hold of him. Another jab of knuckles on wood made his body jerk again.

"Yeah, hold on." McGee said as he got back to his feet.

He opened the door to see the woman from the window. She smiled as she took in his appearance of rumpled clothing and messy hair. Whatever her expression had been before he opened the door he saw it melting away in the short seconds that passed.

"My father has sent me to get you for dinner." The woman said.

Tim blinked, as he too had been staring at her. "Uh," He looked down to his attire. "Could you excuse me for just one moment?"

The woman clasps her hands together and took a step back from the door. "Of course." The door closed once more and she heard muffled sounds from inside. He wasn't anything like what she'd imagined when her father had said that the Americans were sending a computer-tech agent to set up communications. The man she'd just met was rather handsome, in a boyish kind of way. She heard him yell out from inside the room followed by a muffled crash. A laugh couldn't be contained as the door suddenly opened once more.

"Sorry," He blushed. His hair had been freshly combed and he'd removed his blazer and redid his tie. She could instantly deduce that he was a new agent to the ranks of NCIS. He passed by her as he exited the room and she could pick up the smell of fresh cologne he'd added.

"I'm Tim. McGee." He rolled his eyes at himself; he'd never been good at talking to women. He'd been surprised that he and Abby had dated for as long as they had. "You're, uh, you're Director David's daughter?"

"Deputy Director," She corrected. "Yes, my name is Ziva."

He wasn't even paying attention to the layout of the house as they walked. Tony would probably make some joke about his lack of swagger with beautiful women; Ziva was beautiful and it, alone, intimidated him.

"So you are the computer turd?" Ziva asked as they rounded another corner. Tim stopped suddenly and looked at her with a slight pained expression. He'd been called many things in his years but this was completely new.

Ziva turned when she noticed that her companion was no longer at her side. She saw the hurt stretched across his face and mentally smacked her. Her use of American slang had always seemed to get her in trouble. Jenny had mentioned that maybe she buy a book on the subject before she ever planned a trip to the States.

"Was that wrong?" Ziva asked. "You know, the people with the goofy glasses and suspenders? What is it?"

"You mean, nerd?" Tim asked with a slight laugh.

"Yes!" Ziva pointed at him suddenly. She smiled in response to the one that replaced the sadness on his face. "I apologize if I upset you; your American expressions are a little foreign to me."

Tim started walking with her again as they descended a flight of stairs that brought them to ground level. Somewhere to his right he could smell the aroma of food and felt his stomach grumble in anticipation. "I've been called worse."

The dining room was different from the rest of the house. It was still something of a spectacle with hard wood floors and a long narrow table. Eli David was already sitting at the very front with two place settings on either side of him. Ziva entered the room and strode to her father's side.

"Papa," She said in greeting as she bent and kissed his cheek.

Tim also approached the gentleman and greeted him, "Sir." The two sit across from each other as three house-maids bring in plates of food and set in front of each person. Tim looks slightly uncomfortable by the display but remains quiet.

"Ah, Agent McGee. I see you have met my Ziva." Eli smiled to his daughter.

"Yes, sir." Tim grinned as he watched her fold her hands and mumble in Hebrew. Eli also had his hands folded and Tim instantly lowered his head until the rattling of silverware announced the end of the prayer.

The meal was generally quiet. Tim was used to silence except for the occasional question about the days events but Eli hardly looked at his daughter once during the meal. The maids returned to collect their plates and served Ziva and McGee some sort of pudding while giving Eli only a cup of coffee. Eli pulled out a pipe from his chest pocket and lit it, blowing out a puff of smoke.

"Papa," Ziva said and glanced toward Tim.

Eli looked from his daughter to the man next to him. He held out the pipe and spoke, "You do not mind, do you Agent McGee?"

Tim held his hand up and smiled with a slight cough. "No, sir."

"Mm," Eli said as he drew another long drawl from the pipe. "I regret that I shall not be here to oversee your work. I got a call and will be leaving for France. Ziva, here, will stay while you work on the communication link."

Tim watched as the father and daughter had a hushed conversation in Hebrew. It appeared that they were arguing without actual yelling. Suddenly Ziva became quiet and glared down at her dessert. Eli rose to his feet and left the room without another word. He turned his attention back to the woman sitting across from him and could tell that she was trying to calm herself; her shoulders were lifting and falling in time with her breathing and the muscle in the side of her neck was tense.

"Are- are you alright?" Tim asked as he leaned forward into the table.

She looked up to him and smiled something more genuine. Picking up her napkin and setting it on the side of her dish she got to her feet.

"How about a drink, Agent McGee?"

"Uh, sure." He started to pile his dishes together and rose to his feet. "Which way is the kitchen?"

"You do not need to do that." Ziva said suddenly. "The staff with collect-"

McGee interrupted her but couldn't help the slight pink tint that rose to his cheeks. "I don't wish to overstep but I'd rather do it myself. Your father has already done more than expected by letting me stay here, the least I can do is clean up after myself."

Ziva narrowed her eyes toward him, thinking about his words. She'd never met an acquaintance of her father's who didn't take advantage of the house staff. Most of the time, she would eat slower so as to help the kitchen staff with clean-up; it was something her father had never understood but he did enjoy the dishes the chef had taught his daughter. Tim watched as Ziva picked up her own dishes and those of her father before leading Tim through the small wooden door behind the seat her father had vacated.

The kitchen staff had consisted of a chef, who was now kneading dough, and a woman who was slaving over a large suds-filled sink. Ziva greeted them with a smile and kissed the cheek of the woman as she set her dishes on the counter.

"Frieda, Maks," Ziva said to gain their attention. "This is Agent McGee from America."

"Tim," He said with a smile. "Tim is fine."

Ziva smirked and corrected herself. "Tim, this is Frieda and Maks, who is a wonderful chef."

Tim held out his hand to shake with the man before realizing that the chef wasn't able to touch him. "Uh, that meal was delicious. I especially enjoyed that, uh, casserole thing. It was amazing."

"Toda, Mr. Tim, but I am unable to take credit. That dish was our lovely Miss David's." Maks told him, looking to Ziva with a twinkle in his eye.

Instantly Ziva clasp her hands together and looked up to Tim again. "So, drinks?"

An hour later, Tim found himself wedged into a very small booth in a musty smelling bar. The drink in front of him was nearly gone as was the beer cradled in Ziva's hands. He couldn't understand a word anyone was saying and he was rather uncomfortable by the looks of a couple heavy-set men seated at the deteriorating bar; paying for the drinks had been a slight challenge also.

"This is your favorite place to drink?" McGee asked with a hint of nervousness.

"Yes," Ziva confirmed.

"You aren't… immune to the fact that you are the only female here, right?"

Ziva looked around the room and the countless faces that instantly turned away from her gaze. "I am fully aware, Tim. You see the man at the end of the bar there?" Ziva motioned her head as her attention returned to her companion. "He has spread the word about not bothering me."

"Why is that?" Tim asked as the man looked up to him and shook his head warningly.

"I believe it was a broken wrist," Ziva said calmly. "Or maybe the bloody nose."

She smiled as if remembering a fond memory. Tim looked up to the man again as he kept throwing glances their way. "You did all that to him? Why?"

"He wanted to buy me a drink."