A/N: (pre)Tag to Season 7 Episode "Jet Lag", which is a Tiva favorite, even though they tried to steal our city.
Barging loudly into the Director's office, unannounced, did not have the same effect on Leon Vance as it did on his predecessor, but Gibbs chose to do it anyway—he wouldn't want old Leon to feel left out. In this case, Vance wasn't entirely unprepared for Gibbs, as he'd requested his presence—but that had been two hours ago, and naturally, Agent Gibbs had taken his precious time responding to the order.
On the heels of both a fractious year after Shepard's death, and the rousing success in Somalia, the two men who were both alike and vastly different were messily navigating their way to a firm working relationship—which in their case, included a fair amount of stubbornness and cloak-and-dagger tests.
"You wanted to see me?" Gibbs asked gruffly, as Vance's office door clicked feebly closed of it's own accord, having rebounded from the force of Gibbs' slamming it into the wall.
Vance looked pointedly at the abused silver door and narrowed his eyes. He leaned back in his chair and glared at Gibbs, jumping straight to the point.
"Need to borrow two of your agents," he said.
Gibbs shrugged.
"Your agency, Leon."
Vance nodded curtly.
"I'm sending DiNozzo and David to escort a material witness back stateside for testimony. Witness works in Europe, and she's had some threats against her. I need 'em to make sure she gets back in one piece."
"Where're you sendin' 'em?" Gibbs asked mildly.
"Paris," Vance answered.
Gibbs stared at him. The name of the city clunked loudly in his brain, and he was—as usual—assaulted with the partly painful, and partly welcomed, barrage of memories. Vance's expectant glare was on him, and he shoved his nostalgia down, keeping his face stern and blank.
"Why them?" he demanded curtly.
Vance looked caught off guard—probably because Gibbs had just sounded like a petty schoolgirl who hadn't been voted Homecoming Queen. Gibbs ignored the Director's baffled look. He really didn't have any intention of letting Ziva and Tony go to Paris together.
"Ziva speaks French," Vance answered with a shrug.
Gibbs pointed to his own chest.
"I speak French," he retorted gruffly. "Ziva isn't an agent yet. I'll go with DiNozzo."
Vance gave him an absurd look, and Gibbs knew damn well it was because Vance wasn't about to send both of his most senior DC agents to France as simple escorts; team leader and senior agent both gone, and leaving—what, a Geek, and a former half-Mossad, pseudo-American citizen in charge of crime scenes? Not on Vance's watch. That was the kind of bullshit Shepard would have pulled—like when she left Gibbs behind her desk while she was in Europe, and thought he'd do a swell job as Director.
"What's your problem with the two of them in Paris?" Vance demanded, arching a brow.
Gibbs glared at him. He obviously couldn't divulge the personal nature of his and Shepard's relationship—even if it hadn't been an off the books, under the radar affair, he wasn't about to have a slumber party pillow chat with Leon Vance about Jenny in an attic in Marseille, and everything that had spilled over into Paris.
He didn't like the idea of the two of them in Paris for several reasons—past experience, the unnatural aura of the city that just made those who experienced it loopy for a while, but first and foremost the fact that DiNozzo liked to take his pants off and Ziva had been in a quietly unstable funk since they'd brought her back from Africa.
Vance's mind was made up, though, and all Gibbs could do was nod curtly, refrain from making a scene, and storm violently out of the office—making sure to fling the door around for good measure—and march down the stairs to the bullpen.
"You two," he shouted, stomping into the bullpen. He pointed between Ziva and DiNozzo. "Pack your bags."
"Where are we goin', Boss?" DiNozzo asked eagerly, practically wagging his tail. He sprang to his feet obediently.
"Not we. You 'n' Ziva. Pickin' up a witness in Paris," he growled. "Vance's orders," he added.
DiNozzo suddenly had a very wicked, stupid grin on his face. Gibbs glared at him, and prowled over to Ziva's desk, leaning down in front of her. She looked at him solemnly, with her wide, dark, knowing eyes, and he pointed at her sharply, because he knew she probably knew what he was thinking.
"Stay away from Marseille," he ordered seriously.
The catlike, smug smirk she gave him confirmed Jenny really had told her everything.
-I absolutely cannot write in regards to the Jet Lag Tiva-in-Paris episodes unless it's directly relating it somehow to Jibbs, because I was a little miffed that the writers tried to overshadow our beloved, rare glimpses of Jibbs in Paris with a re-vamped versions, so to speak. And with Jibbs dying out and rabid Tiva on the rise, let's all remember that Tiva can have Berlin and Cartagena: Paris, The Czech Republic, and Positano are ours.
-Alexandra
story# 128