Not The Falling-For Type

A/N - This is my first fanfic on this site so I hope you'll like it. It's based mainly on Tony and Ziva, though it may or may not turn into a Tiva fanfic. We will get a bit of Tiva though, and maybe McAbby if it's popular demand. Reviews are loved. Anyway.. enjoy!

Light filtered through a lone window, illuminating the brilliant orange walls that were familiar to the NCIS family. Only the wall of wanted men shone silver, though dull; beside it, bordered by the native color of the walls, an elevator remained the only other silver object. It had obviously been polished recently, its sides and firmly shut door gleaming.

Special Agent Gibbs wouldn't have it any other way.

Members of the NCIS team had long since learned that this was Gibbs's private office, as he had no "real" one, rather a desk facing his small crew. His name was echoed around the building on a daily basis. Probies, newbies, and old friends alike looked upon him with a kind of respect shadowed by slight fear. Fear for the reputation that this man had.

This morning, however, Gibbs was not in office yet. Only the familiar face of one of "his" girls sat at her desk, pretending to be busy. Rather, she was anxious to get started with work. Thee was no case waiting for them to crack. That meant paperwork, even more since the prime suspect in their last case had committed death by cop. What complicated matters was that it had not been one of Gibbs's people - a trigger-happy FBI rookie had the final verdict on whether the man should live or not. Paperwork meant boredom. Paperwork meant getting started sooner would end it sooner.

So there she sat, eyes scanning every surface of her co-workers' desks in turn. Gibbs's desk. Decorated by files tossed aside, a trash can filled with coffee cups, and the computer. Tony's desk caught her eye next. The computer, obviously still on as he'd left it last day, was nothing more than ordinary. Nothing was out of place for this scene. Even McGee's desk was pristine and polished as it always was.

Ziva smiled, looking at her own desk. It had the look of the aftermath of a tornado. Boxes piled behind her chair with files not yet organized, a lone bookshelf with not a file nor book to its name, an unused package of sticky-notes stuck on her wall (by Tony, of course) and her barely touched computer. It wasn't bad for two weeks as a "Special Agent," but definitely not good for over a month as "waiting to be accepted for Mossad Liaison," "visitor assigned to the case," or "waiting to be accepted as a Special Agent."

The familiar ding of the elevator sounded, disrupting her thoughts. It wasn't that she minded. The past few months had definitely been trying, and there was still much she had to rebuild. Trust. The word that caused her to bite her lip upon hearing. "Can I trust you, Ziva?" "Don't you trust me?" She shut her eyes to block out the thoughts. Of course you can, she thought sadly, you're my family.

"Morning, Ziva!" McGee nodded to his co-worker and friend as he made his way across the squad room. He dropped his black backpack - it landed with a loud thump - beside his desk and dropped into the chair that stood waiting for him. He looked almost exhausted - lines and shadows under his eyes evident. Obviously, he'd gotten as much sleep as she had.

"Hey, Probies!" Tony's voice now. The smile on his face was definitely something for a man who worked his hours, particularly for a man of his nature to be cheery about being up as early as he was. He stopped and turned on the ball of his foot to study the others' faces.

"Great, a cheery Tony," Ziva mumbled, rolling his eyes at him calling her Probie.

"Well there's either two reasons you're happy," McGee pointed out, leaning forward to stare his colleague in the eye. "One, you're falling for some random girl you met in a bar. Two, she's falling for you, but you have commitment issues, so you're not falling for her."

Ziva had to cover her mouth to keep from laughing at this. As true as McGee's words were, it would be even more humorous to see her partner's reaction. If, of course, he did not go for her first. Only that thought kept her quiet as she watched the thousands of different emotions flash across Tony's face in a heartbeat. Finally, he spoke.

"Thanks," he began sarcastically, "but I'm not the falling-for type."

"Really, DiNozzo? I never would have guessed!" Gibbs rolled his eyes at his most experienced agent. He easily covered a small smile at the look on Tony's face by sipping the hot cup of coffee that had been burning his hand. Finally, he put it down on the desk and stared from agent to agent. "You might not be the falling-for type, but our next murder victim is."

The team, with the exception of Gibbs, stared at each other with a kind of sick relief. The realization had already dawned on them - they could each put off paperwork for at least the day. "Oh, the joys of field work!" Tony declared optimistically, and catching the car keys Gibbs had tossed with flourish. "Let's go, Probies!"

It didn't seem to take long to drive to the other side of the Navy Yard. It might have been faster if Ziva had driven, but, fearing for his life and sanity, Tony had insisted. Gravel crunched under the wheels of the black NCIS sedan as it pulled to a jerky stop. The keys were quickly removed from the lodge, and gear gathered (by none other than the Probies). Gibbs was already on the scene, carefully examining the broken body of a male petty officers.

"Dog tags identify him as petty officer Adam Miller," the boss announced upon his team's arrival. "McGee, bag and tag anything in the area. Tony, interview any possible witnesses. Ziva… you're with me."

The newest Special Agent looked ready to ask where they were going, but thought better of it. She flashed a groaning Tony a smile as she followed Gibbs, waving to him behind her back.

Tony just stared after her. Finally, as she disappeared into the warehouse that the victim had been speculated to have been pushed, he turned to McGee. For seconds, he just stood, watching his Probie go about picking up anything in the area with any blood, possible DNA, or link to the case. "I hate interviews," he grumbled, turning on his left foot to survey the area. The only building in sight was a small, run-down apartment. What fun.

He gingerly stepped over a rotted wooden fence wrapped in rusted barb wires. The grass on the other side was anything but safe - it looked like the yard belonged in a mine field, not a Navy Yard! He carefully dodged bits of scrap metal and children's' toys without heads; laundry mats, sweaters, caps, and smashed pumpkins. Either someone hadn't been here in a while, or they were as bad at cleaning up as he was!

Hesitation. He hesitated to knock on the door with the hand that wasn't on his hip, on his gun. A shiver passed through his body, chilling him to the bone. It was almost a fear. Fear of what was behind the door. But he was a Special Agent with a kick-ass Mossad agent, Gibbs, and his McGeek to look after him. He squared his shoulders, put on the classic million-dollar smile, and rapped loudly on the door. Once, twice, three times. Not a whisper came from inside the apartment.

It was probably empty, he reasoned. No apartment could be left in this state on a Naval base unless there was no one there to care for it. There was no apparent sign of a struggle, no blood on the steps, no smashed windows, and certainly no dead bodies. Except for the dirt, atrocious yard and broken, rusted fence, the place seemed in pristine condition. Tony raised his shirt cuff to his face and spoke quietly into it, "There's no one here, Boss. No sign of a struggle."

"Leave it DiNozzo. We'll get a warrant. Go help McGee." Tony was surprised at Gibbs's suggestion of obtaining a warrant. That didn't sound like his boss at all, but he obliged.

Now that he knew the ground, it took less time to go over the fallen trees, rusted metal, various toys, generally dirty and dead grass, and the fence. Once he had finally cleared the obstacles, he took off at a pace in between a jog and a run. Reaching the edge of the grass, he slid to a stop beside McGee. "What've we got, Probie WanKanobi?"

"Well, we.." McGee looked rather flustered for a few seconds, confusion flashing in his eyes every few moments. "Well, we, we have nothing Tony. A dead marine, Gibbs and Ziva on the roof of the warehouse, and a bloody shoe. Otherwise, we've nothing, at least until Ducky's here."

Inside the warehouse, Ziva and Gibbs went over every inch of where the crime seemed to have taken place. It looked like a suicide, but, as had been mentioned before, NCIS didn't investigate suicides. Every suicide was a homicide until proven otherwise, and therefore they treated it like any other case. There were obvious signs of a struggle on the roof. Blood splatter, the tip of a clean knife, a ripped glove. The usual, Ziva thought with a sick smile.

Gibbs seemed much more interested in how the victim managed to fall unseen than the rest of the roof. It would be his team's job to check over everything. He was team lead - the father figure, rule enforcer, almighty and consequentially the occasional guiding light. All he waited for at the moment was the arrival of his faithful medical examiner and the autopsy gremlin. They always get lost, he thought with a bemused expression, Duck should really drive the van himself.

"Ziva," Gibbs contemplated aloud, "it's possible that the victim knew the attacker. They could have been standing, talking. Somehow, our dead petty officer was convinced to stand on the edge and then pushed."

"Maybe it was a trust fall gone wrong!" Ziva took a stab at American humor. It took so much to make Gibbs smile, but it was worth it. If Tony had been there, he would have definitely cracked up - that she was sure of - but her boss was not Tony.

"Maybe you've been spending too much time around DiNozzo. McGee might be your better partner," Gibbs suggested lightly. "We need to find a way that the attacker could have gotten up here unseen. Of course, this being a warehouse, there are going to be many ways. We can rule out the main entrance to the roof."

"Why? There is a possibility that anyone could have slipped past the basic security and up the stairwell."

"Anyone coming up those stairs would have been caught on camera. This doesn't look like an amateur job to me, Special Agent David. Professionals do not let themselves be seen.

"The attacker could have come from here, Gibbs!" Ziva yelled over the soft wind, pointing to a small door. "This door could lead to millions of places within the warehouse! The killer would just have to go up unseen, stab the man to death, push him, and leave."

"Who said he ever left?" A voice hissed from the shadows. The muzzle of a gun appeared from behind the door, and, before she had any time to react, a shot rang out.

She felt herself flying, but she felt no pain until she landed and her leg smashed into the ground. White hot, searing pain shot up and down her body, seeming to focus around her knee. Despite her injuries, she drew her gun and shot a round that tore through the door and probably missed the attacker that was almost certain to be gone by now.

"DiNozzo," Gibbs almost whispered into the cuff of his sleeve, "Bring the sedan up front. You need to take Ziva to Bethesda."

"Why? What's wrong?" His question went unanswered.