FRIDAY EVENING – ZIVA'S APARTMENT

Ziva was mad. She was blinding mad, with a healthy dollop of resentment and whipped cream on top. How dare Vance order her to attend a party on a weekend … especially on a weekend when she was supposed to be not working? Now, that 2 day break was ruined, all her plans were in pieces and she'd have to turn up to a White House party, make small talk and distract some Argentinean/Chilean/Columbian/Brazilian someone while her "date" stole a valuable piece of plastic! Ziva's temper racked up another notch. Wasting a good day on planning crap like this was stupid. All she needed was an address and she'd be in and out of his apartment in minutes without being seen. She'd done jobs like that dozens of times before when she was in Israel. America wouldn't be that different. Ok, so there was more than minimum security, but she could do it. However, the Director and Admiral had ganged up on her, Gibbs had reluctantly agreed and now here she was, cursing them all for the stupid idiots they were while skimming through her wardrobe looking for something to wear. Evening wear was in short supply; she had nothing suitable for a formal party at the White House – every dress was either micro-short or cocktail length; and, groaning inwardly, Ziva realised that tomorrow, bright and early, she'd have to go shopping for a gown. She hated shopping in person. On line was not only more convenient it was quicker. She hated the false smiles, flatter and over-eager attentions of the sales assistants. She preferred to browse in peace; try on clothes in privacy and pay for her purchases quickly. There was no time for social chit-chat, coffee breaks, or idle browsing. Shopping was done like a military operation – pre-planned and surgical in its precision. She groaned even louder when she realised that a new dress also meant new shoes – again, there was nothing suitable in her wardrobe. Her fluent cursing in Hebrew was interspersed with snippets of Italian, French, Spanish and Arabic.

FRIDAY EVENING – AJ'S APARTMENT

AJ sat in his armchair in the den nursing a glass of good whisky. He was feeling slightly guilty about today. He knew he'd ruined Officer David's weekend plans and he regretted that; but Ardilles was a man he had to get, and David was just the bait he needed. Ardilles was Columbian, a banker for a couple of high-level drug lords with connections to the government. He was a dye-in-the-wool crook; charming, suave, sophisticated and sociopathic to boot. He himself was responsible for the deaths of more than a dozen people; their images never haunted him at night because he never gave them a second thought. But, he had one weakness – beautiful women - especially younger beautiful women who were educated, well spoken and completely submissive to him. "Well", mused AJ, "two out of three's not bad, and I'm sure if the need arises Ziva can fake the last bit". His hand stretched towards the telephone but after a few seconds drew it back again. Then, inexplicable, it shot forward again grabbed the receiver and his fingers punched the Mossad officer's number.

"David" snapped the voice at the end of the line.

"Ziva? It's Admiral Chegwidden here. I just need to clarify a few points about tomorrow …"

There was silence at the other end. AJ could hear Ziva breathing and could feel the waves of anger rolling down the line towards him. That set him off and he shifted into attack mode.

"I will collect you at 1845 hours. My driver will drop us at the White House at 1915 and we'll be escorted to the Ballroom. Dinner will be served at 2000 hours promptly and there will be dancing afterwards ….

Ziva's own battle mode engaged and she interrupted him by saying something in Hebrew he didn't understand.

"Admiral. You call me to give me a running order for tomorrow night? An order that has not changed one iota since you gave it to me at NCIS this afternoon?" She is aware that her voice has risen in pitch and volume, but she's too carried away to concern herself with what this tirade is going to ultimately cost. "I am not stupid. I am perfectly aware of the standing orders you have given, and perfectly aware that the Director of NCIS and my direct boss have acquiesced to your request. I will be ready to see you tomorrow at 1845 as ordered." Without further comment Ziva hung up, then for good measure picked up the phone and hurled it across the room.

AJ Chegwidden stared at the receiver in his hand and heard the soft burr of the hang-up tone. He quietly replaced the receiver and stood up. His first instinct is to grab his keys, get in his car, go over to her apartment and bawl at her until he's hoarse from the effort. But, spying the Glenmorangie bottle on the table he contents himself with the thought of top-up and returns to his armchair. "Tomorrow will be crap" he thinks to himself "so, no need for tonight to be the same." Dropping a healthy slug of the whisky into his glass he sits back down, picks up the Navy Times and starts to read.

SATURDAY MORNING

Ziva is at the Mall of America before it opens. She's sitting impatiently in her car, running through a list of what she has to buy when there is a knock at the window. Looking up she sees the stony expression of one very pissed-off Admiral stare back at her. He motions her to lower the window and she gives a second's consideration to not doing it, but seeing his eyebrows rise, she sighs deeply and winds the window down.

"Good morning Admiral Chegwidden."

"Ms David."

He stares and she stares. Neither wants to be the first to blink. He bends down and says quietly "Open the door" and nods at the passenger door. She shrugs, leans over and does as he requests. He gets in with difficulty. The Mini Cooper is not designed for a man of his height and she smirks at his obvious discomfort. When he finally has his limbs arranged he motions for her to raise the window, which she does.

"Is there something you want to say?" he asks with a dangerous softness she recognises from times gone by.

Her first reaction is to be flippant or cheeky, maybe even flirty or a little playful. But this isn't the man to try that approach with, not now. He's angry, very angry and he's trying to control himself.

"Why do you ask questions you already know the answer to?"

"I'm giving you a chance to say what's on your mind Ms David?"

"With no comeback? No "on the record"? No retribution?"

"If you wish"

"I note your answer isn't a definitive yes or no"

His response is a cold-eyed stare. Ziva turns her head and looks out the window, seeing the car park slowly fill as the clock ticks towards 9.00am. The store will be open soon and without further comment she reaches for the door handle, swings it forward and exits in one gracious movement. She opens the rear door, grabs her backpack and heads towards the Mall. AJ's trying to exit the car without landing flat on his face but it takes him a minute or two to catch the petite brunette up. The effort of getting out of the car, combined with his hair-trigger temper has brought him to boiling point and he reaches forward and grabs Ziva's arm roughly. Instinct takes over and she drives her elbow into his gut and steps back slightly to follow up when she realises two things - first, her 'assailant' hasn't dropped towards the floor and second, he's seen the knife materialise in her hand. She quickly puts the knife out of sight and breaking eye contact practically bolts towards the department store. AJ rubs his ribs, and slowly follows her. As he opens the doors to the Mall he lets a rueful smile slip across his face – he didn't realise she had a concealed knife. Damn, she's good.

BAILEY'S DEPARTMENT STORE, MALL OF AMERICA

Ziva's face is burning as she jogs through the doors of the first open store. Quickly looking through the store directory she sees the sign for the Ladies Room and heads towards it. Thankfully, she's the only one there and she enters a cubicle, locks the door and sits down. Her brain is in overdrive, taught nerves are rapidly fraying and she's caught between laughter and tears. She can't believe she's just pulled a knife on the Judge Advocate General! What the hell is she thinking of? Breathing deeply she tries to calm her overactive brain and thumping heart. The day has not got off to a good start and she needs to complete her shopping in record time, get back to the apartment and organise herself. She stands up, unlocks the door and exits the Ladies Room. She's scanning the store directory when she becomes aware of a presence beside her. Looking up she gazes into familiar brown eyes – but eyes that are definitely more amused than the last time they watched her.

"Third floor for Ladies Evening Wear" is all he says, pointing to the entry on the directory.

Ziva nods and heads towards the elevator, AJ closely on her heels.

"I can shop for myself Admiral, I don't need an escort."

"I'm sure you can. And you'd better call me AJ – we are supposed to be a couple." His eyes are facing forward, but Ziva can see the pulse beating in his neck, and it's beating a little faster than earlier.

Suddenly, she relaxes. The ridiculousness of the situation hits her and she tries ineffectually to smother a grin; but the grin spreads into a full smile and she starts to giggle. AJ looks down at her, wondering what the hell's come over her but is a little grateful that at least she's laughing. The elevator doors open and a laughing Ziva and bewildered AJ exit. It takes her a couple of seconds to get herself under control and she turns to face him.

"AJ. If our 'date' is a success tonight I want you to undertake a mission with me. I have had to postpone a very important event today to do this. I want your guarantee that you will come with me tomorrow. I'm not going to tell you what we're doing but you must wear comfortable old clothes, not mind getting dirty, and be prepared to sing. If you say yes, then I will go over there (she waves in the direction of racks of evening dresses) and get something suitable for tonight. Do we have a deal?"

AJ ponders for a few minutes. Old clothes, dirty and singing? No-one in their right mind would want to hear him sing. He looks down at his Mossad assassin 'girlfriend' and nods his assent. Ziva smiles, turns and heads for the dresses. AJ, pretty sure he's been had big time, drags himself along behind her. Why does he suddenly feel that a behind-enemy-lines SEaL mission would be a welcome alternative to what Ziva has planned?

She's quickly flicking through a rack of black dresses and a sales assistant has zeroed in on her. Eyeing her up expertly the assistant announces "size 6" and directs to other racks. It takes her about 3 minutes to locate what she's after. AJ stands watching this and the assistant, trying to be helpful says "How lovely dear. Your Father's here to help you choose! Most men run a mile from this Department."

Looking at AJ's now-scowling face she replies sweetly "Oh, he's not my Father. But he does so love it when I call him Daddy." And leaving the sales assistant and speechless AJ behind she trips lightly across to the changing room. At the door she turns and blows a now-blushing AJ a kiss and follows it up with a cheeky bum-wiggle and the sales assistant and 2 Star Admiral can hear the unmistakable sound of laughter coming from the changing room.

The dress is purchased quickly. AJ tried to get a look at it but the best he can see is it's a dull green colour – actually, "Marine Green" flashes through is mind – then Ziva takes off heading for the shoe department. Again, she spots what she wants, tries them on, buys them and the matching bag and heads towards the exit. He can't believe it! A woman who shops at light-speed and doesn't spend hours 'just looking'. His estimation of her rises a couple of notches.

Across the other side of the store another brunette has exited a changing room and is startled by the familiar male face she sees. She's about to call his name when she sees his hand gently drop onto the shoulder of the female beside him – a female who turns her face towards his and half-smiles - and Meredith Cavanaugh's stomach twists into a tight knot.