I: Haunted

I can feel you all around me

Thickening the air I'm breathing

Flyleaf

"You have to try my cupcakes. They're gluten-free. But they're really, really good. Because they're basically pure chocolate." Abby was standing over Tony's desk, her dark eyes bright and enthusiastic. He appreciated her optimism; the world hadn't stomped it out of her yet. She cheerily shoved the tray of cupcakes under Tony's nose. He sniffed them and grinned.

"I never say no to free chocolate Abs." He plucked the biggest, most heavily frosted one. Delicious.

"Hey Abby . . ."

"NONE FOR YOU CUPCAKE-THEIF!" McGee shrank back into his seat and Tony chuckled at his sullen look.

"Shouldn't have stolen the girl's cupcake," he scolded. McGee threw him a glare and returned to his computer, although Tony doubted that even McGeek understood whatever babble he was typing.

"Ziva?" Abby asked, looking across the way with her bright eyes. Ziva grinned.

"I would love one, Abby," she said, getting up.

"No can do, Zee-vah. These aren't kosher. Don't know what scary dishes Abby mixed up." He grinned innocently at her disapproving glare.

"Come on, Ziva. Can't go against the big man upstairs. You're the chosen people."

"We are indeed. So I think I have incurred enough favour to risk it." She grabbed the cupcake just as he was leaning in to take a bite. Abby laughed.

"That was cold, Ziva." She shrugged and arched an eyebrow as if to ask just what exactly he planned to do about it. He could think of plenty of things he'd like to do to her involving a cupcake. Like lick chocolate frosting off her navel . . .

"I'm sure you deserved it, DiNozzo. Pack it in, people. We've got a dead marine," Gibbs shouted as he stormed through the bullpen. Ziva put down the cupcake and Tony just as quickly picked up.

"Thanks, Ziva." Now the big bite. Just going out the door. He needed his energy, didn't he?

"Thanks, DiNozzo." Of course Gibbs would take it from him.

Dead people were messy. Tony wrinkled his nose as they pulled up on the scene. He hated when the bodies had been left for a few days. They smelt bad and leaked and stuff. He grimaced and began suiting up. He preferred looking through houses, creating profiles. Hunting down bad guys. Blood and guts were kind of gross.

"Move out the way. NCIS," Gibbs declared, glaring at the Montgomery County Maryland Police. The officers stepped aside, grumbling quietly about Federal arrogance.

The house they were in was small, almost ramshackle. Build around the fifties, maybe. One of those split levels. It was sparsely decorated, and he recalled that the Marine had just bought it before he was called to duty and only recently returned. Some homecoming. It was tidy, with a lot of white. A few pictures here and there.

The marine was attractive, and the pictures lacking a consistent girlfriend inclined Tony to think he was a playboy. He smiled somewhat bitterly. Yeah, that could be fun. Girl after girl after girl. And just a little while ago he would have admired him but now . . . now everything was different after Jeanne.

He allowed himself to steal a glance at Ziva before just as quickly berating himself for doing so. She was his partner, his colleague. He couldn't allow this romantic feeling to grow any larger than it already had. He needed to fight it. Besides, she clearly had Israel dude who probably spoke Hebrew with her and laughed at all the right jokes and wasn't known for his inability to be monogamous. He sighed.

Maybe an angry one night stand killed him? Click, click, click. The camera, capturing everything in sight. The things his eyes were missing. After his and Ziva's undercover assignment he had really gained a respect for pictures. He hadn't realized his own eyes could betray him. Other things, yeah. Whatever. Not the time or place for dwelling. Time to shoot the body?

"DiNozzo!" Gibbs's angry voice. Tony turned in confusion. Have I really fucked up that badly already today? I mean geez . . . I guess I've been teasing Tim a bit too much with the cupcakes . . .

"Boss?"

"You care to explain to me why the fuck you name is carved on our victim's chest?"

Hmmm. This probably beat cupcakes.

Ducky's day had been going pretty well. His mother was feeling better than usual. He had awoken early and felt particularly energised. He always loved that feeling; when you woke up and you really woke up. Just fully ready to spring in and enjoy life. He remembered unhappy high school days where he never could get enough sleep and always woke up feeling tired, even on the weekends and holidays.

Medicine had taught him that the human body was a delicate thing; it needed such a precarious balance to be good. Sure, it could survive amazing things but it couldn't thrive amazing things. Too much water led to water poisoning. Too little dehydration. A few percent points difference in oxygen levels could be the different between life and death.

He marvelled that all med students didn't lose their heads thinking about it. That was why he preferred the already dead. No widows and orphans asking we he screwed up. So he enjoyed his job. Yes, the day was shaping up quite well. He had even gone to the quaint little coffee shop down the street and had one of those delicious muffins he liked so much.

Then he got another corpse involving Tony DiNozzo and murder and his day wasn't so good anymore.

"I suppose we can just recycle the list from last time?" he asked as Gibbs swaggered in. Gibbs frowned.

"We need to know why someone's after Tony." Gibbs was tough, sure. But he cared about his team. And everyone knew that.

"You know I'll do everything I can for young Anthony," Ducky said firmly. "Now, Mr. Palmer and I are going to start in on this poor marine. You, sir, did not enjoy good last moments did you? Dear, dear. . ."

Gibbs left. He couldn't stand to stay there, but he couldn't imagine going back to work. He couldn't imagine keeping still. Tony, Tony, Tony, getting into stupid messes and doing stupid things . . . he frowned and continued stalking the halls, perhaps with even more vigour. What to do? He didn't want to fire Tony certainly, but he didn't know what to do with him otherwise.

He couldn't get into trouble like this, it just wasn't going to work. He checked turned a corner with near violent force, frightening an intern. Papers fluttered and he ignored them. Let Vasshole yell at him later. God, he hated that man. Stupid Vance. Jenny did everything better. This place was really going downhill in her absence; she would have been so ashamed.

His cheeks burned and he wished he could make things better for her memory. He wanted to fix it. But he couldn't, and it probably wasn't a good idea anyway. Every time he took something good, he destroyed it. So it was better that he work with bad things, things that couldn't get messed up anymore than they already were. He broke his family. He broke everything. . .

Jesus, but did Tony have a death wish or something? Because this was the second time he'd been involved in a murder. Why did he have to go around pissing people off all the time? Didn't he realise these were possible grounds for getting fired? He growled and tried to fight off the more tempting emotion of concern. Because really, this wasn't about framing Tony. No, this was about someone (someones? Could there be more than one perp? It wouldn't be improbable with Tony . . .) wanted to send a message. Someone was angry at Tony. An ex-girlfriend? Stupid Tony! How was he supposed to keep him safe?

Gibbs left the building and got into his car, turning up the radio until it hurt. He took off, taking 495 to Washington. The beltway was clear for once, hardly a car in sight. A few buses and trucks, but he adeptly avoided them, weaving at ninety miles an hour and hoping no cops would pull him over and demand an explanation. As he got into the city he drove more slowly, past the old monuments and memorials. Whispers of marble and dead men echoed in his head, mangling with the bass boom of a CD Abby had made for him sometime ago that he had only listened to once before, deciding there was too much screaming for his tastes.

But now it was good, dulling his senses and making things fade. He needed that now. He was worried about his senior agent, worried about what was going to happen. How had they ended up in this mess? He really didn't have any desire to interrogate Tony again. He needed a plan to deal with Vance too. Vance was a class-A asshole and a newbie; a toxic combination to keeping Tony's head above water. They would need to go over every clue, get into DiNozzo's head and find out who knew about his job, who would target him with other people's murders. Gibbs reluctantly slowed down as he realised he was speeding again.

He stopped by the Lincoln memorial and reclined his seat. The October sun was high in the sky and it was still warm enough for him to roll down the windows. He could hear children shrieking on their fourth-grade field trip. Kelly. He grimaced. Couldn't focus on bad memories right now. Too many other things he had to be thinking about. What to do with Tony? He didn't feel like talking to Vance, and Jenny wasn't there to make it all better. Jenny. Jenny, who could have been. What almost was, so tangible and fragrant and beautiful . . . he closed his eyes and tried to remember her smell.

She was staring. And it was rude, and she shouldn't be doing it, but she was. Ziva was blatantly staring at Tony, trying to map out the thoughts in his head and the canals of his veins and arteries and the little electrified synapses of his brain. And what, what was going on? Really, not knowing was driving her mad. Why was there a dead man with Anthony DiNozzo carved into his chest?What had Tony one to piss someone off? What secrets was he keeping?

Because she knew, she knew he was keeping secrets from her. Tony was always full of secrets, always full of things left unsaid. And she saw through the mask. She took it at face value because she didn't know what else to do, but she saw that he cracked jokes to keep them from asking too many questions and he laughed without his eyes.

And now someone was dead again and everything was crazy and she hoped that it would all be okay because as scary as it was when Tony was framed it was even scarier now that someone was so forward with their intent and Tony was in danger. Was there anything she could have done differently, any way she could have helped him? If only Tony would talk to her! Something was terribly, horribly wrong. Because she remembered, remembered all too well last Christmas. . .

It snowed that night. Having lived in sunny Israel, American snow never ceased to fascinate her. She stayed up late, watching the flakes fall down while Hanukah songs played in soft Hebrew and Yiddish melodies from her iPod. It was dark and still and wonderful out, perfectly perfect. Quiet. All the voices that rang in her head all day between Gibbs and Tony and Abby were gone, put to bed with the office.

She was drinking tea, alone. She had been offered a date, but turned it down. The guy at the bar had been nice, but he wasn't Tony. And Tony was the one she wanted, the one person she couldn't have. So she sat there staring into the night, letting the images of the day and other memories drift through her head. She remembered Hanukahs past, with her family. Maybe she would have another dinner party, invite everyone to join her. It would be nice to have Tony here again . . .

It must have been around midnight when she was suddenly overwhelmed by the urge to go out into the cold and take it all in. Maybe it was being cooped up so long, alone with only her thoughts and ghosts. Maybe it was just something about the night. Didn't matter, really though. She pulled on her boots and coat and left, closing the door quietly behind herself.

It was cold outside; she almost went back in, but changed her mind and headed into the garden for the apartment complex. The snow crunched softly under her feet, the moon high and bright behind the cloud. She stood in the garden, head tilted back as she let the soft cool flakes fall down and kiss her face.

It made her think of Tali, for some reason or another. She missed her. She wished she could share everything with her sister – the dark night, the cool air, how she felt about Tony . . . she shivered in the dark and pushed her long wet hair away, opening her eyes. She needed her sister. She needed someone to share things with.

She needed Tony.

Ziva didn't sleep well that night. She kept feeling lonely and haunted, desperate for company. She berated herself for not accepting that date and ended up spending most of the night cleaning her house. It was something she did when she couldn't sleep, useful mindless work. When dawn broke she took a long hot shower and picked up a couple of over caffeinated coffees in lieu of breakfast. She could eat at lunch; right now she needed to unadulterated caffeine in her veins. She drove more slowly that morning and smiled bittersweetly thinking of Tony's running commentary on her driving. Maybe one day I can make an exception for you.

The office was dark and quiet when she entered but her mind was humming excitedly with work to be done. Numbers to call, research to do, people to interview, files to review. So many distractions! No thinking about Tony. No thinking about Tali. No thinking about lonely holidays. She would work through Christmas, maybe. The office was always in a snit then. So many corpses, so few workers. She would be perfect, a Jewish girl without family willing to work Christmas day, because murders didn't stop simply because it was the season.

She sat down at her desk and tapped her foot impatiently as she waited for the computer to start up. It hummed and dinged and just as she was getting to typing her password Tony stormed in as though on fire. He aggressively swerved around his desk, pulling a clean shirt from the file cabinet. Dumbfounded, she just watched as he began to undress, either not noticing her or not caring what she saw.

It was unlike him. But then he had been acting strangely lately, jumpy and easily irritated. He avoided questions and isolated himself. Truthfully, she was starting to become a bit worried about her partner. Something just seemed . . . wrong. You're making a big deal out of nothing. Probably family holiday stress, she chided herself. She was almost prepared to just turn back to work (staring was rude!) but then the last layer came off and everything changed.

The mural of his stomach was a bad modern art painting, all sorts of ugly greens and sickening yellows of fading wounds mixing with new ones, more horrific in grey and purple and blue and red. Forget civility; she started. Ziva stared at him, in horror and in wonder. Like all human injuries; couldn't look away and couldn't stand to see it. Her eyes bulged and she was choking on something caught in the back of her throat, something between a scream and the urge to vomit. Someone . . . something had hurt Tony. Something had hurt her Tony. She could almost hear the crescendo whistle of her blood boiling in her veins. How dare . . .?!? She couldn't help herself.

"What happened?" she asked, flying across the room and flinging herself at him. She kneeled in from of him, her breath hot on his stomach. She reached out and touched the affected area tentatively, worried that she would further harm him. The flesh rippled under her fingers and he stumbled back, wincing.

"Kickboxing class," he mumbled, taking her wrist and pushing it back towards her. Ziva looked up at him through her eyelashes in confusion. Kickboxing class? Incredible. She didn't believe him for one second. No instructor worth his money would let one student beat another up like that. Plus the shape wasn't consistent with a foot or a fist. More straight, like, like . . . like a fire poker.

A million questions were exploding between her ears now. Who was hurting Tony? Why? Was he in trouble? Could she help? Why hadn't he defended himself? Why was he excusing whoever did this? Why wouldn't he tell her what had happened? Weren't they partners? Wasn't he supposed to trust her?

She stood and opened her mouth to speak, furious. Did Tony really think he could get away with not saying anything? Ha! She was Ziva David, Israeli Mossad assassin liaison to USNCIS. She was not going to be intimidated by him. She was not going to walk away without answers. This was what she did for a living, dammit. As nothing more than partners, Tony owed her more of an explanation.

But she saw his eyes as she was preparing to say those things and she saw fear. Primeval fear, fear for one's life. So she couldn't say anything, couldn't voice any of the questions in her head. He was trying to be so strong, trying to be tough. There was anger, yes. But more important was the fear, because honestly the fear scared her. Because she didn't know what Tony could be afraid of. And she didn't know why he looked so weak and vulnerable suddenly, with that undercurrent of . . . was that shame she saw? Shame. Why shame? What was Tony ashamed of? Why couldn't she make it all good, make it all better?

She mutely returned to her desk, ears burning. Something Tony was ashamed of. Something he wouldn't tell her about. Something she couldn't fix. And worst of all, something she was afraid would kill him. Last Christmas. Christmas of questions. . .

She sighed, the image of the body blurring in front of her. She couldn't pluck any strings connecting the marine to Tony. The killing seemed completely random, as though the killer was just going to get at Tony by whatever means possible. Ziva shivered slightly even though the room was warm. A random killer . . . dangerous.

This wasn't any sort of reasonable person they were dealing it. She dared to steal a glance at Tony. He seemed to be taking things in stride. But he was always like that, wasn't he? It probably had nothing to do with last Christmas. Honestly, she needed to put this overactive imagination to bed. It clearly wasn't doing anything her or this case any good.

"I have something!" Abby said, cheerily dashing into the office. Tony grinned and Ziva relaxed just a little. If Abby was happy, it was good news.

"Talk to me, Abs," Tony said, leaning back in his seat. McGee moved forward, leaning into the conversation.

"Well!" Abby said, looking around in pleasure at her audience. "I know the killer is a woman."

"There's DNA?" Tony asked, nearly lunging out of his seat. Abby shook her head somewhat sadly.

"Well, no. But I found a chip of nail polish." She pressed a button on the remote and a light coral colour showed. "You know anyone who wears Reeftastic?"

The look on Tony's face could only be described as ashen.

"You were out late," Katrina said as he came into the apartment. She sat on the sofa, her blond hair pulled back in a ponytail. Her petite figure was drowning in his sweatshirt but her eyes revealed overwhelming anger. Tony shrugged and put his brief case on the table.

"Work, you know?" he said, heading into the kitchen. She scrambled off the sofa, nearly tripping as she followed him. He glanced at her over his shoulder. She was tense, all hunched muscles narrowed eyes. Great. "Look, I'm sorry babe. I couldn't help it. Want a beer?" he asked, trying to think of how best to soothe her. "You really didn't need to wait up for me all this time. You could have gone home."

"You were with her, weren't you?" Katrina hissed, knocking away the offered beer. Tony placed the bottles down on the counter and closed the refrigerator as she leaned in.

"Who her? I don't know what you're talking about." He furrowed his brow, searching for anything incriminating. Really, he'd been trying so hard to be so good. For Jeanne.

"That woman. At work. I see how you look at her, Tony. Did you really think you could keep it from me?" She was closer now, cornering him.

"Ziva? Aw, she's my partner, Kat." He tried to laugh but it sounded forced even to his own ears.

"Liar!" It all happened very fast then. He saw a flash of her coral nail polish and then felt the stinging slap. His head it the knob of the cabinet and he cried out, slumping. Katrina gasped and made some sort of strangled noise.

"Tony! Oh my god, Tony, I'm so sorry!" Her hands were all over him now, leading him to the sofa. Then she was pressing ice against his head and stroking his hair. "Look, baby, I just get jealous, okay? I'm just insecure. She's just very beautiful and you're so handsome and charming and funny and I can't understand why someone wouldn't try to hit on you, really baby. I just want you all to myself, okay? I don't want any whores hanging off you." Katrina kissed his forehead, her tiny fragile bird arms hugging his neck.

"Yeah," he mumbled. She frowned and sighed.

"Please, just wear something that isn't so tight, okay? I just don't want her looking at you," Katrina begged. Tony smiled weakly at her.

"Yeah, we'll see what we can do. Hard to hide something this hot." Funny, his laughter still sounded rather forced.

"You know I love you, baby. I really do." Only later would Tony realise that that was the first time he heard her say that.