A/N:

Thank you for the warm reception this has gotten (I could use a little more warm, our furnace is out again, second time this week—and we got it fixed the first time! My husband is mighty unimpressed with the company we went to…)

I've been wanting to do the Bones crossover for ages, so I'm really glad that other people are wanting it, too. :) (And yes, this is the story of the box from Janus and Hestia. I needed to wait until I had a little more to flesh it out before actually writing it; Ziva and Shane seemed to fit the bill just right).

I have no idea where Hodgins really is supposed to live, I just Googled what seemed like an appropriate D.C. suburb. I'm open to suggestions/corrections if there is an offical location that I forgot being mentioned on the show.

Happy Solstice!

Chapter Two

April 26, 2010

"I love you not only for what you are,
but for what I am when I am with you.
I love you not only for what you have made of yourself,
but for what you are making of me.
I love you for the part of me that you bring out."

Roy Croft

Cardiff, Wales

.

Although she did not have to be in to work today, Israeli born, newly appointed Torchwood Liaison to UNIT, Ziva David found that her feet had brought here to the quay as a part of her morning jog, seemingly of their own accord. She knew that today would likely be her last day in Cardiff but she was unsure why that made her sad. She had known that she would only be here for a few weeks at most....but it had only been a few days since she had arrived. Apparently something had come up and Jack wished to test her in the field. She tried to tell herself that she was not nervous, but she was. She was being tested in Washington D.C. and the assignment was most likely of a diplomatic nature. She was not a diplomatic person.

She stopped by the water to look out over the bay. It was a gorgeous morning; that wasn't the sort of thing she used to notice. She used to simply go through her day without paying attention to the little things, the 'inconsequential' things—the things that she was realizing weren't inconsequential at all.

In three weeks working under Martha Jones Milligan, she had learned more about the universe than she had ever dreamt possible. She was still having a hard time believing that not all aliens were hostile—but Martha had spoken so warmly of this 'Doctor' of hers and Jack's, of other aliens she'd met in her travels. Perhaps they were right, perhaps most of the aliens out there were just like them, just regular 'people' trying to get through their day, their lives, as best as they could. They made mistakes…fell in love… she stretched each leg fully before resuming her jog. She did not want to think about Tony, not right now. Besides, it wasn't as if he was thinking about her… why would he be? Just because she missed him did not mean that he missed her. He was probably…

She gave herself a mental shake; it was better to concentrate on the ground beneath her feet, the water over her shoulder, than it was to think about what Tony might be doing or with whom. After all, he had not really meant it when he said that he was in love with her. He couldn't have. She was not his type.

Yes, Ziva thought as she approached the Tourist Office, she had made the correct decision to leave as she had and spare them both the awkwardness of the 'morning after.'

She wasn't especially surprised to find Sam already in the office when she let herself in, even though it wasn't even six thirty yet. She knew he had his own place—he had moved into what used to be Sara's flat, across the street from Jack and Ianto—but it seemed to Ziva as if the boy practically lived in the Tourist Office. Perhaps like Jack, his species did not require much sleep.

"Good morning, Ms David," he greeted her with a shy, warm smile and a bottle of water. "I thought you might like this after your run."

"Thank you, Sam," she returned his smile with one of her own; she pulled the bright orange knit-cap off her head and shoved it into her hoodie pocket with one hand as she accepted the bottle from him with the other. Sam was almost as efficient as Ianto and twice as eager to please. She still did not see anything truly alien about the gawky looking teenager. He looked like any other kid… then again, most teenagers she met looked and acted like aliens...

He smiled again and hit the button under the desk to admit her into the Hub. "No one else is in," he told her. "Just Abby. She was here all night. I'm not sure if she's awake yet."

"Thank you, Sam," she said again. She unscrewed the bottle top and gulped down the water as she headed down the steps. A coffee would be nice too, but she was aware of the penalty for touching the coffee machine… if Ianto wasn't in after she'd had a shower and changed, she would go across the street to the Starbuck's.

As soon as the cog door rolled open, she was assaulted by the sound of Abby's 'music' (Julie Andrews, it was not.) "Good morning!" she had to holler to be heard over the sound.

"Oh!" the volume lowered. "Hey, Ziva!" Abby's voice was coming from the medical area.

The Israeli peered over to the railing. "What are you doing?" she asked. It appeared as if Abby were performing an autopsy…?

"I just wanted to brush up a little, you know, in case something comes up while Bobby's gone. Besides, what else do I have to do while I wait for Junior here to come out?" she wanted to know. She'd gotten used to field work. There were still parts of it she hated—she hated the city morgue. The coroner was so… so not Ducky. Not even Jimmy. He was stuffy. Stale. She'd met dead people who were more interesting…well, she supposed that comparing anybody to Henry Fitzroy was a little unfair… but at least that thought made her smile, just a little.

For the next thirty five weeks and two days (not that she was counting), she was going to be stuck inside the Hub (at least when she was at work) and it was driving her crazy. (Of course it was driving Bobby a bit mad that she kept invading 'his' space, but it wasn't as if he never invaded hers and he never put things back just exactly the way she wanted them put. Not ever. Not that she disturbed his stuff on purpose or anything, her way just made more sense… ) She pulled off the latex gloves and bounded up the stairs. "I thought you were leaving this morning?" she asked with an inquisitive look.

"My luggage is packed and Jack is picking me up in an hour, but… I suppose I am going to miss being here," she admitted. Jack's Torchwood was very different from Martha's Torchwood, but both felt like home to her—however, there was something about Cardiff that she liked. Perhaps it was that Timothy and Abby worked here…not that she hadn't become quite fond of Martha's team—

"Oh Ziva!" Abby pulled her into a fierce hug. "You have to promise to email me every day! And call."

Ziva gave her a dubious look.

"Jack's paying the bill—"

"I heard that!" the Captain hollered over; he'd just come in the rolling door, himself. He was carrying a cup holder that had three cups in it. "I told Ianto to stay home a little longer," he explained as he handed them each a cup. It was a slight fib; Ianto had still been sleeping when he left, but he had left him a note.

"Tell her she has to call me every day," Abby ordered him. She lifted the lid of her tea and blew across the top to cool it. It was mint and chamomile, her new morning favourite, since Bobby had made her swear off caffeine. He said it was bad enough that her blood stream had practically turned to coffee since she'd been there. It was all Ianto's fault.

And although he felt sympathy for Ziva, Jack wasn't about to argue with a pregnant woman…or a pregnant man for that matter. "You heard the lady, Ms David. She's right, you know, I am paying the bill—or at least the government is," he smirked, sipping his coffee. Definitely not as good as his Welshman's, but the only way he could have gotten a cup of his husband's 'coffee magic' would have been to wake him up and he'd looked too peaceful to even consider it.

For her part, Ziva wanted to argue about the impracticality of promising to call everyday, but she could tell by his expression that there was no way to win such an argument. She was not always certain she believed everything that Jack Harkness said, but she believed him when he said that he had carried both Seren and Jason and that that made him especially sensitive to the needs and wishes of pregnant people (she was learning to be careful about expressing things like pregnancy in terms of gender around the Captain. Apparently by his time, such lines had become quite fuzzy…blurry… blurred. Yes, the lines between gender had been blurred.)

How Ziva had gotten to a place in her life where she simply accepted his pregnancy as a matter of course, she wasn't entirely certain, but here she was, sipping her coffee, wishing Jack had been just a little bit more specific about what exactly it was he was expecting to encounter in Washington D.C. She was uncertain as to whether or not Leon Vance was still gunning for her, although Jack assured her that that was his problem, not hers.... A sound from above diverted her attention from her thoughts—it was the pterodactyl coming in from her nightly jaunt. She did a quick turn of the Hub, most likely assuring herself that everything was as it should be, and then vanished into her alcove. Ziva drank her coffee. It was just another morning at Torchwood.

She turned her attention back to Abby. "All right," she relented. "I will call you every day. I promise."

Her grin was as bright as one of Jack's; her green eyes sparkled. "Good. Now… I know you said not to make a big deal or anything, but I got you a going away present."

"Abby—" but again, she knew there was no winning the argument.

"Ianto helped," she added, tugging Ziva towards her lab.

The Israeli glanced at her boss—he was grinning. Apparently he was also privy to this going away present.

"I needed him to figure out your size," Abby was explaining, "he's got an amazing eye."

"That's not all that's amazing," Jack leered.

Abby shot him a glare, but it was short lived.

Chuckling, the Captain headed to his office; he had a couple of things to take care of before they left, but if he got them done quickly, he could be back home before Ianto even woke up. (He'd turned off the alarm before he left; Ianto might kill him over it but…well, he deserved to sleep in now and then.)

After shuffling a couple of things into order, Jack picked up the phone and dialled his daughter's number. "Sorry for calling so early," he apologized as soon as she answered with a sleepy hello.

"Dad…?" sudden worry tinged Alice's voice.

"Everything's fine," he assured her. "I just… I'm going to be out of the country for a couple of days. I wanted to call and say… I guess I just wanted to hear your voice before I headed out." Which was silly, really, he could call her from DC just as easily as he called her from Cardiff. But still… "I hope… I hope that's ok…?"

"Of course it is, Dad," the tone of her voice warmed him. "Would you like to talk to Steven?" she asked.

"Is he awake?"

"He just got up. Hang on—it'll give me a minute to get my tea," she added with an audible smile. "Then I can talk to you properly awake."

Jack just smiled. He was no more certain than Ziva when this had become his life, but he'd lived it for long enough to know that he wouldn't trade it in for anything.

Loudoun County,
Virginia, (USA)
a suburb of Washington D.C.

On the other side of the Atlantic, blissfully unaware that his life was about to be disrupted, Jack Hodgins rolled over in his sleep, stirring to wakefulness. The other side of the bed was empty—but that wasn't unusual. He hauled himself to his feet, and wrapped dark terrycloth bathrobe around his body—only the people who saw him outside of work realized that under his blue lab coat and usually baggy shirts and sweaters, he was in better than average physical condition. He certainly didn't look like the type who worked out—or perhaps he might have if he dressed a little differently. He had full beard, a head of curly hair that while not long sometimes earned him looks from people who didn't know him and made judgements based solely upon appearances.

Although the house was huge, it didn't take him long to find his wife (he never got tired of thinking of her as his wife). She was pretty much always in the same place. Once in a while he'd find her over at Zack's apartment chatting with him, but usually she was in her studio, painting, sometimes sculpting. The last six or seven months had seen her producing more work and he loved it, even if it meant she spent a little less time in bed with him. The more she indulged her creativity, the happier she seemed and the happier she was, the happier he was too… a decidedly non-vicious cycle, he mused as he made his way towards her studio.

He smiled quietly watching her a moment from the doorway. She was seated cross-legged on the floor in front of a six foot by six foot canvas, wearing one of his old t-shirts, a pair of plaid shorts and mis-matched socks. Her long dark hair was pulled back haphazardly into a bun and secured in place by a pair of long thin paint brushes.

"Morning, beautiful," he broke her trance as gently as he could, offering over a cup of coffee when she turned around.

"I'm not sure about the beautiful part, but is it really morning already?" She set down her brush and took the cup of coffee he was offering. She hadn't actually been painting anyway. There was paint on the canvas—a lot of it, in fact. But half way through, the work had begun to change, take a new shape. Formlessness gave way to form, a hazy memory form the half forgotten dream that had roused her from sleep.

"It's five thirty," he answered her question about whether or not it was really morning.

"Damn. I lost track of time."

Hodgins just shrugged and sat down behind her. "What're you working on?" he asked, gazing up at the image that was starting to take shape on the canvas. It looked like a person, but no one he knew.

"I'm not sure," she admitted. Blue eyes. Swatches of red and yellow… Dimples. Dark hair. A patch of night sky with a perfect full moon, the London skyline silhouetted against it. Strong hands rested themselves on her shoulders and began easing away the tension that always seemed to creep into her muscles when she was painting. Angela smiled.

"You hungry?" he asked after the worst of the knots had been removed. "I could make us a couple of omelettes. It's almost time to get up anyway," he added. She had yoga class in an hour.

"Sometimes I wonder why you put up with me."

"That's an easy one," he leant in, found her lips, savoured her kiss. "There. Answer your question?"

She just grinned, shaking her head. It couldn't really be that simple…could it? She was sure Sweets (Dr Lance Sweets, their resident psychiatrist) would have a long and complicated answer if she asked him what made two very different people work as well together as her and Jack… but maybe she liked her husband's answer better after all. She leant towards him again, half turning as she did, so she could kiss him more fully.

"I need a shower," she murmured when their lips parted at last.

"Why don't—" he began, but she cut him off:

"Why don't you join me in the shower and we can grab a bite to eat on the way into work." Her smile was pure mischief.

"Hmmmm…." he pretended to have to consider his options.