I know it's been a while since I reviewed. I've been swamped with school and all the paperwork requiered for the Marines.
On an upnote, on June 18th, 2012, I SHIP OUT FOR BOOT CAMP!
Trev
"We need to break them up," I demanded. Secret Service looked bored and impatient. Abby looked interested. Gibbs was impassive.
Secret Service rolled her eyes, "And why?"
"I'll explain," I said, "Firstly, cause she's a woman, so she's naturally conniving and viscous. The exception that proves that rule is Abby."
Abby looked pleased. I continued, "Second, she's Israeli, so she's particularly viscous."
"Oh, I'm waiting for the third one," Secret Service snarked.
"Thirdly, she's Mossad. Think CIA, except with rabies and not as much respect for human life. Oh, and added bonus, she's Metsada!"
"Met-whadda?" Abby asked.
"Israeli black-ops team," Gibbs answered. He got up, "As long as she doesn't spy on us, I don't care."
I knew I would lose him. I looked at Secret Service and Abby, "Can I count on you two?"
Abby shook her head, "Apart from putting two people together, I think you should stay out of relationships," she retreated back to her office.
I pointed at Secret Service, "I need help. Please?"
"What makes you think that there will even be a second date?" she asked.
"Cause he got the look," I said, "I'm talkin' interested look. Like wantin more than sex look."
"This is Tony," she scoffed, "Breakfast after is probably the farthest he ever got."
Oh, he got farther. But I promised him not to mention Wendy, "Secret Service, let me break this down to you:
"Say you're right. Say that all he wants is to get laid. They sex down, break up, problem solved.
"Now say your wrong. It goes from sex, to breakfast, to dinner. He starts thinking. Buy an apartment. Move in together. He might actually think that he got's a future with this chick. Then she gets transferred. To Egypt. Or Rome. He's become emotionally invested in her. He'll take it hard."
"Tony's a big boy," she defended.
"Who's datin a foreign intelligence officer," I said, "That's bad juju, for him and his career. This. Cannot. Last."
She chewed it over, "Have you already talked to him about her?"
"I tried," I said, "I really did."
"Listen, ya need to stop seeing her," I said.
"Why do you talk like that when your anxious?" he asked.
"Like what?"
"Like you're from Oklahoma."
"Small town boy," I answered, "Listen, this chick-"
"She has a name."
"She's dangerous!"
"I can take care of myself," he said, glaring.
"DiNozzo, ya don't-"
He held up his finger in the silence you fool manner, "I trust her."
I honest to God never wanted to kill him more.
"I'll talk to Ziva. You get DiNozzo," I said.
She sighed in defeat, "Fine."
"Whaddya mean, you won't break up with him?" I hissed.
"Just that," she said, taking a bite of her salad, "This is disgusting."
"You shouldda had the French Onion Soup," it was Meme's Café, "I can just as easily-"
"Sell me out?" she said, "Mahachan is already in the air over Israel. Do you think American authorities will be kind to you after you withheld that information?" she said, "Let me have some of your soup," she tried to get some with her spoon. I hit it away with my own.
"Get your own," I challenged. It was true, even I couldn't stop the shit that would rain down on me if I did that. Doom on you, Jonny, "Look, I know you're interested. Even if it's just that waitin-to-jump-him stuff."
"Why would I want to jump on him?" she asked.
Jesus Christ, "It's an idiom. It means have sex with him," and then her face lit up with understanding, "The point is, if he is so much as seen with you, he becomes a security risk. That means he gets demotion, pay reduction, his career suffers."
"And how will they find out?" she asked. She smiled and thanked the server as she took away her salad and my empty soup bowl and placed our orders, "Pass the salt."
"Excuse me, but can you bring me some Tobasco?," she shook her head. of course they don't have any. God, I miss California, where the stuff was more common than ketchup, "Look, I know NCIS doesn't investigate it's own personnel without reason like Mossad does, but you and I both know that Eli will find out. And he and Director Morrow aren't on good terms."
She frowned, and didn't say anything for the rest of the meal. When we parted ways she assured, "I leave at the end of the week. It shall end by then."
"That has always interested me," Ziva admitted.
"What has?" Tony asked.
"That all those little people would only run around screaming in random directions just waiting to be squooshed," she said.
"I think you meant 'squished' or 'smooshed'," he teased.
She lightly hit his shoulder, a smile on her face, "You know what I mean."
He laughed, "Forget Paris is going to be your new favorite movie, isn't it?" he asked. Forget Paris had just been shown in a park performance, with Tony and Ziva in attendance, with him bringing the wine and blanket, and her bringing the food.
"No," she answered, "The Sound of Music."
"No!" he sounded like he was dying, "Not a musical!"
"Yes!" she taunted, "A musical!" she cackled evilly.
They fell silent as they arrived at her hotel. They smiled and Ziva said, "You can come up... if you want."
Tony looked at her critically, mysteriously, and then said, "No, you gotta big, dumpy ass-"
"What?" Secret Service asked, "He said that?"
"Of course not," I scoffed, "I was just seeing if you were paying attention," I took a bite of my burrito, "This is disgusting."
"Tastes fine to me," she had ordered the same as me, for once.
"I grew up in tiny apartment above Abuela Maria's place. She was a low class Mexican grandmother who could have cooked homemade Mexican food in California. Trust me, if you ever tasted that, you'd barely stomach this garbage."
"I'd probably burn my tongue off."
Why does she think that Mexican food close to the border is too spicy? Tastes just right to me, "He shut up after that."
"Who?"
"DiNozzo," I said, "I couldn't get anymore out of him."
"Please this is Tony were talking about," she scoffed.
"I know," I said, "But the man wouldn't spill. Seriously."
"Wow," she sat back, "Must have been special.
That's what I'm afraid of, I didn't say it, but I thought it.
She said, "Why did Gibbs hire you?"
"Excuse me?" I said.
"You were assigned to NCIS, but you have to get Gibbs's approval before joining MCRT, otherwise you would be doing something else at NCIS," she said, eyes curious.
I leaned back and smiled, "You learned to play the game. Good work," I cracked my fingers and began.
"You came from the Ohio River Valley area, judging by your accent," I said, "I'd say Indiana, rural Indiana, because of a slight trace of Midwest there too. Farm girl, lot's of brothers, made you combative. You had to fight for what you wanted. Which puts you at odds with your sister, and by extension other women, because she got everything she wanted with a smile. Despite that you remain close."
"I barely return her calls," she protested.
"Lies, you called her before coming here," I challenged, getting it right. Her tell was a twitch in her left eye, barely noticeable, "She was cute, you were the tomboy. You studied finance in college, but not before trying something prestigious like law or medicine, which you did only for a short time. I'd say a full year, because you aren't the type to quite in the middle. You joined the Secret Service investigating first financial crimes, then protective detail. You prefer cute to brawn, wit to any real intelligence. The last time you got laid was five weeks ago."
"It wasn't that long ago," she protested.
"More lies," I accused, "Since Major Kerry died."
"Okay, now how did you know that?" she demanded.
"It's the way you treat new men," I replied, "Guarded, like you want to protect yourself from them. It's wearing off, but still there."
"Okay, I get it, you're a mind reader," she glared.
I shook my head, "Believe me, it's a curse just as much a blessing."
"Oh really?" she scoffed.
"Got it after an IED in Afghanistan iced half my platoon," I said, "I have trouble sleeping at night."
"Oh my God," she said, her brown eyes, for the first time when staring at me, turned to something other than gaurded. Now they were... not apologetic, but sad, as if for my sake, "I'm sorry."
I shrugged, "It's alright. Families don't blame. Corps don't blame me. Hell, half the time now I don't blame me. It's not like I can go back and change what happened. I just live with it."
"That seems... bleak," she observed, still with that weird sad look in her eye. Oddly, unlike most, I didn't mind. I found no trace of pity in there.
"Not as bleak as it was a few years ago."
She sipped her drink, eyes changing from sadness to understanding, or what could pass for it.
So she changed the subject, "What college teams do you support?"
To my amazement, she's from my (kinda) alma mater, USC.
LONG LIVE THE TROJANS!
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