Title: Picking up the Pieces and Filling in the Gaps

Author: ChelseaDaggerCinderella

Summary: Tony and Ziva spend the four months between 'Hiatus' and 'Shalom' strengthening their partnership…and their relationship, but Tony still winds up working undercover for the Director, and Ziva has demons of her own to deal with. Can they come together to make everything alright again?

Disclaimer: I don't own NCIS, although I'd like to. No infringement intended, Mr. Bellisario.

Author's Note:

Thanks to everyone who reviewed; keep it up because it totally makes me want to post and make the chapters worthwhile. In all seriousness, I have to applaud everyone who takes the time to send me a review, but especially those of you who take time to tell me what you think about this aspect or that. It's good all around because it lets me know what the audience wants. Thanks so much to everyone, again. And ME Wofford, worry not—any and all interactive reviewing is most welcome. My muse is safe for now but if you all hear a scream, then we're all in trouble. Hehe. Anyway, on with it, eh?

Ziva was almost late for work. She had about 15 minutes to make it to the office without the squeal-squad making an issue of it. She supposed it was a blessing at this point that she drove the way she did. She laughed to herself, thinking that Tony would highly disagree with her at that—most likely he would've been making a joke about death versus tardiness at this point. But he wasn't—because he wasn't there; hadn't been for two weeks—not in the office, at least. It had been a lot longer than that that he'd been missing from her side. But Ziva shook her herself out of those thoughts and cranked up the music blaring from her stereo speakers, focusing on that instead. Bobbing her head to the beat as she made her way, destructively, through Georgetown on her way to the Navy Yard, stopping at a red light, a motorcycle pulling up beside her carrying two bike-suit-clad riders; the picture eerily familiar to her.

Images flashed through her head in quick disarray, making it impossible for her cognitive function to get a hold of what her brain was trying to tell her. Before she'd had the chance to even start piecing her pictogram together the bike took off and Ziva followed it through blaring traffic and car horns—purely on instinct. That's when the bomb detonated.

Ziva swerved and landed on the sidewalk, her car disabled. She jumped out of the car, her Sig already in her hand as she circled around and around, trying to make some semblance of sense. Everyone around her was stunned, no one moved, not an inch—they were all too shocked. Except of course, for the man in the suit, calmly walking away from the scene. She trained her gun on him. "Federal agent," she screamed. "Halt! Hands up in the air! Now!" She was closing in on her target when he turned around. It can't be… "Eschel?" And for some reason, she let him go…

She shook herself from her trance and attempted to regain her bearings. Michael—the embassy. Yes, the embassy. She holstered her weapon and set out for the embassy, only one thought echoing through her head. What has my father done now?

Ding! The elevator doors opened, allowing Tony to step out into the squad room he hadn't seen in a fortnight. He hadn't even taken a look around in mock-awe when he was tackled by an über-hyper forensics expert with a steal grip. "Oh, yay! You're home! Welcome back! I missed you! Oh…"

He regained his footing and slung an arm around Abby in return. "I missed you too, Abby."

She didn't release him, however. "Oh, did you have fun? Did you go to that cool bar in Düsseldorf?"

He felt like saying, 'Not really, Abby, seeing as I was never really in Düsseldorf. I was on a super-secret assignment, engaging a beautiful young doctor who has essentially become my mark because she has the misfortune of being the daughter of an international arms dealer who, in turn, has had the misfortune of pissing off the Director of NCIS. But I'm not bitter at all—no, not a bit—because I jumped at the opportunity and now I'm reaping the whirlwind, baby.' But he couldn't say that; he couldn't tell the truth. He had to lie. "You know, I tried. But, you know, that security conference kept us pretty busy.

"Mmm…" Abby gripped him even tighter.

He took in a shallow breath—all her fierce embrace was allowing him at the moment. "I'm having trouble breathing here," he rasped.

She released him immediately. "I'm sorry!"

He shook it off and made his way into the bullpen. "McGee, look at you! Mm-hmm! All grown up. So what did I miss the last two weeks?"

McGee smiled proudly, "Well, nothing I couldn't handle, Boss."

"Good!" Tony grinned evilly. "And to think the director didn't have any faith in you." He did an internal wicked chuckle. That was fun. Always best to have a little fun, make the best of a situation. He'll never know I actually recommended to the Director that he handle the team in lieu of bringing in an interim leader. He'll never know. Thank God for small favors.

"She's over an hour late, Sir. That's unusual, even for her." Believe me, I know, Tony thought, damn woman gets up before the sun! Tony kept a straight face, but he was marking Lee's words, carefully. Mantra now; worry later. Right, no judgment-clouding here. "Okay, there is only one thing you need to know about Officer David."

Lee nodded. "Don't make her angry."

Well, yeah, that's a good point, too. "So technically, really, there's two things. The other is…she can take care of herself." Yeah, he knew that one first hand, too…

Ziva was livid! "I cannot wait any longer! Produce Officer Bashan or I start with your hands and I will not stop until—"

"Officer David," Michael began in Hebrew, just now entering the room. "What did I tell you about terrorizing my men?" He nodded to the other officer. "Leave us."

Bashan sat down on the couch and beckoned for Ziva to join him. "Okay, what seems to be the problem?"

Where to begin? Ziva thought, still very much irate. Perhaps with the assassination perpetrated on American soil? Or perhaps my witnessing and subsequent involvement in releasing a suspect in said assassination because he was once my teammate? I know, she thought to herself, sarcastically. How about the rudeness of letting her get blindsided? "Why was I not told about this operation?"

"I suppose the simple answer would be: your father did not want you to know."

Endangering my credibility and my respect with NCIS; my current life and everything I have strived for since—no, no I do think about that. The audacity of that man! "And he wonders why I barely talk to him anymore, Michael?"

"A fact I know he regrets very much, Ziva. Very much."

"I spent a year building relationships and trust with NCIS. How do you suggest I explain this to them?"

"I realize this placed you in an awkward position, but Ziva—"

Awkward position! I've been made an accomplice! "They were sloppy—blatant!" she screamed.

"And you should have known better! The Americans can be quite prudish in their attitudes, Ziva."

And Tony complains about my English! Since when is a bombing and assassination on a beautiful Georgetown morning Prudish? She was genuinely confused. "You call what happened prudish?"

"That depends. Did you or did you not sleep with him?"

And now she was even more confused. But worse, this time she was also suspicious. What bearing does that have? And how did we get from murder to sex? And who is he talking about? Eschel? What am I missing? "Who?"

"Anthony DiNozzo, your new team leader."

Ziva managed not to give away anything. But just barely, as she really didn't see that coming. He knows. Ok. He knows. That still does not answer to question as to how that affects what happened today. "Why do you ask that?"

Bashan took out a file with multiple full-color photos—of her and Tony. "Starting three months ago, Ziva, he's been visiting your apartment at least one night a week."

That bastard! "My father has you spying on me?" And how does this link to today's events?

"I assumed that was the reason for your visit."

Ziva was floored. My God, he doesn't know. But that just means—my God, what has my father done now? "Well, you assumed wrong, Officer Bashan. I am here because an hour ago a Mossad assassination team killed three people in Georgetown." Now what is going on here?

McGee spoke softly into the phone, his tone very gentle. "Ziva, just call us as soon as you get the message. We're not worried. Just give us a call please." He hung up.

"Okay, now I'm starting to worry."

"You think she's alright?"

Tony resisted the urge to slap McGee. "Well if she was alright, she'd be here, McGee. The question is: what would Gibbs do in a situation like this?" You're not Gibbs, he reminded himself. But, Ziva wouldn't want you putting yourself down because of that, dumbass!

Director Shepard's voice was stone-edged as it drifted to his ears from behind him. "He'd find her, Tony."

Thank you, Jenny, he noted to himself, bitterly, the circumstances surrounding his current situation making him feel more than a little hostility towards the Director right now. "I'm working on it, Director."

"Work harder. Metro Police just found her car on a sidewalk in Georgetown."

"Actually," McGee piped up, "It's not that unusual when Ziva's driving."

"Yeah, I drove all the way through Eastern Europe with her. I should know, McGee. But in my experience," she said, coming around to face them, "the FBI usually doesn't concern themselves with traffic accidents."

Tony stood up, suddenly very, very protective and territorial, whether a result of Sacks's presence—as McGee pointed out to him—or Ziva's situation, he was unsure—most likely a combination of both. "What do they want with Ziva?"

"We're about to find out. Together."

Tony was fuming. "No, I was going to say, I still pretty much hate your guts, Sacks."

"Me, too, DiNozzo. Me, too."

"Tony?" Director Shepard questioned, appearing from nowhere, but seemingly having overheard a large portion of the latter half of his pissing match with Sacks. "That question you asked me earlier—what would Gibbs do? Gibbs isn't here. You are." She shut the door to her office.

Tony punched the air with a fist. Yeah, not helping, Jenny. Cuz when I freak out it's usually Ziva who talks me down from the ledge. Now she's in trouble and I can't do Jack to help her—damnit! Okay, DiNozzo, think. Okay, first things first, Ziva needs help—so we'll get her help. We'll get her Gibbs…not the poor excuse for a Gibbs substitute, he thought to himself disparagingly—a habit that Ziva had been trying to break him of. Ok. First stop—Abby.

"Abby," Ziva said through the telephone. "I need you to do a favor for me."

"You name it!"

"First, you can't tell anyone I've spoken to you."

"Except Tony, right?"

Ziva internally sighed. "No, not even Tony." Oh, how I wish. No! No wishing! Use your head, David! "If I talk to him, he'll get in trouble with the FBI." And there are only so many things I can ask of him right now…

"What do you need?"

"A phone number." And a miracle—cuz I'm calling in a favor.

Gibbs took the phone from Camilla, deliberately ignoring Mike's comments. "Yeah, Gibbs."

Ziva took a nervous breath. "Hola! Ah, how's Mexico?"

"Ziva!" Gibbs was taken aback, clearly not expecting to hear from NCIS for a while, let alone Ziva, and let alone after four months. "How'd you get this number?"

"From Abby. And if it helps, I forced it out of her."

"No," he said gruffly. "It doesn't. What's wrong?"

"Why does something always have to be wrong? Can't I just…" Ziva inwardly sighed; she knew she was full of it. "…speak with an old friend?" Yes, Ziva, he will really believe that. "Do a little catching up?"

"Today, Ziva!"

Right, right. Now or never. "Okay. I may be in a little bit of trouble." To put it mildly.

"Yeah?" he asked, skeptically. "Define little."

She took a breath. "I am currently on the run from the FBI, NCIS, Mossad, and my father."

"Geez! What'd you do?"

Why is 'guilty' everyone's first reaction?! "I did nothing, Gibbs; I swear I did nothing."

"Where's DiNozzo?"

'I cannot involve Tony', she wanted to scream at him. 'You left—quit—and now he's trying, essentially splitting himself in two trying to be you because he thinks it is not enough to be him!' But she didn't. "He can't help me."

"Well you should talk to Jenny. Jenny can help you."

"I can't."

"Ziva, look, I'm retired! I'm three thousand miles away. What do you think I can do that they can't do?"

Ziva sat down, just barely holding it together. "Honestly? I don't know." She wiped a tear. God, a tear! Not again; no more breakdowns. I cannot bear this feeling. I am not weak! And yet I cannot seem to help better any situation lately. Get it together, David! Please, Gibbs, she thought to herself. I'm asking you for help—don't make me beg; I cannot bare it. "I was hoping, maybe…save me?" Before I self-destruct…

"Two days." McGee's voice was tense. "How long are these guys going to be here?"

"Officer David was here for a year," Lee stated, seemingly defending the unwanted Federal intruders. "Who knows how badly she compromised our security."

SO the wrong thing to say, McGee thought. "What did you say, Probie?"

Tony had had two days to stew. He'd used every mode of communication he could think of to get a message to Ziva—including a few tricks Ziva herself had taught him straight out of her super-secret ninja handbook—and still all he'd gotten was more silence. Nothing, nada, zilch. No Ziva, no Gibbs, and no answers. He'd tried, unsuccessfully, to figure out what went down in Georgetown but was blocked by Sacks at every turn. He was pissed and he was worried about Ziva. He was in no mood for anymore bad news, so he sure as hell wasn't about to let some wet-behind-the-ears-Probie-flip-flopper like Lee speak out of turn against one of their own—his own. Not ever, but especially not today. "Agent Lee."

"Sir?" she said with a little trepidation, turning around Johnny-on-the-spot.

"Shut up and keep an eye on the Feds. McGee, you're with me; we've got places to be."

Sacks sneered from his position overseeing one of his Agents dumping the computer logs in the bullpen. "Should be done here, DiNozzo, in another…oh, five, six more hours."

Tony just kept on walking, anger emanating from every powerful stride, McGee trailing right behind him.

They were all in agreement. He turned to Abby. "Abs, I need you to go—"

"I talked to Ziva yesterday."

"You don't bowl with nuns." Idiot, DiNozzo! He mentally head-slapped himself. "I should have seen that coming."

"I do! Ziva made me promise not to tell."

Ducky was confused. "Why would Ziva care if we knew that you bowled with nuns?"

Tony shook his head. "I think she means that Ziva didn't want us getting in trouble, Ducky." Damnit, Ziva. Everything on your own—you can never ask for help, can you? Self-righteous, idiot girl, he mentally scolded.

Ducky rolled his eyes. "It's a bit late for that." He turned to Abby. "Where is she?"

Abby held out a piece of paper. "All I have is this phone number."

Tony ripped it out of her hand and started dialing. Right under my nose the whole time. Brilliant, DiNozzo! Yeah, you're a really cunning Agent, Tony. No wonder she didn't come to you. It kept ringing. Come on, Ziva, please. "Well, there's no answer. Abby, are you sure that this—Ziva?"

Damnit, Abby! I didn't want him mixed up in this! "Tell Abby I'm going to kill her."

He hadn't spoken to her in over two weeks; her voice was a welcome comfort, but that didn't mean that he wasn't pissed at her for not coming to him straight off. He turned away from the group, sarcasm lacing his tense voice. "We love you, too," he said, and tried not to wince too hard at his choice of wording.

She mentally winced as well. "I'm hanging up now." Ziva wanted to punch him right now; half out of frustration because she was touched that he'd cared enough to track her down—though, truly, she'd never doubted it (hence the lengths she went to in order to keep him out of it)—and half out exasperation.

"No, you're not," he demanded. You don't get to call all the shots, Ziva. You're my officer, I protect you and you do as I say, Damnit! "You're going to tell me what the hell is going on here."

She sighed. Damnit, Tony, why do you have to make everything a battle? I can't afford any more distractions and I can't afford any more screw-ups either; on either of our parts. "Your phone could be tapped, Tony."

He mentally cursed and winced. Good point. "Well, then I'll come to you. I'm also trying to get a hold of Gibbs right now, but I'm not having any luck." Failing again—can't even call in the cavalry properly, he scolded himself, ignoring the tiny voice in the back of his head that sounded an awful lot like Ziva (and spouted quite a few of her more pep-talky lines, to boot).

She gave a little monosyllabic laugh and shrugged. Sorry, Tony, she thought to herself. "Gibbs? Why didn't you say so?"

"DiNozzo," Gibbs barked, taking the phone from Ziva. "You have ten seconds to tell me why I'm not building a teak hot tub in Mexico."

She called Gibbs, he thought to himself a little more melancholy than he'd like to admit. And then nervous. "Nine…eight…" Oh, boy.

Okay, readers, your mission—should you choose to accept it—is to review like you've never reviewed before. Chapter 5 is essentially ready to go. Want it super-fast? Review, review, review! Ready? Set? GO!