An: Time for some angst. Sorry. My muse, Harry, is funny like that.
It had been two years to the day.
Timothy McGee was looking at her, staring as she ignored him. She turned on her computer to try to fill out some paperwork they were perpetually behind on.
A cup of tea appeared on her desk and she looked up to see her boss, Leroy Jethro Gibbs, standing there. "You ok, Ziver?" he asked, lowly.
Ziva nodded slightly but he caught it and walked off to his own desk.
It had been two years to the day that Special Agent Anthony DiNozzo had died in her arms.
Around the office subtle and non-subtle changes had happened.
McGee was now the senior field agent and he knew he had tough shoes to fill. He tried hard but even his jokes were lamer in comparison.
The desk that had been Tony's had never been filled for longer than two weeks at a time, run off by either Gibbs or Ziva until Vance learned when Gibbs wanted a new team member he would ask.
Gibbs became more protective of his remaining members of his team and insisted on vests whenever they walked outside. Ziva tried to explain a head shot would solve the vest problem but he refused to let her out until she succumbed.
Abby Scuito no longer bounced and there was no music playing in her lab.
Dr. Mallard now told stories containing the remembered agent unless Ziva was around. Then there was silence.
They said time healed all wounds but Ziva contended 'they had never held a fallen partner, a fallen friend, and listened for the ambulance sirens while his lifeblood fell on 'them'. If she ever saw 'them' 'they' would feel the sharp end of her blade.
It had been two years to the day. And nothing was ever going to be the same.
