Chapter 11: Setting the Record Straight.

Steve felt like he'd been caught in a whirlwind. He doubted that even the strongest swirling gales could have twisted him around as much as Coulson, Fury, and Romanov managed in the last twenty-four hours. Things didn't get any better for him when Coulson knocked on his door less than four hours after his little jaunt around Manhattan. He'd been reading about Jim Morita, who had gone back to California after the war. Went to school on the GI Bill, got married and raised three kids. Dropped dead of a heart attack three years after retiring from IBM. When Steve opened the door Coulson shouldered past him, bleary eyed with fatigue. The man had an enormous cup of coffee in one hand, and worn, brown leather satchel in the other.

"You have a lot of information to assimilate," Coulson muttered, making his way to the kitchen table. "We need to get started now," he added, when Steve made no move to join him.

"What's this about Agent Coulson?" Steve asked, one eyebrow raised.

Coulson didn't answer right away. First, he popped the top off his coffee and took a careful swig. Then he opened his satchel and set a pile of papers on the table, along with a thin square something made of glass, plastic, and aluminum. He extracted a single piece of paper and offered it to Rogers. It was him from the neck up, and at first all he could do was stare back at his own face. Then his gaze wandered to the uniform. It was mottled gray and black with a color that brought to mind a forest deep in the back round. He looked up at Coulson, his eyes full of questions.

"It's the new you," Romanov commented, leaning her shoulder against the frame of his open door.

"You're late," Coulson grunted. It was a warning. She was not impressed.

"It's fucking four o'clock in the morning Coulson," she grumbled, shooting him and irritated look. "You're lucky I didn't bring my knife."

"Would one of you mind telling me what this is about?" Steve demanded arms crossed in front of his chest.

"You new identity," she answered coolly. "You need to be up to speed if you're going to talk to anyone."

Steve took a deep breath and nodded. If he was going to work with SHIELD, then this was something he needed to do. Right now, he didn't think he could live on his own, and going public about who he really was didn't appeal to him either. For one thing, who would believe his story? According to SHIELD, most people didn't have much of an idea who he was any more. There was also the inconvenient need to explain how he could be alive. Steve had no clue himself, and if SHIELD had figured it out, Fury wasn't saying. It made him wonder if they would ever bother to come up with a reason for it at all. Still, it didn't seem right to just cave in without any objections.

"I'm just going to Arlington to say goodbye to Gabe and Jim. I don't think either one will give a damn if I don't know the details of my so-called life."

"I'm also meeting Ziva David," Coulson said, after glancing at Natasha. "I was under the impression that you might like to see her again."

"Of course I would," Steve answered emphatically.

"So what are you going to say when she starts asking you about your family and friends?" Natasha demanded.

"I don't know," he answered in a tired voice. He didn't like the idea that he would have to lie to Ziva, but how in God's name could he possibly tell her the truth?

"That's why you need to do this Rogers," she stated in a cool voice. "Right now we have a lot of material to cover."

Coulson pushed that file he'd taken from his satchel in front of him. According to the persona that SHIELD had put together for him, he was a recently discharged Army Captain who had finished three tours of duty in Afghanistan. When Steve demanded to know what reason his country could have for fighting in that place, Coulson and Romanov were impressed he'd even heard it. Steve had Falsworth to thank for that. One of his distant cousins was related to the only man to make it out from a force of 5,000 men who had invaded that country in 1838. He couldn't even begin to imagine what circumstances could have led to America fighting a war there. When he told them that, Romanov said it wasn't her job to explain.

"You're not going to like what I'm going to tell you," Coulson declared, his face creased with a frown.

"Why should this be any different?" Steve responded with a shrug.

Twelve hours later, he was gripping the arm rests of his seat trying not remember the last time he was in a plane. Gradually the flight leveled out and the queasy feeling in the pit of his stomach faded to uncomfortable flutters. Steve reached for the device that Coulson gave him earlier that day, a slim elegant rectangle of plastic, metal, and glass. It was a compulsion that had little to do with the amazing things the tablet could do. He wasn't interested in the internet (what ever that was), or sending e-mails (ditto). He couldn't care less about watching video on YouTube (Really? YouTube?). He swiped his finger across the surface, and the same movie clips started to play again. In the past few hours he watched them more times than he cared to think about.

Coulson referred to it as 9/11, because of the date when it occurred; September 11, 2001. The footage was grainy, out of focus and taken from a great distance; mostly because the people who recorded it had a hard time not recoiling in horror. The images of two planes smashing into towers of concrete, glass, and steel. The slow motion collapse of the giant structures that spread mushrooms of choking debris through the streets of lower Manhattan. It doesn't seem possible that he was watching the deaths of more than three thousand people.

His first thought was that it had to be a movie, a scene someone from Hollywood had dreamed up, because he couldn't believe that whatever he saw on those videos could have happened. Even the sight of figures falling to their destruction when they leaped to escape the flames didn't make it real. It was the living that finally convinced him. The looks of terror, confusion, and shock on the faces of those running from the clouds of debris brought back memories that he never wanted; those were people who had seen death with their own eyes.

Steve thought back to another day, another attack; December 7th 1941. He was in the one room dive they shared waiting for Buck to come back from the grocer when he heard Mrs. McGulicudy shouting something about the Japs. After Bucky arrived they stayed up until dawn listening to the radio broadcast giving the same information over and over. They talked about a lot of stuff, but it was the last subject that Steve would never forget. Buck made a few attempts before it finally came out that he was sorry, but he was going to have to leave Steve behind.

He promised that it wouldn't be right away, probably not until winter was over, and certainly not before Steve could find a better job then he had now. Steve didn't need to ask him why, because he knew the moment he'd heard about Pearl Harbor that Buck would enlist. He said he understood, but that Bucky wasn't going to join the Army alone. He thought he was prepared for any reaction that his friend would have to that announcement, but he definitely wasn't ready to be laughed at.

It was over before Steve really understood and Bucky quickly apologized, explaining that he knew Steve had the guts to fight, but that he wouldn't even last a week into basic training. The worst part was that Steve knew it was the truth. Considering he couldn't run three blocks without doubling over in a fit of coughing, he had a hard time imagining what the Army would want with him. That didn't mean he was just going to give up. When it came right down to it, Steve's biggest reason for joining up wasn't to save his country or make a difference. He wasn't dumb enough to believe a guy like him could do that. He just couldn't stand the idea of being left behind.

Now it was seventy plus years later, and almost everyone who shared that experience was dead. Steve had to face up to a new war, one he was supposed to have fought, even if he'd never been within three thousand miles of that battlefield. After nearly eight hours listening to Coulson's briefing and reading until even his eyes felt tired, it was obvious that this conflict wasn't anything like what Steve knew. The disaster at Pearl Harbor had been the result of a surprise attack by a Japanese fleet composed of nearly a hundred thousand highly trained professionals using technology that was at the cutting edge, at least for 1941. The September 11th attacks were perpetrated by twenty guys using box cutter knives, men who barely even knew how to fly the planes they turned into weapons.

According to Coulson it should have been stopped. At least some of the men had been under surveillance, and all of them had been in the country illegally. The big problem was that no one in the intelligence community had more than a piece of the puzzle back then. When Steve asked him if that included SHIELD, the other man explained that when the attacks went down it had been illegal for his organization to operate on US soil. When the man went on to explain the motivation behind the attack, Steve quickly shut him down. He wasn't interested in how evil men attempted to justify their actions. He had pretty much told Peggy that same thing when she took it upon herself to tutor him concerning the perverted ideology of the Nazis. He couldn't stomach it then, and he found it even less palatable now. Eventually he would have to hear those reasons, just like he had to learn what made those Nazi bastards tick. Just not then.

The flight to DC was routine, and mercifully short. Steve managed not to crush the either of the armrests of his seat and only really felt like puking twice. Not having a psychotic man with a skull where his face should be who was trying to kill him certainly helped. By the time the plane started to descend, he was able to force himself to look out the window without feeling queasy. The sun had just set and he could see the city spread out below him in the twilight, with the straight, white spike of the Washington Monument clearly visible above the dark shadows.

The landing was smooth, and within minutes Steve found himself in a car heading into the city. Coulson hadn't said a word since they had boarded the plane other than to quip that the pilot at the controls was the third best that SHIELD employed. Instead, he had spent the flight flicking through documents on his tablet. Once they had settled into the drive, Coulson passed the device over to him. The person glaring back at him on the screen had a full head of hair cut short at the sides gone mostly gray. The mouth was turned down in an impressive frown, and a set of piercing blue eyes seemed to stare right at him.

"This is the man we will be meeting with tonight," Coulson explained. "His name is Leroy Jethro Gibbs. He is the lead investigator for the NCIS Major Crime Response Team, which makes him Ziva's boss."

"Guy looks like he served."

"Correct. Mr. Gibbs was a Marine."

"So why am I going to see this Agent Gibbs?"

"Actually, I'm the one he wants to speak with. Agent Gibbs is concerned that SHIELD is being less than truthful about the position that we wish to hire Ziva for."

"Now why would he think that Agent Coulson?"

"It's a long story Captain. Before Ziva was an investigator, she worked for the Israeli secret service, an organization that was inclined to use more direct methods to achieve its objectives. Ziva is no longer interested in that kind of work, and Agent Gibbs wants assurances that SHIELD understands that."

Steve still couldn't get is head around the idea that Israel was a country again. According to SHIELD, since he had gone into the ice more than one hundred new nations had emerged on the world stage. It was pretty damned confusing when Coulson tried to explain why. Something about the European countries being now longer able to afford their colonies. Steve remembered seeing a map of the Middle East that implied that Palestine was under British control during the war. Coulson didn't want to talk specifics about how a country that hadn't existed for nearly two thousand years suddenly just reappeared again.

"We don't have time for that conversation now," the man muttered after turning off his tablet.

"So when will we?" Steve demanded, a little miffed that the other man had refused to talk to him about this. Before Coulson could think of another way to say no, his phone chirped. He pulled it from his pocket, glanced once and it was half inside his coat before he did a double take and looked again.

"Damn it," he grumbled, annoyed with the message he had just read. "It's from Ziva," he said and turned it around so that Steve could read it.

Phil. En route to USS Eisenhower to investigate death of sailor. Gibbs is still expecting you. Tell Steve I am sorry. Ziva.

"Unfortunate." Coulson muttered, as he typed out a reply to Ziva. "I know you were looking forward to seeing her, and obviously the same was true for Ziva."

"It's fine," Steve answered with a shrug. "I didn't come here to see Ziva. I came to see Jim and Gabe. And you still need to talk to Agent Gibbs."

"About Agent Gibbs. You don't have to go with me tonight when I see him."

"What you mean is you would rather I didn't go, don't you."

"Gibbs is a very suspicious individual."

"So? You're the one whose gonna be getting the third degree, not me."

"I'd rather not give the man too much to think about."

"Relax Agent Coulson," Steve replied, flashing an easy smile. "I promise I won't do anything to attract his attention."

Phil sighed, then gave the other man a jerky nod. One of the things he liked about Captain Rogers was his personal modesty. Steve really didn't think of himself as something special. Most of the time Phil considered this attitude to be part of his charm. In this situation, it was more like naiveté, and that could be a problem when it came to someone like Gibbs. It was an unnecessary complication that should be avoided. On the other hand, he had a feeling that Gibbs and Captain Rogers had a lot in common, once you set aside a dose of super serum and the seventy odds years of hibernation. At the very least, it offered an interesting diversion, one that might make the looming conversation with Gibbs a little less difficult. Alright, so that was probably a delusion, but one could always hope.

"Would you stop that!"

"Stop what Tony?"

"That…tapping." DiNozzo accused, pointing to her finger on the arm rest of the seat.

"You are being absurd. How can you even hear that over the noise of the engines?!"

It was a good point. While it wasn't quite loud enough to require ear protection, the twin turbo props of the Greyhound made enough racket that he had to raise his voice if he wanted to be heard. What could he say, he had sensitive hearing. When he told her that Ziva just smiled.

"Only when you want to Tony. If it really bothers you, just listen to your iPod."

"It's not just that," he huffed, his hand gesturing at the arm rest, where he could clearly see that she was doing it again. "In the last hour you took out and put away your tablet at least five times…"

"…I can not get a connection.."

"…put you feet up on the chair in front of you three times, and pulled out at least three separate books. Who even brings three books with them on a trip?"

"I took five," she countered indignantly. "If you find me to be so irritating there are a dozen other empty seats for you to use."

"I got a better idea. Why don't you just tell me what's bugging you David."

"I…I had plans for the weekend Tony. Plans that didn't involve a six-hour flight and a murder investigation."

"Yeah. About that. Any idea why Gibbs made you lead?"

Ziva knew exactly why, even if the boss had never said a thing to her about it. Part of it was to give her that experience at least once; so that she would know what it was like to have the responsibility. The other part was a warning, or maybe a last chance to consider whether this was something she really wanted. She was grateful to Gibbs for giving her that, and also a little miffed at the manner in which he'd done so; a simple one sentence order to both of them just before they had boarded the plane. Tony hadn't protested, which left her feeling surprised and appreciative. Ziva should have known that he wouldn't let it go so easily.

"Does it bother you Tony?"

"Yeah," he answered looking away. "It's not that I don't think you can do it Ziva. It's just…you know how many times Gibbs has given me the lead? I guess I'm just a little disappointed."

"Tony, please. It's not like Gibbs does not trust you. We both know how much he respects your abilities as an investigator."

"Maybe. But I gotta tell you, it hasn't seemed much like that lately."

Ever since she had told Gibbs about the possibility of going to work for SHIELD, she had noticed a change in the way her boss delegated the respective tasks concerning their cases. For the first few days it was subtle, asking Ziva to sit in on more of his interrogations, taking her instead of Tony when he had decided to confront a top suspect. Before she knew it, she was conducting interviews that Gibbs would normally have handled on himself, or given to Tony, and it was Ziva that Gibbs turned to when he wanted someone to summarize the investigation. He'd even taken her with when he needed to speak with Director Vance about a particularly delicate part of their last case. Of course she had quickly realized what he was doing, and was grateful to him for giving her these experiences.

Her problem was that Gibbs never bother to explain why he was doing it, especially to Tony. Not that she expected Gibbs tell him about her job offer, but Ziva really wished the man had come up with some reason for the changes. And now this? Sending them both off to investigate a suspicious death on an aircraft carrier with her acting as lead. She knew how Tony's mind worked. Of course he would look at this as evidence that Gibbs wasn't satisfied with the way he did his job. How was she supposed to… and suddenly it clicked. Gibbs was telling her that it was time. That she couldn't keep this secret any longer without taking the risk that she would hurt her friends when it finally came out. Ziva needed to come clean to her family, and she abruptly realized that Gibbs was telling her she needed to start with Tony.

"Tony, I owe you an apology."

"What?!" He exclaimed eyes wide. "Ziva, none of this…whatever it is…is your fault. I'm not blaming you, I'm not really blaming anyone. What ever the boss is up to, he's gotta have a good reason for it. I just would like him to let me in on the secret."

"Actually it is because of me," she told him. When he started to protest she stopped him with a gesture.

"Please Tony, I need you to listen. I have not been completely honest with you in the last few weeks. When I went to New York…"

"I knew it! This is about Coulson, isn't it!"

"Yes Tony, but it's not…"

"He's a freaking insurance adjuster Ziva! I mean I get that you might want to date someone who's a little more normal than a Mossad operative or a CIA agent. What I don't get is how you could want a guy who's so…boring."

She stared at him so long that he had to fight the strong urge to look away. Then, just when he was about to demand that she say something…Ziva started to laugh. Not the dry chuckle she usually favored or that malicious, smirking, cackle that resulted when he said or did something she found particularly stupid. One moment she was looking at him in wide-eyed disbelief, the next she was doubled over, roaring laughter until tears streamed out of her eyes.

At first he felt angry, because he was trying to make her see how ridiculous it was for her to pursue a relationship with Coulson, not when there were obviously better choices for her to make. But it was really hard to be mad at someone who's been reduced to a giggling mess, and he quickly found himself sniggering along with her, just a bit pleased with himself that she would allow him to see her like this, even if the joke was probably on him. After nearly a minute Ziva regained control, swiping an arm across her eyes so she could see again.

"Tony," she croaked, voice rough from mirth, "have you been spying on Phil?"

"It's called Google Ziva."

"I was trying say before that you have the wrong idea about this. Although a woman could do far worse than Philip Coulson."

"Enough Ziva. I've seen the guy's picture. I mean it's a nice suit but come on. He's gotta be at least fifty."

"Actually he is forty-seven. Which makes him just six years older than you."

"Ugh…come on, he looks a lot older."

"I don't see it Tony. I consider him to be a very attractive man. There is something very sexy about competence."

"Really," he grunted mouth twisted into a frown. "How long have you known this guy Ziva?"

"I have worked with him on several occasions during my years with Mossad. We both found the experience to be rewarding."

"Didn't think Mossad had a big demand for those kind of services."

"You'd be surprised Tony. The kind of skills that Phil has to offer are always in demand."

"Alright, I think you're about to tell me stuff I'd rather not hear," he grumbled, after making a ridiculous face. "Just so we're clear on this, Coulson isn't really an insurance adjuster."

"That is correct. He works for an international law enforcement organization. Philip has been interested in me for a number of years," Ziva continued, a small smile on her lips. "I only recently found myself agreeing with that sentiment." At that point she started to laugh again. His expression, something in between distaste and indignation was just too much.

"Oh Tony, the look on your face. I'm sorry, but you are just too predictable. I need to apologize for not correcting your false speculations about Phil. This was supposed to be about honesty."

"So, what are you saying? That you aren't interested in Coulson?"

"Not in the way you assume. While it is true that Phil has pursued me for some time, is was not a romantic relationship he wanted."

"Then what's this about Ziva? What does Coulson want you for?"

"He has offered me a job Tony. Phil has been actively recruiting me for several years, but I was not interested in the kind of work that his organization would have assigned me. Recently he made another offer that is more attractive."

"And your going to take it," he stated, in a surprised tone of voice

"Yes. And before you ask, Gibbs already knows."

"Really. How does he feel about that?"

"He thinks it is a good offer. However, before I make my decision, he wanted to talk to Phil."

"And that's what you had planned for the weekend," Tony responded, his face breaking into a grin.

For a moment she thought about mentioning Steve, but decided that he was someone Tony didn't need to know about. "They are still going to meet. I just wanted to be there to resolve any friction that might occur."

"Hope it doesn't get ugly. Are you sure Gibbs is good with you leaving Ziva? Doesn't really sound like the boss."

"I actually think it does. Gibbs has always wanted what is best for us."

Tony nodded, because she was right about that. Gibbs did want what he thought was best for them. Tony knew that, appreciated the fact that the boss would do anything to help his surrogate family. The problem was that Gibbs didn't always know what was best for them. Even he could make mistakes. Tony told himself the he just wanted to be sure that Ziva was doing the right thing.

"So you're not going to tell me anything else, like the name of this fun little group and what they want you for?"

"Not now. I promise you that once I make a final choice, I will tell you everything I can."

"Alright," he said, in his easy way, and he could see that she was surprised that he would let this go.

The truth of the matter was that Tony knew he'd been pushing his luck with Ziva for a long time. While it wasn't easy to stop digging, he knew that he had to trust her on this. Besides, Gibbs knew what was going on and Tony trusted his judgment. There was also the fact that he was the first person she had told other than the boss, and that was something that made Tony happy. He could tell himself that it was awful that Ziva might leave NCIS, that things would never be the same without her there, but while it was true, it was also something like a lie. Because once she was working some place else, Rule 12 was out the window. Which was something else that made Tony very happy.

A/N: For anyone who does not follow NCIS, Gibbs has rules. Rule 12: Never date co-worker. Look them up online. My favorite: Never go anywhere without a knife. Thanks' for all the great reviews. Please take some time and tell me what you think.