Disclaimer: NCIS characters and situations borrowed. No profits made.

A/N: With each new post in this story, it has been equally exciting to see how many of you have stuck with this story, and how many new readers decide to send reviews or alerts or favorites. For those of you who have signed in and allow responses, I have tried to reply; if you have commented as a guest or disabled your reply feature, please know that the time you took to read & comment was appreciated.

Thank you all - your comments and observations have shaped many of the turns here along the way.

PRETENDING

In his first three hours at his new posting, Tony met the two members of his team, the commanders of the two base police forces and the three local law enforcement agencies with whom he'd be working, the NCIS agent assigned to the JTTF (Joint Terrorism Task Force) unit he might call on at times, and the XO of NAS Pensacola. He reviewed readiness reports and confirmed his stores of ammunition and supplies. He caught up on recent case closures with his team and scheduled several range times for his agents on the base's shooting range and nearest academy's range as well.

And he ignored 6 e-mails, 2 voice mail messages and seventeen texts from the District of Columbia.

The following day, a Wednesday, Tony got to his office at 0600, an hour before his team arrived at 0700. With no current cases left pending, his team showed him the base, providing a narrative about trouble spots, hot spots and sweet spots that left him grinning with pride and enthusiasm for the rest of the day, through two simultaneous call outs – and 5 e-mails and 7 texts from D.C.

Thursday dawned just as early for Tony, who was so impressed with his team for figuring out when the new Boss was coming in and showing up 10 minutes earlier than he did, that he went to pick up lunch for them as they finished their reports from their first case from the day before, closed in short order. On the drive there, he noted 4 e-mails, a voice mail message and seven texts from Washington. On the way back to work fifteen minutes later, the numbers had inched up to 8 e-mails and 10 texts.

Guess it's lunch time there too, he figured. That night, he posted an e-mail to everyone who had been contacting him.

At the soft ping of her phone announcing an e-mail, Ziva bolted up from the couch, where she'd been trying – unsuccessfully – to read. As much as worked to keep her hopes from running too high, she held her breath that it was from Tony.

Her thoughts were suddenly taken with Tali, and a moment one summer when her own, big-sister rant had resulted in the girl's light laughter. "You are a control freak, Zivaleh," she'd chided affectionately, stubbornly unfazed by her sister's affronted protests. "You are! When things happen that you cannot bend to your will or dig into for answers, the steam shoots straight out of your ears!"

It was not until she had come to NCIS, away from her father and Mossad and their regimented approach to things, that she finally began to see what her sister had seen in her at those rare but powerless moments. She reflected now that most of those times involved her inability to fathom what was going on in the mind of Tony DiNozzo. Every time she thought she'd figured him out, every time she thought she understood him, he'd throw her a curve. The only things she knew for sure was that the simple, goofy 'horndog' was anything but ... and even the great Eli David had been thrown by his sophomoric veneer.

As she grabbed her phone and forced herself to take a breath, to center herself and be ready for whatever she saw, she allowed a moment of pride in her sister. How wise she was to recognize that which I did not, until so recently. Something to remember...

She opened her eyes, opened her phone screen, opened her e-mail. It was from Tony ... to everyone. His e-mail, subject line "Pensacola," was sent to McGee, Abby, Ducky, Palmer and herself, with Gibbs' address in the 'copy' line. She frowned at first, and as she read, felt her chest tighten at the simple note:

Thank you for the calls and messages. I hope you won't mind if it takes me a week or so to get back to you. Things are busy here.

Tony

Before the note, Ziva would have sworn that hearing anything from Tony would be better than the not knowing and the vacuum he left behind. Well, she'd been wrong. His brief e-mail to them all, sterile and impersonal, made things more confusing ... and much, much worse ...

On Friday, Tony's team again got an early start and a good bit of work done on their pending case, which, with some poking, had proven to be the tip of the iceberg in a small but robust black market operation run by locals. Targeting the large resident student population, they traded in cheap (read stolen, or knock-off, or both) IPods, phones or tablets, clothing and jewelry, even concert tickets. Once the team alerted the state police and their role became one of support rather than lead, their work load lightened, as did the mood of their small squadroom. By 1900 hours Tony wandered out of his 'closet' (tiny as it was, it was an office, and it was his) to face his troops.

"Good work this week, you two." He stopped at the single table in the middle of the room where the pair were working. " I know we got thrown together here sort of last minute, but you guys made it work, and I appreciate it." Pausing a moment, making sure his words and his thanks sank in, he then offered a quiet smile. "Time to go home." As they stood, grinning with the order, DiNozzo added, "so I guess we're on call damn near every weekend here, huh?"

Tyko, the more junior of the pair, chuckled as she hefted her backpack to her shoulder. "You bring another team with you you didn't tell us about?"

Tony smirked at the recent FLETC grad, whose confidence, gained from being the youngest in a family of brothers, father and uncle in law enforcement, belied her probie-ness. "Good point. Well, we'll work something out. We get call-outs on the weekend, I'll do my best to get you some pay back time during the week as soon as we're caught up. Deal?"

Both pair of eyes blinked at him. "I thought the Director wasn't able to approve that," his other agent, Morrisey, said.

"Hmm. Really?" DiNozzo appeared to mull it over. "Well, I wasn't going to bother him with it. It probably takes a whole bunch of forms we don't want to mess with anyway." With a quick glance to each other, his team then looked to Tony with growing understanding and appreciation. "I need you guys on top of your game," Tony said, his voice serious. "When we get a chance for sleep, we take it. We'll work it out," he assured them, then added, grinning, "now get outa here before the Director calls me and tells me to keep you late for some reason."

He watched them shut down their computers and answered their good nights with a tip of his chin. He stood in place for a few more minutes, looking around the room with a practiced eye. After a moment's reflection, he took a deep breath and sighed it out, his shoulders falling as he finally let go. The week had gone well, he reflected with some relief. They'd been successful with both cases that had come in and had made points with the local LEOs.

... but it wasn't his team ... it wasn't his family. It wasn't the team he'd waited for so long to take over from Gibbs, when the Boss was ready to step down. It wasn't Tim or Ziva. Gibbs wasn't there to help him work through the questions. He glanced again at his phone and felt a pang of regret. Despite his e-mail last night, today there were more 2 e-mails and 3 texts from those he'd left behind.

It had been a good week, no question. Tony knew he could work with the two agents on his team, and knew they appreciated his approach. The fit could be a good one, and it was his – if he wanted it.

Give it a week, he reminded himself, maybe ten days. Honeymoon may be over if we get called out on the weekend or if some bad habits appear that they've covered up so far. It's too early to know if this mutual love-fest will last. And too early to know if he would change his mind – one way or the other – once he listened to the voice mails and read the e-mails and text messages his team had been sending him.

He stood, suddenly weary, and grabbed his backpack. He crossed the room to the doorway, took another look around his squad room and, after a moment, flipped off the light and pulled the door closed behind him.

As it had every other evening that week, Tony's plan to stop and get a few groceries on the way home was jettisoned as soon as he was behind the wheel, just wanting to get home and relax, to forget about anything NCIS for a few hours. He had a six pack in the fridge and a pizza take out number on it. Just what the doctor ordered for the evening.

The sun was still generously above the horizon and the evening breezes were warm and inviting. He wasn't really that hungry yet anyway, and the white sands and soft surf beyond his window were hypnotic. In less than five minutes Tony shed his work clothes to pull on cargo shorts and a polo, grab the six pack, and head out to the sand. Sitting down in the sand on a slight ridge made by repeated tidal shifts, watching the waves roll to within a foot of his toes in the sand before him, Tony opened a beer and drew a mouthful, swallowing appreciatively. Overhead, gulls circled; sandpipers tirelessly ran down to the water's edge as the waves went out, then arced back to run away from the encroaching water as it came back up across the sand. He idly wondered how long they would keep it up before becoming bored or tired , watching them as they went about their endless dance, always circling within inches of the water's edge yet never quite being caught by the waves. Like dancing along the edge of safety, with endless cases and the never-ending parade of bad guys... he mused.

The beach wasn't deserted, but peopled only with a few families still lingering from their day at the beach, a handful of couples here and there taking an evening stroll, some runners pacing along the water's edge. They were all far enough off that the sound of the surf masked all but the loudest of their laughter and words. As he drew on his beer bottle again, a movement down the beach a way caught his eye, and Tony turned to look at the form nearing him – despite clothing which was decidedly out of place, a slender man, maybe his height, negotiated the shifting sand with a practiced walk, not letting it slow his pace. DiNozzo stared as the man neared him, his dark jeans and black sport coat sharp against the blue sky and white sand. Surprise, on top of everything else that had rocked him in recent weeks, left him speechless.

Neither man said a thing as McGee crossed the last couple feet of sand between them, pulled off his sport coat, and sat beside him. Finally, after several minutes, McGee nodded toward the six pack. "Got an extra?"

For the fifth time that hour, Ziva looked at the time read out on her computer screen, then glanced at her watch, as if in the few minutes since her last check, one or other of them would have jumped significantly ahead of the other. Her restlessness was clearly not missed by Gibbs.

"Go home, Ziver; you're a bundle of nerves."

"I should have gone," she murmured again, more to herself than anything.

Gibbs finally turned to look at her more fully. "No," he admitted, "I think Tim was right. Maybe soon, but right now, you've still got enough of your own healing ahead not to have to worry about Tony's, too. Give Tim a chance to talk with him."

Frustrated, again feeling impotent, Ziva got up to pace over toward Gibbs' desk. "Did you say anything to him, Gibbs, to ask him to stay?" She finally addressed one of her nagging concerns enough to confront her boss with it. "Have you tried talking to him since he left?"

Gibbs pulled off his glasses and looked up at Ziva, his eyes meeting her demanding gaze full on. "To the first question, yes. But not what you'd want me to say."

"You did not encourage him to stay?"

He sighed. "Tony has been offered and turned down three teams since I got back from Mexico – Rota, which you know about, and two more after that. Those last two times, the ones I knew about, I told him he was ready, and both times I told him I would be happy for him if he left, but happy for us all if he stayed. He knows I'll back his decision, whichever he does." He saw her react as expected – with frustration that he hadn't just prevented DiNozzo from leaving. "You know – even if you don't like it – it's the only right thing for me to do."

She sighed, deflating. "He is ... my best friend, Gibbs. And I have not always honored that. Or acted like it."

Gibbs watched her, without speaking, waiting for her to say more. When she did not, he repeated, more softly now, "go home. Try to get some sleep. We're off rotation for the weekend; Vance knows we're two down. Worse case, we might be asked to assist another team, but we won't have a new case assigned to us until Tim's back." He considered her for another moment, then added, "McGee's got this one, Ziver."

Torn between arguing and knowing it would serve no purpose, still toying with the idea of hopping a plane herself but knowing that Gibbs – and McGee – were right, she simply nodded and turned, reaching for her pack and jacket, and left the squad room without looking back. As she disappeared from the squad room, Gibbs, now alone, didn't try to hide the worry drawing his brow into a frown. He wasn't sure exactly what had him worried the most – Tony, Ziva, the clear connection between them – or a mix of everything going on with all of them.

Tony had drained his beer and had started another before he finally spoke. Tim's was more than half done. "How'd'ya find me?"

"Well, I'm a federal agent, Tony," McGee drawled, a wry sound to his words, "I used the secret decoder ring."

"Oh – so you are gunning for SFA," he joked weakly. McGee's his voice and demeanor had been so completely normal, not for the tiniest moment reflecting his unexpected appearance, that it took all the focus Tony had to shove down a rush of homesickness for the people and places he'd left behind.

But after only a moment, and a sigh, Tim answered. "No, I'm not." Seeing a slight but definite physical reaction – surprise? – from his own SFA, McGee said, "look – the team works, just how we've had it. We've had our problems, and our good points and bad, but ... honestly? If it had been me who was offered another job, as long as you or Gibbs was still there – I wouldn't leave."

"Not Ziva?"

"She's ... different," Tim began. "I trust her the way I trust you guys, but ..." He paused, looking for how to explain things. "We were a team before her and without her, more than once. It's different."

"She and you were on a team together though, too, without me and without Gibbs." Tony challenged.

"I know," McGee agreed softly. "It's just ... different. If you want me to make something more up, I will, but it just is. I can't imagine ever trusting anyone other than you three. If I have to someday, I'll try, but ... I don't think I would do so by choice." He paused, "Tony, of all of you, I haven't had as many experiences with other partners, deciding who I can trust or can't trust in the field. If I have to I will," he repeated, "but it wouldn't be by choice. You've had to make that decision before and had to change partners, so you'd be in better shape to make that assessment. Maybe for me the choice is easier, not having that same experience."

"Why are you here, McGee?"

Tim looked to his partner, silently, then looked out over the water. He considered, then shook his head, and with a shrug, admitted, "'cos you'd do the same for me, I guess."

"Do what?"

"I dunno. Be here. Be nearby, if ... if you wanted to talk ... or just to tell you that we're worried you'll make this permanent. No one wants to see you go, Tony. Everyone is worried that you're serious this time." At the older man's grimace and slight head shake, signaling his disbelief, McGee added, knowing what must be on his mind, "Ziva wanted to come too, Tony. Or – more like – be here instead of my being here."

"Oh, yeah?" The slightest edge of bitterness entered DiNozzo's voice, and he worked to temper it. "Why didn't she?"

"I talked her out of it."

Tony turned quickly to look at Tim, beside him, anger beginning to bubble deep inside as he searched the man's face for an explanation. "Why?"

"My gut. I didn't think you needed to face each other right now."

DiNozzo's eyes narrowed at his probie's candor and muttered, "We're adults , McGee."

"Really? I haven't seen it lately." Again, green eyes met green, but somewhere in DiNozzo the certainty and strength of McGee's convictions got through, and the rash response he'd felt building in him was tempered. "Look, I get it," Tim reasoned, "I know something's been eating at you. But whatever it is, you'll find your way and your footing and you'll plow through. But Ziva..." He didn't finish his thought.

"Ziva can take care of herself," Tony half growled, masking the hurt.

"Which Ziva? The one we knew before she was tortured, or the one who came back to us and won't tell her teammates when she's hurting?" Guilt threaded through Tony, fighting with the hurt of his own that he'd started amassing well before she'd been taken captive. "Can she take care of herself? Eventually again, sure. Now? Yeah, probably. But I don't want to take that chance."

"Who put you in charge?" DiNozzo snapped, propelled by hurt and loss and the fact that McGee showed up to press him to think about things he'd hoped to avoid a while longer.

"All of you!" McGee retorted. "At least by default! You won't discuss it, Gibbs is letting it play out, Ziva's grilled me for information about you both... Abby complains that everyone is hurt and needs fixing, and Ducky wants everyone to be happy with whatever happens. So I'm stepping in here, Tony." His short spurt of ire burned off, McGee wavered, hearing nothing more from his partner for long minutes, whose eyes remained fixed on the tiny birds running away from the water then back in toward the waves, never pausing, never tiring.

"Why?" Tony finally asked, with all the pain, weariness and hopelessness he'd been feeling poured into that one syllable.

McGee broke his gaze from the birds to look at the agent beside him, his teacher, his friend. "Because it's what you taught me to do."

...to be continued...

A/N #2: For guest reviewer "Mary" and those who think this is headed into a "blame Ziva" fic: As I asked in the last chapter, if you bear with me, I don't think you'll find blame or bashing by me or by the characters, unless you are reading in between the lines and finding character intent that is not there. All I can offer is a look at my other stories, which will show you I have not blame or bashed any of the NCIS characters in any of my stories.

This story addresses not only the reality that more than one person can be hurting at a time, but that each person in a work environment may develop different ties with different co-workers. I would hope that anyone who finds that this chapter blames or bashes Ziva gives it another try, and as far as possible, read from a neutral perspective, without defensiveness for any particular character. If it still sounds negative toward Ziva after an honest review, then I need to find a way to make the same point without shortchanging her. I am happy to have everyone's comments and views about the story; however, as author, I reserve the right to suggest, when appropriate, if someone is finding negatives where none is presented. If there is a criticism to be had, then, I don't believe it's that I blamed Ziva for Tony's problems, but whether or not l left it too murky to tell the difference. If I did, I need to know that.

That said, the scene at issue was written from this approach: Tim was truly a probie when he started on the Navy Yard, receiving different flavors of "tough love" from Gibbs, Tony and Kate. When Ziva first arrived - efficient, skilled, a bit intimidating and self-sufficent - Tim was much less of a probie in general, and more of a peer to Ziva, whether or not he always felt it. Tim does say he trusts all three with his back; he says the team as it is works for him. However, he acknowledged his own career choice would be influenced differently by Gibbs and Tony - his two teachers - he did not intimate that she's not a part of the team for him, or not "good enough." Again, I believe a fair and neutral reading of the paragraph will show this.

~S~