Chapter 14

The orange glow of the morning sun rising over the Pacific Ocean woke Tatyana at 0630. She had spent most of her time in bed tossing and turning. While she hadn't gotten much sleep, she knew that coffee and a good breakfast would give her enough energy to get through the day. She didn't hear the men up and about yet and smiled; she wanted to get breakfast made before they could protest. She dressed quickly, choosing a deep purple skirt, a black leather belt with an ornate buckle, a cream cashmere sweater, a pair of black pumps, and a pair of amethyst earrings. Her hair was quickly brushed and coiled into a bun, her makeup applied, and her weapons concealed. After being caught off guard on her flight she couldn't take any chances. She grabbed an old flannel shirt of her father's and headed to the kitchen.

As she came down the steps, she noticed that Callen had moved his bedroll out of the living room. She hoped that meant he had decided to get a proper night's rest in a bed. When she opened the refrigerator, she found eggs, ground pork, mushrooms and back bacon. She smiled and made a note to thank Hetty for all the ingredients needed for a good English breakfast. Vine ripe tomatoes sat in a basket by the sink, and she grabbed two of them. She opened the pantry, delighted to discover just about every spice she could possibly think of, ready and waiting for use. She even found a small coffee grinder available to grind whole spices. She took what she needed for homemade breakfast sausage and went to the stovetop.

An hour later the sounds and smells of sizzling meat permeated the air. They pulled Leroy Jethro Gibbs out of sleep and back into the waking world. The first thing he reached for was his cell phone. He pressed number one, and waited for Tony to answer. After three rings he growled with impatience; finally a long moan reverberated into his ear. "DiNozzo, wake up!" Gibbs barked.

Tony bolted up in bed, nearly knocking Ziva off in the process. "Yeah, Boss, I'm awake sort of."

"Well get awake and listen. I want the entire team at the Mission by 0830. Have McGee use his techno-thingies to find a rout that doesn't put you in traffic."

Ziva sat up pushing her hair out of her face. She studied her partner's face closely in the morning light, looking for any trace of the darkness he had been living with for weeks. A crease formed between her eyebrows when she saw his eyes shut. She resisted the urge to poke at him; Gibbs did not need to know of their sleeping arrangements. They might not be breaking Rule 12, but they both knew better not to tempt the wrath of a jet-lagged Gibbs.

"Yeah Boss, we'll be there on time," Tony responded, "Yep, I am getting out of bed this very second." He snapped the phone shut quickly and rubbed his eyes trying to get the sleep out of them.

She shook her wild hair and a small, mischievous smile touched her lips. Tony still had his eyes closed, and he moaned. "That smile never means anything good, Da-vid."

Her fingers dove into his hair roughly, scratching his scalp, "You must open your eyes to see my smile."

Tony scrambled out of the bed and landed in a heap on the floor. "Not the hair Ziva!" he shouted.

She threw her head back and laughed; the light hit her skin, making her glow like a bronzed goddess. Her dark hair and eyes shone, and for the first time since they went to the location of the first little girl, Tony stopped seeing their broken bodies. Ziva looked at her partner on the floor and felt the familiar heat crawl up her spine when he focused on her.

"Get up. If we are late, Gibbs is sure to slap us both," she mumbled.

Tony didn't move or avert his eyes and ignored her statement. "Callen's right, you know. You are beautiful."

Her eyes narrowed not in anger but in suspicion. "Tony, I told you nothing romantic ever happened between us. I will admit I found him attractive, and I let him know it. However, he made it perfectly clear to me that at the time, I was far too young for him to consider even a casual 'toss'. We pretended for my father's sake. You know what my father would have done had he known that Callen was CIA and that he interfered in a Mossad operation to save my life."

Tony raised his hands in surrender. "You mean a casual fling."

"Is there a difference?" she sighed.

He stood up and began stretching out the kinks from his muscles. "There is, but we don't have time for an English lesson. You're all grown up now, not that you ever were a child. I think the guy's an idiot. Any man is who would pass you up."

She got up off the bed and ran her fingers through her hair, wincing when she encountered a tangle. "Would you include yourself in that category?"

The bright goofy smile that so defined Tony DiNozzo appeared, and her heart lifted at the sight. "The jury's still out on that my Ninja. What is certain is that we don't have any more time to waste. Move it, Sweet Cheeks, I'm not getting a concussion for you this morning. I still have jet lag."

She couldn't help but smile back. "I will make coffee and food, you get dressed."

Tony took off his shirt. "Don't wake the kiddies, I want to do that." he called after her.

When Callen came down the stairs, his mouth watered. The smells coming from the kitchen were as potent as a Siren's song pulling him in. A huge smile broke out on his face when he saw Tatyana standing at the stove, placing bacon on the griddle, an old flannel men's shirt worn over her clothes in place of an apron. "Wow! What is all this?"

She took an egg, cracked it into a ladle, and gently set it in a pot of simmering water. "Good morning, Callen. How do you like your eggs?"

He shrugged. "Don't go through any trouble for me. I'll eat anything."

She turned over the bacon and checked the sausage patties. "That doesn't answer my question. You should probably make the coffee. I've never attempted using American coffee maker, let alone making coffee acceptable to a Marine."

"Sure." He went to the coffee machine and opened the cupboard. "Where is the coffee?"

Tatyana went into the pantry and got out the grinder used for coffee and a bag of premium dark roasted whole beans. "Here you are. Now, please answer my question."

The loud whiz of the coffee grinder filled the room. Tatyana turned back to the tomatoes and mushrooms she had put on the griddle while Callen carefully measured lethal amounts of coffee grounds into the machine. He filled the carafe one third of the way up with water and added it, then turned the coffee maker on on. "There you are: one pot of coffee guaranteed to stand up to any Jarhead. By the way, I did answer your question. I'll eat anything."

"I'd believe him, he has and he will," Gibbs said as he walked into the kitchen. "It all smells good."

Tatyana flipped a tomato and fished out two perfectly poached eggs. "A girl must eat, Jethro." She turned to Callen. "Callen, I didn't ask you what you would eat. I asked you how you liked your eggs prepared. I don't care if you'd eat them raw. I want to know how you enjoy them! Is that clear enough for you?"

Callen's eyes widened; she took his breakfast preferences very seriously. "I like my eggs sunny side up." he answered softly.

"Do you like the yolks runny or hard?" she demanded.

"I like them runny," he answered quickly.

Tatyana turned to Gibbs and said a silent prayer begging that he wouldn't be difficult. "How would you like your eggs?"

Gibbs just smiled. "Fried and dry, please, with extra pepper."

She quickly removed all of the breakfast meat and vegetables off the griddle onto a serving platter and covered it with tin foil. Then, she cracked four eggs and put four pieces of twelve grain bread on to toast. "If one of you would be so kind to get some plates, glasses, mugs, and cutlery, we can eat at the island."

Callen quickly got the mugs and coffee set up while Gibbs handled the rest. The older man began setting the utensils out then stopped. "What about placemats?"

Tatyana chuckled. "You don't strike me as the type to care about those things."

"I'm not, but you are," he stated.

A shadow of the glare she had given Callen directed itself at the older man. "Placemats protect surfaces from getting burned by hot plates. These counters are quartz, and just about indestructible. We don't need placemats. We do need napkins. They're kept in the second drawer to the right of the refrigerator."

Gibbs followed her instructions and set the places. Tatyana put the eggs and toast on another serving dish while Callen served the coffee. Once the platters were set out, she grabbed an assortment of preserves out of the pantry and the cream and juice out of the refrigerator. Finally, she took her flannel shirt off, hung it on the barstool, and sat down. "Help yourselves gentlemen, it's too good to get cold," she ordered with a blinding smile.

They didn't need any further encouragement and came just to the edge of bad manners diving into the food. In moments, they had plates piled high with eggs, meat, tomatoes, and mushrooms. Callen bit into a sausage patty and had to stop himself from drooling all over himself from the succulent flavors bursting in his mouth. Gibbs also savored his breakfast, washing the food down with a big gulp of scalding hot coffee.

Tatyana bowed her head for a prayer and then started on her breakfast. She put a slice of toast on her plate, added a tomato, a sausage, some bacon, and a poached egg on top. Then, she put the mushrooms all around her little tower of food. The moment she cut into the egg, the rich golden yolk oozed downward, bathing the meal in its silky deliciousness. With her meal cut into proper bite-sized pieces, she savored the quiet morning and delicious flavors.

She carefully poured herself her first cup of Marine-strength coffee, adding an extra splash of cream. The mug still gave off an enormous amount of heat, so she blew on the liquid to cool it further. When the liquid filled her mouth, the strength of the brew nearly overwhelmed her. The bitterness made her eyes water as the heavy liquid scorched down her throat.

She swallowed and shook her head trying to clear her mind. "That isn't coffee, that is bloody battery acid!" she exclaimed, running to get a glass of milk.

G. and Jethro laughed loud and hard until they nearly gasped for air. "How you don't have a stomach full of ulcers must be a medical mystery Jethro," she remarked once the laughter had died down.

A cheeky smile graced Callen's face. "Are you kidding? Gibbs lives by his gut. It wouldn't dare betray him by developing ulcers."

Gibbs poured himself another huge cup of coffee and nearly burst out laughing again when Tatyana's eyes widened in horror. "Do I here sarcasm there, G.?"

The younger man's smile became even more mischievous. "I don't know, Gibbs. I mean, Ducky keeps me relatively appraised of your health, but he might not know if your hearing is going."

"Watch it, G."

Callen smiled like an innocent angel. "I'm Hetty's favorite, she'll protect me."

Now that the men had nearly finished their meal and had their laugh at her expense, Tatyana decided it was time to focus. "I hope you gentlemen got a proper rest last night. We'll be very busy today, I drew the portraits of the men that handled my trunks. Hopefully, between four computer wizards, we can find them."

G. finished the last piece of sausage and took a sip of coffee. His face became serious again all traces of mirth gone. "From what I read last night, Brazanlov probably killed them before you left London."

"I have no doubt that he did." she replied. "I'm just hoping we can find out who they were so that it might give us something to track the mole who sold me out."

Gibbs frowned. "You don't sound too confident."

"I'm not," she sighed. She picked up her dirty dishes and brought them to the sink. "The day I got out of the hospital I started investigating." She turned and faced both men, who now gathered their plates. Her face was a picture of agonized frustration. "Do you know what they call me?"

"Who are they?" Gibbs asked.

A tiny, bitter smile graced her lips. "You know, the proverbial 'they'. The shadowy powers that be, the people in many governments that want my mind, the people who decide who gets me and when. 'They' call me the Vatican Secret Archives."

Callen sounded a long whistle. "Go big or go home. From what I read, you're more like the entire Vatican Library, with The Library of Congress thrown in."

"Isn't it funny? Four years, and I can't even find a mole in the SVR. So much for my Secret Archives." Then, she tapped the side of her head. Then she started to clean the stove and griddle.

Gibbs put his dishes in the sink and came up beside her. "Hey, you've got help now."

"I know," she whispered.

"G. and I will finish up here. You go get whatever else you need."

"I'm ready. I just need my handbag and my laptop."

Gibbs nodded. "Go get them." She left the kitchen, and he turned to Callen. "You load the dishwasher; I'll clean the griddle and the pot."

"You think I don't know how to wash a copper pot!" The younger man snorted.

"Do you?" Gibbs chuckled.

A smug smile spread over Callen's face. "I spent six months under cover at The Ivy as a dishwasher."

Once again, they completed the work quickly. Tatyana brushed her teeth and came back with her things. "I think you both should know what kind of weapons I carry."

G. finished drying the pot and put it away. "You're carrying two blades, a scalpel in your right garter and a custom knife behind your belt buckle. I think you might be the only woman in LA who actually wears garters for their primary function," he added with a smile.

She smiled back. "Were you searching my drawers when I was asleep, Callen? You could have just asked me."

His eyebrows rose up to his hairline. He wasn't sure what she meant by that. Was she teasing? Was she serious, and trying to earn his trust more quickly? Was she flirting? He just couldn't be sure. He had a feeling she might not even know why she said it. "Maybe I will. What would you say?"

She shrugged. "It would depend on why you were asking. Anyway, you haven't asked me about my gun."

"Let's see it." Gibbs ordered.

She opened her handbag, pulled out a PSS pistol, and carefully handed it to Callen. "I was given this on the day we buried my father. I never carried it on me until after—" even after four years, she hated saying it. "Well, in any case, I do know how to use it. I couldn't get clearance to carry it on the flight, so I packed it in my trunk."

G. had seen PSS pistols over the course of his career, but they were rare. Only the most elite of the elite of Russian Special Forces issued these pistols. They were virtually silent, perfect for assassins. "This has been modified, the magazine is different. May I take a look?"

"It holds ten rounds instead of six. Grandfather wanted me to have more shots than the others. Other than that, it's a standard PSS."

Gibbs poured the last cup of coffee into a thermos. "Let's go. Do you think you can get us to the office by 0830, G.?"

Callen sighed and rolled his eyes. "Sure Jethro, I'll just tell Hetty to sign me up for Traffic School again."

Tatyana put her gun back in her handbag and grabbed her laptop. "That doesn't sound very nice."

"It's not," he replied with a cheeky smile.

The three walked to the car, and she paused. "Do I have to sit in the back again? It's a bit cramped, you know."

Callen opened the passenger seat with a grin. "You can sit up front with me. If I get a ticket, you can work some magic with Hetty to make sure I stay out of Traffic School. Do we have a deal?"

A bright smile lit up her face, and she gave him her hand. "It's a deal! You let me sit up front for the rest of my time in LA, and I promise you won't hear the words 'Traffic School.' I give you my word."

"Hey!" Gibbs barked. "You are the protectee. Tanechka; you sit in the back of the car." He turned to Callen and glared. "Don't encourage her!"

The younger man nodded his head in the direction of the seat, gesturing for her to get in the front. Once she strapped in, he shut the door and went around to the driver's side. "If you want to get there by 0830, I suggest you get in, Gunny."

Gibbs opened the back door behind Callen, sat down, and slammed the door hard. "Hetty is going to kill you, G."

Callen ignored the remark and started the car. "Okay, here's how we'll deal with the radio; we'll alternate days who gets to choose in the morning and in the evenings. Traffic in LA is a nightmare just about twenty-four hours a day, so if we're stuck somewhere, we alternate every half hour. Is that good with everyone?"

Gibbs said nothing; his piercing eyes reflected in the rearview mirror. Callen had to suppress his laughter at the older man's ire. He'd meant what he said when he told Sam that he had a healthy fear of his old friend, but this wasn't one of those times. After reading her medical files last night and knowing exactly what had happened to her, he didn't want to aggravate her triggers when he didn't have to. Yes, Gibbs would scowl at him for a while, but he'd get over it. Besides, G. had defied Gibbs often over the years.

"That sounds fair," Tatyana said, glancing at Gibbs with a hint of guilt in her eyes.

Callen winked at her. "Ladies first. Jethro can pick on the way back. Knowing him, it will probably be either George Strait or Charley Daniels. Who knows, he might even surprise us with Clint Black. Then again, Jenny got him hooked on U2, so he may surprise me."

"I'll just plug in my iPod if that's okay."

"Go ahead."

She took it out of her handbag and connected the cord to the stereo. She pulled up one of her dozens of playlists and set the volume. George Strait's Troubadour flowed through the speakers. She glanced at the mirror and saw Gibbs' face soften slightly. Callen raised both eyebrows in surprise.

A mischievous smile lit up her face. "What? Did you think that only people in the US enjoy Country Music? Keith Urban is Australian, you know."

Callen rolled his eyes. "Actually, I did know that. The reason I'm a little surprised is that I didn't think you were the type of person who would be a George Strait fan."

Tatyana huffed and cracked open her window. "George Strait is timeless. Fifty years from now, he will still be relevant. I enjoy just about every form of music I can experience. I wouldn't think you were the type of person that would appreciate show tunes. You shouldn't make assumptions about people. They have ways of defying expectations."

Callen hit the accelerator to pass a Hummer and glared at her. "How the heck do you know about my music habits? I'm sure those weren't in my files!" he growled.

"G. calm down. I want us there fast, not dead," Gibbs said, shaking his head.

Tatyana just smiled, enjoying the new surroundings. "Hetty told me you took her to The Sound of Music at the Hollywood Bowl two weeks ago. She said it was the best night out she'd had in years. I have to admit, it makes me feel very relieved that you take such good care of her."

Callen took a deep breath and turned down a side street to alter his rout. He had to admit she had a wonderful playlist. After spending the night poring over her file, he now knew exactly how much she had suffered. Just thinking about what he had read made his blood boil. He had dealt with different levels of depraved people throughout his life; whoever this Brazanlov was, he was a special breed of evil. He would bet all the money in his pockets that the man hadn't taken Tatyana for information or even because of her family connections. If his instincts were right, (and they usually were) he'd say Brazanlov took her to mold her into his personal slave, someone to do whatever he ordered without question. Someone like Tatyana molded into a human weapon was a thought that would put the fear of God into anyone.

He turned into the parking lot of the Mission and saw Sam standing by the Challenger,arms folded across his chest and a scowl on his face. Tatyana also saw him and looked at Callen, concern filling her eyes. "Agent Hanna doesn't look like he's having a good morning."

"Don't worry about it," he replied with a flippant tone. "He's just mad that I'm having a fling outside of our partnership."

"Maybe I should remind him that I had you first, G." Gibbs said.

"Sam likes to think he's my one-and-only. He's the jealous type. I think it's a SEAL thing," Callen chuckled.

With the car parked, G. got out and strode around, opening the passenger door. He gave her his hand and helped her out of the car. "Thank you, sir. It is the most beautiful day, don't you think?" she said with a bright smile.

The chilly morning air nipped at their skin, turning Tatyana's pale cheeks and the tip of her nose bright red. She looked much calmer than she had last night, just as Gibbs promised. Seeing her so open and happy just being alive stirred his admiration. She still threw him off balance, and he wanted it to stop, but he had a hard time ignoring anyone he found likeable.

Sam walked up to the three of them and offered his partner a box. "I stopped and got you a blueberry muffin. Knowing you, all you've had is a double-dose of pain killers and that tea you love so much."

Sam took the concept of being an 'officer and a gentleman' to the extreme. Most of the time, he remained polite with suspects unless he was being the 'bad cop.' Callen bit back a sigh, Sam's disapproval with the arrangements obviously hadn't diminished, and he knew that the rest of his team would sense the tension. Callen didn't know how the two premier teams of NCIS (within the continental United States) could work this case without stepping all over each other, but he trusted Hetty to row the boat. He would just have to make sure of the chain of command. A meeting with Hetty and Gibbs would be the first item on his agenda for the morning.

He turned to Tatyana and smiled. "I know where Hetty keeps her special Hibiscus tea."

Tatyana nervously glanced between Callen and his partner. She keenly felt the tension between the two men, and a sinking feeling settled in the pit of her stomach. Not knowing how, or if, she should try to diffuse the situation, she followed Callen. "I think that's a fine idea. I need to recover from my experience with Marine grade coffee."