Disclaimer: Don't own anything recognisable.
A/N: Sorry it's taken so long. Pure laziness, I'm afraid.
A/N2: Thanks to Marcelle, my anonymous reviewer, who's taken the time to R&R even though she's busy travelling.
A/N3: If your interested in what happened between now in NCIS and TF, or even past that, or any of my OCs, I have a series of oneshots called "Against The Clock" covering that stuff.
A/N4: Please vote on my poll!
"Abby – over here!"
She whipped around to see a large crowd of people waiting in the arrivals lounge, and rushed toward them.
"We were only going to bring two or three people," explained McGee, "but everyone wanted to come greet you."
Lisa, bouncing Paul in her arms gently, proffered him forward.
"The latest burden on our time and finances."
Abby squealed.
"He's so sweet! Though I prefer black over blue . . ."
Lisa laughing rolled her eyes.
"Believe me, I know. And you've brought backup. Leroy, how are you?"
The teenager blinked rapidly.
"Tired," he said, his voice distorted through yawning. "Flying is exhausting. What's up, Mrs. D?"
"Call me Lisa, how many times? Nothing much, just had a child, it's not big."
"Oh. Yeah. 'Course," he mumbled, blinking again.
Shaking her head, she took pity.
"We'll be at our place in no time and you can crash," she smiled, then her face lit up as she recognised a third person, as yet unnoticed because of the throng of people surrounding Abby. "Du –" and then, taking notice of the small girl by her side, "Doctor Mallard, I didn't realise you'd be coming."
"I certainly apologise for springing it on you, my dear. Perhaps you can recommend a hotel . . .?"
"Nonsense. There's always room for you at our house."
Jenny shyly mumbled something, and Ducky looked down.
"Sorry dear, I'm going deaf with old age – what was that?"
She gave a small embarrassed smile, and avoiding looking him in the eye, said slightly louder,
"A mallard's a type of duck."
Lisa sighed, and Ducky chuckled. He crouched down beside her.
"Actually, with that and my first name rather unfortunately being Donald," here the little girl giggled, "all of my friends, and so that must include you now, call me Ducky."
Her mouth fell open and her eyes widened in an expression of pure delight.
"Ducky," she repeated in a reverent tone, trying it out for sound. "Ducky, Ducky, Ducky!"
She flung her arms around his neck and laughed, twisting her head to face Tony.
"Daddy – Daddy! He says his name's Ducky!"
Tony groaned.
"You had to do that? Be prepared to have photos of you in the pond."
"The pond?"
"Her bedroom. Not so long but very scary story. Sorry – why are you here, Ducky?"
Jenny giggled.
"He," interrupted Abby, "hijacked us at the airport. I don't even know how he knew we were there! Duck-man's got skills."
"Well thank you, Abigail."
"No prob, Ducky. Ziva! This is my son, Leroy. Leroy, wake up, this is Ziva David."
"The dead one?"
"Leroy!"
"What?!"
"It is all right, Abby. Pleased to meet you, Leroy. You're very like your mother, but you must hear that a lot."
"S'aright. Not like I can't see where they get it from."
"Abby, Leroy, Ducky, this is my boyfriend, Isaac Daniels."
Isaac swallowed almost inaudibly, these introductions were intense. Meeting Ziva's friends, not the convenient Mossad ones, or even the real Mossad ones, but the people from NCIS who he was fairly certain meant more to her than anyone from Israel. He reached forward to shake each hand in turn.
"Honoured, Doctor Mallard, Ms. Black –"
"Ducky."
"Abby."
"Leroy."
"Right, of course. Isaac."
He felt his mouth go dry as the two adults seemed to examine him – Leroy was nearly dead on his feet. Terrorists? Neo-Nazis? Arms dealers, corrupt governments, assassinations, top-secret missions, undercover? No problem. He turned and whispered to Ziva that he better not have to do this ever again. She chuckled.
"We should talk at some point," said Abby brightly, but with an undertone of danger. "For now though, let's go get some sleep."
----
They met again at NCIS, Gdynia the following morning, sans Lisa, Jenny and Paul. Tony directed Abby down to a lab, where she met the Polish forensic scientist. She watched him with growing fear, before finally saying as he broke a test tube,
"Go. Home."
He complied. Once he was out of the way, she settled in, drawing Bert out of her bag, and telling Tony that if there wasn't a Polish version of a Caf-Pow!, he should invent one within five minutes. Finally satisfied that everything was as it should be, she called her lab in D.C.
"Hey Mum!" answered Kate brightly over the webcam. "What's up?"
"Is he there?"
"Terry? Your lab assistant of two months who does in fact have a name and is not as incompetent as you like to make out? Yeah, he's here."
"Has he touched any of my stuff?"
"Your photos, stuffed toys, not-so-hidden make-up supply? No."
"My babies, Kate?"
"He shook my hand."
"Kate!"
She sighed and raised her eyebrows.
"He kinda has to, to do his job, Mum."
"I don't care!"
"Bye, Mum."
"Bye, Kate."
"Hey Gibbs!" exclaimed Kate suddenly, before Abby hung up.
Gibbs shook his head exasperatedly and raised a finger to his lips. Abby signed 'thank you' to the webcam away from him.
"De nada," and then to Gibbs, "You called Felicity?"
"Damn."
"Gibbs! She's really worried!"
"I'll call her."
"Now."
"Now?"
"Now."
He took out his mobile, and grimacing at Abby and Kate, punched in a number and held it to his ear.
"Hello?"
"Hey darling," he said, wincing in anticipation.
"I'm sorry, I think you may have the wrong number. This is the Gibbs household?" came the voice of his wife coated in layers of false sweetness.
"It's been really hectic –"
"I heard you've had a few days off, then a bit of action, then another day off."
"Right . . ."
"If you don't call once every second night, I will burn your wood,"
"Honey –"
"drink your bourbon,"
"Felicity –"
"and throw out your wardrobe and have Patrick buy you a new one," she said, ending on the largest threat.
An effeminate, English-accented male voice was heard in the background.
"Ooh, that sounds like fun! Can I do that anyway?"
"Rick, Rick, Patrick William, don't you – Felicity! Felicity, tell him -!"
"Every two nights, Jethro."
"Don't call, LJ," pleaded Patrick. "I would love to see you in sequins."
Gibbs flicked the phone closed and turned to see Abby and Kate in fits of laughter.
"Poor Gibbs," spluttered Abby.
"She . . . has you . . . wrapped around her . . . little finger," added Kate, literally clutching her sides, before saying her goodbyes and hanging up.
Gibbs turned.
"Abs!" he barked.
"Relax, Gibbs, still running. Has retirement made you forget the real-life time restraints of DNA?" Under her breath, but still audible, she added, "Did you ever know them?"
At this a machine started beeping, earning her an 'I told you so" look. She pulled up the results.
"Two of them aren't on the database, but we got lucky with the third. Jacek Popiella. Charges for assault, GBH and violent protest when he was younger, joined the Unia Polity, Politi, Politiiki, Re, the Real Politics Union, but resigned a couple years back. Barely registered on anyone's radar since."
"Last known address?"
----
Gibbs and Isaac went to pick up Jacek Popiella, after Isaac insisted that he was going 'stir crazy'. Tony pointed out that he seemed to be fine with idioms, and Ziva glared at him. Standing at the door, a few seconds after knocking, Isaac motioned toward Gibbs.
"You go. They tend to freak when you yell, 'Mossad'."
"Open up, NCIS!"
They heard a banging from inside the house, and without any hesitation, Isaac kicked in the door and they raised their handguns, moving speedily and thoroughly through the house.
When they reached the kitchen they saw a heavy-built man fumbling through a box of keys, a gun sitting on the worktop beside him. He whipped around and pointed the gun at Isaac.
"Don't come any closer, you Jewish bastard," he turned on Gibbs. "And you should be ashamed, working with people like him."
"Been a reform Jew since I was twelve," he responded, and Isaac, despite the seriousness of the situation, withheld laughter.
The man turned to this even worse enemy, giving Isaac a chance to catch him off balance, but as he fell the gun fired. Quickly letting off two shots into Popiella's legs, Isaac span around. Gibbs, thrown against the wall by the force of the bullets, sank to the ground, as blood from his stomach seeped through the fabric of his shirt in a growing stain, blossoming in waves rather than petals and with alarming speed.
I'm gonna be away for 6 weeks soon, and might UD even less, but I'll try my best.
Please review.