"This is suicide," Ziva whispered in muted horror as she looked at herself in the gleaming steal surface. Her hair was scraped back into a dainty bun, her make-up applied by Abby, made her look like a runaway circus clown, and her freshly minted name badge seemed to vibrate with her subterfuge. She closed her eyes slowly, and tried to control her breathing. The lies after lies that had suddenly piled up out of nowhere and snowballed on top of her very soul, made her feel faint and weak.

She cursed herself as she stared into her reflection. She should have said no. A simple hell no with no room for negotiation. That would have solved all her current problems. The heated discussion in Abby's apartment that had taken place after she drove there from the airport seemed surreal to her now. She had gone there with the one intention of forcing one of her best friends to see some freaking sense, and yet, she had left there having promised she would be Abby Sciuto for a day.

Her pitiful breakfast swirled in her stomach.

Abby had assured her it was a no brainer. The appointment with the accountant was supposed to be an hour, but would really take three hours at the very most. Gibbs was scheduled to be out of the building at a re-examination of two separate crime scenes with Tony and Tim. She had called the team-lead last night, shaking as she held the phone and feigned a severe case of travel sickness and fatigue, pleading off work for one day. He had granted it within an instant, and Ziva had never felt guilt like it as his concerned voice had barrelled down the line demanding she let him know if she needed anything.

She swallowed hard as shameful tears sprang up in her eyes.

She despised lying to him. But lying to him like that, with that kind of concern coming back in response was soul destroying. She shook her head in disgust and a moderate anger. Abby had brought up the time where she had covered for her with Gibbs, not so long ago. The time where Ziva had completely messed up a crime scene sample and Abby had immediately stepped in and corrected the issue to such a degree that the chain of evidence was materially preserved.

She had managed one day of corrosive guilt before she spilled her guts to Gibbs, carefully leaving Abby out of it. He'd of course figured out both girls' involvement in the debacle. He'd been surprisingly easy on them, which in the current moment, made Ziva feel even worse. He'd been angry, but had point blank informed them that nothing they could ever do, save for putting themselves in danger, was as bad as lying to him.

And here she was, lying like a serial killer death row inmate on his way to the chair.

And all because of some stupid wedding.

A stupid wedding of two morons she didn't even know.

Her heart continued to hammer. If Gibbs, for some reason or reasons popped back to the yard, they were done. He never came back without dropping on Abby, and he may be getting older, but there was no way on God's green earth he was going to accept that two members of his team had suddenly merged into one.

One scientifically unqualified person.

She ran an eye over her cue cards, painfully written out in Abby's hand, and felt her phantom travel sickness kick up a notch. Some of the words she couldn't even truly put oath to being words, and she sure as hell couldn't pronounce them. Her English and idioms had come on leaps and bounds in recent years, but this was really asking for a miracle. A winged horses, Egyptian god like miracle. If this man asked one question, used one word that wasn't on these damned cards, the jig was up.

And her life was over.

She felt her brow pucker up as anger bubbled inside her. At herself and at Abby. This evaluation was important to the agency, which was obvious from the fact that even Gibbs was playing ball. Resources were scarce, recession loomed, and they needed to protect what they had. And here she was, pretending to be some laboratory type individual to prove their forensics worth, when she didn't know one end of a Bunsen burner from the other.

It was madness.

And it was her own stupid fault she was embroiled in it. She needed to learn to say no to Abby. A simple, monosyllabic no. But she had let the guilt that she still felt about dragging Abby into her mess with the screwed up sample and her pride in never owing anyone anything weigh over her common sense. And she was in quite the royal mess as a result. She read her cards again, swigged a bottle of water that somehow managed to taste like stagnant pond residue, and glanced at the clock.

He'd be arriving in ten minutes.

She knew how much first impressions determined things like these and she fought to compose herself. She had been an undercover savant since her damned teen years, and that's what she needed to remember. This was just another op, another bout of subterfuge. She needed to play a bluff that was all. This guy needed to think that she was a competent, bad ass scientist in charge of an efficient, cost effective lab.

She felt the room spin.

Why did these words have to be so damned long?

Did people actually speak like this?

Everywhere she looked around the lab she saw Abby and she saw Gibbs, and she felt anger and shame in tandem. Anger that she'd been, and allowed herself to be dragged into another kooky Sciuto scheme, and shame that she'd lied to the one man who'd never lied to her. The same man she'd promised she'd never lie to again. The same man who had practically pleaded with her to be truthful with him, no matter what and no matter when.

And she hadn't.

The doors swishing open caught her by surprise, as did the clackety clap of an interns heels.

Swinging around, the pristine lab coat proclaiming her as forensics specialist Abby Sciuto felt impossibly heavy on her slim shoulders. This was the game now. This was the op, and she needed to slap that game face on hard and fast. Her fast split into an unnatural, but convincing smile as she extended a slim hand to a mild mannered looking individual, who the intern breathily announced as Dr Gregory Jenkins.

"How do you do," the middle aged accountant greeted politely, as the clueless intern clapped from the room, his hand felt sweaty in hers and she had to consciously prevent disdain crossing her face. "I am very well, thank you," Ziva answered in chipper tones that felt so unlike her usual voice it was almost alien.

Nodding as he released her hand, Gregory swallowed hard.

This woman…this uhh…Abigail was stunning.

He'd audited the forensics department of many a governmental agency, and none of the lead scientists had looked like this one. He cleared his throat nervously, and indicated to the thick briefcase he clutched under a tweed coat clad arm. "Shall…we uhh get started then?" Glancing down at the bulging case, Ziva fought hard to slap a confident smile on her face.

"Of course," she crooned breathily, sensing this stuttering individual's attraction to her, and knowing instinctively it was an asset in getting out of this horror. She indicated towards the clear counter top and two stools. She sat down quickly as Gregory fumbled his way onto his stool. There was an awkward silence for a moment as he wrestled with his case and extracted what appeared to be a thick questionnaire. Ziva licked her lips nervously.

Pushing his glasses up his sweaty nose, the jumpy accountant spread his checklist out in front of him. "So," he stuttered, "I guess we'll start with the basics. I have all your educational and employment details, so let's just get on with the running of this particular lab, ok?"

Ziva smiled her faux grin of confidence.

"Sure."

His nervous smile somehow eased her own nerves somewhat. Clearly this guy was not at ease, and that gave her the upper hand. She'd bluff what she didn't know, and hope that his obvious social insecurities would mask any intense inquiries he may have. It wasn't the most clad iron plan, but when you're a former assassin pretending to be a grounded scientist, beggars couldn't be choosers.

"So…tell me how you vet, tender and procure contracts for supplies for your lab, Miss Sciuto?"

Ziva stared.

This…was not on the cue cards.

This…was not something she was prepared for.

Gregory raised a brow, and rephrased.

"How do you decide which companies supply your base chemicals? Do you align yourself to public procurement practices laid down in the inter-agency regulations, or do you apply your own determinations in cost efficiency?"

The walls were starting to close in; Gregory's pen was hovering menacingly.

Abby's cards were theory based. Not finance based.

She had assured her that this Gregory would be assessing her fitness, academically and practically to run a governmental lab. That would seem to be the case in other agency audits, as leaked from friends in various different branches. Ziva sucked in a breath and smiled her reassuring smile. "Forgive me," she tinkled, and the dilation of his pupils was instantaneous, "I suppose I thought our conversation would be more scientific than err…commercial?"

Gregory stared.

"Miss Sciuto," he spluttered, "I am an accountant. I have a vague interest in science, but surely nothing to your standard. I'm not sure how you could think I could hold a determinative audit on those grounds?"

Ziva slapped a hand over her face and let out a girlish giggle that made her feel ill.

"Oh, Gregory you'll have to excuse me," she laughed, focusing hard on her contractions, making them sound natural, "I think I got you mixed up with an audit we're expecting next week." She shook her head in feigned exasperation. "You know how it is."

Gregory felt his facial muscles spasm.

This woman's dimples were something out of this world.

"Of course," he breathed, willing to practically agree with anything she said, "it's so hectic."

Ziva nodded emphatically. "I know…so, why don't you ask me your questions again Gregory."

He nodded fervently, and glanced down at his papers once more. Ziva steeled herself. She could do this. She just had to give non committal answers, that didn't sound vague. She ensured her face was open, like she had been trained, and maintained her advantage in being control of the situation. Gregory worked through question after question, and Ziva managed to smile and hedge her way through each one, hesitating just enough to seem like she was genuinely thinking of her answers.

On and on it went.

Degree of spoilage?

Answered.

Frequency of inventory and level of rigidity of stock control?

Answered.

As Ziva worked her way through query after query, Abby danced through song after song. The wedding was beautiful, Megan was a stunning bride but as she twirled through another jazz number, Abby felt sick. Guilt ate at her, and her cell seemed to weigh a metric tonne in her purse. She was waiting, waiting and waiting for the much anticipated "victory" text from Ziva. Her friend's happiness was a joy to see, but she knew as she moved from spot to spot that she'd jeopardized the friendship of someone who meant a lot more to her.

Megan was a good friend.

But Ziva…she was family.

She knew she shouldn't have dragged into her mess. She knew she shouldn't have brought up Ziva's sample mishap to force her friend's hand. She knew she shouldn't have given her no choice but to lie to Gibbs alongside her. All in all…she knew she'd really screwed up, and frankly, she'd never enjoyed a wedding less. A dull leaden feeling coated her gut, and every smile that beamed through her face was false and pained.

All she really wanted to do was to leave, find Ziva, and beg her forgiveness.

But she knew she didn't deserve it.

And she knew her friend wasn't out of the accountant woods yet.

There was still no text.

She forced herself to smile as Megan approached her from behind and slipped grateful arms around her. Meanwhile, the inquisition was drawing to a merciful end back at the Navy Yard. All in all, Gregory was impressed. Ms Scuito answered his questions at a tempo consistent with truth telling, she was frank in her discussions and appeared to possess suitable business acumen to cut costs where they could be cut.

This made the federal government happy people.

Two hours and twelve minutes had elapsed, with Ziva becoming more and more comfortable with her bluff. She didn't know what in the blue sky she was saying, but it sure sounded good and Gregory sure seemed to buy it. His hand suddenly was thrust across the table, and taking it with a blink, she realised that he was calling the meeting to an end. Whilst professing his provisional satisfaction with the interview, final results would be posted in three to four working days.

He gave a jerky, awkward nod as he made to stand.

She really was beautiful, as well as smart.

As he made to rise, his hand suddenly brushed off something wet and large. Recoiling in horror, such was his distaste for the unknown; he jerked his head for the source. Ziva's eyes followed his and one set of eyes widened in moderate confusion whilst another narrowed in heart stopping horror.

It sat there, unassuming in its presence, innocent in its intent, stealthy in its entry.

Gregory turned around first, and winced.

"Really, that's very kind of you," he sputtered, reddening somewhat, "but I really don't intake things like that."

The condensing vessel was suddenly raised up from the table, and thrust into Ziva's trembling hands.

"Oh no," explained Gibbs, as he melted out from the shadows with a deafening coolness, eying Ziva with a rage she had rarely ever seen, "that's not for you Gregory, though it is nice to see you again."

He cleared his throat with a menacing growl, whilst managing in Gregory's eyes, to appear happily calm.

"My Abby here just loves Caf-Pow's."

….

TBC

….

A/N: Thoughts? Update soon.