A/N: Not mine. And I can't promise I'll put them back whole when I'm done with them...

Thursday, 0700
Washington DC

Abby is enjoying the latest tracks from Near Death Machine on a sunny Thursday morning as Major Mass Spec does his best to analyse the traces of strange fluid they pulled from the wounds on the corpsman's back. So far, she's coming up disappointingly empty. No dings for anything – even the few fingerprints she found on the victim have led to a dead end. They have odd whirls and ridges, almost as if they're not from a normal – human – fingertip, and normally she would have put it down to some kind of error, except that Gibbs' team currently includes someone who is an expert in most things not-human.

"Abby, do you have a minute?" Buffy says cautiously from the door. Speak of the devil.

"I have samples to test and prints to run again and a whole lot of nothing for Gibbs when he makes his inevitable way down here and we all know how much Gibbs likes being told we have nothing and – "

Buffy cocks her head. "I can come back later," she replies, heading toward the door.

"No, wait!" Abby says, turning down the music and stepping back from her monitors. "Come take a look at these prints for me. Does ICWS even do demon fingerprinting? Is there such a thing? Imagine the world of possibilities for – "

"I have something for you," Buffy says, closing the door before pulling a wrapped object out from inside of her jacket. Abby is instantly a little suspicious – it doesn't much look like a Caf-Pow but wonders may never cease…

Buffy unwraps the misshapen parcel and pulls out the strangest knife Abby has ever seen. It's a good eight inches long, tapered at the tip, with odd bony ridges along the shaft. It gleams in the bright lights of Labby. She gloves up and takes it from Buffy gingerly, noting how light it feel in her hand. Made of some kind of bone, perhaps?

"Pulled it off a demon last night," Buffy says, "And I mean that literally, like we cut it from the back of the demon's cold dead hand."

"ICWS don't have demon analysts, huh," Abby muses, turning it back and forth in the light. She's still not sure what to make of Buffy Summers. Okay, so it might partly be the whole 'putting the team in danger' thing, but she's mostly over that now. Especially since the others don't hold any grudges; it makes it harder to be the only one in the 'distrust ICWS' corner. Especially after hearing about the leprechauns.

"Oh, we do… I just figured since you had the bodies and I have what I think might be the weapon it might be a match made in… a really twisted version of heaven."

"Same pearly gunk that we pulled off Matthews' body," Abby muses, examining the edges of the bony shaft. "Same serrations as the edges of the wound. I'm assuming you can leave this with me for awhile so I can run some tests? That way we can all get our answers, and Gibbs will be a happy camper, and Caf-Pow is coming my way. Everybody wins."

"You can have it," Buffy agrees, stepping back slightly at the rush of words. "Just… keep it on the down low, okay? Not every day you have to do chain of evidence for demon parts."

"You think this demon – or whatever it is – is what killed our three victims? Including Matthews?"

"I think nothing until you tell me what to think, Abs," Buffy replies, her hand straying to the cell phone clipped to her belt. She looks at the display, wrinkles her nose, and declines the call. "I have to split – got the director hounding me, plus Gibbs is like a bear with a sore head today." She grins. "Don't tell him I said that and I'll stop by the cafeteria next time I can sneak away. Caf-Pow definitely coming your way."

"Deal," Abby agrees, sticking out her hand. They shake on it, and Abby can feel Buffy's restraint through her gloves. The blonde Slayer really isn't so bad after all. Her cell rings again, and this time Buffy's eyes take on an almost predatory gleam.

"Oh captain my captain!" she half-sings, and the caller on the other end splutters their surprise. "You're here? Good. Conference room in ten. It's time to get all 'cease and desist-y'… again."

Buffy leaves, and Abby dials the bullpen.

"McGee? ICWS vs Vance. It's about to go down. You hack the video feed, I'll get the popcorn."

There are not many days that Abby does not love her job. This is definitely not one of them.

"And then Mr Giles told Vance he had numbers for everyone from the Sec-Nav right up to the president himself and that if he wanted to avoid causing an international incident he would stop meddling in things beyond his clearance level!"

Ziva is, truth be told, only half listening to Abby's excited account of the afternoon's happenings. Her mind is straying in all different directions – the kind of non-focus that, in her world, would easily get an operative killed. She has not seen Tony since their 'talk', and while what came after the talk definitely made up for most of the fighting that went on before her return to Israel, a small dubious part of her is thinking it is the calm before the hurricane. And then there is the rest of her worries.

"So I did a naked dance for McGee in the middle of Labby – "

"Wait – what!?"

Abby shakes her head, pigtails flying around her face. She pouts a little in that quintessentially Abby way that tells Ziva she's been caught out.

"You're not listening! And I guess I don't blame you what with all the DiNozzo pheromones floating around but seriously, watching Buffy and Giles put Vance in his toothpick-sucking place was better than anything on ZNN."

Ziva smiles at her exuberance. "Tony and I have cleared the air," she says in answer to the unspoken question. "We had a chance to talk and – d"

"Well, you know it's the 'and' that I'm most interested in except I know a lady never kisses and tells," Abby teases, leaning forward toward Ziva. "I'm just so glad you made up! Now we can get back to being a team again."

Ziva flinches, and Abby looks suddenly horrified. They can never be a team again, not while most of the intelligence community thinks Ziva is dead – indeed, if reports are true, most of the intelligence community were in attendance at her funeral. "Sorry, Ziva, I just meant…"

"I know what you meant," Ziva interjects, not entirely harshly. It still stings like a slap to the face. "We can stop dodging around each other and all be friends again."

"Yes, that." Abby leans forward and wraps her arms around Ziva, who forces herself not to pull away at the sudden close contact. She smells like popcorn and gunpowder, and the feeling of being held is foreign for longer than Ziva would like. She was almost fully used to Abby's exuberant displays of affection, in the before. Before ICWS. Before Somalia. Before a lot of water under the… whatever.

The feeling of being held is foreign. But it is not unwanted.

The sound of a key in the lock breaks both of them out of whatever reverie they're in. Buffy and Giles tumble into the apartment, both of them laughing at an unknown joke. It is good to see Buffy laughing, Ziva thinks, and she is more comfortable around Giles than she has been since Ziva has known her. Whether it is being away from the stresses of the Academy or being on Gibbs' team, or a combination of both, a weight has lifted from the small Slayer's shoulders.

"I hear you put Vance in his place," Ziva offers, looking at the two of them.

"Giles got his scary director face on and it was all kinds of awesome. Safe to say Vance won't be sending invisible-guy after us, or coming within a mile of our classified operations from now on."

"Did you ascertain the contents of the reports he was sent?" Ziva asks, not wanting to ask the question that's been burning through her mind for most of the day. She wonders for the umpteenth time how strong the glamour spell actually is and of its limitations.

"You're safe, Anne," Buffy reassures, heading to the fridge to peer inside. "Magdalena assured me that the face-voodoo they put on you is still functional. Vance made reference to my partner but didn't give off any 'secret back from the dead girl' vibes. All good."

Ziva is not convinced. She has been wracking her brains since they uncovered their invisible watcher for times that one or the other of them slipped up and called her by her true name. A hazard of the job, the constant double-checking and second-guessing. Buffy looks entirely unconcerned and in a strange way that makes the load lighten.

"Are the others – "

"On their way," Buffy says before Ziva even gets the sentence out. "Way too much fun was had at work today. The kind of fun that leads to connecting of the dots. And speaking of which, Abby, any word on the gross demon hand ornament?"

"It's a big first in the eww column for Labby, analysing a weapon that was formerly attached to something's person," Abby says, wrinkling her nose in a way that makes Ziva smile. "If you can call a demon a person. But yeah, the markings match. Organic substances were a match as well. Your mystery demon definitely carved up our dead corpsman like a Christmas turkey. And there's a sentence I never thought I'd say."

Ziva has missed this, the discoveries and the evidence gathering. Cooking, running, researching demons and shopping for more upcoming cooking has been the forefront of her life lately and she is only now beginning to understand what it means to be 'dead bored'. She is technically dead, and definitely more than slightly bored.

"Okay then," Buffy muses, not looking at all surprised. "Giles has some thoughts on that… I can see it in the way he's cleaning his glasses – when I haven't even done anything worth avoiding. Shall we wait for the whole party to arrive before you get with the 'splainy?"

"Of course," Giles agrees, hastily putting his glasses back onto his face. "Xander and… Willow will be popping by shortly also. They have some information to add."

They all pretend they don't hear the slight hesitation in Giles' voice when he mentions Willow; don't see the expression that flitters across Buffy's face at the thought of having to work with her former best friend. Ziva has given up on trying to coax Buffy into burying the axe. Some wounds can't be healed overnight, after all. At least Buffy has – from what Ziva understands – stopped completely avoiding Willow altogether.

"What's for dinner?" Abby pipes up, knocking them all out of their internal reveries. Ziva frowns and mentally assesses the contents of the fridge. They could have –

"Pizza!" Tony declares from the still-open doorway - honestly, it's a wonder they've all managed to survive their own stupidity up until this point – holding a stack of boxes in one hand and his car keys in the other. McGee is right behind him, holding a wad of napkins and wearing a slightly sheepish grin.

"Not fair to make Zee-vah cook for everyone every single night," Tony continues, "So we thought we'd come armed with cheesy deliciousness. Boss is right behind us, I think maybe he needed a bourbon and boat hit before jumping into all this demon chaos."

Ziva takes the bull by the horns and kisses Tony lightly, in front of everyone. "Hello," she says in an undertone, and his eyes widen.

"Hello yourself," he replies in a similar tone, but it won't do to have at it in front of guests, so she tamps down the shiver of pleasure that runs through her and concentrates instead on getting out enough plates for everyone.

McGee and Abby start rehashing the afternoon's events in similarly excited voices; noise which seems to fade into the background as everyone joins in and busies themselves with grabbing cheesy pizza and eating, the contented sound of chatter and munching filling the apartment.

Ziva feels more at home than she ever has before. And to think, not one of these people is related to her by blood.