I don't know if you'd call this a fix-it fic. There's really no fixing this loathsome episode, other than getting Tony off the team.
Also, I apologize for the errors in the last fics. I write from my phone, and sometimes autocorrect"fixes" things I don't need fixing, and sometimes I'm in too much of a hurry. I don't have the time to write like I used to, but I'm still compelled to write. I'll try harder to edit this one better. A huge thanks also to people who read/favorites/followed/left reviews. My apologies for not being as good as I used to be at answering them, at least right now. When I finish this episode arc, I'm going to wrap up "You're Making Me Dizzy" though I'm not quite sure how to do it yet, lol.
It wasn't like Tony hadn't seen it coming; in fact, that was part of what made it so damned excruciating. He'd not only seen it coming, but knew why it was bound to happen, yet he'd stood there and watched the trainwreck that was Ziva David barreling straight at him. He'd not wanted to admit it, that he was suspicious of her; of both her intentions, and her motivation for shooting her own brother.
He'd not called Gibbs on the man's outright lie - they were all still reeling from Kate's death, and quite honestly, Tony was done with the upheaval that Ari Haswari had brought to their lives. He needed that man to stay dead, in body and spirit. But Gibbs had to know that Tony at least suspected that the agency line about his boss shooting Ari in his basement was all whitewashed crap. All any decent crime investigator had to do was look at the crime scene, which they all had as per company regulations, to understand that the bullet trajectory was all wrong, and what the hell had happened to the bullet itself? Tony knew enough about the traditions of both Judaism and Islam regarding autopsies to know that they were forbidden unless there was a legally compelling reason to perform one. Well, obviously, someone higher-up had decided that the free-for-all in Gibbs' lair was nothing of import. Double agents gone rogue died of bullets to the head in government agents' basements all the time, right? Nothing to see here, move along.
So Tony had moved along. He'd really had no choice. He was still so damned exhausted after doing battle with the plague and actually surviving it, and trying to keep his boss from career suicide, that by the time Kate had been so ruthlessly taken from them, he'd had nothing left to fight the melee that was Ari's half sister, Officer Ziva David. And even if he had, he knew it was a conflict that he'd never win; Ms. David had had the blessings of the new Director, Jennifer Shepard, and had conveniently "found" a spot on the team for the Israeli liaison officer. They'd had some sort of history, and knowing what he did about both of the women's backgrounds, he wasn't about to dip his arm into that gator infested swamp. But he hadn't stopped wondering…why? What possible skills could a Mossad assassin contribute to an elite federal investigative team?
She knew everything there was to possibly know about weapons, large and small, about bullets, blades, or bombs…even the humble paperclip. She was literally lethal when it came to hand to hand combat. She could (so he'd heard) fluently speak a half dozen languages, and had helpful contacts all over the globe. She could probably shoot the eyeball out of a hawk at a thousand feet. All fabulous skills to have as a Mossad officer. And of course, all of them were pretty damned handy on a major crimes response team.
The fact that the young woman knew nothing about crime scene forensics, investigation dos and don'ts, questioning witnesses and possible suspects, or American laws regarding anything pertaining to the United States military or court system seemed to be completely unimportant to his boss, or any of Gibbs' bosses. He figured the brass was too busy explaining to the Pentagon how they'd let Ari Haswari run amok on American soil with an assault weapon, terrorizing NCIS agents and ultimately murdering one of their own. When he'd broached the subject to McGee, the Probie had become defensive and shut him down, claiming that Tony wasn't even willing to give the new liaison a chance, and why did he always have to be so judgemental and mistrustful of outsiders, and of change?
Tony decided that was another losing battle that he didn't have the energy to fight. He knew just from watching the younger man while Ziva was around that Tim was half terrified and half in lust with her. Tony knew the feeling, though he actually felt more terror than lust after getting to know the Mossad agent a bit better. She was not someone he wanted to cross. And tonight, he'd come to understand in no uncertain terms that somehow, somewhere in the last several months, he had run afoul of her.
At home now, away from the joking and pointedly derisive comments about how he had missed a great get-together at one Ziva David's apartment, he poured himself a glass of merlot and stood leaning, arms out straight, hands clutching the kitchen countertop. Breathing deeply and deliberately, he sought to calm himself. He was no good to himself worked up into an emotional mess, the mess he'd done pretty well at hiding when he'd all but sprinted from the bullpen. He needed to be rational, to pick apart the evening, hell, the entire day, like he would any other crime scene.
The evidence was glaringly clear. Blatant and intentional insubordination, firing a weapon in an enclosed space, and most criminal of all in Tony's book, deceit and treachery. He didn't know what she'd told them about why he couldn't join them for the big dinner. Maybe she hadn't even bothered lying to them. Maybe they hadn't even asked. He knew damned well he could be annoying, obnoxious, even, when he put just half his mind to it. And yes, he did it on purpose, most of the time. Just like Gibbs purposely pulled out his bastard personna; to annoy, deflect, confuse, and throw people off their game.
Except no one called Gibbs on his outrageous behavior, not even Director Morrow, because the man got results and closed difficult cases. Tony sure as hell got results for the team, Gibbs' solve rate had climbed substantially since he'd joined the grouchy lead agent's MCRT. Sometimes, like Gibbs, he didn't know how, or when, to shut off the schtick. Gibbs probably knew and just didn't give a damn. So what? That made him a leper? If Timmy was the perfect agent, then God help the Navy. Talk about not knowing when to shut off the schtick - only it wasn't schtick with McGee. The Probie was just as ill-suited to be an investigator on a major crimes team as he seemed - stuttering, unsure, a proud linear thinker, and squeamish at the sight of blood, for God sakes! Worse than all of that, he was arrogant enough to believe that his oft quoted Ivy League education not only somehow more than made up for the lack of actual skills, but placed him far above Tony's IQ, and insignificant Phys Ed degree. He'd never bothered to find out what Masters Degree Tony held - had it even dawned on McGoo that that was a requirement for a Senior Field Agent position?
He'd worked hard for that degree, enrolling before he'd even started FLETC, studying in between classes, cases, incurring the wrath of Gibbs and teammates whenever he'd call in for half a day, or God forbid, an entire one, to take a test, or speak with his advisor. Yet he'd used that supposedly dumb, low IQ, tiny brain of his to graduate with a Masters in Criminal Justice. With honors.
Gibbs had been equal parts stunned and angry. He'd repeatedly questioned Morrow about "DiNozzo's disappearing acts" and gotten a vague non-answer. The lead agent had taken that to mean that the kid was on some idiotic undercover mission that he wasn't privy to. It has hacked him off that Tony hadn't come to him, at least for advice, and had led him to needlessly worry about Tony's safety on an hourly basis. Not that he liked the goofball, or anything. In turn, he'd often been needlessly harsh to the young agent, who, for his part, seemed to take it in stride. What the hell was wrong with the kid, he'd thought DiNozzo had had a few more brain cells than that. He hadn't known at the time that, while Tony admired, even looked up to Gibbs' as a boss and mentor, the young agent had more than enough sense to keep track of the comings and goings of other SFAs; Gibbs had a reputation, mostly notorious, but he wasn't the only circus in town. Tony was used to being self-taught. What he couldn't learn from a different team leader, he could figure out for himself.
This was definitely one of those "self-taught" moments. Because Gibbs certainly wasn't going to give him answers as to what had gone down last night, at least not any straight ones. Tony had just wanted to wallow in the hurt of it all. And by God, it had hurt, like a brand on his soul. Hell, even the autopsy gremlin had been invited! And they'd managed to all keep schtum about it, for how long? It had sounded like quite the dinner party, planned well ahead, not something thrown together last minute. No hints, no backhanded comments, just a united front. He was just that unpopular amongst the nerds, the geeks and the bullies. Apparently class clowns stood apart from even the lowest on the ladder of misfits.
But popularity had never been his end goal when he'd joined law enforcement. He'd had a wonderful taste of it in college, when he'd hit his stride as an athlete, and had a promising future in professional sports, until some idiot Wolverine had put paid to that. With that door permanently closed, he'd struck out in a totally different direction, and found that he'd loved it even more than sports - he was actually accomplishing something, giving something back to the world, and it had astounded him how good that felt.
It still felt good. But he couldn't continue like this, at least not on this team. He'd been able to tolerate McGee's eccentricities better than the Probie had tolerated his antics. And Kate, well…the woman could be infuriatingly pompous, but at least she had tried to understand his motives, and had eventually worked at toning down the sniping when she realized she'd overstepped the professional boundaries of their partnership. And Tony knew that he had purposely wound her up plenty of times just to watch her spit and claw, so he was a party to that side of their partnership. Still, it was usually mostly good natured rivalry, and he was devastated at her brutal, unexpected death.
Which brought him back to Ziva.
She'd known very well the team was mourning, and yet she had treated Kate's murder at the hands of her half-brother as if the man had accidentally dented their car door in the parking lot. Just another day in the life of a Mossad Officer, and she had eliminated the threat, so where was the problem? The cold indifference to their misery, and her arrogant belief that she could slide right into Kate's slot without a second thought had brought his blood to the boiling point. Gibbs had gone toe to toe with the Director regarding her place on the team and lost, though Tony had to wonder just how hard his boss had fought that particular skirmish. He didn't care anymore. Gibbs had obviously found what he wanted in the liaison from Mossad, and Tony didn't see her leaving willingly anyway. Why should she? She had the agency director and her Mossad director father to fend off any complaints about her presence in the bullpen. Sometimes it wasn't about what was fair, or right. Sometimes it was just how it was, and Tony questioned his sanity and resilience now when he considered his own place on the team.
