Hi Everyone,

Apologies for the delay, I haven't been able to work on this chapter in the last weeks. But I'm back now! And in this chapter, we fast-forward two months to Christmas Day!

Spoilers: This story is set just after Ziva David left NCIS (S11 E02: Past, Present, and Future). I don't take in account what happened in the series after that event. As there have been many seasons (and many Tiva developments) since, let's just say that this is a fun AU.

Rating: T

Disclaimer: I don't own NCIS, I don't earn any money with this story, I'm just enjoying playing with the characters.

Playlist: Every chapter is inspired by a song. For this chapter, it's Five Finger Death Punch - Cold. Check out my profile for more details!

I hope you enjoy!

Temples of Gold

Chapter 3: Venom In My Veins

'Junior, your phone!' called Anthony DiNozzo Sr from the living room. Tony held an exasperated sigh and entered the room where his dad had been watching a rerun of "How the Grinch Stole Christmas". Senior was trying to send him a not-so-subtle message and Tony was purposely ignoring it.

'What is it?'

'Your phone rang. I didn't hear it soon enough, it showed Gibbs' name.'

'Wonderful, just what I needed today.'

Tony grabbed his phone but instead of calling his boss back, he dialled McGee's number. His colleague picked up after the second ring.

'Tony you've got to stop doing that!'

'I take it that you got Gibbs' call too.'

'Two minutes before yours. And I suppose that you didn't pick up and you want to know why he called?'

'Senior didn't reach the phone on time.'

That was the absolute truth. It didn't matter that he would not have answered if he had seen his boss' name because these days he was speaking to Gibbs only if it was absolutely necessary. Which, considering that Gibbs was a functional mute, didn't happen very often.

'We have a dead guy in Lincoln Park. I'm texting you the address.'

'So I guess I need to gear up.'

'You had better plans?'

Tony stared at Senior, who had fallen asleep in front of the TV, next to an empty bottle of rum. 'I'm on my way.'

He changed into a warmer outfit, grabbed his gun and scribbled a quick note for his dad, in case Senior woke up before he came back. He opened his car with difficulty because of the icing that covered it. After a quick glance under the seat, he sat down, slammed the door and switched the heater on. While the temperature was slowly rising, Tony observed the empty street in front of him. It was late afternoon on Christmas day and everywhere his gaze fell he could see decorations and cheerfulness. He hated it.

This year, he had tried to forget everything about Christmas. He hadn't decorated his flat and, hadn't it been for Senior's unexpected visit, he would have simply drunk until he blacked out, to skip this infamous time of the year. His dad had insisted to cook, but Tony had put an end to any attempt at decorating.

Once the windshield became clear enough to drive, he inserted the key in the ignition and started the car. There was almost no traffic and the roads had been salted, so he would be at the crime scene in not time. That didn't improve his mood, on the contrary.

Anger... he could not feel anything else these days. They say it's the second step in the mourning of a loss, just after denial. And he had had plenty of that until he had realised that Gibbs was right, that everyone was right.

Ziva was not coming back.

How could she let him go so easily? Why hadn't she called? Emailed? Done anything to let him know that she still cared about him. But that was it, wasn't it? She didn't care. She had her new perfect life, her new values, her new morale, and he was just old and used and stained by this job that had no meaning now that she was gone.

Things had gone from bad to worse with Gibbs after their quarrel almost two months ago. Tony hadn't apologised and Gibbs treated him like a disobedient teenager. Every time Tony had spoken about going after Parsa, Gibbs had shut him down, more and more sharply. What did he think, that Tony didn't understand the risks? He had been the one almost toasted by the terrorist! He was the one who was so paranoid about the whole "bomb under the seat" episode that he was checking his new car more thoroughly than a mechanic everyday. He was the one who could not sit in any vehicle without quickly glancing under the seat, just in case. It was Tony, not Gibbs, who owed his life to Alex Bell. He should have been the one suggesting that she should join the team.

As he pulled near the building where police cars and Ducky's van were stationed, he admitted to himself that on this point, Gibbs hadn't been wrong. Alex was a good agent and a valuable partner. She was still learning the job but in the past two months she had learned a lot. She seemed to like working crime scenes and she had figured out just the way to talk to him without antagonising him. It was a miracle considering that he had snapped at everyone, even Abby, in the past weeks.

He nodded at the policeman guarding the entrance of a building that looked like a church, and followed the hallway that led to a classroom. Chairs had been gathered in a circle and the body of a man lied in the middle. Ducky and Palmer were already busy inspecting the corpse, while McGee and Gibbs were talking to a group of men at the back. Near them was a table with thermos of coffee and pastries. Tony walked towards Bell who was taking pictures of the scene.

'AA meeting?'

She nodded to salute him and answered, 'PTSD support group.'

'Veterans?'

She nodded again. Now Tony understood why they had been called on the crime scene, since the location was not a military base and the dead man didn't seem to wear a uniform. Tony grabbed his own camera and started flashing the immediate environment of the body, while Alex moved towards the table with refreshments.

The man's face was twisted in a horrible grimace and his mouth was stained with vomit.

'Yuk,' said Tony.

'Oh I didn't see you there, Anthony!' called Ducky. Palmer smiled at him before going back to examining the pupil of the man.

'What do we have here Ducky?'

'Ah, the king of murder weapons: poison!,' replied Ducky with a jovial tone. 'I don't know which one yet but from the distinct odour of garlic from this poor man's vomit, I would guess a certain compound of arsenic.'

'Arsenic?' asked Bell. 'This is very old school, isn't it?'

'Correct, Probie!' affirmed Tony, wrinkling his nose while he took a closer picture of the vomit. 'Old school and filthy.'

Palmer took a sample of the vomit, not looking nearly as disgusted as Tony. 'We'll send that sample to Abby, she'll run the tests to know if it is really arsenic.'

'Funnily enough,' added Ducky, 'the Marsh test that detects the presence of arsenic in one's body has been around for almost two hundred years. You see, in 1832, the British chemist James Marsh was called to testify on the prosecution of a young man named John Bodle, who was accused to have poisoned his grandfather by putting arsenic in his coffee. Unfortunately, the test that was then available had become deteriorated by the time the trial had started, and the culprit was acquitted. James Marsh then swore to devise a better test that would not only detect but measure how much arsenic had been used. It took him four years to succeed and it's still used nowadays.'

'That's fascinating, Doctor,' replied Palmer un-ironically. Unlike Tony, Jimmy seemed to always enjoy Ducky's anecdotes.

'Probie!' called out Tony. 'We're going to need samples of all the food and drinks there'.

'Gotcha.'

Still taking pictures, Tony saw Gibbs and McGee coming back towards them. 'Ducky, what do we have here exactly?'

'This poor man doesn't have any sign of trauma or direct hit, so I would lean towards poisoning, possibly with arsenic but we'll know more when Abby can test the content of his stomach. I would suggest, Jethro, that we get the other members of the group tested, in case they ingested the same refreshments.'

'The meeting had just started,' said McGee. 'The group leader told us that nobody had touched the food yet.'

'Any lead on the man's identity?' asked Tony. He had noticed that there was no bagged wallet or identification tags next to the body, which meant that Ducky and Palmer hadn't found any.

'All the meetings are anonymous. Our victim is only known as "Bob" in here. He told the others that he had been to Iraq.'

'There must be millions of "Bob" who have served in Iraq. Not to mention civilian contractors,' said Tony.

'Then your job is cut out for you DiNozzo,' said Gibbs.

Tony threw him a dark look that Gibbs ignored blatantly. He had inherited the most tedious task ever but he would not give his boss the pleasure of contesting his orders. He knew that Gibbs was pushing him to force him to talk, but Tony was not going to play his little game. He had no intention of talking about Ziva or about their fight. And he definitely had no intention of apologising.

'Hum… guys?'

It was Alex calling them from the other side of the room where the refreshments table stood.

'Did you find something?' asked Gibbs.

She seemed to hesitate. Tony noticed that she was holding the tablecloth covering the table.

'Gibbs, I think you should see this.'

Gibbs, Tony and McGee walked towards her and crouched to see what was happening under the table. Tony gulped hard when he saw two metallic pipes linked by electrical wires and topped by a small black box where there was a small green LED indicator.

'Is this what I think it is?' he asked wearily.

'It's a bomb,' confirmed Alex, 'but it's not activated!' she added when she saw the look on his face.

He let the air exit his lungs but he felt that his legs were shaking. God, he hated bombs.

'We still need to call the bomb squad,' said Gibbs.

'Is there a countdown?' asked McGee, who seemed as uneasy as him.

'No, it's remote activated. I don't know where the remote is, though.'

A shout from the other side of the room came out. 'Perhaps this will be of use!'

Ducky held up a small black box that looked like a garage remote. Tony jogged towards him and grabbed it. 'Where did you find it?'

'It was in our deceased man's right pocket.'

Tony brought back the remote to the team, careful to not press any button. They all examined it, frowning.

'Yeah, it looks like it matches the box on the bomb,' confirmed Alex.

They all stared alternatively at the bomb, the remote and the dead man. Finally, McGee expressed what they all had in mind.

'So… if our man had planned to detonate a bomb, does that mean that the person who poisoned him saved everyone else's life?'

—

'Miss Mizrahi, here are the first results of the fundraiser as you asked.'

Ziva gave a tired smiled at her assistant and took the piece of paper that he was holding out to her. 'You should go home Chaviv. Get some rest. You did a very good job.'

Chaviv smiled back. 'You should follow your own advice.'

Pensively, she watched her assistant exit her office, grab his bag and wave her goodbye. At this hour of the night, all her employees had left, exhausted after their first fundraiser. Ziva had organised the event in a very short period of time and her whole team had risen to the occasion.

It seemed to Ziva that her task was endless. Everywhere she went, everyone she talked to brought ideas of how she could help more. It had been almost two months since she had moved into her offices, and since then she had had to hire twenty more staff to do the work. She had met researchers and scholars who were working with Naheem Gajani and had now a better understanding of how violent groups were gaining sympathy in the population. They filled a gap left by governments who were too weak or too corrupted to care. They were setting up their own schools, hospitals, even televisions, and provided safety so that the population was grateful for them and supported them. Naheem's group intended to show these populations that there was an alternative. And Ziva had started to become this alternative.

This auction today had been her first real test as the head of the charity. She was not a born public speaker but she had had to go past her fears to explain her project and elicit donations. It had gone better than she had expected and, if she believed the numbers that Chaviv had just given her, the results were beyond their most optimistic evaluations.

It was a job well done, she decided before leaning back on her seat. All day, she had not once thought about the fact that it was Christmas Day. She was thankful that it was not a public holiday here in Haifa, because today she would never have managed to stay in her flat alone with her thoughts. She had dreaded the end of the year because it reminded her cruelly of America. She wondered if this Christmas again the team would spent the day together, like most years when she was there. She could almost see Abby's decorated lab and hear Ducky blab about an obscure Christmas tradition. Thinking about them was so painful that for a second she thought about calling.

She reached for her phone but stopped halfway and decided against. Memories were already hard, it would be even more difficult to hear them having fun without her. And what if she spoke to Tony? It would be even more unbearable. It seemed that two months of hard work were not enough to heal the tear in her heart left by his absence. And knowing that it was all her fault, that she had created this situation was not helping. In the past weeks, her guilt had become heavier and heavier, and it had been almost impossible for her to find peace. She knew that she had promised Schmeil to not let herself fall back into a depressive state but it was hard to resist. She had lost appetite and sleep. It was only when she was coming back home late, exhausted by a hard day spent helping people, that she could get some well deserved rest.

Today, however, she knew that she would not find any sleep, no matter how tired she was. She yearned for Tony. She yearned for her surrogate family in DC. She felt left out, abandoned. And no matter how much her new life fulfilled her, she knew that today, at least, it was not enough.

She brought her knees against her chest and let her brow rest on them. Maybe if she closed her eyes strongly enough, she could pretend that the sobs in her throat were not real. Maybe she could pretend that Tony was here with her. Maybe she could pretend that she was not completely alone.

—

Jethro took a sip of coffee and enjoyed the bitterness for a few seconds before the elevator's doors opened. Many lights in the bullpen were dimmed, since most of the agents were at home with their families, but there were three desks full of activity.

'Update!' he barked.

He had spent Christmas Eve in his basement reviewing the meagre information he had about Benham Parsa, while consuming too much bourbon. The result was a foul mood and a bad breath. And now he was supposed to work on this strange case. He hated the weird ones, almost as much as Abby loved them.

He watched, with a certain satisfaction, McGee and Bell scamper towards the screen between the desks. He groaned however when he noticed that Tony was much more reluctant to move on his order. McGee pointed his remote at the screen and a photo of the dead body appeared.

'Our victim died during a reunion of the PTSD support group called "Never Just Back",' started McGee. 'This group meets every week at the Lincoln Park United Methodist Church and all the participants are anonymous. Our victim said he was a veteran from Iraq, but until we find his identity it's impossible to verify.'

'He could have just been there to plant the bomb,' commented Jethro.

'It is very likely,' said Bell, 'considering that it was our victim's first meeting.'

'What about the bomb?'

Bell took the remote from Tim's hand and pictures of the bomb appeared on the screen:

'It's a very primitive pipe bomb, with a detonator activated by the same kind of remote you'd use for your garage door. Low range, low impact. The table would have stopped most of the shrapnels so I'd say it was more about the show than killing people.'

'Any potential target?'

They had interviewed all the members of the group and Jethro hadn't felt like one of them seemed more scared than the others, but maybe there was something hidden there. McGee took the remote back from Alex and several photos appeared on the screen.

'We have two Marines back from Iraq, one civil contractor also from Iraq, one petty officer, one DC Metro officer and the group leader was in the Gulf War. None of them are priority targets for a terrorist attack.'

'It was maybe just about the message? We can reach you even when you think you're safe?' suggested Bell.

She sounded less than thrilled at this idea. Jethro remembered that she too was a Marine not so long ago and she was probably more than familiar with PTSD.

'And where are we with the identity of the victim?'

Tony took the remote from McGee's hand slowly and the face of the dead man reappeared of the screen. 'No one seemed to know him, he was not from the area nor did he know any other member of the group. Which means that the identification is going to be all the more difficult. He didn't have any ID on him, and no car or home keys. It's like he just appeared at this meeting.'

'He must have come from somewhere, DiNozzo! People don't come to these meetings by mistake!'

For some reason, Jethro felt really upset at his senior agent. Maybe it had to do with his nonchalant attitude towards this case. Or maybe it was the past two months of hostility that was finally getting to him.

'I wouldn't know, Boss.'

Somehow, Tony had managed to put all his disrespect for him in that last words. Jethro saw Tim wince and Bell look away, and decided against getting angry immediately. However, he was still decided to get more results than what they currently had.

'I want to know who this guy was and why he planted a bomb! Go back to work!' he shouted, not in the mood to cuddle his team.

Bell and McGee complied immediately. Tony followed more slowly, decided to act like a teenager right to the end. Jethro took another sip of coffee and walked towards the elevator. He really hoped that Ducky had better news for him.

When he arrived at the morgue, he first heard his friend's voice giving historical facts to Jimmy Palmer.

'And the most infamous serial killer who used arsenic as a weapon was Mary Ann Cotton. It is believed that she killed as many as twenty-one people, including several of her children. She had this scheme, where she married a man and poisoned him and his children to collect the insurance money. Now she was clever enough to pretend that most deaths were due to cholera or stomach fever. Her downfall came when a parish official, named Thomas Riley, started to have suspicions that her last son-in-law's death was not of natural cause. It was soon found out that she had murdered him with the infamous poison and she was hanged a few days later. It is interesting to note that her death was not caused by her neck breaking but by strangulation caused by the rope being cut too short. As though someone had decided that she had to suffer to expiate her many sins.'

Jethro decided it was time to cut the monologue and said, 'What about our victim's many sins, Doc?'

Ducky and Palmer looked up from the corpse that they were sewing back together.

'Ah Jethro, right on time as usual!' smiled Ducky.

'Any progress on the identification of our man?'

Ducky waved him to come closer and explained, 'We have tried to take prints on this poor man's hands but as you can see if you look here,' he indicated the magnifier that was pointed at the corpse bare hand, 'there is no print to be taken.'

Gibbs frowned. 'Acid?' he asked. Although he didn't see any scar tissue anywhere.

'No. Our victim suffered from adermatoglyphia, or the condition of not having fingerprints.'

'Is that even possible?'

'Oh quite. You see, in the womb, a foetus begins to form fingerprints after 24 weeks. These patterns, called dermatoglyphs, remain the same throughout most people's lives. But a mutation in a particular gene region allows some people to skip the process of forming fingerprints during development. Same goes for his feet. Our only resort is DNA.'

'We have sent it to Abby so she can work her magic,' added Palmer.

He nodded in approval. If there was someone who could do it, it was his Abby.

'What about the cause of death?'

'As we suspected, our John Doe was poisoned with arsenic. Depending on which type of arsenic, it would presents itself under the form of an oil or a white powder. It's mostly odourless and it's soluble in any liquid.'

'So he was poisoned with the food at the meeting?'

'I don't think so, Jethro. Abby will have to test it, but arsenic usually takes more time to be this fatal. Our victim was probably poisoned a few hours prior to the meeting.'

That meant that none of the members of the group was responsible for this crime.

'We have also found a silver necklace with a medal engraved with a symbol.'

Palmer held the evidence bag containing the medal for him to see. Gibbs didn't recognise the symbol. It looked like a moon crescent orientated downward, with a scimitar on top of it, and a triangle under it.

'Bring it to Abby too.'

The morgue assistant nodded and removed his autopsy clothes. He grabbed the samples they had collected and the necklace, and exited the room towards the elevator. Jethro was about to follow him when Ducky held him back.

'I couldn't help but notice that Anthony was still at odds with you, Jethro.'

Jethro had expected this conversation with Ducky for some time now so he was not really surprised when his friend brought the subject up.

'It will pass.'

'It's been two months. You might need to do something about it.'

'He's angry. He'll get over it.'

Ducky shook his head, like a mum would in front of a clueless child. 'He's not angry Jethro, he's sad.'

'I know he misses Ziva…'

'He loves her, Jethro.'

They had never discussed this fact so bluntly. Gibbs had always known that there was something more between his two agents but he had never wanted to learn anything about it. They needed to deal with whatever they were going through on their own. Selfishly, he would have wanted them to respect rule number 12, "Never date a coworker". But Ziva and Tony had become much more than coworkers over the years.

'It's hurting him,' continued Ducky. 'Even if he's not supposed to have that kind of feeling for his ex-partner.'

Jethro reflected that it was highly hypocritical of him to require that from his agents, when he had dated his fare share of coworkers, starting with Jenny. He had created this rule to prevent his team from getting hurt but with those two, it was not being together that was hurting them the most.

'I cannot change the fact that she's gone, Doc.'

'Every time Tony sees you, he remembers that part of the reason why Ziva left was to make you proud.'

'He thinks it's my fault,' deduced Gibbs.

'Deep inside, Tony knows that Ziva would have left, with or without your blessing. It's simply easier for him to be angry with you than with her.'

Jethro knew that Ducky's words were true but he didn't know if he was ready to forgive Tony's immature attitude just yet.

'I'm not gonna cuddle him!' he warned.

'Goodness no!' laughed Ducky. 'Tony needs you to play your normal role in his life. The guide, the one who doesn't let him be less than his potential.'

Jethro grumbled but he admitted that his friend was right. He had let too much time pass. He had been so obsessed with catching Parsa that he had left everything else rot around him. It was time for him to focus back on his team, since there was no progress on the terrorist front anyway.

'Thanks, Ducky,' he said, grabbing his coffee that was now lukewarm.

Jethro departed the autopsy room just as Palmer was coming back.

'Agent Gibbs, I have a message from Abby. She says that you'd better bring her an extra Caf-Pow because this time she overdid herself. Her words.'

Jethro trashed his coffee in the bin near the elevator. 'We'll see about that.'

When he entered Abby's lab, a techno version of Jingle Bells assaulted his ears. The forensic scientist was dressed in her own version of a Christmas attire: bright red t-shirt, white fake fur collar and black leather skirt with candy cane patterns. She had decorated her pigtails with little bells that dinged every time she was turning her head.

'What have you got, Abbs?'

Abby turned, with a little "ding" and smiled at him. Her eyes searched her beloved huge cup of caffeine concentrated and she pouted when she didn't see it in his hand.

'Depends, do you have my Caf-Pow?' she asked, raising an eyebrow.

'You'll get it once I get information,' promised Jethro.

She straightened herself and said 'Fine!' while typing on her computer. A chemical formula appeared on the screen. 'Our victim was poisoned with arsenic trichloride, a compound that can be found in several industrial products and in most chemistry labs. It looks like a colourless oil in its pure form, but this one is slightly impure so it must have been lightly yellow. However, mixed in coffee or any other drink it's undetectable.'

'Can we pinpoint the origin of the poison?'

'Unfortunately, no, we can't. Any form of arsenic is regulated by the CDC but arsenic trichloride is too common. Our killer could have gotten his from anywhere.'

'Is that all?' said Gibbs, disappointed.

'Would it be Christmas if I didn't have good news for you?'

She typed on her keyboard and a driver's license appeared on the screen, with a photo of a man looking exactly like their victim.

'Meet Robert Mariano. He's a project manager for TTC Levelling, a company that oversees the safe destruction of buildings and constructions that have been damaged in accidents and disasters.'

'How did you get his identity so fast?' asked Gibbs, once again impressed by the efficiency of his forensic scientist.

'I thought you'd never ask! Jimmy told me that there was no print on the body, so I researched this condition, adermatoglyphia, and I found out that it's very rare. So rare that there are only four extended families worldwide who suffer from it and only a few them live in the US. I just compared our victim's picture to their licenses, and… voilà!'

Said like that, it seemed easy but Jethro knew that Abby had to rack her brain to go beyond the lack of print. He started to see that she indeed deserved the gift he had sneaked out in her lab last night.

'What about the bomb?'

'Agent Bell was right, it's a simple pipe bomb with a detonator controlled by a radio frequency remote.'

Jethro noted the disapproval in Abby's voice when she named his new recruit. Abby had never publicly contested his choice but he knew that she too felt betrayed that he had replaced Ziva so soon. However, contrary to Tony, Abby was not at odds with him but with Bell herself. He had hoped that they would learn to appreciate each other like Ziva and her had years ago, but there again Jethro seemed to have let things go too far.

'Bell is a good agent, Abbs.'

She didn't reply and instead typed on her keyboard. 'Jimmy just brought me this necklace with the symbol. I'm comparing it to all known databases but it will take time.'

Jethro chose to let it go for now. One battle at a time. If he had to talk to Tony tonight, he should save the little diplomacy he had. Instead, he just kissed Abby on the cheek. 'Merry Christmas.'

He heard her disappointed voice calling him when he walked away. 'So no Caf-Pow?'

'In the fridge!'

He heard her open the fridge and shriek as she discovered the pack of eggnog-flavoured Caf-Pow that he had left there, and he smiled. His Christmas was getting better.

—

Tony's Christmas, however, was going from bad to worse. He could not find anything more about the PTSD group meeting that their victim had attempted to bomb. Members went and came regularly and no name was ever recorded. McGee was in MTAC trying to get more details on the organisation of such meetings. At the desk in front of him, Tony could see Bell struggling to find more information about the participants too. He felt sympathetic and wondered what she was doing before they had been called on the crime scene.

'Not the type of Christmas you imagined when you came back, right?' he smirked.

She laughed. 'Not really. But so far my day consisted in microwaved leftovers and reruns of It's a Wonderful Life.'

Tony frowned. 'You didn't spend Christmas with your family?'

'They live in Florida and we don't get along very well. What about you?'

'Well, me and my dad we only argued three times before he opened the bottle of rum. From there it went from snarky comments to silent disapproval. A usual Christmas in the DiNozzo family.'

'I thought you said that you enjoyed spending time with your father?'

Tony felt a little guilty because, before this Christmas, things had been better with Senior. But his dad had insisted on a subject he didn't want to talk about.

'Senior wanted me to call Ziva,' he confessed.

'Oh…'

Tony could see that she understood what Senior couldn't. He didn't want to call Ziva. He was not able to call Ziva. It was too difficult. If he heard her voice, he knew he would toss his pride in the garbage can and beg her to come back.

'Did you?'

'No!' replied firmly Tony. There was a reason why he had left his phone in another room with Senior. He didn't want to be tempted, even if he knew that Ziva had probably changed her number anyway.

'Has she contacted you at all?'

The question took him by surprise. 'Ziva? No.'

He saw Bell open her mouth, then close it again as if she was trying not to say something wrong. 'What is it?'

'Don't you think that after almost three months, she could have let you know that she was OK?' she said, with a voice clearly showing she was walking on eggshells. 'I don't mean… I don't want to say that she doesn't care, but… it's Christmas. Even a card would… Never mind,' she added when she saw his face.

Without knowing it, Alex had voiced exactly what he had been thinking all day. This whole time, he had expected something. A sign from Ziva. A text. A call. A card. Anything. And the more the hours passed, the more depressed and angry he had been. Part of him knew that if she was working on building a new life it would have been unwise to keep calling back her old one, but most of his inner voices had concluded that she was selfish and it made him feel more alone than ever.

'Maybe she didn't realise which day it is,' he said, holding on to the last thread of hope he had.

Bell seemed as little convinced as he was. 'Do you think she contacted Gibbs?'

Tony hadn't thought about it but now that Alex was mentioning it, it was evident! Ziva had always put Gibbs first. He was the only one she had called when she had decided to stay behind. His boss had never told him what they had talked about on the phone that night, but maybe they had had more conversations since! That would explain why Gibbs seemed less sad about Ziva's departure. Of course, the old Marine in him prevented any display of emotion, but his boss had quickly gone back to normal. And he had hired a replacement so soon, that could only mean that he had Ziva's consent! And Tony was sure that Ziva had called him to wish him a Merry Christmas. She wouldn't bother sending him a text but she surely had a whole conversation with Gibbs, where she would explain why her new life was so much better and why she didn't need Tony at all.

'Of course, she contacted him!' he replied bitterly.

Alex wisely chose not to comment. As Tony was going to share his thoughts, the elevator opened and Gibbs himself came out.

'Our victim's name is Robert Mariano,' he announced. 'Bell, you find me everything you can about him.'

'Sure, Boss!' obeyed Alex.

'DiNozzo, with me!' ordered Gibbs while walking towards the conference room.

Reluctantly, Tony got up and followed him to the room.

'Sit down,' asked Gibbs.

'I'm fine where I am.'

Tony saw Gibbs briefly close his eyes and take a deep breath.

'DiNozzo, please sit,' repeated Gibbs, while taking a seat himself.

Tony finally complied and sat at a respectable distance from him. 'What do you want, Boss?'

'Talk. About Ziva.'

There he was. He was going to admit that Ziva had called him. Maybe she had asked Gibbs to send his regards. For all he cared about her regards.

'I don't think I have anything more to say about her. I'm not the one having contacts with her.'

Gibbs frowned. 'I haven't heard from Ziva since September.'

Tony didn't believe him but he waited to see where Gibbs was going. 'If you say so…'

'Ziva is gone!' said Gibbs. 'She is trying to find herself. To create a new her, or whatever. We cannot do anything about it, it was her decision. The only thing we can do is to move on. But you're not moving on, DiNozzo.'

Gibbs had chosen the wrong day to show empathy because Tony was not in the mood for listening. 'This is my problem, Gibbs. Not yours.'

'It's becoming mine when it's disturbing the team. You need to let go of your resentment. Bell has been here for two months, and even you can admit that she's a good fit.'

'I have no problem with Agent Bell.'

It was true. Alex had never been the problem. Hell, she was the only one in the team who didn't constantly try to see if he was "alright", which explained why he preferred working with her than McGee these days.

'Maybe not but you have a problem with me.'

'What do you want me to say?' asked Tony, crossing his arms.

He could see that Gibbs' patience was coming to an end and didn't really care. His anger needed an outlet.

'I want you to get up and stop feeling sorry for yourself!' said Gibbs.

Tony did get up, but it was out of rage. 'Feeling sorry for myself? My car got bombed because a terrorist wanted to shut you up! I got shot at in my own apartment while you were gone on the other side of the planet! The woman I love decided to never see me again because she didn't want to become like you! Now tell me again why I should not be angry with you?'

Gibbs only stared at him with a half-smile.

'What?' shouted Tony.

'You never said it out loud before. That you love her.'

'Screw you, Gibbs!'

He turned away and left the room, slamming the door behind him and startling Bell. McGee was coming down from MTAC and Tony didn't want to explain himself so he grabbed his bag and walked towards the elevator. He had had enough of this damned day. All he wanted was to go home and pass out on his bed.

However, Christmas Day hadn't finished with him because the doors of the elevator opened before he could press the button and Abby stormed out of it.

'Where's Gibbs?'

'Conference room,' he only replied. He didn't want the forensic scientist to know what had just happened. He would never hear the end of it.

'I need him now! GIBBS!' she shouted.

The boss emerged from the conference room, frowning. Sensing that this was really important, Tony forgot to enter the elevator and the doors closed behind him.

'What it is Abby?' asked McGee, as puzzled as the others in front of the frantic scientist.

'I've identified the symbol on the necklace! I had to run through seventeen databases, plus the odd army medal ones, I don't know why I tried those ones, I was desperate, but then I remembered that mythology had provided many of those symbols to various groups so I started with runes, then several biblical references, most of them were almost too old to be on the internet, can you imagine that?' Abby was speaking so fast that it was almost impossible to understand.

Gibbs jogged towards her and raised his hand to stop her rambling. 'Get to the point Abby.'

She took a breath and explained. 'The symbol, on the necklace. It's was an old Knights Templar symbol.'

'OK…'

'This symbol has been used since the Crusades by only one group. One terrorist group.'

Suddenly, Tony felt a weight pressing against his chest.

'This is the symbol of the Brotherhood of Doubt. Benham Parsa's terrorist group.'

I hope you enjoyed this chapter! Don't forget to leave a review to let me know what you think! Next chapter: Ziva meets her first real obstacle, and the team braces against Parsa.

Loufoca