AN. I'm sure I've mixed up some of the canon/who knows who/timeline stuff in this but hey that's why it's called fan fiction!
She is late. She's very late and it is a most important date. Luckily the way she drives this should not be a problem so she takes another look in the mirror and refreshes her make up. She grabs her bag and leaves the apartment. She checks the address on her phone then with tires squealing heads towards the venue. Cars are parked everywhere and she finds herself circling the block a few times until a space becomes vacant quite a way down the street from where she's going. Normally she wouldn't mind parking further away but tonight walking too far is not really an option.
Ziva takes two items from the bag on the passenger seat. She exchanges her boots for the evenings footwear and then adds the final touch to her outfit. She smiles as she locks the Mini and starts to walk toward Dr Mallard's. What a great idea of Abby's to hold the party here she thinks. Understandably Ducky had been a bit depressed in the months since his mother's death however with the decision to sell had started to move on. When Abby suggested the party be held here as a last farewell he'd embraced the idea with almost the old Ducky level of enthusiasm.
Her musings are interrupted by a faint sound. She stops walking. A couple of streetlights are out and with clouds scudding across the sky and high hedges surrounding a number of properties there are numerous shadows. Is it a cat? A car alarm? A party? Suddenly a person dressed all in black and carrying a bag drops over a fence about half a block away. As the person hastily rips off the stocking covering their face and starts to shove it in the bag Ziva barely takes the time to observe it's a man before reacting.
"Federal agent. Stop."
He looks back at her, grasps the bag tighter and starts to run. She gives chase catching up to him as he attempts to jump a low wall. They both crash to the ground on grass slightly damp from recent rains. Kneeling on his back she queries "What have we here?"
It's clearly a rhetorical question as she's already opening it. Inside is a collection of jewelry and three small but valuable looking clocks. She hauls her prisoner to his feet, slings the bag over her shoulder then lifts him back over the wall. After forcing him to sit she warns "Stay right there."
She drops the bag to the sidewalk and takes her phone from where it's concealed in her outfit. After calling the cops she hits speed dial two.
"Tony." She can hear loud music and laughter in the background.
"Ziva. Where are you? Abby's getting impatient. You're not thinking of standing us up are you?"
"Stand you up against...uh...where..?"
DiNozzo sighs. "What can I do for you Ms David?"
"Meet me. About ten houses before Ducky's. Same side."
"What? Why?"
"Just do it Tony. Bring some handcuffs."
"Ziva? What are you..." he stops realizing she's ended the call.
"What's going on Tony? Is Ziva okay?"
"I'm sure she's fine McGoo. She wants me to meet her outside, up the street."
"Oh. Why?"
As they talk Tony is glancing around the room. He starts to walk over to Gibbs.
"Dunno but she needs handcuffs."
"Handcuffs!"
After a brief word with their boss (and the obtaining of a pair of handcuffs) they leave to find their friend.
A Metro P.D. cruiser pulls into the curb and two cops steps out. They'd drawn the short straw to be part of the team to work this shift and run the precinct's larceny lotto. As it's Halloween Detective Paul Dockery (known to the major case response team as Hickory's son) is not at all surprised by what he sees as he surveys the scene before him. Ziva David is standing behind the seated offender who is being examined by a Sherlock Holmes with assistance from a Dr Watson. Nearby a fuzzy blue Elf Lord, a busker with guitar slung across his back and a Marilyn Monroe are talking. Watching this is Gibbs dressed as...himself. Paul walks over to shake Gibbs' hand before joining Ziva's group.
Ziva pulls the young man to his feet and hands him over to Dockery's colleague. Paul watches for a moment as his partner escorts the man to their car then turns back to her. He gasps.
"Is something wrong?"
"No. Ah, no." He simply has no words for the sight he now sees before him. Perched on Ziva's head is glittery tiara. Her outfit (now only slightly soiled from the crash into the garden) consists of a tight white bodice decorated with fake pearls, a stiff white tutu, white tights and ballet shoes. For all he's seen in his long career he's never before seen a bad guy having been taken down by a ballerina.