AN: I really didn't intend to leave everybody hanging for this long after the last chapter, but things have been a bit crazy the past couple of weeks. No cliffhangers this time, I promise. Posting might be a bit slow the next few weeks — I've been working different hours to help my team cover later into the night, and I haven't quite got a good routine that lets me herd plot bunnies *and* run before work. There's a bit of an Easter egg in this chapter, but don't worry if you miss it. It'll pop up again before too long.
Chapter 8
Ziva woke to the sound of birds chirping outside her window. She had expected her sleep to be plagued by nightmares, but instead, her body seemed like it had just shut down. She was pretty sure she was still in the exact position as the night before.
When she stretched, she was sure of it as muscles complained about moving from long-held positions. This was not bad. She had been through this before. It was better than nightmares.
Still, even after she stretched, she did not get up. She had no place to be. She could lie here and not do anything. The room slowly brightened as the sun rose, and finally Ziva rolled to sitting. She must get up, if only to use the bathroom. Once she was moving, it was as though she could not stop. After her shower, she dressed in a T-shirt, but hesitated before pulling out a pair of shorts. She was not going anywhere today, and Damon had seen her scars. She had no problem with people seeing the ones on her back. She needed to find that same headplace — no, space — for the ones on her legs. It did not matter that people could see them, or that they would be able to tell that they continued up her legs into areas covered by her shorts. If she told herself that enough, it would become true.
Ziva was done running, for anything other than exercise. She looked herself in the mirror until she could see it in her own eyes: She was done avoiding her past. Gibbs could not. Ducky could not. Tony could not. Now it was her turn.
She headed downstairs, smiling at the sound of a low voice and Jethro's grumbles, whines and barks in the kitchen.
She stood in the doorway and watched as Jethro begged for more bacon.
"Not happening," Damon told the German shepherd.
"Tony has told him the same thing," Ziva said. "I believe Jethro still got bacon then, too."
Damon's head jerked up, and she smiled. "Did you leave any for me?" she asked.
She walked into the kitchen, then stopped at the look on his face. She knew that look. He was trying to figure out if she was telling the truth. "I am—" She stopped. "I will be fine," she amended. "Today, I am enjoying a Saturday with no case and nothing I must do."
"Nothing?" Damon raised one eyebrow.
"Unless you know something I do not."
"Tony and McGee said something about a game night before Josh's internship ends, but that was the first time they'd thought of the idea, so I can't tell you anything else," Damon said, standing. "Now, if you'll keep my bacon out of furry jaws, I'll get you some breakfast."
"You do not have to," Ziva said. But she took a seat at the table anyway and distracted Jethro with pats and ear scratches. "Thank you."
"I made extra," he said. "I figured I could heat it up tomorrow if neither of you ate it today." He returned to the table and set a plate down in front of her with eggs, potatoes and bacon.
"Toda," Ziva said. "It is hard to believe the summer is almost over." She stopped, fork halfway to her mouth. "Evil Josh-"
"Is probably back this week," Damon said. "McGee was going to talk to Sarah, but they don't think he'll be a problem."
Ziva nodded and continued eating. "Still, I think I might go to the coffee shop today and spend some time there. They are supposed to be relaxing."
"Overwatch for Sarah's evil ex isn't exactly relaxing," Damon said.
"I am not going for that," Ziva said. "Or at least, not only that." She paused to think about her words. "When I spoke with the doctor yesterday, I realized that I am no longer in a war zone. I am no longer a spy. I could go out and relax, not be on guard the entire time. But I am not sure I know how. It has been my life for too long." She thought back to a burned-out storefront and a hidden door.
"It was merely a reflex."
"Ah. In America, we call that jumping," Paula had said.
"In Mossad, we call it the difference between life and death."
"I do not need those reflexes I once did, not when I am not on a case," Ziva said. "But what has become second nature takes time to unlearn. The coffee shop is familiar, and tea relaxes me. It is a natural first step."
"You going solo, or do you want company?"
"I do not need somebody to stand watch," Ziva said, stung.
"I was thinking more like spending time with my favorite lady," Damon said. "Not a date, not if you don't want or aren't ready."
"A date," Ziva said. She thought about it. "Yes, I would like that very much."
~NCIS~NCIS~NCIS~NCIS~NCIS~NCIS~NCIS~
McGee finished his breakfast sandwich and sipped his iced coffee. Then Tony got this look of unholy glee on his face.
"What?" McGee asked. He knew that look. It never meant anything good.
"Our favorite intern just showed up, and he's looking much less scruffy than I ever looked on a Saturday morning in college," Tony said, his voice far quieter than his expression.
"Not just in college," McGee retorted.
"Hey! I resemble that remark." Tony smirked. "He's seen us."
"You thought he'd miss us? After a summer working for Gibbs?"
"No, I figured he'd see us," Tony said. "Here he comes."
McGee turned just as Josh set his messenger bag down with a thunk on a chair at the table next to them. "Are you carrying books or bricks in there?"
"I figured I'd get a head start on my law school reading," Josh said. "And this place has better AC than my apartment."
"And it has nothing to do with McSis working here?" Tony said. "Not buying it."
McGee hid his grin as the tips of Josh's ears matched his auburn hair, but the kid also stood his ground. Good.
"I didn't say the AC was the only reason," Josh replied. "I'm in here most days. What are you guys doing here?"
"Breakfast, after our run," McGee said. "We were in the area."
"And you wanted to remind Sarah about the semester starting?" Josh asked.
"Oh, she remembered," Tony said. "In fact, I almost wish we could be around when your evil twin does show up, just for the show." He paused. "McVoyeur, remember the chick fight?"
McGee knew his grin had to be at least as big as Tony's. "He's got an iPhone. It could work."
"You two want to start making sense?" Josh asked.
"Back around the time we met you, McAuthor here had a fancy new phone, with video," Tony said. "We had a case, dead sailor, where two fiancees showed up."
"Two?" Josh said. "Did one of them do it?"
"No, that would be his girlfriend's husband, who also buried him alive, then unburied him," McGee said, enjoying the expression on Josh's face. "But before we knew that, the two fiancees ran into each other outside the elevator and got into it. Rolling around on the ground, pulling hair, everything. Gibbs and Ziva had to break it up. And I caught it on video."
"And Gibbs let you live?" Josh's eyes were round.
McGee snickered. "He didn't even break my phone."
"So you're thinking if Sarah's ex shows up, I should tape it for you two?" Josh asked.
"If he's stupid enough to escalate, it would mean video evidence," Tony said. "We never had enough to take it to the cops before."
"And you're the only one who could catch it on video," McGee said. "He knows all of us. Even Burley got pulled into Josh Watch — sorry, Evil Josh Watch — back in the spring."
"You don't have to keep saying it that way," Josh said. "I know you're talking about him, not me."
"Yeah, well, I wish we could stop talking about him," McGee said. He thought for a second. "We both need to go home — we're pretty ripe and Sarah's going to tell us off for stinking up the place if we stay any longer." The chirp of a text message interrupted him.
"Gibbs?" Tony asked.
McGee read it and shook his head. "Abby," he said. "She and Jimmy want to know what's going on." He texted back, and after Abby replied, returned her text. "OK, they're going to meet us here this afternoon," he said. "We can fill them in on what they need to know." He turned back to Josh. "If you're still here, and interested in a break from the law books, after that maybe we all can do some brainstorming and see if we can figure out what Vance is up to."
"I'll be most of the day, unless it gets so crowded that they start looking at me like they want me to leave," Josh said. "But most people prefer to sit outside, so I don't think it will be a problem."
"Now that we've got a plan, come on, Tony. Let's go home and shower." As soon as his husband opened his mouth, McGee Gibbs-smacked him. "Whatever you were about to say, Josh doesn't want to hear it."
"No, I definitely don't," Josh said, grimacing. "See you guys later."
~NCIS~NCIS~NCIS~NCIS~NCIS~NCIS~NCIS~
When Eileen went to leave the house that morning, Sean was walking on the treadmill they'd gotten.
"You'll stop if it gets hard to breathe?" she asked before she left.
"Scout's honor," Sean said. "Go on, find somebody to play against besides Jethro and Tony."
She drove to the local Y and ran a few laps on the track to warm up before heading to the open gym session. The worn Annapolis T-shirt she'd worn was already damp with sweat. It was all adults, most of them 40 or older. The teens must be using outside hoops. She grabbed an extra basketball from the rack and did a few dribbling drills along the sideline with one eye on the courts. One game looked like it was wrapping up, and there didn't seem to be another group waiting to take over that court, so she worked her way across the gym.
The high fives and trash talking by the winning team only lasted a couple of minutes, and then she was able to start some shooting drills.
"Interested in a game?"
Eileen looked over to see a woman a few years younger than her on the sidelines. "Sure," she replied. She stopped dribbling and walked over. "I'm Eileen," she said.
"Jocelyn," the woman replied. She checked her watch. "I've got about an hour before my daughter's swim lessons finish and then I have to drive her to whatever she has next, but we'll probably only be able to keep the court for half that."
"First to 21?" Eileen asked. She offered the other woman the ball. "You can start off."
"Sounds good." Jocelyn set down her water bottle outside the line and walked up to the top of the key.
Eileen lined up to guard her, and they started. The first few rounds, she was mostly getting a feel for Jocelyn's style, and she was pretty sure the other woman was doing the same.
"You're Navy?" Jocelyn asked at one point, nodding toward Eileen's shirt.
"My husband was until a few months ago," she said. "Our son's civilian, but works for the Navy."
"My husband was Navy, too," Jocelyn said. "Parker didn't go to the Academy, though. He was ROTC." She took a shot, but Eileen was only able to tip it away, and Jocelyn recovered the ball.
"Mine too," Eileen said. "He taught at the Academy for more than 15 years, though, until he went on terminal leave." She stole the ball, pivoted and got an easy layup.
"What does your son do?"
"NCIS," she said. "He gets seasick, so serving wasn't ever really his dream." They played on for another fifteen minutes before Eileen scored the final point.
"Good game," she said. "It's nice to play against somebody who isn't almost six inches taller than me for a change."
"Husband or son?" Jocelyn asked.
"Neither Sean nor Tim play all that well," Eileen said. "My son-in-law played college ball, though, and our next-door neighbor isn't bad. Although I usually beat him." She picked up her water bottle as they walked off the court.
"I'm not surprised," Jocelyn said. "You're good. I am surprised I haven't seen you in our ladies' league." She stopped. "Oh, you said your husband just retired. New to the area?"
"Yes, a few months ago. Tony, my son-in-law, mentioned the league here to me, so I was planning to join up." She sipped some water. "He seemed to think it would be a good fit."
"It's a good mix," Jocelyn said. "Most of the players are younger, and a lot are former college players, but you're a match for them."
"I played in college," Eileen said. "Old Dominion, a few years before they won the national title. Those seniors were freshmen my senior year."
Jocelyn stopped and a wide smile spread across her face. "I might have to make a couple of calls, see if I can get you on our team," she said. "We need a couple more people, and some of the younger players tend to underestimate anybody with gray hair."
Eileen laughed. "Count me in. I like it when people underestimate me, especially on the court. It makes it more satisfying to prove them wrong."
"I've got to get Chrissy in a minute, but let me get your information to pass along to Renee, our captain," Jocelyn said, pulling out her phone. "Actually, let me just give you my number, and you can text it to me, or I'm going to have to listen to 'Mo-om, you're late' for the next 15 minutes." She rolled her eyes.
They exchanged numbers and headed to the parking lot. A girl with wavy blonde hair in a braid was waiting by the front desk. "Mom, come on," she said.
"Have a nice day, Mrs. McGee, Mrs. Wayne," the teen behind the front desk said as they passed.
As Eileen headed for her car, she smiled. The kids and the extended Gibblet family were great, but it felt good to make a friend of her own. After almost two decades in Annapolis, her skills at settling into a new location and finding new friends were rustier than she'd realized, but this was a first step toward establishing a circle of friends who didn't think head-smacks were normal communication.
~NCIS~NCIS~NCIS~NCIS~NCIS~NCIS~NCIS~
In Georgetown, Ducky sat at the antique desk that had been one of a few pieces he'd kept from the house in Reston. It had been his great-great-grandfather's, and the cherry wood was remarkably well preserved after all these years, even after it had been shipped across the Atlantic when he relocated to America.
He had the case file from Jethro spread out on the gleaming wood surface, his legal pad filled with pages of notes. Mostly they were questions, but he'd drawn some conclusions with the information NCIS had already obtained, plus some additional information he'd gathered online. He was no Timothy, but Jimmy's tutorials on social media had not gone amiss.
The petty officer was a curious case, and like Jethro, he was uncertain as to what type of case it was. A sociopath, drawn to women he could manipulate into death? Or an innocent who merely was unable to figure out that he was drawn to a type that was healthy neither for himself nor for her? Perhaps the answer lay not in the man whose life was spread before him, but in profiles of the women, both those who had died and, if the team could locate them, some who had been in Dawes' web and survived.
Ducky made more notes, then set down his pencil and sighed. Enough. It was the weekend, and there was a chamber music concert that evening to enjoy, once he had cleared his mind of the bad taste this case left behind.
He pulled down the rolltop portion of the desk, hiding the materials he'd studied within, and turned the small, brass key in the lock. It was unsuitable for classified material of course, but this was not a sensitive case. If it was, he would be in his desk chair in Autopsy right now, not wondering if the bakery down the block would still have fresh croissants.