A/N: This chapter is set two weeks after the end of chapter 7, and it's not really associated with any particular episode… we're definitely starting to veer off into AU territory. There is another short (modified) scene from "Shalom", though, so again, that doesn't belong to me. Thank you all for your kind reviews—I've loved reading them!

Tim McGee peers over the top of his computer monitor as the elevator dings and its doors slide open. Almost immediately, he rolls his eyes and goes back to what he was doing. His coworkers are back, apparently.

If he'd missed the elevator ding, he would have still heard them. They're not exactly quiet.

"—and if you hadn't threatened to shoot him in the unmentionables, he wouldn't have elbowed me in the face!"

"Oh, lech tizdayyen! If you had not been holding him in such a stupid way, DiNozzo, he would not have been able to reach your nose!"

"A stupid way? How the hell was I supposed to hold him when he was a solid foot taller than me!?"

They reach their desks and slam their things down, glaring at one another. "It's a beautiful day in the neighborhood..." Tim sings quietly and facetiously to himself, but it's not quiet enough.

"What did you say, Probie?" Tony demands, standing back up and looking murderous.

"Didn't say a thing, Tony," Tim replies tiredly. He's well over being the punching bag caught in the middle of an unstoppable force and an immovable object.

"No, no, don't censor yourself. You wouldn't be the first one with an attitude here," Tony snaps, glaring over at Ziva again momentarily. His expression says that he's deduced what she just said to him in Hebrew. "Do you have something to say?" The last is directed back at McGee.

Tim decides it's high time for a break. This has been going on for two weeks now; Tony and Ziva individually have both been incredibly irritable, but together, they're absolutely volatile. It's escalated, too—in the beginning, their fight consisted mostly of cold silence and passive aggressiveness, but they've managed to piss one another off so badly that rumor has it they're going to duel soon.

Something's got to give, and Tim doesn't want to be here to see it when it does. Standing up, stony-faced, he brushes past Tony without replying and heads out to get a coffee. He's starting to feel positively Gibbs-like, having to deal with these two.

In Tim's absence, silence falls in the bullpen; Tony and Ziva have nothing more to say to one another, so they both go about their work with only the occasional huff or glower thrown around.

The tension reaches a head a few days later. Gibbs, who's been out of town at a conference Jenny strongarmed him into going to, is due to return this afternoon. Tim has taken to hiding out in Abby's lab, because not only is she a lot friendlier than DiNozzo and David right now, but he can also do most of his work from her computer setup.

This unfortunately leaves no one to buffer the furious special agent and Mossad officer while they work. They're working a double homicide, tracking down their lead suspect, when the bickering starts again. "Ziva, I just said I got a hit on the BOLO," Tony says brusquely, "so I'm not sure why you're going on about finding his sister."

"Just because you have found his car does not mean you have found him! Stop acting so superior and let me follow my lead!"

"My lead is more pertinent—do you really want to let him get away and have to be the one to tell Gibbs?"

"Tell me what?" comes Gibbs' grumpy voice from behind them. They both turn around to see him looking distinctly cross. He isn't one to willingly attend conferences and had already been in a bad mood from being forced to spend a whole week at one, but coming back and finding his team far more ill-tempered than when he left is not improving his outlook.

They both flinch, but he's not done with them. "DiNozzo, David, with me. Now," he says in a tone that brooks no argument.

Both fuming, they follow him out of the bullpen. He leads them to the conference room and gestures them in. "Sit," he snaps, and they do, both privately feeling like they're on the wrong side of the interrogation table.

Gibbs puts his hands down on the table and leans in, clearly furious. "You—" pointing to Ziva— "told me that this wouldn't be a problem. And you—" pointing at Tony— "should have known better, too."

They each start to speak at the same time, but Gibbs cuts them off. "I don't want to hear it! You've messed up and you need to fix it. I'm giving you one hour. Then you either need to be able to work together again or you need to tell me which one of you is resigning from my team. Got it?"

Suitably chastised, they nod, and their boss leaves, the door snapping shut loudly behind him.

As soon as he's gone, though, they're back to glaring at one another. How do they bridge the gap that anger and hurt built between them?

"This would be unnecessary if you could simply be a professional," Ziva mutters, the first to look away.

"Me?" Tony replies, outraged. "Ziva, I'm not the one who gave my team member the cold shoulder for three freakin' days last week! Three days, and you would barely answer my case-related questions. How's that for professional?"

"That is exactly what professional means, Tony! I gave you professional courtesy and nothing more. It is not my fault if you expect more than that from me."

"And why shouldn't I expect more than that? I thought we were friends!"

"So did I," Ziva retorts, "until you dropped a bomb on me. It is fine—I do not need you as a friend, but do not demand friendliness from me when you do nothing to earn it!"

"You don't need me as a friend," Tony parrots under his breath, and then gets louder. "That's really nice, you know? The way you're phrasing it, you make it sound like I need you. That's clever, isn't it? Just turning this around on me so you don't have to pretend you have any emotions!"

Stung and trying not to show it, Ziva snorts. "That is rich, coming from you."

"And just what do you mean by that?"

"I heard you speaking to Agent Sacks, months ago. I know how you feel and I know you do not like to admit it out loud!"

"What? What did you hear?" He's surprised enough that he forgets to be angry for the time being.

Ziva frowns at him, remembering a very uncomfortable period in her time at NCIS. Quickly and succinctly, she sums up what she heard back then. It brings Tony's thoughts to a place he'd rather not have them go.

Sacks is getting on Tony's last nerve. It's not enough for this guy to accuse him of murder and remind him of it at every opportunity. No, he has to go full throttle in this bogus investigation into Ziva's alleged espionage and murders. Sacks clearly doesn't know Ziva at all, because if he did, he would know that she's the most loyal, protective person in the world. She wouldn't jeopardize her country's standing with the US for anything, but more than that, she wouldn't put her NCIS family under suspicion by behaving rashly. She certainly wouldn't commit such a heinous crime, murdering three people in broad daylight, and run away from it. She's too good for that, no matter what she's been trained by Mossad to do.

Tony has tried so hard to reach both Ziva and Gibbs after they learn about the explosion at the safe house, but both of their numbers are going to voicemail. He tries Gibbs, then Ziva, then Gibbs again, and Ziva one more time. When she still doesn't answer, he leaves her a quick voicemail. "Uh, Ziva? It's Tony. I heard there was an explosion, and… I can't get ahold of you guys. Please let me know you're not dead, okay? You and Gibbs. One of you give me a call. Don't worry, I'm still holding down the fort here, but we're all worried. Please call me ba—" He sees Sacks rounding the corner and abruptly closes his phone, shoving it in his pocket.

"Well? Any news?" he demands.

"We're still not sure what the hell happened, DiNozzo," Sacks replies, "or if she was even in there when the place blew up."

"Bodies?" Tony asks tightly.

"No, it was incinerated. We won't even be able to process the scene until at least tomorrow." He doesn't sound too sorry about the fact, Tony thinks bitterly. Wouldn't it be nice and neat for the FBI if their lead suspect committed suicide when faced with capture, tidily attaching herself to the crimes without a single interrogation for them to deal with?

"What makes you think she was there?" he says instead of saying what he's really thinking.

"A tip."

"From who?"

"Anonymous. My guess is probably somebody inside Mossad trying to make nice…" He's too smug for Tony's tastes, especially since he's wrong.

"Someone tying up loose ends," Tony corrects, angry.

"Well, for all we know, she blew up the place to cover her own tracks."

"Well, she was only looking for the guy who set her up."

"You mind telling me how you know that?"

"'Cause it's what I do," Tony replies. His voice is even again but resolute. "Oh, and Slacks? She's my best friend. I know what she's capable of, and it's not this."

The doors close on Sack's skeptical face and Tony is not sad to see him go. What he doesn't know is that his voicemail is still running in his pocket, giving Ziva quiet insight into his feelings.

Tony gapes at Ziva as she recalls the conversation. She probably isn't lying, because that's exactly how he remembers it going, but at the time, he had no idea that she could hear him. He's floored to realize it now. He tries to choke something out, to deny it maybe, but Ziva laughs in his face. "Do not try to tell me that you did not say that, because I heard you with my own ears. You are not nearly as smooth as you believe yourself to be!"

"I'm not denying it, but just 'cause I said it then doesn't mean it's true now!"

He's uncomfortably surprised when Ziva, rather than getting angrier at his statement, seems to deflate. "When did you lose so much regard for me?" she asks him, quiet, lowering her eyes to her hands in front of her.

It's clear to him that she's hurting, and for the first time in two weeks, he stops to really look at her. There's only so much he can see through a curtain of dark, curly hair, but what he sees crushes him. She has dark circles under her eyes, clear evidence of lack of sleep, and her posture is more defeated than he's ever seen her… causing feelings that he's been avoiding crash down on him.

"Oh, Ziva," he says softly, his tone matching hers. "I haven't. I'm so sorry, I really am."

"What are you sorry for?" Her voice breaks. She looks back up at him and brushes hair out of her face, and he's horrified to see two tiny tears traveling down her cheeks. She seems mortified for him to see it—she swipes angrily at her face with one of her sleeves, looking away again.

"For... for this. For hurting you. For not sticking around—that was my job to do. Have to look out for my best friend, you know." He gives her a little smile, hoping that he hasn't entirely blown it here.

Ziva nods and shrugs uncomfortably. "I needed a few days to process what you spoke to me about, but after… it would have been… helpful, I believe, to be treated the same. I was—I was distressed to think of losing your friendship, and…" Tony can see how difficult it is for her to get this out; it's probably hard just for her to be truthful about her emotions in the first place, even to herself.

"Hey—you won't lose my friendship. There's no way... And I'm sorry for treating you differently. I guess I was afraid of losing you, too. It wouldn't be the first time I lashed out because I was scared."

Ziva finally returns his small smile. "It probably did not help that I snapped at you all day until you got angry, too. I am sorry, as well. We have both been acting like children, yes?"

"Ha, I think we have." Tony sticks out a hand, offering it to be shaken. "Friends?"

Ziva takes his hand, but rather than shaking it, she just holds it for a moment and squeezes it affectionately. She can get past this—they can… and they will. "Best friends," she answers. She's speaking in a warmer tone Tony's heard her use in two weeks, and it makes him want to beam. He's missed her badly, as much as he hasn't wanted to let himself think about how much he needs her.

"Best friends," he agrees. He uses the hand he's holding to tug her into a hug, and something in him finally relaxes once he has her wrapped in his arms. They're them again, and everything's okay.

When they finally pull apart, they're both smiling mildly embarrassed smiles. "So, this—uh, this new girlfriend." Ziva pats Tony's arm, trying to let him know that she's okay to talk about it. "How are things with the two of you?"

Tony hesitates, not wanting to rock the boat, but Ziva seems genuinely interested. "Things are going well," he answers after a slight pause. "We've been on three dates now, one last week and two this week."

"I am glad to hear it," Ziva assures him. "What is her name?"

"Jean," Tony invents. He can't tell Ziva his subject's real name, but Jean is close enough to Jeanne that it'll be easy to remember.

"How did the two of you meet?"

This, too, he tries to keep close to the truth. "I met her at a coffee shop." It had actually been a coffee stand in front of the hospital where Jeanne works that Tony had made his mark. She'd been easy to spot, pink scrubs and a bright smile. He actually really likes her—she's cheerful and friendly. She's no Ziva David, but if he has to be spending time with someone, he's glad it's someone whose company he enjoys.

"Do you think I might someday meet her?"

Of course, the answer here is no. This assignment is classified, directly from the director, and allowing Ziva and Jeanne to meet would go against that. Tony can see what an effort Ziva is making to be supportive, though, and hell if he won't use a little white lie to make her see how much he appreciates it. "I would love nothing more," he says softly. "The whole meet-the-parents thing seems totally unnecessary, but meet the best friend? That's vital. She's got to get your approval."

Tony gets the outcome he was hoping for when Ziva laughs. She's got a less-than-ideal family like he does, so she gets it… not that Dr. Benoit will be meeting his father either, anyway.

He stands and stretches and then offers a hand to Ziva. "Should we go tell Gibbs that nobody's resigning today?"

Ziva rolls her eyes but accepts his hand. "Yes," she decides. "And we may need to apologize to McGee, too."

The next evening, Tony swirls the ice cubes in his drink with a tiny straw as he listens to Jeanne tell a story about a particularly absurd patient encounter she'd had in the ER. She's animated as she talks, her hands flying around for emphasis and her lips curling into conspiratorial little smiles when she gets to points in the story that she's sure will make him laugh. It's endearing, really, how earnest and happy she really is. She's someone he would have been into with no prompting under different circumstances.

As it is, though, he's having a little trouble focusing. His thoughts keep drifting to Ziva, wondering what she would think of the story Jeanne's telling.

The story is interrupted by Jeanne's pager, which beeps loudly. She groans and pulls it out to check it—it clearly isn't great news, whatever it is, because her face falls. "I'm sorry," she tells him preemptively.

"Let me guess—you have to go?" Tony postulates with a crooked smile.

"I do, but…" Jeanne pauses and then smiles back, almost as if she can't help it. "Well, I know it won't take long. They're having some trouble with pain control in one of my patients, and they need me to come in and change the orders."

"Pity to end the evening over something that—as you say—won't take long," Tony replies, tilting his head slightly to one side as he tries to figure out what she's up to. She's getting at something, he's sure.

"Yeah, it is, isn't it?" She passes her pager from hand to hand, looking down at its progress as she talks. "But I mean, we don't have to. If you didn't mind dropping by the hospital and waiting for me for a few minutes, Tony, we could continue our evening right after. I still can't drink since I'm on call, but barring any other emergencies, I'd be all yours for the rest of the night."

"Mm. Jeanne?"

She looks up, her expression hopeful.

"Let's go get that patient feeling better," he tells her with a grin, and she beams back. She really is lovely, which makes all of this feel that much harder.

The bar they're at is only a few blocks from the hospital, so Tony quickly knocks back the remainder of his drink—waste not, want not—and offers his arm to his date. She abandons her soda and they emerge into the winter chill.

He does what he knows is expected of him, slipping his arm around Jeanne to warm her up, and he flirts with her the whole walk. It's second nature and he doesn't have to think much about it, which is good because his heart isn't in it.

They walk in through the ER entrance, the closest set of doors to where they started, and Jeanne stops briefly with Tony near an empty row of waiting room seats. "You can just stay here," she tells him with a warm smile. "I won't be fifteen minutes, I promise. And I'll make it worth your while when I'm done."

"I like the sound of that," Tony says with a flirty grin. He leans in to kiss her lightly and then watches her walk toward a set of elevators, turning around to wink at him before disappearing into one of them.

He settles in to wait and the smile falls from his lips. Pulling his phone out, he starts a round of Snake to kill time.

He's on his sixth game, just getting close to beating his own record, when he catches sight of something familiar over the top of his cell phone. There's a curly-haired woman walking past with a grimace—he knows that hair and he knows that expression of displeasure.

"Ziva?" he calls in surprise.

She stops and turns to look at him, her own expression mirroring his own. "Tony?" she replies. "What are you doing here?"

"I was about to ask you the same thing." He notices a bloodied bandage on her hand and grows considerably more alarmed. "Are you okay!?"

She flushes and hides her hand quickly in her coat pocket. "It is nothing. I am fine."

"That doesn't look like nothing," Tony retorts darkly. "What happened?"

"Just an accident," she says, brushing him off again and making him feel frustrated.

"Ziva," he says sternly.

"What?" she snaps.

"What. Happened?"

She sighs, annoyed. "Fine, I will tell you, but you do not repeat this to anyone, are we clear?"

"Crystal. Now tell me, please."

Grimacing, Ziva finally lets him know what went down. "I was cooking tonight, making ratatouille. The recipe requires many small slices of several different vegetables, and I was slicing for a long time. I was not paying attention as I should have been. Instead, I was watching a film as I worked. There was a hopping fright that I was not expecting, and I did hop. My paring knife slipped and I sliced the base of my thumb instead of the zucchini I was trying to cut."

There's a lot that surprises Tony about the story he's just been told, and he can't immediately wrap his head around it. "You? You cut yourself? Ms. Ziva 'I-Could-Kill-You-Eighteen-Different-Ways-With-A-Paperclip' David cut herself in a cooking accident!?" Despite knowing that she's minorly injured, he can't help but laugh out loud at this piece of news.

"Shut up, Tony," Ziva utters darkly. "This is why I did not wish to tell you." There's an involuntary smile rising to her lips anyway, though, and she wrinkles her nose at him.

"That's just so… so human. Who knew?"

"Hush, Tony!" She's definitely laughing with him now. She elbows him hard enough to make him groan, but it doesn't stop him from smirking at her.

"What were you watching? Must've been something terrifying to scare the great Officer David."

"If you must know, I was watching Jaws."

"Aw, Jaws is a classic! I'm proud of you!" His tone is joking, but he's serious. He's been trying to get her into movies for nearly a year now, and it both surprises him and heartens him to know that she's continuing her movie education even though he's been a little absent from her life.

"I did otherwise enjoy the film," she admits, but she looks down at her bandage with distaste. "That is one moment I would not like to relive, however."

He takes her hand gently in his and unwraps it so he can see the damage underneath. He winces at the sight—it's a clean cut and it's not too long, but it's deep. It'll almost certainly need stitches. "Oof. You've really done some damage here, haven't you? I'll list this as just one more piece of evidence vouching for the fact that you're not someone I want to get on the bad side of."

Ziva snorts but allows him to keep examining her hand. "I do more damage when I am doing it on purpose, I promise," she assures him.

"I believe that." He starts to put the bandage back on, careful not to do it too tightly and hurt her. "By the way, it's called a jump scare. Didn't know they worked on you."

"They usually do not."

"I'm all done, Tony," comes a voice from behind them, and Tony looks up. "Who's your friend?"

Aw, crap. He'd forgotten all about Jeanne. Ziva glances at his face and then back at the pretty doctor, clearly drawing conclusions.

"Uh… well, this is—this is my best friend." He smiles awkwardly at Jeanne, but she's kind enough to let him off the hook.

"You must be Zena! I've heard all about you."

Ziva's eyes snap to Tony's, but she holds out her non-injured hand to shake. Jeanne takes it enthusiastically. "I am pleased to meet you," Ziva replies softly. "Tony assured me that I eventually would, but I did not expect it to be so soon." Without looking back at Tony, she continues on in a voice that Tony correctly interprets as one that's intended to tease him. "It is funny—he never told me how beautiful you are!"

"I'm sure I did, didn't I?" he interjects tensely. This was absolutely not supposed to happen, and he's not sure what to do now that it has.

"He never mentioned that about you, either!" Jeanne's guileless blue eyes assure the NCIS agents that she means what she's saying, and Ziva thinks it's good that Tony's new girlfriend is kind.

"Well, thank you." Ziva smiles widely.

It's then that Jeanne notices the way Ziva's other hand is wrapped, and she looks at it in concern. "Oh, no! You're not in the hospital tonight to meet me, I see. Do you mind if I take a look? I'm sure Tony's told you, but I'm a doctor here."

Ziva nods her assent, offering the injured hand, and looks at Tony with slightly narrowed eyes while Jeanne unwraps her for the second time this evening. He had not, in fact, mentioned that his new girlfriend is a doctor. Ziva's also mildly suspicious of the fact that she was just called Zena, but maybe Jean just has a faulty memory.

Tony doesn't say anything, but the face he's making tells Ziva to drop it. She trusts him enough to do so, at least for now. He pastes his usual charming smile on his face, and if Ziva didn't know him so well, she might be tricked into thinking he feels as carefree as he looks. "Ladies, it seems some introductions are in order. Girlfriend, meet my best friend. Best friend, meet my girlfriend." He tries to avoid names altogether, since he's told each girl an incorrect name for the other.

"Girlfriend?" Jeanne asks with a hidden smile, still looking down to examine Ziva's hand.

"Oh, um, I mean—" Tony backtracks.

"No, girlfriend works. It's just news to me," Jeanne shares.

"That's—um, that's good."

Ziva laughs, delighted at anything that makes Tony feel awkward. He's not one to fumble when it comes to women, so this is fun to watch… regardless of Ziva's current confusion.

"Well, the bad news is that this'll need stitching, but the good news it that I don't think it'll take more than five or six," Jeanne tells Ziva kindly, reverting back to professional interest except for a bright smile. "As long as you don't mind being treated in a hallway, I can go ahead and fix you up now, if you'd like. That way you don't have to sit here waiting your turn—it's busy in the ER tonight, looks like."

"Oh, that would be wonderful. Thank you," Ziva says with relief.

Jeanne lets go of Ziva's hand and leads her further into the hospital, leaving Tony to trail behind and quietly worry. Things aren't going according to plan at all.