After two nights of no sleep and a fair amount of emotion and stress, stepping off the plane in Tel Aviv is surreal. Ziva robotically grabs her things and deplanes, more than ready to stop dreading the things to come and just get them over with.
She realizes that she's been in America too long when—upon presenting her documents at passport control—she answers the border control officer's first few Hebrew questions in English without thinking about it. She speaks so many languages that it isn't exactly uncommon for her to slip up and occasionally use the wrong one, but it's embarrassing when she's in her home country and her mother tongue is lost somewhere in the back of her sleep-deprived mind. Flushing slightly, she finishes the interaction in Hebrew.
As she heads out to the arrivals hall, she remembers to text Tony again. Officially back in Israel. Hope you are sleeping well. It's only around 0630 back in Washington—she would be up if she was there, but she knows Tony likes to sleep in a little more… especially since he was up most of the night worrying about her.
There's a familiar face waiting in arrivals—Malachi. He's who Ziva was expecting, but she still experiences the tiniest flash of hurt at her father's absence. She'll never be a priority in his life; that isn't news, but it's still an unhappy feeling.
"Welcome home, Ziva," Malachi greets her in Hebrew as she reaches him.
"Malachi," she acknowledges with a nod and a tight smile.
"Your father is expecting us," Malachi continues, sensing Ziva's lack of interest in making small talk.
"Then we should not keep him waiting."
"My thoughts exactly." Malachi holds out a hand, gesturing that Ziva should walk ahead, and she does so. They walk silently to the expected black SUV with dark-tinted windows that's already running, awaiting their arrival. Ziva ducks into the back seat.
As they leave the airport, she watches Tel Aviv roll past her window and feels a familiar tug of wistfulness; she may not wish to return to Mossad, and she may now consider Washington, D.C. to be her true home, but there's something calming about being back in Israel itself. She does love her country despite her conflicted feelings about everything else here.
Mossad's headquarters looks the same as always, and walking inside to go to her father's office makes her feel younger than her years. She swallows the feeling down and knocks primly on his door, waiting to hear "enter" before doing so.
She makes eye contact with her father—he smiles at her—but before she can say anything, she can feel Malachi beginning to enter the room behind her. Angry that he seems to think her father needs a bodyguard while she's around, she whips around to stare him down—he pauses and looks at her passively. "I no longer need an escort, thank you," she tells him in a hard voice. He looks over her shoulder, clearly communicating wordlessly with Eli, before holding up his hands in surrender and backing out; the office door gets closed behind him.
Now that it's just the two of them, Ziva turns back around and approaches her father's desk. He rises to greet her. "Shalom, my dear," Eli says in a warm voice that Ziva does not trust.
"Shalom, Abba." She gives him the same insincere smile she gave Malachi, and she sees something in his own expression twist in amusement. Her minor defiances have always been a source of humor for him, though Ziva can't quite suss out the reason for that.
"A kiss for your father?"
Ziva steps forward, allowing him to take and squeeze both of her hands as they kiss one another's cheeks. "It is good to have you back where you belong," Eli murmurs to her while they're close, and she nods noncommittally at him.
When they separate again, her father gestures to a chair. "Sit, sit. You have had a long journey." Ziva does so while Eli returns to his own chair behind the desk. "Now. Tell me. How are you feeling?"
"I am much recovered, Papa. Thank you for your concern." Her voice is formal, aloof, overly polite.
Eli raises his eyebrows. "Were you cleared by your doctors to go back to work?"
"I do not know," Ziva admits. "I did not ask them."
That makes Eli laugh and shake his head. "You never were one to blindly follow orders from anyone."
Ziva's face hardens at this, sure he meant it as a jab.
When she doesn't reply, Eli shakes his head. "Come, Ziva. Please relax. I am not your enemy. I was praising, not criticizing."
Ziva inclines her head in acknowledgment of this differentiation—even if she doesn't think he's telling the truth. "Of course not, Papa." She works to make her voice demure and subservient. Everything always works much more smoothly when her father believes she's entirely on his side.
Eli accepts this for now and tilts his head to one side, studying her. "I believe we have much to catch up on, do we not? I would like to hear the story of how you came to be injured."
"Jenny Shepard did not inform you?"
"I want to hear it from you, Ziva," Eli orders softly, not answering the question either way.
Ziva nods stiffly and does her best to recount the story without emotion. "NCIS has been attempting to catch the arms dealer La Grenouille for quite some time. In the process of this investigation, one of the NCIS agents working the case was captured by La Grenouille's men and held hostage. I was part of the group that went in to rescue him. I took a bullet from an enemy during the rescue."
"Bravery has always been one of your strengths," Eli praises lightly, but Ziva knows that criticism is coming, too. "Tell me, which agent was captured?"
Ziva doesn't believe for a second that Eli doesn't already know—he wants her to say it, though, in order to trap her into admitting… something. "Special Agent Anthony DiNozzo," she replies calmly, refusing to be backed into a corner.
"Ah, so this was not merely a faceless agent—this was a member of your team."
"Yes, Abba."
"Your friend."
"Yes."
"Your lover."
Ziva supposes she should have seen this coming sooner, but exhaustion handicaps her. "How is my tie to him relevant?" she asks in a hard voice, forgoing the illusion of compliance for now.
"You do not deny that you have ties to him," Eli answers, his voice intentionally light as if to criticize Ziva's tone.
"Why should I deny it? Though it is not your business, I am not ashamed of who I choose to have in my life." She feels thirteen again, teenage rebellion in full swing.
"You are my business, Ziva." Now his voice is harder, too. He only appreciates her fire when it doesn't hinder him.
"Then if it matters so much to you, Father, I will tell you—yes. I have a relationship with Tony DiNozzo." She lets some of her fierce pride leak into her voice. She loves who she's with and she will not be shamed for that.
"Is it that relationship that led you to take a bullet for him?" Eli asks.
"Who said I took a bullet for him?" Ziva challenges. "I merely said I took a bullet during his rescue."
"Did you take a bullet for him?"
"Yes."
"So I thought. Please answer my question."
"I took a bullet to protect him, yes, but I would have done so for any member of my team—whether that was Tony, Gibbs, or Malachi Ben-Gidon." It's a not-so-subtle reminder that she returned under her father's orders… and so he shouldn't use this to question her loyalty. She's telling him that she's still Mossad.
Her phone vibrates in her pocket with an incoming text, and she hopes her father doesn't hear it. She's sure it's Tony replying to the message she sent him from the airport.
If he hears, he doesn't mention it, instead choosing to focus on what she just said. "Would you risk losing your job or worse for Officer Ben-Gidon?" he asks softly; there's danger in the low volume, because while he can be a yeller, he's also a politician at heart. If he's really, truly angry, he sometimes becomes so quiet that he can scarcely be heard.
"What do you mean by that?" Ziva demands, matching her father's tone.
"I placed you with NCIS in order to improve Israeli-American relations, not to harm them."
"Yes, and I made many friends among the Americans," Ziva counters, confused as to what Eli is implying.
"Friends in low places, Ziva. It does not matter how many agents you befriend if you anger the director of the entire organization!" Eli accuses.
Suddenly, Ziva realizes what he's getting at. Prior to being shot, she had a confrontation with Director Shepard about her knowledge of the La Grenouille investigation. She was accused of spying, though not in so many words, and she and Jenny left the matter at an impasse given the situation Tony was in; it fell to the wayside entirely once she was shot. Ziva had assumed that it was forgotten when she was asked to return to Mossad, but now, she wonders what exactly Jenny Shepard said to her father.
She lets the hard, emotionless mask school her features again and nods sharply, recognizing that her father has spoken without replying to what he said.
He waits for a moment for an answer before banging his desk with a palm in frustration; Ziva manages to contain her flinch at the sudden violence of the action. "Explain yourself, Ziva!" he demands angrily.
"What do you wish for me to say?" Ziva replies rigidly.
"I want to know why you risked an international incident!"
"I did no such thing," she assures him coldly.
Eli seems to realize all at once that she is entirely unwilling to say anything more on the matter and his face grows angrier. "I see that keeping your father's trust is no longer important to you. Very well. I will see to it that your assignments are adjusted accordingly."
Ziva would like to yell at him, but doing so would mean admitting more to him than she's ready to, so she merely nods once more, refusing to take the bait.
"You are dismissed," Eli answers, waving her away before looking over at his computer, immediately ignoring her.
She brushes past Malachi wordlessly on her way out, fuming. It's entirely unfair of her father to react the way he did when he doesn't understand what really happened; she could tell him, of course, but if he's angry with her for what he suspects she's done, he'll be much angrier with her if he finds out what was actually going through her mind.
She marches out of the building, intending to go to her favorite cafe and calm down over a cup of tea, but she realizes very quickly that someone is following her. Furious, she whirls around and pulls her gun out; she knows who's following her or she would point the gun at her follower. As it is, she merely wants the gun out as a warning.
"Malachi, you have always been a friend to me," she says in a low voice, "but if you continue to follow me, I will shoot you."
Without waiting to see whether or not he'll take this warning to heart, she re-holsters her gun and continues on to the cafe; though she can feel eyes on her, she can sense that Malachi is no longer actively trailing her. Right now, she'll take what she can get.
She orders a chamomile tea and sits down at a corner table to drink it, trying very hard to calm herself down. It's not like the interaction with her father was any different than she expected it to be, but she's out of practice on dealing with him; she's also out of practice on keeping her emotions in check. She has let her guard down around her NCIS family—especially Tony—so many times over the last few months in particular so many times that it has become habit. She'll need to snap herself out of that quickly if she is to survive the entirety of her return to Israel.
Drinking the tea helps some, but what helps far more is the person who unexpectedly slides in the chair across the table from her. "Adam!" she cries in shocked delight, momentarily forgetting all of her worries.
Adam grins at Ziva, clearly pleased at having successfully surprised her, and he puts his hand over hers. "It is wonderful to see you back on Israeli soil, my friend," he says warmly.
She flips her hand over to grab his for a moment before releasing him and sipping at her tea. She has missed him dearly, and she realizes all at once just how poor a job she's done in keeping in touch with him. "I am so happy to see you," she replies affectionately. "How did you know I was here?"
"Where else would you be?" he asks in mock confusion before his face molds into a light smirk. "Malachi contacted me yesterday with your flight details. I planned to be in the area as soon as possible, but he also texted me a few minutes ago to tell me he thought you would be here."
Ziva feels a small surge of guilt; maybe she was too harsh with Malachi before. "I am glad he did… he knows, I think, how difficult my relationship with my father has been since Ari's death."
Adam nods sympathetically, but he's not one to let her wallow. "You have confronted your father, and while you may both be angry, it is over for now. Do not let it haunt you. Instead, tell me all about your time in America!"
Ziva tries to do as her friend suggested—she takes a deep breath and lets it out before smiling at Adam once more. "What do you wish to know?"
Adam shrugs. "What do you wish to share?" he counters, smiling back.
Ziva has to think about that for a moment. "I was happy there," she says simply after some deliberation.
The corners of Adam's eyes crinkle as his very genuine smile widens, and Ziva realizes just how much she's missed having him around since leaving Israel. "What was the best thing about it?"
"The people," Ziva answers with no hesitation.
"Tell me about them," Adam requests simply.
"I worked on a team of four. They became my family, Adam. There were also several others with whom I became just as close, people who worked in the same building. I will miss them very much."
Perhaps Ziva has a bit of a glint in her eye or a smile in her voice, because Adam immediately tries to suppress a smirk. "Anyone you will miss more than the others?" he suggests.
Ziva knows what he's getting at, and though she tries not to give herself away, she feels her cheeks flushing. "Why does everyone want to know about that?" she demands, partly annoyed and partly happy to have something so positive to share.
Adam throws his head back and laughs, delighted. It's nice to see her a little off-kilter for a good reason for once. "Because we have been friends for a very long time, Ziva. I can read you, and even though you may be angry on the surface right now, you are happy underneath. I can tell. And you are blushing—it is unlike you. There must be a reason for it, yes?"
Ziva wrinkles her nose at him, making him laugh harder, and finally, it draws a smile out of her, too. "There might be someone," she hedges.
"Who is it?"
"His name is Tony. He was my partner at NCIS."
What Ziva can't see is the way that some of the hardness in her eyes relaxes when she talks about Tony, and she can't see the way a small, unconscious smile plays at her lips at the same time. "Partner or partner?" Adam teases, and Ziva crumples up a napkin to throw at him. It bounces harmlessly off of his forehead, and he continues to laugh at her, enjoying her reaction.
"Both," she admits, and then a slightly evil expression settles on her face. "He's an excellent partner, no matter which definition you are using. Very… considerate," she adds suggestively.
Adam puts his hands up to stop her, still chuckling. "Okay, okay, I do not need all the details!"
"You are the one who asked!"
"That I did," Adam concedes. He takes her hand once more, his laughter dying away and his voice becoming more serious. "I am glad that you are happy, Ziva."
"Thank you," Ziva replies. "Things were not always easy at NCIS, but they were good. Tony is just one part of that."
"So why did you come back to Israel?" The question is gentle. He lets her hand go.
"Because I was ordered to do so."
"Ah. Eli did not like the… fraternization?"
"Close." Ziva gives an insincere smile. "He did not like the accusations of espionage that I received from the American director."
Adam does a double take at that. "Espionage? Ziva David, what did you do?"
Ziva hesitates before lowering her voice and telling Adam the whole story. He gapes at her as she finishes, and then closes his mouth and shakes his head. "You know that I am always on your side, but I can see why your father is upset on this particular matter."
"Why he is upset!?" Ziva demands quickly. "I did nothing to him!" In fact, she hadn't given him a single thought during the entire saga.
"Ziva, you know as well as I do that your father must protect the interests of Israel before his own. I think it is on Israel's behalf that he is angry." Adam gives her a look that's part apology, part you-know-I'm-right.
Ziva huffs and sits back in her seat, crossing her arms. "He should never have even known about it. I have a relationship with Jenny Shepard, and I could have worked this out with her. Either she went to my father behind my back, or one of my father's spies has eyes inside NCIS. It does not matter which is true—it never should have come this far."
"But it did, and now you must deal with it. What is done is done."
"Wise words," Ziva says after a moment, shaking her head and deciding to forgive him for taking the wrong side.
"So how do you move forward from here?" Adam is relieved that Ziva isn't yelling at him, and he notes the changes in her personality since she first set out for America two years ago.
"I will, as always, do what I must. I will try to get back on my father's good side; I will keep my head down, do as told, and work hard. I will earn his trust back. Then I will see what comes next."
Adam inclines his head to applaud the practicality of this plan. "Do you think your father will let it go over time?"
"It is not in his nature to 'let it go'," Ziva admits, "but I believe that if I tell him the whole story, he will be even angrier. I did jeopardize my own standing with NCIS, but I do not believe I jeopardized Mossad's standing with NCIS… Regardless, he will see my behavior as a personal betrayal. I put my own interests—my relationship with a foreign man, no less—above my father's interests, which would be the continuation of my placement in Washington."
"So your plan may work, but it also may not."
"I do not see any other way forward, Adam."
"Hm." Adam sighs and gently pushes her tea across the table toward her. "Nothing more you can do today, in any case. Relax. You must be exhausted."
"I am." Ziva picks up her tea and drains it in one long swallow before rising to her feet. "I should probably go. My father will expect me to join him for dinner tonight." That promises to be a fun meal, for sure.
Adam stands, too. "Of course. But please, while you are home, remember to stay in touch."
"I will." Ziva initiates a hug, surprising her friend again, and they part ways. On the way out, she reads Tony's message: Good luck Z. Got ur 6, even if I'm far away. She smiles and resolves to reply later when she has more time and privacy.
When Tony walks into the bullpen the morning of Ziva's arrival in Israel, he appears to be the last one in. Gibbs is at his desk frowning at one of the screens on his desk—as usual, he doesn't acknowledge Tony's entrance.
McGee, on the other hands, meets Tony's eye and then jerks his head at Ziva's desk. Reflexively, Tony's follows the direction of the jerk and he frowns. There's someone sitting there, quietly filling out a form.
After Tony looks at her for a moment, he understands why he didn't notice her at first—there's little about her that draws the eye. She has light brown hair in a pixie cut, straight as a pin and held away from her face by a black headband. Her very young-looking face is pretty enough, small features dainty and symmetrical, but it isn't the sort of face that graces magazine covers. She's fairly diminutive—Tony suspects that she's no taller than 5'2 when standing.
He looks back at McGee. "Who is she?" he asks, sotto voce.
"I dunno," Tim answers in the same tone, his eyes flitting between Tony, the unnamed woman, and Gibbs. "She was here when I got in."
"Special Agent Annie Baxter," Gibbs answers in a normal voice without looking up, making Tony and Tim flinch. They hadn't realized he was listening; they should know better by now.
"Why is she sitting at Ziva's desk?" Tony demands.
"Because Ziva's gone, DiNozzo. Figured you'd know that since you dropped her off at the airport," Gibbs answers dryly.
"But… that's Ziva's desk," Tony argues lamely.
"It's mine now," the new agent says, raising her eyebrows and meeting Tony's eye for the first time. "I promise to be careful with it." Her voice is high and quiet—it has a calming, unhurried quality to it, though.
"What she said," Gibbs confirms, dismissing Tony's consternation.
Realizing that's all he's going to get from his boss, Tony sits down at his own desk and continues to study the new agent. "How old are you?" he asks.
"You're not supposed to ask that, Tony," Tim interjects. "Sorry about him," he adds, talking to the new agent. "I'd say he's not always like that, but he is. I'm Special Agent Tim McGee, by the way. Nice to meet you."
"Nice to meet you, too. Annie Baxter, but everyone calls me Bax." She smiles at Tim and turns back to Tony. "I'm 20," she tells him, her tone showing no frustration at the question—it must be one she gets a lot. "And you are?"
"Very Special Agent Anthony 'Tony' DiNozzo," he answers, still thrown by her presence but now feeling very old on top of that. "Are you even allowed to work here at 20?" he demands of the room at large.
"Technically, the minimum age is 18," McGee answers, "though I'm not sure NCIS has ever actually hired someone that young."
"You're not even old enough to drink, little orphan Annie!" Tony says loudly.
"Not an orphan," Bax corrects wryly, "but nice reference anyway, Daddy Warbucks. No, I'm not old enough to drink—well spotted."
Tony grins at her retort, always appreciative of anyone who responds favorably to his movie references. "Okay, so you must have something special about you," he speculates, "or NCIS wouldn't have hired you so young. What is it?"
Bax opens her mouth to answer, but Gibbs, hanging up the phone no one realized he was talking into, cuts her off. "Got a body in Fairfax," he tells them. "You'll just have to interrogate each other on the way there. Gear up."
When their homicide in Fairfax turns into a credible bomb threat, Tony and McGee find out exactly why Jenny Shepard assigned Annie Baxter to Gibbs' team—she is, apparently, quite the bomb expert.
By the time they find the explosives, the building has already been evacuated—only Gibbs, McGee, DiNozzo, and Baxter remain. "How do you want to play this, boss?" Tony asks, looking apprehensively at the bomb as its timer counts down. There's a little less than ten minutes left—plenty of time for NCIS to get out of the building, but not enough time for the bomb squad to arrive and defuse it.
"Out," Gibbs orders, but he finds himself being gently nudged out of the way by someone who's a solid foot shorter than he is.
"No, I can disarm it." It's Bax, kneeling down next to the bomb with a look of cool confidence on her face.
"It's not a toy, Annie Hall," Tony replies derisively, but he's completely ignored. He turns around to stare at Gibbs, shocked that he's not putting his foot down.
Gibbs correctly interprets Tony's look and shrugs, a half smile on his face. "She says she can stop it from going off. I'd like to see if she can. You and McGee can go."
McGee and Tony exchange glances, and—feeling as if the possibility of coming to regret this decision is high—they nod. "No, if you're staying, we're staying, boss," McGee asserts.
"You heard the probie!" Tony cries cheerfully, rubbing his hands together nonchalantly and leaning in closer to see what Bax is doing. "Let's see what the new girl can do."
Bax ignores all three of them, carefully comparing wires and gently manipulating them to check for connections. She digs a knife out of her pocket and, never once hesitating, slices three of the wires. Tony holds his breath, sure they're all going to be blown to bits any second, but to his surprise, the timer stops immediately.
"Where did you learn to do that?" McGee asked, clearly impressed.
"Can't make bombs without knowing how to stop them, too," Bax says with such casualness that Tony at first doesn't fully catch her meaning.
When he does, he raises his eyebrows almost up to his hairline. "And why do you know how to make bombs?" he half-mutters, not really expecting an answer.
"My extremist mom taught me. She expected me to help her make the bombs—she didn't expect me to use that knowledge to disarm her attempted terrorist attack. That was—mm, four years ago now? You can look it up—her name's Eliza Baxter. It was kind of hush-hush because… well, because it never really went anywhere. A couple of news outlets in our local area reported on it anyway, though. Anyway, I've been studying bombs ever since."
Neither Tony nor McGee know quite how to respond to this, but Gibbs merely says "good work, Baxter," and leaves the room.
Back in the bullpen later in the day, there's a lull in their caseload and Tony takes the opportunity to text Ziva again. It's late evening in Tel Aviv now and with the amount of sleep—or lack thereof—that she's gotten this week, he wouldn't be surprised if she's already in bed.
Everything ok? he types. Checking n again, ok to talk 2moro if ur busy or sleeping.
A few minutes later, his phone dings with a reply, and it makes him smile. Have time to call?
No, he answers, but as soon as he sends the text, he dials her number.
She picks up on the first ring. "Hey," he murmurs, glancing around to make sure no one is paying attention to him making a personal call at work.
"Hi, Tony." She sounds exhausted.
"You alright? Ol' Daddio wasn't too tough on you this afternoon, was he?" Tony asks, concerned.
"He was not happy, but I know how to deal with him," she says, her tone abruptly turning testy.
"Alright," Tony agrees carefully. She sounds like she might be looking for a fight to get her frustrations out, but he doesn't want to be the one to give it to her. "You know best."
"What is that supposed to mean?" Ziva snaps.
Tony frowns, starting to feel frustrated despite himself. "Hey. I'm not the one you're mad at, okay? Don't yell at me just because your dad's being an asshole."
There's a pause and then Ziva sighs. "You are right; I am sorry. It has been a very long day."
"I get it," Tony replies softly. "Don't worry about it. Are you okay?"
"Yes. I am. I promise."
"Good. Any warm and fuzzy feelings about being in Israel again?" he asks lightly, trying to draw a happier mood out.
"Actually, more than I expected." There's a slight smile in her voice, much to Tony's relief. "Familiarity can be a lovely thing. Much of my childhood was spent going in and out of Tel Aviv, so I have good memories here."
"Thought yet about what you'll show me when I visit?"
"I have," Ziva confirms, sounding more relaxed. "It has been a welcome distraction today. First, I will take you to my favorite kosher deli."
"I gotta say, you have increased my interest in middle eastern food. What's the best thing at this deli of yours?"
"Soup. Matzo ball soup." She gives a groan of appreciation at the mere thought of the taste.
"Sounds excellent."
"It is, and it is full of vegetables."
Tony laughs loudly. "Of course it is! You wouldn't like it, otherwise."
Ziva laughs, too. "Someday, you will see things like I do. I am only trying to protect your arteries, my love."
"Protection!" Tony cries, suddenly remembering the thing that he wanted to tell her. McGee, passing Tony's desk to return to his own, gives Tony a very strange look. "Um, from bombs," he clarifies in Tim's direction.
"Whatever you say, Tony," McGee says, shaking his head as he sits and turning toward his computer screen.
"What are you talking about?" Ziva asks in Tony's ear, bemused. It makes Tony jump—his embarrassment about what McGee heard very briefly made him forget why he spoke too loudly in the first place.
"New girl on the team," he hastens to clarify. "She's sitting at your desk, which I did not like, but she saved our asses today."
"Oh?"
"Yeah, apparently she's pretty good at bombs. The bomb squad wouldn't have gotten on the scene before it went off, but new girl got it so it was fine."
Ziva's quiet for a moment, and Tony winces. "You're better at bombs, Z, in case you're getting any ideas about being replaced. She's not replacing you," he clarifies quickly.
She chuckles. "No, Tony, that is not why I paused. I was taking a moment to say a prayer in thanks that you and the team made it out safely today. I am glad there was someone there who knew what they were doing."
Tony smiles. "Being back in Israel make you feel more connected to your Judaism?" he asks.
"Perhaps," she says, the quirk of her lips matching his. "Tell me more about the woman who is now at my desk."
"Let's see… she's practically a baby—she can't even drink yet, she's so young, sort of a kid genius—and she's shorter than you. Light brown hair cut short. That's about all I got."
Ziva throws her head back and laughs exuberantly, truly amused. "You do not have to pretend that you noticed nothing else about her, Tony," she assures him. "You are in a monogamous relationship, not dead."
He laughs, too. "She's small all around," he admits to noticing.
"Just remember to keep your hands to yourself." The warning is pure teasing, however. She trusts him.
"Pretty sure she's not interested anyway," he answers confidently.
"What makes you say that?"
"Well, let me put it this way… I put a picture of you and I up behind my desk this morning, and she looked at it for, like, a long time."
"So?"
"So, she wasn't looking at me in the picture. She was looking at you… in a don't-ask-don't-tell kind of way."
"Oh." Ziva laughs, vaguely flattered. "I like this woman already."
"Me, too. She has great taste." The Ziva-directed compliment is clear, making his girlfriend smile. Unfortunately, Tony sees Gibbs emerging from the elevator and knows that personal phone call time is over. "Gotta go, though. Talk later. Get some sleep! Love you!"
"Let me guess—Gibbs?"
"Yep," Tony agrees in a rush.
"Alright. I love you, too. Good night."
Tony hangs up quickly and gives Gibbs a charming smile that melts away at Gibbs' less-than-impressed look. Correctly interpreting the nonverbal instructions he's being given as meaning "get back to work now, DiNozzo", he slaps the back of his own head and logs into his computer.
Once he's in, the new email notification sounds, and he clicks the alert message. To his surprise, it's not his NCIS email that's pinging; it's his Tony DiNardo email account, the one set up purely to give to Jeanne Benoit. The email that he was just notified about is, in fact, from her. Full of trepidation, he opens it and scans it quickly.
Tony,
We need to talk. Now. I tried to call the cell phone number I had for you, but I think it's been disconnected. Please contact me ASAP.
Jeanne
Tony thinks back and remembers that his DiNardo cell phone, like everything else case-related, has been logged into evidence. Afraid of what's waiting on the other end of the line, he pulls out his regular cell and enters in Jeanne's number, glad he memorized it a while back. Here goes nothing.