DISCLAIMER: I don't own any of NCIS.
Chapter 3: Coming To An Understanding
Tony bit back a grumbled curse and shielded his sensitive eyes from the sunlight peeking in through the curtains of Ziva's apartment. He could hear the shower running in her bathroom. "Ugh, I fricking hate Tuesdays… worse than fricking Mondays…" he groaned, burying his head under a pillow. "Fricking hangovers…"
There was a knock at the front door. The shower stopped, the bathroom door opened and the sound of Ziva's light step headed towards the front door. A brief, low conversation followed and then the door closed again.
"Tony, get up," she ordered quietly, peeling the pillow from his grip. "I need to leave, and so do you."
Blearily, Tony squinted at her. "Where are you going?" he mumbled, sitting up unsteadily. "Dressed like the fricking mafia…"
Indeed, Ziva had her black suit set on, her long curls pulled back into a conservative knot. "Get up," she sighed. "It happens to be the dress protocol at my new position." Her tone sounded less than thrilled.
"Who are you working with, the Feebees?" Tony asked groggily as he yanked his clothes on reluctantly.
"Don't you look like you drowned yourself in a keg of beer, Tony," Kate greeted cheerfully from her desk as Tony managed to drag himself into NCIS and to his own desk. "Frat brothers party?"
"Not exactly," Tony replied tersely, yanking open his open-cases drawer and pulling out a folder just as McGee dashed in right before Gibbs came storming.
"We hear anything on Ziva?" he asked, directing the question to Tony.
Tony nodded with a slight moan as he rubbed his forehead again. "Found another placement in Washington. FBI."
"Good," Gibbs said in satisfaction, then stopped in front of Tony's desk and lightly slapped the back of his head. "And if you ever show up here this hung-over again, DiNozzo…"
"Won't happen again, boss," Tony mumbled.
Kate could've screamed in frustration by the end of the first Ziva-free month. Even absent in body, the woman was still everywhere. Her computer was still in Hebrew, the boys all kept calling her "Ziva" and when they didn't call her Ziva, they definitely weren't calling her Kate.
Was she destined to be despised for the rest of her life for this?
"So we'll meet at the Hawk at 8?" Abby was asking Tony and McGee as everybody prepared to leave for the day.
"Yeah, 8 sounds good," Tony said. "Ziva gets out of Fedsworld at 7:30. Trust me, she'll be ready for a drink or two or ten."
"Oh, admit it, Tony, you are so stoked that rule number 12 doesn't apply anymore," Abby laughed.
"The two of you were starting to frustrate me," McGee added with a grin.
"More information than I needed to know, probie," Tony said in mock horror, slapping the back of McGee's head.
"What's happening tonight?" Kate asked with a smile, hoping for an invitation as she joined them at the elevator.
"Oh, um…" they all began stammering. Finally, Abby plucked up enough courage to say,
"It's Ziva's birthday today. A few of us were going to meet her at the Hawk for some drinks to celebrate. We didn't think you'd want to come."
"It's sort of a 'team-only' engagement," McGee said without thinking. Then he winced once he realized what he'd said.
Kate flinched at the insinuation. "I get it," she said quietly. "I wrecked your team, I wrecked your lives. I should've stayed dead. I'm sorry."
"I-I-I-I-I didn't mean that you aren't part of the… team…"
"Shut up, Timmy, before you dig yourself any deeper," Abby ordered, as Tony caught Kate's arm before she went storming into the elevator.
"Kate," he said, and she was so shocked at being called by her name that she stopped. "Listen, it's been difficult adjusting to this, and maybe we've given you a harder time than we should've. You're welcome to come if you want, just don't expect Ziva to treat you like her best friend."
Ziva hated her birthday. For more than one reason. The memories that haunted her dreams, the fact that she was hardly ever around to celebrate it and the fact that she didn't really have anyone to celebrate with.
The other things Ziva hated were lawyers and reporters. Especially federal ones. Working in the FBI's PR department (or the FKAD, as Tony insisted on calling it – Federal Kiss-Ass Department) was hell. She'd take a solo undercover op in the middle of a wartorn Arab country if it meant she didn't have to work here anymore.
So when Tony had shown up in front of the Hoover building in his Mustang at 7:30 precise, it had given her a glimmer of hope that maybe he would take her home and they could spend the night alone – the way Ziva preferred it lately.
"Hey, Ziva," he greeted, leaning over to kiss her lightly. "Ready to party?"
"That depends," she replied, returning the kiss. "Where's the party? Who's there?"
"Oh, it's a mobile party," Tony teased, shifting into drive. "Starts at the Hawk. McGee, Abby, possibly Lee and Palmer and Ducky, potentially Gibbs and the director if they got the message… maybe Kate…" He caught sight of her disappointed expression. "Not for long, Ziva, I promise. Just until McGee gets rip-roaring drunk and then we'll leave. Completely sober, because the party ends at my place."
They made quite the crowd in the middle of the low-key pub: Ziva still in her Fed suit with Tony's arm slung casually behind her across the back of the bench, Abby in her Super-Goth dress, Ducky with his bow-tie, Gibbs in sawdust-coated jeans, McGee in his turtleneck and jacket, the director in a surprisingly young-looking skirt and shirt, Palmer and Lee looking just a little too cozy for coworkers…
Kate watched from the second floor balcony. Much as she had been touched by Tony's somewhat-apology, she didn't feel like being in there tonight. Not when it was clear to her that they had all missed Ziva like crazy. Not when she could see Ziva begin to visibly relax, smiling and laughing, swatting at Tony's hands as he tried to undo the severe Fed knot that held her hair back.
Let them have their night as the old team. She would stay a little longer and then go home. Sighing, Kate finished off the last of her drink, and as she tilted her head back to catch the last few biting drops, she caught sight of a glimmer in the shadows. A glimmer which looked suspiciously like the barrel of a sniper rifle…
Aiming for somebody at the NCIS table.
Ziva saw her from the corner of her eyes, up on the second floor balcony. Hiding her turn to look by leaning back in the booth to undo her knot of hair.
She watched as Kate made desperate hand signals. Sniper. East wing, 2nd floor. Pointing at table. Need backup.
Silently, almost unnoticed, Ziva slid Tony's holstered gun off his belt and attached it to her own. Shifting her suit jacket over top of it, she carefully got out from the booth, made an excuse about the washroom and headed towards the staircase, still watching as Kate continued to signal her. Two snipers. One following, one steady on table. Gun?
Ziva nodded almost imperceptibly. "Did you see anything in more detail?" she asked quietly as she joined Kate. Kate shook her head.
"Happy birthday, by the way," Kate said dryly. "Let's just smite the bastards and go home. I'm buzzed."
"Wow, you really do not hold your alcohol," Ziva commented, spotting the one glass.
"No, I don't."
"I would not suggesting smiting anybody, Agent Todd," came a soft, accented voice. "Officer David. So you uncovered our little operation."
Yep, she definitely was drunk.
"Did I mention," Kate said in between gasping laughs as she leaned back against the wall, trying to fumble at the knots holding her wrists together behind her back, "that I was handpicked to protect the president of the United States of America? And I'm tied up and stuffed in a closet by a kid."
"Boy was probably an early Mossad recruit," Ziva sighed, working to untie her own binding. "Now would be a bad time to mention I am mildly claustrophobic."
"Yeah, a little bit," Kate agreed. "What the hell are Mossad snipers doing in Washington?"
"I do not know," Ziva replied. "Most likely carrying out a hit order."
"On who?"
"Most likely me."
"Why?"
"Because I have – what is the term you Americans use? – dissed off my father one too many times."
"Pissed off."
"Whatever." Ziva sighed and dropped the cords to the ground, rubbing her wrists briefly. "Stop fiddling, Kate, I will untie you."
"You know, they'll get over you," Kate commented in her alcohol-induced daze. "One day. It'll be 'Kate's desk' again. And I'll be Kate and not 'Zi-Kate'."
"I am sure," Ziva replied quietly, working at undoing the knots of Kate's cord. "It was 'Kate's desk' for months after I came to NCIS. I was 'Ka-Ziva' for quite a while."
"So who killed me, any way?" Kate asked, trying to pull her hands free too soon and succeeding only in tightening the knot Ziva had just loosened.
"Ari Haswari," Ziva said calmly, restarting at the knot again. "Stop it, Kate, I cannot get it undone if you keep moving. Sniper shot from sixty feet away on a terrorist cell bust."
"Hmm. Figures. That's what I get for not stabbing the bastard four years ago. So did Gibbs kill Haswari then?"
There was a slight uncomfortable pause that lasted just a beat too long before Ziva said, "Yes. Gibbs killed Ari." She dropped the cord to the ground. "Get up. I think the door is unlocked."
"What are you really doing here?" Kate asked with only the slightest slur as she struggled to right herself from her slouched position. "I don't get why you're still here. You could've gone back to Israel, back to Mossad. Why'd you stay?"
Ziva was silent for a while, carefully trying to jig the lock on the closet door open. "I like it here," she said finally.
"But it must frustrate you here," Kate persisted. "I mean, there's so many rules and can-dos and can't-dos and legalities."
"I was ready for some rules and some boundaries, Kate," Ziva said quietly. "Although if I see one more lawyer or news reporter tonight, I may snap and kill somebody." She succeeded in swinging the door open. "There. Can you walk?"
Kate got to her feet and whimpered slightly as pain shot through her left ankle. "I think so. I must've twisted my ankle when I landed."
"No, I think that was from trying to kick down the door without a direct line of contact," Ziva sighed, hauling Kate out and into a nearby chair. The balcony was almost deserted, and the couple that remained was too drunk to think anything of two women emerging from a closet. "Where did you see the sniper?"
"Alcove directly across from us," Kate said, gratefully taking the chair. "Does this mean we're friends now?"
"It means we are not enemies."