I'm crazy, crazy for feelin' so lonely

And I'm crazy, crazy for feelin' so blue

Willie Nelson

McGee was correct in his prediction. When Tony had stormed off to the break-room, it had only supplied a temporary armistice. The rest of that had passed with minimal interaction between Tony and Ziva; the mood in the bull-pen subdued and disagreeable. They had all devoted themselves to the whereabouts of Capt. Faulkner. This morning Tony was, once again, first to arrive and ill-humored. Ziva was still smarting from the hostilities of yesterday. The thumb-screws on the tension began tightening. Gibbs increased the unpleasant atmosphere; he was more taciturn and unforgiving of error than usual.

Tony was texting. Ziva watched from her desk, meditatively toying with her necklace.

"The last time you were a possum about a girlfriend it was serious, was it not?"

"The term is squirrely." No amused correction – just a curt statement. "Nice reminder. Forget to load the human program this morning?"

Ziva was sensitive to the widely held belief amongst her co-workers she lacked empathy – an android.

"Possums play dead. Squirrels hide things." McGee attempted to intercede - like the child of dysfunctional parents. "Not that you're hiding anything Tony….or there's anything wrong with that…if you were…or did want to hide something." His stammering endeavor failed.

"Evidently you did not delete hypocrisy where it concerns matters of privacy." Ziva jabbed back spitefully. Tony had atrocious boundary issues when it came to minding his own business.

McGee didn't know which was worse; heavy silence or sporadic sniping. It was only a matter of time; one of them would score a bull's-eye and the bickering would boil over. Gibbs marched through on a coffee run.

"DiNozzo: Director Vance's office. Now." His testy instruction was without further explanation. "By the time I get back, somebody better have somethin'." Gibbs was grouchier than an hour ago.

Tony slid back his chair; fastening his top button and straightening his tie. He looked across at Ziva, their gaze holding for a moment, before he headed for the stairs. McGee shook his head – it was ridiculous, comic even. One minute Tony and Ziva were trading malicious insults for, apparently, no other purpose than to needle each other. The next their eyes were locked in some profound exchange because one of them might be in trouble. Ziva saw Tony take his 'phone out again.

She tried to ignore the little pang of despondency; he was hoping she had responded. Alice. A shadowy nemesis; replete with every virtue and positive attribute a woman could possess - because that's how jealousy operates. Alice. Only on the scene for a short while, the influence was discernable. Tony was less the playboy, he came to work early; he seemed serious and pre-occupied. In a fit of what, Ziva conceded, could be considered childish pique, she had googled her rival. Although eminently qualified to undertake a thoroughly detailed investigation, she resisted the urge as excessive. Alice. The search had yielded little more than she already knew; apart from the meaning of the name.

Tony stood in front of Vance's desk; similar to being called to the Principal's office except the repercussions were usually more serious than spending a Saturday in detention. The director was newly returned to duty – the severity of his injuries meant recovery was slow.

"Agent DiNozzo, I'm sending you to Pearl o.…"

"I didn't f….I didn't screw up this time." Tony's immediate protest at assumed injustice reinforced the sense of being back at school.

"Did I say you had, Agent DiNozzo?" A touch of temper sharply displaying his disapproval of Tony's outburst; the Director tolerated neither sheep, nor insubordination.

"No Sir."

"I'm sending you to Pearl on temporary assignment." Vance impatiently held up a hand to forestall Tony's second, more polite, interruption. "You heard about Giordano?"

"Yes Sir." Tony took the hint.

"They're a man down." Vance shifted slightly in his chair with a twinge of discomfort. "Craig's out on maternity leave. She's happy to re-arrange but it'll take a little time to organize." The dull ache occasionally made its presence known with a stronger reminder; he was trying to tough it out in order to reduce his pain medication. "You understand?"

"Yes Sir, of course, Sir." Tony had adopted passive aggression; an attitude at which he was extremely gifted. There could be no complaint about the crisp, prompt answers. The body language and look in his eyes, however, made evident his dislike of the proposal.

"Their team has taken a hit. They need an experienced, capable Field Agent to step up to the plate." Vance's wounds had not diminished his ability to give a lecture; forcefully and leaving no doubt as to the imprudence of dissent. "I chose you. Am I wrong in that decision?"

"No Sir."

"Good. Go home, get organized. You're on a wake up – zero six hundred out of Andrews." He handed over a thick manila folder and noted the distrustful expression. "Agency's been in the spotlight recently." Vance regarded Tony thoughtfully. "We don't need our ability to respond in difficult circumstances called into question. This is only temporary."

"Yes Sir. Thank you, Sir." There was a little less aggressive and a little more passive in Tony's final reply.

"Yes, I'll hold."

Tony was on the 'phone.

"So, Tony, Hawaii," McGee struck an appropriately envious note; seeking to disperse the ominous aura growing in the bull-pen. "Beaches, babes, bikinis – it's your perfect assignment."

"Yeah, thanks for that McGarret. The key word is assignment and…." using the concurrent conversations to vent the resentment bottled in Vance's office. "No, I don't want to leave a god-damned message."

He was trying to contact Alice. The name meant Noble Truth and the irony was not lost on Ziva. Alice would have nothing more sinister in her past than the odd unpaid parking ticket or slightly creative tax return. Perhaps she had refused to buy Girl Scout Cookies once. She would be able neither to conceive of, nor conduct some of the actions which Ziva had performed. She would be open, uncomplicated and untroubled. Alice. The name alone starkly illuminated Ziva's demons. The skill set, of which Ziva was so rightly proud, was also the source of much introspection. Her own name meant Brightness and, yet, she had dwelt in regions of near-Cimmerian quality. Alice would not have the specialized knowledge of countless, varied ways to kill or harm people. She would not require such knowledge. Alice would not need to shield herself from the horrors of what she had done. Deeds carried out in good faith but some of which were undoubtedly questionable in terms of morality. Alice would not have followed a path of devoted obedience and loyalty which culminated - at barely age 23 - in acting as judge, jury and executioner for her own half-brother. Alice would not have spent four months at the mercy of people for whom cruelly degrading you was a lucky bonus – terror and torture were the serious payoffs. Alice was not 'damaged goods'.

"Hi, sorry to drag you away…." Tony sounded uncomfortable. "Um, something's come up…."

Ziva was eavesdropping whilst looking as if she was concentrating on the plasma screen with McGee.

Much of Ziva's life as a Mossad operative, she did not regret. Her activities were justified and sanctioned - which she would repeat without hesitation. Ari's death was another matter; despite her conviction it was the only legitimate option available. He had prosecuted a vendetta against his own warped version of reality. Ziva re-balanced the scales for Kate's murder, she saved Gibbs' life and, in a way, she released Ari from his torment. Nevertheless, it was an almost intolerable burden and the weight had aged Ziva beyond her years. He was her brother. The boy with whom she'd skinned knees; who taught her to throw a knife, climb a tree. Who first enlightened Ziva to the complexities of her existence and demonstrated blood isn't always thicker than water. That her father's motives and choices were as complicated as the world in which he operated. Ziva requested the NCIS position to escape the maelstrom of uncertainty which engulfed five years ago - cashing in a favor from Jenny to save her soul.

"….It's important." Aware Ziva was listening in, Tony walked over to the windows. "….kinda now?"

Gradually, the experience at NCIS had re-wired Ziva; with Gibbs as chief electrician. He showed Ziva that her superlative, awful expertise could be applied for good. That loyalty need not be manipulated; not all principles are abandoned for the sake of expediency. And that it was possible to make mistakes, make amends and be forgiven. Her worth was more than the sum of her dreadful talents; she was person with strengths and failings and feelings. This re-structuring came at the price of unfamiliar confusion: a direct result of her susceptibility to Tony. Only Gibbs knew the details of what transpired in his basement and even he, once, had questioned Ziva's behavior. His doubt had hurt. She daren't imagine the pain if Tony were to discover the truth; that unguarded, unconditional look in his eyes would vanish forever. In times of turmoil and distress, Ziva clung to the rationality and impartiality instilled by her training. She suppressed emotions as unsafe, unreliable and treacherous. Tony undermined her self-imposed quarantine. He made Ziva want to relinquish the armor. An impossible desire; because of who she was, what she had done. Alice would have no terrible secrets to be borne in solitude.

Tony returned to his desk to collect his badge and gun. He paused, casting an odd look at Ziva. She was avoiding his eyes and hadn't said a word since Tony announced the news of his departure.

"Well, look on the bright side it'll be warmer than here." McGee was ineffectually trying to compensate for the invisible chasm widening, by the second, between Tony and Ziva.

"OK. So you volunteer then." Tony snapped. He picked up the folder Vance had given him.

At last, Ziva spoke. She meant to offer sympathy; share his dissatisfaction at the unfairness, at the disruption to his life; his relationship.

"You did not volunteer, Tony, you got orders. It is…."

Mired in her own misery; the remark was matter-of-fact, closer to indifference. Before she could fully articulate her meaning and modify her delivery, the damage was done. Tony didn't wait to hear the rest. His quiet reply, as he strode past her desk, was scathing and brutally dismissive.

"Oh please, Ziva, spare me the fucking 'Spartans, what is your profession?' speech."

According to the legend, Cupid exerts his influence in many guises. One of his more unlikely manifestations would be in the form of Timothy McGee. He didn't want to be a matchmaker; he considered himself a peacemaker. McGee sought to gently rectify misjudgments, or misunderstandings between his friends. It was not entirely selfless in its aim either. If Tony and Ziva were operating at normal voltage, life was more pleasant; still unpredictable but more pleasant.

"There's nothing in his 'phone records, nothing on his laptop and nothing from his wife; they were happy."

McGee was not looking forward to telling Gibbs the net value of the trip was zero. He peeked across at Ziva; who was staring out of the car window – apparently not listening. She had been intermittently lost in thought since Tony had left the Navy Yard.

"Ziva?"

"If you make a bad bargain, hug it all the tighter." Ziva dragged her attention out of her absorption - back to the case.

"Lincoln. Wow, you really have been studying American history." McGee had always respected Ziva's intellect. "You don't think they were happy?"

"I think he improved his appearance, lost weight, altered habits."

"Well that doesn't mean anything." McGee himself had slimmed down and it suited him. In McGee's case there was no hidden rationale – duplicity was not part of his make-up.

"It does if he changed his behavior for someone." Ziva's voice was flat.

"And you think Mrs. Faulkner knows?" McGee tentatively made his opening gambit. "This is why we need Tony, right?"

He had ensured he drove – making Ziva mad whilst she was in charge of a vehicle would be unwise. Tony was unhappy, Ziva was unhappy. As one of Gibbs' team, McGee didn't believe in coincidences.

"You can tell him we think maybe the wife did it." Here was the tricky bit, "because you're going to see him….before he leaves, aren't you?" He lightly planted the seed of a possible avenue to peace.

There was no response. McGee frowned. Tony was so much better at handling Ziva. Faultlessly selecting which technique would be effective; sometimes teasing, sometimes solicitous, and sometimes, when required, facing down her fiery disposition. Dauntless in his determination until he restored reason or, her latest tempest wore itself out – whichever came first. McGee admired the older man's confidence and self-assurance. Except, recently, Tony seemed to have lost his touch with Ziva. McGee renewed his efforts.

"I mean, you know he hates being sent away." He hoped to elicit the friendship as opposed to the ill-feeling.

She gave him a wan smile.

"McGee, I do not think Tony would appreciate an interruption tonight."