A shorter one here - a bit of a 'filler' type chapter, but it is necessary (both for the story, and for my muse while it's being hijacked by other things)! Enjoy x

Tel Aviv, 22 November 2002

One week on, and all they had was three names.

Those three names had been given faces, identities, lives beyond the walls of the Mossad office where they currently occupied an entire noticeboard plus the plasma screen. Bashir al-Tijani, aged thirty three, married with three children, living in Ramallah. Faruq Alhasan, aged nineteen, unmarried, living with his parents in Jenin. And Khalid Latif, aged twenty, newly married and also living in Ramallah. The team knew where each man worked. They knew their friends, and their enemies. They knew their daily routines. They knew that all three had contact with known members of Hamas in the Gaza Strip. Ben had only half-jokingly remarked that, if one of the men farted, they would know about it.

Electronic surveillance was a remarkable thing.

But none of that had moved them any further on. Either the three men were not involved in any planned attack on the Juniper Cobra exercise, or they were being remarkably careful.

The heads-up had come from the intelligence desk four days earlier. The three men had been placed under surveillance a while ago, but an uptake in chatter, along with a mention of the US navy in an email sent from Alhasan to Latif, had ensured that the names were immediately passed on to Gibbs and Ziva's team. The surveillance had been increased, and, much to Ziva's relief, the focus of the agents no longer kept coming around to who had sent the tip in the first place.

Gibbs still wasn't sure how he felt about Ari's involvement - limited though that involvement was, his gut was telling him that something wasn't quite right. But Ziva seemed to trust her brother implicitly and, for the moment, that was enough for him. He trusted Ziva's judgment. Besides, he hadn't had time to really worry about it anyway. All four of them had been working almost around the clock to find something, anything, to tie the Palestinians directly to a planned attack.

But they had come up blank.

The frustration at the lack of progress was beginning to show with all of them. Malachai and Ben were no longer indulging in the friendly banter that had kept Gibbs amused the first week he had been there, and were now sniping rather than teasing. Ziva was getting progressively more irritable and tired, both at home and at work. And Gibbs was finding it increasingly hard having to work from the office when he was used to being out in the field.

Here, they could not just go and interview the suspects. They could not quiz the families and friends for information, or get warrants to search houses and places of work for forensic evidence. They could not go out and chase down elusive leads until something turned up. Instead, they had to play a waiting game, watching al-Tijani, Latif and Alhasan without them realising, without spooking them, hoping that soon one of them would let something slip. After all, mentioning the navy in an email was hardly an offence, even under the all-encompassing terror laws. And an attack on the scale that they were talking about could not be planned and executed by three men, however determined. Others had to be involved, and they needed those three men to tell them who they were.

But even Ben was now running out of patience.

'Maybe there isn't anything in this at all'.

'There is'. Ziva did not look up from her computer screen. 'We just have not found it yet'.

'That would be a really good start'. Malachai grimaced as he swivelled his chair round and stretched out his legs. 'AEGIS ships get blown up under our watch - hey!'

Ben had thrown a screwed up ball of paper at his colleague, hitting him square on the forehead, and Gibbs could tell that Ziva was itching to do the same. That, he thought, was one of the downsides of being a team leader. You were expected to be slightly more restrained in expressing your feelings.

'Hopefully that's not gonna happen'. He spoke quietly, but it was enough to stop the paper fight before it had really begun and for a few blissful minutes, no one spoke.

'We have fuck all'.

The silence was broken by Malachai and, although he would probably have phrased it slightly differently, Gibbs had to agree with him. Looking around the room, he made a snap decision. It was eight thirty on a Thursday evening, and the weekend should have already started. They certainly weren't accomplishing anything here.

'Call it a night'.

Three faces looked over at him in surprise.

'We're not getting anywhere. Intelligence'll call me or Ziva if they hear something'.

It amused him that both Malachai and Ben looked over at Ziva for confirmation before gathering their gear and, for a moment, she looked as if she might insist that they all stay - she hated being forced into inactivity. But finally she nodded.

'Gibbs is right. There is nothing more we can get done here tonight'.

The two agents wasted no time in heading out of the office, waved hands taking the place of proper goodbyes and wishes for a good evening. Gibbs knew that Malachai would be home, showered, and back out into the bars within the space of an hour, while Ben would go home and have dinner with his girlfriend before a film and a relatively early night. It was amazing how much you could learn about other people in such a short space of time.

He looked over at Ziva who was now leaning back in her chair, rolling her shoulders and stretching her neck from side to side, but making no move to pack up and leave. It had been a long day - no, make that a long week - in front of screens and hunched over paperwork, and he was starting to feel it with twinges in his back. Standing up with a slight grimace, he walked over to stand behind her and rested his hands on her shoulders.

''Call it a night' meant you too'.

She leaned her head against him, tipping right back so that she could see his face above hers. Her brown eyes were tired, but still held a sparkle as she looked up at him.

'Hmm. And you?'

'Umm-hmm. Home?'

When he said 'home', he wasn't necessarily referring to his own apartment. They had been spending more and more time this past week at Ziva's, and it felt just as natural to be there as in Florentine. Besides, he was beginning to feel like home wasn't the four walls anyway. As long as he was with Ziva, that was fine.

That was home.

'No'. Ziva shook her head, looking thoughtful. 'I do not think I could settle at home just yet'.

'Pizza?'

She looked tempted, but once again shook her head.

'I think...' She paused before straightening her neck and standing up, suddenly decisive. 'I think I will go for a run'.

Gibbs shrugged as he stepped back to allow her to grab her bag. Going for pizza alone didn't seem nearly as appealing as going for pizza with Ziva, so he heard himself asking a question that he was already convinced he would regret.

'Want some company?'

'Are you ok?'

Gibbs had slowed from a run to a walk, his hand resting on his side as a stitch began to prickle. Hell, he thought, he hadn't done so badly. They had been going for forty minutes and were now somewhere along the seafront, which was still busy despite it being dark and late in the evening. The breeze coming off the water was a welcome respite from the humid air and his own sweaty heat, and he realised that they must have been maintaining a pretty fast pace to have made it all the way up here, past Frishman beach. He didn't, however, think that he would be volunteering to do this again anytime soon.

Consoling himself with the thought that most people would have trouble keeping up with Ziva and that it was nothing to do with his age, he came to a halt and leaned over, resting his hands on his knees.

'Fine'.

'Are you sure?' The grin on her face told him that she would be teasing him later for being the first to slow down.

'Yeah'. He stretched out his right leg, flexing the knee. 'How much further?'

Ziva laughed as she walked back towards him. They had stopped beside a bar that extended right down onto the beach, and Gibbs could see tables and chairs wedged into the sand. The hum of conversation was almost as loud as the music, and the clink of glasses made for a relaxed atmosphere that was infectious. Suddenly, he thought that a cold shower and an even colder beer seemed like the best idea he had ever had, even if it was at Ziva's apartment and not by the sea with his toes burrowing in the sand.

'No further'. She linked her arm with his. 'And we can even walk back'.

He didn't argue.

They began walking back along the top of the beach, letting their breathing slow and their muscles cool down, and it was a few minutes before Ziva spoke again.

'I have been bad-tempered the past few days'.

He didn't argue with that, either.

'I am sorry'.

'No need'. He unlinked his arm from hers, and reached down to take her hand in his instead.

'Being a team leader...it is harder than I thought it would be'.

Gibbs understood exactly what she meant. The responsibility and bureaucracy that came with being in charge of part of an armed agency - albeit a very small part - made it a very different ball game to being a field agent. And Ziva had the added complication of essentially having to work with her lover, her father and her brother, in different ways and to different degrees, trying to maintain professionalism alongside those personal feelings that inevitably wormed their way in.

He had no doubt that she was capable of holding that balance. And she was certainly up to the role of team leader. But he was not surprised that she was finding the change hard to get used to, especially now that they were struggling with their first case.

He was about to try and tell her that when her cell phone rang loudly, making their joined hands vibrate against the pocket of her running shorts. Slipping her hand out of his, she pulled out the phone and pressed the answer button.

'Ken?'

The conversation was in Hebrew and, although he was starting to pick up bits of the language, Gibbs couldn't understand most of it. But even in the artificial, slightly alien light coming from the street lamps and cafes and bars, he could see the excitement in Ziva's eyes as she talked rapidly and quietly. The sudden spark, the way she straightened her shoulders and gripped his arm as she spoke...that was unmistakeable.

They had a break.