The second I step out of the elevator, I can sense something different in the air. It is tighter, somewhat stressed. I cast a glance across the bullpen, letting my gaze wander about the office, before my eyes snap back to our desks. Someone is sitting at mine. And at Tony's. And at McGee's. Typing. Doing work. Oh, this will simply not do…
As I approach, I can see that they are three of the CIA agents that I had met a few days ago. But, just because they are simply here, helping us with undercover work, does not mean that they have free reign of our bullpen. Especially the one sitting behind my desk. I bring my hair over one shoulder and slowly navigate through the office to them, watching their every move.
"Excuse me, but, what are you doing here?" I ask, standing in the middle of the triangle. "It was agreed that Jennifer O'Ryan would be the liaison between our agencies."
A girl of approximately four or five years younger than I stands up, a calculating, but stern, expression spread across her face. I immediately give her a once over, determining that, as she carries my frame but has less muscle mass than I do, I could easily take her if she chose to attack me. If only Tony were here to tell them to leave … I have no right to do so. I am, once more, the 'Probie'.
"I am Megan Sulley, and I am a senior agent for the Central Intelligence Agency," she snaps. This 'Megan' girl is beginning to test my patience. "My brother is Benjamen Sulley, the fiancé of Jennifer. If there are any issues, please contact my director." The girl gives me a snotty smile and sits back down. I turn around and stalk toward the boy sitting behind McGee's desk. He, too, stands, but there is a genuine smile on his face.
He sticks out his hand for me to shake and, after I take it, he murmurs, "My name is Gregory Sanchez. I would like to apologise for my partner's rude behavior; she does not open up easily to people."
"You do not have to apologise," I reply, taking his hand. "Welcome to NCIS." For a moment, it seems as though Gregory may say something more, but he sits down and continues to write in his notebook. He seems timid, but kind. I may have to get to know him better.
I feel someone's eyes burning into my back and turn around, completely expecting to see Tony standing there, goosenecking (rubbernecking?) at me from his desk. But, I am faced with the man from M-Tac, the one who must be Benjamen Sulley, Jennifer's fiancé.
He takes several long strides toward me and holds out his hand, white smile and hazel eyes beaming down at me. He lifts his eyebrows once, and states, "Hey! I'm Benjamen Sulley."
I blink.
"Ah, so you don't know me either. Gotcha. Well, I'm also engaged to your partner in this whole big showdown, so I gotta tell you, if you let her die, we may have a problem."
Once more, I blink, a smirk forming on my face, but I remain silent.
"You were just talking to my best friend … Are you ignoring me? You don't hate me, do you?"
After debating in my head whether to reply to him or not, I murmur, "No, Mr. Sulley. You remind me of someone. All of you do." Benjamen stares at me with wide eyes for a moment before shooting me a nervous grin and nodding once. "However." The one word, emphasis on the consonants, sends silence throughout our bullpen. I pace in a triangle and send a scrutinizing look at each person.
"H-however?" Benjamen stutters.
I finally come to a stop at the center of the triangle and declare, "None of you should be sitting at our desks. We are NCIS. This is the NCIS building. You are CIA. Get out of my desk, please." I turn to Chris, my eyes gleaming meaningfully. "We have work to do, and a case to solve. If that does not occur within the next hour—"
"Probie!" Tony barks from the elevator. I end my sentence immediately and spin to face him. "Let's go!" I stare at him, hoping all of my condescending and threatening thoughts storming in my brain will transfer through my eyes. "We couldn't find you; new breakthrough, you're with me, gotta investigate more. Okay?" I nod once, and then cast another glare at the agents before grabbing my duffel bag from beside my desk and taking off toward the elevator.
"No! Let me go! I'm not going with you!"
Nearly deafened by the shrieks of Joann Blowers, our first and only suspect in the Jackson case, I stand, blocking her path, as Tony, Tim and Gibbs combine their strength and attempt to contain the hysterical woman. I quickly scan my team's faces and ask the silent question, "Do you want my assistance?"
Gibbs replies, equally wordless, "Well, yeah, Davíd." I smirk and look square into Blowers' eyes.
"Ms. Blowers, we request that you please stop screaming." I can see that she will most likely never stop screaming, but, as far as I am concerned, that is the least of our worries. "If you do not calm down, we will have to react with force. We do not want to, but you will leave us no choice." Who am I kidding? I laugh inwardly. This is what I was trained for…
"What do you want from me?" Blowers wails. "I didn't do it! I didn't do any of it! Why are you doing this to me?" She throws a futile kick at Tony and then slackens her pull against them.
Tony murmurs into her ear, "We just want to ask you a few questions, Ms. Blowers. It says you called Lance Corporal Jackson Wednesday night. Since we have no alibi, we just thought you might know what happened to the guy."
"I had nothing to do with that!" With a sudden surge of energy, she yanks her arm loose of Tony's grip and hurls her fist into Gibbs' jaw, causing him to stagger backward, letting her go as well. I can tell where she expects to go; her eyes flit between mine and the field behind me. If I can just predetermine which way she is going to run … She leans to the left. I stand still.
Before she can take more than two steps, I have her on the ground, face down, and I am locking her wrists in handcuffs. I lean down and say, though rather scornfully, "Had nothing to do with what, Ms. Blowers?"
"You'll never get me to tell you. Never." As I pull her up off of the ground, casting a smirk at Gibbs, she spits at my feet. "You're nothing but some double-teaming terrorist." My eyes flash, hurt, but I say and do nothing. Gibbs will handle her.
As I climb into the SUV, Tony squeezes my arm. I turn around and perch myself on the edge of the seat as he says, "Don't worry about her. She's wrong. You're not a terrorist. She doesn't know you. Keep your head up." After his five bits of advice, he swings himself up onto the shot-gun seat and shuts the door. With Blowers in custody, I can somewhat relax. We all can.
Nevertheless, I am still hurt that anyone could say something so hurtful. That woman purposely tried to get to me, and I know that I should not give her the power over my emotions, but it seems to be eating away at not only my brain, but my soul. And that bothers me.
"McGoo, pull into Dunkin' Donuts. I need a coffee," Tony requests softly. "And I think someone may need a tea." I know he is referring to me, quietly sitting in the backseat, letting myself become overwhelmed by my own despondency. "And we need some bagels for the stock room. And Abby wanted a muffin." The SUV swerves into the parking lot and Tony gets out, rifling in his pocket for his wallet. He disappears into the shop and returns ten minutes later with a large box.
I expect him to get into the front seat, but he instead motions for me to lower my window. I do. He extracts a Styrofoam cup from the box and hands it through me through the window. His fingers just barely graze mine, assuring that I have a grip on the cup, but it is enough to send my stomach into another frenzy. I take a sip of tea and thank him.
After returning to his seat, Tony tosses me a bagel over his shoulder. "You haven't eaten all day. Eat that." When I do not, he looks at me in his visor's mirror, telling me without saying a word that I had better eat at least a few bites of the bagel. Grudgingly, I take a small nibble out of the side.
"There, happy?" I mutter. Since when is he my father?
"A bit happier, yeah." Not a moment too soon, as neither of us really want to discuss my eating habits, his cell phone rings. "Hey Boss. Yeah, we're headed back right now. We just got a tea for Ziva and some bagels...Okay...When's the flight leave?" Figures, he'd be talking about the mission. "In the morning?" Hm, I think, I am not certain I like the sound of that … "I mean … that sounds great, Boss...Yeah...Alright." Tony snaps his phone shut and grins sarcastically, nodding.
"When does our flight leave, Tony?" I ask quietly.
"Four."
"In the morning?" I groan, echoing his previous words. "Lovely."
"Yeah, Boss said he's letting us go home early, since McGee and he can handle the interrogation." He sips at his coffee. I had noticed he had not put cream or sugar into it when he'd gotten into the car, and he was not eating a bagel. "I guess when we get back, he's gonna give us the lowdown."
"I cannot wait."
True to his word, Gibbs did indeed 'give us the lowdown' when we arrived in the bullpen.
"Ziva, DiNozzo, conference room," he had ordered, moments after we stepped out of the elevator.
And now, there we sit, waiting for Gibbs to join us.
Canandaigua, New York is a gorgeous community. I had been looking at brochures a few days ago and knew that Canandaigua Lake offered a breathtaking view and a lovely vacation. The house in which Tony and I would be staying was even beautiful. There is just something about the entire mission that has not ceased to make me feel uncomfortable.
When Gibbs throws open the door and sits at the other end of the table, more brochures and packets included, I do not feel any more comforted.
"Canandaigua, New York. You're going to live about half a mile from a small hamlet called Cheshire. Not much to do there, but you also live about five or ten miles from the city, so you have a Wal-Mart, Wegmans, Top, you name it," he says. I know to pay attention; he will only say any of this once. "You already know you're going to be married. Newlyweds. But things have changed, Ziva. Just a bit."
"To what?" I inquire, my heart fluttering nervously.
"You are two months pregnant, and therefore—"
Tony interrupts, "She's what?" Both Gibbs and I look at him. "She's…with …Oh my God."
"She's carrying your kid, DiNozzo," Gibbs snaps before looking back to me. "Now, we have packs for you to wear under your clothes and Abby and I are planning to come visit often. Depending on how long the assignment lasts, we can bring you larger packs. If the mission lasts longer than six months, we'll just bring you home." Smirking, he adds, "We don't think it'll take that long to get the guy, but we had to be safe."
He turns to Tony, but before he can begin, the younger agent laughs nervously and says, "Well, we obviously weren't! And how is this supposed to…Oh, no, not again…"
From personal experience, I cannot tell you how much truth is behind the saying, "History has a tendency of repeating itself." And now we are repeating our undercover assignment from before. I know I am just as uncomfortable as Tony is, but I do a better job of hiding it.
"Yeah, DiNozzo. Problem?" When Tony shakes his head, Gibbs continues, "Alright. Good. As David, you're expected to at least know the basics of farming. You're a city-boy, but you know how to plant crops and feed animals."
"No, Boss, don't make me…"
"You also know how to drive tractors and fix machinery."
"Oh, no, come on, Boss…there has to be another way," Tony wails. "There just … has to be. Something else other than me driving a John Deere around an open field singing, 'All of My Exes Live in Texas.'" He quickly catches his mistake and stammers, "Not that there's anything wrong with having exes. I was just … saying… I'd look like a fool driving a tractor, singing …"
Gibbs looks at him, a sparkle in his eyes. "Then don't sing, DiNozzo." He turns back to me. "You're pretty much the epitome of 'housewife' in this. Cooking, cleaning, gathering eggs, that kind of thing." I must be visibly frowning, because the older man leans toward me and says, "Hey, Davíd, it's just a few months. No one actually thinks you're a housewife."
But that is not why I am frowning. I could not care less about people thinking I am some sort of 'housewife,' as Gibbs put it. I know I am not, and that is all that matters. The truth of the matter is, I sometimes wish I was. Sometimes I wish I was married, with three or four children, living in a beautiful white house with a matching white picket fence and a black mailbox. In this dream, there would be trees in the front lawn, a swing-set in the back, a garage, and a large yard for my children to play in. My husband would be the epitome of 'perfect,' and love me more than anyone else. I would cook rich meals for my family to enjoy, make sure the house is sparkling at all times, spend all of my time raising my children to be respectful and responsible. I would have the perfect life.
"Sounds like a real Wysteria Lane to me," Tony mutters, breaking me out of my pointless dream. "Look, Boss, this doesn't seem very realistic."
"David and Ana Stadelvard seem to think so. We've put together profiles for you, so that if anyone looks you up, you're taken care of."
I remember that the CIA is involved in this case, and murmur, "What about Jennifer?"
"She'll be around. She's your realtor," Gibbs tells me, shooting me a serious look. "She's been to the house. The only room that isn't too stellar is the front office. Someone broke in—we think it was someone directly related to this case—and smashed a window, broke a chair, rifled through books and pretty much anything else in there. The rest of the house is in great shape."
I raise the Styrofoam cup of tea to my lips and take a small sip. Gibbs continues to tell us about the assignment
"I am David's father, and Abby's my girlfriend. As weird as this is, there is a reason for it. Tommy will be your brother, and he lives in Bloomfield."
"Bloomfield. Really?" Tony scoffs, then straightens, "How far is that from us, Boss?"
"Eh, about fifteen minutes if you're driving slow. Abby and I are from Ovid, so that's why we're staying weekends with you. During this time, we'll act like any other relatives; go on family outings, invite neighbors over for dinner, go shopping, etcetera. I'll help with the farm. When Abby's there, she'll test just about anything she can find."
Nodding, I can feel myself start to relax. Perhaps this mission will not be too bad after all.
"You're really gonna buy that? It looks like someone hurled on it." Tony takes the hanger from my hand and puts it back on the rack. "Just because you're preggers doesn't mean you have to dress like some sort of flagrant Amish person or something. I mean, we're living on a farm, not in Lancaster."
"Tony, that dress was no better than your twill jacket. It looked like someone had pasted strips of cotton onto it." I take the dress back. "I'm going to go try it on." As I try to duck around him, Tony steps in my way. "Move."
"No! It's a hideous dress and…" He holds out another dress. It is red satin, with a rhinestone brooch in the center of the bodice. "…this is a sexy dress. That? No. There's nothing sexy about puke."
"If I'm pregnant, there has to be something sexy about me for you then," I snap, snatching the red dress from Tony's grasp. "Or I would not be pregnant at all."
He laughs. "Ah, the mood swings. Gotta love the mood swings."
I walk around the rack to the other side when I hear Tony take in a sharp breath. Looking up, I see him blushing furiously as he stares at something hanging on the end. I skip to where he is and stand behind him, resting my head on his upper arm. There, floating down by two satin straps, is a roseate negligée. I wiggle my eyebrows at him and reach out to pluck it off of the hanger. Maybe a little too quick to punish, I hold it out for both of us to look at.
The sweetheart neckline—if you can even call it that, since it is cut so low—gathers at the center with a satin bow in the same colour. The sheer georgette cascades to what looks to be, now that I hold it up to my own body, mid-thigh.
Well, I think to myself, raising my eyes to Tony's, we are supposed to be married … and very much in love … I lay the negligee over the rest of the clothes on my arm and continue shopping while Tony follows me like a puppy.
"Wait, you're buying … it?" he stammers, trailing me a bit too closely. "But … why?"
Insipidly, I hold up another shirt—a forest green army-style—and reply, "Simply because we love each other and I want you to have fun, too."
"We love each oth…er!" Realisation dawns on his face and he wraps an arm around me. "Yes, we love each other!" Swooping down for a quick kiss, he takes me by surprise.
"No." I shrug him off. "Not yet, we don't."
But I know that's not entirely true, as I press my lips together and try not to revel in the sweetness of his.
A/N: Eh, not too happy with this chapter. It feels like filler for me. So, review if you want, but I already know it's not my best. Much love, Kat