Title: Picking up the Pieces and Filling in the Gaps

Author: ChelseaDaggerCinderella

Summary: Tony and Ziva spend the four months between 'Hiatus' and 'Shalom' strengthening their partnership…and their relationship, but Tony still winds up working undercover for the Director, and Ziva has demons of her own to deal with. Can they come together to make everything alright again?

Disclaimer: I don't own NCIS, although I'd like to. No infringement intended, Mr. Bellisario.

Author's Note:

Okay, so I finally got my rear in gear and I started writing again! I was so pissed that I couldn't come up with chapters that it was tearing me apart. I love writing this story and every time I tried—and believe me, I did try—all I wrote was some really horrible garbage. I hated writing it so you all were going to loathe reading it.

I kept throwing out chapter after chapter of really God-awful crap. But I finally succeeded in writing something good…at least I hope.

Peachy-x- Thanks for the welcome back and the warm praise. It's good to know that I can still wow readers after I've been silent for so long.

M E Wofford Thanks for the hug! It's much appreciated.

MyNCISFetish I try to remain realistic—that's why it takes so much time and energy to create a really good chapter. So, thanks for noticing. Finally, thanks for lighting a fire under me. "I'd like to see more creativity on your part though ;)"—gotta say, that comment is what got me writing.

Thanks for all the warm wishes and the reviews! Now, on with the show!

Tony wanted to find Ziva before he left. He didn't feel right about the way they had last left things. She was still his partner and they still had a job to do. You're full of crap, DiNozzo, he chastised. Yeah, he wanted to make sure that this wouldn't be distracting to them while they were in the middle of a highly sensitive operation, but he also felt like an ass—or a donkey's butt, as Ziva would say. I haven't treated her fairly at all… He regretted a lot of things as of late but the way he'd been treating Ziva just wasn't something he would ever allow himself to get away with or to write off under the heading of I was just doing my job. That was for cowards and spineless jack-holes with the sensitivity of a head of cabbage. And Ziva doesn't deserve that…

He found her in the conference room cleaning her gun. Never a good sign. She didn't look up or turn around as he entered and then closed the door behind him. He just stood there for a moment taking in the sight of her; the line of her jaw, her face set in hard concentration, and her aura radiating a vulnerability that he knew, instantly, she hated. "I'm sorry I got you in trouble, Ziva. I'm sorry about a lot of things actually."

She sighed, and ran her brush over the chamber once more. "Are we about to have one of those conversations, Tony? I would like to prepare myself if we are."

He sat down in the chair next to her and put his hand over hers, stopping her movements and forcing her to look up at him. "I'm sorry, Ziva." His eyes were sincere, she decided. But she didn't say anything. "I never wanted it to go down like this; that was never my intention." Still she said nothing. "You know that, right?" he asked, not even noticing how similar this entire interaction was to the one he'd had with Jeanne yesterday morning. "Ziva, I'd never…intentionally…" he shook his head, trying to focus his thoughts. "I never thought…and…I'm drowning here, Ziva." Her heart broke a little. "I don't know what to say to you to make this right. Is there a way to make things right between us again?" Silence. "Ziva…"

She released the gun and squeezed his hand, her heart beating rapidly, and her eyes perilously close to watering. "I do not think that we can rightfully have this conversation, Tony." She shook her head. "Not yet." She closed her eyes and tried to blink away the tears that she promised herself she would not shed. "There is too much yet to be decided—for both of us." She felt the pad of his thumb on her cheekbone and she startled at both the feel of him after so long without contact and at the realization that she'd failed—and let a single teardrop fall.

Tony couldn't believe it. He walked out of the hospital arm-in-arm with Jeanne and was utterly astonished. He knew Gibbs's feelings about coincidences, but having the night they'd had after the day he knew they were about to have was just too inconvenient for one not to have something to do with the other. He shook his head. There's no way they're connected, DiNozzo, you're grasping at straws.

After he'd talked with Ziva he'd gotten a call from Jeanne suggesting that he might want to stop by earlier as it looked like a slow night and she might be able to leave early or at the very least, escape for a bit for coffee. Gibbs and Jenny hadn't wanted him to do anything that could throw a wrinkle in the plan, and since his part in the op was to keep up appearances, away he went—with Ziva staring holes into the back of his head.

Drug dealers, junkies, and a gun fight on the night before NCIS and the FBI engage in a sting operation with a known arms-dealer in order to nab a CIA traitor. It doesn't get more screwed up than this, Tony thought darkly, rubbing his head where he'd gotten bashed.

Jeanne snuggled into his side, oblivious to the wild stream of thoughts flowing through his head. "You should be under observation for 24 hours," she commented seductively.

He leaned into her in kind, "Whatever doctor orders," he insinuated. She laughed, bringing him closer.

"Heads up, Tango-eight," came the Director's voice through the ear-wig that had only just come online at 0700…of course.

A limo rounded the corner. Here we go, Tony thought, readying himself. "What's this?" he asked a seemingly innocent-looking Jeanne as she moved closer to the limo.

"My secret," she said with so much joy that it hurt him in his gut to know that her whole world would most probably get turned upside down in the next few hours. Oh, Jeanne, I wish I could spare you this pain…but I've helped to cause it. She opened the limo door and ducked in, "Bonjour, Papa," she said happily, Tony crawling in right behind her and taking a seat on the bench opposite her.

"Bonjour, Muffin," Renee Benoit said, genuinely happy to see his daughter though he was currently in Federal custody as per the two FBI agents playing chauffeur up front. Grenouille turned to Tony, "So this must be Anthony DiNardo."

"Mmm-hmm," Jeanne nodded proudly.

"Welcome to the family, Professor!" he announced enthusiastically.

"No sign of target yet, Tango-eight, hold steady."

"My father knows everything about you," Jeanne said, proud of that fact.

I hope not, Tony thought.

"Only what my daughter tells me," Grenouille clarified.

"And I tell him everything," Jeanne re-clarified.

"That's great!" Tony said, offering up as much enthusiasm as he could when all he wanted to do was hurl. "Keep him on schedule, Tango-eight. Not too obvious, though." Thanks, so much, Jenny. "So," he said, nervously. "Here we all are…on our way to, um—where exactly are we headed?"

"I don't know," he said, looking between Jeanne and Tony. "Breakfast?" Jeanne nodded her consent. "A chance for us to get to know each other." He looked at Tony strangely. "I'm sure you've lots of questions; I know I do."

"My apartment first, Papa," Jeanne insisted. "You wouldn't believe the night we've had," she said, going into the entire thing, much to Tony's relief. He's looking at me strangely… Jeanne's pager went off mid-explanation. She sighed, looking at the display with chagrin. "I forgot to sign the death certificate to release the body," she sighed. "Sorry, papa." He shrugged and shouted up to the driver to return to the hospital.

"Well, I guess breakfast is gonna have to wait," Tony said, more for the team's benefit than his own or that of any of the occupants of the limo. "Understood, Tango-eight, slow and steady."

"And all those intriguing questions," Grenouille said, only adding to the gut-feeling Tony had been experiencing all night. He smiled tightly, and nodded.

"I won't be long," Jeanne said, stepping out of the limo.

"Stay with the girl, Tango-eight." "I can come with you, if you want," Tony said, making him sound desperate and signaling her with his eyes. She didn't get it, though.

She kissed him on the lips. "No need. He won't bite," she whispered, leaving him with Grenouille.

The older man clapped him on the back and smiled strangely at him. "Coffee?" he asked, nodding to the coffee stand a few feet across the way.

"Play along, Tango-eight." Tony sighed. "Coffee would be great."

"Good. While we wait you can tell me how you stole my daughter's heart."

Oh goody, Tony thought.

Jeanne came back out ten minutes later. She waved to the two of them as she exited and they each rose from the bench they'd inhabited. "Done!" she exclaimed, as she made her way towards them, bumping into a woman walking her dog as she went. "Ah," she said, almost losing her balance. The woman just kept walking. She shook her head, "Gotta love manners these days," she said sarcastically. "Now let's get out of here before they remember something else," she said dramatically, as Tony swept her into his embrace.

"Get us back on track, Tango-eight." "To breakfast?" he clarified in a suggestive tone.

"To breakfast," Grenouille concluded.

"After a stop at my apartment," she reminded gently, turning around in Tony's embrace and catching sight of his car. "Oh, Tony, you have to move your car." Tony opened his mouth to object but got cut off. Jeanne turned to her father. "They'll tow him for sure, Papa—they're murder around here."

"T---go eight," Jenny crackled in his ear, her transmission garbled. She spoke again but he couldn't make it out—something was wrong. He cleared his throat, taking advantage of the situation. "You can say that again," he said pointedly, hoping she'd repeat transmission, but all he got was more transmission noise. Uh oh, he thought.

Things were not going well in MTAC. "Sit-rep, tango-eight!" Jenny demanded, getting no response. "Get me secondary satellite coverage now!" she ordered. "Agent Fornell, do you have your people?" Jenny demanded.

"Negative," he said, just as angry and in the dark.

Gibbs was pissed. "McGee what the hell is happening."

"I don't know, boss, I'm working on it," he said, typing away at the computer.

Gibbs leaned down over McGee's shoulder menacingly. "Work harder, McGee," he said in a semi-dangerous tone. "I want to know why we lost that signal!" he shouted to the room.

"Uh, Gibbs?" Abby piped up from the speaker phone. "I don't think we did."

"Abby, I'm staring at static!" he reasoned.

"Well, technically, you can't stare at static cuz it's—"

"Abby!"

"Right, um, we didn't lose the signal so much as it was stolen." Clicking from Abby's keyboards could be heard in the background. "Someone is re-routing the signal to another server and then using a variable wave pattern encryption to redirect it to an alternate location."

"Are you telling me someone hacked in and took it?" Jenny asked, more calmly than Gibbs, but only just barely.

McGee shook his head. "No one hacked it, it looks like there was signal interference…an energy burst of some kind disrupted the feed long enough for someone to program in a new signal code."

Gibbs ripped off his headset, "I want to know who and how to get it back, ASAP! Ziva, you're with me."

"Jethro—" Jenny started.

"What?" he yelled back.

She gave him a hard stare and then motioned to the screen that had been previously airing static—no matter what Abby said. Now, however, he could see the video from the satellite coverage streaming in. He motioned for Ziva to take her seat again, and he put his headset back on. "I want a fix on DiNozzo and The Frog…now!"

Two side-by-side images came up on the screen. "Boss, the GPS signal from the limo is fried—the signal, I don't know where it came from but as long as it's within range it's going to block all of our efforts to—"

"What about DiNozzo's cell? Can you get a fix on that?"

"Negative, boss, same effect."

Gibbs threw up his hands. "Well, what can you tell me, McGee?" Gibbs asked in angered futility.

McGee stuttered and stammered, not able to come up with anything. And then the computer made a bleeping noise and McGee sighed in relief. "Boss, Tony's cell just came back on line. Bringing up the GPS coordinates now."

"Show me," Gibbs and Jenny chorused together.

One of the two boxes on screen came to life with a picture of Tony's car sitting where it was parked on the street. "Is DiNozzo in there, McGee?" Gibbs asked.

"Cell phone places him there, having just tried to make a call. He couldn't get a signal, though."

"Can you get in closer, Tim?" Jenny asked.

"Satellite is operating on a slight delay…the quality is gonna be crap if I—" but he never got the chance to finish. Because an explosion rocked the screen—and it was Tony's car.

"You believe in miracles, Ziva?" McGee asked her as she sat at her desk. She'd been eerily quiet and emotional since they'd returned from the scene of the explosion, the body in the car haunting each of them still.

Ziva sat with her head in her hands, her spirit too broken to do much of anything else other than sit there in the misery she'd helped to inflict upon herself. "Not part of my training," she commented weakly.

"It might not be Tony," he commented.

McGee replayed the footage of the explosion over and over again. "Must you keep doing that?" Ziva asked a little annoyed—the first Ziva-like emotion she'd displayed all day.

"I just keep thinking if I play it enough times I'll find something that'll tell us it's not Tony down there," he said sadly. "Just because we found his ID doesn't mean it's Tony…"

She didn't say anything, mostly because she wished he actually would find something to tell them that it wasn't Tony down there. But how could that be? A body in Tony's car, Grenouille and the girl MIA, along with two unaccounted for FBI Agents. She shook her head. "His car, his ID, his weapon…both of his cell phones, McGee?" The likelihood at this point, of it not being Tony…is slim to none.

"I just…" he hesitated. "I'm not ready to accept that it was Tony in that car, Ziva."

She nodded. I can understand that…I most certainly can, McGee.

"You don't have to, Timothy," Ducky said storming through the squad room.

"What do you got, Duck?" Gibbs asked, storming in from the other side of the room.

"Tony contracted pneumonic plague, as I'm sure everyone can remember…"

Ziva stood, coming over. "Before my time," she commented.

"He almost died," McGee said.

"From severe pneumonia," Ducky explained. "As a result, his lungs would've been extensively scarred. Unlike the almost pristine lung of the man currently in autopsy." He waited for a moment. "The body on which I am performing an autopsy is not Tony's…"

Ziva had never heard more beautiful words in her entire life. She smiled and almost cried—almost. Oh thank you; thank you, thank you, thank you, thank you.

"If it's not Tony," the Director said. "…then who is it?"

"And where is DiNozzo?" Gibbs asked.

"I'm right here, boss," Tony said, seemingly appearing out of nowhere.

Ziva whipped around, a smile breaking out on her face despite her attempts at remaining emotionally subdued. She couldn't help it, though; in the span of ninety seconds she'd gone from grieving for him—as she couldn't help but believe he was dead—to rejoicing in the information that he had not been blown to bits in that explosion, and then suddenly, he was right behind her; alive and in all his glory.

Yes, she couldn't help it—that's why she jumped him, hugging him tightly and then letting go just as fast, very aware of prying and very curious eyes all around. She cleared her throat to cover, and looked at his surprised face. "Thank you, for not being dead," she said, and he had to bite his cheek to keep from laughing.

He nodded. "You're welcome."

"Where's Grenouille?" Jenny demanded.

"What, no balloons?" he asked, receiving a scowl from both the Director and Agent Fornell. "Right, uh, the Benoit family is downstairs in the garage awaiting transport to wherever it is that they're going." Fornell took off in that direction.

"Ducky," Gibbs said, "Find out who our mystery stiff is, huh?"

"Right away, Jethro," he said with gusto, his spirit renewed along with Tony's life. "I never believed it for a minute, my dear boy," he whispered to Tony on his way back to the elevator.

"What happened, DiNozzo?" Gibbs asked.

Ziva brought Tony a bottle of water and a chair—he looked like he was about to drop. He smiled his thanks and gulped half of it before he shook himself. "When you're ready," Jenny said.

"When the ear-wig went out I looked to the two FBI guys up front. They seemed fine; didn't think anything had gone wrong—so I held my position figuring that it was something affecting just mine and that I'd wing it from there."

"The car?" Jenny questioned.

He sighed. "Jeanne made the argument for me to move it and I went to when Grenouille stopped me, said for me to ride with them and they'd come back for it on the way back from Jeanne's."

"Your cell phones?" she queried again.

"The second I got in the car I made a move to call in to figure out what the hell was happening. I didn't get through though; my cell signal was disrupted too." He rubbed his head. "Then Grenouille was over my shoulder telling me the new plan and I left them both in the car—like an idiot."

"What about the body we found?" Gibbs said.

"What body?" he asked, alarmed.

"You don't know anything about the man we found in the remnants of your car?" McGee asked, astonished.

"No," he said quite seriously. "I shut off the engine, left the car, and rode with them in the limo. We'd barely pulled out when the car blew."

"And Grenouille?" Jenny asked. "What was his first reaction?"

"That he was the target, naturally. The FBI floored it to the evac-point to make sure we weren't followed and then we headed back here in separate cars as per protocol." He paused. "So who died in my car?" he asked.

No one answered.

Ziva found Tony in the men's washroom dousing his face in water. She closed the door behind her and turned the lock.

He looked up and quirked a smile…and a sigh. "You know, I saw this on, uh, Cinemax once," he said.

She took a step forward. "So, what happens now?"

He reached out for paper towels to pat down his face. "They play some funky music and then you say: 'I have been watching from afar.'"

She looked at him solemnly. "Tony…"

He sighed deeply and collapsed against the wall completely drained of all energy. "It's been a day, Ziva," he said with a wry chuckle, hanging his head.

She took a tentative step toward him, laying a hand on his shoulder. He didn't move other than to bring his hand up and cover hers, grasping it tightly. They stayed like that for a moment until he broke the spell. "So you thought I was dead, huh?" he asked.

She gulped, getting defensive and making a move to pull her hand away. He tightened his grip and looked at her, almost melting her. "Hey," he said soothingly, holding her hand tighter and letting their entwined hands fall beside them. "Thank you."

She looked at him, curiously. "What for?" she asked.

He entwined their fingers like he used to, and rubbed her knuckles with the pad of his thumb, just as he'd used it to wipe away her unwanted tear earlier. "For wanting me alive," he said. She smiled and nodded, knowing that was a big thing for him to say. "And for returning my letter opener," he added cheekily.

She gave a short bark of laughter and smiled wide for a moment. "Caught that, did you?" she asked slyly. He nodded with a smile. "Technically, you were done with it…" she began innocently.

"That was true, yes," he agreed.

"…But thankfully not anymore," she said with fierce protectiveness. "And for that we are thankful, yes?"

"Yes," he said seriously, not breaking eye contact. "Yes, we are."

If anyone else had heard that conversation they most likely would have thought it a weird thing to say—of course people would rather you alive than dead, so what great meaning could something like that possibly hold? But for the two of them it was a lot because it was the way they were around each other—he with his strange sense of humor, and she with her emotional distance. So it made sense for this statement to be a moment for the two of them. And, Ziva noted to herself, her eyes sad, it would probably be their last one for a while…

"Every bomb maker has a signature," Abby began, telling her story as to who bombed Tony's car. "The components, the way it's assembled—sometimes right down to the color tape they use to bind it all together," she continued, bringing up images of other explosions on her computer. "In this case, the components are common to at least nine other bombs that have gone off in the last four years." She clicked again. "I made the match on Interpol," she said. "The bombs have gone off all over the world; Algeria, Indonesia, the Middle East, Chechnya," she listed.

"I'm honored," Tony said sarcastically. Someone went to so much trouble to fry my ass…

"Anything linking the victims?" Ziva asked.

"They were all arms dealers," Abby clarified.

"The only problem is, Tony's not an arms dealer," McGee added. Yeah, Probie, that's the only problem we've got going on right now, he growled in his head before it clicked. Jeanne; the target wasn't me—it was Jeanne.

"His girlfriend's father's an arms dealer," Gibbs reminded.

Oh God, why didn't I see it before? "She's been working nights," he explained. "I pick her up every morning for breakfast."

"You park the car, theystrap on the bomb, set the timer, and walk away," Ziva told him, her tone rather patronizing with a hint of chastising as well, in Tony's opinion.

"You weren't the target," Gibbs told him. "She was."

"Maybe she still is," Tony said. This isn't good…

Gibbs nodded to Tony to go and talk to Jeanne. "She's upstairs; I'll talk to Fornell."

"One more thing!" Abby yelled, halting the men in their tracks. "I figured out why the signals were disrupted, and you're not gonna like it."

"I haven't liked much of anything lately, Abs, I'm thinking whatever you have isn't gonna make much of a difference," Gibbs said tiredly. "Whatcha got?"

"This," she said, holding out a small micro-dot in an evidence bag. "It's a signal disrupter—the smallest one I've ever seen too. This is high-end stuff, here."

"How did that take down the entire surveillance detail?" Tony asked, perplexed.

"After Paulson broke into Tony's car and planted the micro-listener in his Dictaphone I added some extra bug-sweepers to the lab and a few scattered around the squad room," she said, pulling up a diagram on her computer.

"I didn't see any sweepers, Abby," Tony said.

"That is the point, yes?" Ziva said.

"And…?" Gibbs prompted impatiently.

"And as soon as McGee put the Benoit girl into the conference room my computer went crazy—seriously, I thought I was going to have to sedate them, which seeing as they're computers I wasn't going to be able to do, obviously, and…"

"Abs!" Gibbs barked.

"Right. Sorry. Okay, so I used a hand-held to sweep Jeanne's clothes, and found this embedded on her coat." She waived the evidence bag again. "It's a smart little bugger—preprogrammed to zap any signal with in fifteen feet."

"Explains why the com systems failed," Tony said haggardly.

"And the GPS," McGee added.

"And the cell phones," Ziva put in, looking pointedly at Tony.

"Still doesn't explain who our mystery driver is," Gibbs reminded them all, referring to Mr. Crispy Critter in Autopsy.

"Ducky's still working on it," McGee said in return.

"That's good work, Abs," Gibbs said, dropping a kiss onto her cheek and walking out. But not before shooting Tony a look that said take care of it. And the 'it' in question was waiting for him in the conference room upstairs—and more than likely, very, very, confused.

Hours later the members of team Gibbs left the Navy Yard one by one and each all by themselves. As soon as he could get away Tony tracked down a cab and told the driver where to take him to get away from everything.

As soon as Ziva got home she climbed into bed and almost instantly she fell asleep. She was so dead tired that she didn't even dream—something that pleased and relieved her to no end. Then at a few minutes past midnight her phone rang…and she stupidly answered it.

I want some mega reviewing here, people. I know there are a lot of you out there who are reading this and I want to hear from all of you—even it's a simple "Hey there, I'm out here and I'm still reading!" Got it?

Who knows? If I hit 150 reviews I may go into a writing frenzy! And I have six hours of dedicated writing time tomorrow in which to go crazy…so talk to me, folks.

Thanks for reading!

Also, I've been trying to post these links in the past few chapters and for some reason it's not working. I made two videos and posted them on youtube. One is a "Previously On NCIS" that tells you everything you need to know about the show before reading this, and the other is my video interpretation of Ziva's recurring nightmare. I think it really helps to visualize the terror.

Previously on NCIS : Go to youtube and search "Previously on NCIS" and/or "Pantherpal" (username)

Ziva's Nightmare: Go to youtube and search "Ziva's Nightmare" and/or "Pantherpal" (username)