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:

So, tonight's the long-awaited season finale (like all of you don't already know that, right?), and as such, I'm posting this chapter in honor of tonight's most likely squeal-worthy events (whether from joy or frustration I know not yet). I'm going on vacation Friday and I won't be back for a little over two weeks. I'll have my laptop with me, of course, and I'll be writing while away (hopefully), and I'll try to post a chapter while I'm away to help fill the void on Tuesday nights.

"You do not have to open my door for me, Tony," she barked at him as he helped her out of the car at the curb in front of her apartment building. As soon as her feet hit the pavement she began to walk briskly to her door, aggravated despite herself.

He closed the door behind her and locked it with the remote, a curious look crossing over his face. "I always open your door for you, Ziva," he argued as he jogged to catch up to her, took out her keys, and unlocked her apartment door. He swept his hand across the threshold. "Ladies first," he told her chivalrously, proving his point, and only aggravating her further.

"Yes," she hissed at him through clenched teeth as she entered her apartment. After three days by her bedside Tony hadn't separated himself from her since they left the hospital. When she signed her discharge papers, he was there; when she received her final orders from the doctor, he was there; when the orderlies wheeled her from the hospital like an invalid—he was there. She was grateful for his assistance, and she loved that he cared so much, but he seemed to be unable to let her out of his sight for even a moment. He was also treating her as though she were a porcelain doll liable to break easily if overtaxed or asked to do any sort of physical activity in the least. "But you do not usually hover over me like a mother goose, Tony," she said.

"Hen, Ziva—the expression is hovering like a mother hen. Tony put her bag down on the couch, removed his coat, and then made a move to help her off with her own coat. If Ziva had actually been able to extricate herself without his assistance, she would have shrugged off his help. But he'd insisted on her wearing the sling she was relegated to use for the next few weeks over her coat—no matter how ridiculous or impractical it was—so she would not be cold from the gap it would create between her body and the jacket. Thus, she was unable to remove herself from the booby-trap, and instead, she found herself gritting her teeth as he removed the sling and then her coat with kid-gloves, all the while fancying himself the gentlemen of gentlemen. "Mother Goose wrote nursery rhymes for children," he clarified.

Ziva scowled and rolled her eyes. "Oh, whatever!" she growled. "The point is that you are being especially annoying, and are, in fact, driving me crazy!"

Tony inclined his head a few degrees and smirked with his eyes. "My apologies, dear," he told her, stressing the endearment to make the point that she was overreacting a little.

Ziva shook her head and sighed audibly. "I am sorry, Tony," she told him in a softer tone. "I am…" she shook her head again, trailing off without finishing her sentence.

He brought his right hand up to cup the side of her face. "I know," he said sympathetically, understanding completely. She nodded her thanks to him and they stayed like that for a moment. Until Tony reverted back to…well, Tony. "Life can be tough when you're discharged without the morphine," he jibed lightly. She brought back her right hand and punched him in the shoulder. "Ow!" he screeched at her, rubbing the now-tender spot on his arm.

"That is what you get, Tony!" she huffed, indignant. "And for your information, I could give a rat's butt about the morphine. I did not want the morphine to begin with; I will survive perfectly fine with plain old Tylenol."

He laughed skeptically and ignored her verbal misstep. "So I'm supposed to believe that withdrawal is not to blame for this lovely mood we're currently enjoying?" he asked her, amusement evident in his voice.

Ziva wasn't amused. "No, Tony. My mood is the result of being stuck in a hospital for three days with nothing to do but avoid my lunch!" she screamed.

He clucked his tongue and shook his head. "First of all, I object to the 'with nothing to do' accusation. I worked very hard to make sure that you always had something to watch—and to eat for that matter—and having said that, I too just spent three straight days in the hospital—sleeping in a chair, I might add—and I'm not nearly as edgy as you are."

She nailed him with her stare. "That is because you are not staring down the barrel of spending the next two weeks riding a desk, and doing Probie-work, Tony."

His amusement disappeared then and the over protectiveness that was driving Ziva crazy came roaring back to life as he shot her a reprimanding look. "The doctor said three to five weeks, Ziva. Three if you follow his orders explicitly; he didn't say anything about two."

"I always aim to finish ahead of deadlines, Tony," she said smugly. "Why should this be any different?"

He looked at her sternly. "You mess with doctor's orders and that arm isn't going to heal right. And then you'll be staring down the barrel of a much longer tenure riding a desk, Ziva," he said seriously, worried that she was going to push herself too far and only make the situation worse.

"His rules are ludicrous," she argued. "According to his instructions," she spat, "I would not even be allowed to type with both hands, Tony!"

"Correction," he said, stressing the word and slipping into his team-leader-giving-orders voice. "Cannot and will not type, Officer David," he ordered.

Ziva seethed, used her right arm to grab a hold of him, and used her body weight to push him back into the wall. She got right up into his face. "Do not try my patience, Tony," she warned him menacingly.

He chuckled mercilessly and then pushed her back against the far wall none-too-gently, smiling menacingly in his own right when he saw a look of surprise cross her face. "And do not try mine," he told her meaningfully. Then he promptly covered her mouth with his own, effectively ending the argument…for now.

Tony drove Ziva to work the next morning as she was not cleared to drive a car due to her restricted movement, something that, of course, only fueled the Mossad Liaison's annoyance and tension-level. "All I said was that you could have made that light, Tony," Ziva mentioned as they stepped off the elevator and into the squad room.

"I was a block away!" he contested, tired of this fight already. He threw his bag behind his desk and jerked out of his jacket, already irritated and it was only 0700. He turned around and took a step towards Ziva, intent on helping her out of her jacket as he had been doing, but stopped short when he thought about how odd that would look. Ziva and he had only had brief discussions about how their new and official relationship would mesh with their obligations at NCIS. They'd long ago agreed to put the work first, but now that they'd been spending so much time together isolated and away from prying eyes, they had to readjust their automatic reactions and behaviors.

Apparently, it's just me that's having an issue now, he thought as he observed Ziva wiggle out of her coat, rather efficiently, he noted. She has been yelling at me to stop hovering, he reminded himself thoughtfully. Perhaps he had been a little…presumptuous in his estimations of Ziva's capabilities while injured.

She sat down at her desk as she always did and booted up her computer. She seemed to be Ziva-as-usual, but Tony knew she was silently fuming about having to wear the sling. She said it made her look weak. Tony told her it made her look injured and that anyone who was delusional enough to think of Ziva as weak in any way, shape, or form, would wholly deserve the punishment he'd get from her if said person attempted to use that to his or her advantage. That had seemed to placate her for the foreseeable present.

"Ziva!" McGee cheered. "Welcome back!" He came over to her desk and gave her a gentle hug, which was really more of an awkward squeeze because of Ziva's arm.

"Easy, Probie," Tony warned, not looking up from his computer. "Jay-bird's got a wrecked wing," he joked, flapping his arm and chuckling to himself. When he didn't hear a response from either McGee or Ziva, he knew Ziva was glaring at him—so he opted not to look up.

"It's good to have you back in here, Ziva," McGee told her sincerely, eyeing Tony disapprovingly.

Ziva smiled at him kindly. "Thank you, McGee; it is good to be back."

"How's the arm feeling?" he asked on his way back to his desk. "Have to keep it in that sling for a while, huh?"

Ziva took a deep breath in an effort to dispel the fury that immediately bubbled up in her at the idea of being useless for three weeks.

Tony cleared his throat and turned to McGee. "Ex-nay on the ing-slay…Pro-bay," he advised the younger agent.

Ziva brought her fist down on her desk hard, making the two men startle. "I am injured, not deaf, DiNozzo!" she yelled at him as per their usual love-hate levity.

"Not mute, either," Gibbs noted as he stalked into the bullpen.

"Good morning, Gibbs," Ziva said politely, breathing to calm herself down.

"Welcome back, Ziva," he said, inclining his head and giving her a small smile. She nodded back to him in return and finished booting up her system.

"Uh, Tony," McGee said, handing him a slip of paper. "You have your psych eval with the shrink this morning," he told him.

Tony turned to McGee and glanced at him speculatively, looking him up and down. "And what time will this joyous experience be taking place, McGoo?"

"Uh," he said, checking his watch. "Well, um, now."

Tony sighed. "Cutting it a little close, there, aren't you McGee?" he asked, a little annoyed.

"Well, the Director can't clear us to return to the field without Okays on the evals. And you're the last hold-out, Tony—minus Ziva, of course, but she can't be cleared for fieldwork until…" he trailed off noticing Tony's wild gesticulations. Tony made a cutting motion with his hand at his neck and pointed none-too-subtly to Ziva who was seething quietly behind her desk.

"DiNozzo, Go!" Gibbs ordered, gruffly.

"Going, boss," Tony agreed and took off for his evaluation.

"McGee, fill Ziva in," Gibbs ordered before disappearing towards the elevator.

McGee nodded once. "Right, boss."

Things had been slow for their team since the explosion. They'd all had to be cleared by both medical and psych in order for them to return to active duty and be assigned any case other than the one they had just worked to finish up. That had taken a few days, which explained why Tony had so easily managed to stay with her during her stay at Bethesda. McGee and Gibbs had been processing the scene of the second bombing during that time—the case had already been long closed, but they needed the facts and evidence in order to officially close the file. And then there was the matter of Paula's autopsy and releasing her body back to her family in California.

Ziva had to write out her after-action report, as well as her incident report for everything that had occurred prior to the explosion. Evidently, there was a whole other report she got the privilege of filing for getting caught up in the bombing and being hospitalized for three days. So Ziva was just over-the-moon by the time she'd finished her case notes and began to move on to her incident report for the shootout at Kertek Computing. She was forty minutes into her endless paperwork—that took all the longer because of the doctor's ridiculous moratorium on her using her left hand—when the elevator dinged and announced its arrival from the ground floor.

Right about the time she realized that it was going to take her three times as long to accomplish her task—prompting a string of rather unique curses aimed at her computer—Gibbs looked up from his own station to a point just beyond Ziva's desk. "Can I help you with something?" he asked the man standing there.

Ziva looked up, distracted from her verbal attack on her computer, and almost gasped—but she managed to rein it in at the last moment. She stood up as the man came toward her, a less than happy look gracing his features. "Shalom, Ziva," he said, nodding to her in greeting.

"Michael," she greeted in return, her brain running through all the possible reasons for his presence there. The most obvious reason, of course, was that her father had sent him in light of recent events. "I would ask what you are doing here, but I think that would be a wasted effort on both our parts," she told him bluntly.

"Obviously," he said, mildly amused at her straight-forwardness. "You were injured, and fathers do tend to worry about their daughters. But did you actually expect anything less, Ziva?"

"I suppose not," she agreed grudgingly.

"Ziva," Gibbs said simply, coming up next to her, his eyes appraising Michael accordingly.

"Officer Michael Bashan, Senior Attache US Israeli Embassy," she said to Gibbs motioning between the two men. "Michael, Special Agents Gibbs and McGee." Gibbs nodded to Michael and shook his hand, and McGee followed suit shortly thereafter.

She saw Michael's eyes glance around the squad room and she inwardly cringed. A perfect opportunity to collect information for my father, she decided, thankful that Tony was still with the psychiatrist.

"To what do we owe the pleasure, Officer Bashan?" he asked in classic Gibbs style—charming, but giving away nothing.

"Director David became quite concerned with his daughter's well-being after the phone call Mossad received from your Director. He became even more concerned when he could not seem to manage to make contact with her," he said, chastising Ziva with his tone.

Gibbs shifted slightly, and Ziva could tell she was going to get it from him as well…just not now. Instead, he smiled a standoffish smile and nodded in her direction, "Tell your Director we've kept her in one piece…mostly," he joked.

"You'll forgive me, Agent Gibbs, if all evidence seems to the contrary," he stated, less than diplomatically.

Tony came from behind the crowd as he walked back into the bullpen from the other elevator. He stopped short when he saw the gathering around Ziva's desk, and became worried when he saw how Ziva's left eye dropped down a little, indicating that the situation was making her uncomfortable. "Boss?" he asked Gibbs, his eyes cutting over to Ziva and their visitor.

Oh, wonderful! Ziva thought, cursing the heavens for Tony's incredibly horrid timing. Tony's arrival was like throwing fuel on the fire—it was sure to only exacerbate Michael's curiosity.

"DiNozzo," Gibbs said, his eyes never leaving their visitor. "Meet Officer Bashan of the Israeli Embassy. He's come to check up on Ziva," he informed him, his tone telling Tony that things were not all peachy-keen at the moment.

Tony appraised the man critically. He was an older man, evidenced by the wrinkles in his face and the mop of snowy-white hair that sat atop his thin, but tall, frame. He didn't look like much of a threat, physically, but if Ziva was uncomfortable then there was obviously much more than met the eye. "Anthony DiNozzo," Tony said, reaching out his hand to the older man. Michael looked him up and down with appraising eyes that cut to Ziva for a moment, presumably to judge her reaction, before cutting back to Tony and reciprocating the gesture. Gibbs cocked a curious eyebrow and then motioned for McGee, and Tony—much to the latter's chagrin—to follow him in returning to their individual desks and pretend to make themselves busy with something else.

Michael turned back to Ziva. "I presume that you are recovering nicely?" he asked diplomatically.

Ziva nodded stiffly, feeling very self-conscious of the sling that was like a neon sign flashing above her head. She's weak—she's vulnerable! "You presume correctly. I expect to return to unrestricted duty within the next few weeks. Feel free to tell the Director that I will make a full recovery," she said officially.

He nodded thoughtfully. "And what should I tell your father?" he asked pointedly.

Ziva literally had to bite her tongue. Tell him to forget he has a daughter, Michael—it should be easy, he's practiced for it all his life. Tell him to back off and to stop interfering in my life, Michael—he has no right. Tell him to take a hint, Michael—I have no interest in speaking with the man. There were so many things she wanted to tell her father, but none of those things were messages that she actually ever could give him. So, she cleared her throat and looked at Michael decisively. "Tell him—that I am sorry I did not call myself."

Michael nodded sadly and stepped forward to hug her gently. She caught Tony's eye as Michael did so and judging from the look she saw in there, she must not have been doing a good job of containing her feelings of anxiety. Michael stepped back and whispered his wishes for good health by way of a goodbye, and made his way back towards the elevator with his NCIS escort trailing behind him.

"Ziva!" Gibbs yelled, making tracks for the elevator. "With me!"

Tony shot her a look as she jogged after Gibbs, narrowly making it into the elevator before the doors closed. She could feel his annoyance from where she stood next to him and wondered whether it would be better to speak first and head him off at the pass or to wait for Gibbs to begin. She got her answer when he shut off the elevator and plunged them into darkness.

He half-turned to face her. "Something I should know about, Officer David?"

"It was not premeditated, Gibbs."

"Three days—no contact. Sounds pretty deliberate to me, Ziva."

"He called and I avoided it, yes; but he never phoned again."

"And did you try calling?" he asked knowingly, his tone leading, but not admonishing.

Ziva shifted awkwardly and looked away, this not being a favorite topic of hers. "These days, thoughts about calling my father are not high on my list of priorities." He gave her a skeptical look and she took a deep breath to show she was serious. "I was not deliberately avoiding him, Gibbs. Yes, I did not want to talk to him, but if he had called again I would have spoken with him." She turned to face him fully, her fury at her father overtaking her. "The fact that he did not call again means only that he saw this as an opportunity to further encroach upon my life. Sending Michael here was not the act of a worried father, Gibbs; it was a reconnaissance mission, and you know it." She sighed and straightened her spine. "Even if I had answered his first call he still would have sent Michael. My injuries were his perfect excuse…"

"You really believe that?" he asked, coming around to her way of looking at things.

"I do," she said confidently.

He waited a beat, then reached out to flip back the emergency switch, and leaned over to whisper to her. "Make sure you're playing this one close to the vest, Ziva."

Oh, goody, she thought bitterly, just what I needed, more secrets and games. But she didn't have a choice. She couldn't trust her father, and Gibbs knew that. Her only option was to keep her head clear and her eyes open for anything her father may throw her way. "Understood," she said simply, and then walked back out into the squad room and returned to her desk.

Tony pulled into the parking lot of Donnie's Pub and made his way to the parking space closest to the door, still fending off Ziva's objections.

"Tell me again why we are here, Tony," she asked of him tiredly. The day had begun abysmally and it hadn't ever gotten any better. She'd been stuck behind the desk all day pouring over bank records and making calls in an attempt to track down a Petty Officer who went UA three days ago. It was a menial task and she resented it greatly, but, of course, there was nothing that she could do about it.

Tony threw the car into park and shut off the engine. "Well, for starters, I have to apologize to Donnie for my behavior the last time I was here," he said pointedly, and she shrugged in agreement.

"He did mention your less than pleasant demeanor," she alluded.

"And," he said, bypassing the dig, "you haven't had a very good day; Donnie always makes you laugh, you love his chili, and, plus, it's something that you can both order and eat with one hand," he told her, getting in his own dig. The only problem was that he had been busting her chops about her arm all day and her patience, thin to begin with, had begun to shred.

"Exactly how long do you intend to keep cracking one-armed-man jokes, Tony?"

"Well, technically they're one-armed-woman jokes," he corrected. "And as long as it yields such…productive results," he said meaningfully, referring to the reaction he always managed to get from her.

She gave a fake laugh and flipped her hair back before turning to him with a dangerous glint in her eye. "Am I going to have to beat you, Tony?" she asked him rhetorically.

"Why?" he asked with a wink and a growl. "Have I been a bad boy?"

Ziva cracked a smile and shook her head. "You are incorrigible, DiNozzo," she told him as they got out of the car.

He offered her his arm like a gentleman. "That's what they tell me," he chuckled and opened the door to the pub for Ziva.

Ziva smiled a true smile for the first time that day at the familiar sight before her—the pub, the fireplace, Donnie behind the bar—and then of course, there was that smell that permeated the air. It wasn't quite describable, but to Ziva it was so welcoming that she managed to forget the aggravation of the day for a moment.

"See?" Tony whispered in her ear, slightly reminiscent of their first visit. "What did I tell you?" he asked with a smile in his voice.

"That you are incorrigible," she purred back at him as he threw his arm over her shoulder.

"Well—yeah," he nodded, still smiling.

"Well it's about time!" Donnie roared from behind the bar, a large grin on his face as he dried his hands with a towel. He limped his way out from behind the bar and toddled over to Tony and Ziva with his arms outstretched. "I was sure I'd be seein' yer lot sooner than this," he said, looking at Ziva as he swatted Tony on the back roughly.

"Sorry, Donnie," Tony began. "It's been a rough week," he explained cryptically.

"Not you, ya git," Donnie said to Tony with a laugh. "I daresay I thought you'd be takin' yer time comin' to apologize. Had another two days left on me wager, ya fool. Now I owe Davey a tenner, don't I?" Tony stammered, unable to come up with something to say in response. Donnie gave out a hearty laugh and slapped him on the back again with a smile. He turned to Ziva, "Thought I'd be seein' ya long before now, lass. This idiot's drunk arse not withstanding, I was sure ya'd be out to visit me plenty sooner." Then he smiled at her, and winked. "But a kiss would surely fix that up," he told her.

Ziva cocked a curious eyebrow. Holding up her hand to silence Tony's rebuttal, Ziva eyed Donnie appraisingly for a moment and then smirked at him. "So could a beer," she said simply. Then she pecked him on the cheek obligingly.

Tony smirked and Donnie burst out laughing. "Oh, it's good to have ye back, lass. Ye've been missed," he told her finally.

"Oh," Ziva said, playfully. "Do not tell me; tell him," she advised, inclining her head in Tony's direction before walking over to take a seat in their booth, leaving Donnie to deal with a now-stammering Tony.

"Thank you, so much, dear!" he yelled to her accusingly.

Ziva just laughed.

Tony watched Ziva as she picked at the last of her chili a bit distracted. He put his fork down and took a moment to just look at her. "We going to talk about it?" he asked her finally.

"Talk about what?" she asked him tiredly.

Tony gave her a hard look, not believing for a moment that she didn't know to what he was referring. If anything, he'd lay down money saying that the discussion he wished to have was already going on in her head—the reason for her preoccupation. He sighed. "Look, I'm the last person who is going to preach to you about father-child relations, but this has you really worked up, so I'm going to ask you again—your Dad really that intense? He really worth all this thought and energy?"

"Yes," she said sharply.

He looked at her sympathetically and shook his head in wonder. "What did he do to you, Ziva?" he asked, a bit awestruck by the magnitude of her intensity when speaking about him.

Ziva chuckled a little at Tony's implication that her father had inflicted some sort of trauma on her. He had, but not in any way remotely resembling whatever was flashing through Tony's head. She sighed and shook her head. "My father was very rarely ever around, Tony. He did not have time to do anything to me—not like I am sure you are thinking. He is just not someone whom I trust to have my best interests at heart," she finished crisply, wishing the conversation to end. "Now, I would really rather we not discuss this further…"

"Okay," he said, giving in to her wishes and picking up his fork again. He speared one of his last pieces of steak and brought it to his mouth, but stopped half way, dropping the fork back to the table. "Just tell me one thing…" he began. She shot him an aggravated look. "Not about your father," he hurried on to explain. "Today. What's the deal with your visitor? From the embassy."

Ziva rolled her eyes. The topic was still very much related to her father, but Tony didn't know that. Accordingly though, she'd have to explain exactly what he wanted to know in order to get him to understand that concept—so she sucked it up and began to explain to him about Officer Bashan. "Michael Bashan does what my father tells him to—no matter what that something may be."

Tony guffawed. "Well did your old man tell him to stare at me with those elevator eyes of his?" he asked a little put off by the man's earlier behavior.

"Elevator eyes?" Ziva asked, unfamiliar with the expression.

"When you undress the person in front of you with only your eyes," he said, demonstrating the appraisal by moving his eyes up and down Ziva's body. "He doesn't have a thing for me, does he?" he joked. "Because that would be awkward."

Ziva shook her head, amused with his way of looking at things. "He was surveying you, Tony."

"Really?" Tony asked skeptically. "He survey Gibbs like that?"

"Of course not!" Ziva laughed. "No reason to."

"And there's reason to check out my fine parts? I'm flattered," he joked and then sobered. "Seriously—why do I warrant such a…survey?" he asked with a sense of foreboding.

Ziva hissed. "It is slightly more complicated than you would think…"

Tony leaned in, very serious. "Do tell."

Ziva sighed. She hadn't wanted to dwell on their history or all the things she'd been discovering lately, but now that she and Tony were back together she figured that he had a right to know what they were dealing with. The fact her father and that his continual meddling in her life had lead to both the issues they now had to face—as well as said issues forced unveiling by her at this rather tense time in her life—was only another reason among many for which she loathed her father. "He has reason to believe that while you were team leader you were also sleeping with me," she said quickly but calmly, talking a sip of her drink.

Tony cocked an aggravated eyebrow. "Hrm, that's funny," he said bitterly. "I find myself under that impression as well; but then again, I was there. I don't recall noticing an old, white-haired Israeli man anywhere," he deadpanned. "You?"

"No," she said, a little bitter herself. This was bringing up a bitter memory that seemed to be striking a nerve on all parts. "But then again, I also do not recall the Mossad surveillance team that was watching us either—but it was there…"

He brought his fist down on the table, having completed his transition from aggravated to angry rather quickly. "Excuse me?" he asked her dangerously.

"Calm down, Tony!" Ziva ordered. "He has nothing of substance with which to make any claim—only a few photographs of you visiting my apartment and a theory. Nothing more." Tony didn't look appeased. "He will not say anything, Tony; it would be too embarrassing," she said, her eyes downcast.

"For him?" he asked her incredulously.

"No." Ziva cracked her neck. "For the man who ordered the surveillance," she clarified pointedly.

It took Tony a moment, but he did catch on; and once he did so, his shoulders relaxed a little bit as understanding washed over him. "No wonder you're so tweaked about your father…"

Ziva chortled. "Blip of the iceberg," she said to him.

Tony rolled his eyes but he didn't correct her—he understood perfectly. "When did you find out?" he asked suddenly.

She looked at him curiously but answered him. "When the Iranians were attempting to frame me," she said simply.

"And when were you planning on telling me?" he asked, his look of aggravation coming back.

"I had no such plans," she said, annoyed with his tone.

"Well, why the hell not?" he demanded.

"We were not together anymore, Tony. Michael was not going to say anything, and once I knew about the tail I knew to look for it—as I do now…everyday," she said pointedly. "There was no point in creating a problem for you where none existed," she explained calmly and logically.

"How chivalrous of you," he said petulantly.

"Let it go, DiNozzo; we have bigger things to worry about right now."

"Like what?" he asked her, slightly baffled.

"Like how to prevent Gibbs from finding out," she whispered vehemently, referring to their closed-door relationship.

He shrugged and spread out his arms, very cocky. "We did it before; we'll do it again."

"Before," she said pointedly, "You were team leader, Tony, and not likely to take issue with our relationship." She paused and sighed loudly. "Things are different now, Tony, and you know it."

"You mean because now Gibbs is back with his rules, his gut, and his incredible ability to know everything about you with only one withering stare? Because last time we didn't do this with Gibbs watching our every move?" he summarized.

"Yes," she said quietly.

Tony took a sip of his beer and shrugged again, shaking his head in futility. "Yeah, that'll take some thought…"

So, may I ask that you all join me prayer that tonight's episode is not too painful for all of us TIVA fans?

PS. Does anyone else think that the whole Ziva-Killed-Ari storyline is about to bubble to the surface?

Cuz they didn't throw that picture of Ari, Ziva, and Tali crashing to the floor of Ziva's apartment in there for nothing, right? NCIS never does anything for the hell of it. That's why I love it—everything has meaning.

Let me know what you think, and what you think of the chapter. Later!