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:

A MONTH!!! I know, I know. I am SO SO SO SO SO sorry. Things were piling on top of other things and I just couldn't come up with anything to write. I hadn't forgotten—I promise. Every day I was checking in, trying to come up with something to put down to advance the storyline, but I was perpetually stuck in the mud and I couldn't free myself. I'm SO sorry. Anyway, when I got the message from MIA58 today I knew that I couldn't wait any longer to do something. So I sat down at work and refused to stop until I made some progress.

Well…whew! I made progress. I got two chapters finished and proofed, though I'm sure they'll be at least one error that will drive me crazy later on…

Anyway, I'm posting this chapter now and the next one tomorrow to make up for my crumminess. I'm so sorry, yet again.

Enjoy!

Five Months Later…

JULY 18

Ziva had three minutes to get out of the building, make the drop, and get back into the building without being seen. She twisted her wrist around as subtly as possible and checked the time with a quick glance of her eyes. She had two minutes until the eyes watching her were scheduled to take a bathroom break and she only hoped that the one hundred eighty second window she had would be enough to get away clean. She didn't want to spare any stray thoughts to what could happen if she got caught—there were too many people counting on her.

She counted the seconds as they ticked away and thought about her options. The elevator would take far too long so she would have to take the stairs. She was five floors up, which meant she was going to be cutting it close, but short of flying she had no other alternative.

The door was another problem. Sparing the time to lock the door behind her and allotting the time to let herself back in after the drop was done was simply not an option. She didn't have time to fight with the lock and she couldn't afford to let the ears that went with the eyes hear her either leaving or coming back in. No, she'd have to leave it open, she decided silently.

Ziva took a deep breath in preparation and tried to not let on to the person sitting next to her that anything was amiss. This was her job—this was what she was good at; she was trained for this and she would not fail.

And then he was standing with a groan and trotting to the bathroom like it was a death march. She readied herself. This is it, she thought. Once he had turned the corner she jumped up silently and opened the door as slowly and stealthily as possible. She picked up his shoe from the floor and shoved it in between the door and the frame, taking the risk that he wouldn't emerge until she was safely back in the building as if nothing had changed. She heard various sounds coming from the shuffling feet down the hall so she crept back over to the coffee table and plucked up the item, securing it safely on her belt and glided back over to the door, waiting for the sound that would send her speeding off to make the drop.

Ziva counted silently in her head, 3, 2, 1…SLAM!

She shot out of the apartment like a bullet and took off for the stairwell down the hall. She heard the faint and distant thud of the door hitting the shoe as it closed, grateful that it had sufficiently muffled the sound to avoid suspicion from the person still hopefully oblivious to the goings on of this particular operation. She breathed deeply and took the stairs two or three at a time, practically jumping down each half flight, counting down all the while. She had just under two minutes, she realized, as she burst through the front door of the building.

"You got it?" the person before her asked, impatient, but excited at the same time.

Ziva nodded and thrust it into the woman's hands before turning tail and charging back up the stairs faster than she thought she could have. She had just reached the top of the third flight when the cell phone on her belt rang and she realized that she'd handed over the wrong cell phone. She snatched it up and checked the screen, seeing that the woman, too, had realized her mistake. "It's the wrong one, Ziva!" Abby screamed into the phone the moment Ziva had flipped it open.

"I know, Abby, but I only have a minute to get back in there," Ziva reasoned, as she continued to climb the stairs.

"What do I do?"

"Come upstairs and wait outside the apartment door, we will do the switch off right behind his back."

"How're we going to do that?"

Ziva smiled as she flung herself into the hallway of the fifth floor, heading straight for apartment with all due haste. "Trust me." She pushed open the door and kicked the shoe out of the way just as the toilet flushed and the sounds of the sink could be heard as Tony washed his hands.

Ziva took calming breaths to stabilize her breathing and heart rate and then smiled as she heard the elevator ding outside. She took a chance and peeked out the door. Sure enough, Abby in all her Goth glory was stomping down the hallway as quietly as she could in her large and clunky platform shoes. Ziva waved her on to hurry her up, each holding out the cell phones as they came closer. Abby was a foot away when she heard the door open and Tony step out. "Ziva?" he called to her, his voice coming closer.

"Yes?" she asked as she and Abby switched the phones by their fingertips. Ziva closed the door as quickly as she could without having it make a sound. Then she locked it and turned around, quickly hiding her guilty and flummoxed expression as Tony rounded the corner, a lecherous look on his face.

"You coming to bed?" he asked her with a grin.

Ziva had to bite her tongue not to burst out laughing at the ridiculousness of the situation. She smiled, her tongue still between her teeth, and nodded yes, throwing him a wink to really sell it. She took a deep breath, and pushed off from the door, throwing him her best come-hither stare when all she could think of was whether Abby's and her slightly foolish plan would work and whether this party and the lengths they'd gone to keep it a full-out surprise were really worth losing her tongue for. "Anything for the birthday boy," she crooned as she danced toward him.

"I like the sound of that," he drawled as he grabbed her by the waist and scooped her up into his arms, whisking her into the bedroom, and kicking the door closed behind them.

"Ziva!" Tony screamed the next morning in obvious distress.

Ziva ran into the living room half-dressed and fell into a defensive stance, her Sig in her hand, raised and ready. "What is it?" she asked in a worried voice that quickly faded to astonishment as she took in the sight before her.

Tony had ripped the living room apart. The back copies of GSM that he kept on the table in the corner, usually neatly stacked and arranged by issue, were now scattered on the floor along with every book he had on his lone book shelf, and several DVDs that he'd stuck in alongside them because he had run out of room in his movie cabinet.

"Have you seen my cell phone?" he asked, not turning to look at her, which was good, Ziva noted, because she wasn't sure she could overcome the grin that threatened to overtake her features at the sight of a boxer-clad Tony wrenching the cushions from his couch and armchairs as though he were six and scavenging for loose change with which to buy ice cream. "I can't find my cell phone—anywhere!"

Ziva let the Sig fall to her side distastefully, trying to play her character well, noting, rather sardonically, that she'd never really had to play herself before. She cleared her throat, placed the gun at rest on the table and began to put right what Tony had thrown askew. "Have you checked your backpack yet?" she asked him.

"Of course I did!" he huffed.

Ziva mimicked his snippy response disdainfully behind his back, but stopped immediately when he turned suddenly. "Your pants?" she asked helpfully, hoping he hadn't caught her little routine.

"First place I looked," he said decisively as he went towards the back of the apartment.

Ziva could hear him tearing apart the kitchen, though even if she hadn't been the thief who'd stolen it the night before, she wouldn't have had a blessed clue why the cell phone would be in there—Tony never cooked, and they usually ate on the couch or floor in the living room. She sighed dramatically and began fixing up the cushions that Tony had so gruffly manhandled.

He returned to the living room moments later, his hands propped stubbornly on his hips, still the picture of high amusement for Ziva. She cleared her throat again. "Did you try calling it, Tony?"

His hands dropped from his hips as he went to say something to her, a belligerent expression on his face—and then he stopped, and began to squirm and shift his weight. He pointed his finger at her, looking for all intents and purposes like he was about to scold her, but Ziva knew better. Now she was the one to put her hands on her hips as she quirked her eyebrow and threw him a look that said: think carefully before you start that sentence! He dropped his hand quickly and turned tail for the bedroom like a sullen child. "I was just about to do that!" he called back to her petulantly, and oh-so-very DiNozzo.

Ziva picked up her gun and chuckled as she trailed after him, mumbling to herself. "Of course you were, my little hairy butt…"

"Gibbs is gonna kill me," Tony said for what had to have been the billionth time that morning. "Kill me dead he is that LJ Gibbs," he groaned miserably as he and Ziva stepped off the elevator and into the squad room later that morning. He had been going on and on about it since he gave up his desperate search for the tiny cellular device. In truth, he most likely would have stayed in the apartment all day searching for it in every nook and cranny had Ziva not literally pulled him out of the apartment this morning.

"I'm a dead man, McGee," Tony remarked sadly as he threw his gear down behind his desk and plopped into his chair, the picture of the defeated man—if that man weren't as dramatic as Tony.

"Were you expecting me to get emotional, Tony?" the younger agent asked without looking up from his computer screen.

Tony straightened, a little surprised. "Way to spread the love, McGoo," he said, a little wounded. "I tell you I'm practically a dead man walking and that's all you have to say?" he asked playing hurt.

Ziva put her head into her hands and rubbed her temple. McGee sighed and drew his attention away from his screen long enough to humor Tony. "You're right," he said, seemingly sympathetic. Tony looked a bit proud. "What I should have said was: what did you do now, DiNozzo?" McGee smiled and laughed at the stricken look that appeared on Tony's face and turned to Ziva, taking in her appearance curiously.

"Thank you both for the heartfelt support," Tony said petulantly.

"Oh, for crying out loud, Tony," Ziva said, getting more and more fed up with his behavior every moment, which made her seriously reconsider her part in this increasingly preposterous charade. "Just be a man and requisition a new cell phone!"

"Then Gibbs will find out!" he hissed across their desks.

"Gibbs is going to find out anyway, Tony," McGee reminded him smartly.

Ziva nodded. "Probably the first time he goes to call you and you don't pick up," she pointed out.

"Or worse," McGee said, really getting his digs in, "When someone else picks up…"

"Oh, God," Tony moaned, letting his head hit his desk with an audible thump.

Ziva smirked. "Of course, it is not as if the man has not wrecked enough cell phones in his own comings and goings to warrant a little mercy when one goes missing…" she surmised, leading Tony this way and that.

"Missing!" Tony said, popping out of his chair in a Eureka moment. "It's missing, Probie!"

McGee nodded slowly. "Yes, it is, Tony."

"We find missing things—people, mostly—but still; you can do your little computer trace dance routine and tell me where it is!" he said, the hopefulness in his voice as large as the smile on his face.

McGee cleared his throat. "Don't we think that would be a misuse of—"

"It's NCIS property, McGiggle," Tony yelled sternly. "And we're on a mission to recover it, Probie." Tony clapped his hands together. "Chop, chop; get crackin'!"

McGee sighed, turned to his screen, and began to type. "I'm going to regret this; I know it."

Tony squatted down to McGee's level, his eyes never leaving the screen. "More type-y, less talk-y, McGee," Tony ordered from his position monitoring the results.

"Gibbs isn't gonna like this, Tony," McGee said.

"Isn't gonna like what, McGee?" Gibbs asked, suddenly appearing over their heads, shocking Tony into falling backwards onto his butt.

Ziva covered her mouth wit her hand and turned the other way so no one would see that she was unable to keep herself from laughing. Tony looked over, momentarily stunned by Gibbs's sudden appearance, and shot a dirty look to her back. Gibbs's eyes skimmed the scene with hidden amusement. McGee turned the screen so Tony could see the NO RESULTS banner flashing on the screen. Tony blanched for a moment, missing the wink McGee sent Ziva's way and the conspiratorial looks all three secretly and subtly shared.

"DiNozzo?" the older agent questioned calmly, waiting for an answer.

"Um," Tony started, as he stood up from the floor and brushed himself off.

"What aren't I going to like?" he asked, a little more clipped this time.

"That—it's a light case load today, boss," Tony said, stumbling over his words for an explanation. "Nothing going on around here, no siree." He shook his head, chuckled nervously, and slowly backed out towards the elevator. "No cases. We all know how you hate that, boss…"

"I hate it when there aren't any armed forces personnel committing or becoming the victims of crimes, DiNozzo?" Gibbs asked, a little dangerously.

Tony gulped and sputtered, gesturing awkwardly, much to McGee's delight and Ziva's partial amusement. "Well, no, boss, of course you don't—what I meant was—cuz what I meant to say was that—and if—then, of course—but, now—no, and—I'm just going to go see if Abby needs any help…while there are no crimes being perpetrated," he finished lamely, and a little squeakily. "Bye," he said, and turned tail for Abby's lab.

Gibbs turned to Ziva, a curiously amused expression on his face. "What's with him?"

Ziva shrugged innocently. "He believes that he has lost his cell phone," she said calmly.

Gibbs's expression darkened slightly. "He lost his cell?"

"No, boss," McGee chuckled. "He thinks he lost his cell phone."

"And the difference is?"

"Abby and I stole it from him yesterday," Ziva said finally. Gibbs just looked at her questioningly. "So we can lure him with it to the bar tonight," she explained. Gibbs still looked at her blankly. "For the party," she clarified. Still nothing. "Tony's party," she clarified further. "For his birthday…tonight." She huffed. "Gibbs, you are coming? I told you about this weeks ago!"

The older agent broke out into a smile. "You're not the only one who can lead people on, Ziva," he said with a shrug, on his way back to his desk.

"Oh, I see," Ziva said, nodding knowingly. "Giving me a bite of my own medicine…"

Gibbs smiled to himself as he positioned himself in front of his computer. McGee smiled in Gibbs direction briefly, the latter's eyes cutting over to the younger agent's for just a moment before returning to his business organizing pads and messages that didn't need organizing.

"Ziva?" McGee said, his head tucked down towards his chest to hide his smirk.

"Hm?" she asked, oblivious once more.

"Taste."

"What?" she asked, that look of confusion coming over her features in one of Ziva's only typical expressions.

"Taste of your own medicine, Ziva," Gibbs clarified, now up from his desk and passing by her own, stopping to lean over and whisper, "And yes, I will be there…" Then he rounded the corner and was gone.

"Will you just requisition a new one, Tony!" she screamed at him for the eighth time since that morning. She knew he wasn't going to; he was determined to keep looking for his cell phone—all over his apartment, his car, the office. He planned on searching her place later on that night even though he knew that it most definitely wasn't there—but he was holding out for a miracle as far as far as Ziva could tell.

"I've managed to not have any other problems with the man today, Ziva. If I can find it before Gibbs finds out then I'm home free."

"And if he finds out that you lost it and did not get a new one then you will be in even deeper than you think you are right now," she pointed out.

Tony's head sagged in realization. "That's a good point," he moaned into his arms as Ziva's phone rang.

Right on time, she thought as she plucked up the receiver. "Officer David," she answered.

"We're all set, here, Ziva," Abby said conspiratorially.

"I'll be right down," Ziva said. As she hung up the phone she spared a look at Tony sitting so miserable at his desk. It will all be better soon, she thought to herself, in an attempt to quiet the tiny jab in her gut that seemed to announce a small amount of guilt. "I have to go see Abby now." He sighed dramatically and she rolled her eyes at the top of his head before giving into her need to comfort him, even though she knew that in a few minutes there would be nothing left to comfort. She walked over to his desk and, careful that no one else was around, (after all, they were all waiting for them at the party) she ran her fingers through is hair lovingly. "I am confident that the situation will right itself, Tony."

"How?" he asked dismally, lifting his head a bit.

She shook her head and shrugged, and then dropped a quick kiss on his lips. "Because," she said simply, and disappeared.

"Because…" he grumbled sullenly. It was his birthday. He shouldn't have had to deal with a mess like this on his birthday, and yet fate seemed to think it a necessary hurdle to clear. Tony sighed again. He'd gotten several well-wishes throughout the day, and his usual present from Abby and birthday speech from Ducky. Gibbs didn't acknowledge birthdays…at least not Tony's. But that's fine, Tony thought confidently, it's how he shows he cares, he reasoned, as he reached for his ringing phone.

"DiNozzo," he said sadly. "The miserable birthday boy du jour…"

"Hi," said a hesitant voice on the other end of the line. "Um, I don't know if you're missing a cell phone…" it began slowly.

Tony jumped up from his chair. "You have it?"

"I suppose so, yes."

"Oh, praise the birthday Gods!" he said triumphantly. "Where can I pick it up?" he asked quickly, grabbing pencil and paper to jot down the address, wondering to himself how he managed to leave it at the bar of all places. Huh. I must have left it there after dinner, Tony thought to himself before thanking the caller and hanging up.

Tony scribbled a quick note and left it on Ziva's desk as he headed to the elevator.

The bar in question was only a few blocks off the Navy Yard. It was a place the entire team frequented often, like last night when he, Ziva, McGee, and Abby had grabbed burgers and beers after work. Tony parked his car around the corner and jogged to the door of the bar, grateful that his ongoing panic attack would soon be at an end. I get the phone back before Gibbs can find out, and all is well in Who-ville tonight.

But when he wrenched open the door he got the shock of his life—Gibbs, standing right in front of him.

Tony startled. How does he do that?!?! "Uh, boss—" he stammered, flummoxed. "I was just—coming to—and then I was—and going to—well the—and it—so I—uh—well, what I mean is—"

"SURPRISE!!!"

Tony startled again, completely taken aback at the sea of people who suddenly popped out from every nook and cranny of the place. Everyone was there. Everyone. Agents from work, old friends from Baltimore, a few frat brothers, the guys he played football with, and of course, the team. Ducky, Jimmy, McGee, Abby—even Gibbs—and of course, Ziva.

Tony was almost speechless. "How did you? How did I not—? Who? How? WHO?" he barked, finally, his aggravation over his missing cell phone and the ensuing irritation ringing through loud and clear in his tone, which was only enhanced by the way his face just kind of blew up in one giant ball of frustration.

Everyone in the room laughed at his expression and then the jibes started from around the room.

"Very eloquent!"

"Well said!"

"A man of few words!"

"—Too bad they're all the wrong ones!"

Gibbs came up to Tony, a smile on his highly amused face as he clapped him on the back proudly. "You're very lucky, DiNozzo," he said to him with a small chuckle.

"I know, boss," he said, overwhelmed at the scene and then finally relenting to the actuality of the situation and how proud he should be to have such an incredible group of people care to celebrate his birthday. "I can't believe this—this is…it's great. Thank you, all…" he yelled to the group before him obnoxiously, "…for coming to worship the great DiNozzo on his blessed day of birth!" There was a combination of laughs and groans as the crowd lifted their glasses to toast him.

Gibbs shook his head and slapped something onto Tony's chest with enough force to knock the breath out of the birthday boy. "I meant about the phone, DiNozzo," he deadpanned. Tony brought his hands up to the source of the trauma to his chest, the phone falling into his hands as Gibbs released it.

Tony faced Gibbs with a guilty expression on his face. "Sorry, boss. I know I should've gotten a replacement…"

Gibbs quirked his head to the side.

Tony sighed. "I had it when I got home last night, figured it was somewhere in my apartment…and that it would turn up eventually," he said, trying to laugh it off. Gibbs just looked at him, and though Tony understood implicitly, the younger man could have sworn he saw something flash on Gibbs's face for the briefest of moments. But it was gone just as fast as (Tony had thought) it appeared. He straightened his back, squared his shoulders, and nodded gruffly. "But in our line of work we don't have time for 'eventually,' boss. I'll be more responsible from now on."

"Don't do it again," Gibbs said seriously, and then disappeared into the crowd in a quintessential Gibbs style.

Tony let out a breath and rubbed the back of his neck, a weird feeling in his gut. "Got it, boss," he whispered to Gibbs's retreating back, but he couldn't shake the feeling that something had just happened…

So, I'm starting to let the cat out of the bag… What do you think? Excited? Nervous? Let me know!