whoot! i made it! i've been re-reading what i wrote and, surprise surprise, i'm having second thoughts about how it was written. so i decided to re-write parts of it... which means the whole second half in Tibki-speak. i promised myself i'd make it, and keep my one update a day promise, so here it is.

muchas gracias to smartkid37 for being the first to review!

Disclaimer- n! o! t! (space)! m! i! n! e! what does that spell? not mine!

17 Years Later- NCIS HQ:

Probationary Agent Ziva David, formerly of Mossad and currently of NCIS, had been trained on how to react to many things in life. Some are fairly basic: in event of a bomb, duck and cover. Others are more complicated, like what to do when you're actually planting said bomb and it activates hours before the target arrives, 3 inches from your face.

She'd been through several sorts of situations, from swimming past hippos and crocs in the Nile River to escape Egyptian police with the late Jenny Shepard to jumping from a speeding green train into a snowdrift in Russia.

When she'd come to NCIS, she'd had to quickly learn how to deal with a certain Anthony DiNozzo and a Leroy Jethro Gibbs. That had been one of the harder things she'd had to go through—dealing with Gibbs while attempting not to strangle DiNozzo—but nothing could've prepared her for this.

When the elevator had dinged, she had expected to see Tony; it was 20 minutes after the start of the day and she and McGee were already at work. That was always his cue.

What she hadn't expected was to see him come in clothes that belonged in the 1700s.

Anthony DiNozzo had shed the Armani suits and shirts today and had opted for a rough wool shirt that fit loosely over him and what looked suspiciously like leggings instead. There was a belt pulling the shirt against his waist and…

"Is that… a bow and quiver on your back?" she asked, her eyebrows raised. DiNozzo scowled, dumping his backpack on the floor next to his desk. McGee turned up and laughed at his partner's dress. "Why do you look like you came to work in a time machine from the 1700s?"

"Because I love the feel of wool on my back," he returned sarcastically. "I lost a bet with one of my old college buddies, ok?"

"What was the bet?"

"The first one to pick up a girl at the bar got to decide what the other had to do. I would've gotten him to climb a telephone pole naked, but he had so many Sam Adams that he decided I had to dress up like I lived in 1700s."

"Well, you failed," McGee told him, smiling. They turned to him. "This time of year they wore cotton, not wool, so they wouldn't sweat so hard. You can tell the belt's fake, those leggings belong in the Middle Ages—I don't really want to know where you got them from, actually—and almost no one used a bow and arrow. They had guns, muskets, actually."

"How do you know?" Tony snapped, annoyed. "You don't exactly look 300 years old, McKnow-It-All."

"So your "DiNozzo Charm" failed so badly?" Ziva wondered, changing the subject and grinning like a Cheshire Cat.

"No!" Tony turned his nasty mood on her. "He cheated. He had to have. She was already his girlfriend, I know it. There's no other way he could've…"

"Gear up," Gibbs said, coming in from McGee's side. "Dead girl at Arlington."

"Arlington?" both Ziva and McGee repeated. "Why do we have the case?"

"Killer left us a calling card," he replied, the looked up at DiNozzo. A few seconds of silence passed before he opened his mouth, closed it, shook his head and went for the elevator.

Arlington Cemetery:

The girl couldn't have been more than nine years old. Her blond hair was pulled back in a ponytail, though she was wearing a set of matching pajamas. She would've looked asleep, if she was breathing or had any sort of color in her face.

She was propped against an old headstone, leaning slightly to her right, her bangs falling into her face. On the ground in front of her, the grass was singed into four letters: NCIS.

Ducky was at her side, brushing the loose strands of hair behind her ear. "Oh, my poor girl, don't worry, we shall find whoever did this to you." He looked around the cemetery. "Mr. Palmer, are you ready with that gurney yet?"

"Al-almost, doctor," came a shouted reply. Jimmy was having trouble unloading it with all the gravestones around the van. Ducky had driven this time.

"Whaddya got, Duck?" Gibbs asked, crouching beside him. He'd already barked at Ziva to sketch and shoot, Tony to bag and tag, and for McGee to ID her and handle any witnesses since Tony would probably take their attentions of the case.

"I just arrived Jethro, you can't expect me to simply pull cause of death out of the air!" the ME protested. "I can tell you, however," he added, pulling the thermometer out of the girl's liver, "that she died between midnight and 0100 hours last night. And what were you doing out here at that hour, hmm?" he asked the body. "Well past your bedtime, my guess."

"That's what we're gonna find out, Duck," Gibbs told him. "Any guesses to COD?"

"No visible wounds," he reported, moving her slightly, "no blood, no vomit to suggest something she consumed, no bruises… except on her shins here. But I'd venture that is from soccer or some other sport, though I could be wrong. Her lips aren't blue from poison… I would assume that she died of asphyxiation due to something covering her mouth and nose, but I'll only be able to tell you for certain when we get her back to autopsy."

Palmer finally arrived with the gurney, and stopped when he saw the body. "Oh," he said quietly, surprised. "She's…"

"Young," Ducky finished sadly. "Unfortunately, yes. Very much so. You had your whole life in front of you, didn't you, my dear?"

"Who found her?" Gibbs asked.

"Groundskeeper," Ziva replied. "McGee is over there, talking to him." She pointed at the two men on the other side of the crime scene tape around the area. As expected, there were a few onlookers watching them work and even a news crew.

What they weren't expecting was a blonde woman who couldn't have been more than 20 came out of the crowd. She looked like the girl on the headstone, right down to the bright green eyes and slightly jutting chin.

"Janie?" she asked, looking around. "Janie, where are you…? Janie? No, NO!" She started running for the crime scene. Every eye turned to watch as McGee ran and stopped her just before she crossed the tape. "JANICE! NO, NOT MY SISTER!"

"Ma'am, calm down, please," McGee begged, holding her back.

"That's my sister!" she screamed, trying to pull away. "That's my baby sister! Janice, no!"

"Ma'am!" he shouted, getting her attention. The woman's suddenly tear-streaked face turned to him. "I need you to calm down for a second, alright? NCIS. I'm Special Agent McGee."

"N-NCIS?"

"Naval Criminal Investigative Services," he nodded. "Can I ask your name?"

"Em-Emily Binxson," she replied. "Wh-why is NCIS here, Janie wasn't anywhere near old enough to be in the Navy!"

McGee turned around to glance at the others. Ziva and Tony were watching with some mild interest. Ziva in what was going on; Tony in the girl.

When the name registered in his name, he literally took a step back. "Emily Binxson?" he repeated. She nodded. Wild ideas flying through his mind, he led her under the tape and over to one of the agency sedans parked nearby. "That would make your sister Janice Binxson, right?" he asked, pulling out a notepad.

Emily nodded. "Ok, Miss Binxson, I need you to try and keep it together for a few minutes so I can ask you some questions, ok?" She nodded. "Good. Are your parents around?"

A wave of cold washed over her face. "No. Mom died after she had Janie and Dad scrammed after I turned 18 last year. It's just me and Janie." A tear rolled down her cheek. "I-I've been working two jobs since then, to keep us off the street, to keep Janie… in school!" She collapsed into sobs.

McGee took pity on her and pulled the girl into a one-armed hug. "I-I'm sorry," she apologized, pulling away after a second. "I'm sorry, it's just that…"

"Don't be," he insisted. "You just lost your little sister. You have every right to cry, every right to mourn. Just hold off for two more minutes, ok?" She nodded slowly.

"Where did you see her last time?" McGee asked, pulling out his notepad.

"L-last night. I tucked her into bed, kissed her goodnight, then woke up this morning and she as gone!" A few tears leaked. "Th-the window was open, but it wasn't 24 hours and I wanted to make sure I was just over-reacting so I called all her friends and then started running around town looking for her, and then…" Her sobs overtook anything else that could've come out of her mouth.

"Did Janie have any enemies?" It was a stupid question, but he had to ask it.

"Of course not! She was 9 years old! Everyone loved her!" The tears returned and Emily fell into his shoulder, well and truly soaking it through. McGee simply patted her back. "I-I keep wishing for someone to pull her out of a car or something, saying 'April Fool's!' and telling me it's all ok!"

McGee shook his head, hating what he was about to say. "It's not ok, Miss Binxon… Emily?" She nodded. "It won't be ok. It'll never be ok. You'll always ask yourself if you could've done something to stop it, somehow have turned fate so that you died instead of her. You'll always wish that you had just one more minute with her, just to tell her how much you love her and won't forger her in a million years. Even after we catch whoever did this, you'll still feel a little empty inside, where Janice had a part of your soul." Emily looked up at him, her eyes wide. "All you can do is what she would've wanted you too: live on. Mourn for now, grieve, bury her, and let us do our job and catch this b$^rd. Then keep on with life, that's all you can do."

"You-you know what…?"

"It's like?" he finished. "Unfortunately, yes, to a point. I thought she was dead for while, and I didn't have anyone to turn to, no friends, no family, nothing. You, at least, have friends, right?" She nodded. "Maybe a boyfriend hidden somewhere?" Emily shrugged, but he didn't miss the blush creeping onto her tear-lined face. "Don't grieve alone, whatever you do, ok? You won't survive long like that."

"Then how did you manage?" Their eavesdropper had been wondering the same thing, and another: What happened to Sarah? "You said you were alone, how come you're still here?"

McGee turned away, looking at the trees growing out of some of the older graves. "I had to," he replied, so quietly that Ziva had to strain her ears to hear it. "I didn't have a choice." He looked back at Emily. "But you do. Don't make the wrong one, Emily."

Emily nodded slowly, then stared as Tony came into view, smiling charmingly. "Hi, Tony DiNozzo," he introduced himself. "I just wanted to make sure you're ok, and..."

"Um... why do you look like that kid in The Patriot?"

Eventually, the team left the scene, all evidence found. Ziva left with something to wonder about. McGee was quiet and simply looked out the window, frowning in confusion, like he was trying to solve a puzzle without a few pieces.

Gibbs left with an anger he was happy he rarely had; one that only reared its ugly head when an innocent child had been killed for reasons they didn't know yet.

Tony left clutching his seatbelt for dear life: an angry Gibbs is a Gibbs that should have his driver's license revoked.

Well. More than usual, anyway.

p.s.: for those who missed the update on my profile, this one will probably be a little less funny than T2F (3 guesses what that is), and a little more serious. i'm not that great a humor writer, actually. sorry. and there will be some minor character death at the end. just warning you now. AND yes, i will have "censored" all the curse words, like i did here. you can guess what they are if you want.

p.p.s.: tomorrow.....

PEACE! ~Tibki