Chapter Five: A Rose by Any Other Name . . .

Three months later . . .

"It's Abby. Timmy, open up," Abby ordered as she banged on the door of Tim's apartment. "If you don't, I'll bust it open. You know I can."

There was a heavy sigh, a click and the door swung open. Tim stood in the door, dressed in sweatpants and his favourite MIT sweatshirt. "What do you want?"

"What the hell is going on?" Abby demanded as she pushed past Tim and marched into his apartment. "You barely answer my phone calls. Lyndi's going crazy. And the FBI is ready to pull your security detail."

"Let them."

"What is wrong with you?" Abby exploded. She was tired, frustrated and annoyed. "God, you have one bad experience with a woman and you break into pieces!"

"Who said anything about a woman?" Tim shouted back, defensive.

Abby rolled her eyes and sighed exaggeratedly. "You're a walking cliché, Tim. It's obvious. You never were very subtle."

"Just leave it alone, Abs," Tim snapped and stormed into his bedroom.

"You're my friend," Abby replied stubbornly, following Tim into his bedroom. "I'm not just about to give up."

"Please, just leave it," Tim muttered, leaning heavily against the doorframe. "I'm fine."

Abby shot him a disbelieving look. She put her hands on her hips and exclaimed, "If you're fine, then I'm the tooth fairy."

"Now who's the cliché?"

"No need to get snappy at me," Abby shot back. "I'm just trying to help."

"I don't need help, Abby. There's nothing wrong with me," Tim replied firmly. After a pause, he said, "I'm busy. Could we have this conversation another time?"

"You don't look busy," Abby commented, but shrugged, resigned, when Tim shot her a dangerous look.

"Fine," she huffed. "Lyndi was right. She told me you'd bitten her head off when she called for an update on the next Tibbs novel. I'll leave you in peace, then."

She stomped out of the room with a hurt look on her face. Once upon a time, Tim used to confide everything in her; they had been best friends since they were little, but recently, she was lucky if she could get two words out of him.

Tim noticed the hurt look on Abby's face so called, "Abby. I'm s . . ."

But Abby had already slammed the door behind her.

Tim sighed dejectedly and ran a hand through his hair. He didn't know what was happening to him lately. Ever since . . . No, he pushed that thought out of his head. He'd buried that fateful night in a little corner of his mind and locked it tight.

Or so he liked to believe.

In reality, he couldn't get it out of his mind.

It was the little things that reminded him. A jogger in the park . . . a flash of brown hair . . . the roses in Mrs Silvestry's garden . . . Suddenly he'd find himself transported back to that one, perfect night. He couldn't help it . . . and the way that it had ended . . .

Tim shook his head to snap himself out of it. It happened, big deal, he needed to move on. There was no time to think of the "what ifs" or the "maybes".

Mostly, he was just fooling himself.

He'd been lucky so far. Everyone had kept out of his way, attributing his anti-social and snappish behaviour to the stress of writing his next novel and the fact someone was trying to kill him. Well, they'd gotten the writing part right.

As for the assassination hit, there had been nothing for three months and Tim highly doubted that there would be anymore movement. He had a strong feeling that 'Danielle' would not try again, though a little part of him still insisted it was all part of some elaborate plan. So, really, the assassination attempt was not high on his priority list.

Danielle, on the other hand, was, no matter how much Tim tried to keep her off it. He couldn't help wondering what she was doing; where she was. As he ate his breakfast in the morning, he wondered if she was eating breakfast. At night, he'd wonder where she was sleeping. Even though, in Tim's opinion, she was far, far away, it didn't stop her from invading his dreams and his waking moments.

He wondered if this was what love felt like . . .

---

The next day, Tim woke up bright and early. Danielle, of course, had made frequent appearances in his dreams, though they were fuzzy in his mind. He kicked his legs over the side of his (new) bed and decided quickly that he'd forgo his morning shower in favour of some breakfast and an early morning walk.

He padded into the kitchen in his ratty old t-shirt and boxer shorts (Star Trek, of course). Tim reached up, opened the cupboard and leaned in to pull out a box of cereal. He wasn't looking, so when he looked down to see his choice, he dropped it. In his hand was the dinosaur cereal Danielle had once deemed cute.

Hastily dropping to his knees and scooping up the box, Tim deposited it in the rubbish bin. He had, after that night, cleansed himself of any reminders. The bed had gone and been replaced with a substantially more expensive model (which Tim had to admit was a lot nicer than his old one). The clothes he had been wearing that day had been shuffled off to a goodwill store. The only thing that served as a reminder of that night was the scrawled note tucked away in the corner of this bedside table.

Jethro barked and Tim jumped. He looked over to the dog and said, "Let's get you some breakfast, shall we."

Jethro barked again so Tim reached over and pulled open the cupboard that held Jethro's dog food. He reached for a Tin and as he took it from its place on the shelf, a single scrap of white paper hovered in mid-air for a moment before fluttering to the ground.

Confused, Tim reached down and plucked the paper off the floor. Turning it over, he dropped the can of dog food he was holding. It clattered to the ground, making Jethro yelp. But Tim ignored it and stared seemingly unseeing at the hastily scrawled script.

Broadmeadow Park – 0900 hours.

Lose the tail.

D.

Tim stumbled backwards and the paper was shaking. It was just another one of his dreams; it had to be. After three months of nothing . . . it was impossible. Completely and utterly impossible. Yet the proof was staring him in the face. It had to be her; there was no other explanation.

No. No. He wasn't going to go, he decided. No. What had happened with Danielle was a one-off. It was in the past and gone. But despite himself, Tim glanced over at his clock which told him it was just before eight. That meant he had an hour to get himself over to the other side of Silver Spring and lose his FBI guard.

Wait. What was he talking about? He wasn't going. He was going to eat breakfast and go for his morning walk. Yes, that's what he was going to do. But the more he thought about it, the more he found himself working out a plan to shake the FBI.

Five minutes after receiving the note, Tim had a plan.

---

"I'm just going to borrow some milk from the Wilkins," Tim told Gibbs and DiNozzo as he walked past the pair of guards.

They nodded as though they looked bored, so Tim knocked on the door two apartments down.

When the door opened, Tim asked cheerfully, "Hey, Jen. Can I come in for a moment?"

After Tim had stepped into Jen's apartment, he asked, "Would it be too much of a hassle if I borrowed your car. Mine's totally dead and I've got an urgent meeting at the publishers today, soon actually. I'll promise I'll bring it straight back after I'm finished and I'll even fill the gas tank on the way home."

Jen shrugged. "Sure. I won't be needing it until his afternoon. You'll have it back before then?"

Tim nodded enthusiastically. "Absolutely. With a full tank, too."

"Okay," Jen agreed with a smile. "But you owe me one, Tim."

"Make that two," Tim amended, slightly sheepish. "Could I also borrow some milk? I've kinda run out."

Jen laughed. "Geez, Tim, it's a surprise you've gotten this far by yourself."

Tim shrugged and grinned as if to say 'what can you do about it'.

"Sure," Jen replied, still laughing. "I'll just get you the keys and the milk. Mind if I pour it into a jug?"

Tim shook his head, so Jen walked off and returned a few moments later with a ceramic jug of milk and the keys to her simple, yet practical car.

"Here you go," she said, handing them to Tim.

Tim took them gratefully and replied, "I owe you one."

"Two actually," Jen laughed and walked Tim to her door.

As she opened it for him, she said, "I hope it goes well. The meeting and all."

"Thanks, so do I." Tim gave Jen a little wave and hurried back to his apartment, satisfied that stage one of his plan was complete.

About two minutes later, Tim exited his apartment again, but this time, he furtively locked it behind him. The keys to Jen's car were in his pocket, though his own car keys were in his hand.

"I'm just going down to my car," he told Gibbs and DiNozzo. "I left something in there that's really important."

"And no," he said as the FBI agents made a move to follow him. "It's just my car." He chuckled. "What could go wrong? Besides, the outside guards can keep tabs on me."

Gibbs and DiNozzo looked at each other for a moment before Gibbs nodded his head.

"Great. I'll be back in a few."

Deciding to take the stairs instead of the lifts, Tim bustled down them and arrived in the car park. He waved to the FBI agents in an unmarked car and said,

"Just getting something out of my car. Won't be a second."

The agents in the car nodded in reply and went back to their conversation.

Instead of going to his car, however, Tim walked casually over to Jen's car and clicked open the doors. Out of sight of the agents, Tim changed his shirt and pulled a baseball cap down over his face. He jumped in the driver's seat, revved the engine and drove out of the car park.

As he drove past the agent guards in the outside car, he glanced at them; they were still wrapped up in their conversation. AndGibbs and DiNozzo weren't anywhere to be seen. Tim smiled secretively to himself; it had actually been easier than he thought.

The FBI thought he was getting something out of the car and by the time they figured that something was going on, he'd already be at Broadmeadow park.

---

He'd been sitting in Broadmeadow Park for ten minutes and there was no sign of her. The park was empty, save for a few birds and a couple of bugs. His FBI goons had not appeared, so Tim assumed they were puzzling over his disappearance. Maybe they thought he'd been taken by the person after him.

They would never guess that he'd gone to meet that very person of his own free will.

Tim felt a little sorry for the agents, especially Gibbs and DiNozzo. They'd probably get hell from their superior about letting their charge disappear. Despite their annoying presence, the FBI agents weren't too bad. It was annoying, sure, but not totally terrible. They . . .

"A nickel for your thoughts?" an amused voice whispered in Tim's ear, making him jump.

"Penny. It's, uh, a penny for your thoughts," Tim stuttered as he awkwardly twisted his body to face the person standing behind the bench.

"Penny. Nickel. Same thing," Danielle said lightly, gesturing with her hands. Then she looked down at Tim and smiled softly, saying gently, "Hello, Timothy."

"Danielle," Tim breathed and for the first time wondered why the name felt so wrong on his tongue.

He stood, turned to face Danielle and snapped, "If you had planned to sleep with me and then just up and leave, it might have been nice to know your real name."

Danielle looked slightly shocked at the change in Tim's reaction. "What? Why?" Where was this coming from?

"Why?" Tim laughed bitterly. "I thought that was pretty obvious."

"Isn't it better . . .

"No, it is not better," Tim said firmly. "If you're Danielle, then you're the person sent to kill me. Otherwise, you could be the one I fall in love with."

If Danielle had less self control, chances are her mouth would have dropped open and her legs collapsed. But she was the Shadow, and as such, had learned to control her reactions. But love? That blew her away.

"That is ridiculous," she laughed awkwardly. "Have you been sitting in the sun to . . ."

"Don't patronise me," Tim snapped. "I know what I feel."

"You don't feel anything," Danielle said firmly. "We are just two people that met one day in which one thing led to another."

Tim looked angry. "So that's all it was to you? A one night stand?"

"That is all it can be," Danielle replied in a quiet voice. "That is all it can ever be."

"To whom?" Tim challenged. "To me? To you? 'Cos it sure felt like more than that to me."

"You do not understand!" Danielle exploded.

"Then let me understand!" Tim replied with a tone of voice that matched Danielle's perfectly.

"No."

"No. No . . ." Tim let out a frustrated sigh. If he was a swearing man, this would be the time.

"I did not come to argue with you," Danielle said quietly after their little outburst. "I do not really know why I came, if I am honest."

Tim sighed again, but this time it was deflated and sad. He sat down heavily on the park bench. "Neither do I."

Danielle walked around the bench and sat down next to Tim. For the first time, Tim noticed that she looked nervy and uncomfortable.

"So . . ."

"So . . . so where do we go from here?" Tim finished quietly.

Danielle shrugged. "For once, I do not know. Usually, I have everything planned to the tiny detail. This . . . this is new."

"It's new for me too," Tim remarked. "It's not every day you start to fall in love with an assassin."

Danielle growled, frustrated. "There's that love word again. How can I get it through to you that . . ."

"That you don't have any feelings for me?" Tim finished bitterly.

"I never said that," Danielle snapped. "Stop twisting my words."

"Maybe if you weren't so ambiguous, I wouldn't need to!" Tim exclaimed.

"See. See." Danielle gestured to herself and Tim. "This is why it does not work. We cannot talk without yelling at each other."

"We can work on that," Tim said firmly.

"There will be no need," Danielle replied equally as firm. "There will be no relationship to work on."

"Why not?" Tim challenged.

"Why not?" Danielle looked incredulous. "I could write a whole novel of why nots."

"So? So we can make it work," Tim said confidently.

Danielle stood up from the bench and started to pace. "This is not one of your novels, Timothy. Happily ever afters do not just happen because somebody wants it."

"Why? Anything's possible?"

"And that," Danielle sighed, "is why you are so damn naive. You cannot live in a fantasy world forever; real life is not like that."

"I am an adult," Tim muttered. "I do know the difference between fiction and reality."

Danielle snorted. "Then get it through your mind that there can never be an us."

"Then why did you want to see me!" Tim exploded, paused, and then continued, "You know what? Forget about that. I'm going home."

Tim stood and tried with all his might to storm away from the volatile situation, but found that he couldn't move; it was like something was gluing him to the ground.

"What are you waiting for?" Danielle said stiffly, looking at Tim who hadn't moved.

Tim sat down again and buried his face in his hands. "God, I don't know."

Danielle stopped pacing, sat back down next to Tim and placed a hand on his shoulder. "Please, you have to understand the reasons why this would not work. This was meant to give you some closure, nothing more."

Tim was silent for a moment, then a soft . . .

"I love you."

"No. No. No." Danielle withdrew her hand and stood again, glaring daggers at Tim.

"You cannot love someone you have just met," she spat. "We have known each other for what? A few months? In those few months we have spent less than twenty-four hours together."

"Love," she laughed bitterly, "cannot be formed in a few chance meetings."

"They were hardly chance meetings!" Tim exclaimed. "If I recall correctly, you set them up."

"To kill you!"

"But you didn't!" Tim yelled. "Why is that?"

"I. Don't. Know," Danielle hissed. "I don't know."

"Then maybe we should find out?"

Danielle sighed, frustrated. "We just keep going around in circles. This . . . this was a bad idea. I should go."

Tim stilled. Even though they were at each other throats, Tim was craving the connection between the two.

As Danielle made to leave, he said quietly, "Please, don't go."

She turned around and asked in a heavy voice. "Why?"

"Because I have something for you." Tim fished underneath the bench and pulled out plastic wrapped object. He offered it to Danielle who took it reluctantly.

"Please, don't," she murmured as she tried to look away from the red velvety head of the long stemmed rose.

Tim reached over and took her hand, guiding her back onto the bench. "Danielle," he said, using her false name, "I can give you your happily ever after."

"No, Timothy, you cannot," Danielle replied with a heavy heart, snatching her hand from his grip. "I told you. In my profession, you do not just leave. It will catch up to you; it always will."

"We can change our names. Move overseas. Dye our hair." Tim was grasping at straws. "If we want it enough, we can make it work."

For a single moment, Danielle looked tempted. Very tempted. But then she shook her head sadly. "No."

"Please?" Tim was one step away from begging.

"No," Danielle repeated firmly. "I made my choice long ago to give up any chance of a normal life and I have to live with that."

"I'm giving you a chance to have that normal life," Tim replied.

"It cannot happen."

"But I think I'm in love with you."

"Just stop, okay. Just stop with the roses and the talk of love and everything!" Danielle yelled. "This is crazy. You're crazy."

"Me? I'm the crazy one?" Tim shot back angrily. "I'm not the assassin."

"And I'm not the person who fell in love with the assassin," Danielle yelled back.

She sighed. "See. See. We cannot get in two sentences without yelling. Please, let's just move on, both of us. It's for the best."

"The best for whom?" Tim muttered bitterly.

"Us. The world. Everything."

"I don't agree," Tim replied stubbornly.

"I know," Danielle said quietly. "I know."

They fell into a slightly awkward silence that Danielle broke by saying, "I should go."

She stood and shot Tim a fleeting and longing look. "I should really go."

Tim grabbed her hand. "Please. Stay."

"I can't." Danielle looked heartbroken.

"Then please . . ." Tim looked desperate. "Just tell me your name."

"Does it matter?"

"More than anything."

There was a slight paused and for a moment, Tim wondered if Danielle would actually reveal her name.

Finally she said quietly, "Ziva. My real name is Ziva."

Tim smiled through the tears he didn't even know he was shedding. "Ziva." He paused. "It's nice to meet you, Ziva."

Ziva offered Tim a small smile. "In another time and place, perhaps it could have work."

"Yeah, maybe," Tim echoed before shaking his head, and trying again, "It could work."

He couldn't give up on her – Ziva – he just couldn't.

"I am sorry, Timothy, but this is how it has to be." Ziva gave Tim a sad, longing look and turned, walking back to her car.

"Wait!" Tim cried desperately. There had to be something . . . something that could be salvaged from this beautiful mess.

Ziva ignored Tim's cry and continued walking. It was for the best, she told herself. She'd made her choice long ago and it was her responsibility to live with it.

"Ziva . . . please . . ." Tim was practically begging and this, perhaps, broke Ziva's heart even more than the fact she had to walk away.

In her adult life, she'd never heard someone so devoted to her. That disappeared when her family died.

Tim cried out again, but she didn't stop walking. If she did, she didn't know if she could start again. There was one chance, and one chance only, to give Timothy the life he deserved . . . and that wasn't with her.

She reached her Mini, turned the key in the lock and tried to ignore the tear running down her cheek. Ziva slid into the driver's seat and jammed the key into the ignition. Breaking her own heart as well as Tim's, Ziva reversed and drove smoothly out of the parking space.

As she turned the corner, she never even looked back.

---

Devastated, Tim watched helplessly as Ziva's car and Ziva disappeared for what he knew was the final time. His heart was racing and his mind was in overdrive; he didn't know what to think or when to think it: it was too overwhelming. Then . . .

Something happened. He felt tiny shockwaves pulsate underneath him. Then Tim registered the roar of an explosion.

He stood, completely still, for one deafening moment. Then . . .

He ran.

As he turned the corner, all that remained were the twisted remains of Ziva's Mini Cooper and a blackened rose.