Chapter Eight: Monday Morning
As Ziva traversed the narrow corridors of Mossad Headquarters, Tel Aviv, she couldn't help but note that the familiar sense of homecoming she'd once felt every time she stepped through the building's front doors was gone, replaced by slight anxiety and certain uncomfortableness. As the Director's daughter and one of the agency's top assassins, she received nods of welcome everywhere she went, but they were hostile and perfunctory, unlike the warm greetings she'd received at NCIS. The people there hadn't cared about her rank and skill—Tony hadn't even been completely sure what she had done while with Mossad. She was greeted because she was genuinely liked; here she was greeted because she was the weapon of fear her father constantly wielded to keep his agents in line.
Pausing only briefly outside of Deputy Director Elijah David's door to gather her courage, she knocked professionally. It sounded cold and distant to her ears.
"Come in," came her father's voice.
Ziva let herself in and shut the door quietly behind her. Her father's office hadn't changed in the past three years. It was still in the same small room that for some reason he liked, with the filing cabinets lining the walls chock full of papers, and a cluttered desk in the middle of the floor. With some trepidation, Ziva approached said desk and folded her hands behind her back, waiting. She knew her father would want to test her patience before "welcoming" her, as the memo she'd received the moment she'd walked through the doors had said.
Sure enough, the room was silent for the next half-hour as Ziva stood and her father wrote out what looked to be a very lengthy letter of some sort. Finally, he scrawled his name, capped his pen, and looked at her. He nodded his head slightly at the chair she'd been standing behind in invitation. She sat down and winced internally when she felt the slight twinge in her calf muscles. Three years ago, standing stock-still for thirty minutes wouldn't have been a problem.
After what could be described as a small staring match, Eli David sighed.
"How are you Zivaleh?"
"Well Papa."
He balanced his elbows on the desk and folded his hands, resting his chin on them.
"It seems America has suited you."
"It has," Ziva replied with some trepidation. Her father was not the kind of man to start a conversation with "unnecessary" pleasantries.
He nodded thoughtfully.
"I hear Director Shepard has passed." It was more of a statement than a question.
"What you hear is true Papa."
"That's too bad," he said before turning back to his papers. Ziva could tell that the conversation was over and rose to leave. Just as her hand was on the doorknob, her father's voice stopped her.
"Zivaleh," he called.
"Yes Papa," she inquired, turning around.
He said nothing, merely searching her face for a few moments before retuning his gaze to his paperwork.
As Ziva exited the room, she couldn't help analyzing the brief flicker of emotion she'd seen dart across his face.
It looked almost like…sympathy.
oOo
Tony grunted noncommittally as he looked around the tiny one-bedroom apartment he would now call home. It was the type of place he would automatically consider out of the question without even second glancing at, but, unfortunately, it was the only thing he could find on such short notice.
Besides, it wasn't like he would be spending much time here anyway.
Sighing, he looked around. Everything he'd brought with him from DC would be going with him aboard the Reagan and he'd already arranged with the landlord to have any boxes of furniture and other junk that Abby got around to sending out hauled up to the apartment to await his return for shore leave.
Abby. He missed her already. He could use some of her bubbly cheerfulness right now. Of course, thinking of Abby led to thoughts of NCIS, which inevitably turned to thoughts of Ziva. It had only been three days and already he was feeling hopeless. What if he never saw her again? What if he never saw any of them again?
Making up his mind to send postcards to everyone at NCIS the moment he could, he began to feel slightly better.
Glancing at the clock, he sighed. 8:03 AM. In less than an hour, he would officially be an Agent Afloat. Grabbing his bags, he walked slowly out the door, locking it behind him.
It was time to report for duty.
oOo
The first thing McGee heard as he walked through the doors of Cyber Crimes, or, rather, the basement in which several desks were placed, were the chorus's of "Agent McGee, Agent McGee!"
Great.
He'd only been at his new job for an hour, and it was already blatantly obvious that he was being hero-worshipped from every corner. And, though he might have enjoyed all the recognition at one point, at the moment, it was getting really annoying. He would rather have had Tony's amiable put downs and Gibbs' challenging demeanor than the he-can-do-no-wrong attitude he was currently receiving.
As for the job, it was incredibly boring. Orders flashed upon the large screen at the front of the room and were fulfilled by whoever happened to be free at the given moment. It didn't exactly help that he was without a doubt the best hacker there. It only resulted in pleas for help and much of the workload being thrown on his shoulders.
Where was Gibbs when you needed him?
oOo
Gibbs walked into the bullpen at his usual ungodly hour, only to be greeted by an odd sight. Director Vance was standing in the center of the bullpen with three other people behind him.
Gibbs couldn't stop the small smile that made its way to his face at the sight of them. It was obvious that this was his new team and Vance was there to "supervise" their first meeting. Taking a long sip out of his almost-empty coffee cup, he chuckled at the thought that his new boss was afraid of what he might do.
As he reached the square of desks, he gave no more than a single glance to the four people obviously waiting for him. Instead, he strolled casually to his desk and set his coffee down. Taking off his coat slowly, he hung it behind his chair and sat down. Booting up his computer, he perched his reading glasses on his nose and began flipping through some folders on his desk.
And though those folders contained completed reports that required only to be sent down to Archives, none of the people standing before him needed to know that.
After about ten minutes of annoyed silence, Vance cleared his throat. Gibbs looked up.
"Something I can help you with Leon?"
Vance's cheek visibly twitched at the casual use of his given name.
"Yes, actually," he ground out. "Agent Gibbs, your new team."
Blue eyes roamed over the three agents before focusing again on the man slightly in front of them.
"Yeah," he said, "I got that."
"Don't make this harder than it has to be Jethro," Vance warned.
Gibbs said nothing. Vance sighed.
"Alright people," he said, "Introduce yourselves and pick a desk. I expect you to start work immediately."
With a final parting glare at Gibbs, NCIS's newest director turned on his heel and marched up the stairs to his office.
The moment he left, Gibbs' attention returned to his paperwork and another ten minute long silence ensued.
Finally, an exasperated voice snapped, "Fine! I'll go first."
Gibbs looked up to see a petite, dark-haired woman stepping up to his desk.
"Alina Chavez," she said matter-of-factly, sticking her hand out. Her new boss looked at the small hand that had been shoved directly under his nose, but made no move to take it. After a while, it dropped back to her side.
"Move," he commanded. She took a step to the left. The two men left standing in the center of the bullpen looked at each other sheepishly before coming forward at the same time.
"Christian Bandera," the taller of the two said, making no move to offer his hand. "Call me Chris."
"We'll see," was Gibbs' only reply.
Christian shoved a hand through unruly dark hair and nodded.
"Colby Rison," the other man offered as Gibbs turned to him. Pushing his glasses nervously up his nose it what looked to be a habitual gesture, he swayed slightly from side to side.
Sighing mentally, Gibbs gave them each a good once over, content to let them squirm under his gaze.
Chavez. Short, with lightly tanned skin and a trace of freckles on her nose. She wasn't remarkably gorgeous, but pretty enough and probably turned quite a few heads. Tony's definitely would. She held herself with a quiet confidence that he was sure had been born from the years of experience her resume had stated. Still, she was incredibly young.
He turned to Bandera. The man was almost scarily like Tony. He had the same Italian looks, same boyish grin, same good-natured attitude, and Gibbs would have been willing to bet the same taste in movies too. And yet, though they were remarkably similar, Gibbs could tell that, in some ways, this man was the farthest thing from Tony there ever was. There was no hidden past in his eyes, no lingering edges of something other than a pretty face. Tony had had something more than a ridiculously flirtatious nature, which was what made him a damn good agent along with a womanizer. Christian Bandera looked no more than what he was—lazy and uncaring.
He looked finally at Rison. The poor kid seemed positively terrified. Wonderful. He now had an agent that he was pretty sure had probably never held a gun in his life. He was far more geeky than Gibbs would ever have imagined, with curly brown hair and silver-rimmed glasses.
Rubbing his forehead wearily, Gibbs gestured Alina Chavez to Ziva's desk. He was pretty sure that she was the only one he would be able to handle sitting next to him. After pointing Bandera to Tony's and Rison to McGee's, he warned them to stay put and keep themselves busy before heading off in search of more coffee.
Something told him he was going to need it.
oOo
NCIS's resident forensic scientist was not having a good day. The Caf-Pow McGee had brought her that morning, as per his promise, was long since gone. Usually by this time Tony would have brought her another if they didn't have a case, but Tony wasn't here. She tried to convince herself that they were out in the field and would be popping back in at any time, but couldn't force herself to believe it was true.
She choked back a sob as she clutched Bert tightly and spun around in her chair, waiting for Major Mass Spec to do his magic so she could help another team wrap up a case and then cry in peace.
Gibbs hadn't been down to see her once.
OOo
Cynthia Somners approached her desk with a heavy heart. It still hurt to have to remember every day that she was no longer Jenny's assistant, but Director Vance's. Rubbing the side of her nose, she tried not to dwell on it. Damn. She knew she should have stopped for coffee.
Just as she reached her desk, she stopped short. Why was there a steaming Starbucks cup right on top of her planner? Approaching it cautiously, she lifted the lid.
It was her very favorite caramel macchiato. How in the world had he known?
Slowly, she took a sip and smiled. Walking over to the railing of the catwalk, she saw Gibbs and Director Vance engaged in some sort of glaring match. Smiling softly, she watched as they exchanged a few words before Vance marched up the stairs. Scooting away from the landing quickly, she sat down behind her desk just in time to offer Vance a small smile as he walked through the door of his office.
"Thank you Agent Gibbs," she murmured before reaching over to turn on her computer.