At that moment, as Ziva was attempting to get through the Abigail—Abby, as she was called by her friends and family—the girl was on the phone with her best friend Michelle Lee, giving her the big news: Abby's longtime crush, Jimmy Palmer, had finally asked her to go steady!

"No!" Michelle squealed. "Oh, you and Jimmy! You're perfect for each other, like Ozzie and Harriet or Rogers and Astaire…or Rooney and Garland!"

Abby grinned, cradling her phone closer to her. She glanced down at the top of her red dress. Pinned to the strap was a glinting pin—Jimmy's pin. "He was so sweet about it, too! He wanted to pin me himself, but got so flustered and stuck himself with it, so I ended up just pinning it myself to avoid an accident."

Michelle, ever one with an ear for gossip, pressed further. "Did you kiss him?"

Abby bit her lip bashfully. "…yes…" she admittedly slowly, eliciting a squeal from her friend.

"Oh, this is just the best, Abby! It almost makes me forget that our darling Tony is going to be shipped off to fight in the Army soon."

"Tony DiNozzo," Abby said wistfully. "I remember when he was the center of my universe…before Jimmy, of course. Now, he's just like any other rock singer to me." She heard Michelle gasp on the other line. "It's not that I'm not still a fan; I just have more important things to think about. Tony's fine for girlish fantasies, but I'm a woman now and I need a real man."

"Like Jimmy?" Michelle asked in a teasing tone. As much as she liked the young boy, she would hardly consider him manly. His voice had just recently changed!

"Jimmy is sweet and boyish, but with just a little tweaking, I know I can turn him into a man…the kind of man I need."

Her friend was dubious, but didn't say so. "Hey, I've got to go, but congratulations on getting pinned by Jimmy, even if he didn't actually do the pinning."

"Michelle," Abby cut in before the other girl could hang up, "could you…could you just keep this between us for now? Jimmy—poor boy—is so shy about the entire thing. I don't want to frighten him off."

"Of course," Michelle assured, fingers crossed as they sat atop her lap. "I won't tell a single person."

True to her word, Michelle didn't tell a single person. Instead, she told the entire teenage female population of Sweet Apple, girl by girl. Soon, word of Abby and Jimmy's pinning was the hot gossip.

"Did you hear about Abby and Jimmy?"

"He pinned her?"

"No, I heard she had to pin it on herself."

"I wonder if she kissed him."

"Bet his face got that really red color!"

"It'll never work!"

"He's kind of a wimp, dontcha think?"

"She'd too tall for him! Who wants to date an Amazon like that?"

"It's so sweet!"

"They're just perfect for each other!"

It wasn't just the girls talking about the newest couple, though. The boy's too were talking about the pinning, albeit with a bit more disdain than their female counterparts.

"Boy guy! Gotta hurt to lose your freedom like that!"

"Who'd want to go steady?"

"My Pa says guys shouldn't be tied down like that while he's still in high school."

"He's a goner. So young, too!"

"Heya, meathead! Whatcha wanna go and get pinned for, anyway?"

"Now those girls will want us to pin 'em too!"

"You've ruined us, Jimmy!"

The phone lines were still tied up with the news and gossip when Ziva tried a second time to call Abby. With no way to get a hold of her, Ziva, catching sight of the time, decided it would be best for her to get back to the office. Tim was probably worried sick about her. Besides, if he was going to write Tony's next hit song, he needed to get started.

"Well, it's been a pleasure working with you, Timothy," Ducky said as he finished his work. He said it in such a way that one would think this would be his last day working for Tim McGee. The ways things were going, it probably would be. "I guess I'll be going now."

Tim was still situated on the window sill, looking out at the city; he gave a small wave as the older man exited.

A lone pigeon flew to the window sill and landing inches from where Tim sat, looking at him with big, curious eyes which were often attributed to pigeons.

"Coo?"

"Hey, Bert," Tim greeted, knowing the pigeon all too well. "Sorry, but you'll have to start going elsewhere for your bread crumbs now.

Bert titled his head, not comprehending Tim's words. "Coo?"

"Sure," Tim conceded as he reached for his desk. He always kept some crumbs on hand for the pigeon he'd come to regard as something of a pet. He held out his hand and smiled softly as the bird began pecking them out of his hand, crumb by crumb. "Ah, Bert…as sad as it is, I think you're the only friend I've got left. Ziva's off to better things. She deserves it, though. I've just been holding her back. But you won't leave me, right?" The thought of talking to a pigeon—a rat with wings, as many people called them—didn't strike Tim as odd or unusual, which likely spoke volumes to his current state of mind.

Then, though, Bert tired of the bread crumbs and began flitting about the outer window ledge. "Bert!" Tim called, his hand still full of crumbs. "Aren't you going to eat these?"

The bird turned and cocked his head. He made no movement to return to his provider. This spurred Tim on, urging him to lean further out the window. With one knee on the outer ledge and one leg situated on the chair inside, he reached his crumb-filled hand out to the bird. "C'mere, Bert…"

That was how Ziva found him when she entered the office, still euphoric from the fact that her brilliant idea had been put into motion. She stopped in her tracks, seeing Tim—her beloved Tim!—leaning out the window precariously. Misreading the situation, she screeched and ran to him to stop him. "No, Timothy! No, it is not so bad that you must do this!"

She ran to him at such speed that she had difficulty stopping herself. Suddenly, she'd run into his form, knocking him unbalanced. He lurched forward out the window with a yelp. "Hey!"

Ziva wrapped her arms around his waist and yanked him back. They toppled back into the room, Ziva landing on the floor and Tim landing atop her. Their breathing was ragged.

"What the…were you trying to kill me?!?" he asked incredulously from his place atop her.

"Kill you? I was trying to stop you from killing yourself!"

"Fine way to stop me," he huffed. "You almost had me splattered across 5th Avenue!"

Their faces were inches apart, their lips longing to meet. Ziva noticed this first, a slight smirk playing on her face. Her hand reached up to behind his head, her fingers weaving into the tufts of hair. "Do I not get a heroes reward?" she asked teasingly.

Tim blushed, realizing how close they were to kissing. God, he wanted to kiss her! He wanted to hold her tiny form in his arms and press his lips against hers. And so closer they got…and closer…until…

"Hey, wait!" he shouted, jumping up from the floor. Ziva pouted in frustration. "What are you even here for? To rub it in my face?"

"What am I here for?" she echoed. "Do I not work here? Have I not served as your faithful secretary for the past seven years?"

"Yes you have, but if you're rubbing elbows with Mr. Ed Sullivan now, begging for jobs from him, then you can kindly leave," he replied curtly.

"Begging for jobs? Oh, Timothy! Is that what you think I was doing?" She pushed him down unto to the piano bench and situated herself beside him. "I was merely meeting with Mr. Sullivan so that we might save your career."

"You were getting a job for me?"

"No, silly! I was pitching him an idea. Tony is set to leave soon, right?" Tim nodded glumly. "Well, suppose he appears on The Ed Sullivan Show the night before he leaves?"

"How does that help me?"

"You'll write him a song, the last song he sings before he goes. It'll be called "One More Kiss" and, at the end of the song, Tony will bestow a final kiss on one lucky fan."

"That…that's brilliant!" Tim decreed. Already his head was filled with music. He began humming the song he planned to write. "Why, that song will be a smash sensation!"

"Yes!" Ziva agreed, pulling him into an embrace. "And then, with the money you make, we can finally get married and you can finally leave behind this silly business and put that degree in Chemistry to use," she added, nodding to the framed degree which hung on the wall.

Tim looked dubious by the suggestion. "I don't know, Ziva. Momma wouldn't like that."

Her eyes glowered at the mention of the McGee matriarch. At almost sixty years old, Maureen McGee still had her only child wrapped around her little finger. Timothy was a sweetheart to a fault, and that included being a Mama's Boy in the worst of possible ways. In fact, he never would have ended up in this business had he not been bullied into it by his mother, a widow whose husband, Tim's father, had been an amateur song writer himself. Sadly, in the case of musical talent, Tim was not a chip off his old man's block.

"Timothy, are you going to spend your entire life catering to your mother's wants? I understand loving a parent, but you must make your own choices at some point. She won't be around forever."

That was the wrong thing to say, "All the more reason for me to think about her needs now! Mama isn't well! She needs me to care for her!"

In Ziva's opinion "Mama" hadn't been well for quite sometime and would never get better, but she didn't say that. "Timothy, you've a brilliant mind for Chemistry. You could do so many wonderful things!"

"Songwriting is a wonderful thing!"

There was no fighting Tim on some things, and his Mama was one of them. Ziva sighed. "Well, regardless, we will be able to get married and perhaps make me a Mama," she told him a teasing tone.

He smiled. "I like the sound of that…" he whispered as he leaned in to pick up where they'd left off on the floor.

"Timothy!"

The voice cut through the air like a foghorn, causing the loving couple to jump apart. Speak of the devil…

"Mama!" Tim called out excitedly as he ran to the door, leaving a very irate Ziva in his wake. "Mama, I'm up here!"

Seconds later a woman appeared in the doorway. She was easily in her sixties, with grey hair and wrinkled skin. She wore sunglasses, a full-length mink coat, and tennis shoes. She held a cane in her hand, but it seemed to be more for show than for any actual support. She fanned herself furiously. "All those steps," she moaned, "my weak heart just can't take it."

"Perhaps that is what comes from wearing mink in the summer," Ziva muttered beneath her breath.

"What was that?" Despite her old age, there was obviously nothing wrong with Mama McGee's hearing.

"I was just saying hello, Maureen," Ziva said with a fake smile.

"Please call me, Mrs. McGee, Lisa."

"It's Ziva."

"Yes, of course," she said without another glance. She turned back to her son and asked in a purposely loud whisper, "What ever happened to that pretty young secretary you had, Timothy?"

The man looked nervously between the two. "Uh…Mama, that was Ziva. She's been my only secretary."

Mama McGee looked at Ziva, peeking over her glasses with shock. "You? Oh, but you were so pretty! What happened?"

Tim cut in before the women were at each other's throats. "Mama, what are you doing here?"

"Oh, Timmy, I just heard the dreadful news! That scoundrel, going off into the Army without thinking about you! You needed someone by your side and I'm all you have!"

Tim hugged her gleefully. "Thank you, Mama! I knew I could count on you!"

Ziva rolled her eyes at the pathetic display. "Actually, Maureen, we have already come up with a solution to the problem. Tony will appear on The Ed Sullivan Show. He will sing his final song, written by Timothy, and will kiss one lucky fan before going off into the army." She expected the idea to be scoffed at, seeing as Mama McGee had never in the past seven years proffered a compliment to Ziva—save for the aforementioned "pretty secretary" comment which had obviously been meant as a back-handed insult—and was pleasantly surprised to see a broad smile split across Mama McGee's face.

"Oh, that is such a brilliant idea! I knew you'd think of something, Timothy!"

"Actually, Mama, it was Ziva's–"

"I always tell everyone 'My boy is in the music business! He's got a mind for show business like my own Louie did, God rest his soul," she added with a look upward. Tim, too, looked upward. Neither saw Ziva once again roll her eyes.

"Well! Now that I know you've got everything under control, my sweet little boy, perhaps you could give me a ride home."

"Actually," Ziva cut in territorially, "Timothy and I have lunch plans. We need to discuss some things for the show." She slipped her arm through Tim's to drive the point home.

The older woman, realizing she'd met her match, pursed her lips. "Oh, I see," she said in a terse tone. "In that case, I suppose I'll just take the subway home."

"The subway!" Tim cried in shock. "Mama, the subway isn't any place for you!"

"No, it's fine, sweetie. I can see I've outlived my usefulness. You're a grown boy now with other needs. You go on with Lisa–"

"Ziva."

"And I'll just hop on one of the trains and hope I get home in one piece. And if I don't perhaps, it would just be for the best."

If Ziva were a board member for the Academy Awards, she would have given the Oscar to Maureen McGee right then and there. The small stumble as she hobbled out was especially inspired.

"No," Tim said firmly, showing a flash of backbone, albeit to the wrong person. "No, Mama, you are not getting on that subway! Ziva and I can go out any time, but I've only got so much time to take care of my Mama! Now let me get my coat and I'll drive you home!"

The words of her son worked a miracle on the woman. She suddenly straightened up and looked to be in perfect health. "Oh, I knew I had the greatest son in all the world!"

Ziva stood stock still as the event unfurled before her. Tim grabbed his coat and gave her a quick peck on her cheek, assuring her that he would call her later.

"Good-bye, Lisa," Mama McGee chirped as she and Tim left arm-in-arm.

The door closed behind them, leaving the seething woman alone in the office. "It's Ziva!"