A/N: Okay, so Shabbat Shalom? Epic. And heartbreakingly sad. Expect a small trifecta for it and next week's episode. We're almost done here. Much love, keep the peace, Kit.

DISCLAIMER: Nada.

Chapter XVI

They see each other most days, even if their meetings are simply at the coffee shop between his apartment and hers. They don't sleep together, mutually agreeing that they both need time to acclimate themselves with the dissolution of their old partnership and the evolution of their new one. Their world, as Tony had eloquently put on evening over dinner, had been knocked off its axis and it would take time for the dust to settle; things needed to fall into their respective places before Tony and Ziva fell into their new places as well. Therefore, Tony goes back to work, partnering up with Gibbs and, once, Abigail Borin, to investigate some relatively open-and-shut cases that crop in June. Ziva helps Abby cook for the families directly affected by the bombings, and even babysits two little girls while their mother goes to what Ziva suspects is bereavement counseling. Abby continues offering her assistance whenever she can, slowly overtaking Gibbs' kitchen and spare room for her project –he simply lets her come and go as she pleases. McGee's only job is to get better, which he is trying so valiantly to do.

It's the second week of July and Ziva finds herself back at the hospital, not as a visitor, but as a patient. She's had her cast off for two weeks, only to be replaced with a splint, and the orthopedist has ordered another x-ray. And as much as she hates hospitals –despite the fact that she visits McGee nearly every other day- she hates her splint much more.

"Well, Ms. David," the doctor says, entering the room and holding her x-ray up to the light. "Here's where the fracture occurred-" he points to the area on the bone- "and here's where it healed. I'm going to refer you to a physical therapist to get the strength back in that wrist, but other than that, I think we're done here. Everything looks good."

And she smiles, murmuring her thanks as she reaches for her cell phone to text Tony the good news.

Fifteen minutes later and she's making her way to McGee's room, practically bouncing with relief. She hears Abby before she sees them, the Goth's voice echoing excitedly down the hall from the open door of McGee's room.

"Come on, Timmy!"

She knocks on the doorframe and peers into the room curiously, not quite sure what she's walking in on. Abby's standing near the window on the other side of the room, her lips pulled back in a wide smile, her pigtails practically quivering in anticipation. McGee is standing in the middle of the small room, equidistant between the Goth and the door. He's wearing track pants and a zip-up jacket that Ziva recognizes from somewhere. The walker he's been using to get around has been temporarily abandoned beside the hospital bed and Ziva doesn't have to see the amazed look on Abby's face, or the sheer determination on McGee's, to understand what's going on.

"Hey, Ziva," he says casually, his voice much more even than what it had been a month ago. His face is flushed from the exertion and obvious effort, but he hasn't looked quite this good since Before.

"Hello," she returns, smiling at him. He faces back toward Abby and Ziva widens her eyes at the other woman to express her own astonishment. Abby simply grins and McGee takes another shaky step forward.

…

"Good morning," he says, pressing a kiss to her lips before slipping past her and into her living room. It's the first week of August, just over two months since Harper Dearing turned their world upside down, just six weeks since his world shifted and collided with her orbit.

"Good morning, Tony," she replies warmly, sashaying back into her kitchen, putting an extra swing in her hips because she knows he's watching. "Would you like some coffee?" she asks innocently, glancing over her shoulder to catch him staring shamelessly.

He shakes his head, offering her a lopsided grin. "No, thanks. You about ready?"

"About."

He nods and goes back to watching her, this time a little more covertly. She's got her hair up in a ponytail, and she's wearing an old pair of jeans that are torn on one knee and have paint stains on the thigh, and ride low on her hips. The small of her back is exposed wear her t-shirt has ridden up and he really wants to go over to her and run his fingers along the smooth skin there.

"Ready," she announces a moment later, and by the smirk on her lips, yeah, she caught him staring again.

She doesn't seem to mind, though.

Abby runs the back of her hand across her forehead, wiping away the sweat, but leaving a smear of dirt. The gardening gloves are itchy on the skin of her hands, but she can ignore it. The air is hot and humid, but the sun is shining down happily and the blue sky is cloudless. It's a beautiful day and she inhales deeply, relishing the smell of newly turned soil and fresh cut grass.

She's leaning against her shovel, taking a quick break before the men come back with the next tree. One of her pigtails has escaped her ball cap and she tucks it back under absently as she admires the outcome of what has become her pride and joy.

There are about fifty people around her with dirt dusted hands and grass-stained clothes, armed with shovels, potting soil, and hoses. Some of the men are carefully laying down the stone pavers several yards away, while a few others are digging another hole. A group of women have congregated around the second newly planted tree, chatting and watching water from the hose pipe quickly be sucked up by the fresh soil.

Ziva is standing in the shade of one of the older trees at the edge of the property. She has her sunglasses on and a smile is lighting up her face as she listens to Ducky regale her with a story from one of his many misadventures. The older man is sitting in the lawn chair Gibbs had brought, and while she certain Ducky is craving to be a part of the planting, she knows his content to sit on the sidelines like an obedient patient and watch.

"Here we go!"

Abby looks over to see half a dozen men, including Tony and Gibbs, carefully wrestle a small tree into the freshly dug hole several feet away. She meets Gibbs' eyes and, picking up her shovel, she heads back to work.

…

The Navy Yard reopens on a Tuesday.

The building's façade has been duplicated and looks nearly like it did in its former glory. The bullpen is exactly as it was, with the walls, much to Tony's outward dismay and internal relief, still pumpkin orange, and sunshine still filtering in through the skylight overhead. The elevator is a newer model, and Abby mourns the loss of its predecessor's sentimental value, until Tony reminds her that there will be plenty of opportunities for the new elevator to be just as important of a backdrop as the last.

New procedures have been put in place, chiefly proper evacuation protocol in the event of a crisis. Gibbs has even gone so far as to indoctrinate a new rule: If there's a bomb threat, take the stairs.

Always.

And while everyone is, for the most part, excited and relieved to be back at work and on the road to normalcy, there still is a lingering sadness. Because there are eleven people who will never walk back into this building.