Thanks so much for the lovely response to this story! I hope you Tony and Ziva fans who are still reading stories about them and haven't thrown your hands up in despair over reality and walked away can find some enjoyment in this. Let's begin the case part of this story now (after some Tony and Zivaness).

When Ziva woke up the next morning she had a momentary sense of disorientation. Instead of being spread out on her soft bed, she was jammed into a much smaller and less comfortable space. Her arm and leg beneath her were dead, there was a crick in her neck that she knew would give her grief all day. It took her another moment to realize she had slept on her couch. And she wasn't alone. Her face was pressed against her partner's heartbeat, and the warmth and smell of him surrounded her like a blanket. As she became more alert, she felt his fingers at the top of her spine, very gently working around her neck and back in a way that felt far too good for her already weakened commitment to certain rules.

Very slowly and without moving, Ziva opened her eyes to look up at him. Tony's face was relaxed and utterly peaceful as he just lay back and looked up at the ceiling. Ziva frowned to herself. As pleasant as it was, this was hardly a position that the two of them should be waking up in. Yes, they'd slept in the same bed before, and they'd even fallen asleep together on her couch. But not like this. Not snuggled in and tangled up after an evening of beer, wine and Marilyn. Why hadn't he gotten up already? Was he just waiting for her to wake up because he was too polite to shove her off him?

Probably not, she thought as her eyes fell to the enticing skin of his neck. He was probably still lying there because he was as content with the snuggled and tangled position as she was. They weren't supposed to do this, but what did that matter this early in the morning, and when they seemed destined to do it anyway. Nothing is inevitable. Hadn't she said that to him once? It wasn't a belief she subscribed to much these days. Not when being snuggled and tangled felt so good.

She lifted her eyes to look at him again, and this time she moved her chin against his chest. Tony turned his head a fraction until he could look down at her, and she braced herself for a typical joke about her snoring or drooling or using him as a pillow that would break the mood and return them to their regular lives. But a joke didn't come. He didn't say anything. Instead he just looked at her with soft, peaceful eyes devoid of nerves or teasing. And she wasn't sure why, but his apparent comfort with waking up with her draped on top of him made her heartbeat speed up significantly and a rush of tingles fire in her belly. It struck her as an incredibly brave and honest moment, and she made herself hold his gaze. He deserved the same in return.

They spent a long, silent minute just looking at each other, not moving save for his fingers at the top of her spine. Her mind drifted back to that stellar kiss he had given her weeks ago and how badly she wanted another. And another. And more and more until she died. Maybe she was ready for this after all, because this embrace just felt so right. Not wrong or awkward or forbidden. Just right. She wondered if she should suggest that they spend their day off talking about moving things forward a little faster, but fate had other ideas. One of their cell phones sitting on the coffee table started ringing, rudely cutting into their quiet little cocoon and forcing her plans to the backburner. Tony's hand stopped moving and he made the most animated face he had all morning—a slight look of disappointment—before he took his hand off her arm and stretched out to retrieve his phone from the table. Ziva watched him smirk as he read caller ID, and she didn't need him to turn the face of his phone towards her to know who was on the line.

Tony dropped his thumb onto the screen and brought the phone to his ear. "Morning, boss," he answered with a sleep-thick voice.

Ziva couldn't make the noises she heard from Gibbs' end make any sense, but it didn't matter. There was only one reason he'd be calling. So much for a weekend. And so much for getting to kiss her partner again.

"Yeah, I'll round up Ziva and McGee," Tony told Gibbs, and then hung up. He turned his face in her direction again. "Vance has requested the pleasure of our company."

Ziva frowned. "Vance?"

Tony arched his back beneath her and stretched his arm out to the side to try to encourage blood flow. "Yep."

"Hmm."

Tony's eyes flicked over her face before he gave her a vaguely amused grin. "Morning."

"Morning," she replied, and then dropped her eyes to look down their bodies and back up again. She gave him a self-aware smile. "I did not mean to trap you on the couch last night."

"I'm not trapped," he told her. "Well, not unpleasantly."

She attempted to pat his chest teasingly, but the touch ended up being more of an indecent rub. "We should probably get up anyway," she told him, and then as delicately as possible pushed herself up and scrambled over the top of him. The exercise was made more difficult by her dead arm and leg, but she had an incentive other than work to make the effort. Her bladder was about to burst. Once she was sure she could move her leg without falling over, she made a dash for the bathroom.

She returned a few minutes later feeling much more comfortable, physically. Tony was sitting up on her couch and talking on his phone while rolling his ankle around and wincing at the movement.

"I don't know. A walk-in or something," he was saying, Ziva assumed to McGee. "You don't need to be in until ten."

Ziva checked her watch and was surprised to see that it was already after 0800. She couldn't remember the last time she slept that late.

"Hey, did Abby succeed in hiding your sausage last night?" Tony asked McGee with a grin. Ziva could only assume that McGee hung up then, because Tony brought his phone down without saying goodbye and chuckled to himself as he turned it off.

"No rush, then?" Ziva checked.

Tony looked up at her—and then down and up again—and shook his head. "No. Someone's coming in to talk to us. I don't know who or about what."

Ziva nodded and stretched her neck a little. "Are you all right? You look pained."

Tony got to his feet. "Pins and needles," he told her, and limped towards her. "You want to get ready and I'll take you in?"

She frowned. "I can get in myself."

"Your car's at the Navy Yard," he reminded her.

"Oh." She recalled for the first time having drinks with Borin, and that Tony had driven them back to Ziva's apartment afterwards.

"I've got a change of clothes in my locker," he told her. "So you go do your thing," he waved towards the bedroom, "and I'll go get coffee and then we'll both put on our special agent faces to face the rest of the day."

Ziva nodded and then turned to head back to her bedroom. And although it was great that he was a good little boy scout and was prepared with fresh clothes at work, she still had to wonder whether she would ever in a million years get to see his goddamn apartment.

…

Right before 1000 the team gathered in Vance's office. The director clearly hadn't been expecting to have to come into work on that Saturday morning, and had turned up in jeans and a white shirt which, while most likely being purchased at one of the higher-end stores in town, still had the effect of making him look casual, relaxed and even approachable.

Vance smiled briefly when he looked over the team of agents in front of him, and Tony had to wonder whether they were a) about to be rewarded for their good work with a month-long vacation, b) about to be asked to do something he knew they wouldn't like, or c) Vance had woken up in a position at least as pleasant as Tony had.

"I have a job for you, agents," Vance began. "A somewhat cool case."

Tony's mouth opened to ask for the specific definition of 'cool' he was talking about (fun? Old? Scandinavian?) but his brain caught up just in time to prevent him from asking such a question so early in proceedings.

"I was contacted overnight by Admiral Royston Kirk. Well, former Admiral Kirk," he corrected himself.

"He retired in 2008," McGee said, and then paused and hesitated at the looks he received from Vance and Gibbs. "He, uh, he's friends with my father," McGee explained, barely above a mutter, and then made an expression of apology that told Vance he could continue without interruption.

"Admiral Kirk has a daughter, Alicia, who ran into some trouble a few months back," Vance told them. "Her husband, Will Crawford, was an Ensign up until four months ago when he passed away."

"How?" Gibbs asked.

"Food poisoning, apparently," Vance replied, and it was clear the there was a bone of contention around the cause of death. "He was on a cruise through the Caribbean with his wife at the time."

"A sailor took his vacation on a cruise?" Tony questioned, and looked around at the others to backup his unspoken statement that it sounded like a strange thing to do. All he got in response were expressions ranging from blank to admonishing. He cleared his throat and changed his tune. "I mean, that makes sense. Because sailors love boats."

"He fell ill one night and had to be transported off the boat to receive proper medical attention," Vance went on, as Tony shared a wince over his comment with Ziva. "He passed away shortly after arriving at the hospital."

"And the Admiral has reason to believe bad shrimp wasn't the real cause?" Gibbs guessed.

"He doesn't know," Vance replied. "But his daughter is sure there was something fish—" He stopped abruptly and caught himself before using an unintentionally insensitive choice of words. "Something strange about his death. She finally convinced him to ask us to take another look."

Tony rolled his eyes to himself. Nepotism was one of his pet peeves, and although he had sympathy for a woman who had lost her husband before his time, he thought it was a bit rich that she was getting away with taking MCRT off fresh cases to work on an old one that had already been investigated. And all because daddy was an Admiral. He was pretty sure that McGee wouldn't pull that crap.

"Who handled the case when it happened?" Gibbs asked.

"FBI. Coast Guard," Vance said, although it sounded more like a suggestion. "You can get that information from Ms Crawford when you meet with her." He checked his watch. "She should be waiting in the conference room for you right now."

Gibbs let out a small sigh. "Leon, if the case has already been investigated and closed—"

"Then we'll probably have less work to do in the long run," Vance cut him off. "Meet with her. Listen to her. Check it out, and then get back to me. Clear?"

Gibbs smirked at being given an order he disagreed with, but then cocked his head in acceptance. "We're on it," he said, and then led his team out of the room and into the hallway beyond Vance's secretary's office.

"Seriously," Tony said when they were alone. "Why would an Ensign take a vacation on a boat? It's like me taking vacation in an office building."

"Some people can't breathe if the air isn't salty," McGee said, arching his eyebrow knowingly.

"Tony, McGee, go start pulling together everything you can about the previous investigation," Gibbs said, getting them back on track. "We must've been involved in it somehow."

"Got it."

Gibbs beckoned Ziva with his fingers as he turned and headed towards the conference room. "Ziva, you're with me."

She followed quickly, and Tony and McGee turned in the other direction and headed back to the bullpen.

"You reckon you could get the Admiral to call in a favor like this for you?" Tony had to ask once they'd returned to their desks.

McGee gave a snort. "When I was sick as a kid, I couldn't even get him to write a note for me to have a day off school."

Tony booted up his computer and then looked wistfully into the middle-distance. "Ah. The downfalls of an authoritarian parent. You don't get to play hooky."

"It wasn't hooky!" McGee cried, and Tony blinked and jumped a fraction out at the outburst. It was clearly a sore point. "I had Mono!"

Tony chuckled and shook his head. "No. There's no way you ever had Mono, McGeek."

"Seventh grade," McGee insisted. "It went around my class. And the Admiral wouldn't accept that I got tired while I was recovering." He frowned over a bitter pout. "I fell asleep at my desk in the afternoon more than once. And I don't know if you remember this, Tony, but seventh graders don't pass up a chance to have some fun with sleeping classmates."

What he was implying was so juvenile that Tony couldn't help but smile. But when McGee sent him a traitorous look, he wiped the smile off his face and tried to look sympathetic. He gestured at his cheek. "Magic marker?"

"Yes," McGee grumbled.

"PG-13 or R-rated?"

"PG-13," McGee replied, clearly relieved. "Others weren't so lucky."

Tony chuckled and started running a search on Will Crawford's name in the NCIS database. "Well, it's character-building. If some douchebag jock hadn't drawn a funny moustache on your face when you were 13, you might not be where you are today."

McGee gave him a crazy look. "How do you make that jump?"

Tony couldn't. He was just talking to fill the silence at this point. So he went for a response that would convey vague wisdom. "One day, Tim, you'll work it out."

McGee started at him for a moment as he considered that, and then rolled his eyes and returned to his computer. "You're so full of it."

Tony admitted it quickly. "Yes, but I don't sound like I am. And in the end, isn't that the most important thing?"

"No," McGee replied.

Tony shrugged to himself and let it go. "So, how was the soup kitchen thing?" McGee eyed him warily, and Tony held up his hands in pre-emptive surrender. "No sausage jokes."

"It was good," McGee told him. "Abby was in her element."

"Amongst the elderly and vulnerable? I'll bet," Tony said.

"The Coast Guard was involved."

Tony looked over at him and frowned as he tried to follow. "At the soup kitchen?"

McGee looked at him blankly for a moment, and then caught on and shook his head. "No, in our case. Coast Guard investigated."

Tony got up from his desk and walked over to stand behind McGee and peer over his shoulder. On his screen was a short clipping from Will Crawford's hometown newspaper. In three paragraphs The Grenvail Herald reported on their former high school quarterback's death while on a cruise through the Caribbean, that the Coast Guard had investigated, and that he'd be buried the following Monday in Norfolk.

"I thought that deaths of Americans at sea had to be investigated by the Coast Guard and the FBI," Tony said.

"They do," McGee replied. "Question for Fornell."

"And Borin," Tony added, then went back to his computer. "And NCIS Special Agent Rory Crocker," he added.

McGee's eyes went to the ceiling as he thought the name over. "Never heard of him."

Tony entered the commands on his keyboard to bring up the investigation file and Crocker's file. "Well, that's because he works out of Jacksonville." He scanned the file in the investigation. "And because he doesn't seem to have done much investigating on this one. Looks like Coast Guard did it all and we just signed off on the findings."

"They must've really thought it was just food poisoning," McGee said.

"I'll call Borin." He dialed her number and then waited three rings before her voicemail picked up. He left a quick message. "Hey, it's DiNozzo. Can you give me a call back? We've got a cold case that's come up that your guys investigated."

"How was last night?" McGee asked after Tony hung up.

Tony thought of Borin's blunt assessment of his potential love life. "Uh, good. Her and Ziva should not be allowed out on their own, by the way. I always feel like they're one drink away from a bad idea that'll end with someone being maimed."

McGee scoffed. "And you're the one that keeps them grounded?" he asked, incredulous.

Tony cocked his head in acknowledged the comment. "Strange but true, Timmy. In that threesome, I'm the responsible one."

"And yet you describe the trio as a threesome."

Tony shook his head. "Get your mind out of the gutter, probie. There's absolutely nothing untoward going on."

…

Alicia Crawford was a pretty brunette in her late-20s with a round face, dull grey eyes and slightly too-full lips. She wore three gold necklaces of varying lengths over an oversized crisp white shirt, tailored blue pants and brown wedge heels that gave another two inches to her 6'2 frame. Her diamond wedding ring and matching engagement ring were still firmly on her finger, and while they weren't in the Beyoncé league, they were certainly blingy enough to catch the light whenever Alicia moved her hands. Which was a lot. Alicia liked to draw pictures in the air when she spoke, as if her illustrations would help her make her point.

"I am just at a loss," she told Gibbs and Ziva, throwing her hands up dramatically, before pounding on her chest. "No one will listen to me."

"We're listening," Gibbs said simply. "You have our attention."

Ziva cut her eyes to her boss, wondering if he was making a joke. It was hard not to pay attention to Alicia. But his expression was as impenetrable as ever, and Ziva refocused on the task.

"Why don't you start at the beginning of the cruise," Ziva suggested. "You departed four months ago?"

"On April fourth," Alicia said. "We were celebrating our fourth wedding anniversary." She flashed her rings at Ziva. "We spent the day just touring around and swimming. It was perfect." She brought her thumb and index finger together in an OK gesture.

"What was the cruise liner?" Gibbs asked.

"Caribbean Carnivalé," Alicia said. "We'd been on it before on our honeymoon. But we did a tour of the west Caribbean then. This time we were cruising through the east Caribbean."

"You enjoy being on the water as much as your husband," Ziva stated.

Alicia chuckled and shook her head. "No. Not nearly as much. Will loved it. He's been at sea all his life. And my father is the same. But I don't share their enthusiasm. I like it," she said, holding her hands out as if to physically stop them from thinking otherwise. "And our honeymoon cruise was wonderful. But I can take or leave boats."

"The cruise was your husband's idea," Gibbs guessed.

Alicia smiled and nodded before tearing up. Ziva passed her a box of tissues. "Thank you. Yes, it was. It was hard to get him to go anywhere while he was on leave unless there was a boat involved."

"What happened the night he passed away?" Ziva asked gently.

Alicia frowned and shook her head as she tried to make sense of it. "It was just a normal night. We'd left San Juan that afternoon, and we were looking forward to docking at St Croix in the morning. We had dinner in one of the ship's formal restaurants, and it was nice. Everything was just so…nice." She paused and covered her mouth for a moment as she fought for composure. "We were at the restaurant until about 11 o'clock. Three courses and quite a few drinks. Then we went back to our cabin and went to bed. He was fine when he went to sleep, but then he woke me up at about one o'clock and he was really sick. He just kept throwing up, and it felt like he had a fever."

Ziva made a few notes on her notepad—a reminder to check with Ducky about the length of time between dinner and Will getting sick, and typical symptoms of food poisoning. She had only had it once before herself, but it was many, many years ago and she didn't trust her memory.

"I called the ship's doctor," Alicia went on. "They took him down to the infirmary and decided right away, without any further exploration, that it was food poisoning. They said that they'd seen a few other patients during the day who'd been sick too."

"During the day?" Gibbs asked. "Not after dinner?"

"No!" Alicia said, as if Gibbs had just made her point. "That's it, you see? Those other people, they got sick from fish they from street vendors in San Juan. But Will and I didn't go anywhere near the bar. We didn't have any fish that day. And they were sick hours before Will was."

"And no one else got sick from dinner?" Ziva checked.

Alicia shook her head firmly. "No. There was no food poisoning or virus going around or anything."

"Okay. So, Your husband was in the infirmary, and then what?" Gibbs asked.

"He kept throwing up. His fever got worse. We tried to give him water so that he wouldn't dehydrate, but he couldn't keep it down." She paused to dab tears from her cheeks with a tissue. "He was there all night in complete agony, and they didn't do anything but give him water. They didn't even put in an IV. When we docked in St Croix in the morning an ambulance came to take him to the hospital. And they said the same thing. It's food poisoning. I told them it wasn't, it couldn't be. But they wouldn't listen. They finally put him on an IV and said he'd be fine once he got everything out of his system. But then he started having seizures."

"He does not have a history?" Ziva guessed.

"No. Ne never had one in his life," Alicia said. "They took some blood from him, but then he had another seizure and…he-he just died. Right there on the bed with no one around him but me who was screaming for the doctors." She paused as she tried to suck in air between her sobs. "They tried to resuscitate him but gave up after only a few minutes. And he was gone. Just like that, he was gone."

"I'm sorry," Gibbs said gently.

Alicia threw her hands up. "Who dies from food poisoning anymore?" she asked. "Young, fit and healthy men don't just die from food poisoning!"

Not usually, Ziva thought, but refrained from adding fuel to the fire before they knew what was going on.

"What did the autopsy find?" Gibbs asked.

Alicia thumped her hand down on the table. "There wasn't one. I requested one and was told that his symptoms were consistent with food poisoning. It's a small hospital, and they said that they didn't perform autopsies unless foul play was suspected."

"But they had a medical file for him," Gibbs assumed. "Did they test the blood they took?"

She shook her head. "I don't think so. The Coast Guard got involved, so they might have. But I never heard anything from them except that they'd closed the case." She leant over the table towards Gibbs. "Agent Gibbs, I know that I must sound like a grieving widow who can't let go. But I know there's more to this."

"How's that?"

"Will told me he wanted to talk to ship security about something that he saw the day before he got sick," she told him, her grey eyes shining with tears. "Something about a crime that another passenger had committed. But he never got the chance. I think he was killed over it."

Gibbs watched her quietly for a few moments, and Ziva knew this was his way of getting someone to calm down before continuing the conversation.

"What crime?" Gibbs asked patiently.

Alicia shook her head. "I don't know, exactly. He wouldn't tell me. But it was something that happened when we were docked in Samaná the day before. We'd made friends with two other passengers, John and Sacha Paulson, but all of a sudden Will told me that we should stay away from them."

Ziva wrote down the names and the port of call in the Dominican Republic. "Did your husband say that the Paulsons knew he witnessed the crime?"

Alicia shook her head again. "No, not exactly. But when I saw John next he looked at me as if he was wary of me."

"And you believe that the Paulsons killed your husband to stop him reporting this crime?"

"Yes," she said adamantly. "Sacha was a drug rep for that big pharmaceutical company, Fischer & Edmonds. She could have known what to give him to make it look like he'd eaten bad salmon."

Gibbs' eyes drifted over to Ziva, and she knew that he wasn't exactly buying it. Ziva wasn't either, to be honest, but orders were orders. Vance had already obliged them to look into the case and report back on what they found.

"We'll look into it," Gibbs told Alicia, bringing a grateful smile to the widow's face. He handed over his card. "Give me a call if you remember anything else that you think might be helpful."

Alicia clutched the card to her chest. "Thank you so much," she said through tears. "I promise you that you'll find something."

The three of them stood, and Ziva went to the door first to lead Alicia out of the room. But Alicia stopped by Gibbs and stooped down to hug him tightly. Gibbs was practically engulfed by her height and her oversized shirt, and Ziva looked away quickly before the sight made her giggle inappropriately.

"Thank you," she said again.

Gibbs patted her back awkwardly. "Okay," he said, his voice muffled by her shoulder.

Alicia stepped back and then came at Ziva. Ziva smiled politely and cocked her head towards the hallway. "I will show you out," she began, but lost her voice when Alicia grabbed her in a tight hug as well.

"You people are wonderful," Alicia said from almost a foot above Ziva's head. "I should have come to the Navy first."

Ziva turned her head so that her face wasn't squashed into Alicia's breast. "I promise we will do all we can."