Author's Note:
This chapter is for Ducky.
"Change is inevitable, like the seasons... I suggest you embrace it." Dr Donald "Ducky" Mallard NCIS.
Rest in peace, David McCallum 19 Sep 1933 - 25 Sep 2023.
Chapter Eleven - Anticlimax
They all ended up listening to Abby's findings, the news that a seemingly natural death had become a murder needed more explanation. Despite the early hour and the fact she'd been alone all night, Abby was in her prime with a captive audience, who, until the warrants were approved by a decidedly cranky judge, couldn't really get started anyway. She met them in the bullpen as they arrived, Gibbs, Tony and Ziva appearing at the same time, with near identical commutes, McGee next and Charlie a few minutes after him, living the furthest away. She barely even waited for them to shrug off their coats before insisting they all follow her to the lab. They trooped down as a team, Tony making sure Ziva had at least (under protest) taken a seat and watched the obligatory calendar crossing off before Abby got down to business
"So, we were all running on the premise that he'd had a heart attack right?" she paused and turned towards them, waiting for their nods before making a game show buzzer noise. "Wrong! Now, his troponin and creatinine phosphokinase levels were crazy high, and definitely suggested that, but..."
"Abs..." Gibbs murmured.
She spun to her computer. "Patience, oh great one, you're going to owe me a Caf-Pow for this, by the way. So, as I was saying, Bennett did show all the usual markers of a massive cardiac arrest, but there was still something hinky about it all. Like, his cholesterol wasn't great, but Tony's is worse."
"Hey!" the man in question protested, offended.
Abby shrugged it off. "Well, it is. The point is, he wasn't at any greater risk from his lifestyle than anyone else. He shouldn't have just dropped like that. His diet wasn't the best, but it wasn't awful. Sure, he chose the veal parmigiana, and we all know the schnitzel is fried..."
"Abby," Gibbs cut in again a little more firmly.
"But the only reason I knew he had the veal from the dinner menu is because I had Major Mass Spec tell me that. Ducky normally IDs what our victim ate by sight, but when the food's been there longer and it's more digested, he needs help." Gibbs cleared his throat with a warning look and she rolled her eyes. "Gibbs, I've been here all night with only Bert and a single Caf-Pow for company. At least let me enjoy the big reveal!"
"Just get on with it," he sighed.
Abby sighed, too, and switched back to business. "If Bennett ate dinner at the benefit - and we know he did, it's right there on video - there was no way it should have been that mushy already." She pointed to her screen, replacing the photos of Bennett's heart with a petri dish of partially digested slush. Charlie, who was always more easily unsettled when it came to food, gagged and turned her back.
"That's disgusting," she groaned over her shoulder. "Warn a girl, would you, Abby?"
Abby closed the picture again. "Sorry, Charlie, it's gone now. It's so weird that you'd be put off by that, but not the time I showed you the splatter pattern that looked just like the lead singer from... oh seriously Gibbs?" she huffed as he gave her a hurry-up hand signal. "You must be awful at foreplay... always rushing to the main event and not enjoying the build u-"
"Abigail!"
She winced at the impatient bark, while the others shared relieved glances as they were spared any further ponderings of the forensic specialist's tired mind. "Ouch, full name Gibbs, no fair! I have been awake for almost 24 hours now, you know. Anyway, the whole time we were looking at this food like he'd had it for lunch. But it clicked this afternoon, they served dinner at the benefit and his food was way too digested for something he'd eaten in the last hour. So that made me look closer. Bennett was poisoned, there are only trace amounts and it took me forever to find them - it's designed to break down quickly to be virtually undetectable. The thing is, when it broke itself down, it broke down the food too, it was the only clue that we were dealing with anything unusual. I actually had to send the samples out to another lab to even find out what it was."
"And what was it?" Charlie asked. Like the others, she'd dressed down, but still appeared to have arrived from a different era; the t-shirt she wore knotted over one hip advertised a band that had released their first album long before she was born, while the pockets and hemline of her jeans bore brightly coloured hand embroidery and a hole in the knee was patched with what appeared to be a crochet lace doily.
Abby replied with a long chemical formula none of them really understood. "It doesn't even have a more common name yet, this is top-secret stuff. It acts fast - it basically paralysed his heart muscle. Whoever gave this to Bennett certainly didn't do it by accident, you'd have to have some kind of chemical or bioweapons training to even know it exists. You're looking for someone who knew what they were doing, and was trying not to get caught." She finished, obviously pleased with her work, but sombre at the discovery.
Gibbs nodded and turned to face his team. "The second those warrants are approved I want..."
"The CCTV footage from inside the event. Who handled Bennett's food and drink that evening."
"A background on the event guests and staff, to see who has that kind of training."
"Charity finances and correspondence, anything Bennett might have known."
"A motive, and a name."
For the first time since they'd first got the call about Bennett, the team split with a clear path to take in their investigations, each raising a hand to Abby in farewell.
She turned and watched them leave with a dissatisfied pout. "Aww, Gibbs, did you have to give them all jobs?"
Gibbs studied her thoughtfully, his face growing tender. It was only now that her monologue was over that the tiredness really showed through. Although her pigtails were still firmly in place, there were circles under her eyes and her lipstick had long since worn off. "Thought you liked working on your own?" he asked softly.
"I do." She shot a glance at her calendar, between big bold letters announcing 'Christmas' and 'Our Wedding' a square sat blank save for the tiniest of handwriting noting 'Ziva's last day.' "I just figured with a team of four right now, maybe I could get some company every now and again," she murmured with a shrug.
"Gonna miss her, too." Gibbs followed her gaze, understanding. "But, if you want Thanksgiving dinner to be a full house, we need this case closed. We're active until we've brought Bennett's killer in."
"Yeah, but..." Abby sighed expressively, allowing herself a second to wallow before switching gears. "Now that I know what I'm looking for, I'm gonna see if I can find out if it was in Bennett's food or his drink. You still owe me a Caf-Pow, by the way."
"You'll get it." Gibbs turned her towards the futon in the back of the room. "After you've slept."
"I'm still good for another 6 hours at least Gibbs... my record is 38 hours and still solving the murder, you know that. I don't need to sleep yet." Even as she protested, she let him guide her across the floor. The slightest pressure on her shoulders had her melting onto the bed, flopping her head onto Bert with a squelch. "Okay, maybe just a power nap first. The numbers in the test results were starting to blur together a bit."
"We've got it from here." Gibbs bent, and pulled the blanket up over her shoulders gently, pressing a kiss to her cheek. "Good night, Abs."
She was asleep even before he hit the light switch by the door.
The next long, pre-dawn hours were spent yawning and filtering through the information as it trickled in. Although the team was up, the rest of the city wasn't and it was some time before the newly approved warrants could be put to use. Charlie tried her first, and last, sip of Caf-Pow declaring it sickly sweet and joined the guys in line for coffee. Ziva powered her way through a very small, very milky cup herself, pulling a face all the while, but seemed to perk up afterwards, no matter how little she'd enjoyed the taste.
Ducky's arrival a little while later, at an only very slightly more sociable hour was barely noticed at first. Everyone was focused on CCTV footage, those odd encrypted numbers on Bennett's laptop, and the backgrounds of the event guests. It wasn't until he cleared his throat that anyone realised he was standing in the middle of the room, and another few seconds for them to notice he was holding a tray full of takeout cups and a bag bearing the logo of a well-loved patisserie near Mallard Manor.
"Why do I suspect it's not my presence that you are all so grateful for, but rather the sustenance I come bearing?" He chuckled as one by one they rose from their desks with sighs of relief at the smell of coffee, and requests for food that were only thinly veiled as greetings. "Ah! One at a time. Miss Delaney first, I know you prefer your food untouched by others." He proffered the bag to her with a gentle smile, then handed her a drink once she'd made her selection.
"You remembered I like chai!" she exclaimed, studying the squiggles on the top of her cup. As Tony had predicted, Charlie and Ducky had meshed well, they both listened well to each other's overly long explanations and shared a fascination for understanding human behaviour.
He beamed at her kindly. "But of course, my dear. You realise however that chai is merely..."
"Another translation of the word tea? And that what I have is just a very Westernised version of masala chai that bears almost no resemblance to the traditional drink?" she finished for him. "Yes, but I also know how to order what I want, even if that means messing with traditional words from other languages."
Ducky laughed softly and nodded in amused defeat. "It seems I cannot pull the wool over your eyes," he said. There was a pause as he finished handing out supplies to everyone else. "Now, the reason I am here, besides providing you with much-needed brain fuel for the investigation-"
"For which I thank you, my ancestors thank you, and my future daughter thanks you," Tony mumbled around a mouthful of egg and bacon bagel. "Cheese on the side and everything. You are a god among men."
"You're welcome," he nodded in Tony's direction, before resuming the original topic. "I came to talk about Thanksgiving this week. Obviously, it has been taken for granted that I would host, and as the last year I will be at that address, I am more than happy to oblige. However, I have not yet given you formal invitations, so without further ado..." He drew out a set of elegantly inscribed cards that were as much a tradition of Team Gibbs' Thanksgiving as the last-minute scramble to solve a case and get there at all and began passing them out.
"Thanks, Ducky," McGee stood his invitation in the top row of keys to keep focusing on breakfast.
"Now, in return for the famed Mallad hospitality, I do ask that you bring along a token of your appreciation to share. Abigail, has, as always put her name down for cranberry sauce, and volunteered you for green bean casserole, Tim." No one paid heed to Tony's murmur of McGreen Bean in the background as Ducky continued. "Gibbs I trust that..."
"Bread rolls, I know." He swigged from his coffee again and tested the weight of the cup. "You got two mouthfuls left, Duck."
Taking the hint, he turned to Tony and Ziva, resting side-by-side on the edge of Tony's desk. "Anthony my lad, I trust that you can choose a bottle or two to compliment the dinner." Tony nodded easy assent. "Ziva, I have been speaking to Anthony Senior, and he assures me that Thursday morning will be spent baking up a storm between the two of you."
Tony rolled his eyes. "I told you, Zi. Grand gestures," he murmured.
She laughed it off, happier now that the almond croissant Ducky knew she liked best was in her system. "I am sure I can handle making a couple of pies with your father, Tony. I did not know he knew how to bake."
"He doesn't," came the dire reply. "You're gonna spend half the morning stopping him from burning the place down, and the rest of it cleaning up after him."
Ziva scoffed a little impatiently. "Would you stop exaggerating..."
Ducky chuckled fondly and left them to it, turning back to Charlie. "Now Charlotte, I haven't had the chance to get to know you so well, so I hope your favourite dish hasn't already been spoken for." He presented the final invitation with a flourish. Although she firmly went by 'Charlie' when anyone else was speaking to her, her full name rolled smoothly off the ME's tongue in a way that she minded far less than usual.
"Oh..." Charlie hesitated for a second, admiring the card. "Thank you, but no."
Ducky seemed taken by surprise for a moment. "If you have a partner or a friend, you were planning to spend the day with instead, they would be more than welcome too, this is not an exclusive event," he offered.
Charlie gave a slight chuckle, feeling a little awkward. "Oh, I am very single right now. But no, thank you. I think I'll spend the day sewing. I got a massive haul from a thrift store last week, and they all need a little magic, and with this case, it'll be the first chance I've had to get them done." She laughed again, a little more humorously. "I'm starting to understand what they said in training when they mentioned this job becomes your life."
"It's a national holiday, Charlie, you can't spend Thanksgiving alone," Tony put in, throwing back the last of his coffee. "And a Team Gibbs tradition, which is even more important."
"Look, I appreciate the offer. But this year... I think I just want to be by myself, okay?" she insisted. "Besides, it's not like I have anyone to spend the day with." There was a heavy, weighted pause as everyone remembered that this was the first holiday season Charlie faced since her father had died.
"Sure you do." The offer came softly from Gibbs' desk.
She hesitated again, dark eyes flicking towards the source of the voice and sighed. "That's just it. You're all looking at me like I need a new family because my Dad died. It's been changing slowly for years. Mom was killed, and then her Mom died only a couple years after that. Then, each Thanksgiving Dad and I used to drive up to Peoria to see my Gran, that's his Mom. We'd flip a coin to see who chose the music, it took me two years and about fifty hours of John Cougar Mellencamp's greatest hits to work out Dad had a two-headed coin. We'd stop for the night at my Aunt Carol's house in Ohio, and she'd come the rest of the way in the car with us. After Thanksgiving, we'd do the same trip in reverse. But Gran died three years ago, and Aunt Carol's in a home, she has Alzheimer's, and she can't even remember her own kids' names, never mind mine. We had our last Thanksgiving at home, just Dad and me. It's been changing for a long time, and I'm okay with that. Even if it means not having a family to be around this time of year."
"But that's kind of the point of why we do what we do," McGee said. "So that even when things change.."
Charlie shook her head. "I don't want to be rude, but you guys came together like you did because your own families were broken in some way and you're filling those gaps in your lives. It's not like that for me. Yeah, my Mom died when I was way too young, but Dad was the best even after we lost her. I like you guys, I like working here, and I like being your friend. But, I don't want... I don't need to replace what I had with a new family. This year, I just want to do the things I love and remember the people I love. It's sweet of you to ask me, Ducky. But I won't be coming," she finished firmly and passed the invitation back. Her final sentence, "Besides, you work together. It's kinda weird how close you all are." stayed in her head.
There was a moment of silence as everyone processed this. If any one of them was honest, after that first awkward getting-to-know-you stage, they had just assumed Charlie would simply fall into place as a younger sibling or cousin. After all, as she'd acknowledged in her first week, she was already halfway to meeting the unofficial Team Gibbs criteria perfectly with a tragic backstory, and for all the learning she had yet to do, she'd fitted in with them well, finding unique points to connect with each team member. None of them had thought for a second that she might actually prefer to be by herself on the upcoming holiday.
"Well," Ducky spoke first, "I hope the day brings you nothing but the warmest of memories. But rest assured that should you change your mind, your presence would still be very welcome. In whatever sentiment you feel fits your situation. Even if that sentiment is merely hunger." He folded her hand gently around the card with a reassuring pat.
Charlie nodded her thanks, just as Gibbs cleared his throat and pointedly tossed out his empty coffee cup. As always, his patience for chatter and personal matters lasted exactly as long as the caffeine supply. The hint was clear, Ducky quickly took his leave and the others retreated to their desks for more hours of combing through evidence.
By Wednesday, the day before Thanksgiving, it was beginning to look more and more like the table at Mallard Manor would have several empty seats, despite the recent expansions to the guestlist. The CCTV footage from the event when it was finally released was grainy and monochrome. Apparently, the security system hadn't been updated in some years. In addition, one particular guest, Captain Aaron Walker, who had sat at the same table as Bennett had large retracted passages in his files, requiring extra clearance to read. Of course, these omissions were immediately suspicious, but until they knew what lay beneath, their hands were firmly (if metaphorically) tied when it came to making enquiries about the Captain in question. Finally, despite Bennett's lack of formal IT experience, the amateur, personal touch he'd added in encrypting the files McGee was trying to access had fallen outside of standard algorithms and taken longer than expected to get into.
However, as was often the case, the details they needed all seemed to click at once in a last-minute Hail Mary.
"The money's gone," McGee announced suddenly.
Tony immediately looked guilty. "I told you I'd pay it back. I needed change for the vending machine."
He shook his head, puzzled. "No, not that money... What?" Suddenly realising, what Tony had meant McGee immediately pulled out his wallet and rifled through, looking increasingly annoyed. "When did you do that? You took a twenty! That's not change."
"Not my fault you don't carry anything smaller." Tony shrugged innocently.
"Here." Ziva was quick to defuse the situation, rubbing her eyes after squinting at footage all morning attempting to track the mysterious Captain through the event, and joined McGee at his desk, returning the money from her own purse. "What money do you mean?"
"Thanks, Ziva," he took the cash with a smile and then pointed at his computer. "The charity money. WAIT's bank accounts were drained sometime last night. Trying to work out where it's gone, but it's going to take a while. How's the footage coming?"
Ziva sighed and leaned her hands on his desk, stretching her calves out behind her one at a time. "Dreadful. I have had better images through a night vision scope."
"Do you want my chair?" Tim asked quickly, with a concerned glance as she switched feet. Tony, however, seemed used to the standing lunge she assumed, only admiring the shape of her legs as she stretched. "You okay?"
"Stay put, I am just glad to be standing again." She straightened, raising her arms above her head with a yawn. "There is no such thing as a happy medium right now. I sit too long and my legs ache, I stand too long and my back aches. But you all need to watch this and tell me if you can see it too. McGee, if you can make the image clearer, that would be helpful." He'd already run a basic enhancement filter on the recording, trying to lighten and remove the visual noise from the videos, but it had only offered marginal improvement. The event was four hours long, and there had been a total of five security cameras in the venue, so any more in-depth alterations would have taken far too long to complete, and the hope was that they could isolate the necessary moments with the footage in its near-raw state and polish only what was truly useful.
He nodded, opening the files on his own computer. "I'll see what I can do, which camera angle and what time did you need?"
Ziva answered as she moved back to the middle of the room, Tony coming to meet her. With Gibbs upstairs, still working on clearance to open the blanks in the Captain's file, he took the opportunity to rest his hand on the small of her back, rubbing the muscles there gently, support and affection all at once. Charlie joined them a second later too, emerging from the depths of another background check, and mentioning that whoever she'd been looking into had no apparent connection to access the poison used to kill Bennett.
They gathered around the plasma as McGee displayed the first video, Ziva narrating. "So, here, about half an hour before the 911 call was made, Commander Bennett refuses a drink from the wait staff - you can see that they are all wine glasses. Captain Walker talks to Bennett for a moment, then leaves the table. If you skip forward about three minutes, please, Tim... and then he returns with two drinks."
"That checks," Charlie nodded. "Gibbs and I interviewed the woman sitting next to Walker, She overheard Walker saying he was driving home, so he wasn't drinking either. He offered to get a tray of water for the entire table, but Bennett was the only one who wanted any, he'd just made his presentation, and he left his glass at the lectern, you can see it a few minutes earlier."
They continued watching the clip; Bennett lifted the glass to his mouth, had a sip, then removed the slice of lemon sitting on the side, before continuing to finish the water in a few large mouthfuls and continuing to chat with his tablemates. A few minutes later, he headed towards the bathrooms at the back of the room. There was no audio and the footage was too poor to determine his facial expression, but his body language seemed quite calm. About a minute after that, Walker rose as well, motioned to a nearby waiter to collect the empty glasses, and left the venue via the front door.
Ziva shifted from foot to foot as she spoke, still working out her restless legs. "We already know from the service corridor camera that instead of going into the men's room, Bennett began holding his chest when he was out of sight, and took the fire exit to the alley behind where he was found, which did not have surveillance. But now, find Walker on the bar camera, please, McGee."
McGee obeyed with a nod. The angle was up high, and they were mostly looking over Walker's shoulder as he ordered the drinks, the waiter filling both glasses from a bottle of what looked like San Pelligrino but their investigations had shown it to be a much cheaper alternative and adding a wedge of lemon to the rim. "There, did you see that?" Ziva pointed at the screen as Walker lifted both glasses, one in each hand and turned away from the bar.
Tony squinted closer. "The bottle looks new, Zi. I've seen silent movies that had a better frame rate, but you can see the way the waiter moved that he was breaking the seal, it was a fresh one."
Charlie shook her head as she leaned towards the screen. "No, it's Walker's left hand isn't it, Ziva?"
"Yes," Ziva glanced upwards, as Gibbs appeared on the catwalk above, still talking to Vance and stepped away from Tony. "McGee, can you...?"
He was already working on it. "Wait one second..." He played it again, zoomed in as far as he could manage and slowed down, almost frame by frame. Walker appeared to have his hand in his jacket pocket until the server placed both drinks on the bar in front of him. The new image revealed, barely, the way Walker's two littlest fingers uncurled as he placed his hand around the top of the glass to lift it, just enough to have released something he may have held discreetly palmed.
"No way," Charlie breathed. "That's some serious sleight of hand." The video quality was far too poor to see if anything had actually fallen in the drink, but the action, however small, was damning.
"Then, look -" McGee seemed to have caught on and switched feeds again. "He didn't walk straight back to the table, he went around the outside of the room, and he took longer."
"Enough time for something to dissolve." Tony agreed, nose almost pressed against the screen. "Nice eyes, Ninja," he added with an approving glance sideways.
"Quit flirting, DiNozzo. That's our guy." The three clustered around the plasma jumped as Gibbs appeared behind them. "McGee, play that again and make it bigger." He jabbed a thumb at the paused image, a closeup of the glass under Walker's hand.
"Does he have the know-how?" Tony asked, stepping back to let Gibbs narrow his eyes as he watched.
"And then some." Gibbs agreed, studying the replay again. "Dirty bombs, bioweapons, chemical warfare, whole nine yards."
"Making or breaking them?" McGee questioned. Like Tony and Charlie, he was already preparing to leave.
"Yes," Gibbs responded shortly. "Which glass did he give Bennett? We're not leaving anything to chance."
McGee switched files again, tracking Walker back across the room, confirming the drinks stayed in the same arrangement as he'd collected them from the bar, and then returned to the table, placing the glass in his left hand in front of the Commander.
"He could taste the poison, but he thought it was the lemon," Ziva declared with sudden clarity, as the recorded Commander took the garnish off for the second time. "He did not remove it for any other drinks."
"That'll do." Gibbs nodded. "Grab your gear. McGee..."
"Cellphone trace, I'm on it."
"Sorry, Zi, you're gonna have to get Dad from the airport now." Tony tossed his car keys across the bullpen amidst the flurry of activity. "Reagan at five. If you know a gate number, that's more than he told me."
She caught the missile and returned it just as swiftly. "I will organise a car to collect him and bring him here. I am not off call until you are."
Gibbs was suddenly in the middle of the bullpen and intercepted the throw mid-flight. "Not this time. Stand down, David."
"But..."
"But nothing. You're off duty for the day. Get some rest, spend some time with Senior, show off that gut of yours." McGee's computer dinged, and he read out an address somewhere near Bethesda.
"Rule 15," she rebutted. "I am still one of your team." The argument was delivered just a little too sharply to be professionally motivated. Being stood down before the case was closed had hit her personally, threatening to sever the last threads of her identity as an agent that she was still holding tight to in the last weeks of her employment.
Instead of throwing the keys back, Gibbs closed the gap between them and placed them in her hand. "Always, kiddo. But right now, family first." With the rule that superseded all, he dropped a kiss on her temple and headed for the elevator.
Tony woke late the following morning. Captain Walker had been located and eventually arrested, but the paperwork had taken time, followed by a preliminary interrogation, in which he'd refused to say a word until his lawyer was present. The lawyer never showed and they'd called it a night, sending Walker to a holding cell. By the time he was home, Ziva was in bed. She'd sat up long enough to let him braid her hair, inform him that his father was asleep downstairs, and was back asleep before he'd returned from the shower. Tony had not been long in following her and had barely noticed when she'd slipped out for her morning run/jog/walk a little while earlier.
However, the sleep-in he'd been promised as she'd kissed him goodbye was cut short when a loud metallic clatter, followed by a shriek echoed up the stairs. It wasn't early, but it certainly wasn't late enough by his standards either, and blearily, he made his way downstairs. It was not unusual for Tony to wake late on a holiday morning, and find Ziva already up and about in the kitchen, complete with music in the background. She was in the kitchen, and there certainly was music playing - Sinatra, presumably his dad had chosen the tunes - but as he rounded the corner with the intent to first ascertain that she was okay, and second to complain about the ruckus, that was where the similarity ended.
Normally, their kitchen was a pristine, well-organised space, and Ziva was an extremely methodical and tidy cook. This time, however, flour coated seemingly every surface including the floor, the island counter and the array of ingredients scattered across the cool granite surface, the pantry door... and his wife and father. He quickly worked out that the noise that had woken him had been a large aluminium mixing bowl hitting the tiles, and a full bowl at that. The shriek turned out to be laughter, Ziva's mostly, having apparently taken the bulk of the mess down her front. She was still laughing, leaving perfectly clean outlines of her bare feet when she stepped away to reach for the broom.
Ziva swallowed her laughter as she noticed him. "Did we wake you?" She asked, not quite hiding a smile behind a sympathetic face. She moved the broom through the flour a couple of times and gave it up as a bad job. "I think I will need the vacuum for this," she decided with another laugh.
"Morning, Son!" Senior beamed cheerfully. Like Ziva, he was covered in flour, but mostly below the knees. The upward splatter pattern - if it could be called that, considering it was a dry powder - suggested he had taken the worst of it on ricochet when the bowl had hit the floor. He was swiping, equally ineffectively, at the mess on the bench, however, the cloth he'd picked up had been damp and was beginning to create a kind of batter.
Tony could feel his hair standing upright as he ran his fingers through it. "What... what happened here?" He looked down at the floor, trying to find a clean path through to the coffee pot on the other side of the room. Ziva seemed to understand what he wanted and padded to the bench to start it, walking calmly through the mess and leaving a trail of floury prints in her wake.
"I asked Ziva if she could make shortbread cookies," Senior replied, giving up on the countertop, and picking out the other packages of ingredients to dust them off instead.
"Asking I could understand. This was not asking. This looks like a crime scene." He watched Ziva cross to the fridge, more footprints, to retrieve the milk.
Senior chuckled, "Well, with the pies in the oven, we got started. Just when she'd measured the flour, I asked her to dance."
He shook his head, still not quite sure if this was some bizarre dream. "You what?"
Ziva turned with an empty coffee cup in her hand. "A dance, Tony," she repeated. "The only problem was that the bowl was too close to the edge of the counter, and your father forgot that I do not dip so easily as I used to, I put a hand out to steady myself and well..."
"You dipped Ziva?" Tony rounded on his father in disbelief. It was starting to make sense now, she'd knocked the bowl down when she'd reached out. "She's eight months pregnant, Dad!"
"I'm not blind yet, you know," Senior chuckled disarmingly. "You make me feel half my age, gorgeous," he directed this at Ziva with a charming smile.
"Behave, thank you!" Ziva assumed a scandalised expression, shaking a scolding but playful finger at the elder DiNozzo. "That is no way to talk to a married woman!"
Tony grimaced. "Dad!" Ziva obviously hadn't taken it any more seriously than it was meant, but watching his father's dashing charm being directed at her playfully or otherwise was not on his to-do list that morning. "I'm half your age!"
The look in Ziva's eyes suggested she'd already done the calculations and he was wrong, although she merely smirked quietly to herself and said nothing. "And I may be pregnant, but I am not broken," she added instead. She reached for the coffee as it began to bubble, talking over her shoulder as she poured. "The baby and I are both perfectly fine. She likes dancing, you know that. Nobody got hurt, the bowl did not hit me, only the flour. Once this is cleaned up we will start again."
"I think you've done enough already." Tony surveyed the room dubiously. Senior rescued a jar of nutmeg from its dusty abode and set it next to the sink. Ziva stirred in sugar and added a healthy splash of milk. "Why were you dancing anyway?"
"The song we danced to at your wedding played, I couldn't resist," his father replied as though it was the most obvious thing in the world. "It's not every day I get to bake cookies and dance with a beautiful woman in her kitchen at 8 a.m." Ziva had just turned to face the room again, and he caught her hand, tugging her back into a dance hold. Setting the coffee she'd just made down in a hurry, she obliged with a smile.
"Should've gone to work today, never mind Thanksgiving," Tony groaned. It really did feel like a bad dream, his coffee was on the far side of the island bench, blocked on one side by a minefield of flour and the discarded bowl, on the other by Ziva turning under his father's arm. Admittedly Ziva did look a lot more relaxed than she had since the Bennett case started but between the sudden wakeup, the mess, and the generally surreal situation, the whole thing was more than Tony could cope with, especially when Senior began to sing along with the music.
"Dad could you stop flirting with my wife?" he snapped over the strains of Judy Garland asking her lover to embrace her. "Or at least hold it in till I've had my coffee?"
"Steady on, Junior," Senior shook his head reproachfully. "It's just some harmless fun."
"It's not harmless when -"
"Enough," Ziva cut in gently. She had retrieved his coffee and transported it safely over the mess to his waiting hand. She leaned over to carefully press a kiss to his cheek making sure she didn't transfer the flour on her shirt to his robe. "I already told you, I am fine. Go back to bed, ahuvi, you got in late last night. I am sorry we woke you."
The first sip of coffee and seeing that Ziva really did seem to be enjoying herself soothed his nerves somewhat. Looking at the sparkle in her eyes, he understood that it had probably been a very long time since she'd had the chance to spend a morning in the kitchen with a parent (or someone close enough to it anyway), learning a recipe and creating a disaster or two in the process. After all, Gibbs was not exactly the father figure who was inclined to bake.
"Okay," he relented, still tired and confused. Senior murmured something about sprucing himself up and disappeared to the basement door. "This is what I mean about grand gestures, Zi. Something always goes wrong in the end."
Ziva cupped his face tenderly, her fingers roughing up the beginnings of the stubble he had not yet shaved away. "It was just some flour that got spilled. Nothing more. He was quite helpful with the pies if I am honest. Oh!" She turned suddenly and tracked her way back through the flour once more, bending and retrieving two golden desserts from the oven, bringing with her a warm smell of cinnamon and crispy pastry.
He watched as she set the pies carefully on the racks to cool. "They do look good," he said, perking up at the smell. "I don't suppose there's any chance of a preview?"
"No. You can wait until we are at Ducky's," she said, dusting down her front with the cloth she'd used to protect her hands from the heat of the pie dishes. It didn't make much of a difference, the dark navy sweater she wore was beyond redemption, her belly decorated with a swirling white galaxy that was settling deep into the weave. "There are cream cheese bagels on the dining table if you want to eat now."
"Oh fine, go ahead and starve me then," he groaned dramatically, setting his coffee aside and reaching for her again. "How do you know they're good if I don't test them first?"
"You will just have to trust that they are." She joined him, and he swiped a smear of flour out of her eyebrow, receiving an affectionate smile in thanks. "In the meanwhile, my love, why don't you go back to bed for a while and I will finish up here. At lunch, I believe they are replaying an old Buckeyes game. 2005 from memory. That is an important part of Thanksgiving traditions too, is it not? Perhaps we can watch together."
Tony smiled, already knowing Ziva would lose herself in a book and pay almost no attention to the game itself. "2005, huh? The Buckeyes beat the Wolverines by four points. Highlight of the year." He snickered at the eye-roll she offered. "Okay, second place. I also got to make out with my incredibly hot coworker pretending to be married assassins."
Ziva scoffed and shook her head, giving him the win rather than arguing that maybe their first meeting should have taken the title. "Does that sound like a fair exchange for waking you up so suddenly?"
He tilted his head to the side, pretending to consider this. "Throw in a makeout session with the incredibly hot coworker and you've got yourself a deal."
"Does an incredibly pregnant wife count?" She slipped her arms around his neck, still keeping her distance, trying to avoid spreading the mess any further.
Tony pulled her closer, flour and all. "That absolutely counts."
Despite the unceremonious start to the day, Thanksgiving dinner went off well. Gibbs was, as was customary, late, although he had managed to acquire the rolls this year. He'd been back to the Navy Yard, informing Walker that his lawyer was out of town for the holiday and wouldn't be returning until the following day. This had little effect on Walker's eloquence, and he was returned to his cell to ponder the error of his ways. McGee was a little distracted and annoyed, still waiting on decryption information from Bennett's files, while Ziva's heartburn was back with a vengeance, leading to her skipping dessert. Charlie too, was absent as she had intended, but had dropped by early in the day to bestow Ducky with a bottle of single malt and an instruction to toast Mallard Manor with her blessing but wouldn't be persuaded to stay until the others arrived.
Even with those imperfections, the meal was considered a success by all from the spiced butternut soup starter Ducky concocted, to the pies Senior and Ziva had made that morning. The wine disappeared even more rapidly and Ziva was kept supplied with a non-alcoholic version of mulled cider until her stomach rebelled. Senior was affable and charming as always, regaling the party with a tale Tony had obviously heard before and Charlie texted Abby several photos of her handiwork and assured them all she was thoroughly enjoying her solo holiday. Mallard Manor was toasted warmly before Jimmy and Breena took over the cleanup duty, ushering everyone else to the door and the tired and happy crew left Ducky, who was cheerfully burbling his way through a third chorus of Loch Lomond aided by the whiskey Charlie had left.
When Tony, Ziva and Senior returned to Casa De Tiva afterwards, Ziva stretched herself out on the chaise section of the lounge and asked Tony to make her tea. He'd been happy to oblige, and they all sprawled around the loungeroom with hot drinks to let the digestion process begin with another football replay in the background. After a while, Senior excused himself to his room and returned, bearing several wrapped gifts.
"Uh... Dad, you know Christmas is usually the gift-exchanging holiday, not Thanksgiving, right?" Tony took the present his father held out to him. It was boxed beneath the green and gold plaid wrapping, but the size of the parcel suggested a wallet.
"Of course, I know that," Senior chuckled in response. "But I won't be here then, so I thought I should spread some cheer early."
Ziva stirred herself from the controlled doze she'd assumed while pretending to watch the game and looked surprised. "I know we have not yet organised anything, but you will be included, of course. It will probably be a very quiet one this year, so close to Tim and Abby's wedding. Thank you." She accepted a small give box with a smile, the distinctive shade of powder blue immediately telling them where he'd been shopping. She sat up again to explore the gift, releasing the white satiny ribbon, and revealing a pair of simple drop earrings. "You shouldn't have, these are gorgeous!"
"And miss your first holiday season as a DiNozzo?" Senior ignored her protests with a laugh and kiss on her cheek. "Not on your life Sweetheart, Merry Christmas. And this one is for the baby." Pastel colours on the wrapping this time, he'd evidently used an in-store wrapping service with each purchase.
"I think this one can wait till she's older." Ziva smiled, folding the tissue paper aside and displaying a toddler-sized crockery set. Tony didn't recognise the brand by name but could tell it had come with a hefty price tag and not a lot of consideration regarding how practical it was. "Something tells me she will not appreciate the care porcelain like this needs when she is learning to eat food. It is beautiful though, thank you."
"Back to Christmas, what are you talking about, Dad?" Tony redirected. "Thanks, by the way, very nice." The predicted wallet was leather and embossed with a brand that suggested it cost more than Tony would ever be willing to carry in physical cash himself.
"I made other plans," Senior explained as he settled back onto the far end of the sofa. "Thought it would be easier this way, you can't exactly tell me you've rolled out the welcome mat for me this time, can you, Son?"
"Still, it's Christmas Dad, you should've known you'd be invited," Tony pressed. "And you're here now, aren't you?" he added.
"Because Ziva asked me. Until you called to check my flight, I've barely heard from you since the wedding. It's all been her. You've made your feelings about having your old man around on holidays perfectly clear. It's not your cup of tea." He raised the one he held in a half-hearted attempt at a joke. "I can celebrate without cramping your style this way," he added, seeing the discontented look appearing on his son's face.
"You could've asked if we were expecting you, Dad!" Tony looked hurt. "So what's on the agenda that's better than Christmas with us then?"
"Be reasonable about this, Junior," he chided. "You don't enjoy having me here to begin with. I got an invite from an old business friend. Caribbean island hopping, Bahamas, Puerto Rico, Saint Martin... sun, sand, a few games of poker, hopefully, some very good company... and I'll be back in time for the wedding."
Tony barked a laugh at the inflection on 'company'. "Whose wedding, McGee's or yours? What will this be, seven or eight?"
"Well, I hope it is a lovely trip," Ziva cut in with a warning look at Tony's jab. "We will miss you, of course, but I expect we will see more of you in January?"
Senior directed his attention back to Ziva, even tired she could shift the mood when it was necessary and distract him before he could rise to Tony's bait. "Wild horses couldn't keep me away then, Sweetheart. You just let me know when she's here. Another shortbread?" Ziva's second try had been uninterrupted by dancing and thus, far more successful and they'd been slowly nibbling on the cookies with their drinks.
The treats paused in front of Tony, who hesitated, considering whether to continue the debate. After a meaningful nod from Ziva, he reached for a new cookie. "These are amazing, Zi," he said, trying to distract himself from the tightness in his throat. "Didn't think these were an Israeli thing."
"They are not," Ziva said. "Senior said your mother used to make them, he asked if I would try. It is not a difficult recipe as it happens." She flashed a smile at her father-in-law, still contented with the kitchen session from the morning. She hadn't spoken much about her mother, but Tony did know that she fondly remembered cooking with her.
The memories she shared in detail were few and far between; even now, he didn't know anything more about how Rivka had died than "She became sick, it was very fast." In fairness, he supposed he wasn't any more descriptive when it came to his own mother's death. Although at seventeen, Ziva had probably been in a position to remember more clearly than he had at just eight. With a sudden pang, he realised if it had been something like 12 years since she might have had the chance to cook like that with her mother, it was almost three times as long for him. Not once in that time since his mother had died had his father ever mentioned her cooking.
"She did a good job, didn't she?" Senior beamed proudly as though he'd made them himself. "Not quite the same as your Mom's shortbread, but delicious all the same."
Tony paused for a moment, like most things Ziva attempted in the kitchen, they were good. The flaky little triangles almost melted away on his tongue, but the wording of the question suddenly made it feel like sawdust in his mouth. "Mom's shortbread?" he questioned. He wasn't even sure he remembered it clearly anymore, more like a memory of a memory. But now, hearing those words said together again, there was the vaguest hint of a warm buttery smell permeating his bedroom when he woke and an even mistier recollection of her imitating Sean Connery's accent as she told him about the summer vacation she had taken to Scotland where she'd learned the recipe. "Why now, Dad?"
Senior had settled back in his seat again. "Well, you're about to have a family of your own," he said, with a nod to Ziva's midsection. "Traditions need to start sometime."
"No." Tony shook his head. "I mean why not anytime in the last thirty years?"
"Come on, Son, you know..."
"No, I don't know, Dad! That's just it," he snapped, surprised by the hurt that bloomed in his chest suddenly. Beside him, Ziva murmured his name softly, concern laced with a warning. "I was eight. I needed to know that my memories weren't just my imagination. That I wasn't alone in feeling like my world had been turned inside out, that someone else missed her. Heck, you even got rid of all her photos, it's like she wasn't even real."
Senior gave an uncomfortable, tight sort of chuckle. "Junior. You know I did the best I could. Ziva's more at home in the kitchen than us both put together..."
"Don't bring Ziva into this, Dad. It's not about her!" His voice rose another notch. If he was honest, it was very much about Ziva, or specifically why she got to hear a memory that he'd been left to all but forget. "This is about you deciding that a cruise is more important than your own son at Christmas and then acting like Mom never even existed."
An odd look crossed his father's face for a moment, a mixture of grief and guilt. "Of... of course, she existed," he stammered. "She was your Mom..."
Tony clenched his fist angrily "Sarah!" he spat. Ziva leaned over and placed a soothing hand on his arm, but he shook her off with an angry jerk. "Her name was Sarah, and she wasn't just Mom. She was your wife, in case you'd forgotten!"
Senior was suddenly on his feet. "Anthony!" he barked in a tone that Tony had not heard since he was 16. He had a sudden understanding of why his father's rare business successes had been quite so successful; most people would back down at the hard gaze that was now directed at him. "She was my wife before she was your mother! There's not a single day I don't think about her."
"Oh, really?" Tony gave a bitter, dry laugh "Because -"
"Drop it. Both of you." Ziva cut in firmly. She stood, raising her hands in a clear stop signal and turned her head between them, waiting until each one in turn had focused on her. "This is not the way you want to do this."
There were a couple of mumbled apologies from them both, but she shook her head. "I am not the one who you should be apologising to. And do not try now, you will only end up saying something you cannot take back." She did not raise her voice but was absolutely level in her delivery, leaving no room for argument from either one. "This conversation is over until both of you have taken a breath and calmed down."
"I might just uh... turn in for the night," Senior murmured. Despite the earlier claim of feeling half his age, he now looked every one of the 72 years he had to his name and a few extras besides. Very slowly, he made tracks for the basement.
"Sure, duck out every time it gets hard." Tony sighed and buried his face in his hands. That whole scene was a disaster, and unlike a lot of the showdowns he'd had with his father over the years, not one he'd planned on, or even seen coming. He felt the couch sink next to him as Ziva joined him again. "I'm not mad at you, you know," he mumbled into his palms.
"I know," she said gently. "Your Mom's name was Sarah?"
"Yeah."
Ziva hummed thoughtfully for a moment and kept talking softly, almost to herself, although her hand moved soothingly along his spine. "Sarah is a Hebrew name, it means Princess. In the Torah, she is considered to be one of the matriarchs of Judaism, she is sometimes called the 'Mother of Kings'." She paused for a moment and patted between his shoulder blades affectionately. "It seems fitting if you ask me."
"I'd settle for my Mom," he huffed, sadly. Ziva's gentle tone had eased some of the rawness left by the abrupt feeling of loss and anger that had sideswiped him and he leaned back into the cushions, taking her with him, wrapping an arm around her. "Or being told something about her occasionally."
Ziva tipped her head up and met his eyes, steady and compassionate. "I know you would, neshama," she said. "I did not realise you had been told so little. I thought you just did not want to talk about it much. I am sorry if you thought I was overstepping your memory of her."
"Not much, nothing at all. What's the difference?" He shrugged. "Already said I wasn't mad at you."
"No, but you were jealous of me for a moment." There was that look he knew too well, she was reading between the lines again, denial was pointless. "Are you okay that he will not be here at Christmas?"
He shrugged again. "Gotta be, don't I? I'm used to him not showing up you know, feels different when he makes plans in advance, though. Worse than when he just finds something better last minute."
Ziva sighed and patted his chest. "To be fair, my love, you have not seemed pleased about any of it. I can see why he thought he was unwelcome."
"You couldn't have said that before I went off the deep end and said something I shouldn't, huh?" For all his anger, Tony had not missed the way his father had suddenly looked years older, or the grief in his eyes when he'd thought about Sarah.
"Most of what you said was reasonable. He did not handle things well back then and even if he did not know how to do it better, that does not change how it feels for you," she said gently. "But, it is not my job to act as your strainer, Tony."
The unexpected word distracted him for a minute and he mumbled through various versions of restrain and trainer before landing on her intended meaning. "Right, my filter!" He snapped his fingers as understanding kicked in. "You're right, Zi. Sorry. That's not fair to you. You don't need to get in the middle of decades-old sores being picked at. I know you like having him around."
"And so do you," she replied firmly. She cuddled into his side a little closer, accepting the apology.
"Yeah, I guess I do... but sometimes..." he faded off and shrugged.
She finished for him. "Sometimes he makes you remember things you would rather not think about."
"Exactly. But then I get mad at him for never letting me remember them too," he sighed heavily. "Glad we're back at work tomorrow. A poison we've never even heard of before and a couple of hundred grand disappearing into cyberspace makes more sense than trying to understand how this all feels."
"You will work it out," Ziva promised, leaning up to kiss him. "Will you braid my hair?" This time, the offer of the familiar, soothing ritual was as much for his frayed nerves as it was for her.
"Okay," he agreed, standing and pulling her to her feet as well. "And... will you teach me how to make those cookies sometime? I know I'm not that hot when it comes to baking but... it would feel good to know."
She smiled at him, sliding her hand into his, her wedding band pressing against his fingers as she squeezed her reassurance. "Anything you want, ahuvi."
Like most conflicts between Tony and Senior, the whole thing fizzled out without any real resolution. He stayed another few nights and dropped into the Yard to spread more holiday cheer but given how focused they were on the case headed out again just as quickly, and otherwise, kept very much to himself. Tony was similarly quiet, even on the Saturday evening when Ziva took herself to the opera to remember Tali's birthday and left them alone in the house together, the two DiNozzos gave each other their space, not exactly distant, but quietly cordial. He departed on Sunday, a cab arriving early in the morning. Tony quietly wished him a safe cruise, Senior offered a gruff "I know it wasn't very good, but it was my best," and he was on his way.
At work, they nailed Captain Walker on the murder, Abby had found traces of the poison on the suit he'd been wearing at the benefit when they'd searched his home. They even knew why he'd killed Bennett a few days later. McGee had managed to decrypt the files and discovered that Bennett had been quietly tracking WAIT's funds for months, suspecting something was up. Unfortunately, it didn't seem like he knew quite what was going on either but had recorded several withdrawals that took place slowly and steadily over the previous year with evidence that the recorded charitable purpose was not completed, or coming in far under budget despite the amount removed to finance them. It seemed obvious with this new information that Bennett had been getting dangerously close to uncovering something and had been taken out before he could sound the alarm.
The new challenge in this was that Walker didn't appear to be benefiting financially from whatever was taking place, they'd gone over his finances with a fine-tooth comb and found nothing linking him to the stolen money. Unfortunately, a complete absence of a financial windfall also removed evidence of a paid hit, their other leading theory. They were still sure that he'd committed the murder, but now, had zero motive, not that they needed one given the overwhelming video and physical evidence, but if they wanted to have any chance of recovering the stolen money or establishing if something bigger was at play, it would have been very useful.
"You know, at this point, I think even Gibbs likes the lawyer better than Walker, and that's saying something," McGee said with a yawn. Another long, impassive interview that morning had gotten nowhere, although the lawyer had heavily implied any form of compliance might be noted in Walker's favour come the trial, he was still saying nothing. Now, in the afternoon, Gibbs had decided to bend the rule banning Ziva from interrogation given that Walker wasn't actively violent. Considering Walker's involvement with WAIT, they'd hoped to stir some glimmer of compassion in him by having Ziva ask the questions for a while. However, Gibbs had also insisted that she wasn't going in alone and would not entertain a conversation about who would be her escort, claiming the role himself. Tony had been miffed at first and tried to argue he should be the one with her, but hadn't even got a sentence out before he was shut down.
"Rule 13, right? Never involve lawyers?" Charlie offered. "I spoke to her earlier, and she really doesn't know anything. She's quoting lawyer-client confidentiality, but that's her go-to answer to sound like she's on top of this." Everyone except for Charlie had known Walker's lawyer from previous cases and developed a sort of cool, politely professional nodding acquaintance with her over time. Despite how they all felt about having a defence lawyer in their midst again, they were beginning to sympathise with her given the way Walker had been taking his first Miranda Right to a whole new level, remaining literally silent about anything, not just the case. "Ten bucks says she'll drop him before the end of the day."
"You're on. She'll take at least another full day of fees to add to his bill before she calls it quits." Tony was quick to accept the wager. "By the way, you're learning fast, Probette. Rule 13 is indeed 'Never, Ever Involve A Lawyer', that reading people thing you do is freaky, though."
"Studying psych has its benefits," she answered with a faux-modest shrug. They could all read people to varying degrees; listening to details, watching body language and being alert to subtle changes in tone were all things they looked for as part of their job. However, Charlie's time at college studying psychology and anthropology had given her awareness of tiny cues that fell outside of the "classic lie" giveaways McGee and Tony knew to look for and taught a variety of tricks to change her phrasing in the repetition of a question to get a slightly different and more telling answer that Ziva couldn't always replicate with her more formal speech patterns.
He pointed a warning finger at her. "Yeah, well, just don't try your shrinky business on me..." He trailed off recognising the footfall behind him and forgetting all about Charlie. "Hey, pretty lady... oh... no luck?" He beamed as Ziva returned, then straightened his face seeing the look on hers.
"No," the reason for Tony's sudden distraction grumbled. "And before you ask he definitely noticed I am pregnant." Walker had glanced uncomfortably at her several times which was the most reaction they'd gotten out of him so far, but had still refused to comment.
"Wasn't going to." He cast a much friendlier look towards her belly than she'd received in the past half hour. "So, did you miss interrogation?" It was close to a year since she'd last set foot in one as an agent, and ten months since the last time she had been in the room at all when Eli had turned up at the Yard unannounced about a month after she'd proposed to Tony. It hadn't been an actual interrogation back then, of course, just a reasonably private space to talk.
Ziva hummed noncommittally. "Not with suspects like Walker, no. I prefer it when they talk back. And it is more distracting than I expected trying to get someone to confess to a murder when someone else is practising her yoga at the same time. Not to mention looking like this automatically reduces how threatening you can appear, not that Gibbs would let me threaten him."
"Pfft," Tony scoffed. "Anyone who thinks you're less threatening now clearly doesn't know the levels of mama bear you'd reach if it came down to it. Where is Gibbs, anyway?"
"With Vance. He is not happy. Made sure I did not double back to talk to Walker alone... not that I was going to anyway..." she added quickly, seeing the protective concern knit itself in Tony's brow. "He was just making sure. Then he headed upstairs without another word. That is all I know."
Tony perked up seeing her reach into one of the drawers behind her desk. "Snack time?" he asked hopefully.
She rattled a box of medication at him in response. "For you, maybe. I have heartburn again." Ziva sighed, popping the tablets out of the packaging. "At this point, if she is not born looking like the adorable snowman, I may not consider this discomfort worth it." The old wives tale Wendy had related about heartburn meaning the baby would be born with hair was the only thing that stopped Ziva from losing her mind entirely.
Tim was the first to regain control of his laughter to correct her. "It's the abominable snowman, Ziva. Though that fluffy suit with ears on the hood that Abby got her might make her look like... wait. Pretend I didn't say that, she's Christmas shopping already, you're not supposed to know."
"I'll act surprised," Ziva promised with a smile. "I take it there is no new progress up here either?"
Tony shook his head. "Nope, dead ends everywhere. Seeing as he wouldn't fess up for you either, we're back to square one."
"I don't think we ever left it in the first place," Charlie pointed out. She stood up and pulled on her coat. When she'd arrived in it that morning, Tony had immediately recognised it as a replica of one Audrey Hepburn had worn in Breakfast At Tiffany's, but Charlie had vowed never to wear it to work again, saying she blended in with the walls. "So, I'm going for a caffeine fix, see if that kickstarts the thought process - anyone else want something?"
"No one's going anywhere."
Charlie jumped at the voice coming from behind her. Gibbs had appeared with an empty file box and a set face. "Whoa, hi Gibbs. What do you need?"
He blinked at her vivid orange coat for a second and shook his head, looking like he was trying to figure out if he was hallucinating. "Got an update," he said when he'd recovered. "Walker's lawyer just walked, she's down in the holding cells telling him to find new counsel now," he said.
"I'll take that Hamilton now, thanks," Charlie smirked across at Tony.
He made a show of grumbling and finding the money in his wallet, then crossed and handed it to her. "What's the plan now, Boss?"
"Now, we drop it," Gibbs answered shortly. "Pack up the files, we're done with it."
Charlie hesitated, confused. "We're done?" she echoed. "It's just... over?"
Gibbs nodded. "Welcome to the first case you won't get an answer for, Probie." He moved to his desk and closed several open manila folders. "The lawyer quitting was the last straw. Vance doesn't want us wasting any more man-hours on him. He's being transferred to Truesdale tonight; the DA is going ahead with the trial as-is."
The news was met with an audible sigh. As glad as they were to be rid of the case they'd spent the last three weeks on with very little success, having it end so abruptly and without being fully resolved was unsatisfying.
"What about the money, Boss?" McGee asked. "I'm still trying to trace it."
Gibbs approached Charlie's desk, holding his hand out for the paperwork she still had on Walker. "Send it down to the cyber team. It's their job now."
"Oh... right," he sighed, handing over his collection of files. "What if they find who got it?"
"If it's in our jurisdiction, we'll be called back. Till then, it's none of our business." Gibbs moved onto Tony's desk. "Cough 'em up, DiNozzo."
Tony grudgingly followed suit in gathering and passing over all the notes in his possession. "At least we got Walker on the murder," he said. "Even if we never worked out why."
"Yeah, that's gonna have to do for now," Gibbs agreed. "Ziver?" He turned to her desk.
She bundled up the paperwork in silence, discontent written on her face. "This feels wrong," she ground out. "Thousands of dollars have been stolen from innocent families and we are just going to let it go?"
"Yup," Gibbs confirmed with a curt bob of his head. "It's out of our hands now."
"But this is not what we do!" she exclaimed, frustrated. "We arrest murderers, we solve cases, we... we..."
"We follow orders." Gibbs finished firmly. He held out his hand expectantly.
Ziva continued arguing. "This looked like it would be my last case before I left, and now you are telling me I cannot even see it through?"
Gibbs stiffened, annoyed at her defiance and no happier than the rest of his team with the present outcome. "That's exactly what I'm saying, David."
"Well, following orders sucks," she declared, sounding remarkably like Abby. She thrust the files back into his hand and sat down, not making eye contact.
A sharp reprimand formed on his tongue, but the look on her face was enough to dilute it to a heavy sigh. Instead, he returned to his desk and dumped the armful of files into a box while the others watched in unhappy silence, their looks a weight he could feel on his back. "Get outta here," he instructed, fitting the lid.
They slowly gathered their belongings and paused, glancing between each other quietly, checking if anyone needed company. The result was a silent, unanimous no, they all needed the space to go home and nurse the wounds of this particular loss with privacy.
"We'll start fresh tomorrow," Gibbs broke the silence as they made for the elevator. "And Delaney... did anyone tell you that coat makes you blend in with the walls?"
No one laughed.
A/N: I was in the middle of writing the scene where Thanksgiving plans are being made when we got the news that the beloved, talented, all-round gentleman David McCallum passed away. It crashed my brain in terms of writing for about two weeks. Once I felt able to look at this passage again, it seemed so much more important that every one of Ducky's lines was perfect. In the end, progress on that one scene took almost six weeks, but I think the final result honours him well. I hope, when you read it, you can hear him speak as clearly as I can.
So, many of these holiday scenes pull cues from the S10 episodes (which is where we'd be in canon if I hadn't diverged) specifically, Ziva's yearly visit to the opera for Tali and Tony's relationship with his parents. In canon, Tony says his mother is the reason he loves movies so much. Although I didn't directly borrow the scenes from Shell Shock, the acknowledgement is there in the way he remembers her imitating Sean Connery's accent. She never had a canon name, and although the leading fandom favourite is Elizabeth, I wanted something different for my own purposes later on and chose Sarah.
Regarding the quip about Senior feeling half his age - Senior's birthday is given in canon as Feb 10, 1940 - making him 72 during the story. Ziva's birthday is also a canon point, given as Nov 12 1982 and she has just turned 30 in the previous chapter. Tony's birthdate is never confirmed in canon, however, as both of the canon birthdates are their actor's real day/month combos with a different year, I decided to do the same for Tony and make his birthday in this universe July 8, 1971 - making him 41. Half of 72 is 36. So Tony although Tony is not "half senior's age", he is still slightly closer than Ziva. (For the record, you are exactly half your parents' age during the year you turn the same age they had you.)
The cause of Ziva's mother's death was never given in the series, so I've done some elaboration of my own. In this verse, Tali is 4 years younger than Ziva (born 1986), and Rivka died when Ziva and Tali were 17 and 13 respectively, from an unknown illness. I'm choosing to discount the line from 11x02 "Amman, where your mother was killed." If Rivka had been killed too, it would have come up before then, I can only assume it was a blooper and Tony was supposed to say "Your sister." You can find out more about my headcanon and timeline for Ziva on my Tumblr.
Most of the science/linguistic facts given are as accurate as I can manage - including blood protein levels following a heart attack and Charlie's little etymology talk about chai with Ducky.
However, does such a poison exist? Pfft... no idea, it sounded good and that'll do me!
Thank you all for your love, patience, reviews, faves and kudos.
Feel free to follow me on Tumblr as mrsmungus for more updates, scene snippets, and general rambling.
Much love, M xx