Of Jews and Gentiles (5/12)

[sashile]

Chapter 13

Despite her best efforts to the contrary, Ziva David couldn’t stop her eyes from moving over to her partner throughout the day as they sat at their respective desks, working on paperwork she couldn’t recall if asked. Their “date” the night before, despite being entirely scripted as the opening act for the play that was their undercover mission, was the best one she had been on in…well, as long as she could remember. Tony had been the perfect gentleman: kind, considerate, a good listener, a witty conversationalist-in other words, completely different from his everyday persona. No, that wasn’t fair; he had shown himself on many occasions to be deeper and more complex than a cursory glance would give him credit for.

“You need something, Ziva?” he asked, accenting the syllables of her first name in that way she simultaneously loved and hated. He looked over at her, a wide grin on his face.

“I was just wondering if you were nearing a halting point,” she said, ignoring the grin. “We will have to leave in less than half an hour to ensure that we have enough time to prepare for Shabbat before the sun sets.” They had decided a few days before that he would stay at her place-or, rather, Major Kenig’s place-in appearances of observing the Sabbath before going to the service on Saturday morning.

“Yeah, no problem,” he replied, giving her a wide grin as he made his way to the front of his desk. “I don’t know if I said this before, but I’ve been looking forward to this slumber party-.” His words were cut off by a swift smack to the back of the head. Grimacing briefly, he said, “Nice to see you, too, Boss.”

“You’re not leaving work early to have fun, DiNozzo. Ziva, I expect you’ll be teaching him enough to be able to pass as an ex-pat who spent a year living in Israel.”

“Of course,” David replied, somewhat defensively.

“And McGee and Abby will be coming over tomorrow afternoon to discuss what you’ve found,” Gibbs continued, again studying DiNozzo. “Both of you, keep your eyes open at the synagogue tomorrow. I’m not expecting our suspected serial killer to stand up and introduce himself, but I want to know about anything-”

“Hinky?” DiNozzo interrupted, using one of Abby Sciuto’s favorite words. Seeing the glare on Gibbs’ face, his grin dropped. “Sorry, Boss.”

“Tony! Ziva!” Both agents turned to see the aforementioned forensic scientist all but running out of the elevator toward them. Since he was the only one of the two standing, he steeled himself for the all-out embrace that he knew was coming. “I’m so glad I caught you two before you left! I was worried that you’d already be out of here, you know, so you had enough time to prepare dinner and light the Shabbat candles and say the Kiddush-”

“Abby,” Ziva interrupted. “I thought you were Catholic. How do you know so much about Shabbat traditions?”

“I looked it up,” Abby said brightly. “I didn’t really have anything better to do, since you guys aren’t working on anything with a lot of forensics and your team is, like, ninety percent of my job. Actually, I think it’s closer to eighty. Maybe eighty-five. I could probably figure out exactly how much of my job is related to Team Gibbs by looking at the number of tests-”

“Abs,” Gibbs interrupted, sounding exasperated. “Is there a reason you came up here?”

“Oh! Right. Well, I’ve been working on a new surveillance camera for Tony, because the last time we asked him to wear the glasses he didn’t stop complaining about it for a week. Apparently, it’s a big deal to him that people know he has 20/10 vision, and-”

“Thanks, Abs,” Tony said dryly. She grinned at him.

“Anyway, after much trial-and-error, we came up with the lapel-pin camera.” She produced what appeared to be a simple gold and black Ohio State pin. “You see?” she said, beaming. “We made it specifically with Tony in mind, you know, going with the whole Ohio State theme. I thought an American flag might be appropriate, but that is just so ‘I’m running for political office’, and that is not Tony at all.”

“Cool,” DiNozzo said, reaching for the pin. He turned it in his hand a few times, examining it closely. It was a very simple block O, instantly recognizable to anybody familiar with The Ohio State University. The lens was located in the middle of the O, and if you didn’t know it was a camera, there’d be no way of telling.

“You have to keep this in your breast pocket,” Abby continued, handing him a black box about the six of a miniature deck of cards. “That’s the recorder. Unlike the glasses, we can’t transmit the feed. Also, it’s not as accurate as the glasses. With those, we literally see everything you see, because we catch everything when your head turns and everything. Here, we only get what your chest is pointed toward, so if you see anything that looks the even slightest bit hinky-”

“I’ll turn my entire body toward it,” Tony finished. “Got it. Thanks, Abs.”

“You’re welcome,” she said with a wide grin and slight curtsey. “So you guys are really going to Temple and wear a yarmulke and everything? Well, I mean, Tony would be the one wearing a yarmulke, because only guys wear them, right? At least, that’s all you see in TV, but I couldn’t really find anything in my research-”

“Synagogue, not Temple,” DiNozzo interrupted, glancing over at his partner, remembering her saying those words to Gibbs the week before. He would have to ask her about that tonight; he could have sworn he had heard Jewish coworkers in the past talking about going to Temple. “And yes, I have a yarmulke to wear, although Ziva told me that in Israel it’s called a kippah.” He shot a wide grin over to Officer David. “See, Ziva? I do pay attention to you. Sometimes.”

“I am touched, Tony,” she said dryly, rolling her eyes. She turned back to the forensic scientist. “Going to the synagogue is not that big of a deal, Abby. It is not much unlike your-mass?” DiNozzo nodded that that was the correct word. “Only it is on Saturday instead of Sunday. If you want, we can tell you all about it when you and McGee come over tomorrow afternoon. But right now, we must be going if we are going to have the Shabbat candles lit before sunset.” She smiled her goodbyes at the team and headed for the elevator, her partner in tow, an overnight duffle slung over his shoulder.

Abby Sciuto watched the elevator doors slide closed behind the pair before she turned to McGee. “Talk about your sexual tension all built up. They are so going to be hooking up on this mission.”

---

“I didn’t think it was possible, Ziva, but your driving is actually worse today,” DiNozzo commented after a blare of horns followed their sudden crossing of three lanes of rush-hour traffic. In the back of his mind, he wondered why he chose that particular moment to make a joke about his partner’s driving; not that he was worried about distracting her-she had proven herself capable of her usual NASCAR-esque driving while doing three or four other things-but traffic patterns and getting in an accident were far from the first thing on his mind. Maybe it was just easier to comment on what was immediately apparent than what he assumed they were both really thinking: they were on their way to Ziva’s ridiculously luxurious condo, where they were both spending the night. A million different ends to this story played through DiNozzo’s mind, at least nine hundred thousand of which ended in tangled sheets and irate neighbors shouting for them to keep it down.

“I am driving a BMW with a sports package and diplomatic plates,” Ziva replied, shooting him a victorious smile before she again cut through two lanes of traffic without advanced warning. “If that is not the time to drive as I was trained, I do not what is.”

“Maybe when there’s actually a danger of IEDs,” he snapped back, remembering her excuse for driving the way she did. “Ziva!” he exclaimed as his head snapped forward with her sudden braking.

“Sorry,” she muttered, her voice completely different than the bragging bravado of a moment before. DiNozzo studied her, seeing her dark eyes focused on the road in front of them, her knuckles white where they gripped the gear shift, and realized she was probably thinking the same thing as him. Maybe her insane driving was a way to distract her from wondering what the next twenty-five or so hours would bring-or an effort to disarm him so he wouldn’t be wondering such thoughts. Too late, he mused. That damage is done. As he had joked the week before, he still had very vivid memories of her naked, and the thought of seeing her like that again-.

“Are you coming?” He blinked in surprise at his partner’s irate voice and realized that they were parked in the garage at her new condo, the last part of the drive blurred somewhere under those very vivid fantasies of the night to come.

“Sorry,” he muttered, grabbing his bag from the trunk of the car before following her to the elevators.

Once inside the apartment, Tony watched as Ziva did a quick search of her surroundings under the guise of putting away her gear, turning on lights, and walking to the study to boot up her computer. He smiled thinly at the routine, wondering if it was the unfamiliar surroundings or something she did every day when she got home. Knowing her, it was probably an every day thing. “There is a salmon fillet in the refrigerator,” she said as she returned to the kitchen, her hair now loose from its previous braid, her shoes kicked off. “Is that okay for dinner?”

“Sure,” he replied, not even bothering to hide that he was studying her. It wasn’t that she was noticing, however, as her gaze was on everything except him. He couldn’t help but smirk; was Ziva David, Mossad officer extraordinaire, cool and collected in the most dangerous of all situations, able to defuse a bomb with a knife as she balanced on an exposed ceiling beam, uncomfortable in a Georgetown condo in his presence?

He continued to watch as she silently pulled ingredients out of one of the refrigerators: the salmon fillet, some basil, fresh linguine, and a bottle of wine. “It is a pinot grigio,” she said as he lifted the bottle to examine the label. “It is not a bottle of Cristal, but it is good with salmon. It is rather sweet, though, so if you would prefer something else-”

“This is fine,” he interrupted, glancing over at her to see her digging through the well-stocked pantry for some more ingredients. “Where are the wine glasses?”

“I am not sure,” she admitted. “Feel free to look for them.” By the time he had opened enough cabinets to find the wide assortment of glasses and remove two for white wine, Ziva was nowhere to be found. He turned a few times, her name on his lips before he spotted her in the living room. Her gaze was down, focused on the two candlestick holders he had seen in the embassy, now complete with long white tapers. As he watched, she struck a match, lighting both candles before shaking out the match with a confident flick of the wrist. An almost ethereal look was on her face as her lips moved silently, reciting what he assumed to be some sort of Hebrew prayer for the Sabbath.

She looked up to see him watching her, and the spell was broken. “Wine?” he asked, holding up one of the glasses. “I had to look through the drawers to find the corkscrew and couldn’t help but notice the Glock with the dish towels. Tell me, does that come standard with condos in the area, or did you have to pay extra?” He gave her a wide grin to let him know he was joking as she accepted the glass.

“The Shabbat candles,” she explained to his unasked question as she returned to her position in the kitchen. “Pay attention, you should know about this.” He grinned at her lightly scolding tone, which made her smile slightly in response. “The candles symbolize the command in the Torah to observe and remember the Shabbat. It is customary for the woman of the house to light them eighteen minutes before sunset.”

“And then?”

“Before the first meal of Shabbat-dinner on Friday night-it is customary to say Kiddush over a glass of wine,” she continued. “Then it is the meal and the observance of Shabbat by refraining from thirty-nine forbidden activities, the melachot.” She smirked slightly. “But I can already tell you that we will not be doing so.”

“Oh?” he asked, his eyebrows raised as he wondered what she was referring to. She smiled again as if knowing what he was thinking.

“We are still cooking,” she explained after a long pause as she artfully pulled a knife from the block on the counter. She studied it for a moment before saying, “Which is prohibited. Can you hand me the basil?”

“You making a pesto?” he asked a few minutes later, watching her crush the basil with a pestle.

“It is a pistou,” she replied as she added olive oil. “It is similar to pesto, but without pine nuts or cheese. Cheese and meat cannot be eaten together.”

He chuckled slightly at her words. “This coming from someone who requests Philly cheesesteaks every time we hit the deli on base?”

She did smile at the comment, but said, “I do not always keep kosher, but someone who later stays in this apartment may. I want to keep this kitchen kosher for them.” She raised an eyebrow at him. “And that means if you have your pepperoni pizza here, you may not use any of these plates or utensils.”

He scoffed. “Have you ever seen me use plates or utensils when I eat pizza?” They continued to work side-by-side as they prepared their dinner, their conversations mostly centered on what could or could not be done on the Sabbath, what was and wasn’t kosher, and several other aspects of Judaism that Tony didn’t understand. Although he knew that she didn’t observe many of these traditions or restrictions, he enjoyed learning about more about Ziva’s culture and trying to figure out what her life was like before she suddenly appeared in his three and a half years before.

After their dinner and several more refills of wine-he didn’t know when it was that Ziva retrieved another bottle from the wine rack, but figured it had to be some point before he noticed that he was drinking red wine-they were both laughing as they attempted to clean the kitchen, despite his light-hearted protests that it was in violation of the Sabbath and should be put aside until the next evening. “Tonight was a lot of fun,” DiNozzo said out of the blue.

“Yes,” Ziva agreed, a smile still on her face as she turned to him, finding him standing closer than she realized. They both stood frozen for what seemed like forever, but was probably only a few seconds. Before either could fully register what was happening, both began leaning toward the other.

“I should get you blankets for the futon,” Ziva said abruptly, quickly turning away and heading out of the kitchen.

“Ziva…” DiNozzo called out after her before giving an exasperated sigh. So much for that idea, he mused.

“I will try not to wake you when I leave for my run,” she said, returning from the linen closet with a blanket and pillow, her gaze not meeting his. “Services are at 0900, so we should leave here before 0845.”

“The futon, Ziva?” Tony asked weakly. She thrust the blanket and pillow into his arms and quickly turned away, but not before he saw the flash of something he couldn’t quite identify in her dark eyes. Fear? Anger? Annoyance? Pain? He really didn’t know how to describe it. “Do you really think-”

“Goodnight, Tony,” she said firmly, already heading up the stairs to the lofted master bedroom. He sighed in defeat and began heading toward the second bedroom, set up for a study.

“Buonanotte,” he muttered sarcastically, barely resisting the temptation to slam the door behind him. By the time he cooled down, he found himself wondering why he was so annoyed with her. Keeping him at arm’s length during an undercover mission was probably the smart thing to do; after all, the last time he had been on a long-term undercover mission, he had fallen in love with a woman and hurt her so badly that she had moved to Africa to provide medical care to orphans or some such thing. He could see why Ziva wouldn’t want any part of that.

Chapter 14

It was the sound of the piano that woke Tony DiNozzo the next morning. At first, he thought it was the alarm on his cell phone, but it was silent as he grabbed for it, almost rolling off the futon in the unfamiliar surroundings. He groaned, squinting across the room to see the red numbers on the clock by the computer. Six-ten in the morning. Wonderful.

It took another few minutes for the situation to fully register in his mind: he was in the guest bedroom/study of Ziva’s temporary apartment, they were undercover and would be headed for the synagogue in a few hours. She was Jewish; he was not. He gave a wry smile at that thought. Took you three and a half years to figure that one out? he mocked to himself.

Ten minutes after 0600 meant that Ziva was back from her morning run. At first, he was wondering why she would put on classical music immediately after returning to the condo, but then he remembered the parlor grand piano by the large picture window, and realized that this was no recording he was listening to.

He quietly made his way out of the room, standing just outside the hallway, clad only in a pair of boxers, his attention focused on the piano and the slight figure perched on the piano bench. It was obvious that she had just returned from her run; her dark hair still hung down her back in a single braid over a sweat-stained running shirt and pair of dark shorts. Her attention was focused on the black and white keys in front of her as she played from memory; she hadn’t yet registered his presence, allowing him to appreciate this brief glimpse into his partner’s life, her guard completely down. He frowned as he thought about the music, trying to remember enough about that music appreciation course in college to identify it. Junior year, winter quarter, needed an easy fine arts credit during basketball season, one of his teammates said that was the way to go, one of his frat brothers informed him that there were a lot of hot girls in there. He was right, too. Schumann, he finally decided. A little crazy-bipolar-reflected in his music. Almost appropriate, considering the emotional roller coaster he had been on for the last few days.

He blinked as the music stopped abruptly in mid-strain, his presence finally registering in his partner’s head. The unfinished musical phrase hung heavily in the room, so incomplete it almost made DiNozzo wince. “I am sorry,” Ziva David finally said, her dark eyes still a bit wider than usual. “I did not mean to wake you.”

He shrugged. “I was going to get up soon anyway,” he lied. His alarm was set for 0730. They continued to study each other from across the room. “Listen, Ziva, about last night-”

“I should begin to get ready,” she interrupted, getting up from the piano bench. He gave a small sigh, knowing that she was just avoiding talking to him; under no stretch of the imagination did it ever take her two and a half hours to get ready in the morning. As if knowing that he was thinking this, she turned back to face him before ascending the stairs. “We should discuss the mission for the day before we leave. I will make breakfast.” She didn’t give him a chance to respond before she headed up toward the master suite. He waited until he heard the bathroom door closed before he sighed again and headed for the guest bathroom. Might as well get going, he mused. It wasn’t as if he was getting any more sleep.

He glanced at his reflection in the mirror as he secured the knot of his tie against his neck. He had opted for his standard black suit, the one that screamed ‘federal agent’ when matched with its usual black tie; the subtle gold pattern in the Armani tie he had packed softened the image somewhat. He remembered staring at his closet for a long stretch the morning before, agonizing about what would be appropriate to wear at a Jewish synagogue. His mind, illogically enough, kept flashing back to his time in Ohio, Pennsylvania, and Illinois, remembering the Amish and their old-fashioned suits, sans buttons. Then he remembered Rabbi Sault’s crisp Oxford shirt and slacks, and realized that, especially in a neighborhood such as Georgetown, going to synagogue in one of his usual power suits would probably be appropriate.

He gently rested his suit jacket on the couch before entering the kitchen, not terribly surprised to find his partner already removing pans to begin breakfast. He didn’t know how she did it; he didn’t think he took all that long to get ready, but she was always faster, and always looking perfect. This morning was no exception, with her modest straight black skirt that fell to mid-calf and long-sleeved dark purple shirt, her gold Star of David necklace resting over the high neckline of the top. Her hair was pinned back in one his favorite styles, the top loosely held at the nape of her neck, long curls falling down her back. In the years that they worked together, she had shown many ways of putting her hair up or back, but the general style never changed much, just a few inches of difference in the length from time to time. Now, it was again a bit on the long side, making him wonder how long it would be before she got annoyed with it and again had it cut to just below her shoulders again.

“Would you rather have a cheese omelet or pancakes?” He blinked aside any thoughts of how good his partner looked and focused his attention on said partner, registering the slightly annoyed look she always wore when she caught him daydreaming. He gave her a wide joking grin in response.

“I suppose bacon is out of the question?” She rolled her eyes and turned away. That was enough to tell DiNozzo she wasn’t in a joking mood that morning. “Pancakes sound good.”

“Good,” she replied curtly. “Because that is what I already decided you would get.”

“Glad I had a say in it,” he muttered, more to himself than her. She gave him a quick glare as she began mixing batter. “Look, Ziva, you can continue to be mad at me all morning, but don’t you think it would just save some time if you could tell me what I did so I can get the apologizing over with?”

She shot another glare in his direction before sighing in resignation. “I am sorry, Tony,” she finally said, catching him off guard. “It is not anything that you have done. I am not accustomed to having another person in my apartment. I had forgotten you were here this morning. You caught me off guard while I was playing the piano.” A ghost of a smile appeared on her lips as she poured a small amount of batter onto the pan. “Now I know how you feel when I sneak up on you, yes?”

“Except I didn’t do it on purpose,” he shot back with a grin. “I’ll be more loud and obnoxious next time.”

She snorted. “I do not believe that that is possible, Tony.” They spent the rest of the time as they ate their breakfast discussing what to expect at the synagogue that morning, a conversation that was liberally sprinkled with movie references involving comedic rabbis on Tony’s part and eye rolls on Ziva’s.

A few minutes before they were scheduled to leave, DiNozzo retrieved the kippah and lapel camera from his bag before returning to the living room to shrug on his suit jacket. He affixed the small camera before shooting a grin at his partner. “I’m ready,” he announced.

“No,” she replied.

“No?”

She walked over to him and removed the small recorder pack from his breast pocket and flicked an almost invisible switch. “You did not turn it on,” she informed him before leaning right in front of the camera. “Good morning, McGee,” she said in a faux-serious tone, making DiNozzo laugh. She took the skull cap from his hands and produced a few bobby pins from thin air. “I told you I would help you with this,” she reminded him.

“Do we have to do that now?” he asked, aware that he was whining. “Can’t we wait until we get there?”

“You are not supposed to carry anything on Shabbat,” she informed him. “Which is also why you will pretend that you do not have the keys to the condo in your pocket. Now hold still.” He leaned his head forward slightly to give her a better angle, only flinching a few times as she ‘accidently’ snagged his hair with the pins that she used to keep the yarmulke in place. “There,” she finally said, her voice soft against his ear. “That should stay.”

“Thanks,” he managed in return, all too aware that her body was pressed against him as she had been working. Their eyes met and they both stilled for a moment. Unlike the night before, this time she surprised him by lightly pressing her lips to his cheek.

“Are you ready, Dr. Dinallo?” she asked in a teasing tone.

“I’m ready when you are, Major Kenig,” he replied in turn. He was surprised again when he offered his hand and she took it without question.

---

“I would be careful about the coffee if I were you, Tony,” Ziva whispered into his ear as they approached the pot in the back of the social hall of the synagogue. He gave her a quizzical look as he took a cup.

“I was woken up an hour and a half early by the sounds of the music of a suicidal madman and just spent the last hour and half trying to stay awake during a service conducted entirely in a language I don’t understand,” he grumbled. “I think that deserves a cup of coffee.” He filled his cup and turned to her with eyebrows raised challengingly.

“Only the prayers and readings from the Torah were in a language you did not understand,” she shot back quietly, rolling her eyes. “If you had been paying attention, you would have realized the sermon was in English.” She waited for him to take a sip of the coffee and smirked at his look of disgust. “I was going to tell you to avoid the coffee because it was likely made yesterday afternoon and kept warm until now. It is not fresh.”

“Thanks,” he managed sarcastically. He smiled slightly at her grin and lightly brushed a lock of hair off her shoulder. “So,” he said after a long moment of silence. “Are the sermons always in English?”

She rolled her eyes and gave him one of those ‘I can’t believe you’re so stupid’ looks. “In the United States,” she said. “In Israel, they are in Hebrew. They are in the local language, so the congregation can understand what it being said. There would not be a point in giving a sermon that nobody understood.”

“Right,” he said, nodding his head. His eyes followed her hand as she reached up to his arm, brushing off something that wasn’t there. He opened his mouth to ask another question but didn’t get the opportunity.

“You must be Major Kenig,” a voice said from behind Ziva. Her eyes widened slightly as she pivoted on her heels to find herself face-to-face with a plain-looking middle-aged woman, a warm smile on her round face. “Michael Bashan told us you would be coming to this service today.”

“Yes,” Ziva said slowly. “Ziva Kenig. And you are?”

“Oh!” the woman replied, chuckling slightly. “Silly me! Hedia Grossman. Rabbi Grossman’s wife.”

“It is a pleasure to meet you, Rebbetzin,” Ziva said with a deferential nod. She glanced over at Tony and said, “And this is Anthony Dinallo-”

“The boyfriend,” Tony interrupted with a slight laugh and wide grin. Ziva had to fight to resist the urge to roll her eyes; that was the same ‘love me, I’m charming’ grin she had seen him give thousands of woman of all ages. “And I’d know that accent anywhere. Are you originally from Israel?”

“Why, yes,” Mrs. Grossman replied with a grin of her own. This time, Ziva did roll her eyes; the older ones always seemed to eat it right up. He must be a natural at meeting the mothers. “Haifa, originally. Have you been?”

“Not to Haifa, unfortunately, but Ziva tells me it’s beautiful.” He turned to give his partner a large grin as he gave her hand a quick squeeze. “I was stationed in Jerusalem a few years ago. I spent most of my there or Tel Aviv.”

“Stationed?” Mrs. Grossman asked. “Are you in the military?”

“Not quite,” he said with a chuckle. “I’m an intelligence analyst for the Naval Criminal Investigative Service.” He gave Ziva another smile. “That’s how Ziva and I met, actually. It was a liaison mission between Israeli intelligence and NCIS-”

“Tony, I do not think Rebbetzin Grossman needs to hear all the details,” Ziva interrupted before smiling sweetly at the rabbi’s wife. “Sometimes he forgets that not everybody is as interested in his work as he is.”

The three shared a polite chuckle. “I’m so glad you’re able to join us, Ziva,” Mrs. Grossman said before eying each of the couple in turn. “Perhaps you two would be interested in our couple’s group on Wednesday evenings?”

Tony and Ziva looked at each other with exaggerated discomfort. “Well, actually, Mrs. Grossman-”

“Tony is not Jewish,” Ziva finished for him, her words rushing out as if it were something she was afraid to vocalize in front of a rabbi’s wife.

“Oh,” Hedia Grossman replied. DiNozzo was almost sure it was his imagination, but he thought he saw a very brief disapproving expression before her previous smile returned. “Well, we actually have an adult education class that is geared toward couples in the process of learning more about Jewish traditions and faith. We have a few other mixed couples who are working together to be more observant in their practices.” She appeared to be gauging their reactions for a moment before continuing. “We meet on Thursday evenings from six-thirty to eight-thirty. My husband and I lead the class, and I always make dinner for the group. Plus, Ziva, it will give you an opportunity to meet some other people your age outside of work.”

“I do not know…” Ziva began, feigning reluctance.

“Mrs. Grossman brings up some excellent points, Ziva,” Tony interjected. “It would be nice to socialize with people outside of work, and it is about time I put more effort into learning about your culture.”

She smiled thinly at him. “You lived in Israel for a year, Tony, and did not manage to assimilate anything,” she rebuked lightly.

“Well, now I have a reason to,” he said softly, giving her an encouraging smile. He wondered if she was really blushing, or if Mossad officers could make their faces redder on command.

“Great!” the rabbi’s wife exclaimed, her smile wide and bubbly. “Oh! And here’s one of the couples in the class now! Come, I’ll introduce you. Oh, you’ll really enjoy the group, you really will.”
Chapter 15

Officer Ziva David couldn’t kick her shoes off soon enough as they passed through the threshold of her temporary apartment. “Now I remember why it has been so long since I have worn those,” she muttered darkly.

“Well, at least you didn’t have to wear a-ouch!”

David quickly spun to face her partner in surprise, then had to fight to keep from snickering. “Tony, you still have pins in your hair,” she reminded him as he gently rubbed his head, trying to relieve the sting of pulling too quickly at the yarmulke he still wore.

“I didn’t think those little things would hold so well,” he admitted as he ducked his head down to allow her to help. “I’ll never underestimate women’s hair accessories again.”

“They are actually quite easy to operate,” she said with a smile as she handed him the kippah. “Which is probably why four-year-old girls do not have many problems with them.”

“Hmm,” he grunted in response. “So are services always that long?”

“An hour and a half?”

“We were there for almost three hours!”

“Socializing,” she corrected. “Which is a perfectly natural thing to do on the Sabbath. I am sure Rebbetzin Grossman could have found more people to introduce us to if you had not been looking at me like you could not wait for a repeat performance-.” She cut herself off abruptly as she leaned forward and removed the recording pack from Tony’s breast pocket. She gave a low Hebrew curse as she searched the box. “Disregard that, McGee,” she snapped before sliding the button to the ‘off’ position. “There is no rewind,” she explained to DiNozzo’s amused expression.

“Actually, I was trying to think of what repeat performance you could be talking about,” he commented with a dry smile. “Dinner last night was delicious, and I am pretty hungry, but after that comment I doubt McGee would be thinking-.” He stopped talking when Ziva placed her hand over his mouth.

“Do you really want to have this discussion right now?” she finally said after what seemed like a long silent staring match.

“Is there a discussion to be had?” he asked in response, suddenly serious. She appeared somewhat taken aback by the question, but the ringing of the doorbell prevented her from having to answer.

“Ziva!” Abby Sciuto exclaimed as she all but burst into the condo. “Oh my God, this apartment is amazing! I’ve-wait. Can I say ‘God’ on the Sabbath? Well, it’s your Sabbath, not mine, so I don’t think God would really care-”

“Abby,” Ziva interrupted with a smile. “You can say whatever you want. I will not be offended. I doubt God would, either.” She moved aside to allow Abby and McGee into the condo. “Please, make yourself at home. Lunch will be ready soon, and Tony is in the kitchen…” She trailed off and looked around with a confused expression on her face as they stepped into the kitchen. “Well, Tony was in the kitchen. I do not know where he went.”

“To change,” he replied as they stepped into the living room to see him emerging from the short hallway, now clad in jeans and an Ohio State sweatshirt. Ziva blinked in surprise; that must have been the fastest she had ever seen him change. “What’s this about lunch? We just got back!”

“Chicken soup,” she informed him. “I put it in the crackpot last night. I also have bread from the bakery…what?” she asked at the laughter of the other three.

“Crockpot,” Tony finally managed before he burst out into laughter again. “Completely different from a crackpot.”

“I like yours better, Ziva,” Abby offered. “I never understood why it’s called a Crockpot.”

“Thank you, Abby,” she replied, giving DiNozzo a short glare. She handed the small recorder box from Tony’s lapel camera to McGee. “There is a little more than three hours of recordings on here, from right before we left the apartment until we returned. You can disregard the last few minutes.”

“Now he’s not going to, Ziva,” DiNozzo said, rolling his eyes slightly. McGee glanced down the box curiously, wondering what the two had done or said that had them so up in arms and so concerned with him finding out.

“I will go get lunch ready,” David declared, ignoring Tony’s comment as she turned on her heel and headed for the kitchen.

“Wow, Tony,” McGee said quietly once he was sure she was out of earshot. “What did you do to piss her off this time?”

“Mind your own business, Probie,” Tony muttered darkly. Truthfully, he wasn’t upset at her, and he doubted she was angry at him. As he was reading it, they were both frustrated with the situation and taking it out on each other. Maybe it was time for that ‘discussion’.

“So,” McGee continued, almost as if gleefully enjoying the animosity between his partners, “how’s living with Ziva?”

“The Israeli embassy really knows to pick a comfortable futon,” DiNozzo said sarcastically as he picked up the remote to the television. “It’s a shame there aren’t any good sports in the spring,” he muttered to himself as he flipped through the sports channels. He finally settled on ZNN, hoping that they would say something about somewhere in the Middle East, so he could pretend to be up-to-date on the topic.

“Right,” McGee said slowly. “Oww! Abby! What was that for?”

“Stop teasing Tony,” she scolded. “He’s working very hard and is going to have to be giving up his Saturdays for who knows how long. You can at least be a little sympathetic.”

“I’m giving up my Saturday, too!” McGee protested. “Fine,” he muttered to Abby’s glare.

“Be good,” she scolded. Neither had noticed the slight smirk on DiNozzo’s face as he pretended not to listen to the exchange.

They were saved from any further conversation when Ziva returned from the kitchen to announce that lunch was ready. Abby seemed unusually excited with the idea of having lunch in Ziva’s temporary apartment on Shabbat, which meant the first part of the meal was mostly spent with Tony and McGee silently listening to Ziva’s patient explanations to Abby’s questions about kosher food and cooking on the Sabbath and whether or not there were special prayers that they should be saying. “Geez, Abby,” DiNozzo chuckled after yet another question about what constitutes ‘meat’ and what is ‘dairy’, “it sounds like you’ve done more research on this than I have.”

“We really need a case,” McGee commented dryly. His eyes widened slightly as he registered those words. “Is it wrong to wish somebody dead just because I’m bored?”

“I’m sure they’ll be divine retribution for that,” DiNozzo replied. He gave the forensic scientist a slight grin. “Especially for doing so on the Sabbath.”

“But it’s not his Sabbath,” Abby pointed out, “so he should be okay.”

After putting away the dishes, the four moved to the living room to get back to work. “Okay, guys,” McGee began. “Tell us everything. Did you find anything in the synagogue this morning?”

“Well, there was the guy who came up to us and admitted to shooting Lt. Shaw in the head, Probie, but other than that, it was a pretty slow Saturday,” DiNozzo said dryly. “Do you think we would have calmly sat down for a lovely Shabbat lunch if we had anything?”

“Sorry,” McGee said weakly. Somehow, he had forgotten how scathing DiNozzo could be when he was frustrated. “Did you get a chance to make your way around the congregation and meet people?”

“Yes,” Ziva jumped in before Tony could give another sarcastic comment. “We ran into the rabbi’s wife and spoke briefly with her. She recruited us for this couples’ adult education course that Lts. Shaw and Sault were involved in, and introduced us to one of the couples in the class, a pair of dentists, Drs. Samuel Cohen and Ashley Detert.”

“Anyone suspicious?”

“We pretty much ruled them out on account for the fact that they were the rabbi’s wife and a pair of dentists,” DiNozzo said, rolling his eyes.

“They should be recorded on the camera, Tim,” Ziva said, acting nicer to make up for her partner’s derision. “You can run them through the facial recognition programs at NCIS.”

“Yeah, good idea, Ziva,” McGee agreed. “Uh, do you mind if I check the recording now, just to make sure everything’s okay?”

“There is a computer in the sparse bedroom,” she said, pointing down the hall. Tony gave his first real smile of the afternoon.

“Spare bedroom,” he corrected. He saw the slight smirk on his partner’s face and chuckled. “You did that one on purpose,” he accused.

“Correcting my English usually makes you laugh,” she said defensively. “You are unusually angry at the moment.”

“Uh, I’ll-we’ll-just go check this out now. Abby,” McGee said, practically tugging on the goth’s arm. “Come on.”

She gave an exasperated sigh as she got up; it was obvious that Tony and Ziva were only focused on each other, and had likely forgotten that she and McGee were even in the room. Such opportunities to observe her coworkers weren’t always easy to come by.

Tony stared at his partner for a moment before shaking his head slightly. “I’m not angry,” he finally admitted. “I’m frustrated with this case. The only evidence we have is a possible connection to a Georgetown synagogue, which may or may not have anything to do with the murder, and then we spent the entire morning there and learned absolutely nothing. It feels like we’re treading water, and I hate swimming.”

Ziva smiled thinly at the metaphor. “Our mission today was to establish ourselves at the synagogue,” she reminded him, “not necessarily to gather intel. We would have busted our covers had we immediately questioned the congregation about Lt. Shaw’s death.”

He smiled slightly at the botched idiom, but didn’t bother to correct it. “You’re right,” he conceded. “I’m sorry.”

“We will just need to be patient,” she said, nodding slightly to acknowledge the apology. “If we do not find anything in the next four weeks, we will come up with a plan B.”

“Four weeks,” DiNozzo muttered, looking away. It seemed like a long time, but the thought of spending four weeks with an excuse to see Ziva every night-well, he wasn’t going to complain about that. If each of those nights in those four weeks were anything like the last two, it might drive him insane, but he still wasn’t going to complain.

While DiNozzo and David were talking on the couch, McGee and Abby had headed back into the guest bedroom/study. “Huh,” Abby said, noticing that, while the futon was folded up, there was a rumbled blanket and pillow resting near the edge. “I guess he really did sleep on the futon.”

McGee glanced over at what Abby was looking at and shrugged. “They’re professionals, Abby,” he reminded her. She looked at him incredulously.

“Timmy!” she protested. “You’re the one who just asked Tony about what it was like to be living with Ziva!”

“I was joking!” he said defensively. “Abby, they’re not going to be sleeping together while they’re on a mission!”

“Why not?” Abby shot back. “They’re both adults.”

“That isn’t the point-”

“Besides, it would probably do them some good,” Abby continued without missing a beat. “Maybe then they’ll stop all this bickering.”

“Abby, they’re not going to-whoa.” He almost jumped back from the computer screen as the video started with Ziva leaning unnaturally close to the camera and wishing him a good morning, followed by the laughter of both undercover agents.

“Well, they seemed to have been in a better mood this morning,” Abby said thoughtfully. “Do you think they-”

“No!”

Chapter 16

“What’ve you got for me, Probie?” Agent McGee’s head snapped up quickly at the unexpected voice, half-expecting to find that he imagined the sound of the senior field agent’s voice in the office at 0800 on a Sunday morning, but instead found said senior field agent studying him with a curious expression on his face as he stored his Sig.

“Uh, not much,” McGee finally said, recovering from the surprise. “I haven’t made it through the entire recording yet. What are you doing here?”

“I don’t know if you remember, McAbsent-Minded, but I work here,” Agent DiNozzo said sarcastically.

“Well, I know, but it’s the weekend…” His voice trailed off as he registered the annoyed expression on DiNozzo’s face.

“I know it’s the weekend, Probie Wan Kenobi,” DiNozzo shot back, “but what else am I going to be doing? There’s a finite number of things I’m allowed to be doing while on this mission. Coming into work just happens to be one of them.” He looked up to see McGee giving him a curious look. “What?”

“Oh, nothing,” McGee replied quickly, his gaze returning to the computer screen. “I’m just impressed you know what ‘finite’ means.”

“I make the jokes around here, McGiggle. You remember that.”

“Well, maybe if you’d use something the slightest bit original…Ziva, what are you doing here?”

DiNozzo turned quickly to see his partner at her desk, giving McGee a confused look as she removed her Sig. She also took off her ankle holster and removed her knife from her waistband, which she usually didn’t do; if he didn’t know better, he could have sworn she was teasing McGee. “I work here, McGee,” she said after she had removed the last of her weapons. “Did you get anything from the camera?”

“Uh, no,” he finally said, his eyes back on his monitor. He almost jumped when he looked up again to find both of his partners leaning over his desk expectantly. “I, uh, am going to need someone to translate the Hebrew.”

“It is only prayers, McGee,” David replied. “I would have noticed if anybody had begun an oration of the evils of dating outside one’s religion.” She looked over at her partner and rolled her eyes. “Tony, on the other hand, was not paying attention to anything. He did not even notice that the sermon was in English.”

“I think my brain was fried from all the Hebrew,” he muttered. “Either that, or the pain of those pins sticking in my head was too distracting. Seriously, Ziva, did you have to-”

“You are acting like an infant,” she interrupted, rolling her eyes. “You better get used to it. You will have to wear the kippah at the synagogue until the mission is complete.”

“If you’re trying to give me incentive to do my job, Major, don’t worry,” he said sarcastically. “The knowledge that I won’t have to be dating you anymore once this is over is incentive enough.”

“Maybe Abby was right,” McGee muttered to himself. He only realized that he had spoken aloud when both agents stopped their argument to turn their glares on him. Simultaneously, they barked out:

“Right about what, McGee?”

---

“Ziva-”

“I am going to be a part-time field agent for an indefinite period of time, Tony. I have reports to do and would appreciate it if you would let me finish them.” When he didn’t say anything in response, she looked up and sighed. “What is it, Tony?”

“Nothing,” he said innocently, going back to his own report. Her eyes narrowed as she continued to study him. “What?”

“That is what I asked you.”

“Well, I was going to ask if you wanted to grab dinner and a movie, but if you have to do those reports…” He let his voice trail off, ending with a shrug and a grin.

“Ah,” David replied, a smile of her own on her face. “Another date means that Director Vance does not know about the $370 bottle of Cristal yet.”

“Three hundred and seventy dollars?” McGee echoed as he returned to the bullpen. “You guys bought a $370 bottle of champagne? The last time I was on a mission, I had to buy my own coffee!”

“It’s one of the perks of being the senior field agent, Probie. It’s all about choosing the right missions,” DiNozzo smirked.

“We were after a rogue agent!”

The grin dropped from DiNozzo’s face at the reminder. “Do you have anything, McGee?” he snapped.

“Uh, yes. And no,” McGee replied, returning to business at the stern note in the senior field agent's voice. “We ran the faces from the video through the facial recognition software. There are a few military personnel in the congregation, a couple of representatives, a senator, and a, uh, banker who’s about to be indicted for fraud. There are a few past misdemeanor charges, but nothing that seems related to these deaths. Everything looks kosher. Uh, no pun intended. Sorry, Ziva.”

She shrugged. “You did not offend me, McGee.”

“There was also this really interesting conversation at the end of the recording…”

“You know what, Tony?” Ziva interrupted, turning to her partner. “I think dinner sounds like a great idea.”

---

“Is this where we have that discussion?” DiNozzo asked, studying his partner over the rim of his coffee cup as he brought it to his mouth for a sip. The movie hadn’t been bad, as Sunday afternoon matinees went, but it seemed to further emphasize his point about movies in the last decade or so being more about special effects than plot. Ziva seemed to enjoy the ass-kicking, even though she was scoffing at how unrealistic it was about half of the time.

She placed the spoon she was fidgeting with down on the table before she raised her eyes to meet his. “Gibbs has rules for a reason,” she finally said.

“So that’s why you always wear a knife.”

“Tony…”

“Sorry.” He looked away before looking back. “So that’s what this is about? Gibbs’ rule about dating coworkers? What is it, thirteen?”

“I believe twelve.”

“Still, it doesn’t even make the top ten. ‘Don’t put suspects together’ rates higher than that.”

She rolled her eyes, wondering why she thought it would be possible to have a serious conversation with her partner. “Forget it,” she finally muttered.

He sighed. “Sorry,” he repeated. He stared into his coffee cup for a long minute, swirling it gently and watching the subtle colors circle around as he tried to figure out what to say. That he was attracted to her? He was pretty sure she knew that already. Hell, he was pretty sure she was aware that ninety percent of the men she encountered in a day were attracted to her. That he cared for her beyond that sexual attraction? Once again, he was sure she knew that already; they were partners and caring for each other and protecting each other were in the job description. “Gibbs told me once that I can’t live under his rules forever, that someday I’m going to have to make some of my own.”

She took that response in stride, but then surprised him with her next question. “Did Gibbs ever tell you what happened between him and Jen in Paris?”

“Well, I assumed they…I mean, it was pretty obvious they…” He gave up. “I take it you know more than I do about the subject.”

“They were…involved, while on an undercover mission together throughout Europe,” she confirmed with a nod. “When their mission was over, he briefly returned to DC and she requested a transfer to the Middle East. She never said anything specific about the decision, but I always had the impression that it was not the one she wanted to be making.”

He tried not to think about the parallels between the situations-undercover missions, a relationship between two headstrong and determined people, the possibility of being split up. He had done ‘split up’ from Ziva already, and would rather not repeat the experience. “How did it end?” he asked against his better judgment. He wasn’t sure he wanted to know.

Ziva gave a half-shrug, again not meeting his eye. “When the mission was over, Jen found Gibbs to be…distant, unwilling to make a commitment, uncertain of what he wanted in his personal life. She could not put her career on hold for a relationship that he would not allow to be.”

He didn’t need a female-to-male dictionary to understand what she was saying. People were always making comments about how like Gibbs he was becoming, and while he didn’t have the emotional baggage of a murdered wife and daughter, he did have the reputation of jumping from one ‘relationship’ to another. He hadn’t been deaf to Ziva’s comments over the last year, especially since they both returned to DC from their respective assignments. He could tell that having a real relationship, one with the possibility of marriage and kids, while not in the forefront of her mind, was somewhere in there. To be honest, this was the opposite of how he thought this conversation would be going; he thought she would bring up his relationship to Jeanne and how involved he had gotten, how it had impaired his judgment and almost cost him his life. Of course, he might have been thinking that that is what she would say because that was what he had been thinking about since this mission began. “I’m not Gibbs,” he finally said. “And you’re not Jenny. Just because it happened to them in Europe ten years ago doesn’t mean that the same thing will happen to us.”

He could tell by the look in her eyes that she was unconvinced, and he knew that there was nothing he could say that would change her mind. Even if it weren’t for the dossier she had prepared on him before she joined the team, he hadn’t exactly been an example of boyfriend material in the years that they had worked together. “I know,” she agreed. “I just think that for now, things would go more smoothly if we did not get distracted by anything other than the mission.”

He searched her gaze for any hint that she didn’t mean what she had just said, but he was met with the steely, determined look he had seen thousands of times, when she had made up her mind and there was no changing it. He sighed inwardly before nodding. “Okay. If that’s what you want, then that’s what we’ll do.” He gave a wide grin that he knew didn’t reach his eyes. “Now let’s get you home, Major Kenig. You have a big day tomorrow.”