Of Jews and Gentiles (6/12)
Chapter 17
Officer Ziva David smiled to herself as she leaned against the side of the building, her weapon held tightly to her chest. Oh, this is going to be fun, she thought, willing her heart rate down so she could better to listen to the subtle sounds around her. A second later, she heard the tale-tell sound of a footprint, about a meter and a half to her left… Taking a quiet breath, she quickly spun from her position and fired three times, right into the chest.
“You’re dead,” she smirked at Sergeant Jackson, who was looking crestfallen at the three green splotches of paint right over his heart. The three instructors-Navy Commander Sunil Patel, Army Major Brad Austin, and IDF Major Ziva Kenig-had finished their work earlier than anticipated that Thursday morning, so they invited their non-commissioned officers to join them for a ‘training exercise’ during their free afternoon. Training exercise, my ass, Ziva thought to herself. The boys just wanted to play paintball. Not that she minded; it had been so long since she had spent time in a military setting, and she had forgotten how much fun running around shooting at people could be. Not that she didn’t get enough about it at NCIS, but it had a different feel to it when wearing a uniform, even if that uniform was an old set of camouflage fatigues that they had lying around the National Defense Intelligence College for this exact purpose.
“Looks like the officers win again,” Major Austin said, emerging from his position behind a short wall, his paintball gun up in the air. “Although it’s not so much ‘the officers’ as ‘our Israeli officer’.”
She gave Austin a thin smile at the compliment as they began heading in for the afternoon, not wanting to encourage him by commenting about how different her training had been than theirs, or, even worse, returning his compliment with a hollow one of her own. When she first showed up at the NDIC on Monday morning for her in-processing, the first thing the blond Army intelligence officer had done was glance down at her left hand. Seeing her fourth finger empty, he began what could only be described as an all-out attack of flirting, which she endured without comment for about a day, before she let ‘slip’ that she had a boyfriend at NCIS. Still, he seemed to be of the mindset that until there was a ring, she was fair game. At this point, he was a mild annoyance, but if this went on much longer, she’d have to get more creative. While holding a gun to his forehead and telling him to stop might lack a certain amount of imagination, she figured it would be effective.
“Major Kenig,” one of the young petty officers called out as they entered the administrative area. “A Dr. Dinallo called for you earlier this afternoon. He wanted to remind you that he will meet you at NCIS before leaving for the day.”
“Thank you, Petty Officer Mateo,” Ziva replied as she headed toward her desk.
“The boyfriend?” Austin asked with a grin.
“Yes,” she replied, not meeting his gaze as she checked her email one last time for the day. She had practically made a point of going to NCIS at the end of every day, but she still felt like explaining what was different about that particular day. “We are meeting with the rabbi at the synagogue at 1800. He seems to think that I will forget if he does not remind me several times.”
“Ah,” Major Austin replied, as if understanding. “So he’s Jewish.”
“No,” Ziva replied, fighting to keep the grin she felt from showing itself on her face. She could almost see the wheels turning in Austin’s head. So obviously she doesn’t have a problem dating outside her religion… She decided to leave him to his ponderings as she rose from her desk, her bag of clean clothes in hand. “If you will excuse me, Major, I do not believe either Tony or the rabbi will be pleased if I show up in soiled fatigues.”
“Oh, right,” he said, stepping out the entry to her cubical. “So, I guess I’ll see you tomorrow?”
“Oh-seven-thirty,” she replied with a smile. “Have a good night.”
---
“Major,” Agent Gibbs said with a nod as the elevator doors opened to reveal his Mossad liaison. He had taken to calling her that whenever she arrived at the office after a day of being Major Ziva Kenig. She wasn't sure if he was making fun of her or trying to keep her comfortable with her undercover identity, but she was done trying to figure it out. She tried asking him to stop, but her protests fell on deaf ears. The only thing she could do was go with it.
“Gibbs,” she replied with a nod. Judging by his position by the elevator doors and the fact that he lacked his usual cup of coffee, she was guessing he was on his way to get a refill, which was a good indication that his day wasn't going so well.
“What time are you taking my senior field agent?” Yeah, that confirmed it; he was annoyed with her taking DiNozzo off to the synagogue to meet with Rabbi Grossman because he had work for DiNozzo to be doing. Come to think of it, he was probably even more annoyed with her for not having been there whenever the case that was occupying his thoughts arrived.
“The meeting with Rabbi Grossman is at 1800,” she replied. “The class concludes at 2030, if you need us to return.”
He shook his head. “No,” he declared. “Use the time socializing with the other couples. Find a way to talk to them about Shaw and Sault. Do whatever it is that you people do.”
“'You people'?” she echoed, her eyebrows raised.
“Yeah, you people,” he repeated. “People who socialize.” He ignored her eye roll as he stepped into the elevator.
Of the two remaining agents in the bullpen, McGee noticed David's presence first. “Hey, Ziva,” he greeted. His eyes widened slightly as he took in her appearance. “Uh, is your head bleeding?”
She frowned as she touched her hair gently, coming away with pink paint on her fingers. “I know for a fact that my blood is not florescent pink, McGee,” she said with a smile. “It is paint. We went on a 'training exercise' this afternoon. Paintgunning.”
“I think you mean paintballing,” he corrected. She tried not to think about how disappointed she was that it wasn't Tony who corrected her intentional error. DiNozzo scoffed.
“That's a training exercise?” he mocked. “Do you think Gibbs would go for that?”
“I do not know, Tony. How about if you suggest it and see how that works out?” Ziva replied sarcastically. He grinned at the idea as he leaned back in his chair.
“So you're here to rescue me from tracking a missing petty officer?”
Ziva frowned; she didn't know what their current case was, but it wasn't often the Major Case Response Team was called for AWOL sailors. She decided not to ask. “You were the one who called NDIC to remind me of our meeting with Rabbi Grossman.”
“Yeah, I know,” he said with a grin as he rose from his chair. “Have fun, McGee.”
“Thanks, guys,” the junior agent called out sarcastically. Both DiNozzo and Ziva laughed as they waved their goodbyes.
---
“Ziva Kenig and Anthony Dinallo?” Both Tony and Ziva looked up sharply at the questioning voice. Rabbi Aron Grossman was again redefining Tony's preconceptions of what a Jewish rabbi looked like. He lacked the rotund appearance and curled sideburns of Mel Brooks' Rabbi Tuckman, as well as the tall, athletic, polished look of Rabbi Sault. In all, the middle-aged rabbi was fairly unremarkable-average height, average features, nondescript sandy blond hair that looked like it was ready for a haircut.
“Tony,” DiNozzo replied, standing to greet the rabbi.
“Tony,” Grossman repeated with a nod. “Please, come into my office. I'm sorry I wasn't available right away.”
Ziva followed her partner into the small, cluttered office, their hands brushing together as they walked. He looked over at her and gave her a small smile before grasping that hand and giving it a brief squeeze. She felt a newly familiar rush of guilt at that simple gesture. Since their 'discussion' on Sunday, he had been the perfect undercover boyfriend while they were out, with those small gestures, almost chaste kisses on the cheek, and meaningful glances he had always been good at. At the office or away from watching eyes, though, he was strictly professional, not even joking with her as he usually did. She could see it in his eyes when he didn't know she was looking-she had hurt him. It surprised her, that flash of vulnerability. She hadn't expected him to be the one who was hurt.
She had seen it coming since they met-there was always that attraction, that sexual tension. Then, she had thought that that would be it, a few nights of good sex and they would go their separate ways. She couldn't pinpoint a moment when that had changed, when she had realized that that wasn't all she wanted from him. After those intensely sexually charged first few months, they fell into a more comfortable rhythm: still competing, but learning how to work together as colleagues and friends. The innuendo was more innocent, the friendship stronger. Then there was Jeanne. She saw with her own eyes the man he could become, and she began to wonder what a real relationship with Tony would be like, but she found herself unwilling or unable to make the next step forward. She continued to question him, mostly in hypotheticals, but he never gave any indication that he thought a relationship with her would be any more than just great sex. She had always assumed that she would eventually give into that, Gibbs' rules be damned, and then he would move on and she would again be alone. But now, with that look in his eyes after hearing her say that she wanted them to keep their distance, well, she found herself wondering once again if she had misjudged him.
The rabbi's voice forced her back into the present. “First of all, I just wanted to say, welcome to the United States, Major Kenig.”
“Ziva,” she allowed. “And, thank you. It is not my first time to America, but this will be my longest stay to date.”
Rabbi Grossman nodded slightly, his eyes going from one NCIS agent to the other. “My wife tells me that the two of you have been dating for some time.”
“Yeah,” DiNozzo said, glancing over at Ziva before continuing. “We met while I was stationed in Israel, and she just couldn't resist my charms.” He gave her a wide grin and a wink, which she good-naturedly rolled her eyes to.
“Against my better judgment,” she joked in return. “We dated for six months while Tony was in Israel. When he went back to DC, we tried to make a clean break, but after a few months apart, we found that a break was not what we wanted, but relationships when one is in Israel and one is in DC are not easy.”
“This is a bit of a trial run for us,” DiNozzo picked up. “Four months of living in the same city again before we decide what the next step should be.”
“And what do you think the next step should be?” Rabbi Grossman asked them both. They looked at each other, somewhat uncomfortably.
“We've talked about that some,” DiNozzo finally said. “I could request another assignment in Israel or the Middle East, or Ziva could leave the IDF and get a job here, maybe at the Israeli embassy. If we do either of those, our relationship would have to be more...permanent.”
“You're considering marriage?” Again, they both chuckled uncomfortably.
“I guess you can say we're considering considering,” DiNozzo joked. “Which is kinda why we're here. Religion wasn't a big thing for me growing up, but it's important to Ziva and her family. I guess, I want to learn what it's about.”
“Well, I hope we'll be able to help you with that,” Rabbi Grossman replied. “The class isn't primarily about conversion to Judaism, although that would be required if you were to have a Jewish wedding. It's more about growing together in Jewish faith and practices.” Now it was his turn to chuckle. “I don't know if that makes sense to you. Maybe it will be more clear after tonight's class.”
Both DiNozzo and David nodded slightly. “Well, like I told your wife, Rabbi, I didn't assimilate much Jewish culture while I was living in Israel, but now I feel like I have a reason to.” He gave Ziva another smile and squeezed her hand. “I want to do whatever I can to make this relationship work.”
Chapter 18
There had been three other couples in the class, in addition to the Grossmans and the two undercover NCIS agents. As Mrs. Grossman had promised, they started with dinner and about an hour of socializing, which seemed to have been mostly centered on getting to know the new couple within their midst. Prompted by all of the questions about who they were and what they did, Ziva mentioned something about having a group over to her temporary apartment at some point. Mrs. Grossman seemed to latch onto this and suggested the Sunday after next. Neither Tony nor Ziva expected it to happen so quickly, but they certainly weren't going to try to push back their mission any more than necessary.
Around seven-thirty, Rabbi Grossman began their lesson, most of which DiNozzo didn't follow, his mind focused more on the mission in front of them and what else he could be doing to find the killer. He wasn't used to all this waiting around, feeling like he was getting nothing accomplished. It had been almost two weeks since Lt. Shaw had been killed, and it felt like they were no closer to figuring out who did it than they were the day they investigated the car crash. After all his years in law enforcement, he knew the statistics, and two weeks after the fact was a long period of time to be expecting to catch a killer.
After some more socializing, it was close to nine-thirty before Tony and Ziva left the synagogue hand-in-hand. “Well, they seemed nice enough,” DiNozzo quipped after he dropped her hand, about a block away from the synagogue. “Hard to believe that one could be a killer.”
“Yes,” David replied absently, acutely aware of the absence of his hand in hers. She pushed that thought aside and forced herself to think like an investigator. “We had met Drs. Cohen and Detert on Saturday. They were clear on McGee's search, yes?”
“A clean record just means that you haven't been caught yet,” DiNozzo pointed out before he sighed. “But you're right. They're dentists. Not my favorite type of people, but I doubt either would list 'serial killing' as a hobby.”
“Then there is the Burbanks.”
“Yeah, I don't think so,” DiNozzo replied. “To be honest, I'm surprised expensive Beltway lawyers have time for classes at the synagogue, much less murder.”
“Then that leaves Jerry Xi and Dara Levi.”
“A government paper-pusher and Congressional staffer?” He appeared to think about that as they rode the elevator to the fifteenth floor. “I guess that's a bit more believable than a pair of dentists, but I still don't see it.” He shook his head. “I just don't think any of them had anything to do with this.”
“They all seemed to like Lts. Shaw and Sault,” Ziva agreed, remembering her innocent question about who the Kaddish was for and the sad explanation that followed. “I do not think any were lying about their remorse. Would you like a beer?”
“Huh? Oh, thanks.” He took the brown bottle from her before she continuing talking.
“I do not think it was any of the people in the course,” she said. “They would not fit the profile. They obviously do not have anything against dating outside one's religion, as they are all doing so.”
“Some of the most homophobic people are in the closet,” DiNozzo pointed out. Her eyes narrowed at the metaphor before she understood what he was saying.
“I did not consider that possibility,” she admitted. “Maybe a repressed guilt about one's actions is causing him or her to act out against them?”
He couldn't help but grin at her words. “Since when were you into all the psychological profiling stuff, anyway?”
“I must have been spending too much time around Ducky,” she commented.
“So, on that theory, everyone is back on the table,” he said. “And that gets us nowhere.”
“That is true,” she said with a sigh. “You will give McGee and Abby the recording from tonight's class?”
“I'll do that in the morning,” he acknowledged. There was an almost awkward silence before he said, “Good job working Shaw and Sault into the conversation, by the way.”
She shrugged a shoulder and didn't say anything further about that. Instead, she said, “I think we-I-should have the team over for dinner on Sunday.”
“You mean, like a dress rehearsal for having our classmates over?”
“Yes,” she said. “Except with different food and for a different purpose. Other than that, the two are identical.”
He smiled at her sarcasm as he got up to leave. “See you tomorrow afternoon?”
“I will come by NCIS sometime before sunset to pick you for Shabbat,” she agreed. He almost grimaced as he remembered the way that night ended the week before. “Buonanotte, Tony.”
“Laila tov, Ziva.”
---
Tony DiNozzo was bored. The AWOL sailor they were looking for the day before (they were looking for him in regards to a poorly attempted bank robbery, not because he was AWOL) turned himself in at the recruiting station near his parent's house, confused about why NCIS was looking for him after he saw it on the news. He had nothing to do with said bank robbery, but he was late returning to duty, which likely resulted in some demerits from his commanding officer. DiNozzo couldn't care less; all that mattered was that he didn't have to look for him anymore.
Which left him sitting at his desk after a long lunch break with nothing to do. He could always throw things at McGee, but seeing as the probie was still processing the paperwork from the bank-robbery-that-wasn't-a-bank-robbery case, he decided to let it go. His other usual time-occupying task-flirting with Ziva until McGee got uncomfortable-was significantly harder to do with Ziva not in the building. Not as if she'd appreciate the flirting anyway, after that 'discussion' they had on Sunday.
He gave a long, dejected sigh before glancing over at McGee, the only other occupant in the bullpen at that moment. No reaction. He tried it again. “Can I get you something, Tony?” the junior agent finally asked, annoyed.
“Nope,” DiNozzo replied. “I'm just bored.”
“Can you be bored a little less loudly? Some of us still have work to do.”
“It's all about efficiency, Probie. I'm done with my reports.”
“That's because you're making me do them!”
“That's called delegating, McGee. Maybe someday you'll be the senior field agent and you'll understand.”
“Reports would help alleviate that boredom, Tony.”
“I said I was bored, not desperate.” They lapsed into silence after that comment, where DiNozzo remained until he snatched up his phone in a sudden fit of inspiration. “Hi, this is Special Agent Anthony DiNozzo at NCIS. Can you transfer me to the homicide division? Yeah, I'll hold,” he said into the receiver.
“Homicide division, Tony?” McGee asked, his interest piqued.
“Yeah, this is called doing some invest-this is Agent DiNozzo. Can I speak to a Detective...” His voiced trailed off as he clicked at his computer. “Detective Zuza? Oh, he transferred? In that case, would you be able to get me whoever has the Quinn case? Yeah, home invasion in '07. Cold cases? It was fifteen months ago! Okay, sixteen, but that still seems-yeah, I'll hold.”
“Quinn?” McGee asked.
“Dr. Stephanie Quinn, the ER doc with a Jewish boyfriend who was killed sixteen months ago,” he replied. “Yeah, I'm still here. He's gone for the day? Really? It's only 1600! I guess I'm in the wrong line of work...yeah, leave him a message, tell him to call Agent DiNozzo at NCIS when he gets in tomorrow. Oh, yeah, I guess you're right, tomorrow is Saturday. In that case, can you have someone fax the case notes...oh, it's that thick? In that case, why don't you have someone bring it by here... Because we're federal agents, that's why we can't go there and pick it up. Okay, okay! Does Detective James work on Sundays? No? How about if I swing by there on Sunday morning... Okay, we're going to have to figure something out here, if you're not going to fax me a copy and you won't let me take the box out of your storage-hello? She hung up on me!”
“Imagine that.” He looked up sharply to see his partner standing in front of his desk, an unfamiliar uniform setting off the familiar smirk she was wearing.
“Major Kenig,” he said slowly as he returned the receiver to the cradle. “I don't think I've ever actually seen you in uniform before.”
She gave him a teasing smile as she leaned forward, patting his cheek gently. “Analyst Dinallo has seen Major Kenig in uniform many times. And out of uniform as well.”
He had to blink a few times to keep that mental image from forever burning in his mind. Not get distracted on the mission, my ass, he thought bitterly. “Time to go?” he said instead.
“Unless you need to follow up on that telephone call,” she replied.
“I got hung up on, Ziva. That's a pretty universal sign for 'there's no use calling back'.”
She nodded. “Then we should go. Good night, McGee. We will see you and Abby tomorrow?”
“Yeah, we'll be there.”
“Good. If I have time, I will make you something more exciting than soup.”
Chapter 19
Saturday morning went much more smoothly this week than the last. There were no arguments, imagined or otherwise, the night before, and both Tony and Ziva went to their separate bedrooms in Ziva's Georgetown condo without either getting angry at the other. Of course, they had both been so concerned with offending the other that they restricted their conversation to the case, and both fell asleep feeling as if something was missing.
This week, Ziva didn't forget about Tony's presence in the condo, sparing them from any awkward encounters around the piano. She wasn't sure if it was latent frustration from the night before or just the need to separate herself from Tony before she did anything she might-or might not-regret later, but she went on an extra long run that morning, not returning until after he was already awake. She heard the shower in the guest bathroom running and glanced at her watch with a grimace; she had been out longer than she thought, and would have to hurry to get ready in time to make breakfast.
To her surprise, when she emerged from the master bedroom ready to go, she found herself hit with the aroma of breakfast and the sounds of somebody on the telephone. Not wanting to disturb her partner, she quietly made her way to the kitchen just as he was finishing his conversation. “Uh-huh. Thanks, buddy. I owe you one. What? Tickets to the Michigan game?” DiNozzo chuckled into the phone. “You're going to have to wait until 2010 for that one, Niebuhr. The Bucks play Michigan at home in the even years. Yeah, yeah, I'll make a note. So I'll come by tomorrow morning... Okay, sounds good. Bye.”
“You are giving away your football tickets?” DiNozzo jumped several inches at the sound of his partner's voice, who was giving him an apologetic look. “Sorry. I did not mean to sneak up on you like that.”
“It's okay,” he replied before giving a shrug. “Unless the Wolverines do something massive to redeem themselves in the next two seasons, it's not that big of a deal. It probably won't be that exciting of a game. They're not that great of a team these days. Waffle?”
She blinked at the non-sequitur before she realized he was handing her a plate with a waffle on it. “Oh. Thank you. You did not have to make breakfast.”
“You made it last week,” he pointed out with another shrug. They ate in silence for a minute before Ziva spoke again.
“You did not say why you are giving up your football tickets.”
“Oh,” DiNozzo replied, chewing thoughtfully as he formulated his answer. He decided to be vague. “I have a friend at Metro PD who is looking into something for me. Not that big of a deal.”
“Something related to this case?”
“I don't know yet.” She seemed to accept this answer, just as she accepted that he would tell her what it was when he was ready.
“Well,” she said a few moments later. “Are you ready to go? Where is your kippah?” He held up the dark blue embroidered skullcap, an look almost like a wince on his face as she again produced the bobby pins from God-knows-where.
“My goal by the end of this mission is to figure out how to put this on myself,” he said as she again pinched at his hair to keep it in place. She was surprised to feel a pang of sadness at his words; she hadn't realized until that moment how much she enjoyed that simple of act of helping him.
“There you go,” she said a moment later, stepping back to check that it was reasonably in the right place. “And the camera?”
He pulled it out of the pocket and switched it on. “This is Special Agent Anthony DiNozzo, beginning recording of Saturday Number 2 of who-knows-how-many,” he said in an overally dramatic voice that made Ziva smile. They turned and made their way out of the condo, and when Tony reached for her hand a few blocks earlier than necessary, she didn't protest.
---
Tony DiNozzo didn't think it was possible, but they spent even more time after the service socializing this week than they did the last. All three couples they had met on Thursday evening managed to find them in that social hall and proceeded to make small talk that, if it had lasted any longer, DiNozzo would have been forced to no longer call 'small talk'. Not surprisingly, the Burbanks-those high-priced Beltway lawyers who had recently discovered God or some such thing-backed out of dinner for the following Sunday, stating that they were far too swamped at work to take another evening off. Ziva voiced something akin to regret, but DiNozzo could see the relief in her eyes; that meant two fewer people to cook for, and she would have had to get creative when it came to the seating arrangements-the dining room table only had eight chairs.
They were barely a block away from the synagogue when DiNozzo pulled his cell phone from his pocket to check for missed calls. “Tony!” Ziva hissed, subtly glancing around to see if anybody else had noticed the move. “Wait until we are further from the synagogue to flaunt your non-observance of Shabbat.”
“I thought you said talking on the phone was okay?” he asked, confused.
“I lied,” she said flatly. “Sometimes it is easier to do that than to tell you the truth.”
“Well, that's comforting, I guess,” he said dryly. “Any other lies you've told me that I should know about before I make a bigger idiot of myself?”
Just that I didn't want us to get 'distracted' by anything other than the mission, she thought bitterly. “No,” she stated instead.
By the time they climbed the fifteen flights of stairs to Ziva's apartment-she had explained to him as they did so the week before that elevators, as they required electricity, couldn't be used on the Sabbath-they found McGee and Abby waiting in the hallway. “I am sorry,” Ziva apologized as she unlocked the door using the keys she extracted from Tony's pocket seconds before. “We got caught up talking.”
“Well, that's the point, isn't it?” McGee asked. “Maybe we should push our post-services meetings back a couple of hours in the future.”
“That is not a bad idea,” Ziva acknowledged. “Make yourself at home. I am going to change.”
“As am I,” DiNozzo chimed in. Abby raised her eyebrows at the idea of them changing together, but her face fell when she noticed Ziva heading up the stairs to the master suite and Tony aimed for the guest bedroom/study.
“This is getting ridiculous,” she muttered to herself.
“Hmm?” McGee asked, distracted by the pictures Ziva had finally placed on the mantel a few nights before.
“Oh, is that Ziva?” Abby asked, following his line of sight to the picture of a young Ziva David in the drab green of an enlisted IDF soldier. “Wow, she looks so young. Do you think-”
“What did you say just now?” McGee interrupted.
“About Ziva's picture?”
“No, about something being ridiculous.”
“Oh. You know, all this sexual tension between Tony and Ziva. I swear, McGee-”
“Abby, we've been over this before. They're both professionals-”
“What're you guys talking about out here?” DiNozzo interrupted, reappearing in jeans and the same sweatshirt he wore the week before. “Oh, Ziva put the pictures up. I didn't even notice last night.”
“Were you too busy with something else, Tony?” Abby asked innocently.
“Don't bother,” McGee muttered to DiNozzo's confused expression. “It'll take too long to explain.”
“Right,” DiNozzo said slowly. “You guys want something to drink? I think we have beer, wine, pop, and of course there's water...” His head stuck in the refrigerator, he didn't even notice Abby's smirk at his use of the word 'we'.
“I'll have a beer,” McGee said quickly. If Abby was going to keep up with this throughout their afternoon meeting, not to mention dinner the next night, he was going to need it.
DiNozzo studied the bottle in his hand for a minute before calling out, “Hey, Ziva! Is it okay to drink beer on Saturday?”
“You do that often while watching your football, yes?” she replied just over his shoulder, almost making him jump at her sudden proximity. How does she keep doing that? he asked himself, irate at being taken by surprise for the second time that day.
“I just meant...never mind. Here you go, Probie. Abs? You want anything?”
“Since I'm assuming you're not hiding a Caff-Pow machine somewhere in this ginormous kitchen, I'll have a soda. Sprite, if you have it." He didn't register the slight emphasis she put on the work 'you'.
After handing over the green can to the forensic scientist, DiNozzo grabbed a beer for himself and joined McGee and Abby on the barstools at the kitchen counter, watching Ziva prepare their meal as the four of them began their discussion about the case and the progress-or lack thereof-that had been made. Abby had run the video from their first session of the couple's class on Thursday through the facial recognition program, and with the exception of both of the Burbanks being linked with a number of criminal cases-as lawyers, not defendants-everyone was clean. “I swear, guys,” she was complaining, “you really need to find yourselves some less reputable people to hang out with. Even their DMV records are clean! I mean, Ziva's an international spy and doesn't even have a clean DMV record.”
“Thank you, Abby,” Ziva said dryly as she reached for Tony's beer and took a sip. Her back was turned to them before she could register Abby's eyes widening at the move. McGee, accustomed to seeing the Mossad liaison take food and drinks right from DiNozzo's hands, didn't bat an eyelash at the motion, but groaned inwardly at the knowledge that Abby would be bringing it up for the next week.
Lunch-a light pasta with a side of salad-was delicious, as they knew it would be, so when it was time for McGee and Abby to take Tony back to the Navy Yard, where he had left his car the afternoon before, they didn't find the day a complete waste. “I will see you tomorrow, then?” Ziva asked as she handed McGee the recording from the synagogue that morning.
“Nineteen hundred, right?” McGee asked. “I can bring a bottle of wine.”
DiNozzo scoffed at the offer. “Don't bother, McEpicurean. Israel has taken care of it. Have you checked out this wine rack? You'd have to be reaching into your Thom E. Gemcity expenses to match that.”
“Epicurean, Tony?” McGee asked with a frown, ignoring the rest of DiNozzo's statements. He had no problem spending money like a famous novelist; he had a Porsche and an Armani wardrobe to prove it.
DiNozzo shrugged at the question. “Food Network,” he explained. Abby looked at him with sympathy in her eyes.
“Tony, we really need to find you a hobby,” she said, wrapping him into a large hug.
“Uh, thanks, Abs,” he said. “You can let go now.”
“Oh, sorry. But you really do need to cut down on the TV.” She turned to Ziva, her bright smile again on her face. “Thanks again for lunch, Ziva. I'm really looking forward to dinner tomorrow.” Ziva smiled in response as the three headed out the door.
“Oh, Ziva?” She turned to see DiNozzo standing half in the hallway and half in her entry way. “If you need some help with dinner, feel free to call. I'll come over early.”
She smiled again at the offer. “A result of watching the Food Network, Tony?” she teased. “I will see you tomorrow. Have a good night.”
As she locked the door behind her friends, she found herself already thinking of excuses to call him.
Chapter 20
Ziva David steeled herself, not needing the internal reminder to keep her emotions in check. You are on a mission, she reminded herself. You can not let it show that this is anything out of the ordinary. “And your total is...two hundred twelve dollars and fourteen cents.”
Damn kosher beef, Ziva cursed inwardly as she swiped the credit card. Even though it wasn't her money (Ziva Kenig was footing the bill), she had never spent that much on groceries. If it weren't for the fact that shopping in the yippie (was that the word? Tony would know) kosher grocery store was something that Major Ziva Kenig would do, she wouldn't have even considered it. After all, six of the seven people who would be eating steak that night would never know the difference.
She smiled thinly at the cashier before picking up her bags and headed out for her car, appreciating once again the sleek lines of the BMW. Although she loved her Mini, it was getting up there in years (she had never had a car last her longer than two years before; she was almost impressed with herself), and it wouldn't be too much of a budget stretch to upgrade...
You are getting distracted during the mission, she thought with a wry smile, but this time, by a car. She grinned at what Tony would say if he found out how much she liked the embassy car; after all, he was the one always making fun of her Mini.
She was still putting groceries away in her oversized kitchen when the doorbell rang. Muttering a Hebrew curse under her breath at what was likely the shrived old lady from across the hall who was always letting her cat get away from her, she pasted her largest fake smile on her face as she opened the door.
“Tony,” she said in surprise at the sight of her partner bearing what appeared to be an evidence box. “What are you doing here? I do not recall calling you.”
He grinned. “Are you going to let me in so I can explain? This is kinda heavy.”
“Sorry,” she said, moving aside to let him. She waited for him to begin.
“So I was thinking Friday at work-”
“Well, that would be a first,” she quipped with a smile, still wondering what was in the box.
“Do you want your gift or not?” he asked. She didn't know what to make of that smile he wore.
“Sorry,” she repeated, wondering what had gotten into her lately that caused her to apologizing all the time. “You were thinking at work on Friday..?”
“I realized that we were going on the assumption that this is a serial killer of some sort, but we never went back and looked at the other cases. We've just been looking into Shaw and Sault and everything they did. So I called up a buddy at Metro PD and asked about the other cases. He couldn't help me with the Gans case-”
“The arson.”
“Right. And the Quinn case has been transferred to Cold Cases and the detective apparently is never at work. But my buddy did manage to hook me up with the Daltron files.” He gestured at the box now sitting on the coffee table.
Her eyes widened slightly at the realization of what was in the box. She looked up at him and smiled widely. She hadn't realized it until that moment, but she missed investigating. It had been a week, and she already missed it. Still, she had to play it cool-Tony would never let her live it down if he knew how much she liked her job. “And you expect me to go through the case files while I am cooking dinner for seven people?”
“Nope,” he said, his grin widening. “We're going to go through the case files. Then you'll cook dinner for seven people.”
She tilted her head as if to consider it before nodding. “That will work.” Then, like a kid with a Christmas-or Hanukkah-present, she all but tore into the box to get at what was inside.
Three hours later, there were seven steaks marinating in the fridge (“The meat refrigerator, Tony. The one on the left. I put a magnet of a cow on it so you would not be confused”) and two agents running close to empty sitting by a cardboard box in the living room. “I am not seeing anything useful,” Ziva admitted, putting down the binder of the case notes with a heavy sigh.
“If I read the transcripts of one more interrogation of someone who might have had access to poison, I'm going to scream,” Tony added, rubbing his eyes warily.
“Tony, this was a good idea, but I think we have to admit that it is not getting us anywhere.”
“I'm not giving up yet,” he said stubbornly, picking up the transcript log with a new zeal. “There has to be something in here, somewhere where Daltron and Rosen crossed paths with Shaw and Sault.”
“The synagogue?”
He shook his head. “I haven't found anything yet that even suggests Daltron had ever been to the synagogue,” he replied. “Rosen was a regular. When she was still the prime suspect, the detectives talked to both Rabbi and Mrs. Grossman, who both gave her rave reviews and said that she couldn't have done it because of her dedication to living an ethical Jewish life and how she considered the preservation of life to be the most important thing, or something like that.”
“Life is most important in the Jewish moral code, for lack of a better term,” Ziva said, her attention now focused on her partner. “It is more important than the other various rules, such as keeping kosher or avoiding the melachot. If one is having a heart attack during Shabbat, it is not only acceptable, but required, for someone to drive him to the hospital for medical care. Also, if one is starving to death and the only food available is not kosher-say, a pepperoni pizza-he must eat that pizza to stay alive. Dying, when there is an alternative, is not allowed.”
“And you made your living killing people.” He hadn't meant to say those words aloud; even Tony DiNozzo knew when a joke was in good taste and when it was just mean. Hearing his own voice, his eyes widened in surprise and not a little bit of fear. “I didn't mean to suggest-”
“I have never killed feloniously, Tony,” Ziva interrupted. “When I was with Metsada, our targets were those who have killed many and would continue doing so if they were not stopped. In that regard, we are actually saving lives.”
“Using the ends to justify the means?” he asked. “Isn't that like finding a loophole in God?”
She shrugged. “Rabbis have argued on that point as long as there have been rabbis,” she said. “The issue of whether or not taking a life to save a life is ethical.”
“And what's the conclusion?”
She smiled. “It is a question of ethics and religion, Tony. There will never be a conclusion.” She turned her eyes back down to the case notes and made a face. “I can not even figure out what the lead detective was doing with this case. It is like he was taking the nuclear weapon approach.” At her partner's blank expression, she knew she had the wrong phrase and tried to explain. “Taking out many possibilities at once?”
“Ah,” he said. “The shotgun approach.”
“That does not make any sense,” she argued. “A nuclear warhead is much more effective at neutralizing many targets than a shotgun.”
“I think the saying came before the nuclear weapon was invented, Ziva. But I'm sure if they had thought of it later, they would have called it the nuclear warhead approach. And what do you mean?”
“He was jumping around from suspect to suspect,” she said, stabbing angrily at the binder. “First it was the girlfriend. Then it was the coworker. Then the girlfriend again. Then a brother. He was considering all the possible suspects before he considered the evidence.”
“Okay then,” he said slowly. “So let's start at the beginning. What evidence do we have?” Revitalized by the new approach, they proceeded to bounce ideas and suggestions off each other until Ziva glanced up at the clock and realized that their-her-guests were scheduled to arrive in less than an hour.
---
“Dinner was excellent, my dear, just as always,” Dr. Mallard was saying as he adjusted his hat the entryway of Ziva's condo. “Before my mother's health took a turn for the worse, she used to make very elaborate meals, not unlike yours. I remember this one time when I was on holiday from Edinburgh and I came home to a full...” His voice trailed off as he was led down the hall by Abby Sciuto, who had turned and given a large wink to Ziva as she linked arms with the medical examiner to escort him out of the condo, leaving Ziva and Tony alone.
“He's right, you know. It was a very good meal.” Ziva turned and smiled at her partner, nodding slightly to acknowledge the compliment. She wouldn't have done so if she had realized that she was just encouraging him. “There's this scene in-”
She placed her hand over his mouth, silencing his words. “It has been a good day, Tony. Do not ruin it with movie references.”
“Actually, I was referring to a scene... What, no TV shows, either?” She rolled her eyes good-naturedly and turned back to the kitchen to begin cleaning up from the dinner. Despite her distraction and late start preparing the meal, even she had to admit that everything turned out very well, although she thought the dessert could have used a little less sugar. If anyone else thought so, though, they hid it well, judging by the fact that the plate was practically licked clean.
“Since you brought me a present earlier today, Tony, I thought I should return the favor,” she said abruptly, breaking the silence that had fallen over the two agents as they loaded the dishwasher. She saw the look on her partner's face and quickly added, “I bought you a gift earlier today.” She didn't want him thinking that she was giving sexual favors in return for case files.
“Oh?” She nodded as she reached into a drawer of pots and pans and pulled out a thin wrapped package. “Hmm,” he said thoughtfully as he studied it through the paper. “Too big to be a DVD, too small to be a new entertainment system...”
“Just open it,” she said, sounding exasperated. He grinned and tore at the paper.
Ziva was watching her partner's reaction closely, but she couldn't quite interpret the expression on his face. “If you do not like it-”
“No, it's not that,” he said quickly. “It's just, well, a little unexpected.”
There was a little music store in the same block as the grocery store she visited that morning, and she had gone in on a whim to find new piano music for herself when she spotted the lesson book. “I remembered that you used to take piano lessons when you were younger. I did not know how much you remembered, so this may be a bit too basic.”
He chuckled. “I can probably still play a C scale, but that would be the extent of it,” he admitted. He hadn't even realized until that conversation years ago, when he found out that she played the piano, that for as much as he hated it as a kid, he missed it now that he was an adult.
“I was thinking that since you have to spend so much time here anyway, I can give you lessons,” she said. It wasn't the first time she had suggested that, but it was the first time he decided to take her up on it.
“I'd like that,” he said honestly. “Thank you.” Without thinking first, he leaned forward and kissed her lips, so softly he wasn't even positive that there had been any contact.
When he pulled away, he found her cheeks a little bit more pink than usual. She quickly looked away from him as she began wiping down the already clean counters. “Oh, I almost forgot,” she said in a way that told him that she hadn't forgotten at all, but wasn't sure how to bring it up. “The other instructors and I are planning to go out for drinks tomorrow evening after our first day of classes, either to celebrate our success or drown out our failures. I know it is not necessary to establish our covers as boyfriend and girlfriend in front of the people at NDIC, but-”
“Just tell me when and where,” he interrupted with a grin, “and I'll be there. Analyst Dinallo would never let Major Kenig down.” And Agent DiNozzo won't let Officer David down, either.