This is neither well-written nor well-plotted; it is mostly dialogue, it has very little point, and it's slapsticky. BUT it made me chuckle, and I thought you might enjoy it, too!

(I'd add a disclaimer saying these characters aren't mine, but honestly I'm pretty sure Ziva belongs more to the fandom than to CBS these days.)

Ziva liked the booties in the bottom right of the Cole Haan display. Something about the soft blue nubuck appealed to her, the heels were a manageable height, and they'd go better with her outfit than the plain shoes she was currently wearing. She was sure of that.

"I'd like to see you in riding boots," Tony said, following her gaze to the store window. "Very National Velvet. Reminds me of England. And New England. And boarding school."

"Seriously, Tony?" McGee asked from Ziva's other side, surveying the window and pointing to the tall brown boots in the middle, "These? I don't think they're Ziva's style."

"They're not," Gibbs said, looking over his shoulder at his three agents. In his polo shirt and sneakers, he looked like he could be the lenient uncle of one of the giggling eleven-year-olds in the nearby food court, and Ziva had no intention of paying attention to his fashion advice, or that of McGee and DiNozzo, who were also dressed down for today's op. Ziva set her jaw in annoyance and turned away from the window. They were on the second floor of the mall; Gibbs was leaning his elbows on a railing and surveying the first floor as he ate something with a small plastic spoon. She strode over to join him. "This is not the time for shoe shopping," she shot back over her shoulder.

"Abby says it's always time for shoe shopping," McGee offered.

Tony snickered. "So does Jimmy."

"Huh." Gibbs munched, swallowed. "I don't see either of them here."

Tony stepped up to the railing himself. "I don't see anybody else here, either," he said with a significant look to his boss. "What d'you think, Gibbs, call it a day?"

"Another half hour."

Ziva caught her sigh before it escaped. They'd been surreptitiously observing the mall for several hours, mostly in pairs, and she wasn't sure she could handle another moment of examining whatever clothes were nearest the store windows while McGee did a remarkably poor job of making casual conversation or Tony did so good of a job she found herself—much to her annoyance—forgetting she was on duty.

Gibbs raised an eyebrow at her to let her know he'd heard her unexpressed sigh.

"If we are going to be at this any longer, I would like a smoothie," she said. Gibbs gave a shadow of an eye roll but tipped his head in the food court's direction, and she set off in the direction of the food court only to find that both Tony and McGee trailed along behind her.

This time, she sighed for real.

A few cool, sweet mouthfuls of the raspberry-pomegranate smoothie McGee bought her improved Ziva's opinion of her coworkers, her job, and the world in general. The pace she set back to Gibbs was a purposely slow one.

"We need," she started, pausing to take the milkshake Tony was shoving at her. She took a sip.
"You like strawberry?"

"Hey," he protested, unzipping and pulling off his jacket. "I never make fun of your flavor."

Ziva's eyebrows and mouth quirked dramatically upwards, and she looked at him slantwise.

"You just told her that choosing pomegranate over Berry Mango Madness was a symptom of her questionable taste," McGee pointed out.

Tony reached around Ziva to flick McGee's coffee cup. "This is an A-and-B conversation, McGibbs."

Ziva bit the inside of her cheek to keep from laughing and handed Tony's cup back over as they stepped onto the escalator. "I prefer chocolate anyway. But," she continued, regaining her point, "what we need is an argument convincing enough that Gibbs will give up on this pointless stakeout."

"Good luck with that," Tony said. "He's convinced Sam Ervin is here."

"He's imagining things."

McGee cocked his head as Gibbs came into view. "Speaking of imagining things, is he holding Dippin' Dots?"

Ziva did not have the opportunity to weigh in on Gibbs's food court choices before she felt Tony suddenly go still beside her. It was a stillness she recognized—like a hunting dog before the start of a chase.

"What do you see?" she asked, voice low, face turned almost into his shoulder.

Tony looked past her; she followed his gaze to their boss, only a few yards away. Gibbs nodded, still leaning on the balcony, eyes trained on something on the ground floor.

"They see something?" McGee muttered into Ziva's ear.

"Apparently."

Gibbs pushed off from the railing and tossed his dish and spoon into a trashcan. "Distraction," he murmured as he walked past his agents.

Before Ziva could take another step—since when had these men ever been faster than her?—McGee shoved his hot coffee into her hand. She hastily stepped backwards to keep it from sloshing onto her, missing the way McGee grabbed the front of Tony's t-shirt with both hands until McGee shoved the other man into the glass-and-wood balcony railing with a rattling crash. Tony's milkshake went flying to the ground floor, and somebody shouted.

"I can't believe you slept with my wife!" McGee roared.

The muscles holding Ziva's mouth closed abruptly gave up.

"Your wife slept with me!" Tony shouted back after a beat, pushing his hands into McGee's shoulders and propelling him backwards. "Just can't take the truth, huh, Matt?"

"Boys," Ziva said. Her peripheral vision caught Gibbs, halfway down the escalator and clearly on a mission.

"Only after you seduced her, you bastard!" McGee cried.

"Boys—"

Tony threw out his arms and puffed out his chest. "Sophie came onto me because she's bored of you. She wanted a real man!"

"John, no—"

McGee punched him.

"Matt!"

"And the baby," Tony shouted, throwing a punch, "—the baby's mine!"

Ziva dropped both beverages on the ground and charged into the moving knot of her partners, avoiding their fists, loudly accusing them both of overreacting, and discreetly calculating exactly how much damage they were actually doing to each other. The world was a bright mosaic of eager spectator faces, Tony's gray t-shirt, McGee's red cheeks, and red and brown liquid swirling across the floor tiles. At some point, Tony slipped on the spilled smoothie and took McGee down with him, and Ziva stood over them both, shrieking until her own ears hurt.

Which explained how she was the first one apprehended by the square-faced security guard.

"Step away from the fight, ma'am."

"You don't understand—"

"I got ears. Something about a Matt, a John, and a Sophie. Loud, violent altercation. Romantically motivated." He tipped his chin low and looked down his nose at her. "I assume you're Sophie, young lady?"

Ziva got the feeling the security staff dealt with a lot of teenagers.

"We need to speak with you privately," she said.

"Damn right you do," he grunted, pulling McGee roughly from the floor. "Are you John or Matt?"

"Um. Matt," he said, and Ziva noticed with mild amusement that he tried to extend a hand to help Tony up before abruptly remembering his character and turning the motion into an exaggerated shoulder roll. He glanced at her half apologetically.

"John, is it? You're too old for this," the guard said severely to Tony as he helped him up. The look of affront Tony gave him was genuine.

Gibbs was nowhere in sight. Ziva sighed.

One of the fluorescent lights above them in the tiny Security room flickered weakly. McGee looked positively ill under it—but maybe that was the red patch on his jaw. She reached out and pressed her fingers to it, and he jerked away. "Mm. That will bruise," she said.

McGee glared at Tony.

"Don't. All of this is on you," Tony said, gingerly cupping his ear.

"It's on the both of you," Mr. Square Face announced, returning with a clipboard. "Now, I don't know what your personal problems are and I don't care, but violence is never the solution. You gentlemen ought to know that by now."

"We're federal agents," Ziva said.

He ignored her. "And you, young lady—how did you get yourself mixed up in this? You seem like a nice girl."

"Woman," Tony supplied.

"Special Agent," Ziva corrected.

Mr. Square Face smiled indulgently. "Sure, honey. And I'm head of the CIA."

"You wouldn't want to be," Tony remarked. "Unpleasant people over there." He dug into his jeans pocket, making a face when his fingers emerged covered in lint. Tony didn't love being sticky, Ziva knew. Or smelling like a raspberry-pomegranate latte. "There."

The guard took the proffered badge and ID. He examined it for a long, long minute. Looked back up at Tony. Looked back down at the ID.

McGee's badge and ID soon joined it.

"Fine."

But the proclamation, grudgingly made, could only bring relief for a short moment, before—

"And yours, ma'am?"

Ziva's hand flew to her belt, but she knew it would encounter only smooth leather. Gibbs had said plainclothes, and her jeans were tight and the silky blue top had no pockets.

"In the car," she said.

"Your car?"

"It's registered to NCIS."

"You got the keys?"

Tony and McGee winced for her. Gibbs had driven.

"Young lady." Mr. Square Face leaned forward in his chair. "I don't know what's going on here, but I do know it's illegal to impersonate an officer of the law."

"I'm not—"

"Prove it to me, and you can go."

Tony pulled out his cell.

"We'll vouch for her," McGee said. "Doesn't that work?"

Mr. Square Face's face nearly looked amused. "Not on your life, buddy. You get me that ID. That'll work."

"Hey." Tony caught her eye and nodded to his phone. "Hey boss—"

"Not now," Gibbs's voice said, tinny over the speakerphone, and then there were three beeps and the line went quiet. So did the room.

"Get me the ID," Mr. Square Face repeated after a moment, collecting Tony's and McGee's from the tabletop. "I'm going to call and verify these."

The clock on the wall ticked, ticked, ticked. Ziva was considering taking the batteries out of it when McGee broke the awkward silence. "Why do I always have to be Matt?"

Ziva just looked at him.

"I have a cousin named Matt. I hate Matt."

"Fine. Next time we'll go with Michael," Ziva said.

Tony eyed McGee. "We will not be going with Michael."

"Why can't you just call me Tim? You know, my name?"

Ziva shrugged.

"Separation of church and state," Tony said. "By the way, you owe me a milkshake. And probably ear surgery."

His ear was red, and Ziva suspected it was throbbing, but she doubted he was actually injured.

"You're not bleeding. You'll be fine."

Tony gave her an aggrieved look. "I could be battered and bruised, lying on a floor somewhere, and you'd be telling me to 'walk it off,' like some high school coach."

Ziva's spine stiffened. "If I were your coach, you would know better than to participate in fights that would result in your lying on a floor somewhere." Despite the sharpness of her tone, she reached for his chin and angled his head so she could inspect the injury, and her fingers were very, very gentle as they probed at the side of his face. She felt his jaw move as he gritted his teeth, but he sat quietly.

"Follow my finger," she murmured, watching his eyes intently as he moved them left and right. "Okay."

He centered his eyes on hers, and she caught the hint of lopsided grin he pulled on for her. "So. Am I all right?"

It warmed the back of her neck when he smiled like that and used such an intimate tone—and he knew it, too. She brushed her fingers over the hot skin by his ear. "I think you'll live."

"I just want to point out that I'm not even complaining about how Tony socked me in the jaw and in the belly," McGee's voice cut in, loudly. Ziva hastily shook the smile from the corners of her mouth and the tiny wrinkle of concern from between her eyebrows, and turned to McGee with renewed exasperation.

"You were clearly saving your complaints for right now," she pointed out.

"Well, I couldn't get a word in edgewise, with Tony whining about his ear—"

"And I'm not even done yet." Tony brought his own hand up to cover the appendage in question. "You got a lot of power behind that swing, Tim. Yowza. But we need to work on your aim."

"You both need to spend serious time on your form," Ziva said.

"I'll second that," said Gibbs.

They were exonerated in under two minutes, and it pleased Ziva deeply to see the scowl Mr. Square Face wore as he watched them walk away.

Gibbs held open the door for McGee, giving him a tiny smirk of approval. "Effective."

"Thanks, boss. Hey, so what happened?"

"Got away from me. Doubt he'll be back today."

Ziva swore internally. If they had to return tomorrow, she thought, she was wearing cargo pants and bringing every form of ID she owned.

And buying those damn blue shoes as a reward for herself.

They walked in silence for a moment. Yellow wet floor signs marked off the area upstairs where the debacle had taken place; Tony craned his neck to get a better glimpse.

McGee sighed. "Just forget about the whole thing, DiNozzo. It's over."

"You know, it disturbs me," Tony remarked, "that an affair was the first thing you thought of."

"I just edited a scene—" McGee stopped mid-sentence as his coworkers fixed laser-beam disapproval eyes on his back. "Never mind. Well, what were you going to do?"

"Marriage proposal gambit. Pedestrians love a marriage proposal."

"And Ziva?"

"Discover you pickpocketing me," she said instantly.

Gibbs shook his head. "Let's go. We can regroup tonight and come back in the morning."

Dammit. Ziva swallowed a monstrous, huffy sigh.

Tony didn't bother swallowing his.

There was an awkward pause, while Tony and Ziva waited for McGee's expression of mild displeasure, and Gibbs rolled his eyes.

"You know, boss," McGee said, glancing back at Ziva, "I could really use another smoothie—"

Gibbs sighed.

The second time around, Ziva chose the Berry Mango Madness, and McGee and Tony copied her.

"Did you see those blue ones?" Tony asked around his straw as they passed the Cole Haan display again. "Very you. I like 'em."

Ziva decided that maybe today wasn't a total wash after all.

But—"Need a distraction. Green hat, one o'clock." Gibbs muttered as the escalator deposited them at its base, and the air grew urgent again.

People blocked up behind them as McGee got down on one knee and began to look up at Ziva, just as she knocked Tony's feet from under him, yelling "Help! I think he's having a heart attack!"

"PICKPOCKET!" Tony trumpeted as he fell.

Gibbs slipped away.

People gasped, twittered, giggled, pulled out cell phones and dialed 9-1-1.

Mr. Square Face came puffing up, red-faced and steaming. "OUT!" He grabbed Tony's arm in one hand and McGee's in the other and, with the force of an angry bulldozer, dragged them through J.C. Penney towards an exit.

Ziva followed, leaving Berry Mango Madness footprints on the white tiles.

Outside the mall, they were instructed to never, ever, ever come back. Ever.

"We're not in this parking lot, though; can we go through—"

"Never."

Well, then, they'd walk. And then wait like naughty children for Gibbs to come and let them into the car.

Ziva sighed.

"That was stunningly uncoordinated," she pointed out as they trekked west across what seemed like miles of asphalt and concrete, shading their eyes against the late afternoon sun.

"I thought you said proposal!" McGee said, making an exasperated motion towards Tony.

"I said proposal, hence I would be the one making the proposal! Where did the heart attack come from, though, seriously, Ziva—"

"I was just trying to help," McGee protested over him, "I know your knees are bad!"

"My knees are fine! My knees are perfect! And my heart," he turned to Ziva, "is a masterpiece!"

Ziva ignored him and frowned at McGee. "His knees aren't perfect, but he has no trouble being on them."

Tony choked on the smoothie he had lifted from McGee, his own having spilled when Ziva knocked him over.

"But you do eat too much salt, Tony, and that's—"

"Exactly how much time are you spending on your knees, Tony?" McGee's face was twisted into a curious expression; one that said he regretted his own curiosity about this matter.

"—you know you should be watching your blood pressure—" Ziva continued, louder.

"I'm not—" Tony started, but then something thwacked smartly across the backs of all three agents' heads.

Gibbs stood behind them with a newspaper.

"Car."

"No perp?"

"We're gonna head back to the bullpen, run some data."

They followed him in silence. Yes, much more like children who had misbehaved at the amusement park, now sullenly following Dad home, thought Ziva, than like adult federal agents who had simply followed orders. Albeit in a creative manner.

She realized that part of her was waiting for a lecture.

As they finally reached the parking lot where the charger sat waiting, though, Gibbs began to chuckle.

"A fake adulterer, a fake pickpocket, and a fake fiance walk into a food court. Can't wait to tell this story. Tobias'll eat it up."

"They stared at him in horror.

"Boss, no—"

"You wouldn't—"

"C'mon—"

His smirk arched neatly over their muddled protests, and he knocked on the back window of the car.

A scowling face looked out at them from under a green baseball cap.

"Distraction," said Gibbs.

Ziva sighed.

I warned you it was silly. I'm not sorry.

Anyway.

(I promise I'm aware that I have actual fics that need updating. I AM sorry for that. I'll work on it.)