Kaleidoscope

A/N: Ok guys, I am so sorry for the wait. Just, it was so hard for me to write, plus I kinda started getting back into writing my own novel, soooo… Anyway, to make up for some of it, I have a little contest for y'all. As some of you may have noticed, I sneak in little allusions to other tv shows or episodes of NCIS. Here, I have included six that I know of. Submit me a review with the section of text, so I know what you be talking about, and where the reference is from. They are from a TV show, two different movies and two episodes of NCIS season 7, old episodes (seasons 1-6) don't count since they happened in my sphere. Oh yeah, and one song, but you just have to know the band name for that one. The first person to submit them all correctly gets a oneshot on a subject of their choice so long as it's not slash or McGiva. :) (As to that, why are you reading this then?!)(Oh, suggestion for oneshot, I like getting in Tim's head.)

Done blabbing now. Thanks for the trip, guys, it's been great. (And all my steady reviewers, thanks so much. You know who you are.)

Ch16. Happy Ending

Ziva David was not happy.

She squinted her eyes against the harsh desert sun, trying to remember what it was she had found beautiful about Tel Aviv. Ziva felt no attraction, no pull, to this city now. It seemed empty despite the bustle below her.

There was a slight chill in the air, from the coming winter- September faded into October which faded into November. She ignored this, standing now barefoot on the balcony clothed in a simple bathrobe, wet hair dripping onto the concrete in a crescent pattern. Physically, Ziva seemed healed; only a few marks reminded those who knew of the horrors she had endured both two and five months ago. Shadowed eyes, gaunt form, small scars concealed beneath her robe. Visible on her collarbone, beneath the base of her neck and the hollow of her throat, was a raw pink circular scar. A cigar burn, from when Hadar in anger had thrust his lit cigar into her flesh. Ziva flinched, remembering the pain and the defiance that had flashed in her eyes still.

Ziva was a broken woman now, though. No man would want her. Tony did not; her father told her after she recovered that her memory had been mistaken, fever dreams. She must have been dreaming, for it was her old partner Officer Ben-Gurion who had rescued her from Hadar. In a conversation with Ben-Gurion the seasoned Israeli warrior claimed DiNozzo had offered to help, but turned tail and run before the helicopter had even taken off.

"Come inside, child, before you catch a cold."

"Aba," Ziva murmured, not turning to face the white-haired man, simply clutching the handrail a little tighter.

She heard him take two steps forward and felt him place a hand on her shoulder. "Ziv," he said softly, using the masculine form of her name, which he often used as a respectful nod to her bravery. Also, the syllable was a biting reminder of the heartless warrior her father wanted her to be. "You cannot remain so bellicose forever. Your doctors told me you shut down yesterday, leaving in the middle of physical therapy and incapacitating the doctor who tried to reason with you."

Closing her eyes tightly, Ziva tried to drown out her body's overwhelming memory of the engulfing blackness, the terror. She had felt no sense of place except the cramped feeling of bonds, no sense of purpose except the memory bold defiance burning in her gut. "Aba, I wish to leave."

A self-deprecating chuckle told her he was not surprised. "It took you this long? The way you clutched at him, like a young child seeking a security blanket?" His voice dripped acid.

"Not to him," Ziva hissed sharply, tugging herself away from Eli David's grip. "Away from you and this haunted city."

**** Abby's Apartment, Washington, D.C.

Humming, the happy Goth prepared a meal for herself, her fiancé, and her fiancé's new best friend. She and Tim had decided on a long engagement, to allow the murmurs at NCIS to die down and Tony recuperate. Also, that way they could get married next Halloween. Abby shuffled between the stove and the counter, making the penne recipe that Ziva and Tony had concocted together. A lump rose in her throat as she thought of this.

Ziva and Tony. Tony and Ziva. The two had been inseparable since their undercover assignment as Jean-Paul and Sophie; that is, until they were separated. Thousands of miles, two government agencies, the military postal service and Jenny's death sat uncomfortably in the middle for three, almost four months. Then they were back, but not back, joined at the hip- or rather, lip- drive each other home back. And of course there was Rivkin's- really, Ziva? - and Tony's rivalry, plus thousands more miles, a terrorist and bad blood driving the wedge. Then Tony was back. They both knew they loved each other, but still Ziva left him. She left the whole team. And Tony got depressed, and nearly died thrice more before she was safe. Of course, by then he had some stupid, stupid reason to leave, and they were separated again, this time seemingly irreparably so. What was a Goth to do?

The forensic guru let a heavy sigh press out of her lungs, looking longingly at the telephone. Ziva should have called her. Ziva had reason to be mad at Tony- well, not really but if Abby were Ziva she supposed she would be mad- but Ziva had no right to punish Abby. Ziva had been out of contact for almost two months now. And Mossad had upgraded their security, so it was taking longer for Abby to hack than the last time. Abby leaned against the counter, head on one hand, propping them up, and stared at said phone.

Eyes narrowed, she willed it to ring.

Rrring! Rrring!

Shocked- and slightly scared to answer- Abby gingerly reached for the phone. "Sciuto-McGee residence."

"I missed something." The heady Israeli accent was too distinguishable to be anyone other than…

"Ziva?"

****

McGee shook his head at Tony, who was attempting to explain the laws of horror movies. "Never really been one for horror movies," he interrupted.

Tony shot the younger man a dirty look. "As I was saying, there are three rules. The sin factor: no drugs, no alcohol, and most importantly, no sex."

Tim snorted. "You'd be the first to go, Tony."

Tony looked semi-genuinely hurt for a moment before continuing. "Never, ever say, I'll be right back. It's a deathwish."

Only half listening, Tim rummaged through his pockets. "I forgot my keys in the car." He smirked. "I'll be right back."

Tony gasped dramatically.

Chuckling, Tim walked back to his car and pulled his keys out of the glovebox. Tony had been upbeat lately… It was a welcome change from the depressed, mopey Tony that had followed Tim listlessly for a month or so after his return from Tel Aviv.

Tony DiNozzo…

Tim could remember barely a single time- no, revise that, not even a single time- when there wasn't some feminine force of nature directing Tony's life. Tony was a people-person, especially when doing the pleasing got a begrudging laugh from Kate or a sultry smile from Ziva. Once upon a lifetime, Tony's goal in life had been solely to impress Gibbs and make Abby laugh; Tim knew nothing about that Tony. The only Tony which Tim had known was the childish playboy who flirted with Kate constantly and obviously, the playboy who had gotten a reality check with one headshot, the playboy who had become a great investigator and- though Tony denied it- a one-woman man. Jeanne Benoit aside, since about two and a half years ago, Tony had stopped seeing… well… anybody. He went on dates, sure; still the tales of womanly flirtations were paraded through the bullpen for Tim's benefit. Nothing ever happened, though; Tim could tell.

McGee was friends with the side of Tony that nobody knew but maybe Gibbs. Tony was a caring person, certainly. He made attachments easily, which was why it hurt him so badly when the women he loved left. Kate. Paula. Jeanne. Now, Ziva. After each one he was more empty, more sullen than normal Tony; especially so after the four times he and Ziva had parted to supposedly never see one another again. The most recent time had hit DiNozzo the hardest. Through most of October Tony was a wraith, there but incorporeal. (Vance's edict had fallen through when Tony was at his desk the Monday after his return.) That left Tim as Senior Field Agent, a title which held no joy when its more vibrant possessor was so down. Gradually, after twice-weekly prescription dinners at the future McGee family residence, Tony opened back up both socially and professionally. Now DiNozzo was "back to health", as Abby put it, leaving Tim to put up with the headaches and sore ears he had come to appreciate. The things that Tony did… usually held relevance to some aspect of life. Tonight, Tim was not exactly sure, but it was still nice to have chipper Tony back. He grinned, shaking the keys in Tony's direction then walked over. Both descended into the silence of friendship.

**** Approx. 6hr later ** Tony's apartment

One oh nine in the middle of the night.

Tony sighed, staring at the bottle of straight tequila that sat on his coffee table. He threw his head in his hands. Why could life not just be simple? Two hours ago, he had showered and suited down to his pajamas with the full intention of getting as good a night's sleep as he could. After all, he had just spent four hours with an unusually hyper and squeal Goth and her techno geek boyfriend.

Then he saw it.

Roughly a month and a half ago, Abby made Tony an offer he was not allowed to refuse. Once a week or so she stopped by while Tony was still at work - he ran practically the same hours as Gibbs now- and cleaned his apartment. Due to the faintly sterilized smell and lack of dirty socks in his sink and dishes in his clothes hamper, today was a cleaning day.

Nosy Goth.

Now, where it had lain facedown for the better part of six months, was his ultimate favorite picture. Ziva standing at a newsstand in Georgetown, hair brushed back by a light wind.

****flashback: 2 years ago

Early February was, in Tony's perception, the best time of year. Snow still occasionally dusted the ground, the weather was a little more pleasant, and crime was… at least this year… moving slowly. Nothing more than a couple of petty thefts and a drunk and disorderly that Tony may or may not have instigated. These had only even gone to the MCRT because of a general lack of work around the office.

This, combined with a lack of excitement, made the team restless, so much so that by 0830 Gibbs was so sick of their antics, he sent them home. Tim went down to the lab, but Tony convinced Ziva to go out.

"Zi, please?" he begged shamelessly, making the puppy dog face he knew made her laugh. They were alone in the elevator, so his dignity was intact.

"You look ridiculous," she snorted, winding a fuchsia scarf around her tan neck.

"That's the point. Go to Georgetown with me." Tony leaned against the elevator door casually, still beseeching the Israeli with his eyes.

Ding! WHUMP. Genius he was, Tony had forgotten that his prop would disappear when they reached the parking garage. "Ow," he complained, rubbing the back of his head.

Ziva snickered, walking forwards enough so that she was standing directly over him. "Fine. But only if we do what I want."

"Deal." Tony leapt up, rummaging for his camera as soon as he reached his car.

After the fact, he had thought it a bad deal, chasing after his favorite ninja as she shopped for clothes and used Tony as a shopping cart. At the time the only highlight was when she purposely came out of the dressing rooms in suggestive clothes that Gibbs would never let her wear to work. It was only later he realized how good some of the candid photographs had turned out.

****

Seeing her face again with such blissful innocence on it was enough to throw DiNozzo back down the hazy road of depression. He was forced to relive every bit of muscle tensing, head-banging, wired waiting, and every electrically charged second of watching, every adrenaline-pumping heartbeat of saving, and every pain-laced memory of fading. Two hours later he was having a staring contest with an unopened bottle of tequila.

How Tony longed to crack it open, drink himself into unawareness, let the alcohol wipe his mind clear. How he longed to ignore the past six months and pretend it was not true, just some sick nightmare.

People said it was better she was gone. People said it was better not to have the Mossad poking their noses into American business. People said he should not care. People knew shit.

His only recent actual conversation with Gibbs had been two months ago, in the car on the way back from the airport. Then Tony had felt hopeful. "Maybe life can go back to normal now." As days progressed, Tony realized just how different normal had become since Ziva first stepped into his life four years ago. Now Tony knew that normal was a long, painful step away. Readjustment would take time.

At least Tim and Abby had each other. That was the hardest part of DiNozzo, being surrounded by hidden but constant love every day when his own chance was an ocean away. When Tony went to Gibbs' house at night, he pursued a childish fantasy of using the boat his and Gibbs' hands crafted to sail across that ocean and retrieve her. It was an improbable and pathetic fantasy, but one he clung to. For hope.

Knock, knock.

Tony started at the unexpected noise. Who in the name of God's green earth would be calling at this hour?

Niggling in his mind was the memory of how Ziva came at the oddest of times. This could not be her, she was in Israel, so he pushed the niggle away.

Slowly and deliberately, he rose from the couch. Six steps and he stopped. Three steps towards the door. By sheer force of will he took them, setting his hand on the knob and turning. "For the love of God, if it's you, Tim…"

He shut up.

Ziva.

There was the briefest moment where his green eyes locked on her chocolate brown, and she was on him. Hands at his neck pulling him closer, body pressed tight, lips seeking his and begging for recognition. Tony gave it, lips responding to hers without thinking, arms snaking around her waist and pulling her as close as their clothes would allow. A full minute passed before he pulled away. "Ziva," he whispered, hands creeping up to hold her face.

"Let me stay," she responded huskily.

Tony's only response was to kiss her more gently, more slowly; less heat but more passion. As she responded Tony smiled, recalling a passage from one of his favorite movies. He was too tired and too busy to remember it exactly, but it ran something like this.

"Of all the kisses, there were five ranked most passionate, most pure. This one blew them all away."

When they both pulled away from the kiss Tony whispered, "As you wish."

****