Two months later (they were really eager to get married – and they kinda procrastinated on the whole wedding planner thing, too) I found myself in a festively decorated park, sitting in a seat of honor near the front of the aisle.

As I looked around, I had to smile. Obviously Abby had something to do with the decorations, as little black hearts joined red ones, and there were a couple of huge vases of black roses flanking the first row of chairs. I looked around for some sign of Ziva's presence in the decorating scheme, as well as the boys, but I figured that part would come out in the ceremony itself and at the reception, where Tony would surely make a long and dramatic speech and Ziva would embarrass Tim with some perhaps inappropriate display of affection.

I had a momentary moment of regret as I thought about all the future job openings this could have left for me, but shook it away. I had enough to worry about with regular weddings – I didn't need to plan weddings for federal agents every day, too.

But those thoughts could wait. It was time for the ceremony to begin.

The first thing I noticed was the music. Instead of traditional organ music, I heard a rock tune blasting from speakers, which I later learned was "I'm Alright" by Kenny Loggins, from the movie Footloose. Go figure.

Tony and Tim began walking down the aisle, looking incredibly handsome in their tuxedoes (I'll tell you right now, I was feeling a bit envious of Abby and Ziva, as I'm sure other ladies there were, as well), and suddenly, they stopped. Right in the middle of the walk. My hand flew to my mouth. Something had to be wrong.

Or not.

The two grooms literally "broke it down," dancing and putting on a real show, as they mouthed the lyrics to the song. I couldn't believe my eyes. It was certainly the strangest thing I had seen at a wedding.

And then, once the chorus had ended, they resumed their distinguished profiles and finished walking down the aisle, all while the guests were laughing and clapping at the performance.

Next, the music softened and changed to the official NCIS theme song – I mean, official song of the Navy, whatever that is, and a voice announced, "The Director of NCIS, Ms. Jennifer Shepard."

The guests rustled in their seats as they turned to the back, oohing and aahing over the presence of such an important person. Jen walked down the aisle proudly, looking ever the professional.

Next up were Palmer and Lee, looking less awkward and more . . . flushed, like they had just returned from strenuous exercise. No matter, because they were happy to be there. I smiled to myself, having an idea of what had made them so jubilant.

I winked at Palmer as the two reached the front of the aisle, and he blushed, confirming my suspicions. I held back a laugh as I turned to the back again, but others were having less success in restraining themselves, as it was Fornell's turn to stride down the aisle, Bert in hand – or, I should say, hands, still managing to look hard and unaffected, but still proud to be taking a part in the wedding. It was really an unbelievable sight.

The music changed again, and I knew what was next. There was another rustling as the guests stood from their chairs and turned to the back, ready to catch their first glimpse of the brides in their wedding gowns.

However, the sight of them, while breathtaking, had me confused. But first – the dresses.

Both of these untraditional gals had chosen wedding gowns that were just a bit off the beaten path. Abby, being the Goth she was, chose a gorgeous black velvet strapless gown, with a huge full skirt that was split half and half between the original black velvet and a beautiful smattering of deep plum ribbons and roses. She looked absolutely radiant, as did Ziva, who had chosen a more understated dress – if you could even call it that.

The top half of Ziva's "dress" was just like a traditional gown – a strapless white lace bodice (and hey, at least it was white) – but the bottom half, rather than being a poufy skirt, was, in true Ziva style, a pair of wide legged trousers with a chiffon overlay, making it just a bit more formal.

The girls looked absolutely radiant, but I was still confused, as they were coming in together, for one, and for another, the only man escorting them was Agent Gibbs. Ducky was nowhere to be seen. I frowned to myself, but managed a smile when the trio strode past, bright grins on all their faces. Where was Ducky?

I turned to the front after they had reached the altar, and the sight jolted me. I found Ducky – he was the minister!

It was then that Cynthia leaned over to me, whispering, "Doctor Mallard studied day and night to become an ordained minister just for this wedding – he said he couldn't imagine anyone else marrying off the agents he looked upon as family." She sat back in her seat again, and I couldn't help but smile. From what I knew of Ducky, it was perfectly him to do such a thing.

He began the ceremony.

"We are gathered here today to join in holy matrimony the hands of Timothy McGee and Ziva David, as well as Anthony DiNozzo and Abigail Sciuto . . ."

The ceremony itself went by in a blur, surprisingly, as Ducky sure likes to go off on tangents, but I certainly paid attention when I heard him announce that the couples had prepared their own vows. Now this I had to see.

Tim and Ziva were first. They stepped to the center, holding each other's hands, and began. Ziva spoke first.

"Tim, when I first began my work at NCIS, you were willing to help me learn, and of that I was appreciative. I was also surprised – you seemed almost scared of me, of my reputation, yet you took my hand and showed me how things were done at NCIS. I couldn't decide if it was just your nature to help, or if it was because you had been in the same situation when you started, or if it was just me who you wanted to teach. In time, we did become more than colleagues. We were friends, spending time with the other members of the team outside work, and then, I'll never forget the day you asked me out on our first date." She smiled and laughed at the memory. "You were shaking and your face was so red, I thought you had gotten into some poison ivy again." The guests all laughed, and Tim started to turn that same shade of red again, but Ziva's words brought him back to his natural color. "But I said yes, and now, we're about to become husband and wife. It's incredible, especially when you consider what I'll do to you if you hog the sheets." She winked at him and he got a worried look on his face, which she waved away as she finished. "Tim, you taught me more than American idiots," the crowd snickered at her ironic mistake, as she obviously meant to say idioms – or maybe she did mean idiots . . . , "you taught me how to love and accept love. I love you."

Okay, it was official – I was crying. And so was Tim, which was incredibly touching, as Ziva still looked bright-eyed and bushy-tailed (and man, I could just imagine how she'd butcher that saying). But I predicted she wouldn't stay that way long, as it was now Tim's turn to say his own vows, which we hopefully wouldn't need a computer manual to comprehend.

Tim sighed, let out a deep breath, squeezed Ziva's hands, and began. "I'll never forget the first time you walked into NCIS. You started hassling Tony, and right then, I knew I liked you." The guests laughed again, and Tony frowned in the background. "At first, we were all a little scared of you, Ziva, especially since you were trying so hard to impress us, or make us think you were all bad ass assassin and no woman, something like that, but then you showed us you could be just like the rest of us. During that time when Tony was team leader, the four of us grew even closer, and I felt a pull to you. I felt like we could relate to each other, and more than that, I liked you. You're sassy and sexy, yet you have this soft, feminine side that most people don't know about. It was when I saw that side that I knew I wanted you to become my wife." Yep, there were Ziva's tears. "I can't wait to spend the rest of my life with you. I love you, Ziva."

They stepped off to the side to make room for Tony and Abby, who now stepped to the center – well, Tony did. Abby was bouncing again, or attempting to, as her dress was interfering with her bouncing abilities. Tony opened his mouth as if he was about to start, but Abby shoved a hand over his mouth and started talking. This could be interesting.

"Tony. I just love you. I always have. I mean, you're Tony. And while Gibbs always gives you headslaps whenever you goof off, I love it – the goofing off, not the headslaps, though those are pretty cute, too - because I love everything about you! You're like this big, soft, squishable teddy bear, except you're not a teddy bear, you're a Tony. And you're really not that squishable, either. You're all muscle, and I like that about you." Tony smirked as everyone else collectively raised their eyebrows. "I wasn't sure what to think of you when you first started at NCIS, though. I thought you were gonna be some pretty boy detective who didn't know jack squat about crime scene investigation, and I thought you'd take one look at me and dismiss me as the weird little girl down in the lab. But you didn't. You came in and flirted with me, treated me like you did anyone else, and you're damn smart, too. I reckon only Gibbs knows more about crime scenes than you do, Tony." Tony frowned at that, too. "But none of that crime scene stuff is really important. I love you for who you are – the movie-quoting, jokester NCIS agent – and I'm so glad you're becoming my husband today."

Tony was beaming as he looked at his wife-to-be, his eyes focused on her and only her. "Wow. Abby. When we first met, I never expected us to be standing where we are today. Any of us, really. But if I do know one thing that's true, it's that I love you. Whenever I've needed someone throughout my days at NCIS, I knew I could count on you, and count on you I did. We had a connection, and it was strange, because we seemed so different, but at the same time, we had so much in common. But you know what they say – opposites attract, and it couldn't be more true in our case." He laughed to himself as he remembered something. "But the look on my mother's face when I told her I was dating a Goth was totally worth it." We all laughed along with him at that comment. "Abbs, my love for you can only be properly expressed through the words of Humphrey Bogart." He put on his best impression. "Here's looking at you, kid. I love you, Abby."

They moved slightly off-center, and Tim and Ziva came back to the center, as Ducky stepped forward, announcing, "I now pronounce you man and wife and man and wife! You may kiss the brides!"

The cheering from us guests began as Tim and Tony simultaneously dipped their ladies, planting sloppy kisses on their new wives. They then brought the girls back up and prepared to walk back down the aisle – as a group. I shook my head, smiling. Those four would never fail to amaze me.

They ran – yes, ran – back down the aisle, arms slung behind each others' backs, laughing all the while, and after the wedding party filed back out (slightly more subdued than the newlyweds, though not by much), the rest of us filed out and prepared to give our congratulations to the couples.

Afternoon slid into evening, and it was time for the reception, which was a small gathering of family and close friends – perfect, considering the people involved. Ziva insisted she cut the cake, and was suddenly wielding a knife that came from what appeared to be nowhere.

"What?" she asked upon seeing everyone's questioning faces.

"Don't tell me you had that on you," Tim said.

She shrugged, slicing into the layer of devil's food. "Always be prepared. Isn't that your little Boy Scouts motto?" She pinched his cheeks, still holding the dangerously sharp knife in her hand as she did so.

Tim glanced at the knife nervously as she pinched his cheeks. "Uh, yeah, and could you please put that thing down before you go anywhere near my face?" She automatically placed the knife on the table. "Thanks. But Ziva, really, you think you're going to need a knife on our wedding day?"

She removed a piece of cake and held it in front of her. "Turns out I did, didn't it?"

Everyone began to laugh. She certainly had him there. And then, of course, she made us all laugh harder by smashing her slice of cake in Tim's face.

He closed his eyes, trying to ignore the fact that there was probably frosting up his nose, and said, "You are going to get it."

Ziva smirked. "I wouldn't bet on it."

His eyes flicked open. "Actually, you're probably right. I wouldn't risk it." He turned toward the crowd. "My lovely wife, everyone."

We all laughed and cheered, and there were a few wolf whistles tossed in, as well, as Ziva curtsied – and Tim prepared his own surprise. She turned to him and was greeted by a face full of frosting, completely shocked.

We all laughed harder. Who knows what Tony and Abby had in store to one-up them . . .

The night went on and soon it was time for the couples to dance. Their first dance was sweet and had us all swooning along with them, but then Tony and Abby had a surprise in store for us.

"Everyone, come to the center," Tony announced, suddenly taking on a heavy Italian accent. "Grazie, grazie. And now, for the next portion of the evening, Mrs. Abigail DiNozzo." He backed away, directing our attention to Abby.

"Tony and I thought we needed to incorporate SOME element of a traditional Italian wedding in here somewhere, so here it is! It's called a Tarantella, and it's going to be fun." I had no doubt in my mind about that. "Okay, so everyone, get in a circle. We'll start the music," she cued the music, and it began, "and now you all start dancing clockwise," we did so, "until the tempo changes, and then you change direction!" Suddenly, the music sped up, and we found ourselves turning the other way, trying to keep up with the music. "And every time the tempo changes, you continue to switch directions, until it becomes too much and you all collapse!" We did as ordered, galloping along with the continually speeding music, until, just as she had said we would, we collapsed into giggling piles on the floor.

We recovered shortly thereafter, and I found myself without a partner for the next dance. Not for long, though, as Ducky arrived and offered me his hand.

And that, my friends, is what led to today, my very own wedding to Doctor Donald Mallard, because there's just not much work left for a 67-year-old wedding planner anymore.

THE REAL END!