A/N - Like a good million plus viewers out there I am DYING for the next season of NCIS. Seriously I don't have any ideas, short of a dvd marathon of all previous seasons to keep myself sane. So this is my unlikely theory of what happens next. TIVA of course, cause its about bloody time. And MCABBY if I can fit them in.
Vance goes down too!
Oh and I own nothing.

Second Chance

Prologue-

Three months and twenty-five days following the death of Jennifer Sheppard, Director of NCIS.

Rivkin's ears were still ringing after the previous night's explosion. His head ached from the day's work and he wanted nothing more than a cold beer, which was why he was walking into 'Yankee Doodle' at three o'clock in the morning. 'Yankee Doodle' was an American bar, opened by an American pilot who'd smuggled Jews into Israel following the Holocaust and never left. It was as close to the United States of America as one could get in Israel and the only bar open at after midnight in walking/staggering distance of the Mossad base.
So he wasn't all that surprised to see another Mossad agent there.
He was surprised that it was Ziva David.

Michael Rivkin was new to Mossad. He had been transferred from the army after helping shut down a terrorist base- an act of luck more than actual skill. Ziva had been his control officer for all his missions so far, ensuring he wouldn't screw up until he was able to handle it by himself. Other agents taunted him for this, telling him he should consider himself fortunate that he had none other than 'Mossad's Daughter' taking care of him. He resented the mockery, the expectations that he would fail at any second, the only person who never treated him so was none other than Ziva herself.

He had heard stories of the David family, back in the army where many Israeli soldiers had occasionally had opportunity to liaise with Mossad. They claimed that Ziva David, now the only surviving child of Eli David, could throw a knife to slice a fly in half, that to have her as your enemy was the biggest and last mistake you could make.

When he met her at Mossad headquarters, she had just returned from a run, sweating with a terrible orange hat that the entry guard had joked would provide the terrorists with an easy target. She had laughed and poked him in the belly, before throwing a casual smile at Rivkin,
"Hi" she greeted, coming forward with her hand outstretched, "You're my new Probie?"
It had taken Rivkin a moment to understand her, though she spoke Hebrew, her accent was broader, a slight twang he hadn't encountered in Israel before. She grinned and took his hand, shaking it firmly,
"Sorry...I am just back from America, I picked up too much of the language over there"

That wasn't all she had picked up. Rivkin would often overhear other agents talking when they thought he wasn't listening, they would always show surprise at the 'New' Ziva, at her easy-going ways, her jokes, and her new love of American movies. There was a rumour going around the Mossad base that she had taken a weekend trip to jump a border and buy dozens of pirated copies of American movies starring Jack Nicholson. She also visited the 'Yankee Doodle' with alarming frequency, often having late lunches or dinner there, actually eating the grease-drenched food.

And now she was drinking a pitcher of a multi-coloured liquid with enough alcohol for Rivkin to smell it three feet away, it was half-empty and, judging from the speed with which Ziva David babbled English to the startled bartender, she hadn't been sharing.

"Ziva?" Rivkin approached her slowly, giving her warning lest he shock her and wind up with a broken collarbone, which had legendarily happened to her control officer. She whirled around on the barstool to face him,
"Probie!" she cried, lunging forward and landing her chin on his shoulder bone in a sloppy hug, she gripped him tight for a moment and then released him, somehow managing to make it back to her previous position without sliding from the stool. Rivkin worried when he saw the loose smile on Ziva's face and her large pupils, wondering what her blood alcohol level was.

"Come sit with me" she invited, patting empty air beside her, cautiously Rivkin took the barstool next to her and looked about for a glass, hoping that he could prevent some of Ziva's beverage from going into her mouth or at the very least surreptitiously distil the alcohol with some water.
There wasn't one to be seen- and in the next moment Rivkin saw why.
Ziva David was apparently saving time by having several straws in the pitcher.

She drank from three of them now and he was at a loss as to what to do. The bartender seemed to be in the same position, when he approached and laid a careful hand on Ziva's near-empty pitcher, probably hoping to cut her off, she growled at him. Actually growled like a dog eating his meal.

Feeling a slight twinge of disappointment, Rivkin decided to act before word got back to Mossad that he'd allowed Ziva David to drink herself stupid without even trying to intervene.

"Ziva" he caught her small, delicate wrist in her hand, keeping a firm grip like she had trained him to do, "Let me take you home"

She burst out laughing at this, loud clear tones that cut across the music and caused several fat tourists to glare in their direction. A faint blush crept over his cheeks and he wondered what his chances would be if he attempted to get her out of here by force. Thankfully he didn't have to find out; at that moment Ziva leapt to her feet with surprising swiftness and pulled her wallet from her jacket. Clumsily she fingered her notes before taking several bills and handing them to the bartender. The man took one look and turned to Rivkin,
"I don't speak English" he explained, holding the notes out to him,
"But your American friend has given me far too much"

Rather than explain that Ziva was more Israeli than the bartender could ever hope to be, Rivkin relayed the message back to Ziva who simply laughed again,
"Tell him it's his tip for not cutting me off after the first round of drinks!"
Infuriated, Rivkin slammed the money down on the polished wood of the bar and glared at the irresponsible bartender before taking Ziva's arm and escorting her from the 'Yankee Doodle'.

Just a short intro to throw Rivkin and his drinking problem into perspective. The next two chapters were originally one, but reading three thousand plus words in one go is not fun.