Author's Note: Hi guys! So, this is my first foray into the world of NCIS fanfic. I'm a big fan of the show, been watching for awhile, but this is the first idea I've had that I considered worthy of following. So I hope you guys like it ... hit that little button down there and leave me a review, let me know what you think. :)

Spoilers: Set in Season 8, current up to episode 9 but branches off from there.

Disclaimer: The ones you recognize are not mine. Sad day. :(

She shook the moisture off her coat as the sleek elevator doors slid closed in front of her. She shrugged out of the jacket and slung it over her arm, then resituated her bag on her shoulder. She checked her watch absent mindedly, although she knew that she was going to be the first one there: quarter to six on Wednesday morning. She sighed at that – the week had not been a particularly tough one, but she found herself looking forward to the weekend. She was going to relax, maybe watch a few of the movies Tony had recommended, and just relax in general.

The elevator dinged and the shiny metal doors slid open. Ziva smiled secretively to herself as she stepped out of the small box and headed for her desk. She loved that first sight of the office when the doors slid open, and how comforting it was to walk the same route to her desk. Continuity and routine were not something easily established with the Mossad; in fact, they were seen as dangerous and not to be indulged in. surprisingly, Ziva found that she enjoyed the stability and ease of a routine; she liked knowing what to expect every day.

She let her bag slip to the floor behind her desk and slid into her chair, turning on her computer as she did so. Things had been quiet this week – they had not had a new case since they'd solved their last one, the Friday before. The majority of their week had been spent doing paperwork, which Ziva quite passionately despised. Especially now that she had officially entered "probie" status.

When her computer had run all the customary start up programs, she pulled up her internet search browser. She glanced quickly around the empty bull pen, just to be sure no one was around, then typed something into the search engine. She had started to formulate an idea in the last few weeks, and although she would never admit it aloud, the idea had come from Tony. They'd been on their way out one night, and as they were riding the elevator to the parking garage Tony had struck up conversation.

"So now what?" He'd asked

"What do you mean, 'now what'?" She'd replied

"What are you gonna do now that you're an American citizen?"

"I am not sure I follow the question, Tony. Why would I have to do anything?"

"Don't you wanna chase the American dream, Ziva?" He'd teased, giving her that lopsided grin

"American dream?" She'd repeated

"Yeah, ya know: Nice house, white picket fence, Fido playing in the yard?"

"Who is Fido?"

"Your currently nonexistent dog," Her partner said in his matter of fact way

She'd laughed and shrugged it off, but something about the idea nagged at her. Not the part about the dog – she did not have time to take care of a pet – but the other part, with the house. Curious, she'd begun to research the idea when she was alone.

"Morning."

The unexpected voice behind her almost made her jump, but her Mossad training held her immobile. She had not heard anyone approaching, and was ashamed of being taken by surprise. When she glanced around at the offender, she found a familiar set of ice blue eyes watching her.

"Morning, Gibbs," She greeted, ignoring her hammering heart

"Didn't mean to scare you," He said evenly, heading to his desk

"You did not scare me, Gibbs. Merely … startled me," She explained quickly

He made no response, only nodded as he took a seat at his desk. She watched him for a minute, wondering if he was going to comment on what he had seen on her computer. He said nothing, however, and she closed the web browser just to be safe. Instead, she navigated her way to her e-mail, watching her boss out of the corner of her eye.

Within minutes of Gibbs' arrival, McGee had added his presence to their small rectangle of desks. To Ziva's surprise, McGee set a very warm cup of coffee down before her on the desk, drawing her gaze away from the computer.

"You bought me coffee, McGee?" She questioned, smiling

"It's cold and rainy out there. Thought you could use something warm to sip on," the other Agent explained

"Thank you, McGee. That was very thoughtful of you," She said, taking the Styrofoam cup appreciatively, "But how did you know I would be here?"

"Are you kidding? The only person here before you is Gibbs," McGee answered, moving toward the lead Agent's desk

Gibbs watched his Agent as he stopped in front of his desk, placing another Styrofoam cup identical to Ziva's on the desk with a smile.

"Got one for you too, boss."

Without expecting an answer, McGee then proceeded to his own desk, where he sat down his own cup of coffee and slid his bag off his shoulder. He was feeling chipper this morning, and he smiled to himself as he set about readying his desk for the day.

"You're early, McGee," Gibbs said gruffly

"I'm always early, boss," McGee replied easily

"Not this early."

"And you brought coffee," Ziva joined in, "And you have not stopped smiling."

"I'm in a good mood today," He said simply

Ziva glanced at her boss, but he just shrugged and went back to reading his newspaper. Ziva, however, found that her curiosity was not as easily assuaged.

"Why are you in a good mood, McGee?" She prodded, leaving her desk to stand in front of his

"I'm always in a good mood," He retorted

"Not this good. Spill the milk, McGee."

"Beans," McGee corrected automatically

"Beans are the reason you are so happy?" Ziva queried, confused

"No, you said spill the milk. The saying is 'spill the beans'," McGee explained

"That makes even less sense than the milk."

McGee laughed at the Israeli's confusion over the idiom, causing his counterpart to huff and put her hands on her hips.

"Spill whatever it is, McGee," She chided

"I went on a date last night, if you must know," He said finally

Ziva's face lit up at that, and she threw a glance over her shoulder to see if Gibbs was hearing this. The older man seemed to be ignoring them, however, sipping his coffee quietly while he perused the day's headlines.

"A date?" She repeated, grinning to herself, "What is her name?"

"Who's name?" Another voice asked then

Both Agents looked up to see Tony rounding the corner, and Ziva grinned again in anticipation. Her partner would appreciate the significance of the moment, even if Gibbs did not.

"Where's boss?" Tony asked, dropping his stuff and coming to stand with his coworkers

"At his desk," Ziva answered, but turned to find the other man gone

"He was just there!" McGee exclaimed

"How does he do that?" Ziva wondered aloud

"Sniper training," Tony answered unaffectedly, "So who were we talking about?"

"McGee had a date last night," She said quickly, seeing the spark in Tony's eye

"You had a date, McCelibate? I don't believe it."

"Believe it, Tony," McGee retorted, ignoring the jibe, "And her name is Rachel."

"Rachel," Tony repeated, "Very Jennifer Aniston of you, McFriend."

"I do not understand that one," Ziva said, cocking her head to one side slightly, "But it is a nice name."

"Where did you meet this woman?" Tony prodded

"She's a cyber crimes analyst with the FBI," McGee stated proudly, "We met at a convention a few weeks ago."

"Great," Tony groaned, "Little Timmy's found himself a geekette."

"Would you stop with the names, Tony," McGee shot back, "It's too early."

"Speaking of early," Ziva said then, turning her curious gaze on Tony, "Why are you here?"

"I work here," Tony replied smartly

"It is not yet eight a.m., Tony," She informed him, advancing on him as he back pedaled toward his desk, "You do not work this early."

"Down, Cujo," Tony told her, holding up a hand, "I didn't sleep well, thank you very much."

"Why are you thanking me?" She questioned, scowling at him, "I am not responsible for your sleeping habits."

"Never mind."

"Are you done confusing people, DiNozzo?" Gibbs asked then, breezing past them

"Yes, boss," Tony agreed quickly

"Grab your gear. We got a dead Marine Corporal."

With a flurry of movement and the muffled thud of hurried footsteps, the team began their day.

The office was relatively quiet around them, save for the clicking of keyboard keys as they investigated their separate piece of the puzzle. Marine Corporal Raquel Goodman was so far an unlikely murder victim. The deeper McGee delved into her background, the more confused he became. Although fairly young – Raquel had turned twenty four only two months ago – the young woman had apparently been very sensible. Her savings account had a modest but respectable amount of money, her checking account was nowhere near overdrawn, and her only credit card was in good standing. She had a single revolving payment: the monthly allotment for her 2007 Nissan. Their young Marine was surprisingly debt free.

"I am at a loss," Ziva said suddenly, glancing at her team mates

"You too, huh?" McGee said sympathetically

"I just got off the phone with Corporal Goodman's C.O.," She told him, "According to him, Raquel Goodman was a perfect troop."

"No such thing as perfect," Tony interjected, hanging up the phone

"Then you found something?" McGee asked hopefully

"Nope. Not so much as a speeding ticket. Boss is not gonna be happy about this."

"About what, DiNozzo?"

All three of them nearly sprang to their feet at the sound of Gibbs' voice. McGee quickly hit a key on his keyboard, and the big screen across from him flashed on just as Gibbs stopped in front of it. Raquel's bank and phone records stared at him from the screen, their numbers eclipsed by a photo of the Marine's Active Duty ID.

McGee started to explain his findings, but Tony had blocked him out by the end of the first sentence. He was standing behind the other men, Ziva to his left. His attention was fixed on the photo from the ID, and not for the first time a strange observation jumped to the forefront of his mind: Raquel Goodman reminded him unsettlingly of Ziva. The thought had surprised him at the crime scene, as he was taking photos of the young woman's discarded body. Before the single gunshot to the head that had ended her life, Raquel had been beaten. As he'd documented her injuries on camera, a very dark image surfaced in his memory: Ziva, dirty and bruised and raw, when Saleem had taken the hood off her head. He'd dismissed the memory immediately and made some half hearted movie reference to distract himself. Now, as he stared at a picture that had been taken when Raquel was still breathing, the resemblance between the two women was almost uncanny.

"DiNozzo."

Gibbs' voice jolted him back to reality, and he realized too late that the conversation had died. His teammates were looking at him expectantly, and he wondered how long they'd been standing there in silence.

"Sorry, boss," He said hurriedly

"Something you'd like to share with the rest of the class, Tony?" McGee teased

"Well … it's just that …" Here Tony licked his lips, suddenly and uncharacteristically nervous, "Doesn't she kinda remind you of Ziva?"

"Me?" Ziva asked in surprise, glancing quickly at the screen

"Well, yeah," Tony said, somewhat hesitant

"Now that you mention it," McGee began, looking from the screen to Ziva and back again, "They do look similar …"

Ziva was about to protest when Gibbs beat her to the punch.

"Get on with it, DiNozzo."

"Getting on with it, boss."

Ziva was only half listening, however, her mind suddenly seized on the idea that the dead Marine might resemble her. Raquel's hair was perhaps a shade lighter than Ziva's dark brunette locks, but her eyes were very nearly the same espresso brown in color. Her skin was a bit more pale, the angles of her face slightly sharper, but even Ziva could not deny that there was some resemblance.

The feeling of being watched drew her attention, and she flicked her eyes away from the screen to find Gibbs watching her, those pale blue irises deceptively sharp. He held her gaze for several seconds, then refocused on the monitor without a word.

"Anything to add, Ziva?" Gibbs asked, not unkindly

"I spoke to Corporal Goodman's C.O.," She answered easily, "According to him, she was the best troop a person could have. Never been in trouble, never disrespectful. Only late for work twice in the three years she's been stationed there."

"Overachievers," Tony muttered

"Some of us enjoy being responsible, Tony," She retorted

"Some of us have lives, Zee-Vah," He replied, giving that strange snap to her name

"Enough, you two," Gibbs chided, "Go check out Corporal Goodman's apartment. See if you can find anything to contradict her C.O.'s estimation of her. McGee, track down the family."

"On it, boss," Three voices chorused in unison