Hello anyone who reads this! This is my first fanfiction ever, so please tell me if it's any good or if I should just leave it at that and return to merely enjoying other people's work. I'm not really confident I like it, although I think I did alright with the bullpen banter... Anyway, please tell me what you think!
Disclaimer: I don't own NCIS, its characters or its storylines. And I'm happy I don't because I love what the people who do are doing with it!
Chapter One
Ziva David walked into the empty bullpen, wrapped in so many layers of clothing she could hardly bend her elbows.
Damn American weather, she thought. Thank God Tony isn't here yet, or I wouldn't hear the end of it. Ninja chick afraid of a little winter air? She mimicked his voice in her head. She could almost see the smug smirk he was sure to display if he saw ever her dressed like this.
Ziva slid behind her desk as gracefully as her clothing allowed and quickly took off her coat, scarf, hat, gloves, fleece jacket and woollen jumper, to reveal her regular work clothes: a thick grey cashmere cardigan and kaki cargo pants. She rubbed her hands up and down her arms several times before shoving some of the superfluous pieces of clothing into her bottom drawer and locking it.
Ha, all set and without anyone interfering, she thought, pleased with herself for coming in early and with the way her day was beginning. That is, until something made her look up towards the director's office. Gibbs was leaning against the railing, a steaming coffee cup in his hand and smirking in very much the way she had expected Tony to.
"Cold much, Ziver?" he asked raising a mocking eyebrow.
Ziva was saved from answering by the arrival of an elevator-ful of agents, none of them belonging to the Major Case Response Team but nonetheless arguing and greeting each other loudly enough to fill the bullpen with their chatter. Ziva turned to her computer and powered it up, wondering if any of the cold cases she was assigned today would be interesting enough to keep her from wishing someone could kill another someone so that they could investigate a murder.
Ugh Ziva, what is wrong with you, wishing somebody dead! Ziva thought, disgusted with herself. She had come to NCIS to fight death and cease provoking it, yet there she was again. She was mercifully stopped in that line of thought by McGee, who staggered out of the elevator all cherry-cheeked and Rudolf-nosed, a huge beam on his face.
"Good morning to you Ziva!" he trumpeted while he walked into their team's space. Ziva had to laugh at his bright, excited eyes and his ruffled hair.
"Hello to you too," she answered. "May I ask why you are in such a good mood?"
"The probie is in a good mood?! Oh wait, that's gonna be good! What did you do last night Probie? Had fun with a Probette? Please tell me you probed a real Probette, Probie, because I don't want to have another conversation with you about the problem of the probable reality of virtual avatars of probably not-real people."
Ziva and McGee eyed at each other wryly. Tony was at work, on time for once, and apparently Timothy McGee wasn't the only one in a good mood that morning. They could feel their cold case day had just gotten much, much longer.
"If you must know, To-ney," sighed McGee,"I just happen to love this weather." He walked away from Tony and settled at his desk.
"Oh come on McAuthor, can't you do any better than that?" Tony sneered. "Nothing about the snow covering everything and making it look clean, and pure and knew? Nothing about the vivifying effect of cold air on an over-worked spirit? Hell, nothing on the link between a plunge of the cold-shrinking mercury and the decrease of air pollution? I'm disappointed, McGee, I thought that the last one at least could be expected from McMIT!" Tony cried, throwing his arms around to emphasise each question.
He turned to Ziva who was trying to glower at him and simultaneously stop the chuckle that threatened to spill at his over-dramatic burst. He gave her a stern look before turning into his full lecture mood.
" Ziva, these clichés are what makes an American an acceptable citizen and they should be uttered at least once a week in the frosty season. Think of it as our non-religious, national prayers. They are more than a tradi…" Ziva's unrestrained throaty giggle stopped him just before Gibbs' slap did, shocking him nearly as much. I made Ziva giggle he thought, puzzled. That somehow made him very pleased with himself, but Gibbs' piercing stare gave him no time to dwell on that.
"I was just teaching Ziva the essentials of…" Gibbs eyes seemed to get more cutting by the second. "Right boss, I'll get to work straight away. And good morning boss." He rushed around his desk and threw off his coat and scarf haphazardly, shoved his gloves into his suit's pockets and kept on his hat. e looked He looked at the computer for a few moments, pretending to work and trying to make himself forgotten, before realising he had no idea what he should be working on. He lifted his head away from the screen to be met with Ziva and McGee's laughing stares and Gibbs' privately amused gaze.
"Um, what are we doing today boss?" he asked sheepishly.
Somewhere across town...
"Mr DiNozzo, Mr DiNozzo! Wait!" a man called, running after his boss as he left the office. He reached him, panting slightly. "Mr DiNozzo... Jenkins wasn't here today... He's the one responsible for making sure the lab is ready for testing, checking the equipment..."
"I know who he is. Why are you telling me that? Isn't it your job as head of this team to manage your people?" DiNozzo Sr answered roughly.
"Yes sir. I mean, no, but... he hadn't told me he wouldn't be at work, and he's usually pretty serious about that sort of thing... and, well I'm worried about the team... the suicides... I think we should call the police" he concluded with a defiant, if cautious look.
"Mr Ealing, it is this company's policy not to interfere in its employees' life," DiNozzo Sr replied curtly. "We are not here to babysit each of you, the way you seem to want to do with your lab. Now if you will excuse me, I have an important meeting with the Department of Defence in an hour, in which I have to explain very impatient army and navy generals why your team hasn't produced a single viable, large-scale manufactured MRA-76 yet!"
Ealing watched the retreating back of his arrogant boss with disgust and threw away his fear to call out :
"If you don't call law enforcement, I will"
The back stopped and turned slowly to reveal a red, furious face.
"Are you threatening me?" he growled, a snarl on his lips.
"No sir, I mean, it needs to be done sir" Ealing retreated, but not without giving his boss a daring look.
DiNozzo stared at him for a while, making him squirm under his glare, measuring him up. He sighed and gave in.
"Very well, I will take care of it. But don't you dare challenge me again, or the only thing you'll ever challenge for the rest of your life will be food coupons and your unemployment check," he spit at his employee, who was visibly shaking by now. And with that, he turned on his heels and finally left the office, seething.
A.N. If I am to continue this, I need a little help figuring what an MRA-76 is... Can anyone please give me an idea for a revolutionary, dangerous piece of military equipment? I have most of the rest of the plot figured out, but I can't seem to come up with anything that makes sense in that area...