Another case fic - just because I love writing them! And also because I thought it would be fun to see how Gibbs and Ziva manage to balance work and a relationship in their first major case as a couple...

Thanks to Zivacentric for her help in the decision to post this one (even if she doesn't know she helped). Hope you guys enjoy! Reviews are welcomed with open arms.

Disclaimer: I own nothing. Unfortunately.

'OK'. Gibbs sighed as he surveyed the ordinary kitchen that, overnight, had become a crime scene. 'Ziva, witness statements. DiNozzo….'

'Bag and tag. On it, boss'.

'And McGee, fingerprints, ID'.

'Ducky not here yet, boss?' McGee knelt down by the prone body on the floor, and pulled the mobile fingerprint scanner out of the gear bag.

The question was timed perfectly. Both Gibbs and McGee looked round as Ducky entered the room, medical bag in hand, looking distinctly annoyed. Jimmy Palmer followed behind him, a sheepish look on his face.

'I apologise for our lateness, Jethro'.

'The, uh, sat nav was down'. Palmer went red as he realised both Gibbs and McGee were looking at him, awaiting a further explanation. 'And traffic was really bad. Accident on the freeway…you know….' He tailed off, now blushing furiously, and set to work gathering the equipment he and Ducky would need.

'The freeway?' McGee questioned.

'Yes, Timothy. It appears Mr Palmer here cannot read a map'.

Gibbs turned away to hide his smirk.

'Don't worry about it, Duck, he's not going anywhere'. He indicated the body. 'You got an ID yet, McGee?'

McGee held up the fingerprint scanner.

'Christopher Mallory. Chief Warrant Officer – EOD.'

'Bomb squad'.

McGee nodded. 'Can't tell you much more until we get back'.

'But I can'. Ducky held up a thermometer. 'Time of death – approximately six to eight hours ago. Which would mean between two and four am'.

'Cause of death?'

Ducky pointed at the kitchen knife sticking out of the Warrant Officer's back.

'That might have something to do with it'. He smiled, and stood up. 'Like Timothy, I will tell you more when we get back and open him up. Mr Palmer?'

'Getting the gurney, Doctor Mallard'.

'McGee, give DiNozzo a hand'. Gibbs looked out of the window. The kitchen looked over the street, and he could see Ziva knocking on her third door, holding up her badge, asking the questions that she would have asked at the two previous houses. He felt the same twinge of pride that he always felt when he took the time to watch her work, and suppressed a smile. It always amazed him – again, when he stopped to think about it – that one of his best agents was also his girlfriend.

He was brought out of his reverie as Palmer returned with the gurney, followed closely by McGee and DiNozzo. It seemed there was not a lot to be found. What there was would end up in Abby's lab for fingerprint tests and analysis. Gibbs ran a hand over his face and rubbed his eyes. He was getting a sinking feeling in his gut that told him there was going to be more to this case than first appeared, when he needed it to be open and shut. He and Ziva had planned a night away at the weekend that he really didn't want to cancel. After three months of being a couple, they were starting to get the hang of balancing work with their relationship, but sometimes it was harder than others. As they secured the house and headed back to the van, he was somewhat reassured by a quick smile and a whisper from Ziva.

'We can rearrange. I checked when I booked it'.

He smiled back. Today was Thursday. If it was straightforward, they could work fast.

'Wait and see what we've got first'.

'Chief Warrant Officer Christopher Mallory, twenty nine years old. Explosive Ordnance Disposal technician, in other words bomb squad. Born in Ohio, college at Columbus, average grades, joined the navy straight after.' McGee reeled off their victim's biography as they all stood and looked at his photograph, now staring at them from the plasma screen in the bullpen. DiNozzo took over from McGee.

'No wife, no kids, no girlfriend as far as we know. A few friends on base that he had a few beers with every now and then. No money troubles, and no record – not even a parking ticket. Paid his taxes, went to church and called his mum every Sunday'.

Gibbs looked at him, eyebrows raised.

'Well, maybe not. But you know what I mean, boss. There is no reason why someone would stick a knife in this guy's back'.

'And yet, DiNozzo, someone did'.

'Yes, someone did'. He caught the look on Gibbs's face, and turned on his heels to head back to his desk. 'And you want us to find out why. Right. On it'.

Gibbs glared as he reached over to answer the ringing phone on his desk, but the conversation didn't last very long. As he hung up, he grabbed the take out coffee sat on his desk and beckoned for the rest of the team to follow.

'Abby's got something'.

'You want the good news or the bad news?'

Abby was practically bouncing. Either the good news was very good, or she had drunk one too many Caf-Pows that morning already. Gibbs handed over another one with slight misgivings, and waited as she took a long suck on the straw.

'Ahh, that's better'.

'Abs? You said you had something?'

Abby looked indignant. 'Gibbs! Have I ever called you down here on false pretences? No. I have something. And I have nothing'.

'Abby'. Gibbs was getting impatient.

'Okay, okay. The bad news first then'. She picked up the knife that Ducky had extracted from Mallory's back. 'No fingerprints. None whatsoever. Wiped clean'.

'A professional job'. Ziva inspected the knife as Abby held it out to her, and Gibbs scowled. Looks like we're not going to Virginia Beach after all.

'Yep. That's the nothing. The something is that I took a look at Mallory's laptop. The guy was really, really careless, Gibbs. His password was his mother's name. And his email account was just left open on the desktop'. She shuddered. 'I could never do that. It's like hanging your panties on the washing line'.

'You don't hang panties on the washing line?' DiNozzo was looking worried, and Abby smirked.

'Only the lacy ones, Tony'.

'Abby. The laptop'. Gibbs gestured impatiently.

'Right. The laptop. Well, there were several email conversations that intrigued me. All with the same address, registered to this company, Marshall's. It's actually one of the Navy's suppliers. They manufacture rolling air-frame missiles. On the surface, there's nothing particularly interesting in any of the emails, except the other person never signed their name once. Which is a bit odd. It's one of those where the address doesn't give an individual's name, but I traced it through….'

'In English, Abs. And quickly'.

Abby pouted. 'You spoil all my fun. But…..this is the guy who was corresponding with our dead officer. Ben Hutton'. She pulled a photograph up on screen, and turned to them, beaming.

'That's good work, Abby'.

'That cannot be right'. Ziva was looking at the photograph intently, her brow furrowed. 'Are you sure, Abby?'

'Ziva?' Gibbs raised his eyebrows as Abby nodded.

'I hacked their server and traced the IP address back to this guy's computer. Of course, someone else could have sent them from his terminal, but if so he must have been very lax about security as well. There's a lot of them'.

'Something wrong?' Gibbs instinctively moved closer to Ziva. She had gone a bit pale.

'There must be some mistake. That….' She pointed at the photo. 'That is David Windsor, not Ben Hutton'. She looked at Gibbs. 'And David Windsor is dead. He was killed in London eight years ago'.

'Are you absolutely sure?' Vance asked for the third time. He looked worried.

Ziva nodded. 'I am sure. The photograph on Marshall's company records is of David Windsor'.

Vance blew out a sigh, and automatically reached for a toothpick. Chewing slowly, he looked at the two agents standing before him. He had no doubt that Ziva was right. She had never been wrong about a face before, but now he could feel a major headache coming on. And it was only going to get worse.

'Go over it again', he requested at last. 'I need to have this straight. MI5's coming into MTAC in an hour'.

'Nine years ago I was undercover in England for six months with my Mossad partner. Most of what we were doing was counter-terrorism, but there were other….asides, occasionally'.

Gibbs watched her silently as she stared at a knot in the grain of the Director's wooden desk. He fought the urge to slip an arm around her shoulders, reminding himself of where they were. He knew that Ziva was not particularly proud of her Mossad past, and he guessed that these 'asides' had been assassinations of non-terrorist targets that she was now ashamed to admit to.

'We teamed up with MI5 on more than one occasion. This David Windsor was a known arms dealer. He supplied arms to Hezbollah, Hamas, branches of al-Qaeda, anyone who wanted them. He did not seem to be choosy as long as they could pay. We received a tip-off that he was at his base in London'. She looked up, a touch of defiance in her expression. 'It was an opportunity which we took'.

'You and the MI5 agent'. Vance wanted clarification, and Ziva nodded.

'He organized the, uh, logistics. David Windsor was shot in his house. I saw it happen'.

'But you were not the one to shoot him'.

Ziva shook her head. 'The other agent's name was Adam Rose. At least, that is what I knew him by. He shot him. We never saw Rose again after that. We dealt with other agents, but never him'.

Vance nodded slowly, and leaned forward.

'You verify the kill?'

Ziva closed her eyes momentarily, and shook her head.

Vance sat back again. 'So. If you're right about this, that means David Windsor – an arms dealer - is still alive and working for a company that supplies the navy with missiles. Which in turn means that either MI5 screwed up…..' He paused. 'Or it was deliberate and Rose didn't shoot to kill'.

Gibbs spoke for the first time.

'I'd go with deliberate'. He looked at Vance. 'McGee's been running searches on David Windsor. There's nothing. He can't even find a birth certificate. His record's been wiped'.

Vance threw his toothpick on the desk. His head was beginning to pound.

'Marshall's make rolling air-frame missiles'. He looked at Gibbs as he spoke. 'We're not the only country to use them. The Egyptians and Saudis do as well. And the Iranians want to get hold of them'.

'You think he's selling the technology rather than the actual weapons now?'

Vance nodded. 'Perhaps as well as. Didn't you say your dead Warrant Officer was a bomb disposal guy?'

Ziva nodded. She could see where Vance was going. 'If you can dismantle a bomb, you can make one. Windsor was maybe using Mallory for something'.

'And killed him when he was no longer useful'. Vance finished for her. 'So. Hutton, Windsor, whoever he is. Where is he now?'

'Flew out of DC this morning, before the body was discovered. Headed for Heathrow'.

Vance studied Gibbs and Ziva in turn. 'Then you know what that means'. He gave a crooked smile as he chewed his toothpick. 'You two are gonna go see the Queen'.