Ashleigh Anpilova


Set after Till Death Do Us Part.

Not all of the team made it; but will the death have meaning?

A McGee & Ziva centric gen story.

Written: October 2012. Word count: 500.



Still shaking, still feeing sick, his head still thumping, his heart still racing Tim sat at his desk and stared at the phone as his mind replayed the last hour or so. The explosion; the frantic rush to escape; just one more second to get the final bit of data; glass everywhere; a hand grabbing him, forcing him out of the building; taking him to safety. Before -


"Just do it, Tim." Ziva's hoarse shaky voice cut into his thoughts. He glanced up and saw she was sitting on the edge of his desk looking at him. Her eyes were red, her hair full of plaster dust, her shirt torn, dried blood still showed on her cheek and chin; she had a bandage around one wrist and a devastated look on her face.


Not even bothering that his hand was shaking, he reached for the hand that wasn't bandaged and held it, tightening his grip as she tightened hers; both of them clinging to one another. "It's hard, Ziva," he said, his voice as hoarse as hers had been.


She sighed softly and he watched a tear slip down her cheek. "I know it is," she said softly. "Believe me, Tim, I know how hard it is."


He swallowed. "I know you do, Ziva." He wiped the tear away from her cheek and then the next one that fell and then the next before pulling his handkerchief out of his pocket and giving it to her. Beyond that neither of them acknowledged her tears or the ones he was blinking back. "What is it about this team and fathers?" He said, wiping the back of his hand over his cheek, wiping away the tear which had escaped. "Gibbs; you; me," he paused and then whispered as another tear escaped, "Tony. All of us had issues with our fathers."


Ziva squeezed his hand again. "And all of us except you have -" she broke off; this time wiped her own tears away and then blew her nose. She put her hand on his cheek and lightly stroked it. "Do it, Tim. Do it for Tony. Make his . . . Make his death mean something."


"He died for us, Ziva. He died to save us both." He forced the words out as he pulled open his desk drawer and found the spare handkerchief he kept there. He wiped his eyes and blew his nose. "Tony died to save us."


"As I always knew he would do if he had to."


Tim nodded. "So did I. Do you think he -"


"Yes. Yes, Tim. We all knew, did we not?"


Tim nodded. "Yes."


"So pick the phone up, Tim, and call your father. He will have heard by now that an NCIS agent died. You must tell him it is not you."


"I . . . Okay." Tim blew his nose again, gripped Ziva's hand even tighter, picked the phone up and punched in a number. "Hello, Dad," he said when he heard his father's voice. "It's Timothy. I'm alive, Dad."



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