DISCLAIMER:- I do not own NCIS or any of the characters and no copyright infringement is intended.

Author's note:- Without doubt, one of the greatest challenges of this story, was to replay the same events for five chapters without our readers feeling they were trapped in Groundhog Day. We hope we have captured enough of the featured character’s personalities and “possible” thoughts to make the story, plausible, interesting, thought provoking and entertaining.

FORGIVEN - NOT FORGOTTEN - Written in collaboration with Lyn1410g

TONY

Tony swung his long legs over the side of the bed and stood up, feeling around in the dark for his old OSU sweatshirt. Finding it, he dragged it over his head and padded on bare feet to the small kitchen where he filled a glass of water and downed it in one long swallow. Eyeing the digital readout on the clock above the stove, he cursed softly.

Great! 0300 hours. His interrupted sleep patterns had become a real problem, something he’d have to address pretty soon before his work started to show the ill effects.

Re-filling the glass, he wandered back into the living room opening the sliding glass doors that led to his tiny balcony. He stepped out and moved to lean with both forearms against the balustrade.

The street below was dark, hardly any traffic at this time of the morning. His frequent bouts of insomnia over the past few months had resulted in him becoming an expert of early morning activity in his neighbourhood. A flashing yellow light and droning engine announced the arrival of the sanitation truck and he turned his head to watch it pull around the corner onto his street. He pressed the button on his watch, illuminating the face – the guys were ten minutes late today.

Yesterday, Ziva had worked her first full day since her return to the team. When he and McGee had arrived in the office, there she was - potted plant in hand, personal belongings strewn across her desk and smiling serenely as though she’d never been away.

He’d been shocked at first, Gibbs hadn’t said a word about her return and he thought that her chances of rejoining the MCRT were negligible. But it had felt right, seeing her there at her desk, the same desk that had held a variety of replacements in the time that she’d been gone.

He stopped for a moment and spared a thought for the unfortunate agents who’d applied for and been trialled in Ziva’s position. It wasn’t that he’d actively tried to get rid of them; he had just been himself really. Could he help it if they couldn’t take the teasing, the snooping and the witty repartee? The fact that his sidekick not only encouraged but also willingly joined him in ‘welcoming’ the new members seemed only to further their annoyance and hasten their resignations.

Just as well, too, they didn’t accept just anyone on Team Gibbs, you know!

So, after the initial surprise at finding Ziva at her desk, they’d settled down to work some cold cases, review the files and hopefully see something that had previously been missed. In the past, there’d have been some lively conversation as they tossed ideas and scenarios back and forth, but the silence in the bullpen had been oppressive.

He knew he wasn’t the only one to feel it; he’d felt McGee’s eyes on him once or twice and caught the younger agent staring thoughtfully at Ziva numerous times.

‘How the hell were they going to work like this?’

For what felt like the thousandth time he replayed in his mind, the events leading to Rivkin’s death.

Initially, finding out about Ziva’s new man had been a game, a challenge. Although she called it childish and annoying, he called it honing his investigative skills – just as he’d done many times with Kate and McGee. He’d set himself a personal challenge - could he irritate the Mossad super spy enough for her to lose her cool, slip up and inadvertently reveal more details of her mystery man?

He noted that each time he’d casually asked about him, Ziva immediately went on the defensive, evading further questioning by accusing him of jealousy. Obviously, she didn’t want to play – no matter, he was persistent.

Her uncharacteristic overreactions had confused him at first but only served to make him more determined to find out what was going on. Ok, so the game was over but now he was acting out of concern. His gut feelings may not have been as legendary as Gibbs’ but he knew his partner well and he instinctively knew that there was more going on than a desire to keep her private life out of the office.

Her behaviour became more suspicious when Gibbs and McGee went to LA to work a case with NCIS OSP. She’d taken a call and spoken Hebrew. He’d suspected that it was the same heavily accented man who’d called earlier. Then she left the office under the guise of following a lead, asking him to cover for her. When she finally returned - hours later – the lead hadn’t panned out and she was strangely unreceptive to his attempts at conversation. Did she honestly believe he couldn’t tell when she was distracted, worried…or lying?

When Ducky mentioned that she’d almost been killed in Morocco he was stunned. He realised that it was during his stint on board the USS Seahawk but why the hell had no one mentioned it to him? He’d made an excuse and gone directly to MTAC hoping to watch the tapes of the news broadcast. He was surprised at the anger he felt when he saw her, stunned and bloodied from her injuries. And then there he was, the same man that he’d seen on the photograph that he found on Ziva’s desk some months ago.

Abby ran the image through the facial recognition program and got a hit within seconds. Michael Rivkin, an Israeli banker according to his visa records. Then Abby found a photograph of him leaning into the car window of Mossad Director Eli David.

So, Rivkin was Mossad, exactly what was he up to?

When he arrived the next morning and was called to MTAC it was to find that Rivkin had been implicated in the death of two terrorist cell members in LA. He told the OSP team that he was Mossad and that Ziva would vouch for him. He’d felt her go strangely still beside him as Rivkin’s face appeared on the screen and watched her reaction with interest as she unflinchingly confirmed that Rivkin was an officer of Mossad. She offered no further information.

Despite being told to leave the country by Special Agent Macy and by Gibbs – Rivkin did not comply. When Abby told him that Rivkin had booked a flight to Tel Aviv via Washington, his gut told him the rest – he was with Ziva and she was in way over her head.

He had given her several opportunities to ask for his help but each time he had been vehemently rebuffed by the old jealousy line. He’d asked her straight out if she knew where Rivkin was and she told him no but he could see the lie in her eyes.

When he’d asked would she tell him if she did know, she had answered no again and then told him she would tell Gibbs – that proved to be another lie. His frustration with her stubborn refusal to talk to him, to let him help was enormous.

When a federal agent from the US Immigration and Customs Enforcement was killed in the grounds of SecNav’s home, the team followed a trail of evidence to a terrorist “handler” by the name of Abin Tabal.

Throughout the investigation, Ziva continued to receive calls and speak in Hebrew, obviously hoping for secrecy. Though he feigned disinterest, he was careful to listen for any words that he may recognise and when she, once again, suddenly left the office, he’d used the translator program on his computer to determine where she was going.

Sneaky? Yeah.

Invasion of privacy? Okay…he’d cop to that but it was no more intrusive than her snatching the cell from his hand to see whom he was speaking with – at least he had tried to be subtle.

His thoughts had turned to Jeanne and the painful, gut-twisting confusion he’d felt, the inner conflict that occurred when his personal life crossed over with work.

He recognised that confusion in his partner and so he’d gone to the restaurant and had seen her with Rivkin. To avoid a scene, he had called her back to the office then made it clear to Rivkin that he should leave the country on the first available flight. By the time he’d got back to the office he was pissed. Pissed at Rivkin and his big mouth and pissed at his partner for the “Agent Meatball” description that he suspected could only have come from her.

One look at her face showed that she was pissed too. Well good. She’d had her chance to handle things and had failed to do so.

But once again, she played the jealous card. Talk about your healthy ego! What was that about? They had never had that kind of relationship.

Flirtatious? Yes.

Innuendo? Plenty.

Sexual attraction? Come on – she’s gorgeous, he’s only human, right?

Did he care about her? Of course, she was his partner and friend!

But did she really believe that he would willingly deny her a chance for happiness, simply because she had chosen another man? And if he had been as infatuated with her as she kept telling him he was, surely he would have made a move by now. Lord knows, he was no shrinking violet!

By the time the team had located Tabal, he had conveniently committed suicide and his suspicion of Rivkin increased tenfold. It was just too neat, too convenient.

Sensing his concerns about Rivkin, Gibbs approached him and he told the team leader that Rivkin was still in town. He hadn’t been surprised that the Boss already knew. After all – this was Gibbs – military haircut, all-powerful gut, probably wears a big red ‘S’ beneath his under shirt.

When Gibbs told him to ‘stay on it’ he’d known his Boss shared his concerns about Ziva’s involvement with Rivkin.

When Abby checked the network location memory of the laptop found in Tabal’s possession and found that it had been connected recently via Ziva’s home internet account, his blood ran cold. How could that be? It had to be Rivkin; this was the proof that he needed that Rivkin had been involved in yet another killing. But how much knowledge did Ziva have of Rivkin’s activities and if he took this information to Vance would he be implicating his own partner?

He signed out a company car and drove to Ziva’s apartment, he had to try to talk to her again and help her if she needed it. He had been determined to convince her that Rivkin had played her and he’d hoped he could persuade her to go to Gibbs.

In hindsight, maybe he should have taken the information to Gibbs first and let the lead agent decide how to proceed. But he had tried to protect and cover for his partner and he’d wanted to give her the opportunity to explain before the excrement hit the fan and the Director hauled her in.

Rivkin was alone in Ziva’s apartment when he’d arrived. He had drawn his weapon and his handcuffs to place Rivkin under arrest when he’d attacked him.

He’d always thought of himself as pretty scrappy, blessed with a sharp wit he could talk himself into and out of most situations but when you’re lying on the floor with a broken arm and a 200 pound Kidon operative comes at you brandishing a shard of glass and with murder in his eyes – the time for talking is gone.

Twice he had yelled for Rivkin to stand down and twice he’d failed to do so. Rivkin had been standing directly above him when he fired four shots from his weapon into his chest.

Unconsciously, his hand reached for his left arm and rubbed the now healed radius that had been broken in the struggle. Even now he could close his eyes and vividly recall every detail of the fight and see the shock, turn to accusation and then hatred in Ziva’s eyes as she burst through the door and realised what had occurred.

The sound of a woman’s frantic voice and running footsteps drew his attention to the street again and he watched as the redheaded nurse from the apartment block next-door chased after the number 765 bus to University Hospital. It looks like everyone was running late today.

The following 48 hours had spun wildly out of control. He had drawn enormous strength from the absolute faith he’d seen in the eyes of his Boss and knew he had Gibbs firmly in his corner as he reviewed his account of events for the Director.

Hours later, they had flown to Israel to face the wrath of the Director of Mossad, Eli David – Ziva’s father - and to return Rivkin’s body. Ziva steadfastly refused to make eye contact with him as she sat by the casket at the back of the aircraft.

Throughout it all, Ziva had maintained that he had deliberately killed Rivkin out of jealousy. He’d been angry and hurt that after four years she could think so little of him. Would he kill Rivkin just because she cared about him? No one who knew him well should have ever needed to ask.

He’d been accused of murder before – in fact, that particular scenario seemed to be a recurring nightmare in his life. Firstly by the FBI - bound by law to follow the trail of evidence but even Fornell didn’t really believe he was guilty. Well, maybe Agent Slacks did but who cared what he thought anyway? The second accusation came from Jeanne, in retaliation for his deception and the heartbreak that his long-term undercover assignment had caused her. And then Ziva…his partner.

A small part of him had desperately tried to accept that it was easier for her to accuse him of jealously rather than to accept that Rivkin’s feelings for her may not have been genuine. But she did more than that…she accused him of cold-blooded murder and betrayal – even after she’d heard her father’s admission to Rivkin’s motives and his mission.

He’d been a cop and from his first day as a rookie the cop ethos of watching your partner’s back had been forever ingrained into him.

He had known she was devastated and conflicted when he tried to speak with her in Israel. Still, he’d needed to make her understand that he did what he did to protect her - that he had gone to her apartment to warn her of Rivkin’s motives and nothing more.

He had expected the anger and even more accusations of jealousy. He hadn’t expected her to knock him to the ground and point her loaded weapon at his gut. He hadn’t expected the hatred reflected in her eyes when she told him that ‘perhaps she would’ have preferred that Rivkin had killed him instead. Each accusation and each hate-filled look was like a kick in the guts. Had he misread the depth of her feelings? Did she really love Rivkin?

He’d desperately needed to get out of Israel and back home to the US. He’d hoped that, maybe, away from Israel, Mossad and her father, they could sit down together and reach some kind of resolution – partner to partner, friend to friend.

He had almost run onto the plane in his eagerness to leave Israel. He never thought he’d be happy to endure 12 hours on a cold, rattling transport – even seated next to Director Vance.

He remembered his initial confusion when Gibbs boarded the transport alone and signalled to the crew that they were ready for take-off. “Boss? One short?” Even as he had spoken the words a feeling of utter despair overwhelmed him. When Gibbs did not make eye contact, he realised that he was the reason she was not returning to DC and his fervent hope to clear the air between them was lost.

He’d lost count of the number of times he’d picked up his cell to call her. Everyday that passed, confirmed that she had not wanted contact with him. He’d tried to accept her decision and her need for space and concentrated on his job.

Suddenly, weeks had passed and nobody, not Abby, not Ducky, not McGee, had heard from her. There just had to be a reason, some thing or someone was preventing her from making contact and he was determined to find her to ensure she was okay. When he, Abby and McGee started to trace her whereabouts he had been relieved to finally be doing something to find her. Soon after, they’d found that she had boarded the Damocles, headed for Somalia as part of a Mossad operation.

Then it happened, Gibbs told them that the Damocles and gone down off the coast of Somalia and there were no survivors. He had lost a friend, a teammate and a partner and his last memories of her were of the hatred he’d seen in her eyes as she looked at him and accused him of cold-blooded murder and betrayal.

The anger of being denied an opportunity to put things right between them, burned inside him for weeks and finally drove him to tell Gibbs that they had an obligation to Ziva to ensure that Saleem Ulman did not take one more life.

His lips formed a small smile at the memory of McGee’s shocked expression when he’d refused to grab his gear as ordered. The Probie had obviously expected a confrontation to ensue but Gibbs was an easy sell – he had been feeling the same and knew, first hand, the all-powerful need for vengeance.

Several days later, he’d found himself strapped to a chair in a terrorist bunker with McGee feigning unconsciousness on the floor. They’d shot him full of Sodium Pentothal and a cocktail of other unknown drugs, just as he’d expected they would.

It took every ounce of training and guile to fight the effects of the serum - to tell Saleem only what he wanted him to know – no more no less. To keep the terrorist interested and talking until Gibbs and the Seal team could get into position and gain the element of surprise.

He knew if he had weakened, given in to the drug and divulged the plan, they would all be killed.

When she was dragged in and seated in front of him, the relief that she was still alive had almost cost him the tenuous fight against the serum. The fury and hatred was gone from her eyes leaving emptiness; an acceptance of defeat and a look that she was ready to die. He was well aware what happened to women held captive in such circumstances and he fought the bile in the back of his throat as he imagined the horrors she’d endured.

Saleem laid out his ultimatum – one of them would tell him what he wanted to know and the others would die

Even after Saleem had left them alone in the room, he’d continued to fight the serum, talking nonsense, rambling. What was the truth and what was not – only he knew for certain. He bided his time, not even telling Ziva that Gibbs and the Seals were close by – he hoped that fact would become obvious in just a few moments.

Saleem returned seeking answers and ready to kill for them and his heart stopped when she tried to sacrifice herself – telling Saleem to kill her and take the Americans. No way – they hadn’t travelled halfway around the world to watch her die in front of them.

Then the moment came and, right on time, Saleem’s head was shattered by a bullet from Gibbs’ sniper rifle - they were going home.

The dim light from the apartment directly across the road grew brighter as the buxom woman drew back the living room drapes. From his balcony vantage point he’d seen her dutifully cook breakfast and send her man off with a passionate kiss. He shook his head as he wondered what her night-shift working husband would think.

Straightening, he stepped back inside and headed for the bathroom, he wasn’t going to get anymore sleep tonight, might as well get ready for work. He twisted the faucets and allowed the water to warm as he undressed, then stepped under the shower, groaning as the hot spray massaged the strain from his aching shoulders and he rested his forehead against the tiled wall.

Yesterday, she’d stepped into the bullpen for the first time in weeks and to the untrained eye she’d looked well, she’d looked confident, beautiful – she’d looked…normal. He had stared at the fragility, the tension, and the internal wounds still open and raw but visible only to someone who knew her well…someone like a partner.

She had cornered him in the men’s room to catch him off guard and gain the upper hand. Let’s face it; it’s not easy to be taken seriously with your manhood on display! At first, he’d been angry - he’d never been a fan of her ‘ninja’ sneaking, it was downright creepy and it was getting so a guy couldn’t take a leak without her popping up out of nowhere. He thought he’d made it clear that he was ready and willing to talk to her, but the head wasn’t the location he’d had in mind.

Perhaps he should talk to Gibbs about swapping “conference rooms” with Ziva – then she could use the elevator and he could re-take the men’s room for the sake of his brother agents.

She’d immediately gone on the attack, listing what she perceived were his mistakes. Breaking protocol, coming to her home without sufficient back up. He’d wondered if she would ever accept that his actions were to cover for her and give her the opportunity to explain why she continued to harbour Rivkin. He held his tongue.

She told him how close she had come to killing him. ‘Great’, he thought, ‘then one of us would be dead and one would have been feeling incredibly stupid when Rivkin’s deception was revealed.’ Again he choked back his bitter retort.

She told him that she had trusted Ari and Michael and could not afford to trust him, too. ‘Why the hell not?’ he’d wanted to demand. ‘Ari and Rivkin were Mossad spies and assassins, trained to kill without hesitation or conscience.’ Did she really consider him in that league or was she still refusing to accept that her own deception led them down this path? If she had truly thought Rivkin innocent, why had she ordered a forced extraction?

He had a much bigger list of his own that he could have thrown back at her but what was the point? They had all suffered enough. So he sucked it up – took another one for the team.

Then, finally, she apologised – she acknowledged that she should have known that he has always had her back. He was so relieved to hear those words that he snatched at them and held on tight, wanting to move on.

She’d reached up to gently place a kiss on his cheek. He’d stood stock-still, unsure of what to say to her but needing desperately to leave the nightmare of the past few months behind. He wanted it over for himself – but more so, for her.

So he donned yet another mask and suppressed his own hurt, anger and resentment at her accusations of jealousy, killer and betrayal. The painful memories of the hatred in her eyes, her preference that Rivkin had killed him instead and the feel of her loaded gun pressed in anger against his stomach and thigh, were vanquished to the deepest corner of his mind and he hoped he had the strength to keep them there.

So now she was back, re-joining the team and he was happy about that – he really was. She was safe and surrounded by people who care about her and wanted to protect her – perhaps, this time, she’d trust them enough to let them.

Could they work together again as teammates – he genuinely hoped they could. Without thought to any personal cost, he was determined to hold his new mask in place if it helped her transition. But it remained to be seen whether they could ever again recapture the unconditional trust of partners.

Some things could be forgiven, not forgotten.

Thank you for reading our very first collaboration and for the many kind reviews, alerts and PM’s. Thanks, also, to all of those readers who read along quietly in the background.

We now declare Groundhog Day, officially over.

Lyn and Laine