Disclaimer: NCIS and it's characters are the sole property of people other than myself and I derive no profit from this story.

Death to Mondays!

It was your typical Monday with the typical players. Tony sighed, bored out of his mind. I hate Mondays, but then again who doesn't, except maybe McGee, he probably waits all Sunday with baited breath for Monday to come. Nothing interesting today, just your usual run of the mill paperwork to look forward to. He was really hoping to catch a case. Not that he wanted anyone to die or anything, he was just so bored and the thought of doing paperwork all day was scarier than facing down a pack of rabid wolves or drunken Marines, he couldn't decide which was worse.

The only thing he could think of to alleviate his boredom, was picking on his co-workers, another typical day thing. McGee was easy to mess with, but Ziva was more of a challenge. Never one to do things the easy way, he looked across his desk to Ziva. She was making faces as she typed on her computer, every once in a while, slamming her fist onto the keyboard in frustration. She was not much of a computer expert, but then again, neither was he. Seeing her apparent frustration, he figured it might be fatal to pick on the Mossad assassin right at the moment. He'd have to save it for later.

He looked to his right, eying McGee, merrily typing away, completely at ease with his computer, oblivious to his surroundings. The perfect target. Unlike Tony and Ziva, the man was practically a machine, his full geek powers coming to the fore whenever he was around anything that came out of Silicon Valley. He seemed in a good mood. Tony would definitely need to do something about that.

He got to work, deftly gathering several scraps of paper and balling them up, lining them up in a row. Employing his best free-throw stance from his seat, he took aim and launched his paper projectile. To Tony's chagrin, it bounced off the rim of McGee's coffee mug. Grabbing another paper wad, he took aim and threw again, this time it landed dead center in the mug, floating on top of the coffee.

"Yes! Two points!" Tony announced.

"Not funny, Tony." McGee didn't even look up from his computer screen. He would just have to try harder. He took up another ball and sent it flying in the Probie's direction, hitting him in the temple.

"Okay, that's it!" McGee turned to him, his face red. Success! Tony grinned at him slyly until a hand made contact with the back of his head, bringing a ringing to his ears. Tim smiled triumphantly.

"Quit wasting paper, DiNozzo." Came the voice that never failed reign him. "Grab your gear." Yes! Tony exclaimed internally, trying not to let his excitement show. Gibbs strode into the bullpen, walking swiftly to his desk and pulling open the drawer that held his badge and weapon. Like Pavlov's dog, Tony reacted immediately, reaching for his own weapon and badge before grabbing his bag on the floor. He was on his feet in seconds, following Gibbs, Ziva and McGee to the elevator.


An hour later and Tony was taking pictures, snapping off a couple of clandestine photos of Ziva as she bent over, bagging and tagging evidence. He'd have to secretly take the photos home, maybe photoshop them and email them to her at a later time, but then again, he did have some self-preservation instincts.

Ziva suddenly turned around, catching Tony mid-snap. Shit. He was going to die. He smiled broadly. She glared at him.

"What are you doing, Tony?"

"Who me? Just taking pictures of this dead guy here." He pointed to the poor sailor laying in a pool of blood, shot in the heart while loading his car up with groceries that morning at a local supermarket. Witnesses had stated that he had been approached by a man dressed as a vagrant begging for money and when the sailor had refused to give any cash to the man, he pulled a gun and fired once into his chest, fleeing immediately. Of Course, the eyewitnesses had about ten different descriptions of the suspect, making it difficult for any identification to be made should they ever catch the guy, especially since this neighborhood was the stomping grounds for hundreds of homeless people. Their job was not going to be easy.

Not at all convinced that Tony wasn't taking pictures of her, Ziva approached him with her hands on her hips before snatching the camera from his grasp.

"How about I finish taking the pictures and you can collect the evidence." She started, giving him the evil eye, as if she could melt him with her heat vision. Maybe she could, he thought. "Then it could be I who shall enjoy the view of your big hairy rump."

"I don't think so" He said, grabbing the camera back, staring into her fiery dark eyes. "I wouldn't want to excite you too much with all of my sexiness." He swayed his hips for her and she laughed.

"Ha! Good one Tony. You are about as sexy as my Grandfather in a Speedo."

He stared at her and she stared right back. He loved this. He could never tell her that, but getting under her skin was the highlight of each day for him. Maybe she knew, she seemed to enjoy it too.

"Ah, Anthony, Ziva. Good- morning." Ducky greeted them, both of them breaking their stares and turning to the medical examiner as he walked up to the body, followed by Jimmy, his assistant. They backed out of the way to allow him to pass and the diminutive doctor knelt next to the corpse, sighing.

"Well, my job shall be easy today. I would say that the cause of death should be quite apparent. Single gunshot wound to the chest, most likely hitting the heart and causing instantaneous death." Ducky shook his head. "Such as shame; out on a typical day, minding his own business, doing the mundane task of buying food, only to have it be the last day of his life." He pulled out his liver probe, lifting the man's shirt and plunging it in. Tony always hated seeing that, even after the countless number of bodies he'd seen in various stages of death and decomposition, that part always got to him and he wasn't exactly sure why.

Gibbs took that opportunity to walk up to them and get in Tony's face. The older man had no qualms about invading other's personal spaces, but Tony had grown accustomed to it over the years and was only intimidated by it half of the time now.

"You two just about done?" He asked sternly in typical Gibbs fashion.

"Sure boss." Tony replied. He probably could have taken a few more pictures of the scene, but he wasn't about to tell that to the ex-marine.

"You and Ziva go into the neighborhood and start asking around for anyone who might match the description of the suspect."

"Got it, boss." He and Ziva nodded. She gathered up her evidence and Tony brought the camera back to the truck before they walked off into the neighborhood.

It was your usual crappy D.C. hood, filled with crime, poverty and drugs. They stopped by several establishments asking about any suspicious vagrants or anyone who might resemble the descriptions given to them by the eyewitnesses. Unsurprisingly, they were unable to gather much information. The only tip they had been given was to check out an alley that was frequented by many homeless people as a place to take shelter.

Tony didn't relish the idea of visiting such a place, he was wearing new shoes after all, but so far, it was their best bet and they soon found themselves entering the musty and garbage lined alleyway. His senses were on the alert to danger. Their suspect might still be armed and he didn't want to take any uneccessary chances. Ziva too was keeping a keen eye on their surroundings, her hand never leaving the hip that held her gun holster.

Making their way past several dumpsters, they came across some makeshift tents set up between them, the ground littered with dirty blankets, empty food wrappers and other assorted items that made it clear that someone was living there.

"Well, this is sure no Waldorf Astoria." He commented, earning another roll of the eyes from Ziva. Cautiously they approached. There appeared to be no one home at the moment as he scanned the area. He lifted the flaps on one tent to find it empty. As he came to the one next to it, he heard a shout from Ziva.

"Tony!" He looked up just in time to see her being bowled over by a large, long-haired, greasy man, knocking her to the ground. Springing into action, adrenaline pumped into his veins and he went to her.

"I am fine. Go get him!" She yelled.

Tony took off, satisfied that she wasn't hurt badly and sprinted after the suspect. The surprisingly nimble man rounded a corner as he gave chase. Tony's lungs burned as he ran and he wished he had worn a pair of running shoes rather than the loafers he had on today, it would have made traversing the wet alleys less dangerous.

After a block, he was gaining on the man and with a burst of speed he closed the gap. Making a flying leap for the man's back, he landed on top of him into a pile of garbage bags. His sense of smell was overwhelmed, but only momentarily as the vagrant threw a punch that landed squarely on his nose. Blood instantly flowed from his nostrils, but he hadn't registered any pain yet, he was too focused on his mission to bring the man down. His vision blackened for a split second, but Tony fought against it, swinging back and making contact with the man's cheek, but not doing much to stop him from fighting back. With a crazed yell and both feet, the man kicked against Tony's torso and he cursed himself for allowing the guy to get the better of him as he was sent sprawling backward, landing hard on his ass.

He tried to leap to his feet again, but he was a little dizzy, the blow to his face had done little to add to his coordination. As soon as he was up, he heard the shot. Followed by another. The man fell backward into the garbage pile, a bullet wound leaking blood from his forehead, the gun in his hand still smoking as it hit the ground. His mind was having a hard time catching up with what just happened and Tony breathed heavily before noticing the world had taken on a new and painful element. He looked down.

"Shit!" He hissed.

"Tony!" He heard Ziva shout, but it sounded distant and hollow to his ears, the blood pounding in his head making it hard to hear. Still looking down at the bright crimson stain spreading across his chest in disbelief, he fell to his knees as he was caught by her hands, laying him down.

"Tony, hold on!" Ziva was talking to him, her cell phone to her ear. By the look on her face, it must be bad, he thought absently. This really was turning into a very bad day for him to leave the vest behind. A little too late for that now, he realized. Just don't let her know how much it hurts, let her think that you'll be okay. He tried to give her a weak grin, but it may have been more of a grimace as the pain began to flare across his chest, making it hard to breathe. He looked deep into her eyes and she held his. He wanted to tell her so much, but the words were swallowed up by the impending darkness. God, I hate Mondays. She faded from his vision and blackness followed.

To Be Continued......

Hey, Y'all. Hope you enjoyed this opening chapter. Please let me know what you think, Pointers and constructive cristicism are always welcome. Thanks:)