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European vs American

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"Listen to me, Abby, you need to—."

"Bonjour, comment sont—."

SPLASH.

The coffee previously in their respective cup spilled over when the two collided and unfortunately for her— and him—most of it ended up on her.

It was as if time had stopped. It took her a second to register the scalding hot liquid, took him a second to realize his cup was now empty and everybody was frozen in place, looking at them.

"Geez!" he finally said, snapping himself, and everyone around them, out of the trance-like state.

"'Geez' what?! If you weren't so busy barking orders maybe you would have noticed me!" He found it strangely endearing, the way she seemed very angry—and he couldn't quite blame her. She saw amusement flicker in his blue eyes, angering her even further.

"You are going to pay for this blouse," she said, leaning very close to him. Her proximity was so overwhelming, he never noticed his wallet leave his pocket until she opened it, a satisfied smirk gracing her features.

"Leroy Jethro Gibbs," she said, not letting on that she knew the name. She took out one of his business cards and ten dollars. At the raise of his eyebrows, she clarified. "Coffee."

She got her coffee almost immediately, paying—"Keep the change"—and walking out of the shop head held high, pretending nothing had happened.

He heard some people snicker around him, and sent them a good glare, stopping them.

It was only after he'd gotten a new coffee and was on his way back to NCIS did he realize that he hadn't even gotten her name.

The name of the very attractive redhead with the volatile temper and sparkling green eyes.


"Got something Abs?" Gibbs asked, strolling in.

The happy worker turned to him, a large smile spread over her face.

"I do! I am really starting to believe in your psychic abilities, oh Great One." He simply stared at her, and she got the hint. "I processed all the evidence, now I've left all the work to my babies." She motioned to her equipment. "Now there was one thing that was bothering me, it's the letter left behind. It's not in English."

"I'll get Ziva," Gibbs said.

"No, Ziva doesn't know either. So that definitely rules out Hebrew, Arabic, French and Spanish, and probably German, Italian, Turkish and Russian. And, well, not English."

Her machine started to beep, making her jump. She hastily went over to the Mass Spectrometer.

"Well, Gibbs, the substance we found on her face is mineral oil. That's odd." Gibbs raised an eyebrow. "Well, you see, I have to check, but this mineral oil doesn't get made anymore. They stopped making it about ten years ago."

"Good job Abs," Gibbs said, kissing her cheek, but then realizing his hands were empty.

"No Caf-Pow?" she asked, sticking out her lower lip.

"It's right behind you, Abs." The Goth whirled around, seeing the Caf-Pow sitting right next to her keyboard.

"Y'know, Gibbs, one day, one day I will find out how you do this, and then I will try to do it on you, I'll probably fail the first gazillion times, but one day, I'll be just as good—oh." She turned to find her lab empty.

She shrugged and grabbed the Caf-Pow, drinking it happily.


"Gibbs, I know someone who could be of help to us, with the case," Ziva said to Gibbs.

"Who?"

"A Linguist Expert, coincidentally, she's here on vacation from Europe."

"Call her."

Ziva went back to her desk, sitting in her chair, ignoring the inquiring looks Tony and McGee shot her way. She dialed an all-too-familiar number.

"Bonjour, ma chère soeur, comment sont toi?" McGee frowned when he heard the term of endearment. Ziva laughed. "Je suis très bien. Pourriez-vous s'arrêter par mon lieu de travail pendant un moment?" Ziva's smile was an easy one, as she talked to the person on the other line. "Vraiment? C'est commode." She nodded a few times, then, "Merci beaucoup."

She hung up the phone, three pairs of eyes on her.

"She'll be here soon."

"And what is her name?" Tony asked, conspiratorially.

"Jenny Shepard."