"Sorry I'm late. There was traffic."

The cold cup of ice pressing against my eye helps the soreness. Ziva and McGee look up at my presence while Tony merely avoids my gaze.

Something we've both been practicing for two weeks now.

"And I have a raging headache and can barely see through my right eye."

Ziva gasps at the sight of my swollen black eye. "Eva, what happened? Who did this to you? Do you need —"

"I did this to myself, Ziva." My feet stumble as I approach my desk. "I'm fine, really. Just need a few minutes to close my eyes."

"As your coworker and friend, I deserve to know what happened."

McGee's head snaps to his left.

"Tony, do you want to tell us something?"

I shake my head, which only worsens the throbbing pain in my temples. "He. . .he didn't do anything." With a wince, I sit up. "Like I said. . .I did this to myself."

Our case as of today morning leads us to the very small and remote town of Edenvale, Virginia. The local sheriff sets up in his office and takes us to the autopsy room because the crime scene has already been cleaned up and is most likely occupied.

For evidence, we got to the local forensics scientist, Ruby Rae. And then we're back at the sheriff's office to discuss.

"I'll stir up some coffee for you." Sheriff Barrett holds open the door. "Oh, uh, and we do have a suspect in custody."

"When were you gonna tell me that?" Gibbs questions, attempting to keep his calm appearance.

Seemingly immune to Gibbs' nature, the sheriff shrugs. "Well, I'm telling you now." He looks back at someone by the desk. "Bring me that suspect's file, would you, Tyler?"

"And another ice pack." I toss the ice-turned-water pack into the bin nearby.

"The victim made one phone call from the motel. Local guy by the name of Masoud Tariq." He flips through the file's contents. "Only been in town a few months. He's an Iraqi."

"Same as the victim." Sheriff Tyler, one of the men working under Barrett, states.

"She's from Kuwait, actually."

Ziva mutters under her breath, offended by the sheriff's tone.

"And where are you from?"

My hands grip the armrests tightly, knuckles paling white. "What the hell does that have to do with the case, sheriff?"

"Agent Giudice." Gibbs calls in a quiet tone. "Go take a walk outside. Ziva can call you back when we're ready for you."

"Yes, sir."

I kick the chair from behind me and storm out of the room, all the while glaring at the sheriff. A minute or so later, Ziva comes out to get me.

"What is going on with you?"

My eyes avert from her harsh gaze.

She lifts two fingers. "First you break up with Tony, now you berate a sheriff for misinterpreting a woman's ethnicity?"

"Don't lie to me." I growl heftily. "You hated him for saying it just as much as I did."

"Only I was able to keep my emotions in control." She remarks with a breathy sigh.

"If that's all, we should really —"

Her hand cups my arm, restraining from moving forward.

"Working with someone for over a year reveals quite a few characteristics and personality traits."

"And what do you know about me, Ziva? Tell me."

"These past couple of weeks. . .you have not been yourself."

Gibbs assigns me and Tony to take Ducky and the body back to headquarters while he, Ziva, and McGee stay behind with Masoud Tariq and Ruby Rae.

"Here's some ice for your. . .black eye." Abby presses the cold object against my eye for me and holds it in place.

My lips form a small smile as I relax in my chair. "Got any Advil? Or Percocet? Maybe Vicodin?"

"Lollipop?"

"That works, too."

After retrieving Tariq's real identity — Wasim Al Fulani, a former Republican guard — Tony calls Gibb to report our findings.

With the case still going on, I decide to visit Jaiden at the hospital. The worker at the front desk pages him for me while I wait.

"Evie." Jaiden grins when he sees me. "What a surprise."

My elbows lean against the countertop. "A good one, hopefully."

"Oh, when you're involved, every surprise is good." He kisses my cheek gently.

"I thought it would be nice if you give me a brief tour of the hospital. Maybe we can hit up the cafeteria, too." I suggest.

"What a sweet woman." Grabbing me a visitor's pass, he leads me down the hallway. "I know hospital food has a bad rep, but we have a wide assortment of food."

"And if I get food poisoning, well, I'm already at the hospital."

"You're cute when you make jokes."

He removes his doctor's coat, leaving him in just his blue scrubs. Before I can say anything, he wraps it over my shoulders.

"How's the black eye doing?" His thumbs pads against the skin under my eye. "Have you been pressing ice on it at timely intervals?"

A short chuckle leaves my lips. "I have, yes. But my coworkers think my date last night tried to assault me."

"Oh, God, no." He brushes his lips against my temple. "I just can't open champagne bottles for the life of me."

The next morning, Tony and I are up in MTAC upon the director's orders. Gibbs and Ziva find Fulani down in Edenvale and guard him to the hospital after the sheriff brothers shoot him down.

"We don't normally open these files to just anyone." Raines mentions in a reluctant tone.

"I guess NCIS isn't just anyone." Tony shrugs.

"Lieutenant Shaheen had a certain amount of autonomy, Agent DiNozzo."

I slowly pace across the carpeted floor. "Similar to a Marine covering his ass."

"Marine Officers don't cover their assses, Agent Giudice." He shoots sternly. "I've uploaded the file on the work we did in Iraq. Code name was Operation Cauldron." The marine adds.

"Classification?"

"Top secret. Strictly a need-to-know basis." He states. "Lieutenant Shaheen was one of the best I had. You two find who did this."

Without another word, he exits the call.

"Working on it." The male agent mutters under his breath.

After calling Gibbs — again — to share what we know now that we've read through the Operation Cauldron files, Tony and I are left in an awkward moment of silence.

A nervous chill runs down my spine. "There's no reason we can't be friends, right?"

"Oh, I'm sorry, were you talking to me?" His eyes narrow into slits, mouth curled down angrily.

"Damn it, Tony." I cross my legs. "We used to be friends long before we started dating. Can't we just go back to that?"

"And forget we ever dated in the first place?" He questions.

". . .no. I don't want to forget it." I shake my head.

"You still never gave me a reason for a breakup."

"I told you —"

"Eva, you can't give me the it's not you, it's me crap!"

A few agents at neighboring desks look over to the bullpen from Tony's sudden outburst. But soon, they return to their work.

"Elevator. Now."

The two of us walk into the next vacant elevator. I hit the emergency button, halting movement and turning off most of the LED lights.

My words drip with toxic poison. "I've never opened up to anyone, and then your snarky ass came along and destroyed every wall I had built up."

"My snarky ass?" He scoffs out loud. "You came into my life and converted me into some one-woman type of man."

"And your future wife's gonna thank me for that."

"Well, then, you should just thank yourself."

I release the emergency button before facing the doors. Tony's faintest touch reaches for my shoulder, and for a second, I expect him to pull me back into his arms.

But the moment flashes by. . .and nothing has changed.

Gibbs, McGee, and Ziva return in the afternoon with Fulani. They take him into interrogation where Gibb will work his magic.

Later, we invite Major Raines to the conference room and tell him that we know he's Lieutenant Shaheen's real killer.

"Eva."

I glance back to see. . .Ziva.

"Ziva. Hi." My lips curve up in a gentle smile. "Did you need something?"

"Why don't you come over tonight?" She abruptly offers.

Slightly confused, I stare at her with furrowed brows. "I'd love to, but is there an underlying reason? Or just because?"

"Both."

"Both?"

"It has been a while since you last came over. And I feel that as your friend. . .I should be worried."

"Worried?" I let out a small laugh. "Worried about what?"

"You have told me about your. . .prior eating disorder. And I feel the need to look after you now that you and Tony are —"

"Broken up?"

"Yes." Shyly, the liaising agent nods.

I grab my bag from underneath my desk. "Should we pick up some takeout? I don't think either of us wanna cook tonight."

"I was thinking Chinese, perhaps?"

"Or maybe Mediterranean."

"What about pizza?"

"One can never go wrong with pizza."