His eyes were so cold, framed by the face she knew so well. She stared up into it and placed kisses on it; she had explored it with almost every part of her anatomy and had dreamt about it. The face was familiar, the icy eyes were not. They seemed to be shallow; she had hoped fervently that they were a front for a deeper emotion hidden in the depths behind, but it was not to be. The thought that the person she had spent so much intimate time with had hidden a side of him chilled her.
He had not seen her yet. He stood motionless at the bus stop, ignoring the jostling crowd around him. She stood across the road, just out of his line of sight, concealed by a row of parked cars, staring blankly at him. She could barely make out the small, square object in his clasped hand but she knew it was there. She saw his arm muscles tense and she felt herself moving towards him. She crossed the road silently, dodging the cars so adeptly that not one honked and drew attention to her. He would recognise her in an instant and she couldn't give him an advantage.
She paused a few metres from him, studying his taut mouth. He shifted again and flung her out of her reverie. His eyes flashed and she took another step forward, closing the gap between them to a couple of feet.
His finger twitched and hovered above the trigger button. If she waited one more moment, they would both be blown to pieces, along with all the other people crowding the street. She raised her arm and touched his shoulder lightly. He did not jump; he had been trained just like her to remain clam in all situations.
He saw her immediately and his face contorted. She had vaguely been hoping for a smirk, something to tell her that he really was a monster and what she was about to do was truly justified, but all he gave her was a pitiful, remorseful frown. He was apologising for his future actions which would kill them both.
Three other people were also aware of the situation and were watching intently. They were pressed up against each other, hidden in the shadows in a dingy doorway. Each could feel the other's tense bodies against their own and their warm breath mingled heavily in the cramped space as their brains tried to make sense of the situation.
'We should go now, Gibbs,' hissed Ziva angrily. She was used to attacking a situation head on and lurking in shadows while a bomb was about to go off was not part of her ideals.
'No,' Gibbs replied firmly. 'She'll do fine.'
'What if she can't do it?' argued Ziva. 'Everybody in this road will be killed.'
'I trust her,' was the simple response.
'But, Boss,' Tony protested gingerly. 'It's a big risk.' He was silenced by a glare from his stubborn boss and then by a swift kick from his annoyed partner as he accepted defeat easily.
She recognised the movements he made. She had seen them too often and they always ended in death. It depended on how prepared she was as to whose death it was: civilian or terrorist. She felt that she should be less ready to kill this man, any other person would have greater reservations and feel a lot more guilt, but she had accepted his fate and her failure to choose her men well.
She leant forward and felt his lips on hers; soft, warm flesh caressing her. She deepened the kiss involuntarily but her hand still went to her hip. The cold metal reminded her of his eyes and contrasted with the moist lips tongue wandering around her mouth. His free hand snaked around her shoulders, his other still hovering above the button. She pressed her body further into him, steeling herself for the impact of the bullet into his skull.
Ziva clenched her jaw and ran her hand along the barrel of her gun, calming her wiry nerves. Gibbs's complacence towards the immediate danger infuriated her and she longed to take the situation into her own hands and ignore his direct order. It was only Tony's arm on hers, holding her back, that prevented her from doing just that. She made a note to thank him later, if they were still alive. Her mood did not improve with the kiss.
'Gibbs, she will not do it,' she stated.
'Wait,' Gibbs answered, with doubt in his voice. He had been so sure that she would step up to the plate and do what was necessary but now she was kissing him. He blinked and steadied himself. He trusted his judgement but too many lives were at stake.
She was enjoying this farewell kiss and she had to force herself to do the subsequent action. Her fingers clasped around the barrel of the gun and gently drew it from its nesting place in her belt. He was so enraptured by the kiss that her movement went undetected. She manoeuvred the butt to a few inches away from his temple, ran her tongue one final time around his mouth, and pulled the trigger.
Her eyes fought to stay open; she needed to see the final expression in his eyes, and was relieved to see the loving edge to them that she knew. She felt blood spatter across her face and his body went limp in her arms. Ignoring the splash of his blood covering her body, she fell to the floor with him and her hands flew to his backpack. Tearing open the zip, she carefully pulled out the metal cage harbouring the fatal explosives. Her fingers disregarded the searing pain in her heart and began to worm their way through the labyrinth of wires. She found the correct one and pulled a small knife out of a sheath strapped to her leg. The wire was cut before she was joined by the trio of agents, panting and breathless.
She laid one hand on the dead man next to her before straightening up. She stared at her companions defiantly. 'You doubted me.' It did not require an answer but was abrupt and truthful. She nodded knowingly at the shifty eyes avoiding contact with her own. She did not blame them for their reservations; they had only met her earlier that day.
The moment they set eyes on her for the first time was clearly etched in the agents' memories. She had appeared at the top of the stairs, composed and not at all out of breath after her lengthy climb. She was clutching a bloody knife in her hand and she had weapons strapped all over her tightly leather clad body. She was slender and had an erotic aura about her. All men present were immediately hard and many of the women licked their lips at the sight unwittingly. She strode straight over to Gibbs and demanded he give her knife back. He had been utterly clueless as to what she meant. She had seemed disappointed by this response and her opinion of the older man had been significantly lowered since then. He had yet to regain her respect.
The dead man who had her knife stuck in his chest had been wheeled in the night before and the knife had been their only lead. The knife had left her gloved hand and flown in a graceful arc to pierce his heart. No finger prints, no witnesses, no evidence other than her willing confession. She admitted freely to murder and handed over her identity card with a gleeful chuckle. She had full authorisation to kill anyone who interfered with her mission to eliminate a terrorist cell. She had done that quickly and effectively with only one left to execute. She had little knowledge of his character and only knew of his whereabouts. They demanded that they accompany her and she agreed provided that they don't interfere. They accepted but their resolve to keep their end of the bargain waivered when she realised who the target of her shot was.
Now, as she stood over his body victorious with her eyes defying them to disagree or question her state of mind, they were glad that they had, if not trusted Gibbs's judgement, kept to the agreement and not intervened. McGee would be glad he remained behind his desk.
Ziva was the first to meet her eyes and winced at the veiled suffering visible only to those who had seen the expression looking into their own eyes in a mirror. Ziva had last seen in herself the night after she sent a bullet whizzing through her brother's brain. Now, she saw it in another woman, someone who had killed her husband. Ziva took solace in the knowledge that she was not alone but felt guilty and expelled the thought instantly. She nodded curtly at the woman who inclined her head slightly in gratitude and watched as the woman turned on her heel and departed the crime scene, leaving three people staring after her; one appreciative old man, one stunned younger man gazing lustily at her retreating ass, and one understanding ex-assassin.
Sorry – I know that all of my stories seem to be case based and rather similar but I got tired of Tony + Ziva sex. However, I promise anyone who gives a damn some more sex stories. No more assassins (though I really miss deadly Ziva – she hasn't had a real fight scene in ages – not counting her spat with Liat)