Disclaimer: My left eyebrow hurts, which means I own nothing. If my right ear starts to tingle, I'll be making progress.

Spoilers: Silver War.

Summary: Everyone at NCIS has a shtick – Gibbs with the head slaps, Tony with the movies, Abby with the Gothy-ness, etc. Based on her first two appearances, I thought maybe killing people was going to be Ziva's. I guess it's better they opted for the English malapropisms, but what ended Ziva's killing spree before it really kicked off?

This fic was actually posted for a few days a couple months ago, but I didn't really like the way it turned out. Mischaracterization of Jenny, mostly. I took it down to rework it and totally forgot about it. There's a caveat – I happen to think that Moussad was probably taking point on the anti-terrorist ops with NCIS when Ziva and Jen were in Europe. So…yeah.

There was no sound – not a knock or even a hiss of the pneumatic hinge – to prepare Jenny for a voice asking, "You wanted to see me, Jen?"

She jumped and looked up from behind the new desk to which she was not quite accustomed. It was not, in fact, a superior come to inform her that there had been a mistake and her promotion to the highest position at NCIS was retracted, effective immediately. The person standing casually at her door wasn't necessarily less scary than the imagined threat, given the right circumstances. Jenny cleared her throat. "Ziva, yes. I just wanted to touch base with you, make sure everything is going all right." She indicated the sofa across the room. "Have a seat. Can I get you a drink?"

"Why not?" Ziva strode confidently across the room and sat on the couch. Although she appeared relaxed, Jenny could see her new employee subtly drinking in every detail of the room. She'd probably planned three escape routes and five defensive positions by the time Jenny handed her a glass and took a seat on the sofa beside her.

"All I have is brandy." Ziva nodded and sipped the drink, allowing Jenny to direct the conversation. She opted for pleasantries. "Are you settled in your new apartment?"

"Not quite. I brought clothes for a few days. I've purchased some basic supplies and a few pieces of furniture, but the bulk of my things won't arrive for a few days yet."

"Well, if you need anything, I'm here. Questions about DC, advice," Jenny shrugged, unable to stop herself with the reminder that she was speaking to a subordinate, "dishes, spare clothes…anything."

"If I recall correctly, your tops aren't exactly tailored to fit someone with my body type." She glanced down at her chest. "I looked like I had a strangely placed pocket when you let me borrow that dress in…where were we?"

Jenny tapped a finger to her lips, momentarily caught up in the past. She wouldn't be out in the field anymore, tailing targets with fellow agents and allies in… "Bratislava."

"Right. The Slovak arms dealers." Ziva narrowed her eyes slightly, her voice becoming more focused if not less conversational, "Perhaps you could tell me one thing. Why did you really call me up here, Jen?"

Her glass clinked on the glass surface of the coffee table as she set it down. She swallowed, told herself that she was the unquestioned boss and said, "I wanted to talk with you about what happened at Manassas this afternoon. You were left with no other option, which is corroborated by Dr. Mallard's account. However, in the future…Ziva, the easiest way I can put this is that fatalities you cause in the line of duty cannot simply be written off."

"I wouldn't expect them to be."

"Yes, but let me clarify – any death caused by individuals operating under the aegis of NCIS is fully and independently investigated." For something to do, she walked to the bar and retrieved the bottle of brandy. She didn't like the idea of telling Ziva it wasn't okay for her to use deadly force. Sinking back onto the sofa, she carefully placed the bottle on the table and patted Ziva's thigh reassuringly. "I just need you to be aware that there will be consequences if it's ever determined that you've used force disproportionate to the threat."

"I understand. No shooting unless my life or the lives of my teammates or innocent people are in real and immediate danger."

Jenny was surprised that Ziva wasn't more put off by the undertones of the little speech. She pushed further. "And no stabbing."

Ziva pursed her lips. "When you say stabbing, does that include…"

"Anything you might do with a knife."

"I only ask because throwing a knife and stabbing or even slashing someone with it are completely different actions." Jenny gave her a serious look and she continued, "Right. No shooting and no stabbing with or throwing of knives unless absolutely necessary. I'll be fine with just my bare hands."

"Yes, about that…you can't intentionally injure someone during an arrest."

"Even if I make it look like an accident?"

Jenny considered for a moment. She had every confidence that Ziva could do a convincing amount of believably accidental damage, but it was far too slippery a slope. "I'm afraid not. No breaking bones, no dislocating things, no damage to a suspect's body."

Ziva raised one eyebrow. "Visible damage or verifiable damage?"

"Neither. You are not allowed to touch a suspect beyond detaining and restraining him." She held up a hand to prevent Ziva's next question, appreciating that this was a rare occasion on which the other woman could be restrained by such a weak gesture. "Not even if it won't leave a mark or be noticed on an x-ray or even be provable by anything short of an autopsy. You make the arrest and you return the suspect to NCIS."

"Oh, I see what this is about." Her eyes lit up as she laughed. "You're afraid the American media will get footage of a suspect being injured in NCIS custody and create a big roaring."

"I think you mean uproar, and that is part of it, but…"

"It's all right, Jen. I understand. Anyway, if you don't start hurting them until you start the interrogation they begin to relax because they think you're soft. Personally, I've found it works better to perform small acts of kindness between long periods of," she lowered her voice, "more intense questioning. Strike at the right moment and they'll not only tell you almost anything, but thank you for the opportunity."

Jenny tried not to look alarmed as she realized that Ziva was basically admitting to deliberately inducing Stockholm Syndrome. It was even more disturbing it didn't worry her as much as she suspected it should have. She sighed heavily. "You aren't going to be allowed to perform interrogations in your, er, normal style while you're working here."

For the first time, Ziva started to look uncomfortable. "Excuse me?"

She rushed ahead, "All interrogations are recorded for the agency's protection. There are enough suspects claiming police brutality without us even touching them. The last thing we want is a scummy lawyer having a confession thrown out because of illegal interrogation tactics. We're strictly hands-off."

"So we're arresting people who have committed murder and various other crimes and we can't even give a little taste back to them?"

"People we suspect of committing crimes." Jenny shrugged and tried to smile. "Innocent until proven guilty in a court of law."

"I thought that was only in movies." Ziva finished her drink and placed the empty glass firmly on the table next to Jen's. She stood and began to pace. "So all you do is ask questions? And they just tell you what you want to know?"

"Not always." Jenny refilled both of their glasses, holding Ziva's out when she made her next pass.

She accepted the glass and threw the drink back in a manner Jenny didn't expect. "How do you get anything done?"

"That's where the investigating comes in." She attempted to swallow her own drink in one gulp and covered her involuntary retch with some brief coughs.

She saw the effort Ziva made in placing her glass on the table rather than throwing it down. "Ridiculous. It's not that I like hurting people. What I do like is operating in the most efficient manner, and pain often makes that possible. Why did you offer me this job if I'm not going to be able to use my training to the best effect?"

Jenny refilled the glasses again. "Because you have the skills necessary to be a good investigator. You just have to apply your training in new ways. You're adaptable, Ziva. Take advantage of the experience of the team around you and learn."

She leaned down to take her glass and swirl the contents, but left them untouched, crossing her arms over her chest and staring at Jenny from across the coffee table. "You expect me to believe that you brought me here so I can learn how to investigate crime scenes?"

Jenny stood, not liking the feeling of inferiority she got from sitting. Of course she couldn't tell Ziva that she'd brought her in as an ally in the power struggle that was sure to accompany Jenny through the first part of her tenure as Director. Ziva had been her most recent comrade-in-arms – or at least the most readily accessible one who had practically volunteered for the job; Ziva, after all, had been the one to inquire about the potential for a permanent assignment in the US. Jenny knew it couldn't hurt to have someone around who'd seen her as a commanding presence in the field. Or at least as a trustworthy one. She'd known she'd have her work cut out for her the moment she'd seen Gibbs' name on the personnel list. If Gibbs got to have a former subordinate as a superior, there was no reason Jenny couldn't create a similar situation.

Ziva silently waited for her reply. Jenny finally said, "You can believe whatever you choose, but remember, you decided to come here. If you really want to take full advantage of what this job offers, I suggest you figure out why you took it."

Ziva nodded curtly. "Is that all?"

"For now."

Jenny watched Ziva walk to the door. She turned just before exiting. "That whole 'no injuring' policy – does that go for witnesses who may be withholding information as well? Right. Why don't I ask Special Agent McGee about that?"

"McGee?"

She winked. "He's scared enough to give straight answers. I just make a throwaway comment and he tenses in fear because he thinks I'm a scary Moussad officer."

"You are," Jenny said with a smile. "If I recall correctly, you used that, hm, pocket in the dress to store grenades."

"They were the right size." Ziva shrugged.

"Do I even have to mention…"

"No explosive ordinances? I guessed that one on my own. Good thing it doesn't always have to be about violence, Jen." She pulled the door closed behind her.

"Director, not Jen," she corrected to the empty office, pouring herself another drink and collapsing into the chair behind her desk. "I hope I end up regretting this in a good way."