When morning dawned following Gibbs' tense confrontation with the mob, he and McGee immediately went to work. They were Americans a long way from home, and their only connection to their usual resources was a crackling satellite connection that allowed them to spend no more than ten minutes per phone call. Neither of them earned more than a few sympathetic syllables before their pleas were met with the nagging beep of an ended connection. Tensions slowly rose with the sun, and by noon Gibbs could see that McGee was on the verge of spiking the sat-phone into the dirt.
"McGee," he said brusquely.
"What?" Tim replied, his voice sharp. He instantly winced at his tone, and covered it by rubbing the sweat that had gathered on his upper lip. "Yeah, boss?" he tried again.
Gibbs tilted his head in forgiveness, and extended an open palm for the phone. "Take a break," he suggested. "Get some water." He nodded up at the sun. "Shade too."
He watched the younger man wrestle with the urge to protest, but ultimately give in to his frustration. McGee handed him the phone with a murmur of thanks. Even after Tim disappeared inside, Gibbs took his time deciding his next course of action. The problem was that they weren't making any progress, and they were running out of time. They were calling the people with the most resources to share, but Gibbs wondered if that was the right tack. The people with the most resources had the slowest response time. With a mob breathing down his neck, Gibbs needed to focus his dwindling hours of daylight on the people would be able to facilitate as swift a response as possible. At this point, even having just a few more bodies on hand would make a world of difference. The problem was his list of people who were mobile and reachable were far and few between.
Reachable or not, there was only one name that rose to the top of the list of those he'd want watching his back. Gibbs dialed solemnly, unaware of the eyes on him as he put the phone to his ear and squinted into the sun. He received no answer, and left his coordinates in a brief message. "I need your help," he finished. "Meet us as soon as you can. We'll be waiting."
When he hung up, Catherine Tavier stood at his elbow, shielding her eyes from the glaring midday sun. "Hardly seems the same town, does it?" She remarked of the people passing by along the street. None of them gave the women's shelter a second look as they moved past. One could almost believe that they didn't care about the shelter or what it stood for, that they knew nothing of the mob that had tried to murder the girls last night. Except that Gibbs knew that in a town like this, no one could possibly be unaware of the events of last night, and that same disinterest now condemned each and every one of the passersby as equally culpable as those who attacked last night.
"I am truly grateful for everything you've done for us, Agent Gibbs," Catherine continued. "I can't thank you enough. But they will come again, and neither you nor Agent McGee will be able to stay indefinitely."
She was right. Gibbs' gambit with the mob the night before gave the girls a brief respite. They might—might—get a pass tonight. After that, however, the men would return, and there would be nothing to stand in their path. Gibbs didn't have the ability or resources to provide the girls with the long-term protection they needed. If his contact got his message, however, there may yet be some hope for these girls. He lifted his hand and indicated the satellite phone he clasped. "I've made a call. They can help."
"What kind of reinforcements?" Catherine asked sardonically. She lacked the support of the UN troops, and she knew it. "A small army, perhaps?"
"Nope," Gibbs smirked, turning to rejoin McGee inside the building. "Better."
That night and the following day passed uneventfully, to the relief of every person in the house. Gibbs spoke candidly with their UN contact, who repeatedly asked him and McGee to return to base with him.
"These women need your help," Tim told the man boldly, arms crossed angrily over his chest. "You have the means and opportunity to help them find better lives and you're not doing anything. What's the point of having troops in the area if you're not going to help where help is needed?"
"I wish we could," the Lieutenant replied earnestly, "but this is not our objective. Nor is it yours. You have the information you need, don't you? You no longer have any business in this country. The General wants you out."
"That an order?" Gibbs asked. If it was, they had a problem. Even he could only push the limits of the UN's goodwill so far, and if the General wanted them gone, they'd be gone by sundown.
To Gibbs' relief, the Lieutenant sagged. "Not yet. But I believe it will be if you push your luck much farther. I like you Agent Gibbs. I want to help here, and I've done all I can to advocate for them, but I do have my orders, and they aren't here."
"You're looking for Al Qaida, right?" McGee pointed out relentlessly. "How much do you want to bet that mob was part of it? You can lean on them, pressure them to either leave the girls alone or give them information about other cells."
Gibbs hadn't realized Catherine was eavesdropping until she spoke up, eyes wide with worry. "You can't be serious. Those men are looking for any excuse to burn us out, or worse! If any of them are targeted for being Al Qaida, the rest will come looking for trouble here!"
"She's right," Gibbs agreed. It was an option he'd already considered and dismissed for the same reasons. They couldn't remove the threat; at best, they could remove the bullseye from the girls' backs. At the very least, maybe they could put some obstacles between the mob and the shelter.
McGee huffed in frustration. "What else we can do?"
"We wait," Gibbs returned simply. He eyed the Lieutenant. "Get us as much time as you can. We won't start anything, but we will stay here until we are given orders to leave, or we get some help. Whichever comes first."
Their reprieve ended that night. Gibbs felt it in his bones long before he heard the first rumble of an approaching vehicle. Even before sundown, the very people he and Catherine had been observing passing by the shelter such nonchalance seemed to hurry past, their pace hastened by some unspoken threat. In a way, it was a blessing. It gave them time to prepare, and tell the women what they should do if Gibbs and McGee failed to keep them at bay. There wasn't much they could do, but they had a choice. Surrender quietly and return home to live out their lives; or fight to the bitter end, here and now.
Gibbs hoped it wouldn't come to that. He had yet to hear back from his contact, and had no idea if she had even gotten the message. He was on his own, and couldn't bank on a miracle save with so many lives on the line. Even so, Gibbs continued to hope as the rumble and cough of sand-crusted vehicles bounced off the buildings around him, encroaching steadily. The bodies they bore into sight were familiar faces from the altercation before, one of whom seemed to have a stiff shoulder as they glowered at him. Gibbs' eyes caught on his opponent from the night before and then passed on, dismissing him as the group's possible ring leader. Sure enough, there was one man who stepped out of his vehicle first, and approached Gibbs as an equal.
The man wore a dark turban and white robes, his features disguised by the shifting shadows as his men lit torches from behind. Gibbs gripped his weapon more firmly. There were twice as many aggressors as the last stand-off they'd had, and he was again the only one who stood in the street. McGee had protested but Gibbs knew their only advantage was to disguise their true numbers. Tim was at his post behind the boarded up windows, already finding his targets. It would be difficult for him to get off a clean shot with Gibbs in the foreground, but if the crap hit the fan, that wouldn't matter.
The ringleader's head swung left and right, sweeping his gaze over the men lining up at his back. He knew the ominous picture they painted, and Gibbs saw the silhouette of his cheeks bulge in a dark smile. Gibbs shifted the stock of his rifle into the pocket of his shoulder. In the space of a heartbeat, he could sight and fire before the ringleader could react. One shot, and he could end it before the melee could start. As soon as the thought occurred to him, Gibbs dismissed it. Taking the first shot might dispel this crowd tonight, but it would rain all kind of hell over the girls barricaded in the house behind him. They would lose the protection of the UN, such that it was, and they would be on their own once he and McGee returned to the States. He could not strike first. He hesitated to cause even moderate harm, knowing the women had nowhere else to go, and revenge for injuries would be just as swift. Their only hope of further support from the UN meant that they had to wait for the mob to make the first move, and rely on self-defense only. With only himself and McGee on hand, it wasn't a plan he particularly liked.
"Go home!" Gibbs called in warning, directing his voice towards the leader but keeping his gaze wide to keep all of the men in his periphery. "You have no business here!"
"You are mistaken," the nameless leader declared. "It is you who have no business here, American. It is time for you to go home, and stop filling our daughters' heads with nonsense!"
"They made their own choices," Gibbs countered.
"They are young and foolish! They do not know what is best for them. You lead them down the path of sin and destruction. We will no longer allow you to lead them further astray!" The man's shoulders dropped in readiness. Gibbs tightened his grip on his rifle, ready to aim once the man made his move. "Kill—"
His command was interrupted by a sharp whine that ended with an explosion of dirt at his feet. The ringleader froze in confusion, until several seconds later they heard the tell-tale crack of a rifle in the distance. The men immediately began to shift with growing panic—they weren't told there would be a sniper. As their leader tried to reign them back in line, Gibbs breathed a sigh of relief. He had his back up.
"You didn't think I was stupid enough to be out here on my own, did you?" he announced forcefully, cutting through the growing din of the men's fear. The leader turned and faced him, eyes sharp in the torchlight. Gibbs met his gaze unfazed, and tapped the side of his skull, grinning. "Next one is a headshot."
In the darkened streets, the rest of the town was silent, a quiet broken only by the sounds of the milling agitators. Some were already gravitating towards their vehicles, but the man who had commanded Gibbs to leave stood still, a small man in a situation rapidly spiraling out of his control. Within moments the struggle between fight and flight was over, and the man's nose crinkled angrily in defeat, allowing himself to be pulled back to the waiting Jeep. Gibbs held his rival's gaze, and though not a word was spoken he knew that this wasn't the end. Bitter vengeance burned in the man's eyes, and in them Gibbs saw a bit of himself—the dogged determination that spurred Gibbs to push limits would bring this man and his crew back to this place again and again. For tonight, however, they were outmaneuvered and it would buy the girls one more day.
Gibbs waited until the headlights disappeared and the rumble of the engines faded from earshot before he turned away and stared into the darkness from which the saving shot had come. Wordlessly, he tilted his head towards the structure, inviting their guardian angel to join them. It would take time to pack up and make the careful trek down the hill. Gibbs took advantage of the minutes and stepped into the women's shelter to check on the others. Catherine nodded that no one was hurt, but Gibbs saw that they were all still tense. He watched Catherine get to work, passing around water and speaking quietly to each of the girls in turn. McGee gravitated towards him.
"Boss, the third shooter—" McGee's eyes were round, his grip on his pistol still firm. Gibbs could see the lingering effects of adrenaline, but was pleased to know that his agent was otherwise calm. Calm and puzzled. "Who…?"
"Give it a minute, Tim," Gibbs said softly. He met McGee's eyes and held them, silently urging him to not overthink it. The wheels turned, and when McGee didn't ask any further questions, it was clear he trusted Gibbs had it under control. Gibbs nodded and left it at that. There would be time for explanations later.
He joined Catherine, and through her translating spoke with a few of the women. They were beginning to relax, and by the time Gibbs rose again, the youngest girls were already beginning to doze. He glanced at his watch and slipped out the front door, securing it firmly behind him. The night air was now cool enough to feel refreshing, making his sweat tacky against his skin. He lingered at the corner of the building, just visible in the light cast from a neighboring window. He kept his eyes and ears peeled for movement, but still didn't hear anyone approach until a familiar voice drifted from the shadows.
"That was risky, Jethro." Ziva stepped from the shadows of the alley, barely a shadow in the dark coming to rest against the far building. Gibbs shifted, and bringing her into soft focus in the light leaking from the window behind him. She stood balanced and ready, at ease in the dark. He doubted the long rifle bag across her shoulder was the only weapon on her person, and in fact spied a suspicious lump of shadow on her right thigh that resembled a 9mm semi-automatic. The longer he waited, the more his eyes took in: the relaxed muscles around her eyes, the restored sparkle of youthful energy in her gaze as she looked at him.
"Didn't expect you so soon," he returned finally. Her smirk reminded him it was a good thing she'd arrived as quickly as she had. Tonight would have ended very differently had it been only him and McGee against the mob. "Thank you."
"I'm glad I was able to help," Ziva replied. "It would have been difficult to explain why American agents are shooting at Afghani citizens."
"Not much choice," he said simply. For several moments they regarded each other comfortably. Gibbs carefully packed away the things he wanted to tell her, and focused on the task at hand. "Ziva—"
"Wait." She interrupted him gently, her eyes scanning the street behind him. "Follow me." She melted into the darkness as easily as a cat. Gibbs followed quickly before he could lose her in the shadows. He trailed silently behind her as she led him through the narrow alleys. They traveled without eyes upon them, and didn't run into a single other soul. They paused only once when they furtively crossed a wide street to the continued alley beyond. Ziva led him to a short wide building nearly half a mile from the shelter and swiftly picked the lock. Once inside, she brought them upstairs to another locked room, which yielded just as quickly to her picks.
"I set this up as a potential safe house years ago," she explained, waving at the small, dusty room around them. "I didn't realize how close the shelter was until I tracked your coordinates. We got lucky."
Ziva locked the door behind them and swiftly struck a match to light a small oil lantern that sat waiting on a low table just inside the door. She moved both lantern and table to the middle of the room, where it could cast its small glow without leaking too conspicuously out the crack under the door. It was just enough light for them to see each other, no more. Ziva pulled up a pair of dusty chairs and set them on either side of the table. She claimed the one with a direct line of sight to the door and sat, sweeping her long hair over one shoulder as Gibbs settled in the remaining seat. "Now, you can explain. Why are you in Kabul? And why call me?"
Now he told her everything he hadn't in his message: the case that had led them here, and the men who threatened to return the girls to the homes they'd left. He even told her about Franks' involvement. It didn't occur to him to hesitate until the words were already spilling out of his mouth. She was the only one Gibbs could say knew Franks as well as he did, and it wasn't as though the information could be leveraged against her position at NCIS. She took the details in stride, and listened without interruption until he finished. When he fell silent, Ziva sat back and didn't speak for several long moments. Gibbs mirrored her movements and leaned back in his seat as well, prepared to let her process the information.
"And what is it that I can do that you cannot?" she asked finally. "I can move the girls here, give them a few days, perhaps a week, but that will only last until the next time one of them needs to venture out for supplies."
"That's not good enough," Gibbs sighed. He rubbed a tired hand over his face. The past few days were starting to catch up to him. He could feel it in his bones, and felt dull in the face of his partner's renewed energy.
"No," Ziva agreed dourly, "it's not. I can teach them how to defend themselves, fortify the building for a worst case scenario, but these girls aren't warriors, Gibbs. And I can't teach them enough before they'll need to use it. And frankly, if the rest of the village finds out the girls can handle weapons, there will be no safe quarter for them anywhere." Gibbs nodded his agreement. "They need to get out of the country."
Gibbs didn't respond, but it was the solution he was waiting for. It was the only permanent solution, but one he couldn't facilitate himself. That was why he'd called her. She was not just a third gun, not just someone he trusted enough to watch his back; she could disappear. She had contacts and resources that could help these girls survive, and the means to get them across the border. He saw the moment Ziva put the pieces together, and the stark surprise of realization. "Can you do it?" he asked quietly before she could dismiss it as nonsense.
Ziva inhaled slowly, her head shaking in a no. It quickly shifted into a shrug as her thoughts continued to work, going over her options. "I don't know," she sighed. "To get one or two of them out would be a simple thing. But over a dozen? I do not know Franks' network of contacts, or where to even begin trying to trace his steps." She closed her eyes, a grim determination stilling her features. When she reopened them, they were calm and steady. "I will do what I can. Perhaps if I talk to Leyla, she may be able to tell me something about her own journey that can lead me to a step in the pipeline."
It wasn't much of a promise, had it come from anyone else, but it was enough for Gibbs. Ziva wasn't one to give up easily. If she committed to helping the women back at the shelter, he knew should would exhaust every resource until the job was done. The way forward may not be clear to either of them now in the shadows of the night, but she would find a happen, and do whatever she needed to do to make it work.
He sat back in his chair, lifting his head against his fatigue to take in the sight of her. She was determined, he could see plainly. Less plain was the heat of her gaze as she brought her eyes to his; for a moment, he thought he imagined it, conjured by his wish to know she had missed him as much as he had her. Then he saw her chest lift sharply, and he felt an electric spark that jumped from his chest to his fingertips, locking his throat against the words that rose to be spoken.
Ziva rose suddenly to her feet, her chair squeaking against the wooden floor as she returned her rifle to her shoulder. "Dawn will come soon," she said swiftly. "We should get back to the shelter."
Gibbs swallowed against the lump in his throat and nodded. She was right; once the sun rose, it would be impossible to transfer the girls here without notice. He followed her lead out the door and back the way they came. When they neared their destination Gibbs pulled ahead to enter the house first, so that the first face Catherine and McGee saw would be a familiar one.
"Everything okay, boss?" McGee asked as soon as Gibbs stepped through the door. "You were gone for a long time."
Gibbs gave him a measured look and nodded towards the figure at his heels. "Back-up's here."
McGee's eyes flicked over Gibbs' shoulder and froze, stunned. "Ziva?" he breathed.
Ziva smiled gently, perhaps a little hesitantly. "McGee." She closed the distance between them and opened her arms just in time for Tim to engulf her in a fierce hug, tinged with desperate relief.
"It's so good to see you," he murmured, not releasing her.
"And I suppose that has nothing to do with the armed mob that was here an hour ago?" she joked into his shoulder.
"No, it doesn't," he responded succinctly. Ziva blinked, startled by the raw honesty of his response. Gibbs almost smiled. It was clear she hadn't thought much about what her departure from NCIS had meant to the rest of the team. She hadn't considered that they would still miss her, in spite of how she'd left them.
"I've missed you too, Tim," she said softly. Her arms tightened on him, her chin tucking into his shoulder. Gibbs didn't know if Ziva had forgotten she had a family in DC, but he was certain she now remembered.
When they parted Ziva shifted her attention to the rest of the rooms' occupants, but McGee's eyes never left her, as though she might disappear the second he took his eyes off her. Catherine introduced herself while Tim recovered. The pleasantries were brief, and as soon as they finished Ziva moved to the task at hand.
"It is too dangerous remain here," she told Catherine plainly. "Those men will continue to come, and Gibbs will likely be recalled within the next 48 hours." Catherine looked to Gibbs for confirmation, and he nodded. It was lucky he was still here tonight, but NCIS had overstayed its welcome.
"But you can help ward them off, can't you?" Catherine asked Ziva hopefully.
"There is a safe house not far from here. I would like to move the girls there for the next few days. It is small, but space enough. It will not hide you forever, but perhaps long enough for me to get all of you out of the country."
Catherine nodded. It wasn't much of a plan in terms of details, but it was more hope than they'd had an hour ago. When Ziva moved to speak with the girls directly, Catherine offered to translate, only to be waved away. "That will not be necessary, thank you," Ziva told her graciously before lapsing into fluent Pashtu. The girls' surprise soon faded to relief when they learned they would soon be leaving. As soon as they'd gathered their meager belongings Ziva and Gibbs took turns leading the girls in groups of two and three to the safe house. They were all silent, all aware of what it meant to be discovered. When Gibbs arrived with the last group Ziva nodded in approval before urging them to settle in and get some rest.
The girls didn't require much prodding. Within minutes their blankets were out and they found comfort enough to sleep. Ziva crossed to where Gibbs watched with an approving eye. She stood close enough to speak without raising her voice above a murmur. "I will return to the safe house until the morning," she said softly. "I will keep the lantern on and make enough noise to divert any who may be surveilling the front."
Gibbs picked up his rifle. "I'll go with you." She gave a single nod of consent. Gibbs turned to McGee. "Keep the girls safe. Keep them quiet, and if anything happens, radio me."
At McGee's nod Gibbs followed Ziva back out into the darkness. They re-entered the shelter through the back door, and wordlessly checked the defenses, and cleared their weapons to count their rounds. It was busy work, familiar to soldiers, and though it went smoothly, it was completed shortly. Only when they'd fallen into stillness did Gibbs take a moment to truly study her. She stood at the window, leaning against the chipped and dented wall se she stared through a crack in the boarded windows at the blackened street, arms folded casually across her chest. Guilt gnawed at Gibbs see how at home she was in the field, how naturally she scanned for threats in the darkness.
She had easily solved their immediate problem, and stood the best chance of providing the girls long-term protection, but for all of Ziva's ease with the current situation, it was clear she had been living a very different last few months. She was tan, and her hair had reclaimed its curl, longer now than when he'd last seen her. Her shoulders seemed slimmer, no longer carrying the old tension that had become a permanent fixture in DC. Her profile, such that he could see, showed him a face that was warm and content. Gibbs' heart lifted to see the happiness she'd earned for herself in the long few months she'd been on her own. It was followed by a sharp pain to see her resume the mantle she'd tried so hard to shed, and know that she did so at his request. As he watched, Ziva's gaze softened as her thoughts turned inwards.
"Ziver."
Her eyes closed gently at the sound of his voice. She must have expected this, known that inevitably their talk would shift from their predicament to the bond that still lingered between them. Opening her eyes, she turned her head to meet his gaze. "Jethro."
"How are you?" he asked simply.
Her lips lifted in a smile. "Good." She paused. "Better," she amended.
"I can tell." If Ziva was surprised by his observation, she didn't show it. She simply regarded him with eyes that twinkled in the light of the lantern. "You seem peaceful."
"Some days are better than others." Her head tilted thoughtfully. "Are you regretting having called me?"
"A little," he confessed. "But not for the reason you think." She remained silent, waiting for him to elaborate, if he wanted to. For once, she didn't rush to fill the silence. "I'm sorry to pull you back into something like this."
She huffed slightly, a wry grin twisting her lips as she returned her attention to the window. "When I got here, I was sorry too. That I hadn't refused, that I hadn't jumped at the chance to…" she trailed off, and shook her head, choosing a different route. "I wished I had continued on my journey, but as I squeezed the trigger it occurred to me that after months of trying to return to my roots, it very well may be that this is who I am at my core. If I go far enough back into my childhood, I may eventually find an innocent child, but one who ultimately chose to sacrifice that innocence to gain strength, and vengeance. That is who I am."
"You seem… okay with that."
"It doesn't mean I have to continue to be that person. I chose to become that person—I can choose to become different now as well." She shrugged. "In theory, anyway. Regardless, I can no longer lay the blame for how my life turned out at my father's feet."
Gibbs stood, and crossed to lean against the wall on the far side of the window. Ziva's eyes turned on him once more, her lips turning upwards as she anticipated his words. "There's a place for you at NCIS if you want to come back."
"I know." Her smile turned apologetic. "But NCIS is too close to Mossad and all that I no longer wish to be. If I went back now, I would soon be unhappy again."
"And this?" he asked pointedly, glancing at the room around them.
"This… perhaps it is a way to be true to myself for the sake of something good. These girls are trapped in a world where it doesn't seem possible to say no. But they did. They chose to leave, and be something more. I admire that a great deal."
"Ziva…" Her eyes found his and gripped him tight. In the low light of the lamp, with shadows hugging them both and a hostile land outside their door, she was as beautiful as she'd ever been. Gibbs' feet moved of their own volition and carried him towards her. He brushed her cheek with the back of his fingers, reverent. The knot in his stomach unraveled when Ziva leaned into the touch, her hand lifting to trap his fingers against her skin.
"I have missed you, Jethro," she assured him, eyes glowing in the lamplight. "The hardest part of these past few months has not been facing my demons, but doing it alone."
"You don't have to."
She smiled sadly. "You of all people know that I do."
He did. The truth was that he was selfish. It had been possible to let her go when she was half a world away already. Now—seeing her, touching her— he didn't know if he could do it again. "Tell me what you need."
"Give me tonight," she hummed, eyes darkening with a new kind of hunger. "Give me tonight, so that when you leave tomorrow it won't feel like I've lost you as well."
Gibbs' answer was his lips on hers in a kiss to banish all the doubt, all the uncertainties and the pain of their estranged months. Ziva's grip on his neck tightened as she returned the kiss, pulling him closer. In moments their hands were distracted by clothes, following familiar motions to search out heated skin. There was no sound but the rustle of zippers and the quickening rasp of their breaths intermingling, and the sounds of their own heartbeats pounding in their ears.
After, when Jethro woke to the first lightening of the sky outside, Ziva was up and fully dressed. She cleaned her rifle with expert ease, looking for all the world like she'd done nothing more than stand watch all night. But when she smiled at him with bright eyes, the grin was easy and genuine. She gave him one last kiss before she slipped away. McGee appeared in her stead less than an hour later, and they waited in silence until their transport arrived. Anyone watching saw the two Americans leave. Two nights later, when the Americans stayed gone, the mob returned to find nothing but an empty house.
