"I owe you an apology, Tony."
"Why is that, Ziva? Were you the one to frame me for murder? Because if you were, it's gonna take more than a simple, 'I'm sorry'." Tony was lying on his back on the thin mattress set up in the corner of his cell. He was trying to breathe slowly, trying to stay relaxed, but it was difficult. He'd yet to see Gibbs…somehow he thought his boss would have come sooner, especially considering that he'd been brought here by Sacks, who was not especially concerned with his health or wellbeing. Whatever. Sacks was a jackass who got off on the miniscule amount of power he had. Hell, the bruises on Tony's face might fade by the time he was set free. Because he would be set free. He was not willing to contemplate any alternative.
"Of course I did not frame you. If I wanted you out of the way, I would do it in a less conspicuous manner. You would disappear and never come back, and there would be no evidence of foul play." Ziva's tone was a bit too smug for Tony's tastes.
"I will pretend not to be disconcerted by how happy you seem to be about murdering me and hiding all signs of your crimes. So what was it that you needed to apologize for?" He really didn't want to see her or speak to her. Their relationship had improved since their undercover operation, and for that, Tony was grateful. Ever since his showdown with Gibbs after the Warren Sorrow murder, he'd been on shaky ground with his supervisor. Gibbs didn't seem angry, per say, but clearly the confrontation had made him uncomfortable.
"You were right about me. You were right about my mission, about my planning, about everything. I am competitive enough to be angered by your knowledge but I also would love to know how you managed to work everything out on your own. How does a cop…the black sheep of a wealthy family who could not last more than two years with any city…work out something that I've been trained to do since the age of six?" Ziva was pacing back and forth in front of him (beyond the cage, of course), clearly more irritated than she was willing to admit.
He smirked, then grew serious. "I can't really say that it was any one thing that set me off. I formulate possible correlations in my head. Gibbs hates coincidences, yeah? Well, he doesn't believe in them, I mean. So whenever things happen too easily and quickly, it gets me to thinking. Because life is hard. Life never happens flawlessly except when it's fiction. So I find myself looking for fictions and setting up scenarios in my head. The one I laid out for you outside your hotel room back at the beginning of all this was the one that my gut was telling me was the most viable."
"What is this gut? Gibbs has one and you have one. Is it gender specific, or is it just American heartburn misidentified?" She arched a brow, her snide comment at odds with her relaxed expression.
"It's not something I could describe or teach you. I spent most of my life observing the behavior of other people. When I was a kid, it was important because I needed to know if my dad was vicious drunk., sloppy drunk, or nostalgic drunk-"
"Why? What was the difference to you?" Ziva asked quietly.
"Usually, it just meant different locations for bruises. Vicious equaled bruises where no one could see. Painful, but easily hidden. Sloppy meant he'd smack me wherever he could reach me, and I spent many nights trying to make up believable lies for those marks. My first undercover gigs." He smiled, but knew it was an ugly, twisted parody of his usual grin. "Nostalgic meant he'd try to rip my heart out with guilt and regret."
"It must have been difficult for you."
"It is what it is. Everyone has something dark in their past. When I began my work as a cop, I started out in Peoria, then Philly, and finally Baltimore. Peoria was a mess from day one. I let people in…college was a good experience for me because I made a lot of friends, but it also lowered my defenses. I forgot that college is not reality, and I paid the price. I stuck it out as long as I could, but I knew Peoria would not be where I would retire. Philadelphia and Baltimore didn't work either for other reasons." He stopped talking. Why was he telling her all this? Was it because he trusted her or because he loved the job more than anything else? He snorted a bit. He didn't trust her anymore than he could see her. But he loved working for NCIS. It was a career for him, and he was not going to let some liaison from Mossad stand in the way of what he wanted. "I rely on my ability to read people, and you were a difficult, but not impossible story to figure out. Caitlin Todd, the agent who your half-brother killed, had some profiler training. She got me interested in the field, and I've been looking into the subject. Lots of sociology, lots of psychology. It helps me identify people and their aspirations."
"You are very skilled at what you do, Tony. But then, you knew that, right? Your self esteem does not need any encouragement." She winked at him. "Bye Tony. We will get you out of here."
His smile faded as soon as she walked away. "Yeah. Sure."
"I smelled you coming, Boss. Pepperoni, sausage, extra cheese, right? My favorite. Thanks. I'll save that for later."
Gibbs knew that there were multiple problems with both the statement that his senior agent made and Dinozzo's appearance.
"The hell happened to you?" His voice was too gruff and angry, but it got a response. Dinozzo was front and center by the time his question was finished. Gibbs reached his hand through the bars and raised Tony's chin, studying the marks on his face with increasing consternation. "Sacks?"
"Apparently, his sense of humor is not very well-developed. He'd be an excellent Herbert Lom to my Peter Sellers." Tony's glib response had Gibbs rolling his eyes and chuckling reluctantly.
"Yeah, well I'm not denying that Sacks would make a good Inspector Dreyfus, but are you really taking on the role of Inspector Jacques Clouseau?"
"Hell, boss. At least he got the guy in the end, right? That's the only thing that's gonna save me now."
Gibbs could only watch as Dinozzo proceeded to interrogate himself. Unfortunately, if this case ever went to trial, the questioning would probably not be too far off what the younger man was suggesting. But whoever was framing Tony had slipped up somewhere. They just needed to find it. The problem was that the person who Gibbs relied on to solve these sorts of cases was the one who was currently locked up.
"I'm not getting out of this one, am I boss?" Tony's green eyes were wide and full of fear that he either could not hide or was not aware of. Jethro swallowed hard, and then motioned with his hand. When Tony was within reach, he cuffed the back of the younger man's head, eliciting a quiet, "Thanks boss". He followed the traditional touch with a finger to the chin, an unspoken encouragement to Tony. Just like that, all the animosity and bitterness of the confrontation about trust disappeared. Tony smiled, silent.
"We're getting you out, Tony. You work with the best, and we aren't going to let you down." Tony nodded and seemed to take comfort in Gibbs' words.
Later, Tony hovered outside of Abby's lab, smiling as he watched her storming around, setting things to rights and muttering about getting incense to rid the lab of the "evil Chip spirits". She seemed no worse for the wear, and Tony had seen firsthand how well she took care of her wayward assistant. Still, he had to see her one more time, just to make sure.
"Hey Abs."
"Tony." A moment later, she was in his arms. He sighed and wondered how it was that his notion of home was in Abby's arms and Gibbs' head slaps. "I'm sooo sorry that it was my findings that put you in jail."
"Not your fault, Abs. And it's over now. So let's just not think about it, yeah?" He squeezed her gently, then let her go.
"Tony. Let's go out for a drink." Abby grinned.
"Eh, not sure I'm up for it tonight, Princess." He shook his head. "I need to do some thinking."
"About what?" With her head cocked to the side, she looked like an inquisitive Black Lab puppy…the pigtails helped complete the picture.
"Ziva." The fact that she had visited him in jail, and had sought, in her own fashion, to comfort him, made him wonder about his lack of trust in her. Maybe it was time to let her in. He'd let Abby in and it hadn't been a mistake. Maybe Ziva was worth it.
"You know, I really hated her when she first showed up here. Because it was right after Kate was killed and she was so smooth and it just felt like Director Sheperd was shoving her at us. Kinda like how parents of kids who hate each other force them to play together, or something. But she's super smart and she is freaking crazy deadly. So maybe you could cut her some slack, huh? If you are here for the long haul, and she is too, then it would be best to just bury the hatchet. Not an actual hatchet, of course, and I'm not really sure how that phrase came to mean what it means, but you know what I mean, right?"
"As much as I ever know what you mean." He smiled, then nodded. "Maybe you're right."