Title: Peace and Goodbye
Fandom: NCIS
Author: Alidiabin
Words: 1,018
Disclaimer: I own nothing
Warnings/ Spoilers: Shalom
Parings: Ziva/Namir
Summary: As death over takes him, Namir thinks about Ziva.
Peace and Goodbye
Namir Ishmael lay down in the bed, as the blood seeped from his body. The Iranians had turned on him. He should not be surprised; if he was running the op he would have done the same thing. Hell, even the 'tame' agencies like the CIA or MI-6 would have done the same thing. It is the oldest trick in the book and it prevented anything coming to back to haunt the agent or the agency. Still, he had naively hoped that this time it would be different. Namir had been naïve enough to believe Faatin had feelings for him. He could hear Ziva's voice in his head, sometimes you are a real idiot Namir.
Oh Ziva, Namir thought as he felt his limbs weaken and as each desperate breath became laboured. Namir found that as death inched closer to him. Ziva was the favourite of all the partners he worked with in Mossad, and not just because she was the only woman or because they slept together. She was a talented operative. She was also smart. Namir would never admit it at the time but when he first met Ziva he was smitten.
Ziva and Namir had only worked together for three short months, while Ziva was stationed at the Parisian embassy. Light cover, that was the agency called it. Ziva called it punishment; she had disobeyed a direct order while in Cairo by going back in for Jenny Sheppard an American agent, whom she had struck up some sort of comrade. Ziva had not been able to use nepotism to get out of Director Podell's order.
Namir wanted a cigarette, scratch that he needed a cigarette the Israeli ambassador to France was the biggest bastard he had ever met. He had made it too the courtyard of the French embassy only to realise he had forgotten his lighter.
"Need a light," a woman said in his native tongue. Namir reached for his gun. The woman smiled. Namir looked closely at the girl, she reminded him of someone. Of Deputy Director David.
"Relax," she said holding out her Mossad ID as she leaned forward and whispered her verification code into Namir's ear. Her breath tickled his ear.
Namir wished he had known then what he was getting himself into back then. Not that it would have stopped him, he was smitten. Beautiful women were his weakness. A cliché weakness but he was a male. He was a red blooded male and Ziva David was a beautiful woman.
Ziva leaned on the wall of the ambassador's dining room, the ambassadors naïve wife insisted on dinner for all the embassy staff every Friday, she was the only one who actually enjoyed the dinners. Ziva swore under her breath as the wife told some boring story. Both of them were not on duty, so despite better judgement the two mossad officers took drink after drink. Namir discovered that Ziva was a feely drunk. Her hands run up his thigh.
Four hours later the pair of them were drunk as the stumbled into the officers' quarters. Ziva laughed as Namir tried to be quiet. He leaned over her and covered her mouth. She leaned forward and kissed him. He kissed back. They scurried to the closet room.
The old line about ones life flashing before them before they died, was somewhat true, Namir thought. He got to die remembering sleeping with a beautiful woman was definitely a good way to go out.
Ziva walked out of the ambassador's office with a smile on her face. Namir breathed a desperate sigh of relief, Ziva had been called in their half an hour ago. Namir had spent that half hour wondering if someone had told the ambassador about him and Ziva.
"All good," Namir asked. Ziva smiled.
"Better than good," Ziva said. "We have a mission."
The terrorist died on a quiet street. Two shots to the chest. Ziva on the back of the motorbike. Her hands clinging to his chest. Blood seeped from him as he fell to ground. Namir did not look back. Ziva did. Afterwards Ziva and Namir had sex.
Then it all changed with a phone call.
Ziva's face soured. She fiddled with her necklace, something Namir knew to be a nervous habbit. Ziva listened on the other end of phone line. She looked away from Namir. She uttered something that Namir could not hear. She hung up, Namir swore there was a tear in her eye. Ziva walked toward her room in the officers' quarters.
"Ziva," Namir called but Ziva did not respond.
Namir reached her door. He debated just barging in. But this was not a silly movie.
"Namir I hear you," Ziva called. "Come in."
Namir walked into her clean room. Ziva was sitting on the bed holding a photograph. Namir looked at it, three children with smiling faces.
"Siblings or cousins," Namir asked as Ziva ran her finger over the elder child on the end, the boy.
"Siblings," Ziva whispered. Suddenly a morbid thought crossed Namir's brain, had one or both of them died.
"Dead or alive," he asked. Ziva looked up at him. Her mouth open.
"Tali," she said pointing to the girl. "She is dead. A bus bomb but that was years ago, but my brother, half-brother Ari is alive."
"What is the problem?" Namir asked confused by Ziva's behaviour.
"Ari infiltrated an American federal agency NCIS through their morgue," Ziva gulped, "he injured a medical examiner's assistant and numerous SWAT team members." Shame and sadness pulsated through her. "I just do not understand."
"Is there anything I can do?" Namir asked.
"I need to set up a safehouse for him," Ziva said, she got up and stowed the photo away and looked out the window. "I need to get him out of there. I need to stop him."
"I'll help," Namir said.
Namir felt his eyelids close. He felt the final call of death. There was no cliché of a white light, instead peace radiated through him. His last thought was peace and goodbye Ziva. Or put simply, Shalom.
A/N: My muse has been a little absent of late, so I don't know where she came up with this. Reviews are welcome.