A/N: This is a story written for the NFA White Elephant Exchange. It is either a very long oneshot or a series of very short drabbles covering the 18 ways Ziva could kill someone with a paperclip, joined together very loosely by an opening and closing scene. It's a real departure for me in that Ziva is the main character, and while you'll see other people you might recognize, the bulk of the story takes place before NCIS.
Disclaimer: I do not now, nor have I ever, owned any aspect of NCIS. Any recognizable characters belong to CBS, DPB and the NCIS franchise. I'm not making any money. Too bad.
Dying at the Hands of Other Men
by Enthusiastic Fish
Criminals do not die by the hands of the law; they die by the hands of other men.
~George Bernard Shaw
"Hey, Ziva."
"Yes, McGee. What is it?"
Tim smiled. "You want to get something to eat?"
"A date?"
"Just as friends."
Ziva grinned. "You are afraid of anything else?"
Tim smiled and flushed. "With you? Of course. If we dated and then broke up, I think I'd be in danger of my life."
Ziva laughed. "I would love to join you."
"By the way..."
"What is it, McGee?"
"Tony told me what you said to him."
"On which occasion?"
"That you could kill him eighteen different ways with a paperclip. Is it true?"
Ziva forced a smile. "I was exaggerating, McGee."
"Could you do it though?"
"Yes."
"Wow."
"You do not think me capable?"
"No...I didn't know a paperclip was capable."
Ziva laughed...but her mind shifted away from the small deli to another life.
x.x.x.x.x.x.x
Method #1: Stab to the throat
"Ziva, hurry up. There's someone on the way up to the office."
"I have not yet opened the safe. It will take another minute," Ziva said.
"You don't have a minute! You have twenty seconds! Get out of there!"
Ziva heard Jenny's voice but she ignored her. This information was vital to Mossad. They needed the data on Hamas movements and she would not pull out before the job was done.
"Ziva!"
Another number clicked on the combination. One to go. Slowly, Ziva moved the dial until she heard the telltale click signaling the final number. Quickly, she opened the safe. Three folders. There was one with papers clipped to the outside. She grabbed them...
...right as the door opened.
"You! What are you doing here?"
Ziva froze, files hugged close to her chest. She did not speak, did not turn around.
"Turn around!"
What to do? She could not let them know who she was. She could not let this information leave her possession. Her hand twitched toward the knife strapped to her waist.
"Don't! Put the knife on the floor. Now!"
Defeated, Ziva did as ordered...but she still faced the open safe. Her hand traveled around the edges of the folders she held...and touched the paper clip. A paper clip. She worked it slowly off the folder and held it in her hand.
"Turn around! I will see your face before I kill you!"
Slowly, carefully, Ziva turned around, holding the folders, the paper clip hooked to her sleeve.
"Put them down."
Ziva made no sudden moves, slowly letting the folders slip down to the desk. The man came closer, weapon at the ready, and Ziva could see something in his eyes beyond a desire to have her dead.
"What does Mossad want with me?"
She said nothing. Swiftly, he backhanded her across the face, giving her the perfect excuse to fall to the floor, as she lay huddled, blood dripping from a cut on her cheek, she slipped the paper clip off her sleeve and began to unfold it. She straightened the clip into a miniature lance.
"On your feet."
She didn't move, knowing that he would enjoy roughing her up.
"I said on your feet!" He reached down and grabbed her by the arm.
In an instant, Ziva exploded into action. Propelled by fear, by need and by knowing that she had nothing to lose, the tiny office implement was rammed with laser-like precision straight into the man's throat. In...and then a yank downward and out. She didn't miss her target and blood began gushing from his punctured jugular. He fought her, trying to shoot her before he died, but Ziva held his arms as more and more of his blood spilled on her and on the floor. It seemed to take forever, but by the time Jenny had made it inside, the man was dead. Ziva held onto his arms, staring into his dead eyes.
"Ziva?"
She didn't even know his name.
"Ziva?"
She knew nothing more than that he had wanted to kill her.
"Ziva."
Finally, the repetition of her name caused Ziva to look up.
"He is dead. I am uninjured."
"We have to clean up. We can't leave this to be found later."
"We have no time to clean," Ziva said, shaking herself out of the shock. "Nothing we could do would get rid of this evidence. We must destroy it."
Jenny hesitated and then nodded. Quickly, the two of them gathered what was needed and then set the charges and the accelerant. Ziva picked up the dead man and dragged him to his desk, slumping him over his blotter.
"It will confuse them at least," she said.
As they walked out, Jenny grabbed Ziva by the arm.
"I'm sorry, Ziva."
"Yes."
Method #2: Choke on it
"He is a traitor, Officer David. He must be killed. Tonight...before he can betray us."
Ziva's hand tightened around the phone.
"Do you hear me, Officer David? He must die. ...and we cannot be implicated."
Ziva said nothing. Instead, she hung up the phone and looked around the room. In order for Mossad to be innocent of this murder, it would have to be done quietly and...and in a different way. No knives, no guns...no poison. Nothing normal for her. She put her hands into her pocket...and hit upon a paperclip. She remembered the last time she had used one. It was as if she had been suddenly given a way. Her eyes fell on the room service tray. He was still in the shower. Quickly, she began to unfold the paper clip. Then, she pulled out her knife and began sharpening either end. When they were honed to a point, she folded both ends into a hook and cut the thin wire in half. The she bent it into another hook.
The shower turned off and Ziva paused. Her companion didn't usually have any qualms about walking around naked in the hotel room. Quickly, she put the metal pieces into the bowl of soup. Then, she stretched out on the bed, waiting for his appearance.
The door opened and he came out, clad only in a towel.
"Hello, Ziva."
She smiled.
"Are you hungry?" she asked.
"For many things."
She sat up and gestured for him to join her, ignoring the slight pang at knowing that he was going to die, in agony. Still, she had her orders. She began to feed him, responding to his growing arousal, giggling and flirting. Then, his expression changed and he began to cough and choke.
"Ziva! Help me! Something..." His cough grew worse and he groaned and then the blood began to come.
"You should not have betrayed us, Asaf," Ziva said softly. "You should have known what would happen."
He looked at her, eyes widening in realization.
"I will call for help...but it will be too late. You will have died."
"No...Ziva..."
"I am sorry, Asaf. That is how it must be."
It didn't take very long.
Ziva called for help and people came in and tried to help, but it was too late.
Asaf was dead.
Ziva didn't cry until later that night.
Method #3: Tipped with ricin
"What do you think you are doing, Ziva?" Hadar demanded.
"I am doing my job, Hadar. You would do well to do the same."
Ziva moved quickly across the room to her pack, pulled out the ricin which would incriminate another group in the murder. The assassination. The termination. No word seemed exactly right.
"Just shoot him and be done!"
"They do not shoot. They poison. In order to make this seem like their work, we must do as they will do."
"You will not get him to swallow those pills."
Ziva looked at the man staring resentfully at her. She smiled.
"I will not need him to swallow."
"What will you do?"
"Wait. You will see."
Quickly and carefully, Ziva pulled out a paper clip, straightened it and very carefully dipped the end into the supply. She paused just long enough for the man to realize what was about to happen. He started to jerk in his bonds.
Ziva moved quickly, stabbing the end into the man's vein.
Then, she sat back and waited.
It didn't take very long.
Nodding in satisfaction, Ziva gathered her bag and left the ricin there.
"It is done?"
"Yes, Hadar. It is done."
The entire operation had taken less than ten minutes.
Method #4: Electrocution
"Quickly, Ziva, quickly!"
"Quiet, Michael. He will hear!"
The battery was all they had. Everything had gone wrong on this mission from day one. However, they could not go back with the task undone. The man was to die and he would. It was requiring them to get a little creative, however. All they had was this old car, jumper cables that wouldn't go quite far enough...and a paper clip.
She unfolded the small wire and set about exposing the jumper-cable wires. This might not work, but it was their best option, unarmed as they were. Michael was injured and that was a large part of the problem.
Focused on her task, she worked more and more quickly until finally, Michael nudged her. The cable was exposed. The electricity running. All that was needed was contact with skin. There was a slight humming in the air as the metal of the fence began charging. Other than that...
"Are you ready?" she whispered.
"Yes."
Michael took up his position of injured party as their pursuer rounded the corner. There they were, seemingly caged with a metal fence behind them. The man said nothing.
Michael raised his arms in seeming capitulation. Ziva held her breath as she stood in the shadows. He stepped forward, gun in hand. Instantly, Ziva moved forward, shoving the man hard. Michael stepped to the side and the man ran headlong into the electrified fence. He began to scream, but he couldn't let go.
Instantly, Ziva grabbed Michael and the two of them ran for it, the screams of the doomed man echoing in their ears.
Method #5: Trip wire for a land mine
Method #6: Final connector for a bomb
Method #7: Short circuit
"I am not a teacher, Father," Ziva protested. "I am Mossad!"
"You will teach them what you know and give them a demonstration, Officer David. That is the end of it."
She could see that there was no way around the order, not when he spoke that way.
"Yes, Father," Ziva said reluctantly.
x.x.x.x.x.x.x
"...and it is not logical to assume that you will have all the elements you need. One of the most important things you will have to learn to do is to work with what is available."
"Like what?"
Ziva looked at the skeptical officer. She smiled and picked up a paper clip.
"What good is that?" he asked.
"It has saved my life more than once."
"What good is it?"
Ziva looked at the various items on the table.
"Here are two things that I can do right now."
She picked up a disarmed land mine and began fiddling with it. She armed it and then unfolded the paper clip and carefully pushed it into the slot for the trigger.
"This is now ready to be placed for someone to step on," she said. "It took less than a minute."
Then, she carefully removed the paper clip and smiled at her skeptic.
"And I did not need to have any special equipment. Only this."
"What else can you do?" came a voice from the back.
"Many things."
Ziva warmed to her role as instructor for the moment. She picked up a number of items from the table and silently began to assemble a rudimentary bomb. When it was almost finished, she looked at her audience. They were watching with interest.
"Now, this is only missing one thing. What is that?"
"A connector."
"Yes." Again, Ziva picked up the paper clip. "And now, I have a connector." She slipped it into the space between the timer and the detonator. "And now, the bomb is ready."
Her audience was impressed. She could see it.
"It can be used for more than to build. It can also be used to destroy."
Laughter. She smiled.
"Yes, it is true. This small piece of wire can be used for many purposes."
A small engine hummed in the corner of the room. Moving slowly, Ziva headed toward it, brandishing the wire. When she got to the engine, she looked at it briefly and then quickly jammed the paper clip into the wires. There was a flash and sparks. The engine died. Ziva turned around and faced the room.
She locked eyes with the skeptic. He nodded once in capitulation.
"This is not something that is taught to you in a classroom. You must learn it as an instinct. If you do not, you will be of no use to us."
"Why not?" came the same voice from the back.
Ziva searched until she found the eyes of the speaker.
"Because you will be dead...and Israel has no use for Mossad corpses."
With that, she walked out of the room.
Method #8: Mark for a sniper
"I'm in position."
Ziva nodded silently. Ari didn't need a verbal response. She began to search through the crowd. She knew he was around somewhere. She knew it. She had the symbol in her hand. A large group of laughing people came out of the restaurant. There were so many. It was the perfect opportunity. She began weaving through the happy people to her target. Then, she tripped and fell against him.
"Whoa! Watch it, lady!"
"I am sorry," Ziva said, standing up quickly. As she regained her feet, she attached the paper clip to his collar and then staggered back into the laughing crowd. She moved quickly, knowing that Ari wouldn't wait. As soon as he saw the paper clip through the scope, the man would be dead.
She knew that the task was completed less by any sound of gunfire but by the screams.
She was gone before they died away.
Method #9: Dangerous information...
It wouldn't take much. Ziva knew that. She knew just how get the ball rolling. Certainly, she couldn't guarantee the death in this way, but if she succeeded, it would keep Mossad's hands completely clean. That was important.
"Bonjour," she said, smiling winningly at the security guard. She was dressed as a courier and even had the ID for it, should they ask. ...but they never did. He waved her through and she walked back toward the office.
She paused and her bag was searched. Then, she was again, passed through.
"Les toilettes?" she asked.
Another brisk gesture led her to the restroom. In the stall, she quickly pulled one more page from under her shirt and slid it into the file, securing it in place with a handy paper clip. She smiled as she looked at it so innocently doing its job. That single clip held a man's life.
She flushed the toilet and then walked back to the main office. Once she arrived at the desk, she held out the files.
"Oui?"
"Signez ici, s'il vous plaît."
The signature was taken, the file handed over and Ziva was out of the building in under five minutes.
It took only two days for the man's body to show up in the Seine.
Method #10: Poison Dart
Ziva ran up the stairs. She knew she was being pursued and she knew that she'd run out of places to run soon. Too soon. She could take the one out that was left to her...the cyanide capsule she'd grabbed... However, it was not in her makeup to give up so easily. Instead, she kept running. ...into a supply closet. Quickly, she rifled through the shelves. She came upon a pen...and a supply of paper clips. She smiled in relief. Here was something she could at least try.
No more thinking. She disassembled the pen, leaving only the tube behind. Then, she unfolded the paper clip, making it as straight as possible. Carefully, she opened the cyanide capsule and coated the paperclip in it. Then, into the tube. Then...she crept to the door, cracked it open. Ziva saw her pursuer. She had paused, unsure of which door to try first.
That pause was enough. Ziva took aim and then blew through the tube, propelling the small piece of wire into her chaser's throat. Unless she missed her guess, it had punctured the trachea, but that, in and of itself, wouldn't be fatal. She looked toward the closet and took aim.
Ziva dove to the floor as the bullets started flying...but then she heard the telltale sound of approaching death. After a few seconds, there was a heavy thump. Taking a chance, she opened the door. The woman lay on the floor, still alive, but not for long. Ziva didn't wait. She ran back out the way she had come, leaving the woman behind to die.
Method #11: SOCCER!
"Are you sure this will work?" Michael asked. "It seems rather complicated."
Ziva looked up and smiled. "It is complicated. Would you suspect Mossad based on this?"
Michael chuckled and then looked out the window. "No, I would not."
"That is why it is a good choice."
Ziva grinned and then bent back over her work. Carefully, she stabbed another sharpened paperclip into the soccer ball, adding it to the other ten she had already inserted. She had a large pile of the paperclips waiting to be added to the rest.
"And will you be able to kick the football accurately?"
"You should know, Michael. I beat you often enough."
"Just hurry. The game will not last forever."
"If we miss the game today, they will play again tomorrow. They always do. That is why this will work. He is the keeper."
"Do not kick it too well or he will miss."
Ziva laughed. "I will not."
The clips were all carefully placed in the next ten minutes...and the poison applied. Then, they went out to the field. The action was at the other end, but the keeper was in place, ready for a sudden change in possession.
Michael gave a long, low whistle and the keeper looked over just as Ziva kicked the ball hard, straight at his chest. His eyes were wide as he automatically moved to intercept it.
Ziva stayed only long enough to see that he had the pinpricks of blood on his bare chest. Then, she and Michael were gone before he fell to the ground and started convulsing.
Method #12: Faked suicide
"It must not look like murder, Officer David. It must look like suicide. He has had problems in the past and it will not be a surprise if he does it now."
"That will be simple."
"No. You cannot use a gun."
"Why not?"
"Because he is afraid of them."
Ziva rolled her eyes. "Very well."
Ziva watched her target stumble out of the bar. It wouldn't take much to knock him out. She tailed him until he arrived at his apartment. Then, she snuck up the fire escape to his window, slid inside and readied herself.
He stumbled to his bed and fell over. Ziva hurried over, applied a chloroform-soaked rag to his face, held it there for a few seconds and then...pulled out her sharpened paperclips. She wasted no time at all. It took less than a minute to slice open the veins on his wrists, vertically in order to get more blood flow.
She paused once and looked at his face. He didn't even know he was dying. Perhaps that was the best way. No matter what the final end, to die without realizing that was what was happening.
Ziva vanished into the stale night.
Method #13: Pick a lock
The door slammed and she heard the telltale sign of a lock being turned. It was a simple lock, but it would defeat her if she could not open it. She felt in her pocket. Yes. A paperclip. Ziva grinned to herself and knelt on the ground. In moments, she heard the click that signaled the springing of the lock. She pushed the door open and dove to the ground as bullets began to fly past her head.
Quickly, she rolled, drew her own gun and fire. Once. Twice. Three times. A body fell.
Ziva jumped to her feet and fled out of the building and away from the scene.
Method #14: Blow out a tire
Ziva sat on the back of the motorcycle as they sped down the road. It was a high-speed chase and their targets would not get away.
"You must go faster! Get me along side!" she shouted.
Ari didn't speak. He simply increased his speed. Once they were even with the car, Ziva pulled out a modified gun and aimed. Ari suddenly swerved as they began to fire back. Ziva grabbed a hold of him and rebalanced.
"Quickly, Ziva!" he shouted back.
Ziva nodded, even though Ari couldn't see her. She aimed once more and fired five times in quick succession. The car's tire blew out and it spun out of control before careening off the road into the canyon.
They sped off to the nearest overlook and stopped.
"What did you shoot the tire with?" Ari asked.
Ziva grinned and held up a small length of wire.
Ari laughed and revved the engine. They sped away.
Method #15: Jam a lock
"Is it ready?"
Ziva nodded. "Yes."
"Good. Go."
"Very well."
Ziva walked out of the room, down the hall...and to the site of the coming assassination. She expressed nothing, but she was regretting her assignment, not because he did not deserve to die, but because she herself was growing tired of her role in Mossad. There was a part of her beginning to wonder if life could hold more.
Still, she walked, stood unobtrusively as her target walked into the room she had set up earlier. He stopped just before closing the door and met her gaze. He blinked once and then nodded and closed the door.
Ziva walked to the door, locked it, pulled out the paperclip and jammed it into the lock so that it could not be picked from the inside. ...not that it mattered. She figured he was unlikely to try until the gas clouded his mind to the point of driving him to desperation. Then...he would not be in any position to really fight against his coming inevitable death.
She walked back down the hall to the observation room. She stood silently with the others and watched as the traitor sat calmly at the table as the gas began to fill the room.
She watched him die and showed nothing because that was how she had been trained.
Inside, however, she could only hope that the intel they'd received was real.
Method #16: Gang symbol
"He lives in a dangerous area. I can kill him and it will be written off as gang violence," Ziva said.
"No. We will not have our hands dirtied by his death, even by implication. Someone else must kill him."
"I cannot force someone to kill him," Ziva protested.
"You must find a way, Officer David. That is the only option."
Ziva nodded and walked out of the hotel room. She returned to her position of observation in the inner city neighborhood where the terrorist had chosen to camp out while plotting his next attack on Israel. She watched as the various gangs met up and talk, flashing signs to each other. There was a gang war in the making. It was as much due to race as it was due to gang rivalries, but it was smoldering and would explode soon.
An idea came into her head as she walked the gang symbols flying fast and furious among the various groups.
That night she quietly walked through the hallway of the tenement...to the door of her target. She pulled a paperclip out of her pocket and began scratching a sign on the doorframe. It took all of a minute to complete the symbol of a rival gang. Then, she crept out of the building and settled herself to wait.
It took a day for the invasion to occur. To his credit, he took out three of the gang members before they killed him. ...but he died. She nodded to herself and prepared to return to Israel.
Method #17: Just a scratch
It didn't take much. It never did. Ziva moved through the bar, dancing with various people. She looked her target up and down with a practiced leer and then moved on. He laughed at her rejection. She swayed her hips as an inducement. He would follow her. Men liked women who said no but obviously meant yes.
She rounded the corner, pulled out a small bag. Inside was a single paperclip. ...a paperclip sharpened and tipped with tetrodoxin, the toxin produced most famously by the puffer fish. She hooked the clip onto a ring on her finger and smiled as the man rounded the corner.
"Well, hello, darling."
Ziva stepped closer and leaned in, slipping her arms around his neck. Then, she scratched him with the edge and stepped back as he started at the small pain. He swore at her and turned to stumbled back out to the main room. Ziva waited a few seconds and then moved back out, slowly working her way to the exit. As she slipped out the door, she saw the commotion starting by the bar and someone called for an ambulance.
She smiled. Even if the ambulance got there in time, it wouldn't matter. There was no antidote for the toxin.
Success.
Method #18: Shrapnel
"This meeting is important. There will be many leaders there, Ziva," Hadar said. "We must take out as many as possible."
"But to employ their own tactics," Ziva said. "Does that not bring us down to the same level as they are?"
"No, because they are terrorists. We are Mossad!"
"And how will the world differentiate between Mossad and terrorists if we do the same things?"
"It does not matter what the world thinks. What matters is keeping Israel safe. You would do well to remember that, Officer David!"
Ziva nodded and knelt on the floor beside the bomb they had prepared.
"I will make it more damaging."
"How? You cannot increase its power."
"I will not have to." She walked to the desk and searched through it before pulling out a box of paperclips. "This will do."
"How?"
"Shrapnel."
She unfolded a number of the small office implements and carefully added them to the bindings around the explosive.
"They are small, but they can tear through flesh if necessary," she said and gave the package to Hadar. "It is ready."
Hadar accepted it and walked to the door.
"You will go down to the street and ready our escape."
"Yes, Hadar."
Ziva walked stiffly to the door.
"Ziva."
"Yes?"
"Remember: We did not choose this fight. It was chosen for us. We cannot control their actions, only our response. We do not compromise."
Ziva turned. "I understand."
She waited until the explosion tore through the building. She heard the screams of panic and pain. Hadar joined her in the car moments later and they drove away.
x.x.x.x.x.x.x
"Ziva? Ziva?"
"I am sorry, McGee. I was thinking."
"I'm sorry. I think I hit a nerve."
Ziva shook her head. "No, McGee. It is a silly thing I said to Tony. I have not killed people eighteen different ways with a paperclip."
"But you could."
"Yes."
"But would you?"
"If the situation called for it. Sometimes, it is necessary."
"Ziva?"
"Yes?"
"I'm glad you're on our side."
Ziva smiled and they parted ways. When she got back to her apartment, she sat down and sighed. No, she had not killed eighteen people with a paperclip.
She felt in her pocket. There was a paperclip. She pulled it out and looked at it for a long time. No, she hadn't killed eighteen people with a paperclip. It hadn't always been her hand that had caused the deaths.
Did that matter? Would her actions be weighed in the balance and the burden of guilt outweigh the evil she had averted?
She could only hope.
FINIS!