Gibbs stormed out of the elevator and into the bullpen, thin manila folder in one hand, tall black coffee in the other, looking even more agitated and irritable than usual. "DiNozzo. David. Now." Tony was in front of his desk in three seconds flat, Ziva not far behind; Team Gibbs' Rule Number One: NEVER screw with Gibbs when he's in a bad mood. If you value your life, that is.
"Yeah, Boss?"
"You've been requested for protection detail. The Director is in Los Angeles for a five day defense conference, and he's selected the two of you to accompany him."
Incredulous, Tony looked to his partner, who was so stunned that her mouth hung open and her eyes bugged slightly. "Um…Boss…Are you sure this is a good idea? .... I mean, Ziva and I don't exactly have the best track record when it comes to escorting directors places….particularly L.A. We can't afford to lose another one in a blast from the past. There aren't exactly folks lining up at the door, begging for the job. Are you sure he wouldn't rather have Jessop or Collins there instead?"
Gibbs' jaw clenched and his eyes grew hard, every line on his face etched with something like pain. "He will. After the Kai fiasco, we figured it's best to play it safe. You two have the day shift, zero-six to eighteen-hundred. Collins and Jessop'll be with the Director after that so someone can keep an eye on him while you get some sleep. The room's under Ziva's name." She smirked.
"When do we leave?"
"Tomorrow. Bags packed and ready to go by zero-five. Don't screw up, don't get killed, and don't," he shoved the boarding passes into Tony's chest, "miss your flight."
*
Eighteen-o-five. Luggage in hand, Ziva entered the sixth-floor room first, nearly separating Tony's patent leather clad feet from the rest of his body with her overnight-bag when she stopped short in the entryway. "Oh no…no…you have got to be kidding me!"
Nursing his slightly bruised ankles, he slipped around her and out of the hall so as to get a better view of their living arrangements. "Let's see, we've got a television, not a plasma, but it'll do…balcony overlooking the pool, very nice…fridge…I don't see what your problem is. I mean, sure, it's a little dusty and I've got such a bad case of de-ja-vu that I'm surprised I haven't time warped yet, but there's really nothing wro-" He stopped short as he finished his survey. "Okay, that would qualify as a major issue."
It was a handsome room, a testament to the expensive hotel in which they were lodged, though, as Tony had pointed out, slightly dusty. The television, only a 42" flat-screen with liquid crystal display, was perched on the bottom shelf of a large chestnut bureau, which was positioned near a large chestnut writing desk, perfect for writing up reports. Through the half-closed curtains it was possible to make out the veranda, situated with several lawn chairs and teak side table. In the far corner were two leather recliners flanking a rod-iron standing lamp. And, to the right of it all stood Ziva's problem: one large exquisitely carved chestnut bed.
"I am calling the front desk," she insisted, making for the phone. "This is most definitely not what the agency requested." She picked up the receiver, dialed, and drummed the desk impatiently until some poor, innocent fool on the other end picked up. Team Gibbs' Rule Number Two: Don't EVER screw with Ziva when she's ticked. Unlike Gibbs, there is almost 100% certainty that it will cost you your sanity, various bodily extremities, and/or your life. "Yes? We have a problem in Room 301. Our reservation said twin, but we have been given a queen….yes, everything else is satisfactory, but…no, but…will you listen to me?! I do not care one way or the other who your protocol says I have to talk to and whether or not they are available right now, I will remain on this line until…" She spat the last few words at the unfortunately incompetent soul at the other end with such a force that he must have recoiled, and, if looks could kill, everyone within a ten mile radius would have mysteriously dropped dead.
She seemed about ready to snap something in half - the receiver, or perhaps Tony - so he chose that moment to explore the bathroom off the hall. By the time he returned, Ziva had cooled off somewhat. He, at least, no longer had any reason to fear. The manager now on the other end, however, would do well to watch his back. "Yes, but…no, but…of course, but…very well. I will be speaking with you tomorrow then." She carefully returned the phone to its original position and rounded on Tony, livid, shaking with pent up rage.
"Apparently it takes three brainless staff members to figure out that there has been a mistake, and another two to decide what to do about it." He almost laughed out loud at the malice dripping from every syllable, but decided against it. "They are…what is the term…booked solid. Tomorrow there will be an availability, but it is on the third floor, right wing, far away from where we could be of any use, and we would only be able to take the room at the expense of another party." She looked around once more. "I suppose I could sleep in one of the recliners. They look relatively comfortable. Or," she made her way open to the window and threw open the curtains, "perhaps I might lock you on the balcony. You could spend the night googling bikini-clad women, and it would be exceptionally quiet in here."
"Ogling. I don't need a search engine for that…not just yet, anyway. And, come on Zee-vah. We're both adults here. We can share a bed for a few days, no biggie."
"I am an adult. You, however," she looked him up and down, "I am not quite so sure about."
"It's not like we really have much of a choice, now is it? Do whatever you want. All I'd like right now is a shower, a little bit of food, maybe a movie, and some shut-eye."
"How can you possibly be tired? You slept the entire flight."
"It's not the same," he informed her, rummaging through his bag for a change of clothes. "Call Room Service, won't ya'?"
Ziva sighed, exasperated. "What do you want?"
"Whatever. Just pick something. You know what I like."
A smile tugged at her lips as she picked up the receiver and dialed once more. Somewhere behind her, a door shut and water started. There was a click on the other end, followed by, "Hello?" Yes, she knew exactly what he liked…what she liked, for that matter. That, more than anything else,was the problem.
*
Tony was still holed up in the bathroom when a knock at the door heralded the arrival of dinner. Ziva opened the door for a red clad waiter bearing a large tray laden with food, and informed her partner of his arrival. "I'll be out in a minute. If you wanna tip him, my wallet's on top of my bag." She pulled a five from between the folds of soft, brown leather, handed it to the expectant attendant, nodded at his thanks, and stooped to pick up a small piece of paper that had fallen as he let himself out. She flipped it over and caught her breath. Apparently Tony was right. He didn't need a search engine to look at women in bikinis, because, dislodged from its place of honor between a crumpled twenty dollar bill and an old condom wrapper when she'd tipped the server, was the forbidden picture: the one from their disastrous first trip to Los Angeles, the one she'd expressly told him to destroy.
She hastily shoved it back into the billfold and returned the wallet to its resting place as he entered the room. Wet hair tousled to and fro, plaid bottoms just a little too long and Buckeye's t-shirt just a little too tight, beaming as if all was right in the world, he looked like a man in a dream. Boy, did he have some explaining to do.
*
It was late. He should have been exhausted by now, but something kept him awake, kept drawing him back to her, lying beside him in all her glory: her chocolate brown curls splayed across the pillow, side rising and falling to the measure of her slow, even breathing. He tried not to inhale too deeply, to avoid indulging himself in her wonderful scent, sweet and intoxicating, yet surprisingly sharp, or to drift into the shadowy world of fantasies, debating exactly what she wore underneath the t-shirt that barely made it half way down her well-toned thighs, and the myriad of ways in which he could find out.
She was his partner, she had been for nearly five years, and they shared a special bond. She understood him better than anyone he had ever known, saw deep into the essence of his being, past the insolent frat boy and into the core of his very self. She was like a sister, a mother, and a best friend all rolled into one, a package he knew he couldn't live a day without. But he was also deeply, painfully in love with her, adding a whole other world of complications to their life-sustaining relationship. To be this near to her, to feel the heat radiating off her body, to have her so close and yet so far away, to be close enough to touch her but unable to do so, was agony.
But how could he, how could he possibly articulate what he felt when, just as easily as she saw through him, he had spent an uncountable number of frustrating hours trying to pry open her carefully constructed armor and get to know the real Ziva David. Not that his pursuits had been entirely fruitless; he caught the occasional glimpse into her thoughts, increasingly frequent as the years went by, but he still didn't understand, still couldn't predict her every move, her every response, as she could his. And until he was sure, how could he risk endangering a connection that he valued so highly, needed so greatly, for one that might never come to be?
But what he really need right now, almost as much as he needed her to promise she would never leave him waiting and wondering, was sleep, and musing in the night, watching her rest was, frankly, creepy. He rolled over, determined to remove her from his field of view, as if it would erase her momentarily from his thoughts, and let the night engulf him.
*
It was the sudden change in the very breathing that had lulled him into an uneasy slumber that woke him from it with a start. No longer was it soporific, deep and measured. Instead it was shallow, the air coming in short, quick gasps. Tony sat up, silently thankful he had resisted the initial, almost uncontrollable urge to grab his gun and shot whoever the hell had roused him. Granted, it had evaporated almost instantaneously, but a moment was all it took. Now he was worried, resisting the urge to wake her too, as she trembled, moaning softly. Perhaps it would pass, and she would never be any the wiser.
But it didn't pass. Just when he decided it was safe to leave her be and prepared to go back to sleep, she began to speak. "No…no…please, don't… …no…" she pleaded with the unknown assailant, clutching at her pillow as if her life depended on it, rocking back and forth, and shaking her head violently. "Wait…I didn't mean it like that…he didn't do anything wrong…me instead…please, I beg of you…I deserve it…I'll do anything…just don't hurt him…please…" It was an almost inaudible whisper, desperate and strained. And suddenly, without warning she began to scream at the top of her lungs. She was shaking, face buried in the pillow and crying out in unimaginable pain.
"Ziva….Ziva! Wake up!" Her eyes snapped open and the shrieks died in her throat. He sat there for a minute, stunned, unable to do so much as move. He was stuck, unable to help, watching his partner, his rock crumble before his very eyes, emotionally shattered, sobbing uncontrollably. Then common sense kicked in and he reached out to her, pulled her into him, enfolded her tear racked body and did his best to comfort her. One arm wrapped around her waist, he nestled the other hand her hair and rocked her as he would a young child, softly and slowly, whispering sweetly in her ear.
It felt like an eternity, locked together in the dark, so close he could feel her heart beating against his own. And then, in a flash, it was gone. She was Ziva again. Closed forever was that small window to her tortured soul. She looked up, looked around, and buried her head in his chest again. "Oh my God." It was a whisper, so soft it strained his ears to make out the words. "Tony…I…I'm so sorry. I…"
"Hey." He smiled, letting his defenses wash away. This was the real Tony talking. He cupped her chin gently, bringing her tearstained face level with his, only inches away. "You have absolutely nothing to be sorry for. This isn't a weakness…it's human." He shook his head as she tried to speak. "You owe me nothing."
She slipped her arms around his waist and relaxed, closed her eyes and allowed herself to fall into him. It was a moment before she spoke again. "You are wrong, by the way. Not that that is unusual, but…well…there are certain facts you should get straight." At his quizzical look, she smiled.
*
Hours later, drowsy and slipping in and out of consciousness, he felt Ziva begin to tremble again. She was pleading, in that same strained whisper, "Please…I'll do anything to save him…I…I love him…" He pulled her closer, sang softly in her ear, and waited for her tension to ease. In a few minutes, her body relaxed completely and her breathing became deep and measured once more. Pleased, he drifted back to sleep.
