Hi))
new one since Protection Detail's on semi-permanent hiatus :)
It's named after Florence and the Machine's song Dog Days, only because I was listening to it when i started writing :)
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Summary: Ziva's on the run after she has been framed for murdering Michael Rivkin, and Tony's with her in Israel, trying to find evidence prove her innocent, and find who framed her.
"Ready?" She tries to keep her voice down as she pulls the black fabric down over her head.
"Ready as I'll ever be." His voice isn't quite as strong as hers, mainly because what they are about to try and do isn't something he has particular experience in. "Who's driving?" The quivers in the words echo round the metal garage.
"You are. I do not want to get swished by you if I am at the front"
He twists his mouth into a faux-pout, just visible through his balaclava. "Squished, Ziva"
"Whatever. Miri has left the van at the end of the street, and the name of a local grocer is printed on the side. We shouldn't be spotted by anyone with brain power beyond yours"
He doesn't take the bait. "And the bike?"
"We ditch it."
"Is someone picking it up?"
"No, Miri will burn it up"
He looks incredulously at his partner.
"That's a Ducati 900SS silver, Ziva! I had a buddy back in D.C. who sold his house for one of these and you're gonna burn it up?!"
She gives him a last patronising smirk before pulling on the helmet, and he follows suit, breathing deeply as he hoists his leg over the bike and climbs onto the front with the handles just in reach of his hands.
The garage doors open almost silently, and the rush of cold Israeli night air that fills his lungs sets his heart pounding. She climbs on the back, and as he feels her arms slide around his waist and lock at his stomach, his mind spins and his muscles tighten.
He hears her breath quicken as he starts the engine and the bike roars into the darkness.
888
He switches the glaring headlights off, and the back-street becomes nothing but a black hollow.
They drop the bike off, and as they pull off their helmets, he casts one last appreciative look at the grey shimmer.
"I hate wasting cool things." He thinks aloud.
They've walked a fair way from where they stopped now, and they sit, backs to the brick wall with legs splayed in front of them, and try to pass the time and the tension. Her deep breaths are audible, even through the balaclava, which makes both their minds twist into mission-mode.
"We should take off the head-scarves. We will look more like normal people" She pulls hers off, and for a moment his mind is preoccupied by the cascade of dark curls she's released.
"Tony?"
Much to his dismay, he's jolted back into reality by the ominous sound of footsteps they've been waiting for. She jumps up with surprising speed and grabs his hand to pull him up with her. They both prick her ears, listening for a specific distance or person.
She's done it before.
"He is in the next street. If we get him now he cannot raise the alarm before we get him into the van" She concludes, and they jog slowly and soundlessly through the alleyways towards the sound.
They make out the figure of a man in the darkness. He's on a cellphone the size of a melon, and engaged in a deep Hebrew conversation. A small grin pokes through Ziva's nerves as she recognises the swear words of her language.
"....Now." They rush forward. As he grabs his arms, she grabs his phone, hangs it up, and shoves a wad of torn up linen into his mouth.
They are eerily silent against his pushes and muffled shouts, as they spot the black van less than 30 yards away from them. Ziva magically produces an electronic key from her jacket and Tony looks round anxiously when the van blips and unlocks. He leaves the man to his partner's devices for a moment and slides the door open, watching her bundle the now tied Israeli into the cavity.
888
They change into clothes Miri had brought to the safe house earlier before they deal with the disgruntled and unwilling almost-suspect they have concealed in the basement of the small house.
Ziva sits at a wooden desk, interrogation-style, and their suspect shifts uneasily opposite, a surly snarl on his face. Her partner paces behind her in absence of the one-way mirror.
"What is your name?" She speaks in English.
He doesn't reply but sinks further into his seat.
"You will tell us, the easy way or the hard way, and it is probably in your best interest that it is done the easy way."
Tony doesn't doubt that she has a hard way to do it.
"Maani."
"Maani who?"
No answer.
"As I said Maani, there is a hard way to do this."
"Maani Rivkin"
Her face turns ghost white for a few seconds, and she doesn't move.
"My name is interesting to you?" Maani seems encouraged by his interrogator's show of shock.
Her anxiety turns to anger. "It is not your business what your name means to me!"
DiNozzo thinks about intervening, but 3 years of pranks and jokes taught him that Ziva is best not interrupted.
She relaxes again, her skin darkens slightly again, and so do her eyes.
"Are you in any way associated with Michael Rivkin?"
He shrugs.
"He is my brother, but I have not seen him in three decades."
"You are lying"
"I am not!"
"You are lying, Mister Rivkin, and we have ways of getting the truth that would send your mind spinning."
It's the suspect's turn to go white, but he ploughs on and leans forward on the desk.
"Why don't you tell me what your name is, pretty girl?"
Tony's eyes involuntarily narrow, but he grins when she delivers a swift kick to where it hurts most.
"You do not need to know my name"
"Perhaps you did not need to know mine?"
She ignores the question.
"Tell me what is your association with Michael Rivkin. I will make you if needs be, so do not withhold."
He shifts again.
"We had...business deals. He offered me money –"
"For what?"
"I had..information..."
He wipes the sweat from his forehead and looks at the ceiling.
"Tell me, Maani, because either way you will"
"I do not know. Honestly. I was passed information by an informant from Mossad, and Michael wanted it. I wouldn't give it to him, so he gave me money instead"
Her face drops into a confused frown.
"It is in my knowledge that Michael Rivkin works for Mossad. If he wanted information, he could have got it straight from the source. His old partner's father is the deputy director"
"And how would you know that?"
She slightly struggles with his backchat.
"Because...I used to know her."
He seems satisfied with her answer, which is ironic, Tony thinks, because she's supposed to be the one asking the questions.
Maani seems tired, and Ziva senses that he wants to go home.
So does she.
"Look, I do not know exactly what the information was. I know Michael was delivering a package somewhere. I do not know his intentions, I do not know where he was going, I do not know who he is delivering it to, but I do know how to contact him. Talk to Michael, because he is the only one who knows what is going on."
He leans right back into the chair and draws in air through his nose, then notices that his interrogator has her head in her hands.
"What?"
Tony speaks for her. "Michael is dead"
Hope you liked! new chapter up soon))
Lottie xx