I don't own anything. C'est ca. R&R, you know the drill. Hope that i don't offend. Good day.
Jen Sheppard was sitting at a table in a small outdoor café, waiting for something to happen. The light was steadily disappearing, and she didn't know her way around this area of Paris. She tried to work out in her head what Ziva might have been doing at that moment, but nothing was coming to her. All she knew was that she had to see her father, and the meeting would be anything but diplomatic. She knew that Ziva could take care of herself, but she was also aware that in Mossad, there were very few rules. She was worried for her friend, but the bourbon was doing nothing for her nerves. She just had to wait and see, and she hated waiting. She wanted to get up and pace, but didn't want to attract attention. It wasn't until after almost an hour and several drinks later did Ziva silently sit down across from her. Jen knew immediately that something was wrong from the stricken look on her face.
"Ziva, what happened?" she started. Ziva's face just went blank, but she didn't answer. Jen reached across the table to take her hand, but she flinched violently and cast her gaze at a spot on the table.
"Ziva," she tried again, her voice significantly softer. "Please tell me what happened. Are you okay?" Ziva continued to stare. Jen had never seen her like this before. She had seen her devoid of emotion, many times. But now, she just seemed empty, dead. She always seemed indestructible, but Jen sensed that something very bad had happened. After several minutes, Ziva still hadn't said a word.
"Ziva, answer me."
She finally looked up. "Give me a cigarette."
Whatever Jen had been expecting, she certainly hadn't expected that. "Ziva, you don't…"
"Just give it to me." Ziva interrupted. Jen reluctantly fished the pack out of her pocket and handed it to her. She shook one out and lit it before sucking on it deeply. Jen silently watched her sit there, staring into space. Both of them were aware of the quickly passing time, but Jen couldn't foresee Ziva telling her anything. However, she gave it a shot.
"Ziva, what the hell happened." Jen was getting frustrated with her lack of anything to say. She continued to stare into space, until finally Jen got up and put her hand on Ziva's shoulder. She flinched and in seconds was pinning Jen against the wall behind them.
"What the hell is your problem, Jen?" she whispers harshly into the other woman's ear, well aware of the extremely close proximity.
Jen could feel the hard brick behind her back, knowing full well that in this state Ziva could snap, and knew of many ways to kill. However, she was fairly certain that Ziva wouldn't kill her.
"Ziva, tell me what the fuck happened. I'm your goddamn partner!" Jen tried to move away from the wall, but the other woman kept her locked in place.
"Shut up, Jen." Ziva commanded coldly. The lack of emotion alarmed her; she had never seen her like this before. The Israeli was pressed up against her, and despite the circumstances, the contact was making it extremely hard to think. Ziva pinned Jen's wrists behind her with one hand, her other hand slipping under her shirt. Jen gasped.
"Ziva, what the fuck are you doing?" Jen wasn't sure whether she was shocked or excited.
"What does it look like I'm doing, Jen?" Ziva whispered in her ear, and Jen shuddered. She felt blood rush to her face, and was relieved that the darkness in the alley obscured her features. When Ziva kissed her, the dozens of thoughts racing through her head came to a screeching halt. She slipped her tongue into her mouth, and Jen almost protested, but she had stopped fighting minutes ago. She tasted of cigarettes and bourbon, and blood. She held back long enough to vaguely wonder where it had come from, but realized that she almost didn't want to know. Ziva's lips were pressed almost painfully into her own. Passively, she heard a siren several blocks away.
"Oh, shit!" Ziva whispered harshly, accidentally slamming Jen back into the wall. She immediately grabbed her arm and pulled her back, farther into the alley.
"Ziva, what the hell is going on? What happened to you?" Jen's mind was still reeling from what had happened in the last few moments. Ziva didn't answer; she simply dragged her along until she apparently found what she was looking for. Taking a key from her pocket, she quickly unlocked the door and dragged the other woman inside. From what Jen could tell, it was a set of storage lockers, but due to the fact that it was completely unlit, she didn't trust her own judgment. Ziva's hand was once again snaking its way under her shirt, and Jen really didn't have the presence of mind to stop her. Not that she wanted to. Ziva was fumbling with the buttons on her shirt, and she let her, disregarding the fact that it went against almost ever ethic—professional or otherwise—that she ever followed.
It was not until later, when they had both redressed and found a small room with light, that Ziva even made eye contact with her. But still, she refused to answer Jen's relentless, if not redundant questions.
"Ziva, if you could kindly explain what the hell just happened, it would be greatly appreciated." Ziva was sitting across from her, a small desk between them. Jen still hadn't figured out what the building was used for, or why Ziva had keys to it, but still hadn't bothered to ask. Ziva seemed to be devoid of all emotions, but Jen's mind was working so fast she couldn't keep her thoughts straight. She couldn't believe that she had just had sex with her partner of less than a year. Relationships between agents never worked. Unfortunately, Jen had learned that the hard way. Frustrated, she shook away the thought and tried to focus on the matter at hand.
"If you're not going to tell me what is going on, I'll deal with it. But if it is going to affect your work, you're going to have to work through it on your own time." Ziva glared at her. "I'm going to take a wild guess that someone died, and you could have stopped it. Or that someone died at your expense." Jen was slightly bothered by the simple fact that she wasn't bothered; that Ziva could have killed a bus of school children and that she wouldn't be surprised. Ziva stared at the far wall, and Jen was beginning to wonder whether it was giving her any answers. Quietly, she lit another cigarette and offered it to her. Ziva took it and breathed in, visibly relaxing as she felt the sweet burn in her lungs. It was another several minutes before she finally said something.
"I killed him." Jen was shocked by the sudden change of heart. She didn't really expect Ziva to confide in her. She wasn't surprised by the statement; she had almost been expecting it. What did shock her was the cold, dead tone that it was spoken in. Eventually, when the suspense got too great, she prompted her.
"Killed who, Ziva?" she asked softly.
"I killed my father." The silence that followed fell like a ton of bricks. It weighed on the two women for several minutes, both lost in contemplations of what the repercussions would be.
"I killed the Deputy Director of Mossad. I will be killed. They will know. They always know." Her voice was bitter, but it held no remorse for her father.
"I'm sorry." Jen knew it was futile, that things like this defied apologies, but she had no idea what to say, and couldn't let the silence drag on. She remembered the death of her own father years before, and how it had eaten at her for months. She couldn't imagine having to end his life.
"I will be killed," Ziva repeated. "And no amount of training or weapons or backup will be able to save me" Jen wanted to refuse it, try to convince herself that there was some way out of it, but she knew that Ziva was right. She wanted to yell at her, hit her with something large and heavy, but knew that it wouldn't help.
"Why did you do it?" Her confusion was evident, laced with anger. "Why the fuck did you kill him if you knew that it was a death sentence?" Ziva looked away, couldn't meet Jen's angry gaze.
"He was sending me on a suicidal mission anyway. He never deserved to hold the position of Deputy Director in the first place. He lied and cheated and murdered to get to the top, and because I knew about everything that he has ever done, he put a bounty on me. He sent a highly trained Mossad operative after me, after his only living child. But he never prepared for the fact that I was able to kill the man he sent after me. I returned to him, I swear my intentions were pure. He claimed it was all a test. But he isn't as good a liar as he likes to believe. We fought, things got out of hand. He died, I didn't." Ziva took a breath, her voice thick with emotion. "I do not let my emotions get out of hand. I can't afford to. But I did, and I will pay the consequences."
"They might not be able to find out that it was you, Ziva, you don't have to die." Jen knew that she was just being stubborn, that Ziva was right, but she refused to believe that the Israeli had just signed her own death warrant. Both women stared at each other for several moments before Ziva got up from the table and left the room. She returned minutes later with a bottle of bourbon and two shot glasses.
"You're not giving up Ziva. You will not die." Jen's voice shook, and Ziva laughed.
"We will not be found tonight. I'd say we have just about two and half days before we are dead." Ziva's dead calm truly scared her, and it took a few seconds before what she said truly sank in.
"They're going to kill me as well?" Jen asked, her voice several pitches too high.
"If you stay here, you will die. You are welcome to leave." Ziva gestured vaguely toward the door that they had come through, and Jen finally snapped.
"Ziva, you can get out of this! You're not going to die, goddamnit! What the hell is wrong with you! You don't give up! You're fucking Mossad!" Ziva started pouring herself a shot, then changed her mind and drank straight from the bottle.