A/N: Just thought I should clarify in case it didn't/doesn't quite make sense: this begins in-between the scene with Ziva mourning over her father and Gibbs standing vigil at the hospital in the episode Shabbat Shalom. Thanks! :)
NCIS Medical Examiner's Van: Near Vances' Residence
Eli David gasped for air—his oxygen hungry lungs burning with each inspiration.
"Director David, you must slow your breathing if I am to have any success in stopping this bleeding," an irritated voice demanded of him as an oxygen mask was placed firmly into place over his nose and mouth. "Nitroglycerine. Luckily for you, it not only made your pulse difficult to palpitate, but also slowed the rate at which you exsanguinated. That is, until I administered epinephrine to counteract the nitroglycerine. You know, this reminds me of the Greek myth of Dinoysus— about the perils of resurrecting the dead. But how, Director, am I to cheat Death if I cannot ascertain from whence your blood and this syrup originates…"
His own tolerance waning, Eli gave the Brit a hint—pointing feebly to his left shoulder. Besides the incessant suffering wrought of a fragmented heart and a guilty conscience, ailments for which he doubted any mortal man would have a remedy, it was his only physical source of pain.
"A-ha!" the whimsical voice continued as cold metal dug into the flesh of Eli's shoulder, "A knick in this subsidiary of the axillary…"
Eli lost focus, the bespectacled face looming over him blurring into a nauseating sea of colors. He blinked, trying to clear his vision. No relief. His eyelids merely scraped over his corneas like hot sandpaper. And, as tears began to flow from his eyes involuntarily, he found himself wondering which had been more agonizing, holding his breath or maintaining an unblinking stare as his last living child showed him love he did not deserve. The haunting sound of Ziva's voice as she cried, 'Abba', made him shiver.
'Trust me. Do not jeopardize the plan', Leon had warned. How? How could he have simply closed his eyes and feigned death? How could he have trusted, without seeing, that Ziva was unscathed? He could not. He had had to know—whatever the risk.
"That will have to do considering these less than ideal conditions," the Brit said, calling him back to the present. "Ah, Palmer, can you at least try to avoid the potholes? Suturing on a living person is a much more refined skill than it is on the deceased."
Eli's vision cleared and he closed his eyes slowly, now keenly aware that NCIS' Medical Examiner, Dr. Mallard, was assessing more than his flesh wound. The expression of any kind of feelings—physical or otherwise—would be out of character; cause for concern. The Director of Mossad did not have the luxury of revealing his feelings…had he not said so himself? Still, he winced as Ziva's anguished face flashed behind his eyelids like the image of something stared at too long.
Ziva would, rightfully so, never forgive him. He had squelched all opportunity for 'redemption'. His sins were too great.
Ironic, he thought, that this latest 'sin' was not one he had choreographed himself. No, Leon Vance had directed this OP from the start—intercepting the messages coming out of Tel Aviv, learning a rogue officer within Eli's own agency was bent on pushing Israel to the brink of war, ascertaining that Eli himself was a pawn in this selfish ploy for power. Yes, Leon Vance, the plucky young agent he'd once saved from certain death was now calling the shots. Eli was now the teacher learning from the student.
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Meanwhile
As the doors to the ambulance banged shut, Jackie Vance sat up on the gurney, pushed away the oxygen mask, and reached for her head—fingernails digging into the rubbery material at the base of her skull—red corn syrup dripping down her arm.
"You alright? No pain anywhere?" Leon Vance asked, his expression one of genuine concern.
"That was your plan, Leon?" Jackie growled, ignoring his question; ire masking fear. "Shoot-up the house? I am not alright with this. If we'd made one false move we'd be dead!"
"Get changed," Leon commanded, as he handed her a package of cleansing wipes. She scoffed; how quickly his display of concern was replaced with business—Director of NCIS business.
Angrily, she scrubbed the corn syrup from her head and torso. Then, out of spite, she tore off her soiled shirt and pants and threw them at Leon before pulling on the long skirt and fitted blouse offered by the petite female paramedic. "Now what?" she snapped.
Leon smiled at his wife's fierce resolve to break him. She would endure. She would weather the storm he had cast her into. Relieved, he pulled out his burn phone and dialed Dr. Mallard's, "Status?"
"Ah, Aslan," the Doctor replied, "Yes, well, as expected, Zeus gave the order to…expedite…things to avoid a meltdown in Mideast relations. But, it is not what went to according to plan that concerns me. You see, I was not told to expect Payton's daughter…"
"Short version on Payton only," Leon interrupted.
Dr. Mallard gave a noticeably vexed sigh, "Yes, well, uh, there we've also had a small deviation from the plan. You see, Payton was injured. Small knick to the subsidiary of the axillary artery in his shoulder."
"Damnit," Leon spat into the phone, "Get him back into the game. See you in ten."
"Malachi?" he queried of the paramedic at the wheel.
The man gave him a curt nod in the review mirror and made a hard left into traffic, cutting the sirens.
"Something is wrong with Director David?" the female paramedic queried.
"Yeah," Leon grimaced. "Old man doesn't like to play be the rules. Got himself shot in the shoulder."
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Several minutes later: Deserted Underpass
Eli grimaced and tensed instinctively as the medical examiner's van bumped to a stop and someone banged on the back doors. "Just my fate…being delivered alive from the carriage of the dead," he muttered to himself in Hebrew. "I am too old for this."
"Allow me to borrow from the works of Henry Thoreau in making a parting observation, Director David," Dr. Mallard spoke into his ear as the doors opened to reveal Mossad Officer Malachi Ben Gideon and NCIS Director, Leon Vance. "'It is what a man thinks of himself that determines his fate.'"
Ducky smiled at Eli's look of surprise.
"Clock is ticking and you're late," Leon Vance interjected. "But, I guess I should have known. It's just like you, Eli, to throw a curveball when we planned for a fastball."
"You hired a bad shot, Leon," Eli countered in a tired voice as he rose warily from his seat on the gurney, "According to your Dr. Mallard, your shooter missed putting me out of my misery by centimeters."
"Not one to take the blame, are you Eli?" Vance said with a grin, before turning away and giving Eli just long enough to catch Ducky's eye and dip his head in a silent thanks.
"Dr. Mal-lard", Malachi said with a curt nod as he stepped forward. He was concerned for Eli David, but knew better than to say so. Though Eli made a point of saying he was "ok", he leaned heavily on him as he negotiated the step down from the van. Eli's face was pale, his glasses slightly off kilter, his left arm cradled in a sling, and his gait somewhat unsteady. The man looked as though he had aged several years in the past hours.
Eli glanced sideways at Malachi and laughed softly before drawing himself up to his full height and effectively transforming his face into an unreadable mask. He focused on evening his gait, and as they walked up to the waiting getaway car, he said in Hebrew, "Some advice, Malachi. When you or this job gets old, quit."
Malachi shook his head; the old man was unflappable. Eli even managed to look surprisingly American in blue jeans, a hooded sweater, and a baseball cap. It took a strong man to pull off a farce like this.
Removing a handgun from his belt and releasing the safety, Malachi handed it to the older man.
"To da." Eli smiled as he tucked it in his right jacket pocket and turned to face the waiting NCIS director, "I hope you know what you are doing, Leon."
"Get in," Leon said curtly as he opened the passenger door. Then, leaning in, he gave Eli a message meant for Eli's ears alone. "Keep her safe, Eli."
Keep her safe, Leon repeated to himself, because I will never forgive myself if things go otherwise.
Eli nodded curtly and dropped heavily into the passenger seat, mind focused on the throbbing pain in his head and shoulder. "Let's get this underway," he grumbled in Hebrew as Vance banged his hand against the top of the car signaling an all clear.
"English, Eli. I didn't get a chance to brush up on my Hebrew," Jackie Vance said icily from the driver's seat. Noting his confusion, she added, "Leon's orders. Less people who know where we're going, less chances of being found."
Returning Eli's appalled gaze in the review mirror, Liat Tuvia and Malachi shrugged apologetically from the back seat—not willing to accept the blame for following Leon's orders instead of his.
"Humph. You are a lucky woman, Jackie. Three Mossad tasked with protecting you. In Israel, you would be considered a liability. Your husband is a smart man."
"From what I hear, Eli, that number is closer to two. You're more of a concern than me."
Liat and Malachi thought better than to intercede and feigned attention on the cars behind theirs.
"Huh," Eli breathed before turning to look in the side view mirror.