Disclaimer: I do not own NCIS or its characters.
A/N: Thank you to easylion, Meb, groovin, tivaandmcabby, juli, NiceStories, ncis-1001, ChEmMiE, Tiva lovah, ForeignMusicLyrics, MTGZ and Gabs for reviewing and thank you to everyone else that has read and has joined this party through the various alert functions. Tell your friends!
I have my coffee and my warm, just out of the oven (yes!) cinnamon bun – all set to dive a little bit deeper into this strange case. Hope you are too! Let's go guys! :)
Chapter two
Darkness has fallen over the city and the storm clouds are still hovering, almost clinging to the roofs and tree tops outside, a grey dull vibrant rain lashing out at the world beneath like it never intends to stop. The office has fallen silent and Tony sits bent over his desk flicking through the report Ziva had typed up, eyes empty and shoulders tense just a couple of hours earlier. He had pretended to be deeply immersed in his own paper work, but truth be told he was mostly watching her as she with immaculate precision and professionalism – he knew, could recognise that look on her face any time, put in print, minute by minute what had taken place. She had printed it, still in complete silence, placed the pages neatly in a folder and left it on Gibbs' desk from which he had stolen – scratch that, borrowed, said folder when she left the room.
Part of him felt like he was prying now, scanning the pages under the glare of his desk light with the hum and crackle of the thunder chasing light, pulsating like a live current across the skies every now and again. At the same time, invading Ziva's privacy was one of many things he did in a masterly fashion, and he desperately wanted answers to things he didn't quite dare ask her.
Since Somalia – and just the thought makes his tongue taste like copper and his stomach drop, he had felt like he had gained access to knowledge about her, knowledge he had gathered and kept all along, but in his somewhat childish ways had locked away and ignored. He had tapped into her world, and possibly his own feelings for her, in a way that left him feeling cold and empty whenever she wasn't near enough and though he refused to fully investigate and analyse what that meant he had along with it gained a sense of responsibility. There were certain things he simply did not bring up, not because he didn't care or because he didn't think they mattered, but because he knew she would feel uncomfortable.
He rubbed his eyes and turned another page over, grasping at the information as he went along, storing away fractions of her report in his head, not sure what he was looking for – he just knew that he wanted to know what exactly it was he was protecting his partner from. She had told him most of it before, in the lab, and he felt almost silly as he felt pride, and something else he couldn't quite name, swell inside him when he noted parts which she had told him in greater detail, that in the report were sterile and impersonal. But then again, it was meant to be, and he knew that but it still made him feel special; like she trusted him. Her trust was after all something he had learnt the hard way, was not something he should take for granted. It didn't matter, it really didn't, how everything had gone down, whose fault it was and what got them there, as Tony looked up at her temporarily vacant desk, another orange ball of light, her own desk lamp, illuminating it – he just cared about where the journey got them and the fact that they got out on the other side, together.
With the room falling dark, the silence enveloping him and the only source of light, and sign of life, being the lit desk lights, dotted around the space Tony almost felt like he was looking out over a starry night sky. His fingers are trailing over the sentences on the page before him, but he's momentarily no longer concentrated on what they actually say as his view of the office reminds him of the clear African desert sky he had once looked up into. He remembers having felt like nothing else had ever looked, or felt so big to him before. Now, in hindsight he isn't sure whether it was the impact of the starry sky, the beauty of it, or the feeling of accomplishment, of having tricked death, his own and Ziva's, that filled his heart with awe but it doesn't matter. He had been lying spread out on his back, an army fleece blanket spread underneath him. The heat of the day was still lingering in the air, as if trapped between the tarmac and the cold night sky and he could still taste his own fear, a thirst he wasn't sure would ever be cured and sand. The sky was clear, so very clear and if it had not been for the millions of guiding lights in the heavens above it could just as well have been the ocean suspended over them. He heard Gibbs shout orders across the booming sound of the helicopter having just landed at the small base – he was so tired he didn't even know where they were any more and he momentarily closed his eyes, feeling the soft skin of Ziva's wrist with the tips of his fingers where he had wrapped his hand around her limp arm, didn't ever want to let go (ever again). He could feel heat radiating off Tim where he lay next to him, he glanced in his direction, watching the younger agent's chest rise and fall slowly out of the corner of his eye. The ground was hard but predictable and constant, under his head and shoulders, he blinked tiredly as he let his gaze travel back to the black sky fingers prodding the underside of Ziva's thin wrist, feeling her pulse beating against his skin... Home, his vision blurred, the world tilted and spun dangerously, the friendly lights in the sky fell over him and all he remembers is thinking he wanted to go home.
Gibbs strides into the bullpen, and almost floats into Tony's line of vision, breaking the spell of his memory, the sky before him no longer a sky but their familiar office basked in dull, warm light. Gibbs notices his glossy eyes but doesn't say anything as he approaches Tony's desk.
Tony clears his throat, eager to occupy his mind with something, anything apart from the flood of memories. "Boss, what do we-"
Gibbs comes to a halt in front of his desk, wants to send Tony home, but wants to keep him right where he is too, all at the same time. He snatches the file from under Tony's limp hands – he had momentarily forgotten all about it, and yelps when it's tugged from his grip. He had not had time to read it all yet, and he still hadn't found what he was looking for. He grimaces as he realises he's lost his opportunity.
"I was reading that, boss," Tony shoots him a grin and Gibbs glares at him tucking the file under his arm.
"Was that what I told you to do?" he barks, and Tony lowers his eyes a little, but only for a second before his mischievous mind kicks back in.
"No, but you didn't exactly tell me not to do it either...!" the senior field agent retorts and his grin is replaced on his face just as soon as it faltered. "Did you get anything out of our resident dirt bag?"
"I thought I was the resident dirt bag here?" Gibbs asks, his eyes glinting in the light from Tony's desk lamp and Tony smiles again. "Ziva's still here then?" Gibbs continues and Tony nods.
"McGee took her down the hall for some coffee, girly gossip and right about now they're probably braiding each other's hair..."
"Good, find her DiNozzo, I need to speak to her!"
Tony calls a "yes boss – right away boss!" after their fearless leader as he climbs up the stairs, taking two steps at the time. Tony knows where he's headed – the Director's office. He stands, straightens his suit and contemplates just calling Ziva, but decides against it. He could use a break from this room. He's well aware that Gibbs avoided his question about how the interrogation went, and the sense of urgency that's lingering in the air in stark contrast with the lack of concrete orders for him to work with is giving him a headache and he swallows hard, trying to ignore the ball of nausea that's rolling around in his stomach. He's nervous, he's just not exactly sure why. He pockets his cell phone, just in case, and takes on the one task he's been given for the moment, the one way for him to feel useful – he walks down the hall to track down his partner.
Doesn't want to let go (ever again).
"I'm not even sure anymore which one of my agents it is you're trying to get killed but next time you come to me first, you hear me?" Gibbs shouts, his eyes, filled with fire and what Vance can see is a hint of panic, trained directly on the man behind the desk.
Vance doesn't even try to finish his phone call, simply tells them he will call them back, the moment Gibbs bursts into his office. He doesn't reprimand him for not knocking, doesn't tell him he should have pre-announced his visit; he simply puts the phone down and looks at his colleague.
"I know how you feel about apologies..." he starts as he stands and Gibbs steps up to him, anger radiating off him with each breath he takes.
"What the hell were you thinking sending MY agent out there on her own? I don't give a shit about apologies Leon, I want an explanation, and I want a promise that you don't let any other agency use my team - my team, for their dirty work again!"
The Director knows it is best to let Gibbs speak his mind in this moment. He doesn't always agree with him – in fact he very seldom does, bordering on never. They rarely seem to see eye to eye on much at all but in this moment he can't deny that this blew up in his face, he's just not convinced it is his fault. Not in the way Gibbs seems to be. He raises his hands, tries to stand tall in front of the raging man. He wants to reason with him, can tell that what he himself would consider his normal no nonsense approach (and Gibbs would refer to as his overly political and impractical walk on egg shells approach) will not do today.
"They're, technically, my team too Jethro-"
"You gave them up the second you betrayed them sending Ziva out on her own under no familiar, sensible, command and without anyone backing her up! Why the hell was I not informed the second they found pictures of her at his apartment? How long did they keep that from me?" Gibbs yells in Vance's face now, doesn't back down, doesn't slow down. He's boiling inside, his mind full of questions and he hates the feeling of having been kept in the dark. "How am I meant to do my job when you do not do yours?"
"You've misunderstood, she had back up!"
"Oh cut the crap! You know as well as I do that she was on her own out there! Have you even seen her? Don't you dare stand here and lie to me!" And in that very moment Gibbs once again considers just shooting out Vance's knee caps. His eyes are still flashing dangerously as he stares the Director down and he's done. He's over anything that is politics, manners and patience; he just wants to be told the truth.
"Now you listen to me Gibbs!" Vance is running out of patience too, doesn't like being spoken too like he's not the one in charge around here. "The deal was always that she would have back up. The CIA sent an agent out to have her back," and he ventures back to his desk, pulls a folder from a neat pile on his desk and hands it to Gibbs who accepts it, scepticism still etched on his face. His eyes flicker from the file back to his Director.
"What is this?"
"It's everything I was given on the agent CIA reported to me would be working with David on this. Agent Hayden Scott was briefed, fully instructed and brought in to cover this based on his established commitment to this operation. He is one of the agents that has, for months, tracked this man," and Vance picks up another file, much thicker and opens it before showing Gibbs a picture of a middle aged man, dark hair and piercing blue eyes, "Mr Asher Hastings, our alleged terrorist."
Gibbs grabs the entire file and flicks through the pages, scanning them swiftly. He stops as he comes across the report on the findings in the man's apartment and looks over the accompanying photographs showing the collection of photos of what unmistakeably is their Ziva David. There are pictures taken of her on duty, as well as a couple when she's clearly off duty and he doesn't understand, and hates that he doesn't.
"And the missing agent, the one Ziva was pretending to want to meet?" Gibbs queries, still looking through the file on Hastings. He looks up as Vance sits back down behind his desk.
"Still missing. They're working 24-7 on trying to make contact with him, but so far all attempts have failed, apart from the one made by us, on the behalf of Special Agent David. He however, just as expected did not show up, Hastings did instead, suggesting that-"
"I know what happened!" Gibbs snapped, still not liking anything about this. "And I don't see how this suggests anything apart from the fact that the CIA have kept us in the dark, endangered one of my people and now wants help cleaning up their mess. Agent Scott, who was meant to look after my agent, where the hell did he go then?"
"He disappeared, never arrived at the meeting point. His identity was supposed to be kept classified up until the moment of contact. I could not release to Special Agent David who she was working with." Vance sighed and rubbed his eyes, tiredly. It sounded like a ticking bomb, with hindsight, even to him. "That does not mean that he was intended to never show up at all though, Gibbs! I swear. This case became very personal to Agent Scott as the agent, the one that went missing a few days ago, is his partner. They're assuring me that no one is as engaged in this case as him and he was meant to be there as her back up. He was meant to be there... but the CIA are assuming he has been grabbed by Hastings too."
"Great... we're assuming things now..." Gibbs grunts, snatching the file shut, once again locking eyes with Vance. "That's just terrific and all Leon," his words are dripping with sarcasm and frustration and for once Vance can't hold it against him, "but it still leaves me with one hell of a mess!"
"Look, I just spoke to them, they're handling this. They are not requesting any assistance with finding their agents."
"They better not!" Gibbs laughs dryly, his eyes dark and hard, the situation anything but amusing.
"This has nothing to do with the Navy-" Vance starts, only to once again be interrupted by a very impatient Gibbs.
"And still you were awfully happy to send out an NCIS agent last night! Do you need me to spell out to you what that stands for, what we do here?" Gibbs knows he's pushing it, knows he's being obnoxious (thinks Tony would love it) but he feels like he's treading water, working with authority that is making his life harder, not easier.
Vance's eyes are ice cold and Gibbs can tell he's trying hard to keep the sneer out of his voice, trying to stay calm.
"We have an overriding responsibility to this nation in common and there are times when we have to cooperate-"
But Gibbs is not interested and cuts him short once again with a sharp "I don't have time for this!" and Vance falls silent for a moment, a tired sigh escaping him.
"Gibbs, I don't know what else it is you want me to say... I admit that it was a mistake to send her out but she's back now. There is not much we can do until the CIA have re-assessed the risk, if any, the photos of Ziva presents and what Hastings' interest in her is. For now it is their operation."
Gibbs shakes his head slowly at his words and flicks through the file he himself brought with him; the report typed up by Ziva. He finds one of the last pages, places it in front of his Director and stabs a finger, hard, down on a particular paragraph.
"They're my agents, I assess the risk and Agent David can look after herself, can fight her way out of situations you and I can't even imagine, but out there she hesitated, lost her focus, and I suspected why, call it a hunch, call it a gut feeling, but I was right!"
Vance frowns in confusion, doesn't understand where Gibbs is going with this, but reads the part of her report that Gibbs has indicated, before looking back up. "DiNozzo," Vance considers out loud, "they brought him up, made it sound like they could get to him... I can't see how it is strange Gibbs, if Hastings has been following Agent David he is likely to have come across him in her company, it doesn't mean anything. It's an easy bluff to attempt with even the smallest bit of information."
"That's what I thought, until I interviewed Jenkins, one of the men that attacked her, the one she brought in with her despite not even being the one she stabbed with his own knife," Gibbs pauses and Vance notes the hint of pride in Gibbs' voice, despite everything she did more than get away alive, she injured one attacker and brought one of them down too, and the Director had to admit that it was more than any of them could have expected of her. "He seems to be of the opinion that Agent DiNozzo is a dead man walking."
"And you're going to let that rattle you? Gibbs, he's just trying to get to you."
"If this guy is using them against each other, he's not just doing that for kicks and you know that too! What he said to her in that moment was bad enough to let it distract her, throw her off and rattle, as you put it, her – Ziva! She would not have taken it seriously unless she felt she needed to. She is not easily rattled!"
"Maybe she wasn't once, but she's been through a lot since..." Vance trails off when he sees the look of pure disgust and disapproval on Gibbs' face and he shifts in his seat, regretting his words. "You have a lot of faith in her judgement, Jethro," he says instead and Gibbs cocks his head to the side and looks at him, hard.
"Whatever was said to her made her believe DiNozzo was in trouble, and until I can prove to her that that is not the case I am not taking any chances, including letting those clowns work alone on this! I trust her judgement enough to trust her with my life, and I trust her with Tony's."
"Fine," Vance nods, "how can I be of assistance?" He can tell Gibbs has made up his mind, and as much as he wants them to stay out of this he can't completely blame the man for wanting to stay hands on when the only alternative is sitting back and waiting to see how it works out, waiting out the truth.
"Get me the full, and I mean full report on Hastings. I want to have every single note ever made on him, access to every find, every theory and lead!" and with that Gibbs storms back out of Vance's office, gone as suddenly as he showed up. He's wasted enough time on bureaucracy already, doesn't have time to stick around for Vance to change his mind about this. His mind is spinning, unanswered questions scraping and scratching at his consciousness. He's uncomfortable and frustrated, needs to find out exactly what Ziva has told Tony, and more importantly exactly what she hasn't told him.
When Tony walks in, stops in the door and casually leans against the bright orange wall Ziva can't help but look up and smile at him from her spot at one of the small tables. The senior field agent even shoots McGee a small, sincere smile from where he is standing upon noticing his worried expression. He doesn't like this situation any better than the rest of them, Tony can tell.
"Hey Probie," he calls softly. "Sorry to crash the tea party ladies," and he bows his head in an apology and ignores the way Tim rolls his eyes at him. "The bossman wants you Zee-vah. You're probably in trouble..." he wanders over to the table, makes a mental note that she's changed her clothes, looks more like herself again, and gingerly grabs at the chocolate muffin on Ziva's plate. He's only playing around, and can feel his stomach flip as the ninja in her kicks in and before he has so much as moved the muffin a couple of inches up into the air her hand locks around his wrist, hard. He's trapped. She's got him. He snickers at her, grinning widely and she wheezes at him, with a smile of her own.
"Don't you dare, Tony..."
McGee packs up, throws out his now cold coffee and brushes crumbs off his pant legs as he stands. "Did Gibbs get anything out of Jenkins in interrogation?" he asks and Tony drops the muffin, wincing, pretending to be hurt by Ziva's mean grip.
"This will bruise!" he whines, rubbing the spot before extending his arm out to Ziva again, his green eyes wide and glossy, begging, "kiss it better?"
To his half amusement, half bewilderment she locks eyes with him, slowly bending down and places a light kiss just on the inside of his extended wrist. Something in her eyes, beyond the playful, flirtatious glint that's floating around, glittering like gold, something else, makes him think that she remembers the exact moment he relived just moments earlier. His fingers, her beating pulse...
"Better?" she almost whispers up at him, and he can't quite find his voice, swallows hard and barely notices how McGee shifts next to him, eyes darting around the room, feeling like he's invading their space, not sure where to look.
"Y-yeah..." when he speaks his voice sounds hoarse and thick, a bit scratchy and lower than planned, but he's just thankful he managed to utter anything at all. He can't remember when he lost his ability to speak around her, around anyone.
"Interrogation?" McGee probes again, "What happened?" and Tony and Ziva are torn back to reality, their gaze broken and Tony's wrist all forgotten about.
"He wouldn't tell me," Tony shrugs and he can see that McGee is thinking what he's thinking – that it's strange, very strange indeed. "He just said he wants to talk to the ninja."
Tim nods before turning to Ziva, "well, whatever is going on we will fix it. These guys can't hide forever and Gibbs will never let the CIA take the lead on this."
She smiles at him, at the determination in his voice and she throws her coffee out too. She cherishes the way Tim often speaks about Gibbs just like that, like he can fix and make right just about anything that feels wrong. She thinks she knows what Gibbs will want from her, wants to believe desperately that Tim is right, that it is something that they can fix.
"Come on, Probie," Tony drapes an arm around Tim's shoulders and walks him down the corridor. "While Ziva and Gibbs have their little date I think it is time for you and me to do some bonding!"
"Tony I don't want to do your paper work for you!"
"Shut up and appreciate the moment... you... me... you with my paper work, me with pizza and the newest issue of Sports Illustrated!"
If the view bothered him, he didn't let it show, as he sat crouched a few feet away overseeing the work. Asher Hastings didn't so much as flinch as the shrill screams of a man eaten from the inside by pain so sharp that it cut through the stuffy air in the room, bounced against the walls. The panting man writhed and squirmed on the dirty floor. He kicked his feet awkwardly, almost as in spasms and the pool of blood he was lying in grew bigger and bigger. It wasn't until the pasty looking man, pearls of sweat clinging to his face and neck, snarled and nearly knocked the figure leaning over him out that Asher spoke.
"Mason!" he barked, before waiving the gun he was holding. He flexed his fingers, impatience gnawing on him. He was getting bored. He retrained the gun on the uniform clad man prodding his friend's chest with bloody fingers. "Lie the fuck still, Mason. And you," he shifted his gaze to the wide eyed stranger, "you're advised to hurry up before I decide to recruit someone else for this job!"
"He needs a hospital, if I remove the knife now-"
"What are you waiting for? Just fix him up! You have your stuff!" and Asher kicks the supply bag closer. "No hospital. This is what you have to work with! I don't think you have much of a choice," and he shoves the barrel of his gun harshly into the temple of the green eyed doctor, "do you?"
Mason Carter grits his teeth and claws at his own palms in desperation before erupting in another fit of screams again. His vision is beginning to blur and he throws his head to the side, trying to fix his eyes on Asher. He licks his lips, grimacing in pain.
"Ash... Asher I hate her! I hate the bitch! I want to kill her! Can I kill her?"
"Be quiet," Asher chuckles and and the doctor watches him out of the corner of his eye, puzzled at the gunman's sudden and out of place amusement while pressing gauze over the open wound in the hurting man's side. There is a dusty, but bright naked bulb hanging low from the ceiling and though he has worked in worse lighting before this is not his idea of an ideal working environment. The carpet beneath them, once a light cream, was dirty and torn, matted with dirt and neglect. The material sloshed when his knee sank into the blood that spread like split ink through the fibres.
"He'll need stitches..." he mutters, and tries to shut away the part of him that's panicking, that's scared he will never see his children again, that wonders how the hell this happened to him. He digs in his supply bag, stiffens when he feels the barrel of the gun once again pressed into his body and swallows down the bile threatening to rise up this throat. He concentrates on his duty, the man in need of help before him. "I'm just... just," and he pulls what he was searching for from the bag and holds the supplies out for Asher to see.
"Faster, doc!" Asher shouts, his face growing angry now and the doctor looks strangely relieved at the indication of actual emotion, even if it is anger and even if he has a gun to accompany said rage. He nods and gets back to work. As he methodically and steadily pulls the surgical thread through the edges of the stab wound he can't help but let his mind wander to whoever must have inflicted it. He wonders about the mystery woman the two men had talked about earlier and where she might be now.
"Was there anyone else hurt?" he asks Asher while he finishes up the best he can.
"Would you like me to arrange for you to get hurt?" Asher sighs, annoyed and waives the gun around again, demonstratively. "Do something about the pain!" he barks out instead and points to the bag on the floor. "Give him morphine or something!"
Mason Carter hums in agreement and nods his head, his eyes rolling around in their sockets. His skin is still a pasty grey and the fire in his side feels like it is licking its way up his chest now, his heart heaving and spluttering behind his ribs as if boiling inside him. His clothes are sticking to him but he can't tell weather he is soaked with blood or sweat. Whenever his eyelids fall shut he can see spiders, big black and hairy, crawl their way across his vision, his world. He shudders and blinks, hard, trying to make them go away. He thinks he must be going insane, thinks he's losing his mind with pain.
Moments later heavy silence has settled in the room. Mason has been moved onto the shabby, flee bitten sofa where he is sleeping off the morphine indeed administered and Asher strides across the room, peers into the darkness outside, listens to the slow pulse of night life and late night traffic before shutting the blinds. He moves over to a closet and pulls a big plastic bag out. He dangles it in the air, his small smile growing into a grin.
"Well played! So far you've done a splendid job playing both nurse and surgeon," he chirps at the stranger sitting on the floor. The doctor wipes his bloody hands on his uniform trouser legs and looks up at Asher with his big emerald eyes. He can tell that the doctor is still wondering, still silently asking higher powers what he is doing there, why him, and what will happen now? He feels strong and powerful, godly almost, as he lets the bag fall to the floor with a soft thud and thinks that he, Asher Hastings, knows the answer to all those questions. He almost wants to laugh when he thinks about how everything had worked out, how sometimes the universe will assist you in the strangest of ways.
"With things going so well, I'm sure you will be happy enough to play one more role," he raises his gun again, trains it on the uniform clad man before continuing, his voice steady, "and don't worry, doc, this one is dead easy."
A/N: This is still foundation work really, but I hope no one was bored and there are plenty of clues to puzzle together if you look hard enough. ;)
Thank you for reading and feel free to tell me what you think in a review!