Tony flipped the phone opened and shut a half dozen times before he dialed the familiar number. It rang for several moments before the line clicked on.

"Simon Fischer," an accented voice greeted him on the other end.

"Privet, brat. Kak dela?" He said quietly, even though he was alone in the locked bathroom.

Ever since they met, every conversation he had with Simon started in Russian, assuming they were both safe. It was a code of sorts between them. Going off script meant they couldn't talk, that things were bad, that they needed help. They had only needed to use it a few times. The end results from those conversations had not been pleasant.

"Oltíchno, kak u tebyá?" the Russian asked, keeping to the usual lines. Safe to talk at both ends then, Tony felt alright with changing his usual response.

"Plokho." Tony fell silent and Simon stayed quiet too.

"Where are you?" The other man asked in desperate English, dropping the pretenses of this being an informal conversation between two old friends.

"I just got back from Tel Aviv."

"Not at-"

"No," Tony cut him off before Simon could finish that sentence in any number of ways. "Mossad. I killed one of their agents."

Simon was silent for a moment. "Did Deputy Director Lavin handle it or do you need an extraction from your situation? I could probably pull together something quickly."

"Director David is the one handling things, but they let me go back to America." Tony wanted to run a hand through his hair, but the fractured radial didn't agree. "I need to get away. Anywhere."

"Alright. I will have a plane waiting."

"I have one arm."

Simon gave a half chuckle. "Not an issue. Fact finding. Nothing dangerous." Tony wanted to smile at that, but couldn't find the strength. "Cho tam?"

"No, but I will be." He sighed. "Talk to you soon."

He clicked the phone off and stepped out of the restroom as Gibbs rounded the corner. Vance wasn't far behind him and neither man had a happy expression on their faces.

"Administrative leave?" Tony asked in disbelief. What were the chances that he was planning on requesting time off and the director benched him instead.

"I'm not any happier about it than you are, DiNozzo."

"It was self defense."

"Doesn't mean Vance was happy about it. Use the time to rest up. Heal." Somehow, it felt like Gibbs meant more than just his arm. The betrayal in Ziva's eyes, how sure she had been that he had just killed her boyfriend out of jealousy. She had no idea what he was capable of. She had never known him at all.

His words to Navon all these years later stood true. He hated her. He hated her for making him feel this way, so filled with self doubt. He hated that she had acted so concerned about the stuff with Jeanne, that she made him think she might have returned his feelings, but she turned around and so easily fell for Rivkin. Tony had to work for the friendship he thought he had shared with his partner. Ziva threw it away like it meant nothing.

"It's what has to be done, DiNozzo," Vance said in that condescending way of his. "Either NCIS punishes you or we hand you over to Mossad. I'll make arrangements for your new assignment after your leave is up."

With a disgusted sigh, he pulled his gun and badge from the drawer and handed them to Gibbs. McGee let out a startled yelp as Tony slammed the drawer harder than strictly necessary.

"Don't bother. I quit."

With that, he stormed to the elevator, leaving the three stunned into silence.

Spy work was a lot like sitting in a doctor's waiting room. You sit around, read some magazines, and every so often, some comes along that you have to snap a photo of. On that particular day, Tony was watching a building that both Simon and Jai had found links back to the terrorist money laundering thief ring that they had spend the better part of the last nearly twenty years tracking.

Tony and Simon's friendship had been founded on the two of the, tracking the missing military shipments and money through the former Eastern Bloc counties, Napoleon Solo and Illya Kuryakin style. Not just U.S. military shipments either. As the Soviet Union broke up, they noticed some discrepancies. There were paintings and cultural pieces that disappeared from the different regions.

The insurance firm he had been watching was suspected to be a part of it. A global insurance company, their agents were in a perfect position to travel around the world to help facilitate such transfers and disappearances.

No one really blinked twice at a tourist with a broken arm. He had told the cafe owner that he was researching for a book. And maybe one day he would write a book, Ian Fleming style. Maybe if he lived long enough for some of his ops to be declassified.

"Can I get you another coffee, sir?" the young waitress who had been helping him for the whole day asked.

"Please."

The girl gave him a bright grin and headed back inside.

"'Of all the gin joints in all the world, he had to walk into mine,'" Tony quoted as the other man sat down at the table.

"I was in town and thought I'd stop by," Eyal answered glibly. "You don't write, you don't call, you don't answer a phone. I got worried."

"I'm fine." His cousin glanced at his arm.

"Eliana said you killed Michael Rivkin. And then you disappeared off the grid. What was I to think? What about Abba or Ima?"

"You've talked to your mother?" Tony asked in surprised, even as the other man scoffed.

"You talked to Eliana while you were in Israel, but you avoided your family." The Mossad officer sighed. "What happened? The report said Rivkin was drunk, but I know you better than that. If he had been drunk, you would not have had to shoot him." He cocked his head. "Why the cover up?"

"My country isn't like yours, Eyal. We don't go around announcing when we work somewhere too secret. Take Ziva David. She flaunted that she was Mossad like it was an award. It seemed like she worked it into every conversation."

"You're angry at her," his cousin observed. "I heard she stayed behind, that she offered your Agent Gibbs an ultimatum. Her or you."

Tony closed his eyes and exhaled. He hadn't known that. Gibbs hadn't said anything.

"But you still care for her and that makes you angry at yourself as well. You're in love with her."

That got his eyes opened, glaring at the Israeli. "I am not in love with her."

"'The lady doth protest too much, methinks.'"

"I will make you regret it if you don't stop. Just because I'm in a sling does not mean anything, Eyal," he hissed through clenched teeth.

The teasing light faded from his cousin's eyes, leaving only solemnness in its wake.

"I'm just worried about you. We don't want to lose you again. We lost Chana and we lost Dodh and Doda. How could we live if we lost you too? Have you thought about that, Tony?"

He hadn't. He had been trying to avoid doing as much of that as possible.

Eyal picked up the camera and took a few shots of the building, of the man passing off a briefcase to a woman. "It has a great architectural structure. Strong lines. Very clean."

"Since when are you such an architecture aficionado?"

"Around the time you became a writer." Eyal smiled, laying the camera back down on the table. His hand came to rest on Tony's uninsured shoulder and he squeezed. Hand on his shoulder, gave a squeeze, "Take care of yourself. Or I will send Ima after you."

Russian

Privet (Приве́т.) - Hi. / Hello.

Brat - brother - when a man calls his friend brother, implication is that the relationship between them is closer than simple friendship.

Kak dela? (Как дела́?) - How are you? or How are you doing? (Informal to a friend)

Oltíchno, kak u tebyá? (Отли́чно, как у тебя́?) - Excellent, how are you?

Plokho. (Плохо). Bad.

Cho tam? - You alright? (Slang)

Hebrew

Abba - father

Ima - mom

Dodh and Doda - uncle and aunt respectively.

"Covert intelligence involves a lot of waiting around. Any meeting, any appointment, you have to show up early, make sure you are not followed; make sure the area is secured; check out the other guy's advance team and see how well he is prepared. It's good trade craft but it's like hanging out in your dentist's reception area 24 hours a day. You read magazines, sip coffee, and every once in a while someone tries to kill you." Michael Westen, Burn Notice 1x01