Chapter 4
Ziva watched as McGee expertly assembled the intricate electrical equipment by feeble torchlight. She wanted to help but, hard as it was to admit, her 'help' would probably only complicate the procedure. Instead, she opened a folding canvas chair and settled into it to observe an artist at work. Her eyes ran down his body as he toiled. He was well built: not muscle hardened like Tony but supple and inviting.
A sudden shiver traversed her spine and she realised it was freezing in the old building.
McGee looked up as he completed his last connection. "Here," he offered, shrugging off his coat. "I've got a nice fever to keep me warm."
She was about to protest when she noted he was positively glowing in the dull ambient light. "Will you be alright?"
He smiled stoically. "Yeah."
Strength: Ziva admired that in a man, though she was a little concerned his bravado was inappropriate in this instance.
McGee opened the second folding chair and placed it beside hers. "That's it," he sighed, easing himself carefully into the seat. The fever had stiffened his muscles but he was clearly not going to admit it.
"And now?" she prompted the inevitable.
"We wait," he confirmed.
Stakeouts: long endless hours fuelled by cheap food and even cheaper coffee.
'And cheap chairs' Ziva added to herself, shifting again to relieve the unbearable awkwardness of her seating position. McGee should put that in his book. She had endured excruciating torture delivered by world experts in the field but NCIS surveillance chairs had to be experienced to be believed.
Ziva's heightened senses explore the environment: the ancient wooden structure, their sanctuary for the duration of the stakeout, smelt like it had established its own eco-system and it creaked ominously at every gust of wind. Before her, equipment humming away on the single fold-out table provided the only source of light.
But tonight, Mossad Officer Lisa didn't seem to mind because she was getting to spend it with
Although Ziva could hear McGee's regular breathing very distinctly, he had not spoken to her in at least an hour. She worried how bad he must be feeling. Relief pulsed through her as she felt a nudge on her shoulder. The joy was short-lived however, for as she turned to McGee expectantly, she was surprised to see the nudge had come from his head: he was sound asleep on her shoulder. A hand planted on his forehead confirmed her suspicions: he was sweaty and hot: very hot. Maybe he would recuperate after some sleep.
The pills she gave him were clearly wearing off. She marvelled at how trusting he was to take random pills from a trained assassin. Most people would have suspected they were hallucinogens. Seriously perverted people might have assumed they were RUFIES – but not McGee. He had an innate sense of trust which was a good personal quality, though perhaps incompatible with spy mentality.
Ziva smiled as McGee snuggled against her shoulder and breathed a contented sigh. He looked younger than she remembered. Somehow she had him in her head as the same age as Tony but looking at him now, she realised he was considerably younger: almost the same age as herself.
She wondered how McGee would react if he were aware of his position: sprawled out in a chair, heavy head slowly sinking down the front of her body, so peaceful, almost as if he belong there, lying on her...
She picked up the binoculars and scanned the area once more in pursuit of some action.
She wasn't sure at first whether her mind was desperately playing with shadows to alleviate the boredom if something was finally going to happen. A split second later, she knew her instincts were correct.
She looked down to where McGee's head was sunk deep into her collar bone. He was gently snoring, dead to the world. The heat from his body throbbed against her side. It pained her to wake him.
"McGee," she whispered urgently.
He stirred and muttered something incomprehensible.
She wondered why she was whispering given her only aim was to wake him.
"McGee," she tried more forcefully.
"What?" McGee jerked awake suddenly then groaned as the pain reasserted itself. Groggily, he slid his head up her body until his chin perched on her shoulder. "Ziva?" he squinted, puzzled.
"They are here."
"Who?"
"Hopefully our missing Naval officer and his accomplices."
McGee frowned lazily as he tried to make sense of everything. Suddenly, it all came rushing back and he sat up straighter on the chair. "Oh, sorry, I didn't mean to... they're here? Now?"
"Yes." Ziva hauled herself out of her chair and started typing on the computer.
"Oh!" McGee stood up urgently, lurched a little to one side, then wobbled unsteadily to the computers.
The entire exchange was over in ten minutes but in that short time they were able to collect images of all parties present, car licence plates and items exchanged.
As the cars roared off into the night, McGee collapsed into a chair with a groan and threw his head back. "I can't believe we actually got all that."
Ziva, stabbing on her cell to notify Gibbs, looked at him slumped in the chair: he looked appalling.
"Drink," she offered her water bottle. "You are dehydrated and take these," she dug out some more pills from her pocket. "You need to keep that fever down."
McGee accepted without a word.
It was late when they reached the car park at headquarters. McGee had hardly spoken since they left the stake out and Ziva was more that a little alarmed by his staggering gait as they headed towards his car. When they reached the Porsche, he took a deep, slightly moaning breath, dug out his keys and held them aloft before her eyes.
"Yes!" Ziva snatched the keys from his grasp and tossed them in the air victoriously.
"Just don't break it," he slurred heading for the passenger side.
Snuggling into the luxurious driver's seat, Ziva looked across to McGee. He was already almost asleep against the side of the car, sweat sheen glistening in the interior lighting.
"I need to get you into bed," she said absently.
McGee opened one eye and used it to stare at her. She reviewed the statement in light of his response. "That came out wrong," she surmised.
"Ya think?" he mumbled, his eye sliding shut again.
