Aftermath: Irrevocable Changes
Disclaimer: Not mine.
ER reference in here!
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Chapter 4
Closing the door behind him, Eli nodded at Gibbs. "Have you seen Leon?"
"Gone for coffee; he'll be back soon," replied Gibbs neutrally. "How's she doing, Eli?"
Eli sat down on the chair opposite him. "She did not think I would come." He sighed wearily. "I cannot say I blame her. But this incident… It has made me realise how close I came to losing her. I have already lost two of my children; she is the only one I have left and relations between us have been…strained. I want to make things right between us before it is too late and I do not get a chance to."
"Yeah, I can understand that." Gibbs was silent for a moment. "Because trust me, you don't want to leave it too late." He looked up as a shadow fell over them.
"Coffee," announced Vance. "Got you some tea, Eli." He handed out the drinks and sat down in the chair next to Gibbs.
"Thank you," replied Eli. He glanced around the corridor." Leon, I need to know everything about what happened, who this man with the grudge is, everything you have."
Vance regarded him closely. "Agent McGee was able to retrieve all the data from his computers and has them on a number of memory sticks; you'll need to talk to him."
"I will. Where is he?"
"Cafeteria with Abby; they're coming down to see Ziva once they've eaten."
"Good. What is the name of the man who created all this destruction?"
"Why?"
Eli shrugged easily. "If he tries to flee the country for another one, who is to say he will not choose Israel? I can put my people on alert."
"Man has a point, Leon," remarked Gibbs mildly, knowing that that was not the real reason.
"True," conceded Vance. "His name's Harper Dearing, You want anything else, McGee has it."
"Good." Eli smiled calmly. "Good."
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"I am bored," Ziva declared four hours later. "This is the most uninteresting ceiling I have ever been forced to stare at for any period of time."
"You spent a lot of time staring at ceilings growing up?" asked Tony, giving her a strange look.
She shrugged. "The ceiling in my art classroom at school was quite interesting."
Abby bounced in through the open door. "I have Fluxx!" she announced. She sighed impatiently when the other two gave her bemused looks. "Card game?"
"Is it complicated?" asked Ziva warily.
"Nope; you just do whatever the rules tell you to – they change, which is why it's called Fluxx," the forensic scientist elaborated. "Just us for the moment – Ziva, McGee's showing your dad something on the computer."
"Why would he be doing that?" asked Tony in confusion.
"It is probably best not to ask," advised Ziva sagely. "I find that is usually the wisest approach when dealing with him. Also, if any questions are asked, we can honestly say that we know nothing."
Abby was clearly torn, but in the end realised that Ziva was probably right and so she set about shuffling the cards and explaining how the fame worked. By the time she had dealt the cards out, McGee appeared, being pushed in the hospital wheelchair, so she dealt him into the game as well. Gibbs shook his head when Abby held the cards out to him and went back into the corridor with the two directors.
The four kept their chatter light on the whole, wanting and needing a distraction from the bomb, the deaths and Ziva's situation.
"McGeeeeeeeee, why'd you have to go and change the Goal?" whined Tony as the Goal was changed to Chocolate Milk.
"Because it was Rocket Science and you have the Brain," retorted McGee smugly.
Abby and Ziva rolled their eyes at each other and Ziva, adhering to the current rules of drawing three and playing two, calmly placed the Chocolate and Milk Keeper cards in front of her. "I win!" she cried in triumph.
"What? How did you…?" asked Tony. Smirking, Ziva pointed to the two cards she had just played. "Oh."
"Again?" asked the Israeli. "I rather like this game."
"Sure, why not?"
"Yay!" exclaimed Abby, gathering up the cards and shuffling them. "There's also Pirate, Zombie, Martian and a couple of other versions. I have all of them."
"Hey, guys."
Abby dropped the cards at the voice from the doorway. "Jimmy?! What are you doing here? Shouldn't you be on your honeymoon?"
"It can wait," said ME assistant Jimmy Palmer's new wife, Breena, from beside him. "We heard what happened. Have you heard about Dr. Mallard?"
Four confused and now-worried faces looked back at her. Ziva was the first to speak. "What do you mean?"
Palmer looked down at the floor awkwardly. "He's in hospital down in Florida. He had a heart attack." Gasps rang out across the room. "He'll be OK, they've said. He was on the beach when he heard about the bomb."
"Who's the guy with Gibbs and Vance?" inquired Breena.
"My father," replied Ziva. "Vance phoned him when they got me out and – and he just came, got on the next flight out of Tel Aviv." She still looked and sounded a little bemused that this had happened. "What is happening with Ducky?"
"They're going to transfer him up here in a few days," Palmer explained. "He wanted to be with all of us rather than down in Florida where he doesn't know anyone. He was pretty taken with some TV doc down there – he seems quite impressed with her. She has lots of stories to tell."
"She's a redhead; shouldn't that be Agent Gibbs' forté?" joked Breena.
Palmer shook his head. "Apparently she's a lesbian."
"Ah."
"We came up on the first flight we could get. We don't know anything, though."
"Three agents are dead, as well as a suspect and some government official," answered Tony soberly. "Gibbs got a concussion, Abby's a bit scratched up, you can see what state McGee and I are in, and Ziva…" He trailed off, looking nervously at Ziva.
"Tony and I were in the elevator when the bomb went off and part of the ceiling landed on me," explained Ziva in a brisk, matter-of-fact tone. She knew she would be giving this speech a lot in the days, weeks and months to come. "I have a spinal-cord injury and I am paralysed from the waist down. I will never walk again."
"Oh God…" said Breena, eyes wide as her hand flew to her mouth.
"She doesn't want pity," cut in Abby before Ziva snapped at the new Mrs. Palmer.
"It could have been a lot worse," added Ziva steadily, looking at Tony. He obligingly took her hand and massaged it comfortingly, knowing how much effort she was putting into staying calm. "At least I am not dead or completely paralysed." She shrugged, attempting nonchalance. "Shall we continue playing?"
"We're, uh, going to get something to eat," Palmer said. "Not had anything since the departure lounge. See you a bit later?"
Sure. Food is important, after all," said Abby. "See ya later!" She and the three agents waved them off. "I kinda feel guilty for not being at the wedding."
"I'm feeling annoyed that I've not been able to get Dearing," muttered Tony.
Ziva ran her thumb over his hand. "We will get him eventually," she assured him. "He will not get away with this."
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The following morning, Vance was woken by his phone, which was on the cabinet next to his side of the bed. Instantly awake, he answered it. "Vance."
"Ah, Director Vance," came a man's voice pleasantly.
Vance instantly recognised the voice and scowled. "What do you want, Dearing?"
"To talk. Video-conferencing, to be specific."
"How? MTAC's a pile of rubble."
"I'm sure the FBI will let you use their facilities. Nine am sharp. You don't want to be late." He hung up.
Vance groaned and nudged his wife awake. "I've got to go. That was Dearing; he wants to 'talk'."
"Huh. Maybe you should get Eli to set Mossad assassins on him," suggested his wife.
"I suppose I could do worse. Love you, honey."
"Love you too, Leon." She rolled over and went back to sleep.
Vance got up and hastily threw some clothes on before going down the hall and knocking on the guest-room door. "Eli, we gotta go."
"Is something wrong?" came the response, his voice remarkably bright, but then panic seeped in. "Is there something wrong with Ziva?"
"No. Dearing wants to talk and I need to get to the FBI."
"Two minutes and I will be ready."
Vance pulled his phone out of his pocket, scrolled through to Fornell's number and called him as he strode to the kitchen.
"Wha's up, Leon?" mumbled Fornell
"Dearing called. Wants a video conference at oh-nine-hundred hours at yours, seeing as he's blown up my MTAC."
"I'll meet you there."
Vance ended the call and grabbed some food that would have to do for breakfast and gave some to Eli when he appeared in the kitchen. "So, Eli. You get to meet this terrorist."
"I am looking forward to it." He followed Vance to his SUV and soon they were on their way to meet Fornell at the FBI. When they got there, he and Gibbs were waiting, coffees in hand. Nods were exchanged and Gibbs, Vance and Eli followed Fornell into the meeting-place. Eli, on advice, lurked in a dark corner.
Dearing did not disappoint: at nine am sharp his face filled the big screen. "Good morning."
"To what do we owe the honour?" asked Vance coldly.
"How are you all?" asked Dearing pleasantly, as though he was merely catching up with old friends.
"What do you want?" demanded Gibbs, cutting straight to the chase as usual.
"To see how everyone is doing."
The volume of Gibbs' voice rose. "Five people are dead, Dearing. One of my agents will never walk again. Are you satisfied yet?"
"Perhaps. I need to think about it for a while. I need to evaluate the full extent of the fallout, analyse the news, scrutinise the effects all this has had on people's perceptions of and attitudes towards the Navy, that sort of thing." His face was blank, impassive.
"I want to speak to him." Eli got to his feet and strode swiftly to the front.
"He's not one of your agents; I have no need to speak with him," Dearing told Vance brusquely.
"Do you know who this man is?" enquired Vance, indicating Eli.
"No. Should I?"
"This is Eli David, Director of Mossad. You have, I take it, heard of Mossad?"
"Well of course I've heard of Mossad!" retorted Dearing and his voice took on a mocking tone. "Is the Navy so desperate they have to call in outside sources from the other side of the world? Just when my opinion of you couldn't get any lower."
"Mossad has a personal relationship with NCIS," Vance informed him. "Eli here – his daughter is an NCIS special agent." He smiled slightly at the brief widening of Dearing's eyes and the obvious look of surprise on his face. "You didn't know that."
"Oh, it gets better," Gibbs added, allowing himself to smirk, knowing precisely where his boss was going with this.
"Really?" For the first time, Dearing looked unsettled, despite his efforts to appear unfazed.
"Oh yeah."
"Eli's daughter," Vance continued, "is the agent who will never walk again. You rendered the daughter of the Director of Mossad a paraplegic." He sucked in his breath, shook his head and made tsking noises. "Man, am I glad I'm not in your shoes."
"Am I supposed to be scared?" asked Dearing.
"You should be," Vance told him. "You should be." He gestured for the feed to be cut and Dearing's smug face disappeared from the screen. "We'll get him."
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Later that morning, Gibbs, Vance and Eli were still holed up in the FBI, holding a video conference with several people in Tel Aviv, with Vance, Gibbs and Fornell in one corner, understanding very little, if anything, of what was being said.
Eventually, Eli gave a satisfied nod and bid farewell to them. He turned to face the three Americans. "I have a request."
"Go on," said Vance, shrewdly eyeing him.
"I can get you Dearing. I simply ask that I have seventy-two hours, starting now, to handle matters without any interference from NCIS, the FBI or any other federal agency."
The three men looked at each other before nodding. "Seventy-two hours," confirmed Vance.
"Why are you doing this?" asked Fornell.
"For my daughter, who will never walk again because of this man, even though she had nothing to do with his son and was not even in this country and had not even heard of NCIS when it all happened. I owe her this."
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TBC
