A/N: ...And we're getting there.
(Dis)claimer: Ziva, Tony, McGee, Gibbs, Fornell and Abby are not mine, but those other lads, they certainly are.
Chapter Four
Rather than being productive and finding her himself, like he set off to do, Tony ends
up at his neighborhood pub. It's small and rustic place that he has rarely frequented since he and Ziva got together. He no longer has the need to hang out bars. But tonight, after nearly strangling Dylan Potts and all but telling Gibbs to go fuck himself, he'd driven there on autopilot and ended up at the counter, three drinks in.
Because, if he is being honest and laying all his cards out on the table like Ziva always tells him they should, he is crumbling – crumbling, cracking and collapsing under the pressure.
He has to find her. There is no other option, but he just doesn't know how and the fear that he'll never know how is crippling. Their usual police work, though previously proven successful, isn't moving fast enough for him, and yet, he doesn't know how to expedite the process.
She's suffering, he knows. He needs to get to her, but he feels crippled.
He rubs his temple before allowing himself to really think about the suffering that she could be enduring as he drains his third beer. Her file is more detailed and disturbing than ninety-ninety percent of the other agents in the building. Coupled with he and McGee's debriefing statements, he knows it's more than probable that's she's re-living her time with Saleem Ulman.
It makes him shiver.
Tony stops himself after four beers. Going any further would just lead to a sad and embarrassing night – confessing everything to anyone who would listen. He leaves the bartender money, a quiet guy who has seen him go through a lot and walks out.
"Be careful tonight," the guy advises.
Tony nods and it's one of genuine thanks and then steps outside.
Naturally, fitting to his mood and life situation, it's started to rain. The DC night isn't cold enough for snow and the cloud cover conceals the stars that might otherwise be around to remind him that there is something, somewhere that will help him, them.
He thinks about heading left and towards his apartment, but it's still too early for sleep and so he heads in the opposite direction, no destination in mind.
Before he realizes it, he's only two blocks from Ziva's apartment. He should've known he'd end up there. She's always been like a magnet, pulling him in, holding him close – even when it was seemingly what neither of the them wanted – the pull was always there.
Tony climbs the stairs and lets himself in. There's no crime scene tape or official seal across the door, because it was clear that she'd left here on her own devices. The only evidence of previous night's chaos is the dent in the wall from where he'd rammed his foot in frustration – in terror.
He'll fix it before the landlord notices, but not before she's back.
Despite the fact that she's not around to admonish him, Tony slips his shoes off by the door. It's wet outside and she has white carpets.
He wanders around for a few minutes, picking up a dish she left in the sink and rinsing it before placing it back in the correct cabinet. There's a sweater hanging on the back of one of her chairs and so he brings it down to her closet before realizing he's suddenly in her room – a place he'd told himself upon entry to the apartment he would not go.
But he's here now. Rooted to the doorway, eyes scanning the room for any signs of life that he knows can't appear.
He tosses her sweater onto the bench at the foot of the bed and deliberately lays down on the side that she usually occupies.
And as he sinks into the pillow, some of the tension that's been residing in his body since the moment he saw Claudia Meyer's lifeless – Ziva resembling body, fades – just a little.
It smells like her. The pillow smells of her berry citrus conditioner and the sheets smell of that scent that's just her – sweet and just a tad bit mysterious, but velvety soft. Her side of the bed is soft and slept in just a little more than his, but comfort spreads to the middle towards spot that she now spends nights in his arms.
For a second, he forgets.
When he wakes, the sun is high in the sky – higher than he's ever seen it from bed, even those Sundays he's spent with Ziva.
He's dazed and groggy and confused. And then he panics because he has no idea what time it is or what day it is and whether they've found Ziva – dead or alive. He needs to call McGee and he needs to find his phone in order to do that.
His hands smack at his pants and through his panic-stricken efforts, he falls out of bed and ends up on the floor, the phone, tumbling out of the pocket with him.
Tony's not sure the last time he accidently rolled out of bed, but there's no way it hurt like this.
He groans and pushes himself to sit against the frame. He's barely awake and though he can't quite make out the name, he's pretty sure that he dials McGee, because he desperately needs an update on what's going on.
The line picks up and he jumps down McGee's throat before the man even has a chance to say hello or ask if he's been shipped off to the insane asylum following such a dramatic exit. "Have you found her?" he questions. "Do you have Ziva?"
But it's not McGee that he's dialed. "Woah, DiNozzo, man." It takes him a moment, but as he ears adjust to the unexpected voice, he realizes that rather than Tim McGee, he's dialed Sean McKinnon.
"DiNozzo," he repeats, "You there? Something wrong?"
Tony sighs and pulls himself from the floor. "Sean," he groans, "Yeah, yeah, I'm here."
"Everything okay?"
Tony rubs his forehead. He hadn't planned on telling anyone outside the team, but McKinnon, one of his oldest friends and a fireman, himself, can sense danger a mile away. "No, Ziva's missing – kidnapped. I dialed you on accident."
"Jesus," Sean murmurs. There's a moment of silence and Tony knows he putting on that calm exterior, the one he puts on every time he tell Jess that this burning building won't be his last. "Someone from her past?"
"We don't think so, but they don't know and I'm being kept uninvolved."
"Well, you're so involved."
"Yeah, yeah I am," Tony sighs. Involved doesn't even begin to explain he and Ziva and Sean knows that.
Sean knows a lot of things about Tony. They'd bonded freshman year off college, both prep school graduates whose lack-luster high school studying habits had prevented them from playing basketball somewhere like Duke or Georgetown and cast them towards Ohio State. After graduation, Sean had gotten a job on Wall Street – like his father and grandfather before him, but his heart and soul had never been in it. And so, eventually, after a decade of sorting through odd jobs and picking up work where he could, he graduated from the New York's firefighter academy just two weeks before September 11th.
"Can I do anything?" he asks. "I'll come down."
McKinnon's wife, Jess, an ICU nurse, will tell you that it was a stroke of luck that Sean was home with their sick two year old that morning, but Sean's always seen it as a day when his buddies went into a burning building without him and never came out. Four months before the two-year anniversary of the attacks, the McKinnons moved to Annapolis, needing a change of pace.
"You don't have to do that." Tony says. "Don't leave Jess and the girls."
"DiNozzo, that wasn't a question." Sean responds. "Jess would be horrified if I didn't do anything. I'll be down tonight."
And since the move, Sean and Tony have really reconnected. Jess has always been keen on helping Tony find someone to settle down with and start a family. She's been playing matchmaker for years, but she's quite happy to retire that post in favor of Ziva. The two have become fast friends in the months since Tony finally introduced his famous partner and though he knows that Jess' allegiance will always be him first, he also knows she'll do whatever she can to make sure she never has to pick.
"Thank you, McKinnon," Tony says and he means it because he thinks that maybe if Sean comes up, he can whip him into shape and help him get his head straight.
"Yeah, yeah, buddy."
The phone call from Sean or to Sean, rather, is enough to push Tony into taking a shower. It's hard – being in her shower, but he needs to get dressed and he needs to head back to the Navy Yard.
They wont find her with him sleeping the day away, hoping his dreams will fix reality.
He feels like a new man when he walks out of the elevator. McGee, Gibbs, Fornell and one of Fornell's FBI minions are standing in front of the plasma. Tony doesn't hesitate in joining them.
"Tony," McGee stammers, "What're you doing here?"
"Whatever you need me to do," he responds. He looks at Gibbs as he speaks and hopes that he can feel his apology. He won't voice it out loud and he doesn't think Gibbs expects, nor wants him too.
But it's there and they both know it.
Gibbs and McGee share a look of hesitation that they don't even bother to hide from Tony. And, honestly, Tony doesn't blame them, but that's why he's here right now –wide-eyed and wearing his favorite suit. He's got his head on and he's here to find Ziva.
Gibbs nods to McGee, but his eyes are fixed on Tony and that's when he knows that things will be back on track. If he can keep his head on, they'll be back working together. For her.
"I need a full report of this guy's call history in the last two years," McGee says, handing him a printed copy of Lewis Mickelson's driver's license.
Tony nods and heads to his desk. He's doing all he can to remain calm and not ask ten thousand questions about who the hell Lewis Mikelson is and why he's looking into two years worth of phone records. But his heart is racing in his chest and he can feel the other men's eyes on him – waiting for him to snap again. Do they think that this guy has Ziva? Is this them getting close?
He logs the number into the system and watches as the list of calls comes up. After a few moments, the computer scans and highlights the numbers that have come up repeatedly. Surprisingly, there isn't many.
"So why are we looking this up?" Tony asks.
McGee joins him in front of the screen and points to another number. It hasn't called Lewis Mickelson since last January, but before that the calls had come in daily – multiple times a day.
McGee looks up at Gibbs. "Is this enough to bring him in on?"
Gibbs nods and Tony looks between them.
"Can someone fill me in?" he asks again.
"Lewis Mickelson and Ajay Khan were good friends – very good friends.
"And you think Mickelson has Ziva."
"We don't know," Gibbs cuts in, "but that's what Dylan Potts gave us. Mickelson was definitely paying Potts."
"And you think Mickelson took Ziva in retribution for us taking down Khan?"
"Yeah," McGee confirms, "It's our working theory. Potts said that for whoever did this – it wasn't about money or intelligence – this was something personal."
Tony's eyebrows rise. The pothead was certainly right about that. This is extremely personal.
Tony's sitting on the edge of his desk, head in his hands, when his desk phone rings. He jumps and pulls it off the hook.
This could be the call that he's been waiting for. The one telling him that she's okay – that they got her.
Gibbs, McGee and their FBI friends left nearly an hour ago – headed to check out an apartment that Mickelson had listed as his residence while he worked as an IT analyst at a small start-up business.
"You get her?" he asks.
But like earlier, it's not McGee on the other end of the line. "Uh…Is this Agent DiNozzo?" a man asks.
Tony sighs. "Yes, this is Special Agent DiNozzo." He answers.
"This is John at the front gate. I got a man named Sean McKinnon here – says he has business with you."
And the idea of him and Sean ever having to do anything professional together, paints a ghost of a smile across Tony's face. "Yes," he responds, "He does. Send him in."
Five minutes later, Sean is led by an escort into the squadroom. Tony looks up from the ground to see his friend taking in the orange walls and the overhead skylight that allows the night sky to peer down on them.
"Didn't want this to be how I got my official tour," he says.
"Yeah, me neither," Tony agrees.
Sean takes up a spot next to him and claps a hand against his back. They don't do deep conversations, but Tony knows that Sean can only imagine the level of pain that he's in right now. "How you holding up?" he asks.
"Well," Tony says, sardonic smile playing his features, "I've been better."
Sean nods and they lapse into silence for a moment before he speaks again. "Jess sends her regards. I hope it's okay that I told her. She's worried sick and she wants you to know that Carly and Amanda can fend for themselves for the night or however long if you want her here too."
"Two teenagers alone in a house," Tony winces.
"Hey," McKinnon says, "They're not like we were."
"That's for sure," Tony agrees.
The elevator dings and Tony pushes himself off of his desk and rushes towards the door before it even opens. It's just Gibbs and McGee and their faces are unreadable and for a second his stomach drops, because what if this is information he'll never be able to un-hear?
McGee steps past him and pats him on the shoulder. "Nothing," he says and Tony looks to Gibbs for clarification.
"He ended his lease early about a month ago. Paid the rest in cash and gave no forwarding address."
"Just like the job," Tony says.
"Yeah, no address there either."
After a brief introduction, Gibbs puts Sean in charge of seeing Tony home for the night. Leave the all-nighters to he and McGee and the FBI grunts whose job it will be to track down the location of Lewis Mickelson, now that he's their number one suspect.
Tony doesn't really want to leave, but he does what he's told. There's no need to have a repeat of yesterday. It'll only land him with a pink slip in the long run.
So he lets Sean drag him out of there. They head to a sports bar, but Sean steers him away from the counter and towards a table.
"When was the last time you ate?" Sean asks.
Tony's not sure, to be quite honest. It was probably the sandwich that McGee brought him yesterday – or whatever day that was.
He's sure they all seem to blurring together right now. That's what she told him happened in Somalia. She didn't know what happened when because after a while she lost most sense of time. The change in shadows of her cell didn't matter any more and she didn't have the desire to predict the appearance of her captors.
"You do that to Ziva a lot?" McKinnon asks.
"What?" Tony breaks from his thoughts and focuses back on the conversation at hand. "Sorry, man." Tony shakes his head.
"It's okay, brotha," Sean shakes it off. "I know that you got a lot going on in that mind of yours. Hell, if it were Jess…" He trails off shaking his head.
"You know," Tony says, "I know it's not the first time, but I don't think I can handle this happening again."
"Hazardous job," Sean says. "But … it's not like you guys will both leave."
Tony shakes his head. "Not in the near future." He sighs. "Unless I get fired." He laughs at the absurdity.
Sean's eyebrows knit together. "Why would you get your fired? Aren't you like the best there is?"
Tony laughs. "I wouldn't go that far," he says, "But I had a bit of an…outburst the other day. Grabbed a suspect, you know, the usual."
"Yeah, but they know…"
"Yeah, they do." Tony agrees. "Especially Gibbs and McGee, but it's unprofessional and we signed a 'Close and Continuing Relationship' disclaimer that lifts any liability from NCIS."
"So what's the problem?"
"Well, it also gives NCIS discretion to fire us or move us if they suspect our relationship is interfering with our jobs."
"This is a bit of an extenuating circumstance though, don't you think?"
"We'll see what happens." Tony says, "The job is the least of my worries right now."
"They'll get her back – you'll get her back."
The break comes somewhere around four in the morning. And it comes in two waves, neither of which Tim McGee is willing to believe for fear that this is all just a dream.
He's certainly groggy enough.
He's on his third coffee of the night when text message logs clue him into what they've been missing the whole time. And it's their first real break in the … he's unwilling to call something regarding his partner's life a case. This was much more than a case for them just like Ajay Khan was much more than a friend to Lewis Mikelson. He was his boyfriend.
And this vendetta that he seemed to have against Tony and Ziva was far more personal then they'd originally assumed.
And suddenly it made so much sense.
Khan had spent a day with Tony and Ziva and any idiot could tell that there was something between them. Tony and Ziva take Khan from Mikelson – Mikelson takes Ziva from Tony.
It's never been about Ziva. It's Tony.
He shoots out of his desk and heads to Abby's lab. Gibbs and Fornell had just headed down to see the results of some human fibers found in Lewis Mikelson's apartment.
They're onto something now. He's sure of it.
Let me know what you think! Cara