"And He's Our Only Interest."
Truth or Consequences: S7
October 2010
Gibbs stood in front of Leon Vance's desk.
"We all set on this Mossad visit?" The director was economical with his questions and his time. He wasn't a micro-manager; keep Vance informed, he'd let you do your job. He trusted his agents, most of the time. He was also a lot more astute than people gave him credit for – forgetting that behind the suit of a political animal was a career agent – one of them. It was always best to check the sub-plot, before giving away too much information. Gibbs remained impassive.
"Think so, Leon. We'll find out." The two men didn't exactly trust each other. The ex-Marine held an inherent suspicion of the bureaucratic end of the organization. The Director was mindful of possible consequences, if Gibbs was allowed a completely free rein. Over time a grudging respect had emerged. Vance regarded his top investigator.
"I don't want any incidents."
There it was. He was concerned about professional reputations, maybe private ones. The exact nature of his boss' connection to the Director of Mossad was murky. Who owed whom, and what, seemed to be deliberately vague. Gibbs, still not satisfied was non-committal.
"No guarantees in this line of work. You know that."
Vance made an impatient movement with his hand, tired of the tap dance; time for orders.
"I want it strictly by protocols. No marking of territory. No settling of scores. No dramatic plays for the heart and mind of Agent David." He paused for the words to sink in. "Eli David, and his entourage, will be here as guests, under our protection. We will extend to him every courtesy. Do I make myself clear?"
Gibbs leaned on Vance's desk. "I told our last Mossad guest to tell Eli David she's off limits. There'll be no drama unless he didn't get that message." His tone was quiet, the words carefully spoken but irritation was brewing in his eyes.
Vance was unfazed and he didn't blink. This was a low score on the Richter scale for Gibbs – barely registering as a warm up. He looked at the photos, on his desk, of his own wife and children. "You said it yourself, Gibbs, man's gotta have some feelings. He's her father. We need to respect that."
Gibbs gave a dismissive snort and walked over to the conference table.
"I said that before I knew he'd sent her on a suicide mission, before I knew he'd abandoned her in the desert," anger and contempt growing in his tone. "Her father used her as an asset. When she needed him, because she's human, he discarded her. I won't ever respect that." He pulled out a chair.
The Director glanced out of the window, "She's still his daughter…."
Gibbs crashed his hand down on the table and his voice was raised. "She's my agent, damn it. NCIS extracted her. No-one left behind," borrowing the Rangers' motto. He sat down.
"What are you really after here, Leon?"
Resignation replaced rage. His team would be used; pawns in the favors and debts game of the 'bigger picture'. With the preliminary head-butting out of the way, Vance folded his arms and fixed Gibbs with his own brand of unyielding stare.
"You keep DiNozzo on task. On a leash, if you have to." It was his turn to show a flash of temper. "This is gonna be hard enough for everyone, without him bringing attitude. I don't want him pulling any Romeo and Juliet crap. Understood?"
That came out of left field and Gibbs laughed.
Leon Vance wasn't a believer when it came to workplace gossip. He was old enough, been around enough to know wherever people work together rumors, mostly untrue, start and circulate. He liked to take the temperature of his organization from time to time. An agent first, he had his sources, he observed and he listened. Like Gibbs, he had the uncanny knack of appearing out of nowhere. He strolled around, connecting with his people, a little intelligence gathering on the side. Early one Sunday morning, he had a mini-conversion of faith.
September 2010
Weekend cover shifts were a downside to the job. This one was no exception. Worse, the case was dull: Petty Officers, drugs, juiced violence and a lousy, way-too-early morning. Tony was at his desk, gingerly flexing his hand; the knuckles swollen and scraped. He didn't shave on weekends unless he had to and he hadn't this morning in protest at the early start. His lower lip was split and a bruise was visible - despite the stubble. A first aid kit was open on the desk. Ziva was gently administering a gel ice-pack to his injured hand.
"You were gone long enough," he complained. "What did you do, go to Siberia for it?"
Ziva, ignoring the comment, smiled sympathetically. "Perhaps you should have this looked at?" She was perched on his desk - legs straddled either side of his.
"Nah, I'll get Ducky to check it out tomorrow." No bodies, no Ducky, no Autopsy Gremlin. "You should see the mess the other guy's in."
Ziva laughed. "I did see the other guy, Tony. I broke his wrist."
The building seemed deserted. "OK, but couldn't you have done that before my hand hit the chair?"
They were waiting for Gibbs and McGee – she hoped with some coffee and breakfast.
"Couldn't you have got out of the way?" the question accompanied with a teasing note in her voice.
"If I'd moved, Zee-vah, the chair would've hit you". She removed the ice-pack.
"True." She allowed. "So thank you. Does this hurt?" She carefully wiggled his fingers.
Tony flinched. "Christ. Yes if you're gonna twist them like that." He took his hand back, aggrieved.
"I am sorry. I was trying to help." Ziva leaned forward and gently touched his mouth. "How is your face?" Almost curiously she traced her thumb along the edge of the bruise, feeling the stubble.
"It hurts too." He pulled his head away with a slight jerk. That hadn't hurt. It had caused a different reaction. "And I have a headache," by way of an excuse. Tony rolled his head around from side to side, rubbing his neck.
Ziva surveyed the room, looking for something. "No." She thought for a moment before commanding; "Stand up, switch places."
Once he was sitting on the desk, she stood in front of him, between his knees, and started massaging the back of his neck and base of his skull.
"You are too tall" Ziva explained. "This will help, yes? It would be better if you were lying down."
Tony grinned; her set-up too good to ignore, "fine with me, Zee-vah."
She smacked the back of his head, hard.
"Ow. Jesus, I just told you I have a headache."
Ziva really did have magic fingers when it came to massages and she knew just where to work. It wasn't the first time she had helped remove the kinks. Occasionally, on long stake-outs, or a day spent cramped in the car, she would offer if she noticed him fidgeting. As Ziva began the atmosphere was easy, relaxed. For several minutes, she provided blissful relief – soothing the ache, rubbing away tension.
"Relax, Tony," she murmured into his ear, her voice low.
That was becoming more difficult by the minute. Intently focused on her task, Ziva was standing much closer to him than when she'd started, leaning into him. He could see straight down her shirt, he could smell her body cream, perfume or maybe it was just her. Four out of five senses were under siege. Tony had slid off the desk, resting against the edge, his good hand on her hip; initially an attempt to prevent her moving any nearer. Her top had come un-tucked; his fingertips were brushing soft, bare skin. Without thinking, he was caressing small circles and lines – the contact no longer accidental.
"Does Nurse Ninja come with a uniform? "Make house-calls?"
A joke, perhaps she'd take offence and move temptation out of his reach. Or she'd hit him, giving him a new sensation to concentrate on - one that didn't involve her skin. Either option was good. Ziva did neither – she abandoned the massage. One hand slipped to his shoulder, the other playing with the short hair on the back of his head. Definitely a new sensation - one that wasn't helping reduce the temptation factor, any. All Tony had to do was move his head slightly and sense number five could be in play. Ziva edged closer with an intrigued smile, her breathing shallow – anticipating what he would do next. Tony's other hand came up, the sore knuckles no longer registered. Caution mingled with desire, battling for supremacy. There was a limit to enforced chastity and Tony discovered he'd just reached it.
The flying to and from L.A., regularly, was an exhausting chore. When Vance arrived back in Washington, he stopped by the Navy Yard to tie up a few loose ends. He might salvage half a weekend with his family. From the upper level, he glanced ahead into the squad room. It wasn't just their proximity, or the easy familiarity of the pose that bothered him; or even the fact DiNozzo's hand was on David's back. First impressions often were deceptive. At this distance, it was impossible to discern precisely what was happening. What triggered alarms for the Director were those elements; added to the rumors. Sealing it was the way they both jumped, like a gunshot had sounded, as the elevator announced its arrival. The scramble to place some distance between themselves so fast, they almost tripped over each other.
October 2010
"You know something I don't, Leon?" Gibbs was relieved: his gut instinct that had proved correct. It was a fishing expedition; he'd just assumed the wrong type of catch.
"You've heard it all, as well as I have, Gibbs." Vance's smile was a mix of amusement and annoyance. "There's at least four betting pools, in this building, concerning those two. Have they, will they, will David incapacitate DiNozzo if he tries it and, will you kill them both if they do." He was toying with a pen, finally throwing it down - exasperated. "Hell, the way I hear it, Fornell's outfit's even got a bet going on some undercover op. from before my time." He inclined his head in appreciation. "After five years, the pay-out must be pretty high on that one."
Gibbs stood to signal they were done. "DiNozzo's no Romeo."
When his hand was on the door, Vance asked, "What are you going to do?"
Gibbs half smiled and shrugged. "See if Tobias can get me a bet in that pool?" He didn't want to answer Vance's question and batted it away.
The Director thought and tried again, "Inside information?"
As he walked out of the office, refusing to be drawn, Gibbs called over his shoulder "Always the best kind to have, Leon."
He would have to talk to DiNozzo.