Story: Bug On The Wall (6/?)
Author: Rosalie Duquesne
Pairing: Tony/Ziva
Disclaimer: I do not own NCIS or its characters, nor do I have any knowledge of the activities of Mossad. This fanfiction is purely for entertainment purposes and not for monetary gain of any kind.
Summary: Slightly AU. Set in mid season 1. Tony goes undercover in Tel Aviv by the orders of the director of NCIS, and, by extension, SecNav. While infiltrating Mossad he meets Ziva David, the daughter of the director of Mossad and is appointed to work with her. Will she compromise his mission?
A/N: Sorry for taking a little while to update but my vacation has been rather busy lately :P Anyway, here's another mission ! I thought that I would put this mission in this chp…had a lot of fun writing it lol. Has a bit if playfulness in it so be ready :) The Tiva-ness is bubbling to the surface :P Hope you guyz like it ! Please review !
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Tony was beginning to fare better on the morning runs. She had not increased the length, but he guessed that she either felt sorry for him or that her father is forcing her to be friendly. Nevertheless he felt rather accomplished at the end of each run, now able to stand, albeit slightly wobbly, in the shower.
He had also become more comfortable on the many missions they were sent on. He soon realised that the missions had no rhyme or reason to them, the two of them were just sent to kill, not knowing if the target was a terrorist or father, god forbid. He had learned not to meddle into the 'why' of the mission and to simply focus on the 'how to carry it out'. He found himself awaiting each mission, accepting each one until the one that was supposed to catch his eye appeared.
He soon lost count of the many shootings and murders he took part in. The number of people he had killed, however, was permanently etched in his brain. Before he started this mission he could have counted the number of people he had killed or injured, as a cop and an NCIS agent, on one hand, now it was considerably more difficult. He had taken to adding a notch to his wooden bed, under the mattress, invisible to anyone but him. However, he had to seem unaffected by it all. At the end of this mission I should get an Emmy for the act I've been putting on, he thought to himself.
They had to be at headquarters earlier today, meaning that Tony had less time to get ready. He grumbled once he left his room with only two minutes to spare, from the fifteen that Ziva had given him, to find her sitting on the couch with another book, this one not in Hebrew, but in a language Tony did not recognize. Without looking up from the book she asked, "Ready?"
He nodded, watching as she leapt from the couch and picked up the keys to the Jeep in one fluid motion, not missing a beat as she opened the door and walked outside.
Tony found himself watching each and every move his partner made, not only for investigative purposes but also because of his genuine interest. Ziva David made him think, and think hard. She was nothing like any other woman he'd met, granted he'd never met another woman trained by Mossad before.
Her attitude was nothing like he'd ever encountered before, almost a nonchalant arrogance that everyone around her seemed to accept. Everyone except him, of course. He knew of each and every one of her capabilities, having been on quite the number of missions with her, but he felt oddly comfortable whenever he was in her presence. He felt brave enough to engage in lengthy conversations, in which she often gave her opinion, and he even had enough courage to challenge her a few times. Only a handful of times did he feel comfortable enough with their relationship, or whatever it was, to challenge her about something that really made her think, and it amused him to see that look on her face. The pensive look where frown lines would appear on her forehead, her eyebrows would scrunch together, her eyes narrowing just a bit and her lips would pout, all as she formulated an answer for his question.
He found himself oddly captivated by her presence whenever she entered a room, whether it was him alone in the room, or if there were others. He smiled slightly as he remembered a moment a few days ago when some of the guys had invited them out to drinks at a local bar not too far from home base.
His eyes drank in her form as she moved smoothly over to the bar from the pool table in the corner of the room, where she had just beat what seemed to be the tenth person to challenge her pool playing skills. The stack of money she made grew every fifteen minutes, the length of each game, and it seemed that people feared her less than he thought.
Is there something she isn't good at? He thought to himself.
Unfortunately for him, he hadn't realised how long he had been staring at her, how she swallowed the crimson liquid effortlessly, not even grimacing at the bitter taste. Hearing a chuckle next to him he focused his attention on the drink in his own hand.
"Ziva David," his new acquaintance said, taking a sip from his scotch.
"She is a special one," he continued.
Tony smirked, taking a sip of his own drink, bourbon, before replying, "That she is, man, that she is."
"You don't stand a chance in hell."
He turned to face Michael, a confused look on his face, "What do you mean?"
"The look you are giving Ziva, I know it too well, my friend."
Tony narrows his eyes at his friend before smirking, and taking another look at Ziva, who seemed to be in the progress of humbling another person at pool. He took a gulp, finishing the drink, and set the glass on the table.
"I've never met anyone like her. She interests me, what can I say?" he said, refocusing on Michael who chuckled once again.
"Speaking as one of Ziva's oldest friends, I can only say that it was nice knowing you."
"What's that supposed to mean?"
Michael shrugged, ignoring Tony's question as he walked off to get a refill. Tony looked back at Ziva, taking money from yet another man, an abashed look on his face. He stood and walked over to the pool table, standing behind Ziva as she added to the large stack of money on the table.
"Care to play?"
Tony had become used to her astute Mossad senses so much, that moments such as this barely phased him. He watched as she turned on her heel, looking down into her brown pools. He stepped forward, closing the space between them, his hand moving behind her. Her eyes did not waver as he soon stepped back, pool cue in hand, smirk on his face.
"Rack 'em up."
Of course he had lost twenty dollars, but to him, it was worth it. Such moments between the pair seemed to excite Tony, making him feel daring, the adrenaline rushing through his veins. So as she drove them to headquarters, he found himself gripping the side of the Jeep casually, his shades deflecting the dust from his eyes, as she sped off in the early morning heat.
XXX
Tony could not help but smile in his current situation. Extending his arm out to Ziva he guided her inside like a perfect gentleman. Their targets were rumoured to be meeting at an opera house in the town. Unfortunately for the pair, that night happened to be the night one of the most popular singers was booked to perform. As expected, the building was packed with elegantly dressed people, chatting to pass the time until the show had actually started.
In order not to stand out, Tony and Ziva were required to follow the dress code, much to Ziva's chagrin. Once they had returned to the house he had been witness to the many curse words she uttered, or so he thought since she was speaking Hebrew. Tony went into his room to find a suit on his bed, shoes on the floor. He could not help but be excited at the mere thought that he gets to see Ziva dressed up, but he soon became confused at her reaction. Either the dress was really hideous, or she did not want to wear it.
It turned out to be the latter, because once Tony had seen her in the dress he had no reason to believe why she would not want to wear the dress. He had gotten dressed quickly and waited in the living room for her to emerge from her bedroom.
As she walked down the hall Tony could not keep his eyes off of her. Her hair was straightened and fell around her shoulders, something he was not used to seeing, along with her dress. It was a deep, seductive red dress that had a modest bust line, but a low back that made his hand itch to touch the bare skin. The dress stopped right above her knees, simple, but with dangerously high, black heels on her feet. He wondered how in the world she would be able to do anything but walk in those heels but he expelled the thought knowing that Ziva never failed to surprise him and he should just expect her to do her best, which was a lot better than he expected.
"I must be dreaming," he spoke in a less than perfect English accent.
She raised an eyebrow at his statement, prompting him to explain himself.
"You know James Bond don't you?"
"Who?"
Tony's jaw dropped, "Remind me to help you obtain some movie culture."
She simply shook her head and exited the house, Tony following not too far behind. As soon as they arrived she found their targets on either sides of the room. She was to keep an eye on Rachman and Tony, Nathanson. It was not difficult, seeing that he was the only man with a bright red shirt under his jacket.
"They are going to meet in the bathroom," he heard her say.
But before he could question her he watched as Rachman surely entered the bathroom two minutes after Nathanson.
"Time to move."
Tony moved swiftly behind Ziva, wondering if she knew how odd it would look if people saw the two of them enter the men's room at the same time, but it seemed like she couldn't care less. He watched as she slipped into the men's room, him the only one that noticed, and he walked in right after her.
He continued to watch as she waltzed up to the third stall, gun on hand, and kicked the door open, and sure enough, Rachman stood in there, an envelope in hand. While Tony wondered where in the world Ziva pulled that weapon from, Rachman raised his hands in surrender and walked slowly out of the stall toward the woman. Hearing a shuffle in the second stall, Tony went through with his part of the mission and kicked open the door, revealing Nathanson. Without thinking, he pulled out his gun, only to have it knocked out of his hands by his target.
Nathanson charged towards him, pushing him back into the sink. He let out a groan, but fought back. He delivered a sound punch to the man's jaw, satisfied when he heard the crunch. He watched as the man staggered back, hand on his jaw. He took note of his gun on the floor in the second stall and quickly devised a plan in his head as would be expected.
He moved forward and threw a punch, which Nathanson easily deflected, shifting to the side. Tony watched as his foot collided with his side, causing him to fall to the floor. Looking hurt, he crawled forward on the floor. As Nathanson moved to kick him again he turned on his back and fired two rounds into the man's chest. His target fell to the floor, hands clutching the wounds to his torso. Soon he lay lifeless on the floor as Tony rose, cleaning himself off.
He looked up and saw that his partner was just as successful, Rachman gasping for air, a result of the deep slash on his neck. He looked up at her, his eyes questioning why she didn't just use her gun to which she quickly replied, "Never say anything about my mother."
He smirked as she bent over and retrieved her knife, cleaning if off in the sink, before returning it to its holster on her upper thigh. Now that's hot, he thought to himself.
What made him confused, though, is how she bent down and muttered something in Hebrew before closing the deceased's eyes. She is going to be a lot harder to figure out than I thought.
She held her hand up to her ear, said something in Hebrew and looked at him.
"We have to report to the director now."
Not wanting to question why they were leaving the bodies behind he decided a snide comment would have to do.
"Going to see daddy dearest?"
That earned a glare from the deadly woman, one he was sure he should not enrage judging by how easily she overpowered a man bigger than him, far less one his size. He simply smirked once again, holding the door open for her, feigning chivalry.
"After you milady."
He could tell that she was resisting the urge to roll her eyes as she walked past him, pausing briefly to whisper something into his ear.
"Call me that again and I will no longer have a reason to be so amicable with you."
He shivered at the close proximity of their bodies, not expecting her to be so close to him. However, feeling bold, he decided to push her buttons a bit more. He came up behind her as she walked away, placing a hand on her lower back, his lips millimeters from her ear.
"What's the worst you can do? Castrate me?" he whispered, with a low voice.
Sensing the game he was playing she turned her head to face his, their noses almost touching. From afar they would seem like a couple very much in love, unable to keep their hands off each other. His hands on her hips, faces millimeters apart, seemingly lost in each other's gaze. But they knew better. He looked into her brown eyes, finding a glint in them he hadn't noticed before.
"Oh, I can do much worse," she replied, a smirk adorning her lips.
He let his gaze wander from her brown eyes to her slender nose, finally landing on her lips. He watched as her lips parted slightly, a small smile appearing on her pink lips. He looked back into her eyes and opened his mouth to say something, only to have her interrupt once again.
She said softly, "We should report back to the director."
He nodded, stepping back slightly, keeping his hand on her lower back, guiding her through the large crowd that was beginning to disperse as the show began.
They quickly made their way outside and hopped into the Aston Martin DBS that awaited them. He could not help but grin at the expensive car he got to drive, because there was no way in hell he was letting her drive this beauty. This was his dream car, and there was no way in hell he was passing up an opportunity to drive it.
He hopped in after getting Ziva in and resisted the urge to make a movie quote as he drove off, successful, but barely. The drive back to headquarters was quiet, the hum of the engine the only audible noise.