AN: Thanks for the encouragement, you guys! You're all wonderful readers, reviewers, and friends. I figured today would be as good a day as any, with tonight being such a big ep!
Shout-out to my reviewers:
BlueEyes444, tiffaroolou, xenascully, diana teo, vanishingp2000, scousemuz1k, NickTonyK, kookykey, Art Is The Weapon, Mc7ism, Tacpebs, HPSmallCharm29, sterno, Madances, Meilea2010, WinglessBird, Kermitty, AZGirl, Tango Eight, HSMSupernatural, angeleyes46, Mulderette, julie250, JaneDoe19291915, Writing For The Wall, combatcrazy, Belker, sarahsrr, Alisa123, Emiliana Keladry, dbd823, whynotlive, Candy77, blarney, Surreal Squirrel, Glow60, Pough, Jackilee, and the two nameless anonymous reviewers…I'm overwhelmed by the support and appreciate every bit of it. Thank you all!
Ziva David was hard woman. On the outside, and some may even argue on the inside, too. She used to have a soft side, a gentle side. It came out in misspoken phrases and offhand humor, showing its affection in flirtatious comments and sparkling brown eyes.
Her eyes were darker now. Shaded. The sparkle was rare, the comments sparse. Her broken-up phrases strung themselves together with dignity and experience; her humor became biting and sharp, less of a tease, more of a jab. Less of a carefree laugh, more of a gauging smile.
The hair that used to frizz and curl of its own accord now lay flat against her back. The untamed mane was now styled, straightened, fixed. The olive skin which never bore foreign coloring in the past was now smudged with hints of color, patted and primped to painted perfection. The unrestrained smiles, winks, and words died gradually, leaving bitterness, narrowed eyes, and sometimes wistful sighs in their place.
The uninhibited trust in those around her…it didn't leave per se, but built a small fence around itself to protect in case of betrayal, pain, disappointment, or all three.
The untamed became tamed, the clear became clouded, the love became regret, and the free became guarded.
She wished sometimes that things could be as they once were, but most of the time she tries not to think about it at all.
Yet now, seeing Tony literally fall to his knees…she couldn't help but think about it.
There he was, a man in a dire situation, wounded, desperate, and—worse than anything—alone, which she knew for a fact was something Tony both despised and feared. He was stuck in a dangerous position, with no backup and the fates of complete strangers in his hands.
She had spent her time so far studying the tactical solutions, the practical outcomes, the logical possibilities and blunt reality. But now, those meaningless pieces of information were gone from her mind, and all she could focus on was the little girl on the screen, wrapping her thin arms around Tony's shoulders. All she could see was the deflation of Tony's body…whether out of relief or resignation she did not know.
All she knew was that, with the scene before her and the feelings within her, a piece of the hardness inside softened, leaving worry to seep through the re-discovered vulnerability.
She threw up a brief prayer, something she did not do often.
Keep them safe. Keep them safe and get them out.
She only hoped it would be enough.
. . .
"Tony?" Cadence asked, thoughtful in her tone.
"Yeah, sweetheart?"
"When is Mommy coming back?"
Deep breath. Maintain your composure. Mask your face. Guard your eyes.
"I'm not sure, Cadence…but I do know that everything's gonna be just fine, so there's no need to w-"
"-worry about it. I know that already," the girl interrupted with a frustrated sigh. After another thoughtful pause, she asked a bit hesitantly, "Do you pinky promise?"
Tony swallowed. "Do I pinky promise what?"
Guarded hope filled the small voice. "That everything is going to be ok."
The war between what he needed to say and what Cadence needed to hear raged on; it was the age-old conflict of mind and heart, and Tony wished that for once in his life, the decision could be simple.
No such luck.
Present conscience vs. eventual backlash. Appease her, but face difficulties down the road, when keeping promises shows itself to be less easy than expected? Or tell her the truth of uncertainty now, and be left with the fallout…
Though the war continued, the battle was won. Tony held out his pinky and nodded.
"Pinky promise."
Cadence nodded as well and silence ensued. Tony took a few deep, shaky breaths and stretched to relieve the tension in his back. The small movement pulled harshly on his inflamed side and he sucked in painfully. Cadence looked at him with nervous, knowing eyes, but didn't say anything.
"Hey," Marsh said loudly, to no one in general. She paused her rapid paces and looked carefully around the lobby. Then, more to herself, she said, "Something's off."
Tony held his breath as Marsh's shadowed eyes narrowed and examined the room, flicking from person to person, tallying in her head.
"You've got a roomful of innocent hostages, lady. Everything's off," Tony replied smoothly. He got the reaction he intended, distracting Marsh enough for her to stop counting. She turned to him coldly.
"Latecomer, I've come to the conclusion that you talk way too much, and I'd prefer not to hear the endless stream of irritating bullshit coming out of your mouth."
Tony bit back a retort, instead eyeing the detonator still planted firmly in Marsh's grip. Don't push it, DiNozzo. Her hand must be getting tired by now.
Marsh smoothly glided over to where the mistress was still tied to the chair. The woman had stopped whimpering awhile ago, and her eyes had taken on a glazed look of unawareness. Tony wasn't sure when that had happened, but it left him with an eerily cold feeling in the pit of his stomach. But the cold didn't overshadow the stinging throb of his wound, and Tony looked away from the mistress's face.
Without warning, Marsh grabbed the corner of the duct tape covering the woman's mouth and ripped it off. The mistress didn't even flinch.
"This ought to do the job," Marsh said with a small grin. She came over and mashed it over Tony's mouth, pressing down firmly. "I think it's time to relocate as well, don't you?"
Tony stretched his lips, but the duct tape held firm.
Marsh snatched up some of the cord discarded on the ground from before. There was no gentleness in her motions as she roughly secured Tony's hands behind his back, using her teeth and free hand. The other hand continued to squeeze the detonator.
Cadence shot Tony a nervous look, but before he could give her a meaningful one in return, Marsh dragged him to the corner of the room, where a few men were quietly seated.
"This should do," Marsh said with a satisfied smirk. "I trust you won't make any more trouble, latecomer?"
Tony didn't nod, but Marsh didn't seem to care. She spun on her heel and walked back across the room before settling in a chair and falling into apparent deep thought. She stared down at the detonator in her hand, tilting her head as if studying it.
Looks like she's got a decision to make, too.
. . .
"Are we any closer to shutting down those bombs?" Gibbs asked impatiently.
"They're working on it, Boss," McGee replied.
"The LEOs are taking care of the hostages who escaped," Ziva chimed in. "Their efforts are majorly focused on that, but the Techs are exploring various solutions."
"So once again, we wait," McGee said with a sigh. They all sighed with him, expelling the taint of worry and fear from their collective lungs.
Gibbs's gut was doing somersaults. He hoped to God it didn't mean anything, but the horrible taste of dread bubbled up his throat.
. . .
"Someone has got to do something."
Tony inwardly cringed at the stereotypical hero line. It came from one of the men five or ten feet away. He looked to be thirty or so, and was surrounded by a group spanning from early 20s to late 50s. They all looked at him intently, as if he was a prophet, as if he was their savior.
"That woman's going to blow this place up soon, using that detonator, right in her freaking hand. If we don't stop her, we're all going to die. I hate being so brutal, but we need to face the facts."
Tony clenched his fists in frustration, wishing he could tell the guy to shut up and let the cops do their job. But the duct tape held his words inside. Come on, man, don't be stupid.
"All we have to do is get the detonator away from her. I've seen it in about a billion movies before, and if we use the element of surprise, we can get it out of her hands. As long as we keep her from pushing down the button on it, we can keep everyone safe."
Push the button? It's a pressure-release trigger! The second she lets go, that's it. Damnit, just stop before you get us all killed.
"Yeah," one of the other men agreed. "That sounds like a good plan."
No, it sounds like a stupid plan born from ignorance and a hero complex!
Tony tugged on his bonds, grunting to get the men's attention. They didn't notice.
"Here's what'll happen," the leader said, lowering his voice. "It's pretty simple. One of you distract her; draw her attention so that her back is turned to me. Then, as soon as her focus is on you, I'll tackle her from behind, and hopefully knock the detonator out of her hand. If not, I'll try to wrestle it out. Either way, as soon as we get the detonator away from her, we all work together to tie the bitch up."
The group responded with scattered nods.
Tony kicked his foot, successfully drawing the men's attention. When they all looked at him, he shook his head vigorously, his message clear. NO.
"Look, sir," the leader said. "No offense, but you've gotten us in enough trouble already. This needs to be taken care of. Now."
Tony tried to speak through the duct tape, but it came out garbled and inaudible.
"It's ok. Just stay calm. We're taking care of it."
No, you're not. Just shut up and sit there like a good freaking hostage already!
But the men had turned their attention away from Tony and were conferring too quietly for him to hear anything further.
Frustration built in Tony until it was overflowing. Stagnancy was killing him, and he had no means of relief.
A few minutes later, Marsh was still lost in thought and Tony's wrists were raw from trying to get his hands free. The men, who'd been huddled closely, spread out. They were about to put their plan into action. Tony growled deeply through the tape over his mouth.
One of the younger men crawled inconspicuously away from the group, determination in his eyes. Tony groaned pleadingly.
Please, for Christ's sake, you don't know what you're doing. Stop, before it's too late!
The leader came over quietly, sympathy written all over his face.
"I'm sorry," he said. "I know it's frustrating for you, but you've done your part. You've played your roll. Now it's our turn to resolve the situation. We know what we're doing, sir, and we appreciate that you want to help more, but sometimes you just need to sit the bench."
NO. NO. NO. You cannot do this. The second the detonator leaves that woman's hand, it's over for all of us. Just wait, damnit!
But the man couldn't hear, didn't understand, and Tony's anguished pleas were left to drown him from the inside out.
"Trust us," the man said with a light smile. And he fucking winked. Tony felt ill.
The worst part was that the man really did mean well. He thought he was doing the right thing. He didn't know that he was destroying everything.
Tony pulled at his bindings with all his strength.
They didn't budge; nor did the resolve in the room, his or the others'.
The man who'd crawled away stood confidently, within Marsh's vision.
"Hey, bitch." His voice trembled. Tony yelled into the tape.
Marsh sneered and stood up. "Excuse me?" She stepped closer, showing her gun.
"I think it's time you l-let everyone go before you do s-something you'll regret." The stuttering was sad and pathetic and why wouldn't the damn cord break already!
"Oh, really?" Marsh said. She took another step.
And another step.
The leader saw his opportunity.
He began a dead sprint at Marsh, all of his momentum barreling toward the unsuspecting woman.
Finally, with an unfortunate crunching of bone, Tony wrenched his arm free from the bonds. The cord around his wrists snapped and fell to the floor, leaving his hands to tingle and throb. He was almost certain he'd broken a finger or two in the feat, but the feeling was swept away by the panic pumping rapidly through his veins.
Tony's hand went directly to his mouth and he ripped off the duct tape.
The man was inches from Marsh, his body sailing through the air.
No. In his mind, it was a breathy whisper. In his heart, it was an agonized screech.
Tony screamed, unashamed of the rabid desperation in his voice.
"NO!-"
The strangled cry died in his throat as the air became heavy, clouded, hot. He choked on the shockwave.
They say that when something terrible happens, time slows and you see everything in devastating slowness. It was partly true. He saw everything. But he could do nothing. If the scene he saw matched up with real time, Tony would have thrown himself over Cadence, over anybody. But there wasn't time. Damnit, there just wasn't time.
He saw the tackle. The graceful arc of Marsh's body. The look of triumph on the supposed hero's face and the detonator was released from the woman's grip.
He saw the terror in Cadence's eyes. He saw her whip her head toward him, seeking solace, comfort, assurance.
Then, he saw nothing.