Thanks once again to all of you who take the time to review! I'm brewing up an idea of how to reward you all-- in my line of work, we're all about reinforcing positive behavior and I do think that reviewing is behavior that needs to be rewarded! ;-) I felt bad leaving you on a cliffhanger so here's the next part....which is also a cliffhanger of sorts. (Eek!) This also takes us to about the half-way point for those keeping score. I will write some more notes below so if you could just stick with me until then, I would appreciate it! ENJOY!
(6)
Greece – Pacific – Italy
Greece – 12 days ago
"Any word?" Levi Yadin paces his private beach and stares out into the sea. He waits for a wave to crest and reveal her body. He curses himself again for letting her get away—especially when she had just been brought to him like a gift from above.
"No, sir," the young man he pays to follow his every order has the good sense to look pained at his answer. "We are still searching."
Levi curses again, whirling on the young man. He is pleased to see the fear that blossoms on his face. "You will find her!"
"But, sir…we have boats patrolling the shore and I've interviewed every fisherman I could find. She could not have survived!"
Levi shakes his head. "She is not presumed dead until we have her body. FIND IT!"
With a startled jump, the man scurries off. Levi lights himself a cigarette and goes back to staring out into the sea, waiting. He was never very good at waiting.
The Director's daughter escaped. This changes his plans completely. He is gravely disappointed that he can't show the Director the same agony he feels, but there is still time yet. They may find her.
Still, does it even matter? He has quite enough to complete his original mission. His mind drifts over his options, plotting outcomes and contingencies, and trying to see the big picture.
Truly, it doesn't matter what he does.
The outcome is always the same. And that brings him peace.
Stomping out his half-smoked cigarette, he retreats inside his suite. He has things to do.
Still floating in the Pacific Ocean – 11 days ago
Tony is about to leave his office and take a lap around the carrier when his phone rings.
"DiNozzo," he snaps as he picks it up. He hopes that someone isn't complaining about Petty Officer Jenkins again. He can't force anyone to take a shower.
"Well, at least you haven't fallen overboard yet."
Tony finds himself smiling at the familiar voice. "Gibbs! Let me guess—it's time for me to blow this popsicle stand?"
The snort on the other end of the line quickly deflates his balloon of hope. "Just checking in."
"Okay…" Tony frowns. Gibbs really isn't the checking-in type. Then, as his mind races through reasons why the boss-man would feel compelled to call him, it hits him. "Ah! What did Abby blackmail you with?"
"She's holding my DNA results hostage until I call you," Gibbs says, not bothering to sound abashed.
Tony's mood darkens. "Well, you called," he replies shortly.
"Yeah."
The line is silent for a minute. Tony's finger dances over the END button as he contemplates hanging up on his mentor. Clearly, Gibbs had no real interest in finding out how he was doing. He probably just wants to appease Abby, get his DNA results, and go back to saving the world.
"DiNozzo?"
"Yeah?" Tony sighs and rubs his face.
"So…how ya doing?" Gibbs' voice is softer than usual, that caring tone he reserves for the direst of occasions. Tony can't help the warm, fuzzy feeling that comes over him when he thinks of being back in D.C. with the gruff older man. All the orneriness and vague orders are worth the rare times when Gibbs shows he truly cares. Like now.
"Fine, Gibbs." Tony rolls his eyes. Leave it to Gibbs to show interest at the exact time he doesn't want to talk about anything. He misses everyone, of course, and hearing from his boss again is as welcome as solid earth right now. But what is there left to say other than get me out of here?
"Something bugging you, DiNozzo?"
Tony is impressed that Gibbs' mind-reading trick works from thousands of miles away. And how even from that distance, he is not immune to its pull. "A little too much time to think, I guess," he answers honestly. Damn Gibbs and his freakish interrogation skills. "Being sealed in a tin can will do that to you. The mind, it wanders. Kinda like Nicholson in The Shining, I guess—going stir-crazy. Except not that crazy."
Gibbs takes a deep breath, like he's trying to be patient. "Thinking about anything useful at least? Or is it just an endless parade of movie garbage?"
Tony plops down at his desk. He never thought he would miss being berated by Gibbs, but it is oddly comforting. The thoughts that have been plaguing him at night, albeit to a lesser degree than they were before, threaten to spill forth. "Just…been thinking about what happened with…"
"Jenny," Gibbs saves him, his voice quiet. Tony expels a heavy sigh.
"Yeah," Tony begins, unsure if he should say what he feels…unsure if it is worth the risk. But then again, being adrift in the middle of the ocean certainly makes it more difficult for Gibbs to smack him. More difficult—but not impossible. "I'm starting to realize that maybe it wasn't totally my fault." Tony winces at the hesitant tone he uses. At how silly the words sound to his ears.
"I don't blame you, Tony. I never did."
Tony smiles despite himself. "Liar."
Gibbs actually chuckles. "It's time to move on, DiNozzo. You couldn't have changed the outcome. We both know that."
"Yeah," Tony rubs his eyes. He does know that. Jenny made her choices. His mind jumps to another track, another issue that has been bothering him. "Have you heard from Ziva, Boss?" He hasn't heard anything since her brief email and it's been gnawing at him.
"Not your boss any more," Gibbs corrects. Then, when Tony says nothing, he adds, "No, I haven't heard from Ziva. I'm sure her postcards just got lost in the mail."
Tony frowns at Gibbs' flippant tone. Mostly because he doesn't seem at all worried about his former partner. But also because he's been sending frequent postcards to NCIS himself—but it's not like he's the postcard type really, it's just that Abby is.
"Is there any way you can find out? You know, if she's okay?" Tony can't believe he's sounding so desperate, and to Gibbs of all people. But there is no other way to know. And he needs to know.
"She's a big girl, Tony," Gibbs' voice rings with impatience, "she can take care of herself."
Tony grips the phone hard. "Yes, she can. But we talked before she left and the way she put it, the things they would order her to do… I'm just worried, Gibbs. And no one has heard from her." He doesn't tell Gibbs about his lone email.
"Mossad is a legitimate government organization, DiNozzo. Her father is the director for God's sake. Ziva can handle whatever they throw at her. She's probably just undercover, out of reach."
Frustrated, and not comforted by the image of her completely out of touch, Tony smacks his desk. Gibbs says nothing, but his silence is judgment enough. Tony can practically see his look through the phone.
"She was scared, Boss," Tony sighs, collecting himself. "I mean…not scared, because Ziva isn't scared of anything, but she was resigned to whatever it is that is happening to her right now." He pauses, picturing the look on her face as they said goodbye. I want nothing more. "She wasn't planning on returning."
Gibbs is silent. Tony waits for some words of reassurance, some sign that he can stop dreaming of Ziva, bloody and lifeless in the desert somewhere.
"Tony…I really don't think it's that bad." Even Gibbs sounds like he's lying now. Tony is suddenly exhausted.
"To her it is," Tony whispers, then, without thinking, adds, "Please bring her back to me." He hangs up the phone.
Back in D.C., Gibbs is left wondering just how close his two agents really are.
Italy –11 days ago
Consciousness returns gradually.
First, there is pain-- an aching in her head, rippling soreness in her chest, and the general sensation that she's been hit by a truck.
Pain is good. Not good good. But it means she's alive.
Her eyes won't open and it hurts to breathe. The bed she's lying in is lumpy, scratchy. She wants to move, get comfortable, but her body is not obeying her mind.
She's alive.
What happened?
Ignoring the pain for a moment, she tries to remember. She comes up with nothing.
Blackness. Falling. Pain. Nothing. Blackness. Falling. Wetness?
Fight. Fight. Fight.
She wakes with a jolt.
"Okay, okay, calm down," a soothing voice whispers. It takes her a moment to translate the words through various languages, recognizing what she understands, filtering it through her native tongue, remembering the sounds: Italian. Italian?
She looks around, orients herself. Hospitals are universal environments to some degree. This one is no different—a sterile room, equipment that has seen better days but is not entirely dated, tubes and monitors attached to her body, a giant crucifix in plain view (a Catholic hospital).
The kind voice speaks in Italian again but her brain is too muddled to understand it. She finds the voice attached to a young woman, no more than thirty, who checks and adjusts the machines around her.
"English?" She asks, hoping the nurse can speak a tongue she's more comfortable with.
"Si!" The woman brightens. Then, realizing her mistake shakes her head of dark curls with a laugh. "I mean, yes!"
Ziva sighs in relief. "Where am I?" Flashes of the struggle that landed her here assault her foggy mind, but leave her clueless as to how she ended up in a hospital bed in Italy. Safe, apparently, for the time being—but what did she leave behind? How long before they find her?
The nurse makes a few notes on her chart. "Brindisi, Italy." Then, she frowns. "You don't remember what happened? A ferryboat returning from Greece pulled you out of the Ionian Sea three days ago, half drowned. You've been unconscious since."
Ziva blinks. She remembers falling. She must've tumbled over the cliff. Her hand flies up to her head, remembering the pain there. She feels a bandage, stitches, dried blood.
"Do you remember what happened?" The nurse pries, concern on her features. "It looks like you took quite the beating."
Shaking her head, Ziva lowers her hand. "My injuries?"
The nurse hesitates. "Oh, well the doctor will be in shortly. He'll be glad to see you're awake! We were all so worried… The prognosis isn't so great for women fished out of the sea, you know?"
Ziva fixes the young woman with a pained smile. She sort of reminds her of Abby, with the same innate kindness radiating from her eyes. "Please."
"Okay, but, really the doctor should…" Off Ziva's pleading look, the nurse finally caves. "A few stitches to your scalp, a mild concussion—perhaps you were hit on the head with something? A few bumps and bruises, that horrible laceration on your neck, two fractured ribs, and a heck of a lot of seawater in your system...slight hypothermia, but it looks like you weren't in the water too long, thankfully…"
Ziva nods. That fits. The bullet must've grazed her skull. Good thing Levi is a horrible shot.
The nurse looks uncomfortable now. Ziva imagines that she is not used to patients being pulled out of the sea, no knowledge of their injuries or whereabouts. But the woman seems friendly, someone to trust. Her English is fluent, comfortable—she's probably spent some time in the States if her accent is any indication. Ziva likes her.
"The doctor will do a much better job…" The woman avoids her eyes now, toys with her blankets. She is hiding something. She wants to say it, but doesn't feel it is her place.
"You can tell me," Ziva says in the most reassuring voice she can manage. "I would rather hear it in plain English than in medical words." It is enough to push the nurse over the edge. Her face lights up, blue eyes sparkle.
"And…I'm sure you will be happy to hear, it was touch and go for awhile, but as of now your baby seems to be doing just fine!" The woman beams at her. Ziva cannot respond. She got stuck a few words back.
"I'm sorry…baby?" She barks, the act sending a trail of fire down her throat.
The nurse's face drops. "Uh, yes. The baby seems to be doing fine…Pretty miraculous, actually, when you think about it…"
"But," Ziva frowns, wondering what kind of incompetent hospital she washed up in, "I'm not pregnant."
Looking momentarily confused, the nurse soon realizes what a bomb she has dropped. Panic crosses her pretty face. She glances around the room for help that isn't there, eventually succumbing to Ziva's questioning eyes. "Uh…yes…yes, you are."
Ziva just stares as the nurse shows her the fetal monitor they have her attached to and there, unmistakably, is the heartbeat of…her baby.
"Oh God," she whispers. Pregnant?
That's all she can think before the world spins into blackness again.
AN2: *ducks to avoid flying objects* I know, I know...I went there! Ahhh! Full disclosure: I wrote this story, these next few parts specifically, as well as the first few flashbacks, in a major writing binge. This was very early in my NCIS career (all 2 months of it!). I hadn't read much NCIS fic at that point, still haven't read a ton, but didn't realize how...cliche...this plot point has become. So I debated going back to rewrite everything but then I realized I had to be true to my original story and tell this tale the way I want. I can only hope this will be a GOOD representation of this admittedly over-used plot! Stick with me here, there's some good stuff to come and (I PROMISE) no major OOC fluffiness or what have you. Trust me dear readers-- or flame me if you must. I can handle it. (Though, flames are not positive behavior and therefore will not be rewarded!) More soon!
