Disclaimer: I do not own NCIS.

Author's Note: Sorry it took me longer than usual to write this chapter. I had to decide where this was going and to do that I had to write some of the future chapters as well and decide which storyline I liked best. I'm starting school tomorrow (my first year of high school...), but I'll try and update as often as I can. Please review!!!!


Chapter 9: Not So Emotionless

By the time the back-up met Ziva a few blocks from the warehouse four hours later, Ziva was quite simply ready to kill someone. She was tired of waiting, tired of inaction. Jenny was so close... yet Ziva could not get to her. Not without help. The back-up consisted of five men, some of the best. With Jenny, they would have been seven strong, plenty to take out all of the terrorists clustered in even the largest of hideaways—terrorists did not tend to stay together in large groups.

Ziva tensely outlined the plan to her companions. It was quite simple: the back-up would take out the cell members who were present and Ziva would get Jen. And, if Ziva was lucky, there would also be a few terrorists left for her to deal with after she rescued Jenny.


Ziva fiddled with her picklocks, allowing herself a small smile as the warehouse door clicked open. She checked her weapons, than glanced around to make sure that the five others with her were also ready. Three... two... one, her fingers counted down silently. Ziva pushed the door open, gun ready, and allowed her companions to file past her into the empty hallway. Ziva walked quickly towards the end of the hall. Her back-up would take care of any danger and Jenny's captors would be holding her as far from the exit as possible. As she neared the end of the hall, Ziva started checking the rooms. The second to last door was locked. Ziva got to work once again with her picklocks and within seconds, the door swung open.

The cell was stuffy, the Egyptian heat penetrating the concrete walls of the warehouse. A single window provided the only light in the whole room. In the corner lay a figure. Ziva took a step closer, knowing deep down who that figure was. But she still winced when she saw the dirty, matted red hair. And with that wince, Ziva realized how much she cared about Jenny. Ziva had not realized that she was still capable of caring this way, not since Tali had died. She had thought that her Mossad training had wiped that ability from her; Ziva had thrown herself into training harder than ever after her sister's death, trying to rid herself of the pain. But later Ziva had regretted that training, regretted not feeling the emotions that had once made her so human. But since Ziva had met Jenny, all those emotions had come flooding back...

Ziva knelt beside Jen, preparing to check for a pulse. But there was no need. As soon as Ziva's fingers touched Jen's bruised neck, the green eyes snapped open. The fear in them was unmistakable, but Ziva was glad to see Jenny's familiar defiance shining through in the way her mouth was set, in the way she met Ziva's gaze.

Ziva watched recognition dawn on Jenny's face, and smiled at Jenny.

"Jen? We need to get you out of here. Can you walk?" she asked. Jen started to shake her head, winced, and instead replied:

"Ziva. You're here," she paused, closing her eyes briefly against the pain of talking—her bruised neck did not make that particular activity very easy. "No, I can't. Left leg broken, a rib or two, right wrist, a few fingers..." Ziva hushed her.

"It does not matter, Jen. I can carry you." Jen nodded, and Ziva bent to lift her up. Ziva did not notice the tears falling freely down her cheeks.


Through her weary eyes, Jen could see Ziva bend over her, her face beyond concerned. Ziva's face was terrified. Jen opened her mouth to tell Ziva the one thing that Jenny had decided Ziva must know-that she did have feelings, that Ziva was not as cold and distant as she feared, that the thing that Ziva most hated about herself was not actually true. But looking at Ziva's face, which was now streaked with tears as she took in Jen's broken state, Jenny realized that Ziva no longer needed to be told this. Ziva had finally realized that she was not so emotionless after all.


There was a sound behind Ziva. She quickly put Jen down and turned around, gun at the ready. By the doorway stood a man, armed with a gun that was leveled at them. Ziva heard Jen's sharp intake of breath behind her and guessed that this man—if you could even call him that—had been one of Jenny's tormentors.

"He's the leader, the one calling the shots, the one we were looking for," whispered Jen. Ziva felt Jen's hand slip into her boot, pulling out the spare gun that Jen knew Ziva always kept there.

"So you are the one who my prisoner was protecting so loyally," said the man, eyeing Ziva curiously. "You know that your friend there is the only prisoner who I've failed to break? It's quite an honor, actually. Though I'm sure that, with a couple more hours, I could have made her tell me anything I asked. Of course, now it looks like I'll get that chance, along with the chance to try and break you," he said, smiling at Ziva. "Just for fun, of course. I'll get everything I need from your red haired friend there," he said, gesturing at Jen and examining her bruised appearance coldly.

"My men will not let that happen," said Ziva bravely, distracting the man from his contemplation of Jenny. "Even now, they are taking over this building."

"Ah," the man responded, looking at Ziva. "Your men. Naturally. They are dead," he said dismissively. "We were, of course, waiting for you. Why do you think we took your friend to this warehouse, the one that shows up so often on your video surveillance?" Ziva mentally cursed herself. She should have seen this coming, should have realized it was all too easy... Five men had paid for Ziva's stupid mistake with their lives, and it was looking quite likely that Ziva and Jenny would as well.

Ziva could see men in the hallway outside of the cell, men she didn't recognize. She and Jen could try and fight their way out, but their chances were virtually nonexistent, not with Ziva carrying Jenny. They would just get hurt.

"Cuff the Israeli. We wouldn't want them getting any ideas now that there are two of them. And check them carefully for weapons. Both of them," ordered the man who was the leader, the man who had tortured Jenny. Ziva stiffened as three men approached her and Jen, but she did not fight them as they roughly yanked her arms behind her, cuffing them with standard handcuffs. There were simply too many of them. If Ziva had been alone, she would have tried to fight her way out, but she couldn't risk Jenny's life. They would have to bide their time.

"Get on your knees," one of the men told Ziva. Ziva obeyed, if slowly. The man kicked her in the back, and without her arms to catch her, Ziva slammed face-first into the floor. She gasped as the air was knocked out of her. The men bound her ankles—with rope, Ziva noticed. When the men were done, they left the room, but not before one of them kicked Ziva hard in the head. The world went black.


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