Disclaimer: no legal rights to NCIS, no money being made.

Beta: Mike91848.

Warning: Same as chapter one.

CHAPTER EIGHT

LOOMS BUT THE HORROR OF THE SHADE

Later that evening at Gibbs' house, Gibbs stood by the coffee machine patiently waiting for his next cup of brew and continued to think hard and deep about the days' happenings and his own culpability at the mess his team was in.

They had finished up at the crime scene and he had sent antsy McGee to the hospital to check up on Tony and Marcus and bring them both here as a safe house for the night. McGee had just called to say they were on their way and Gibbs had ordered pizza delivery.

Gibbs looked over at the kitchen table where Fornell sat with his head buried in their cold case file, which had now become active. "I knew he was good-crustless white bread, right." Fornell thought out loud.

The coffee machine beeped ready and Gibbs brought the pot to the table and served Fornell a cup then poured a cup for himself as well. He indicated the pot to Liaison Officer David who was standing in the doorway, but she refused.

"I would prefer tea if it is available, Gibbs." He just shook his head, not understanding the preference and pointed to the clean cup on the counter. "Zap some water and I'll see what we've got." At her confused look, he pointed to the microwave, while he brought out an ancient tin container and placed it on the table with a jar of honey. The tin was old but the tea was fresh as Dr Mallard kept it supplied with fresh tea leaves and there was a container of Ducky's favorite biscuits in hand that he set on the table.

Fornell looked up from the paperwork. "So, Gibbs? How come you're sitting here drinking tea and eating crumpets while your team is dodging bullets and getting shot?"

"I'm not drinking tea, and it's none of your business." No need to let the Fibby know he had dropped the ball on this case right from the beginning.

"And don't think I don't know you're scouting my agent, Fornell. You can't get anybody to join the FBI? You gotta poach from other agencies?"

"Hell, yes! I'm not stupid like you, Jethro. I gave him six months to get some experience so he could come in as an agent, not a rookie. He's good, I like good." Fornell smirked infuriatingly proud of himself.

"Who are you talking about, Agent Fornell, if I may ask?" Abby had told Ziva some things that she absolutely refused to believe, never in a million years. But Gibbs said Fornell was scouting his agent. A male agent, so obviously it was not her. Certainly not junior agent McGee! Tony DiNozzo then, no!?

"Not at liberty to say, Officer David." Fornell smacked his lips in amusement and kept his secret counsel.

It was DiNozzo! Ziva's heart dropped to the hardwood floor as she realized what a fool DiNozzo had made of her. How he must have laughed at her behind her back and ridiculed her to his friends, knowing full well that he was only there temporarily. If she had known that he really had a solid offer, had somewhere else to go, she could have paid him no mind, ignored his very presence as not a threat to the job she coveted, and saved herself the stress. Damn him!

Gibbs watched her face and realized Ziva had figured out who Fornell was peeing his pants for and she was predictably furious. He expected the explosion and so her harsh complaint was no surprise though what DiNozzo's job status had to do with her was a mystery to him.

"It is Agent DiNozzo, is it not? That playboy, frat-boy joker who uses his father's money to procure a position! What can you possibly see or want in that worthless slacker?" The woman's upturned nose and sneering voice was too much for Tobias.

Fornell looked over at Gibbs and burst into laughter. "Whoa! What's wrong with her, Jethro, she jealous?" Suddenly, a new thought seemed to interfere in his merriment. He stopped chuckling and looked at Ziva knowingly, as though calculating the odds.

"Wait a minute...Daveed, right? I seem to recall...isn't your father the Deputy Director of Mossad...Eli David? Didn't you tell me, Jethro, that Eli David made some kind of devil deal with Shepard to stick his daughter on your team?"

Ziva managed to keep from slapping the agents' all-knowing face. How dare he provoke her ire that way and Gibbs said nothing to refute it? "You know nothing of what you speak, Fornell. My father..."

"Ziva, your water is hot! Make your tea." Gibbs interrupted.

Ziva stiffly turned her back on Fornell's smirking face and took Gibbs' warning advice to make her tea then went to the living room window with the cup to sip and stare out at the quiet neighborhood. Despite her calm countenance her thoughts were in turmoil. She had seen the look that passed between the two men and caught on that Fornell knew exactly who she was.

Gibbs had complained about her to Fornell? Fornell had compared her familial connection with Eli David to DiNozzo's buying a position using his rich father's money; throwing it in her face that the circumstances were the same? They were nothing alike, the situation was nothing alike. The gall of the man for insinuating that it was, and his open mockery of her; his laughter and glee at snatching DiNozzo from Gibbs. And worst, Gibbs had brieflysmirked at Fornell seemingly amused by the man's disrespect of her.

But Ziva David was dense, not stupid. She could acknowledge that to others, like the cretin Fornell, it may seem that she was, in fact, using her father's position to her advantage and that she had not gained her job because of her abilities.

But surely that could not be true...she had been highly touted in Mossad as an excellent assassin envied by others for her stealth and for never missing a target. Unfortunately, that seed of doubt that had been planted by Fornell had taken fruition and now, as she stood gazing out of the window the tea all but forgotten, a dreadful truth hit that nearly knocked her for a fruit loop.

The type of looks she was used to receiving from the other agents and staff made more sense now; the lack of invites to parties or girls nights out and the clearing of a room when she entered. No cake or even a happy birthday greeting from anyone except Abby on her birthday. She chose to believe this was because of their due regard of who she was, and had not felt slighted in the least. Now, their actions took on a different meaning.

Obviously, she had gotten the picture wrong. A while back she had received a hateful letter from a group of people at NCIS too cowardly to sign their names. Those jealous nimrods demanded she needed to quit her job or get off her high horse, whatever that was, because they felt she had not gained her job on her own merits or abilities and that she did not have any experience as an investigator nor the patience to not lose her temper when confronted by belligerent criminals; hence the dead guy in the elevator. The letter said they would not work out in the field with her because if someone did not come back safe and sound it would not be her.

Granted, she would sometimes impatiently lash out at those with not enough common sense to do what she told them to do when she told them to do it, and sometimes that included her fellow workers at NCIS still, it was her prerogative. As Gibbs underling, she was only emulating his style of leadership. If that's what they were so annoyed about it was their problem, not hers.

Ziva knew all of this about herself and in the time she had been there had chosen not to learn a different approach. That is how she had kept McGee in line and other male agents who came and went on Gibbs' team. Until DiNozzo, that is.

That letter had also stated that she should go to FLETC training and stay there for life because her head was so big that it would take a truckload of study hours for anything to penetrate through her thick skull. Again, jealousy, she reasoned was their motive because she had not needed any of their so called training; not FLETC and certainly not sitting through demeaning required classes or lectures to learn how to investigate; so beneath her. She had been able to avoid them because her friend Jenny Shepard deemed it unnecessary when Ziva pointed out that she would not tolerate lesser beings instructing her or telling her what to do.

So, in spite of taking no classes or listening to anyone but Gibbs, she had ignored the letter and arrogantly flaunted the talents that she obviously did not have and that others made the butt of their jokes. Gibbs had called it a deal with the devil, indeed!

Her mistake was ignoring the feeling that something was not right from day one. Something important that kept eluding her, just out of her reach. She should have listened to that feeling, tried harder to find out what it meant. It was plain now that she was being lied to by Director Shepard and made a fool of and she couldn't even think about avenging her honor, or her father's honor, for that matter, because now, she was more than convinced that her father had not been fooled by the Director. More than likely they were in it together and he had turned a blind eye, just to manipulate her along.

No wonder DiNozzo could belittle her and ignore her demands from the moment he walked into NCIS' doors. He was not the outcast there, the pariah, because that honorary distinction, she now knew, belonged to her. There was no glorified lead agent's position waiting for her here or even the senior field agent position she thought she was in line for, and the Director's chair was safe from her too, she now realized. Now that her eyes were opened it was plainly obvious that the deep respect others had for her abilities and her qualifications were a mere figment of her imagination.

But the most bitterly galling pill for her to swallow and just showed how stupid she had been was that there were no other agencies chasing after her demanding her excellent skills, waiting in line for her or fighting for her personally like they were for DiNozzo.

When she started to turn the brunt of her anger on DiNozzo she pulled herself back from that direction. That was not the right way to go for her, not now; obviously DiNozzo was the golden boy and as such, it was hands off for now until she could regroup.

And as long as she was being honest with herself, it was her own hubris that had gotten her into this mess in the first place, and that's all she had left, her pride. And that would have to sustain her until she could figure out her next course of action.

She would not go back to Israel and her father, the idea was abhorrent to her and she would happily eat a bullet first if that were forced on her, but she would not play the martyr here, either. Even if her only option, humiliating that it was, was to remain here and work for Gibbs, and her betrayer, Jenny Shepard, then so be it.

Her embarrassment and stupidity would not be made public for others to examine and pick over, not even Abby would she share this with, and it wouldn't affect who she was. She would step down off the pedestal of her own making, as obviously, no one else looked up to her there and plan on what was best for her now.

Could she refrain from further contention and arguments, especially with Tony? Follow someone's orders even though she felt more qualified than they were? Was she going to be able to accept her mediocrity as others saw her? Her life had been one of a princess stamping her foot to get her way and privilege, and later, power and the might of Mossad. How far she had fallen! Could she accept that?

Her thoughts continued along those lines, deep and heavy; she had important decisions to make as she contemplated her future while watching the slow moving traffic outside.

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"I don't envy you, Jethro, having that one on your team. You taking precautions to watch your back when she's in a knife throwing mood?" Fornell had turned serious after watching Ziva's controlled movements as she made her tea then left the room.

"And you sitting here on your ass waiting for your team to show up, that's a little odd, even for you. What happened to you? You lost your edge or something after that coma? 'Cause since when do you sit passively back and let others do your job?"

Gibbs had been asking himself that same question as he sat and waited for his team to arrive.

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Ducky led his two patients into Gibbs' house. Dorneget was still carrying a sleeping Marcus and Ducky escorted him to the first floor bedroom where the teenager was to sleep. DiNozzo was more-or-less walking on his own by this time and stood in the hallway directionless until Gibbs was there and pointed to the left. Tony went into the living room and sat on the sofa, throwing his head back, closing his eyes and stretching out his long legs under the coffee table.

That quick, he fell into a light sleep but his nose buds woke him up fast enough when baked risen dough, broiled tomato, seared pepperoni and lightly browned extra cheese assailed his nostrils. Pizza!

Tony sat up and rubbed his face, he desperately needed a shower to wash the dried blood out of his hair. He looked around the semi-darkened room and tried not to grimace at Ziva David standing tense and controlled by the living room window. She glanced at him briefly with cold dark eyes before turning her gaze back to the window.

McGee was set up at a corner table with laptop, and was that a second laptop, turned on and being used? The pizza smell was seeping from three family sized pizza boxes someone had just placed on the coffee table, and the smell was proving too irresistible for Tony to ignore as he reached for a slice. Gibbs came in then with a coffee pot he placed on a coaster on the table and some cups.

"Gibbs." Tony acknowledged procuring his first slice of the warm decadence. "No beer?"

"You're on meds, DiNozzo. How's your arm?"

"It's my shoulder. It's fine." Tony said around a big mouthful of his first savory bite. "So, what's going on?"

"Ducky says Marcus is okay, sleeping naturally. Tore up his feet some with embedded glass and pebbles. He..."

"Ah, good." Ducky interrupted as he came into the room and placed a bottle of water on the table along with white pills in a paper cup. "You are taking in food just in time for your antibiotic, Anthony, eat up and then take the pill please. Drink all the water and then you should get some rest. There is also a pain pill in the cup, Anthony. I had the doctor switch to a different medication. One that I know you have used before and can tolerant and that has fewer side effects. Please take it or you will not be able to sleep and you need your rest."

"Right, Ducky." Tony mumbled around a mouthful of food.

"Do not disregard my advice, Anthony." Ducky scolded. "You are out of the hospital on my recommendation that I will see to your needs, and I will not sign off for desk duty if you are uncooperative."

"Alright, Ducky, alright. I'll take the pills..."

"I'll see that he takes them, Ducky. Anything else that he needs to do?" Gibbs had entered the room noiselessly and Tony gave him a sharp look at his presumptuousness; as though he was going to tell him what to do. Not likely!

"Both patients need rest, Jethro." Ducky had noted the stubborn look on Anthony's face at Jethro's words but chose not to comment on it. They could fight it out without his being there.

"Ziva, Timothy? You must not wear yourselves down. Please come and have a bite to eat also."

"Be there in a second, Ducky." Said a distracted sounding McGee from his corner ops center.

"I had something earlier while we were waiting, Ducky, thank you. Gibbs, I believe it is my turn to guard the outside. I will send Dorneget in for his dinner." When Gibbs did not object, Ziva turned to Ducky. "I will escort you to your car, Dr Mallard."

"Very well, my dear." Ducky bade them goodnight and they left quickly.

Tony had stopped chewing briefly to stare at the woman who had quietly left the house. Truthfully, it was a relief not to have Ziva David's unsettling presence nearby and her sniping comments not directed at him for a change.

Gibbs watched her leave also with an unreadable expression on his face before turning back to DiNozzo. "Was Marcus able to say what happened?"

DiNozzo felt his hackles rise at Gibbs' question, immediately thinking the worst. The pizza was as dry as sawdust as he tried to swallow his last bite.

"He's been asleep since we got him here, Gibbs. No time yet for the first degree and he shouldn't be woken up, he needs the rest. He's been through a lot...his father was just brutally murdered...give him a..."

"DiNozzo!" Gibbs had to raise his voice to be heard over Tony's hostility and overreaction to a simple question.

"I'm asking for a sit-rep not a lecture. Ducky said Marc was in shock and hasn't talked since he was found, understood. Now on the off chance, did he say anything to you?" Gibbs said firmly. He wasn't going to let things get out of hand again and he vowed he would listen to the members of his team but he wouldn't put up with a sullen agent and he did expect an answer to his work-related question without argument.

DiNozzo wiped his mouth with the paper napkin trying to convince himself there was no reason for him to stall any longer; Marcus was here and was safe. He had to put the distrust aside or at least tone it down with this man so as not to get thrown off this case, or worse, have Gibbs act on his resignation threat. Tony had to see this through with Marcus.

His appetite suddenly gone, he just wanted to get some rest. The pain in his shoulder was prohibitive but he'd be dammed if he'd take the pill with Agent Macho glaring at him. Plus, he needed to stay alert-but Ducky said this medication was not the goofy time one. If Gibbs would just take a hike somewhere, he would take it...but this is the man's house and it didn't look like he was going to move. Besides, all he had to do was answer the man and maybe he would go away. Tony reasoned things out haphazardly, his mind going a mile a minute compliments of his forced relationship with benzodiazepine.

"No. Marc didn't say anything to me. I was busy getting shot at and he was dodging bullets and bad guys then getting his feet fixed. So, no, he didn't say anything. Now, could I use your rest room or do you want me to type up my report first?" He said sarcastically. He couldn't help feeling belligerent, the pain in his shoulder was like fire and ice and salt being rubbed into an open wound all at once and his head hurt. The pizza wanted to make a comeback and Gibbs needed to come up with a bathroom or have copious vomit spewed all over his dingy grey carpet.

Gibbs recognized DiNozzo's words as coming from a hurting, sick, exhausted and irritated man who had eaten too much greasy food too fast and was swallowing convulsively to keep it down. Therefore, those antagonistic words were not meant to challenge his authority but to vent his frustration. Gibbs had a lifetime of military service under his belt and giving orders came naturally to him as did knowing when to push his men, but not beyond what they could handle.

"Don't puke on my floor, DiNozzo. Come on, the bathrooms this way." Tony didn't even try to pull away when Gibbs helped him up by his good arm and steered him to the first floor bathroom. Tony closed the door and locked it quickly and just barely hit the toilet on target to spill his guts of the three slices of poorly masticated pizza. After what seemed a lifetime of regurgitating, and his stomach muscles hurting and his throat a raging fire, the torture finally stopped and Tony rested against the toilet seat exhausted.

'Knock, knock, bang', "DiNozzo!" Tony grabbed and held onto his sore head.

Aaah, go the hell away and leave me alone in my misery, please! Tony begged silently to the evil presence on the other side of the closed door.

Gibbs rattled the doorknob vigorously. "Open the door, DiNozzo. I have a clean wash cloth and towel and your go bag." Gibbs was the type to never give up and apparently he was on a mission to play the perfect host to an unwilling guest. But...washing up did sound rather appealing. Tony unlocked the door and opened it a crack and reached for the items before hastily closing the door again.

"You're welcome, and no shower, you'll get the bandages wet." Was Gibbs' parting salvo.

Tony glared at the closed door and cussed under his breath in spitefulness while thinking less than kind thoughts of his host. Who did Gibbs think he was, anyway, his father? News for you, Gibbs! My father is a freakin no-good loser jackass and you're not much better. Don't need him and certainly don't need you!

After he managed to wash his face and hair in the sink using the disgusting, smelly generic bar of soap that was all that was available, he donned the shirt and sweatpants in his bag and brushed his teeth.

He was cursed being stuck here in Gibbs' house at the man's mercy because all he wanted was a bed and some sleep and it didn't look like he was going to get either one anytime soon if Gibbs insisted on being debriefed. When he came out of the bathroom the living room was dark and empty of people and pizza. Where in the heck had McGee gotten off to and he hadn't caught a glimpse of Fornell since he got here.

The sofa was made up with sheets, blankets and a pillow and Tony had to admit it looked more comfortable and inviting than the most expensive mattress and luxurious bedding ever had.

While Tony was salivating over the sofa, Gibbs came back with a bowl of something and a plate of something else, and a soda can under his arm.

"This is applesauce and toast. You should be able to keep this down so you can take your pills. And sip on the ginger ale, should help with the nausea."

"Look, Gibbs..."

"DiNozzo, just do it!" Gibbs' patience was wearing thin at this bonehead's stubbornness.

"I don't want Ducky getting on my case because you didn't get the proper rest. He can be one mean SOB when riled." Gibbs placed the food on the coffee table and handed Tony a spoon then stood there and waited, and didn't look like he had anything on his list of things to do but stand there.

Well, when he put it that way, fine, stand there and watch me eat, not my problem. Tony knew he was being irrationally critical of the man who was just trying to help so he admitted defeat at something he shouldn't be fighting about in the first place, took the spoon and started in on the applesauce. One piece of toast later and he reached for the pills and ginger ale and downed them slowly. When he was done, Gibbs gathered the dishes and left, ostensibly for the kitchen.

Tony lay back under the covers and closed his eyes. He was asleep in minutes but just before that, he thought he heard 'Relax, I'll watch your six, DiNozzo', and a cool clothwas placed on his forehead over his eyes.But that couldn't be right.

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Ziva David had escorted Dr Mallard to his car and wished him a good night. "Are you quite alright, Ziva? You seem quite pensive tonight." Ducky had rolled down his window before departing to talk to her.

"I am quite alright, Ducky. But, may I ask you a question?"

"Of course, of course, my dear. What is it?"

"I understand that the FBI is...pooching...that is the word, I think; pooching Tony DiNozzo from Gibbs' team and NCIS?"

"Ah, I believe the correct vernacular is poaching as in..."

"Yes, Ducky, poaching." Ziva uncharacteristically interrupted the good doctor's pending long-winded story. "Poaching him to become an FBI agent after six months experience working here. Is that a common practice?"

Ducky caught a glimpse of more than curiosity on her face as she turned it partially away and failed to look him directly in the eye. What was this about?

Neither admitting nor denying her blunt inquiry about Anthony, Dr Mallard answered her question in generic tones. "It occasionally happens that way, Ziva. I believe Nevins on Carroll's team was a former FBI agent purloined from Agent Fornell himself thus the ongoing rivalry between the two agencies. Mind you, the agents being fought over are of exceptional quality and have something going for them such as skilled at undercover work or language skills of which, I must say, Anthony certainly excels at both. So, yes, Ziva, I can see the FBI and other agencies, for that matter, trying to poach our Anthony away.

Wanting to hide her disbelief and scorn from Ducky, Ziva kept her facial expression neutral. "I see, Ducky. I can picture Agent DiNozzo doing undercover work as he is always pretending to be someone else like the fictional James Bond character, or a clown in a circus. But languages, I think you must be mistaken, Ducky. I speak six languages fluently and some others not as well but Tony has never demonstrated to me that he knows any language other than English." She kept the disdain from her voice or so she thought forgetting for a moment that the wily old duck had never been naive, not even in his youth, and had always been discerning.

"Ah, my dear, that's exactly my point, he never demonstrated to you. Our young Anthony also has several languages under his belt and he is so good at being undercover and hiding things that you only know what he wants you to know, and those only very discerning seem to catch on."

Was that Dr Mallard's subtle way of telling her that she had no observational skills to speak of; his crafty way of putting her in her place? Was she seeing cunning in a person who had never been unkind to her?

Ducky reached out of the car window and patted Ziva's hand. "Now, tell me what is wrong, my dear? What is this about?"

Ziva realized she was projecting Fornell's mockery and snide remarks onto poor Dr Mallard. She stared into his guileless blue eyes and saw Ducky as he had always been, which was nothing like Fornell or even Gibbs, for that matter.

"I am sorry, Ducky, I am holding you up. It is nothing."

Ducky observed her with wise, kind eyes. "If you need to talk, Ziva, I have a new tin of peppermint tea I have not opened yet and you are certainly welcomed to join me for a mid-afternoon repast tomorrow if you are not busy."

"Thank you, Ducky, goodnight." Ziva stood back and watched as Ducky drove away and an unmarked dark car pulled out and followed him. She waved at the FBI agent as he drove by to escort Ducky home. They could not be too careful as they still knew nothing about the criminals they were dealing with.

She went to relieve Dorneget for his dinner and found him talking to a nondescript man who fitted in with the background and who slipped silently away.

"You my relief, Officer David?" The usually affable man spoke abruptly with no further greeting. Ziva had had a run-in with him at a notification they had made together and he had accused her of being too harsh to the grieving significant other over the suicide death of his husband. Ever since then he avoided her like the plague.

"Yes. Is there anything to report?"

"It's quiet." Ned started to walk away but Ziva called him back.

"Is there nothing else to report? You seemed to have been engaged in a heavy duty conversation with the FBI agent."

"Not to you, there isn't. I report to Gibbs, not you, and don't try any of that heavy handed crap you're noted for, David; IA's already got their eye on you."

He started to walk away briskly but turned back, "And it's a heavy conversation, not heavy duty," he snorted, and he left her standing there with her mouth figuratively open.

She was a little surprised at the obvious display of hostility generating from this usually good-natured man. She almost stalked after him ready to throw him to the ground with her gun pressed into his chest for his insulting behavior and disrespect. His attitude towards her was certainly not new but it was also not the fearful kowtowing she had once thought it was.

Comprehension was slow in coming but she was getting it. Dorneget may have believed that she was Gibbs' next in line but it was Gibbs he was wary of, not her. And if he backed down from any confrontation with her in the past, it was not out of fear of her but because of Gibbs' likely retribution against him. Now, though, it seems even the threat of death from Gibbs was not a deterrent to showing her how he really felt about her, most likely taking his example from Tony DiNozzo.

She patrolled her area of the grounds diligently for the rest of her shift. At least that she could do well. She would take Ducky up on his offer and visit him tomorrow in autopsy. Though she was loathed to admit it even to herself, she needed the help of someone who did not hate her or even fear her. Her decision to go after those who had hurt and ridiculed her was not yet made. Maybe the good doctor could help her see another way.

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