Disclaimer: Same as always...
A/N: Thanks to all of you who reviewed the last chapter. I tried to edit some small errors, but haven't quite figured out how to do that without reloading the entire chapter. Please be warned, this chapter contains some adult themes. Hope you enjoy ;)
Chapter 10: Dark corners and twisted limbs
Director Eli David stretched in his chair, his hands behind his head, wearing an extremely self-satisfied expression. His plan was working beautifully. In fact, it couldn't be better if he tried. Those supercilious smug Americans, think they are so damn special, but he will make sure they pay.
This is a war as far as he is concerned, and in war, there is always collateral damage. Yes, there is a part of him that is saddened by the thought that his daughter; his last remaining child is that collateral damage. But, he reasons, she made her choices very clear when she shot and killed her half-brother.
They thought he would be fooled by that half-arsed report. And, if he were honest with himself, even just a little, he had been fooled. For a while. Until the truth came to light. How hard it had been to school his features when that little tit bit of information was dropped in his lap. He had to ensure his face did not give him away. It wouldn't do for the Director of Mossad to not know these things, to be informed the truth by some one as inferior to him as…
Damn Gibbs. That man has more lives than a cat. How many times must he try and take him out? He thought the plan was foolproof – sending Ari in. He tried, repeatedly and was killed for his efforts – shot by his own flesh and blood.
She had always been to damn obstinate for her own good. The sharp end of the spear, he had once described her. But, the sharp end is always the part that breaks off. It is the length of the spear that counts – you can always recreate the tip, the point. But the length – that is where the power lies.
Then there was the explosion on the ship, planned down to the last detail. No one should have survived – but, Gibbs did. Lost his memory for a while, was content to become an ignorant old man. But no, Ziva had to bring him back again, didn't she?
And she wonders why he had her followed, tailed. All those nights with her American partner, that scum who didn't care who he jumped into bed with – along as it was a willing, warm body. He really thought he had trained her better than that.
But, he reflected with a self-satisfied sigh, it would all soon come to an end. He would have the victory, the revenge he sought.
His expression dropped somewhat. Hadar worried him. He wasn't as sure as he once was regarding his officer's loyalties. Perhaps it was time to try him, test him. And he had just the way to do it, to confirm beyond a doubt where his allegiance lies.
Picking up the phone, he fired rapidly to his assistant: "Sarah, get me a secure line. I want a word with Officer Hadar."
Tony sat at his desk staring at his computer screen. He had been in the same position for a good 20 minutes now. Not blinking, not moving, just sitting.
McGee looked up at him, wondering if perhaps he should throw something in his direction. Gibbs caught him like that, no telling what he would do…
If McGee didn't know better, he could have sworn that Tony had perfected the art of falling asleep with his eyes open. A year ago, hell, six months ago, he would think he had. But not this Tony – which is why McGee was so concerned.
Almost reading McGee's thoughts, Tony looked up and gave him a faint smile.
"What's up Probie?"
Caught out, McGee fumbled. "Aaah, nothing. Nothing much Tony. Was just thinking that perhaps we should go for a drink this evening? I mean, Abby has been pestering me. It has been a few days since our last night out."
Rachel immediately jumped at the idea. "Oh, come, let's. It was so much fun the other night. Please Tony," she added, pouting a little in his direction.
Tony tried to swallow the revulsion he felt, at himself, at her. It wasn't her fault, he supposed. She was just doing what all good little Mossad officers do… Follow orders without hesitation, without question. Man, what a crock.
He had been playing the conversation with Hadar over and over in his head. What did it all mean? Could he trust Hadar? Did he trust him? Or was his desperation to know that Ziva was still alive, clouding his judgment. For all he knew, she really could be dead, her cold body lying somewhere, forgotten.
He shook his head violently. He had to get these images out of his head. He had to get his mind right. He was no good to his team this way.
Rachel and McGee were still looking at him expectantly. He sighed. "Yeah, let's make a night of it. McGee – tell Abby, it will give her something to look forward to."
"Yes sir. I hear you. Yes sir. Thank you, sir. I will be waiting."
Hadar put down the phone. He wiped the sweat from his face. The day was warm, yet he felt colder than he had ever been before.
What he feared had come to fruition, unbelievable, but the unfortunate truth. The egomaniac had lost all sense of reality.
At least, he was a step closer to finding out where they were keeping her.
Hadn't been given the directions, mind you. Had to wait on the corner, to be taken to the safe house, like some junior officer. The indignity of it all. Proved one thing though. He had better do what had been asked and then some, if he wanted to retain the trust of the director. He would have to watch his step carefully from here on out.
Abby had appointed herself the watcher, the protector, the friend. From her position at the bar, she sat, resting her hand on her chin, a grim expression on her face.
She chewed the corner of her lip, trying desperately to tear her eyes away.
But she couldn't. She couldn't.
"What is Tony doing, Timmy?" she asked plaintively, as McGee shrugged his shoulders and gestured for another drink.
They all knew that Tony liked the ladies… A lot. He used to brag about his conquests, loudly, graphically, sometimes embarrassingly so. But, they never saw him in action and he never brought his women to the team's drinking spot. It just wasn't done. His own self-imposed rule, Abby presumed.
Of course, they had seen Ziva and him with a few drinks in them. A song would come on the jukebox and he would stare affectionately into her eyes, pressing her into dancing with him.
And she would reluctantly agree, pushing herself off her seat while threatening him under her breath that if his hands shifted even just slightly off her waist, she would break every finger.
He would laugh, reach forward and brush an errant strand of her wild, tangled hair behind her ear as they gently swayed in the corner, oblivious to everyone around them.
As quickly as it started, it would end, and they would return to the table, cheeks slightly flushed.
And soon they would all say goodnight. With longing glances, lingering desire and a twinge of regret, they would part on the pavement, each going their separate way, not looking back, never looking back.
Which is why, this was so very, very hard. Abby leaned forward and slowly sucked her drink through the bendy straw. Not even the flame-colored concoction, with an equally big kick, could perk her mood up tonight.
She knew Tony had a lot to drink, hell, they all had. But was this really the way it was going to finish up? If so, she didn't want any part of it. It was like a train wreck, a car accident, or one of those B-grade horror movies. You don't want to watch, but as much as you tell yourself to look away, you feel compelled and your eyes stay glued on the scene in front of you.
She swallowed, hard. And next to her, McGee continued to stare forlornly into his drink.
"He is only a man, I guess. Hard to say no, when its in your face so blatantly," she murmured.
"I dunno, I guess I just expected more, you know?" McGee replied, drawing circles in the condensation that had pooled on the bar top.
In the darkened corner, Tony didn't know what to think anymore. He was numb. The alcohol had done its trick quite well, thank you.
His beer bottle hung loosely in his hand, his arms entwined around Rachel's waist as they moved to the music, hip to hip, chest to chest. Her hands entwined in his hair, as he drunkenly rested his forehead on hers. Breaking apart, just for a second, he took a deep gulp of his beer, staggering slightly as he tried to place the empty bottle on the table behind them, without letting go of her. He reached his hand up and twisted his fingers into her perfectly straight auburn hair. Staring deep into her blue eyes, he pulled her closer, crushing his lips to hers.
She tasted like cheap sweet white wine and a tinge of spearmint.
Ziva, he imagined, would taste like well-wooded whiskey, vanilla and coffee.
Immediately he pushed aside these reckless thoughts, and turned his mind back to the matter at hand. Pulling Rachel in closer, and kissing her again.
At the bar, Abby sighed again, and shoved her drink away. "I can't anymore Timmy. I just can't. All I want to do is go over there, pull her off him and smash her face against the brick wall. But instead, I have to sit here, and smile and approve. And I just cannot any more. My heart is too sore."
With this she stood. Hanging her head, she turned, uncharacteristically dragging her feet across the floor.
McGee watched her go. Not knowing what to say, not knowing what to do. Looking over to the barman, he raised his hand again. Perhaps this drink would be the one to give him the courage he was so sadly lacking.
Funny, he thought, that the person who believed she was unlovable, be the one that would tie them all together. Without her, they were just strangers, trying to hold onto the past. Downing his drink, he shoved his hands in his pockets and made his lonely way home.
In the darken corner, Tony was oblivious to his team mates', his friends', his family's discomfort. "My place," Rachel purred in his ear. "It's not far from here."
And Tony, drunkenly, lust-filled, agrees. He doesn't know why it must play out this way, why his been seduced by Rachel is seemingly so important. Remembering Hadar's words, he supposes that he has been in worse situations. How many men would complain about having to sleep with a beautiful woman? Hell, he would have jumped at this a few years ago, welcomed it, bragged openly about it. When did this all change? How did this all change?
And for a split second he questions the intelligence of his next move. Then Rachel presses her willing body against his, runs her long nails up the side of his jeans and he thinks – will it really be so bad?
It takes her a few tries to get her key in the lock, and she giggles lightly. Frustrated, Tony eases the keys from her hand, and inserts them into the lock, as she rubs up against him. He kicks the front door shut behind him, and she starts to undress. He wonders if any of this is real, for her, for him, for them.
Or does she also have the vision of someone else in her head? In that moment, he doesn't see pale skin, ethereal beauty and blue eyes, as he stares at the wanton naked woman in front of him, opening up to him, inviting him in.
In his mind, it's cream and chocolate, fire and ice, wild hair and wild eyes, the woman he desires. And succumbing to his dreams, his fantasy, he smiles languidly as he moves forward.
It's fast and slick and at that breaking point, the name of his dreams drips from his lips, shattering the moment as he collapses onto her.
He pushes himself up on his elbows, and reflected in her blue eyes, he sees… he doesn't quite know what he sees. Self-satisfaction fights with jealousy, sadness mixes with mirth. He pushes himself off her, mumbles something and reaching for his clothes, backs out of the room.
The front door shuts, and she climbs off the bed. Picking up her silk robe and securing it around her waist, she looks to where she knows the camera is hidden. She puts on a little show, a flash of skin, a wink and the blowing of a kiss, before the room plunges into darkness. She laughs, loudly, wickedly. Mission complete.
Ziva is strong, because she needs to be. She is strong because despite what she has been told, and what she has seen on the footage they have shown her, she believes beyond all doubt that her partner, her friend, her…
That he will follow the breadcrumbs she has strewn just like the children in her favourite fairytale. That he will know she is still alive, and will be doing everything possible to find her.
But that illusion is shattered. If she wasn't dead before, she is now. Her hope destroyed with each thrust, each tender look shared between the naked bodies on the screen.
She wants to turn her head away, to close her eyes against the images she sees, but she cannot.
She tries to show that this doesn't affect her, but time has taken its toll, and this hurt is harder to hide, to bite back, to swallow.
She pulls against the restraints holding her in place, and feels the pain rip through her. She welcomes this, embraces this.
These physical pains she can deal with, has been trained to deal with. But the emotional ones… those she battles to contain.
Her head drops forward, just for a spit second, before her hair is yanked viciously back. Her eyes prick and burn, and her unknown antagonist forces her to keep watching Tony succumbing to his passion. There is no sound, but none is needed, Tony collapses, spent, satisfied, onto the redhead, pushes himself up and stares into her eyes.
Ziva's chest physically hurts, a knifing sensation that cuts deeper than the broken bones and seared skin. Is this what betrayal feels like?
She blinks as the overhead lights flicker on, and as her eyes become accustomed, a form steps into her line of vision. Her antagonist, her friend, they swim into one and take on the features of Hadar.
She watches blindly, he takes a step forward, places a hand on either side of her chair and leans in.
"Not so brave now are you, little one?" he questions softly. "Ready yet to tell us? To roll on those who have clearly already rolled on you?"
Her puffy, bruised eyes stare at him, her lips curl into a sneer, she opens her mouth and spits into his face. Her final act of defiance.
He roars, his clenched fist connects, her nose spurts blood and her head snaps to the side, smacking the edge of the nearby table. A sickening thud, a whimper, then silence. Darkness swallows her and she gladly succumbs.