Disclaimer: Does NCIS belong to me? Uh, no.
This has to be record timing for updating speed. Less than two days, I think. And I banged this out in one sitting - be impressed. Probably just because I've been planning this chaptah for a long-ass time, but hey...
Her gun was out and perfectly aimed in a second, eyes narrowed.
"Put the weapon away Ziva. Do you want the police here?"
"I do not need the police to arrest you."
Hadar laughed, keeping his hands raised in the air as a sign of peace.
"Arrest me? I only came to talk."
She didn't waver, lead barrel still pointed right at his heart.
"I do not want to talk."
"But you must listen," he amended, eyes flickering from the gun aimed at him and the eyes of the person who held it so steadily. "Are you going to let me in?"
"Last time you were in my apartment you destroyed it."
There was no way she was trusting him this easily. He should have left her alone.
Hadar sighed, his voice more empathetic, quieter.
"Ziva, please."
She kept her dark brown eyes trained on him for a moment before finally dropping her stance, stepping aside and allowing him into the threshold of her living space.
Her gun remained easily accessible on the counter next to the laptop, which she flipped closed as he strode by it and into the sitting room.
Upon seeing the scattered books about American history and the Constitution, along with the small American flag knick-knack on the coffee table, Hadar let out a wry smile.
"I see you've redecorated."
She ignored him, schooling her features and radiating seriousness, professionalism.
"You came to talk," she led, keeping her distance in more ways than one.
"Mm," he confirmed lowly, his eyes losing their lightness and sharpening slightly. He glanced around the room again before continuing.
"You are currently looking for Officer Shavit, are you not?"
Ziva uncrossed her arms, face clenched with confusion. At her surprise towards his knowledge, he smiled again.
"Two days ago you interrogated a store manager about people in his security footage. Twenty-four hours later, one of them ends up dead. And you have been spending the last seven hours searching through classified Mossad databases."
She narrowed her eyes at the arrogant tone in his voice.
"If you wanted to remain undetected, perhaps you should have called on your friend Agent McGee."
Still she said nothing, and he let out another soft chuckle at her defiance.
"Tell me Ziva, what is it you are hoping to find?"
"Answers," she replied quickly, watching his movements and reaction carefully.
"About Officer Shavit?"
"Why is he here? What was Mossad trying to accomplish?"
At the anger in her questions, Hadar nodded his head solemnly, folding his hands behind his back. He had the cold look of not being comfortable revealing what he was about to divulge.
"Officer Shavit and his partner are tracking a Lebanese arms dealer with strong ties to Hezbollah, confirmed to have fled here, to Washington. And the local gang network has a surprising amount of information about such people in their neighborhood."
Hadar had been clear, decisive. Describing with the air of not withholding anything, as people like him were trained to do and practiced on a regular basis. He explained Mossad (although their refusal to play by the rules, even now, stirred up some anger), he explained Morales.
Where and why, done.
But he left out the one thing that she cared most about, in her heart of hearts.
"And Tony?"
No turning back from that now.
"Mossad was not involved in Agent DiNozzo's death. Shavit had no knowledge that there was ever a threat of this happening."
So easy, it seemed. Question, answer. Action, response. Target, hit. Wrapped up a lifetime's worth of pain into a series of phrases and hand gestures, and it was over with. Done.
Not today.
It was a load of shit.
Ziva clenched her jaw and lowered her voice, meeting his gaze without hesitation.
"I do not believe you," she said with finality, watching him intensely as he closed some of the distance between them.
Perhaps he suspected this, because he only nodded at her in agreement.
"You do not have to. But your father has requested that you stop your search immediately."
He was hitting the right nerve and he knew it, a flickering spark flashing in his eye as he watched her reaction.
She glared.
"I made it very clear that I no longer answer to Mossad or my father," she spat out, turning on her heel and retreating to her bedroom to pack a bag. To get the hell away from him and whatever he was holding back.
Regardless of what she was told, she was not giving up yet. There were things left undone, things that she could not leave alone if she tried, and vice versa.
Hadar watched her go wearily, raising his voice to be heard more clearly.
"If I cannot convince you to stop then he has asked to speak with you himself," he said firmly, stepping out of her way as she brushed past him to gather her computer and some things from the kitchen area.
She stuffed them into her bag and grabbed her jacket without looking at him.
"If he wants to talk to me he can come find me," she stated, throwing a water-bottle in her bag before turning her back on Hadar and heading to the door.
The cold click of a gun being cocked stopped her.
McGee spun away from the staircase and turned to the empty bullpen, called by some unknown force to observe the stillness around him.
To his right, an empty desk. His own. But he had no inclination to sit, and he could not explain it for the life of him.
Across from him, an empty desk. Gibbs was always in and out, but somehow now it made him think of responsibility and how in less than a week, so much had changed.
Next to that, an empty desk. Ziva should be here, but because of some political crap and her own inability to buy into that, she wasn't. And the tension seemed to grow everyday.
And to his left, an empty desk. Forever.
He would practically give anything to see Tony stride carelessly into the bullpen one more time, bragging about one thing or another.
McGee had no idea what Gibbs and Vance were talking about, but if it was at all related to the conspicuous results he had just come up with, then it was sure to be anything but good.
Results…
Damn it.
Why was it that Mossad always had a way of showing up just when you think you're two steps away from moving on?
Ziva knew. There was no doubt in his mind that she was not involved, not after everything. But she knew. She had to.
It was only now that he realized the real reason she showed restraint against Morales – she had more important people to hunt down.
But the only way she could have known they were Mossad without some kind of software was if she recognized them. And if she recognized them, she knew them. And if she knew them, then the outcome was likely to be twice as bad for all parties involved.
Either way, it came down to one thing.
Ziva was fucked.
One permanently empty desk. And he would be damned if he was going to let that become two.
Wasn't there a stupid Gibbs rule about that anyway? Never sit on the sidelines when one of your people is in trouble or something…
Nice try McMemory, but that's my rule. I always did like it when you called me Boss…
DiNozzo. DiNozzo would have gone after Ziva. But then, DiNozzo would never disobey Gibbs if he could help it.
Maybe, maybe not. His boss had directly ordered him to stay, to do nothing. But could he just leave Ziva to go through whatever she was going through alone?
Gibbs or Ziva?
But that's just it. It doesn't just come down to loyalty between those two. Because whatever Ziva was doing, it was sure to involve Tony somehow. And Ziva had been there, had felt it first, when Tony was killed.
They were inexplicably linked. Together. Choosing to help Ziva would also be choosing to help Tony, and if he disregarded that he would be lying.
He glanced to the stairs behind him, solidifying his choice.
He would not let this happen again.
Within a few seconds his coat and his gear were tucked under his arm, and it was only a blur of determination that he left behind as he went for the elevator.
Ziva froze, heart racing as she turned around carefully, placing her bag down on the floor in a slow, measured manner.
Hadar, who had just moments ago been idly watching her pack, was pointing a weapon at her in a threateningly calm way.
"I will use force if I must," he said coolly, face unreadable.
Her glare could burn.
"You would kill me? For him?"
"I will do what is necessary for your cooperation."
The enticing black of her gun resting on the counter was visible out of the corner of her eye, but there was no chance. If she went for it he could put a hole in her before she even touched it.
"Necessary," she repeated tonelessly, dark irises glinting.
And then in one moment, the atmosphere exploded.
Her leg flew up out of nowhere, kicking the weapon out of his hands with perfection. Hadar reacted instantly, bringing his hands up and blocking her next punch. She retracted her hand and forcefully brought up her knee into his stomach, eliciting a low grunt of pain as the wind left him for just a moment.
His brief drop in defense was just the space she needed to thrust her arm around his neck, holding him there as he temporarily gasped for breath.
But Hadar was no amateur.
His flung his elbow directly into her jaw, causing her to release her grip completely as she fought to steady herself from losing her balance. He turned and shoved her against the wall and squeezed his hands tightly against her arms, trying to keep her in place.
His nose shattered with a dull crack as her forehead collided roughly with his face, sending him reeling backwards.
Suddenly his defensive tactics became all the more aggressive as his anger at her retaliation amplified, and with little effort he blocked the kick aimed at his torso and backhanded her fiercely, still gripping the leg he had captured in midair.
With head turned away from the force of his strike and body twisted from the hold she was in, it didn't take long for Hadar to aim his own kick at the back of her other knee and sweep her completely off her feet.
She slammed into the hardwood with a loud thud, one knee bent upwards and pressed into her chest as a shield from the man she was fighting to keep from completely pinning her.
In the second between her landing on the floor and Hadar lowering himself to the ground to lean over her flattened body, the knife strapped to her ankle was out and held tightly against his throat.
She could have laughed had he not beat her to it.
His eyes were lingering at her thigh menacingly before he brought them back to her face with a thin frown. It took until she tore her own eyes away from his face to see what he was so smug about that she realized he had the upper hand.
She froze, if only for a second.
The leg brought up to defend herself had served only to leave her inner thigh exposed.
A prick against her skin confirmed that he was holding a small syringe, and by the time she tried to move her hand to stop him (which he easily deflected), its contents were already emptied into her bloodstream.
It did not take long for the sedative to begin working through her system, and it was with blurred vision that she opened her mouth to speak.
"Why are you doing this?" she practically whispered, her words slow and fading.
Hadar sighed as he caught the hand previously held against his throat as it fell and her control slipped away.
"I have to."
He received no reply as her eyes fluttered shut and she fell away into darkness. He grabbed his discarded gun again before slinging her over his shoulder and heading for the door.
By the time McGee arrived, Hadar was gone without a trace.
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