Disclaimer: NCIS does not belong to el autor, me. Okay.
This took me forever (relatively) to write. Not sure why, but it's fine. Happens to the worst of us. Anyway, enjoy the read!
Ziva awoke to the sound of voices – slow, calm, and unclear.
She kept still and features stiffened in the position she was in, fighting to understand. She tried to force herself to pick up on some sort of trigger, something to grab her and pull her out of the tired haze, but the struggle was futile.
She kept her breathing steady and believable as she tried to determine her surroundings silently.
Definitely laying on something, and from the feel and lack of flat harshness it seemed to be a leather couch or some sort of comfortable bench. Neither her hands nor her feet were bound, and the relative brightness of the light waiting just outside her eyelids meant she was not blindfolded.
Hold on.
Couch?
It was at this moment that either the voices became louder or more were added, or both, because she was suddenly able to decipher what they were saying – they were talking about her, and something about the Americans. In Hebrew.
And she instantly knew where she was. Israeli Embassy.
She focused her attention on listening, thankful that she was facing the wall and that her first few moments of waking up completely unaware had gone unnoticed by the people standing guard in the hallway.
Once she was certain that they were not directly in the room watching her, she slowly swung her legs off the couch and sat for the smallest of moments, trying to shake away the remnants of sluggishness from the drug she had been given.
But shuffling outside the room stopped her.
"Your turn to check. Make sure you took her knives," one of the guards muttered, earning an offhand snort from the other.
"You would think she was dangerous," he replied sarcastically, the sound of his footsteps approaching just outside the door.
It was in those two seconds that Ziva decided exactly what she was going to.
She was unarmed, being held against her will by people and an organization that had let her down in so many ways. NCIS did not even know she was here, and because of her pseudo-suspension, they were out of the equation anyway.
Self-reliance was the only option.
She jumped out of her seated position and pressed herself against the wall next to the door just as it began to open.
The handle turned and the wood swung open to reveal one of the brusque men heading towards the sofa across from the desk, but he stopped in his tracks as he realized it was empty.
Ziva stepped out from behind the door silently and swung a kick to the back of his legs, causing him to lose balance long enough for her to flatten him to the ground and pin him to the floor without so much as a raised hand.
She instantly swiped the gun out of the holster at his hip, bringing it to his temple to keep him from trying anything.
There was only a moment's hesitation before she brought it down over his forehead and incapacitated him.
Her movement was mechanic, measured. But she had no time to question just why she could not feel.
She listened for approaching footsteps or the voice of the man's partner.
Nothing.
She stood up and pressed herself against the wall again, relishing the feel of the metal object held tightly in her hand.
In a flash of instinct she raised it and a gunshot echoed as the glass from the window shattered into pieces and rained onto the floor like little tinkering lights.
The other guard came running into the room with his own weapon raised, eyes frantic and shoulders tensed in readiness – he joined his unconscious partner on the floor as the person he was looking for pistol-whipped him from behind.
No going back now. And it was almost too easy.
She swiftly made her way out the door and ducked into a nearby deserted corridor just as multiple embassy security personnel began rushing to the source of the disturbance. They were shouting instructions to each other and into their radios, too focused with the possible threat to notice her less-than-perfect hiding place.
She continued down the corridor and slipped into the back staircase completely unnoticed.
Certainly not a safe environment for her, but exactly what she needed.
Eli David paced around the corridor in a blur of anger and intimidation, eyes practically glaring into the phone held against his ear.
"How many times did I warn you of this?" he demanded into the receiver, sending the officers accompanying him away with a wave of the hand so he could talk in private.
Hadar sent him a wary look before he too turned his back and retreated.
"I do not care. When did you last see her?"
Someone on the other end says something in reply, but good or bad it serves only to piss off the Director more, and if this conversation had been in person, someone would be on the ground. And they would be in pain.
"Find her! Now! Do what you have to do but you do not kill her! Is that understood?"
He didn't wait for an answer as he slammed the cover his phone shut, fuming silently for a moment before stalking back to his office.
He pulled out his chair and flicked on the desk lamp, resting his head in his hands as he let out a breath of sheer frustration and irritation at the incompetent men responsible for this.
The situation had only gotten worse the second it started.
He lifted his head up and made to pick up the desk phone, but something behind him moved.
He froze.
A gun was pressed lightly into the back of his head, and with a drop of the stomach he could feel her darkly smooth presence hovering just behind him.
"Put it down," she commanded lowly, keeping her grip tight and her eyes focused. She could feel the pulse of her heart beating so intensely as her muscles tensed and the back of her neck began to sweat.
The anger acted of its own accord, and when he feels the barrel pushing harder into his skull he knows she is more than serious.
"Ziva," he hissed, turning his head slightly so he can see her outline out of the corner of his eye. "Think about what you are doing."
"Like you thought about Tony?" she spit back, not releasing her hold even for a second.
"Mossad had nothing to do with Agent DiNozzo's death."
There was a stagnant silence for a brief moment, and the finger, the bringer of death, itched to pull that trigger and release. Watch him fall apart for all the times he hurt her.
Instead she takes her other hand and pulls roughly on his collar, demanding with more than just a weapon that he rise from his chair.
He complies with a grimace as she pushes on his elbow with one hand and holds the gun against the side of his heart with the other, leading him away from the desk and out the door.
She says nothing, and he can't remember the last time he felt fear like this.
The fire in her veins burns and simmers just beneath the surface, and she is acutely aware of every breath, every footstep, every time he feels the gun against his ribcage and his sharp blue eyes contract with things she did not, would not, give a shit about.
She led him up the stairs without so much as a glance in his direction, face clenched with focus and determination as she reached the door that opened to the roof.
A quick look over her shoulder to the empty staircase behind her meant she was not being followed, and she forcefully nudged him out the door and into the privacy of the deserted area in front of them.
A cool burst of air hit her face as the metal door slammed shut behind them, and her nerves tingled in anticipation as she flexed her fingers on the grip of her weapon.
It was pressed into the small of his back as she shoved him forward.
"Down," she demanded, keeping her weapon steady as he was given enough breathing room to turn around and face her.
His eyes sparked with a flash of concentration as he slowly lowered himself to the ground, kneeling.
"Hands in the air."
He shifted slightly as he raised his arms.
"Ziva," he tried calmly, trying to urge her to stop before this got out of control.
But they both knew it was already too late for that. She ignored him.
"Talk," she stated firmly, her voice not one to be challenged.
"There is nothing to say!" he spat back, tearing his gaze away from the barrel aimed in his direction and into the face of someone he was only just now realizing he had lost a long, long time ago.
She was having none of it.
"Why could you not leave me alone?" she asked fervently, the smallest trace of desperation laced in her words.
Because that, that, was the question that had caused the cracks in the foundation to begin with.
"You are my daughter!" he yelled back, voice tight and tense. "That is not something you can just walk away from!"
There was a stiff silence, and the glare of metal seemed to taunt them both as the weight of what she was saying fell to the ground like the setting sun behind them.
"I only walked away because it was exactly what you wanted."
The finality to it scares them both.
He says nothing in response.
"You knew this was going to happen. Shavit knew, and he reports directly to you."
"Listen to me! We had no knowledge that DiNozzo was inv—"
Truth or not, it is still a lie, and they know it.
"You knew! And you did nothing to stop it!"
Eli scoffed, letting out a cold laugh despite his irises flickering with heat.
"Stop what? DiNozzo was an arrogant fool. With his incompetence he was lucky to have survi—"
But he was cut off again as a kick that held absolutely nothing back swung across his face and sent his head flying to the side, splitting open his lip with a tiny sprinkle of red falling to the ground.
"TONY is the only reason I'm alive!"
Her father pressed his fingers against his rapidly swelling lip lightly, eyes narrowed but mouth silent as he continued to stare her down. His voice is hollow when he speaks.
"You loved him?"
Stop.
The edge of her weapon is pressed firmly into the middle of his forehead, and her breathing is quick, uneven almost. She flexes her fingers around it and despite the chill wind, she can't help the sweat that is clinging to the back of her shirt.
And she feels her heart begin to break.
I guess I'll never know.
The irony is not lost on her, and she wonders if somehow the man in front of her feels it too.
Now, with her gun against his head and blood dripping down his chin, she thinks she understands why.
Because in all of the years they spent together, it was never a question that she received his approval, again and again. She was his go-to for all things necessary and dangerous. Mission after mission. Bullet after bullet. Report after report. His pride. His encouragement. His respect.
But she never got his love.
She lowers her weapon.
What is left?
"Goodbye," she says lowly, her voice dark and ultimate and sad and all things powerful.
And she leaves him with his knees digging into the ground and hands still raised in the air as he watches her retreat through the door without another word. He feels a sinking in his bones as he realizes, oh he realizes, that she is gone.
She should have pulled the trigger, and he hates himself for it.
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