A mere day after he had falsely ordered Ziva to obey her father's draconian demands, he was pushing his admittedly weak plan into the beginnings of fruition.

He hoped.

Loitering on the steps of the Israeli consulate, Gibbs hesitated for a fraction of a second. Barging into foreign grounds, where relationships were already strained, could and most definitely would cost him everything. There also was a high potential for the bringing of criminal charges.

He wasn't exactly invited.

Brushing these inconvenient facts from his mind, he recalled the betrayed look he'd seen in Ziva's eyes as he'd ordered her to essentially pack her bags. His jaw stiffened, and his hesitation melted away.

Clambering up the pristine marble steps, he plucked his badge from his pocket and tried to act like he had every business steaming into the diplomatically immune building.

Like he was a man with a plan, and a man in a great hurry.

Leon's face careered across his mind, as he successfully navigated his way past the first doorman, and he firmly pushed it away.

He would more than likely enjoy firing him just as much as a gambling addict enjoyed the gamble. He'd been waiting his chance for years, and now, here it was.

All wrapped up, with his career in a stranglehold bow top.

Again, he brushed it away. This was Ziva after all, and just like Tony, Tim, or Abby, all bets were off when it came to her.

Glaring authoritatively at the second doorman, he felt his heart thundering in his chest as his credentials were meticulously examined. Accepting them as they were handed back, he kept his face stony as the traditional "and your business here today?" question was levelled at him.

Trying, and very much achieving, to look utterly contemptuous of such a question, he bore a hole into the guards eyes with his own.

"Nothing that is appropriate to discuss in a public hall," he snapped icily, praying that his aggressive demeanour in conjunction with his high clearance level, would pass him through this checkpoint.

His prayers were answered.

Glaring at the rude man, so like so many before him, the guard waved him on with an irritated jerk of his hand.

Damn Americans.

Breathing in relief, Gibbs stormed past with a brisk nod of his head, and focussed on getting past the next hurdle.

How in the hell to get up to the office strictly reserved for Mossad Director upon his visitation.

Apparently, forcing his daughter to unwillingly accompany him home, warranted such a visitation.

He glanced around the opulent hall he found himself in, as he had times previous, and was grateful for the hive of activity that buzzed around him.

Deciding that the best line of defence was offence, he went with sheer brazenness over subtleness. Acting with an almost Oscar award worthy poker face, he strode through the hall as if he owned the damned place.

Stopping just for a fraction of a second, he set up the opulently carpeted steps and soon found himself barrelling out onto the familiar corridor.

But silently. Very silently.

He encountered in his vision, one very surly guard standing outside the shining mahogany door that, if he was lucky, currently housed Eli David.

Guess it was hard to get good staff.

Concealed behind an extravagant pillar, he contemplated rapidly. Biting his lips, he racked his brains to think of ways to draw the stationary man from his perch without drawing all kinds of attention down upon himself.

As miracles worked, he didn't have to think for long. The shining door suddenly opened, and his stomach lurched with both apprehension and rage at the sight of the opener.

Director David snapped his fingers boorishly at the guard, who immediately snapped to attention. Murmured voices in tongues unknown to Gibbs fluttered around the hall, to the metronome of his wildly beating heart.

The guard, as the door snapped shut, immediately began a speedy gate down the hall. Ducking further behind the pillar, Gibbs tried to look as nonchalant as possible just in case there were cameras trained upon him.

It was more than unlikely however.

Ziva had once told him that her father wouldn't permit any kind of surveillance on his private floor.

The guard swept by and trotted down the steps he had just climbed, and disappeared from view. Feeling, for once, encased by good fortune, Gibbs cautiously edged out from his sanctuary and made his way, unhindered and unescorted to the much coveted door.

Halting outside, he once again thought rapidly. He had no way of knowing who or how many who's were in that room.

Knowing that he was pretty much fired anyway, he threw caution to the wind. Knocking smarty on the door, he waited with bated breath.

Any other high profile official would never dream of answering the door themselves, but Eli David was a special kind of arrogant.

The same kind of arrogant that wouldn't even permit a basic CCTV system to protect his own damned neck.

He was counting on that arrogance.

The door creaked open and he acted within nanoseconds. He thrust his full weight against the thick wood, and sent the opener spiralling across the floor. Quickly stepping into the extravagant room, he snapped the door shut behind him and locked it in one swift movement.

A quick, but detailed visual sweep of the room revealed it to be empty save for himself, and a moderately gawping, literally floored, Eli David.

Moving rapidly, Gibbs bent down and none too gently yanked the man to his feet. The look of shock on his usually smug face would have been delicious on any other day, but today, the Marine just wasn't in the damned mood.

He didn't have much time.

When that guard came back, he was done. His time at NCIS was done, he was done.

He needed to make whatever time he had count.

Eli had suddenly found his voice.

…and was using it to its fullest, loudest, extent.

"Gibbs?" he all but shrieked in shock, holding up a hand to his throbbing nose, "what the hell do you think you are doing?"

Pointing to an overstuffed armchair, the intruder merely arched an unconcerned brow.

"Sit."

Eli gaped.

He had known Gibbs was an arrogant ass, a self important, lawless maverick…but this? This was really too much. Barging, literally, barging into his office and assaulting him with his own door?

Outrageous.

He moved, not towards the chair, but instead to the phone that lay perched on a nearby, doily covered table.

Seeing his movements, Gibbs sighed.

Reaching the table first, with ease, he uncerimonously yanked the chord right out of the phone, sending it careering across the floor with a deafening clatter.

Eli gaped even further.

"What are you doing man?" he murmured faintly, "have you lost your mind?"

Gibbs threw the remnants of the chord down on the floor and shook his head.

"I just want to talk."

The only thing as dense as Eli's shock was the silence that blanketed the room in response to the odd pronouncement.

Gibbs hated talking.

Hell, even he knew that.

His shock however, was quickly and irrevocably giving way to rage. Looking at the horrifically unrepentant trespasser, a snarling scowl spread across his face.

"You have all but broken in here," he growled, moving closer to an unwavering Gibbs, so that they were as face to face as was possible to be.

"You have no official business here, that much is clear…" he pondered, almost to himself, as he ran his gaze over the silent man. He silently came to the right conclusion, and a gleeful smile began to melt across his rather un-redeeming features.

"My friend, my good friend, Director Vance….he doesn't know you're here, does he?" he all but crooned, tilting his head as he affirmed his conclusions, and feeling a warm contentment spread through him.

"Oh my my," he chuckled sadistically, "quite the mess you're in isn't, Agent Gibbs? And all for a chat? With little old me?"

He paused for a moment, drinking in the pleasure that was engulfing him.

"I'll have your badge for this," he then promised darkly, but with a tangible excitement. "I'll have you up on charges….and that's just for starters…this is the end of your reign Leroy…and all for what? For some kind of perverse heart to heart?"

Gibbs stepped closer, and shook his head, fighting with all his might to keep his fists to himself.

Firmly to himself.

"No," he said softly, before pulling out his wallet and flicking it open, thrusting it in the despicable man's direction, face up, at a photo taken about three years ago.

He watched as the diplomat's eyes widened, with a range of emotions he didn't even pretend to give a damn about.

He met Director David's stunned gaze with his trademark ferocious glare.

"For her."

TBC

A/N: Ok, so in response to a pretty overwhelming consensus, Ziva and Tony are very much going to remain in my fics!

Hope you enjoyed. I'll update soon.

-Inks.