A/N: This is part two of the flashback scene. All mistakes and typos are mine :)


Summary: After an arrest gone wrong and an interview from hell, both Tony DiNozzo and Ziva David find themselves pharmaceutically violated and barely hanging on to their respective minds. Their boss then forces their other teammate and friend Tim McGee to watch them like a hawk as they navigate through each of their mentally messed up states. Due to the kindness of her heart (not to mention her insatiable urge to meddle with her co-workers business) forensic scientist Abigail Scuito also signs up to give a helping hand. Things were going really well.

Well, not really.

Previously: Tony got a call from a man named Andrew. Since the said caller was looking for his partner and only gave very vague responses to his very special agent questions, Tony got a little suspicious. When Ziva confronted him about it, she eventually realized that their mystery caller is none other than Victor, a bar owner she met from a local library. And Victor needs her help...


That entire morning, Victor showed her hours and hours of surveillance videos from his bar. The transactions were very discreet, in fact, without her friend's help she would probably miss them. Those who are involved are mostly young men, early twenties, as far as she could tell. Maybe even younger. The people they transact with, on the other hand, seem like the typical douches in those painfully inaccurate action films that Tony forces her to watch every Thursday night. With the bling blings and everything.

There was this one huge guy that stood out for her. He rarely talked to the customers, but he was never absent in any of the sales. He's always there, lurking in the background, watching everything from his dilapidated pickup truck. Despite his distance, and the very grainy quality of the shots, he still seemed very familiar to her. Like she's seen him before. She just could not pinpoint where. If only he moved a little closer.

Ziva squinted at the image. As far as she could tell, he has some sort of a tattoo on his bicep. He always kept his arm hanging a little outside his car window, so it's not that hard to spot. On most days, he wore a loose shirt over a dark denim vest. Nothing on it looked distinctive aside from them not looking very clean. In fact, if those particular pieces of clothing could only talk, they'll probably scream and ask for some laundry detergent every three minutes.

The videos were enough for Ziva to dig a little further. She promised her friend that she'll come back to his bar later that night to assess the transactions herself. And she did just that.

"Hi." Ziva greeted Victor, taking a seat on the bar.

"Can I get you anything?" He asked with a smile. Ziva could tell that he's nervous. "It's on the house."

"A club soda perhaps." Ziva smiled back. Then she whispered. "It'll be fine, Victor. This is purely reconnaissance. I would not engage and make a scene in here." She had already reassured him about this earlier, given that the case is not exactly within the jurisdiction of her agency. She will be talking to Gibbs tomorrow once she knew more. Her boss certainly knew the right people to approach so as to resolve Victor's problem as quickly as possible.

"I know, I know." He whispered back. He's wiping some invisible stain more forcefully than what might be deemed necessary. "It's just that I really don't have the best experience with authorities…" He shook his head and went on as Ziva opened her mouth. "…not that I'm a criminal or anything. I simply don't trust them."

"You can trust me."

He let out a breath, handing her a drink. "Just be careful, okay."

After almost two hours of waiting, and yes, brushing off odd offers from some of the men folk, Ziva finally found her mark. Two young men, both visibly drunk, and both barely twenty years old, got not so inconspicuously pulled to one of the darker corners of the bar by a group of three. They do not look exactly like members of a street gang, but they do seem very angry. From where Ziva was sitting, she could tell that their transaction is not going very smoothly.

They moved their argument to the alley outside. Ziva followed them stealthily. She snatched a lighted cigarette from the fingers one of the patrons on her way out. The said patron was not so happy about that at first, but one smile from Ziva and somehow his anger quickly dissipated.

Ziva was careful. She minded her distance from the group, not planning to interfere with them unless she really has to. If anyone asked her, she'll just pretend that she simply went out for a smoke.

She listened in to their argument.

"You two promised us that you are going to give us the money today. So why am I not seeing any money?" One of the older three men asked, acting all alpha male and clearly scaring the shit out of the two teens he's confronting.

"We—we had a little problem at home." One of the boys stammered, swaying slightly. "A family friend always comes by our house, and I think he is influencing by aunt somehow, forcing her to stop using or something."

"Look at me kid," The man orders irately. Said kid follows immediately and gulped. "Do I look like someone who cares about your stupid crap at home?"

"My aunt—she controls my money! And she refuses to buy more goods from me." The kid's eyes are unfocused as he tried to explain himself. "I don't… I don't have money right now. I can only access my trust fund once I'm twenty one!"

The other kid chuckled, clearly lost in his own little alcoholic haze. "Dude, just chill." He muttered. "We're all cool here, right?"

The man scoffed. "Cool? Let me show what is cool." He pulled a gun from his belt and pointed it on one of the teens.

Ziva watched as the lesser drunk of the two teens paled at the sight of the gun. Goddamn it, she has to engage after all. She rested her hand on her holster and waited for an opening.

"What are your names?" Alpha man asked.

The more drunk kid held out his hands as if to protect his head. He flinched when he heard the man flicking the safety of his gun off. "Oh god." He squeaked.

The man's voice boomed louder. "Tell me your fucking names!"

"P-peter Warwick." He spluttered. He looked like he's about to wet his pants as he gestured towards his friend. "He's Thomthom—Thomas... Thomas Reginald. He's Reggie!"

"Okay, Peter… Reggie." He says in a tone that's most certainly only masquerading as calm. "Do you two boys have any idea how much a kidney costs today?" A sly smile crawled on his face the moment the question leaves his lips.

Reggie's eyes widened in fear. "Ki—kidney?"

The gangster smirked. "Maybe I'll just take two from each one of you, so we can call it even. How does that sound?"

Reggie all but fell on his knees as he grovelled. "Please, god. I beg you! I will pay you, I swear!"

"Swears aren't worth anything these days, sweetheart." He replied in a singsong voice. He re-aimed his gun at the kid's head. "Perhaps it is better If I—"

Whatever the man's going to say was left unsaid because the next thing he knew, he's diving face first, towards one of the nearest dumpsters. A strong force which he could hardly classify as human threw him almost three feet from where he stood. He's barely able to regain his footing when a sharp kick to his face sent him spiralling back towards the ground. He fell back on the dumpster unconscious.

Chaos ensued as the two other men started pulling out their respective guns at their mystery attacker. But the said vigilante, or whoever it was who came to the kids' rescue, was just too fast. A swift swipe of their legs and a couple of punches afterwards, all three men found themselves kissing the filthy alley, out cold.

"Are you two boys okay?" Attacker asked, not even appearing a bit winded after the altercation.

Reggie's mouth gaped in dread as the vigilante slowly walked towards him. Shit. He's going to be next. Panic took over. One moment he's bracing himself from the attack, and then all of a sudden he's pulling out a bloodied knife from the stranger's gut. He couldn't even remember ever taking his Swiss army knife out.

Then Reggie heard a muted groan from the stranger's mouth. "Damn it." The attacker muttered between clenched teeth. Whatever it was he just did with his knife, it certainly caused her pain.

Wait, her?

Her?

Unfortunately, Reggie hardly had the time to process the new information as Peter's yell suddenly broke out. "I won't go down without a fight!" Swaying like a seesaw on steroids, Peter charged towards the mystery person, screaming his lungs out. "I'd rather get choked to death than be a sitting duck. Yahhhh!"

Taken aback, the mystery person instinctively did exactly what Peter just said. Well, not exactly, exactly. He got choked alright. But not to death. Just enough to knock him out.

Meanwhile, Reggie remained petrified as he stared at the blood on his hands. Shakily, he moved his gaze towards his unconscious friend. They both couldn't be that drunk can they?

"If you try to stab me again, I will have to knock you out as well." She warned, looking quite pissed at Reggie.

He swore as the voice registered in his alcohol-drenched brain and realization finally sunk in.

The person who he just witnessed destroy three fully grown men without breaking a sweat—the same person who he just stabbed is a woman.

"Oh my god." Reggie exclaimed. "That's so hot."

"I saved both of your lives, you stab me, and that's all you got to say?" She growled, cursing as the pain began to hit her in waves. She glanced at the wound at her side and cursed some more. "This is just perfect!"

Reggie knew he should be scared by the way the woman was glaring at him like she's trying to make him burst into flames just by looks alone, but he cannot find the fear in him. His gaze was too transfixed on the woman's eyes to care. Her pretty eyes, they spoke volumes. It was too easy to get lost in them. "I love you." He murmured absently, practically drooling.

"Huh?" The crease between Ziva's brows furrowed in confusion. She's been living in the States for years and yet she still doesn't get its people sometimes.

A loud hiccup then escapes Reggie's throat. He blushed in embarrassment. "Sorry." Hiccup. "I may be a little drunk tonight."

Ziva rolled her eyes. No kidding. "Give me the numbers of your guardians so they can come pick you up."

Reggie seemed offended by her words. "I need no guardians. I am a grown man."

Ziva gnashed her teeth in frustration. Her side burned like hell and the last thing she needed was have her time further wasted in a pointless conversation with a drunken teenager. "Okay, but I am Special Agent Ziva David." She showed him her badge. "I am a federal agent. You are lucky you're a minor. I will let this pass, and I would not press charges about this," she gestured towards her injury, "however, is my job to notify your parents about this incident so you have to give me their contact information."

"Aunt Emma wouldn't be able to fetch me. She couldn't. She went out of town with that soldier friend of hers or something." Reggie said. "But Peter's folks could. I practically live in their house anyway. They're kind to me."

"Okay." Ziva tilted her head. "So we wake him."

"Even if you didn't go all Jane Bond on him, you still wouldn't be able to force even one of his eyes open." Reggie told her. "He drank like six glasses of Jack Daniels."

Ziva gave him another eye roll, bending down near Peter's still form to still give waking him up a try. It did not work at all, just as Peter warned.

Reggie had the audacity to look smug. "Told you he's a stone."

"Okay." Ziva took a calming breath while running a hand through her slightly ruffled hair. "Okay. Give me Peter's address so I can drive you and your friend home."

"Only if you promise to go out with me on a date."

Ziva's eyes narrowed into thin slits. "Excuse me?"

"Have you seen yourself fight, Agent David?" Reggie said, still stuck with the drooling. "I haven't seen anything hotter than that. Ever."

"Ha. Ha. Very funny." Ziva said sarcastically. "Give me Peter's address, Reggie."

"Promise me first." Reggie insisted.

"What? No." What the hell is wrong with these people?

"No promise. No address."

Oh, whatever. It is unlikely he would even remember this conversation tomorrow anyway. "Fine." Ziva sighed. "You win."

"Yes!" Reggie exclaimed. "You're not going to regret this, I promise."

I already do, Ziva mused. "So about that address?"

End Flashback.