Chapter 50

As the days passed and Tim healed, he got to the point where he felt he was ready to move back to his own apartment. Gibbs agreed, but it also meant that Zahara needed to find someplace to stay. She was not comfortable with the idea of staying with Tim, but at the same time, she wasn't sure about staying alone in an apartment. Surprisingly, Ziva offered her spare room for as long as Zahara needed it, and even more surprisingly, Zahara seemed to be happy to accept. Tim knew that part of it was that Zahara would be able to stay with a woman, rather than Gibbs. But they didn't know each other very well and yet Zahara was more willing to be with Ziva than with anyone else. However, he didn't have any complaints about it. It meant that Zahara would still be close to him, and it also meant that she wouldn't be alone all the time, but he would still have some time to think about things.

And think he did. There were some things he felt he needed to do now that he was physically able to do them, but one of them, he wasn't quite sure about doing it.

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

Would this be the fish-or-cut-bait moment? Carew wasn't sure, but he felt that this was a necessity, no matter how much he didn't want to do it. He had never told a single soul about it, except in a very vague (and delusional) way to Tim when he'd been drugged. He had kept this part of himself hidden deep inside. He wasn't sure his mother had ever realized how transformative that moment had been for him. He didn't know if Tamara would realize how important it was that he was telling her this, but that was the nature of things. This was as close as Carew felt he could come to baring his soul. If this wasn't enough for Tamara, he wasn't sure anything he could do would be.

Tamara was sitting in the living room, going through some recipes. They'd hit a kind of stalemate the last few days and this would surely break it, although Carew wasn't sure if the break would be good or bad.

He walked over and sat beside her. She looked up and then had an expression of slight surprise.

"What is it, Levi?" she asked. "You look more serious than usual."

Levi pulled out his wallet and opened it. Then, he took a folded picture from a pocket and handed it to her.

"This is what defines me," he said with no preamble. "This is my whole life in one moment."

Tamara's brow furrowed in confusion, but she took the picture and unfolded it.

"What is this?"

"That's my father and my uncle and my grandfather when they were in a concentration camp. I don't know who the fourth man was. He's long dead...like the others in this photo."

"How does this define you? I knew about your father and what happened to him. You told me even before I met your mother. I didn't know you carried the picture with you, but..."

Now, Carew didn't look at her. Generally, he would force himself to maintain eye contact as a silent way of claiming that the memory had no control over him, but this one did. It always had, and he couldn't pretend otherwise.

"I was sixteen. I wanted to be with my friends after school, but I was supposed to go straight home. I lied to my mother and she found out." Carew took a breath. "She didn't yell at me. I wished she had. Instead, she took me upstairs and showed me what felt like thousands of pictures of the Holocaust, starting with this one. She had them in an album. She'd collected them and saved them. I didn't have any idea before that day. My father was already dead. He had been for years. He'd never recovered from what happened to him there. I knew it. I had known it. But this made it more real somehow. Then, she told me that lies had killed them, that lies had made the Holocaust possible. Six million people had died because of lies, including my father and most of her family and his. And I had done the same thing to her by lying."

He glanced at her, and Tamara's expression had changed from confusion to horror. He looked away again, keeping his voice as calm as possible. Carew found that saying the words out loud made it impossible to hide his own feelings. He'd never said anything about it since it had happened. His mother had never referred to it again. He had never lied to her again, so there had been no reason. He'd never told her that he had taken the photo from the album. But it had always been there in his mind. Always. Every single day of his life. Without looking, he held out his hand and Tamara put it in his hand. He looked at it again, feeling the shock anew.

"She told me that she never wanted me to lie to her because I was doing the same thing that had killed my father and my father's family and her family. I promised I wouldn't. I promised I would never lie again. I meant it. Anything to keep myself from having to hear that again or from seeing how she felt because I had lied to her."

The recipes slipped from her lap to the floor and suddenly, Tamara leaned forward and hugged Carew tightly, but this wasn't the kind of hug he'd had from her before. He couldn't explain why he knew it was different, but he did. She was trying to comfort him for something that had happened over forty years ago. He wanted to tell her that it wasn't necessary, that he'd long since made his peace with it, but for some reason, he couldn't. He didn't say anything more. He didn't cry. He just sat on the couch while Tamara hugged him.

"Did she ever apologize?"

Carew found he could smile about that.

"You knew my mother, Tamara. Can you imagine her apologizing?"

"No."

"That's your answer. Besides, it was a valuable lesson."

"You never told me."

"I never told anyone...unless you count unwillingly sharing some of it with Agent McGee while drugged. I don't know exactly what I said, but it was enough that he asked me about it when I was sane again."

"Why tell me now?"

Carew forced Tamara to let him go so that he could turn around and face her directly.

"Because," he said, holding out the picture. "This is who I am. If there is one thing that shaped my life, this was it. It's almost the only thing that I couldn't bear to change no matter what else happened. I always have had it in the back of my mind that lies kill. The worst thing I could ever do was lie."

Tamara looked at the picture and then met his gaze. He could see tears glistening in her eyes.

"I wanted you to know. I can't tell you anything more that you don't already know."

Tamara smiled a little. "And you want to know if it's enough."

"If it's not, nothing will be."

"It's something that still bothers you, isn't it."

"Yes. There's a reason why I never told anyone."

"Yes. The ultimate weakness, sharing the one thing you've never conquered. It would be like giving someone the key the exploit you. And you don't ever want someone else to be in control."

Carew just nodded.

"Levi...I know that you've deliberately given me all the power in this, but I feel like you've been dragging your feet the whole way, fighting against giving anything up that you didn't absolutely have to. Am I right?"

"To a degree. It's hard to break habits."

"I know that."

Tamara's expression was gentle, almost pitying.

"I couldn't have asked for what you've told me because I didn't have a clue. I never knew, and even if I had known that there was something like this, I couldn't have asked for it because it's wrong to deliberately force you to recount something so painful. But you told me anyway. Why?"

"Because I needed to. You needed me to."

"Levi...that might be the most wonderful thing you've said in the last two years."

She hugged him again, and this time, Carew returned the gesture and it was almost natural. They sat together for a while and then Tamara whispered.

"Let this be a step forward, Levi. Don't make it be where we stop."

"I'll work on that," he said.

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

"You're doing what?" Tim asked, unsure if he should be worried or not.

Zahara smiled. "Ziva has taken a day off and she is going to take me shopping for American clothing. I wish to fit in."

"Are you worried, Tim?" Ziva asked, poking her head into the kitchen.

"I don't know," Tim said. He grinned. "I'm not sure I could take two Zivas in my life."

"You think I would become too much?"

"Well, it would be better than two Tonys, obviously, but..."

Ziva laughed. "I would hope so."

"I have never shopped in an American store. It will be a new experience for me," Zahara said. "I am not sure I know what to expect."

"Well, it'll be more expensive than Marrakech," Tim said. "That's for sure."

"I have enough money. I think."

"If she needs more, I will help her," Ziva said. "And I promise not to force her to dress like me."

"I am not sure I would be able to," Zahara said, looking at Ziva's clothes. "They are...very different."

"We will ease you into it, but there are many styles you can try. Almost too many, really."

"Guys definitely have it easier in that respect," Tim said. "Pants, shoes, shirt. Women have like three times the space in any given store...and I guess they want you to spend three times the money, too."

At the word money, Tim suddenly had a thought. It would give him a valid excuse, at least.

"What is it?" Ziva asked.

"Nothing," Tim said, absently.

"You are lying, McGee," Ziva said. "That expression is not a nothing expression."

"It's nothing important. I promise. Since Gibbs won't let me get back to work yet, I've thought of something to do while you're out shopping."

"You are not yet ready to work," Ziva said.

"Not full time, of course, but I could have done some desk duty. But for some reason, Gibbs won't even let me do that. I don't know why."

"Really?"

Tim raised an eyebrow. "Yes, really. Are you surprised?"

Ziva just shrugged and went to get her keys.

"How's it going?" Tim asked.

"She is very courteous," Zahara said. "I have missed my friends in Marrakech and she has been very kind."

"You don't..."

Zahara shook her head before Tim could even finish talking. "No, Tim. You are not forcing me to stay here. I am here because I want to be here, and the only thing I would change is that I would move Marrakech closer to me here. I cannot be in both places, and here is where I want to be most."

Tim felt a goofy smile on his lips and he kissed Zahara quickly on the cheek as Ziva came in. He blushed when he realized Ziva had seen his expression, but she didn't say anything about it. Instead, they all left and walked down to the street where Tim's car was parked. As Tim got ready to get in, Ziva caught his arm.

"Tim, Gibbs is making sure you have the time with Zahara," Ziva said in a low voice. "Can you not see that he wants you to be happy?"

Tim furrowed his brow. "I could still have time with her, Ziva. There's no deadline here and we're taking the time she needs. Gibbs is not responsible for my happiness."

"Maybe he does not need to be, but he is anyway."

Then, she let him go and left with Zahara. Tim looked after her for a few seconds and then got into his car and drove back to his apartment, but he only stayed there for a moment. In fact, as he got into his car, he smiled at his CIA guards. They were going to have their work cut out for them today. He hoped they didn't mind driving.

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

"Tim was right. There are so many choices," Zahara said. "I am used to fabrics and other materials, but..."

"Yes. If you are used to the open markets and having a smaller wardrobe, this is unnecessary," Ziva said.

Zahara nodded. "But it would be nice to have some clothing that fits in here."

"You do not have to fit in if you do not want to," Ziva said. "No one will force you to wear American clothes. Especially in the cities. You can find every style in the world."

"I know that, but the only time I am comfortable standing out is when I dance. Off the stage, I would prefer to be a part of the group, not separate."

They stopped at a rack displaying tube tops and tanks. Zahara looked at them with a shocked expression.

"I would not have to wear these things, would I?"

Ziva laughed. "Only if you wanted to."

Zahara picked up a tube top and looked at it.

"How does it stay on? There are no sleeves."

"It is very tight."

"It would have to be." Zahara shook her head and put it back. "I do not want to wear anything like this."

"I did not think you would. Come over here."

Ziva led her to a different section where the clothes were more conservative. She could see that Zahara was generally a more conservative dresser, even taking into account where she had lived. Since Melilla was where she had grown up, her tastes must have been easy to tailor to Marrakech when she moved.

Suddenly, Zahara walked over to a display. To Ziva's surprise, she pulled a red shirt with a lace top and three-quarter sleeves off the rack.

"On my first date with Tim, I borrowed a caftan from Khadija that was this color. It was so beautiful. I had never had something so fancy in my life. She insisted that I wear it. I loved how it looked."

"Red is a good color for you. You can try it on. We should find a couple of other things to try on, too."

Zahara nodded, looking a little self-conscious. Ziva found her to be a very interesting mix. Every so often, she would state things very firmly, but most of the time, she seemed almost timid. Much of it probably stemmed from being in a new place, but not all of it.

While she mostly let Zahara pick out her own clothes, Ziva did encourage her to try some jeans along with skirts. If she wanted to fit in, jeans would be an easy choice. All the tops Zahara chose were in bright, vibrant colors. She may have wanted to fit in, but she would still stand out with the reds, blues and greens that she chose. Again, that interesting combination of outgoing and shyness.

All in all, Ziva was enjoying getting to know her.

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

Tim decided to put off the one visit he wasn't sure of to last. Instead, he drove to the NSA Headquarters and walked inside.

"Hello, I'd like to speak to Director Gellman, if he's free. My name is Tim McGee."

The security guard raised an eyebrow.

"Is he expecting you?"

"No, but I think he'll see me if he has the time. It's not urgent."

The security guard looked skeptical, but then, Tim knew that his name wasn't bandied about publicly. He called up and then, the look changed from skeptical to surprised. He hung up.

"You can go up. Here's a visitor pass. Director Gellman said you know your way?"

"More or less," Tim said, with a smile. He'd never been in this building before, but he was well aware of the layout.

He got on the elevator and rode it up to the third floor. Then, he got off, oriented himself, and headed toward Director Gellman's office. He was ushered in past a woman he didn't know but who looked at him curiously.

"Agent McGee," Director Gellman said. "To say that I'm surprised to see you here is a major understatement."

"I thought you would be, but I don't think it's going to be too traumatic for you."

"Actually, I think this might be the first time we've really been in the same room. You're not as intimidating as I thought you might be."

"I've been told that before," Tim said. "Really, what I came here for was to thank you for the support you gave me during all this."

Director Gellman raised an eyebrow, although, unlike Gibbs, he couldn't quite keep the other one still. It also raised slightly.

"You could have chosen to stay out of it, Director. There was no reason for you to get involved."

"Yes, there was, Agent McGee. There was a very good reason."

"What was that?"

"I...or rather the NSA can't afford to have you get pushed into actual treason. You've done a lot of work on our security. There's not a part of the NSA servers that you haven't had some hand in. Jorgenson was pushing and every man has his breaking point. I figure that you've done well to bend as much as you have, and I didn't want one man's stupidity to ruin everything for me."

"You really thought I might go rogue?"

"Yes," Director Gellman said, bluntly. "Be honest with me, Agent McGee. Hasn't it been tempting?"

"At times."

"Exactly. Once it's something that tempts you, if things get bad enough, you might give in to temptation. And I think the entire country would regret it if you did."

"I'd regret it, too," Tim said.

"That's because you've got more morals than Jorgenson does. It's too bad you couldn't have been there to see him cut down." Director Gellman actually seemed a little gleeful. "It was one of the best moments of my political life. The only thing better would have been getting a physical smack down as well. He needs it."

"That's tempting, too," Tim said.

"Yeah. Actually, if it makes you feel any better, I've heard that Carew did just that after the meeting."

"Really?"

"Unconfirmed, of course, but there is a rumor going around that he tried to threaten Carew after the meeting and Carew punched him in the face. Carew's never done anything like that before, but you never know what retirement might have loosened."

Tim knew that Carew could be physical when he wanted to be, and he didn't think there was any love lost between the two men, but the idea of him actually punching someone out was surprisingly strange.

"I wish I could have seen it."

"Off the record, so do I."

"Do you know why he's not being fired?"

"To keep him chained up until he's out. I'm almost positive that he had or has someone else helping him plan. We're conducting some discreet investigations, but whether we find out who it is or not, it's better to have him where we know what he's doing. His name is mud in D.C. right now, and I want to keep it that way."

Tim nodded reluctantly.

"I know. It's not what you want. You want justice, even revenge for what he tried to pull off, but be satisfied with how miserably he failed. He might have been able to save some face if he'd given up when he couldn't arrest you, but he never was smart enough." Then, Director Gellman smiled. "By the way, you were a little sloppy the last time you came in here."

"What do you mean?"

"I won't ask what you were doing, but one of my agents saw you and because you erased your presence after, she couldn't let it go. In fact, you would have walked past her as you came in. Agent Bishop."

"I've heard that name recently," Tim said. "But I was kind of out of it when I got back."

"I had heard that you were injured. You look healed up now."

"Mostly. Just don't ask me to lift anything heavy yet. My back is better, but I'm not completely healed."

"Can I ask what happened?"

"Short version is that I was in the wrong place...at the right time."

"Really."

"Yeah. They had no idea who I was. I had no idea who they were. I was just getting in the way."

"At the right time?"

"I got some pretty good rewards out of the deal, but it was good to be able to come home. No matter the reason, I'm still grateful that you weighed in. I needed all the help I could get."

"You must have had some very impressive help since the President himself had some evidence he wouldn't share."

Tim smiled. That must have been Lawrence and company.

"You know."

"Yes. At least, I think I do."

"I won't ask. Anyway, if it keeps us in your good graces, you'll have our support anytime...so long as you're not on the wrong side."

"Understood."

Tim stood up and shook hands with Director Gellman. Then, he left the office and looked at the woman who had seen him.

"Hello, Agent Bishop," he said.

She looked up.

"Have we met?"

"Not officially. You did see me, but I didn't see you. I would have been more careful otherwise."

Her brow furrowed.

"NCIS Special Agent McGee," he said and held out his hand.

Then, her eyes widened and her mouth opened. His hand hung in the air and he dropped it to the side, smiling.

"Wow," she said.

"I don't deserve that kind of reaction. I'll be more careful next time I'm sneaking around the NSA."

"There'll be a next time?"

"You can count on it," Tim said. "But I'm usually more careful than I was that night."

"You don't even exist in the system... officially."

"A lot of things don't exist officially," Tim said. "Doesn't mean they aren't real."

"What if I see you again?"

"Then, you're better than I am, and not many people are. I'm not saying that to brag. It's just the way my life has been. I'd like to go over where you saw me if you have time, another day."

"So you can make sure you can disappear better?"

"No. So I can see where the security I set up is effective enough that someone watching at the right time could catch me. Have a nice day, Agent Bishop," Tim said, holding out his hand again.

She hesitated and then shook his hand.

"I don't think I know which side you're on, really."

"That's because you don't know me. You'll always know which side I'm on. I'm not good at being subtle. Never have been. I'm working for the federal government and a number of federal agencies. You decide where my loyalties lie."

Then, he nodded to her and walked away.

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

Zahara walked out of the dressing room with a perplexed look on her face. Ziva chuckled.

"What?"

"Why would a person pay so much money to buy pants that already have holes in them?" she asked.

The jeans she was wearing did have holes ripped in the knees.

"I am not sure, but it is the style."

"I am beginning to think that American fashion makes no sense," Zahara said. "I would never pay money for something that is already ruined. And the clothing with the least material seems to cost the most."

"Some of it does not make sense, I agree, but the top is good."

Zahara looked at herself in the mirror. It was the first short-sleeved shirt she'd been willing to try on, and even then, it was only with a tank top underneath as an extra layer. It wasn't a bright color, but a rich, dark blue.

"I feel like I am almost naked," she said, smiling at herself as she rubbed her arms.

"Do you like it?"

"I am not sure."

"Put on the other pants you took in there and see if they work better."

"Very well."

Zahara walked back into the fitting room and came out again a minute later wearing a pair of gray trousers. Whether she liked it or not, Ziva could see that this style suited Zahara very well.

"You look very nice," she said.

"Are you sure this is normal?" Zahara asked.

"Yes. It is something you would wear if you were going to a casual dinner or out with friends."

Zahara turned around a few times, looking at herself. Ziva didn't rush her. This wasn't someone trying to rebel against a repressive system. It was a woman who was seeing fashions she'd never even considered for herself and deciding whether or not she liked them. All the clothes Ziva had seen her wear were simple with a few embellishments here and there, but they were all long-sleeved or at the least, three-quarter.

Suddenly, Zahara turned back to her.

"Am I changing too much?"

"I cannot answer that. Do you think you are?" Ziva asked.

Zahara turned back to the mirror. "When I came here, I never thought about clothing or shoes or...fashion. I only thought about Tim. There is much more to being here than having someone to be with."

"Yes."

"I do not want to...give up all I was."

"You do not have to. And you shouldn't," Ziva said, firmly. "You know who you are, Zahara. That is the woman Tim loves. He does not need you to change everything for him. He has not asked for that, either."

Zahara nodded. Then, she went back into the fitting room. She came out a few minutes later with the outfit in her hands.

"I will get this," she said.

"All right."

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

Arriving at his next destination, Tim felt more comfortable which was bizarre when he thought about it. For years, this place had been the embodiment of everything wrong with his life. Now, it was a place he'd been often enough that he felt at ease walking inside and he knew where to go without any trouble. He breezed through the halls to an outer office.

"I'd like to speak to Director Morgan, if he's available."

"I'll ask him, Agent McGee," Marjean said, smiling kindly.

"Thank you."

Tim sat down to wait. After a couple of minutes, Marjean turned back to him.

"You can go right in, Agent McGee."

"Thank you."

Tim walked into the office of the director of the CIA. He hadn't been in this office for quite a while. It had still been Carew's office at that time.

And really, it hadn't changed all that much.

"Agent McGee, I wasn't expecting to see you here. You're looking well."

"Thank you."

"Have a seat and you can tell me what's going on."

Tim sat down and smiled. He had appreciated Roy's attitude from the first time he'd met him. It had made his efforts to work with the CIA much easier.

"Mostly, I just wanted to thank you for defending me in all this that's been going on. I didn't make it easy for you, especially when you could easily have been dragged into it with me."

Roy smiled and shook his head.

"No, I was just following orders, Agent McGee."

"Whose?"

"Levi Carew's. Before he left, he told me that protecting you was vital. It was only when this started that he actually told me why."

"And what did he say?" Tim asked, curious about Carew's reasoning.

"He said that your value is in who you are and that if Jorgenson got a hold of you, that value would be gone because you'd become a traitor in your efforts to get away from what Jorgenson wanted to do. He said, and I agree, that I do not want you as an enemy."

Carew had said something similar a couple of years ago, but it was strange hearing other people say it, Tim decided. Then, he smiled.

"No, you don't want me as an enemy, but so far, I haven't had any reason to look at you that way."

"Good. By the way, speaking of looks, I shocked a few people when I revealed that you'd been doing some work for me."

"When did this happen?" Tim asked.

"At the meeting with the President. Both Levi and Director Shepard were more than a little surprised."

"My distrust is legendary," Tim said.

"If so, I'm curious as to what got you to offer help? I would never have even asked."

"Honestly, I was being selfish, even though it helped you. I was doing it to help myself put some of what happened behind me. I couldn't really heal if I wasn't willing to confront that automatic distrust. If you don't need me, that's one thing, but if you do, I'm willing to help. As long as you ask and not demand."

"I haven't demanded yet, have I."

"No, you haven't and I appreciate that."

"Is there anything else?" Roy asked.

"No."

"No problems with your guards?"

"None. I can see them, but I know they're there, so...it's fine."

Roy nodded and stood up.

"By the way, I think Agent Worthing would appreciate hearing from you."

Tim was surprised. "Daniel?"

"Yes. He sent his usual report with the warning about what he'd had to do to find you but that, so far, his cover is holding. He also expressed some concern about how you were doing. If you contacted him, it would alleviate those worries."

"Of course. I don't know why I didn't call sooner," Tim said. But actually, at least part of it was probably due to the revelation that he was a CIA agent and Tim had never clued into it at all. While he still enjoyed Daniel's company, Tim couldn't deny that his old paranoia was at least part of the reason.

"For what it's worth, Agent McGee, even though I started out just doing what I was told I needed to do, by the end of it, I was determined not to let Jorgenson succeed, and that was mostly because of knowing who you are. Some of it was just not liking Jorgenson, but most of it was you."

Tim smiled. "Thank you, Director."

Then, he left. He got in his car and paused. One last stop.

He drove to a place he'd only been to once before. Then, he grabbed a small travel bag and walked up the walk, up the steps and he paused before knocking.

The door opened.

"Hello, again, ma'am," he said. "Can I speak to Levi?"