Hi Everyone,

I'm back with chapter 5! It's New Year's Eve at the NCIS but nobody is partying this year...

Spoilers: This story is set just after Ziva David left NCIS (S11 E02: Past, Present, and Future). I don't take in account what happened in the series after that event. As there have been many seasons (and many Tiva developments) since, let's just say that this is a fun AU.

Rating: T

Disclaimer: I don't own NCIS, I don't earn any money with this story, I'm just enjoying playing with the characters.

Playlist: Every chapter is inspired by a song. For this chapter, it's Dynazty - From Sound to Silence. Check out my profile for more details!

Reviews: Thank you all for your nice comments!

I hope you enjoy!

Temples of Gold

Chapter 5: The Ice Begins To Break

It was early in the morning on New Year's Eve and the traffic in Washington DC was sparse. This is why Tony had no trouble detecting his tail, a dark SUV two cars behind him. Not that they had been very discreet in the past days. At first, Tony had been worried that Parsa's men were checking on him but since they hadn't attempted anything against him, he now assumed that they were part of a security detail. Probably following orders from Vance, or even Gibbs.

He turned left to Good Hope Road and noticed, unsurprisingly, that the SUV was doing the same. Probably FBI, he decided. These guys had no subtlety. His cell rang and he picked it up, activating the hands-free kit while his eyes were still on the road.

'Tony? Are you near?'

McGee. He sounded worried.

'Soon. I'm in Anacostia. Is it what we thought?'

'Yeah,' confirmed his colleague. 'Another body with the same medal. Another member of the Brotherhood of Doubt.'

'Great.'

He had been called early this morning by Director Vance, who was just coming back from his Christmas vacation. Metro Police had woken him up, responding to the BOLO that NCIS had issued with the symbol. They had found another body with the same necklace in a nightclub in Congress Heights.

'Poisoned?' he asked again.

'Sure looks like it. Ducky said he would be here in five minutes.'

'What does Gibbs say?'

'Not much for now. He's in a bad mood.'

'Surprise, surprise.'

'Ducky just arrived,' indicated McGee.

'Fine. I'll be there in two.'

Tony hung up and pushed down the gas pedal. A glance in the rear-view mirror indicated him that his tail was accelerating too. He arrived in front of the nightclub with a neon sign saying "Free Funk" and parked next to Ducky's van. He showed his badge to the sergeant who was guarding the entrance and followed the police cordon to the main dance floor, in the basement. The place was pretty clean for a nightclub, probably all prepared for a big party. There were patriotic decorations everywhere, with blue-red-white bunting and camo fabric around the bar and DJ table. On the wall, there was a banner announcing "Happy New Year!"

'Tony!' called Bell, who was the first to notice him.

'What do we have here?' he asked, not wasting a minute.

'The victim's name is Dwight Simon. He's a demolition expert for a company named Villatone. They have contracts with several cities to level and rebuild buildings damaged in natural disasters or terror attacks.'

'That doesn't sound good.'

'It's not. Simon had a remote like our first victim. Except that he's a little more competent than Robert Mariano. He didn't use a pipe bomb, he was rigging the whole place with explosives. They're everywhere: in the DJ booth, in the fake roof, even behind the banner. He didn't finish but I think he could have destroyed the nightclub completely.'

'So what stopped him?'

She led him to the body that Ducky and Palmer were examining. 'We think he died before he could complete the wiring.'

The man looked the same age as him, much bigger though. He was blond, balding on his forehead, and he was wearing an entire black outfit. There were traces of vomit around his mouth.

'How did you identify him?'

'Unlike the first victim,' explained Jimmy, 'this one had his wallet with him.'

It meant that the man was not planning on being caught. Tony looked around and saw that Gibbs and McGee were talking to a man who was wearing a sweater on top of what looked like pyjama bottoms. He came closer and listened to the conversation.

'Yes, the party tonight was for the officers of the Joint Base Anacostia-Bolling. We were booked for months.'

'So, many people knew about it?'

'Yeah, I guess. Our suppliers… the delivery guys… the employees. I mean, it was not supposed to be a secret party, we never thought that we would be a target.'

Nobody ever did, Tony thought, until it was too late. Or in this case, until someone took the matter in their own hands and stopped the terrorist before he could act. He really didn't know if they should pursue the killer or give him a medal.

'How many people were supposed to attend?'

'Around 250. The aid of General Belanger was supposed to confirm the exact number today.'

Tony sighed. 250 people. They had avoided a massacre.

'Any video surveillance?'

'We have a camera outside, and cameras pointed at the registers behind the bar.'

Gibbs waved to McGee, who ran towards the guards' office to take a look at the videos.

'Was someone watching the cameras?' asked Gibbs.

'Yes, this is Gustav Utkin, our night security guard.'

He was pointing at the man sitting a little further and staring at them. He was holding an icepack to his cheek. Gibbs approached the man, followed closely by Tony.

'What happened to you?' asked Gibbs.

'I was touring the building, like I do every hour, when someone jumped me. I don't remember anything. When I woke up, I don't know… half an hour later, I found him dead and I saw the wires everywhere… So I called the police.'

'When was that?'

The guard seemed surprised and hesitated. 'I made my patrol at four… so I guess after that.'

'You called the police at six thirty. That's a long time,' commented Gibbs.

'I guess… I was out longer than I thought. My head is still fuzzy.'

'Sure.' Gibbs seemed to realise only then that Tony was behind him and added, 'DiNozzo, doors.'

Despite their recent confrontations, Tony knew when to shut up and obey if it was important enough. This was one of those moments. No matter what disagreement they had, this case had to be the priority. He grabbed his camera and replied, 'On it, boss.'

He passed by several members of the bomb squad, who were slowly removing the explosives from the walls. He reached the backdoor of the club and examined it carefully, taking many pictures in the process. The lock didn't seem jammed, nor the frame seemed broken. The door was in full working order. If the terrorist had come this way, he had had the key. Tony repeated the same process with the other doors and found absolutely no sign of breaking and entering.

'Nothing boss!' he trumpeted when he came back next to Gibbs.

'Mr Utkin, we need you to come with us,' said Gibbs in a less than friendly tone. 'We will still have a few questions to ask you.'

'But…' tried the guard.

'Agent DiNozzo will escort you.'

Tony would have preferred to stay and help, but he understood that applying pressure on the security guard was more important, if he really was involved in the failed attempt.

'This way, Gustav.'

The guard grumbled but followed his lead, still applying the frozen bag on his cheek. Tony sat him at the back of his car and, after checking if his seat was clear, sat down. Utkin stayed silent all the way to the Navy Yard. Through the rear-view mirror, Tony could see him wince with pain every time he was moving the frozen bag. He parked his car as close as possible to the entrance and accompanied the man inside the building. The way to the interrogation room was silent too, but Gustav cringed when Tony told him to sit facing the one-way mirror.

'Am I under arrest?'

'I don't know, Gustav. Is there something we should arrest you for?'

The man didn't reply. Satisfied, Tony closed the door behind him and walked to the bullpen. He would have time to research Utkin before Gibbs arrived, and maybe uncover some useful information before the interrogation.

Half an hour later though, as the rest of the team was making their way into the office, he didn't have much to show for his efforts. Gustav Utkin was the grandson of a Russian immigrant, well integrated, and he had held the job at the nightclub for the past two years. He was not a radical, had no link with the Brotherhood of Doubt, or any other radical organisation. He had, however, a severe gambling problem.

'Boss,' he said as Gibbs was sitting down his chair. 'Utkin has gambling debts, he owns twenty thousands dollars to a loan shark in Columbia…'

Gibbs nodded, grabbed a folder containing photos of the case, including the ones Tony had just printed of the latest death, and strode towards the interrogation room. Without concerting each other, Tony, McGee and Bell followed him. As they entered the observation room, they could see that the abrupt arrival of Gibbs in the room had startled Utkin.

'Do you think he's going to pretend he's his friend?' asked Bell.

'No,' replied McGee, 'I bet he's going to go straight to the point.'

'I'm with McGamble here,' said Tony. 'The man already knows that we are suspicious, Gibbs is going to push him.'

Tony watched, almost fascinated, Gibbs lean on the table just in front of Gustav, close enough for the man to feel uncomfortable.

'Why did you do it?' whispered Gibbs.

'Oh, I love when he whispers,' said Tim. 'Suspects always look like they are going to pee their pants when he does that.'

And indeed, Gustav Utkin appeared extremely uncomfortable. He was staring at Gibbs with clear fear in his eyes, which gave them a useful information: that man was not a follower of Parsa. He was too weak.

'Did… what?' he tried.

'Helped a terrorist. What did he promise you?'

Of course, Gibbs had immediately picked up on Gustav's fear too. He leaned further, so that his eyes could scrutinise the security guard. The man gulped visibly.

'I don't know what you are talking about.'

Gibbs grabbed Gustav by the collar, making him gasp with surprise. He opened violently the folder containing the photos on the table and pulled Gustav so that his face was a few inches from the photos.

'Don't tell me you don't know! These men are dead; they were planning on killing innocent people. YOU. TALK. NOW!'

Gustav started crying and Gibbs let go of him. The man's head fell on the folder and he kept moaning incomprehensibly. It was a deplorable scene to see a grown man sniffing and sobbing, and Gibbs stood up, clearly disgusted.

'Pick yourself up!' ordered Gibbs with his Marine voice.

It took a while for the man to obey to the order, but finally Gustav seemed to collect himself.

'Who hired you?'

'Nobody…' He handed the picture of the victim to Gibbs and added, 'He forced me to do it. But I swear, I didn't know what he was planning!'

'So what, you let him inside the club like that?'

'He said he would tell my wife about my debts! She was gonna leave me!'

'And to prevent that you help a terrorist killing dozens of innocents?'

'No! I thought he wanted to steal some stuff… Like the sound equipment or something! He never said anything about explosives, so when I saw…'

Utkin interrupted himself. Gibbs leaned back on his chair and eyed him silently. Tony silently congratulated the security guard for holding a whole minute of this terrifying silent treatment before unloading everything he knew.

'He told me to stay out of the dance floor for two hours, but I came back too early because I needed a leak and the toilets upstairs stink. I figured he would be done by then, but he wasn't. He had these wires in his hands and I saw the explosives. Except that he was not working. He looked like he was about to be sick. Then he saw me and he pointed a gun at me.'

Tony looked at Bell and she confirmed, 'We found a Glock G21 near the body. Unused, numbers erased. We sent it to Abby.'

In the room, Gibbs needed to determine if the gun was Utkin's or Simon's. 'What kind of gun?' he asked.

'How do I know? I'm a security guard, not a cop!'

Gibbs clicked his tongue with impatience and the man felt compelled to improve his answer. 'A handgun. Black. Like a pistol or something.'

Unless Gustav was a very good actor, the gun had probably been brought there by Dwight Simon.

'What happened then?'

'He was shaking, and it looked like he had cramps or something. I don't know, he looked bad. He shouted that I must have done it to him, I don't know what he was talking about. That's when he hit me with the gun.'

That explained the very real bump on his cheekbone that was now turning blue.

'And when you woke up?'

'He was dead.'

Gibbs sent him a suspicious look. He wanted more details.

'I swear to God,' cried out Utkin. 'I have no idea what killed him and I have nothing to do with it! I called the police immediately after that. I didn't kill him, I swear!'

Tony shook his head, disgusted by the man. Gibbs slowly picked up the folder of photos and stood up.

'Too bad you didn't. If you had killed a terrorist, you might have avoided federal prison.'

He left the room while Utkin grabbed his head in his hands and sobbed on the table. Tony, McGee and Bell came out of the observation room and met Gibbs in the hallway.

'Get me everything you can on Dwight Simon!'

The next hours seemed dreadfully long and frustrating for Tony. After the autopsy, Ducky had hypothesised that Simon had been killed by the same compound of arsenic than their previous victim, which had been confirmed by Abby, but nobody had the slightest idea of who had done it and why.

He stared at his screen for so long without any change that he felt like his eyes were going to pop out of their orbits. They had no lead on Simon's killer and Gibbs was getting moodier and moodier, which in return made him feel angry again. The truce that had held since the nightclub was no longer strong enough to make him forget that he was mad at him, especially every time Gibbs was shouting because they didn't have anything new.

The boss didn't seem to care that his agents would have preferred to spend New Year's Eve somewhere else instead of digging into the life of a terrorist. Gibbs had grumbled when McGee had received a phone call from his girlfriend who simply wanted to wish him a Happy New Year. He had also totally ignored Alex's subtle remarks about the fact that they might be more efficient after a good night of sleep. Somehow, Gibbs had decided that they had to solve the case tonight.

Well, that was it, decided Tony. He had had enough.

'Boss,' he called. 'I'm going home. I'll follow the money trail tomorrow.'

Gibbs stopped reading the report he had in his hands and stared at him in the same way he had stared at Utkin earlier that day. Too bad for him, Tony had years of training in resisting Gibbs' silent stare. With an exasperate sigh, Gibbs admitted his defeat and Tony stood up, grabbed his bag and walked towards the elevator. A few seconds later, he heard McGee and Bell do the same. They had probably been waiting for any opportunity to finally head home.

Once the elevator doors closed on them, they all let a relief sigh out.

'I thought we would never make it out of there!' said Bell.

'I couldn't see my screen anymore!' added McGee.

Tony said nothing. He didn't want to go in details about how unreasonable Gibbs had been. As they reached the parking lot, they waved each other good night and drove off. From the corner of his eye, Tony saw three SUV leave the parking shortly after them. Definitely FBI protection then. That had Gibbs' signature all over. He also noticed that, after they left, only Gibbs' car was left in the parking lot. That meant that his boss had not bothered asking for a protection for himself.

Damn him.

—

Ellie Bishop had had a very quiet New Year's Eve. Jake and her had returned from Hawaii during the day and both had been too tired to go out and celebrate. They had watched the countdown on TV and had fallen asleep before 1AM. She wondered if Jake and her were already an old and boring couple. Well, she decided, she was happy to be boring. Boring felt reassuring. Boring felt like home.

What was not reassuring was the email she had gotten from Agent McGee. It had brought her back to her old life, the life she had before she met Jake. It was really awful to think that the terrorist she had had such a hard time forgetting had now chosen a new target. This time, he was focused on NCIS and she felt responsible.

She had spent six years studying Parsa, six obsessive and destructive years. She had been so absorbed with her mind game with the terrorist that she had completely burned out. He had invaded her work and her life. He had left her notes, emails, phone calls, even had flowers delivered to her flat. She had thought that she could outmanoeuvre him, but in the end she had been the one to lose herself. She was not even sure that she had done anything useful to stop him. She had the horrible doubt that maybe he had used her to entertain himself. Like a pet he liked to play with. Then he had tired of her and had stopped playing. When her hierarchy had pulled her out, she had protested at first. Then, she had understood. And several months down the line, she had started to rebuild herself. Forget. Recover.

Until this morning. She had hesitated replying to Agent McGee. She had been tempted to delete his email and never speak about Parsa ever again. But then she had found herself clicking on the "reply" button. It was her duty to help the NCIS. She could not let Parsa ruin more lives. And this time, maybe she would be able to put him away for good.

It was in this state of mind that Ellie met with Timothy McGee. The man was shorter than she had imagined, but his smile was honest. She could see that he hadn't gotten much sleep recently and repressed a laugh when he ordered the tallest coffee that the restaurant could offer, with a mountain of eggs and bacon. Ellie chose a healthier version of breakfast: a fruit salad with a tea.

As they were served, McGee started the conversation. 'Thank you for meeting me, I can imagine that you had better things to do on the first of January.'

'Well actually, no, I didn't. But I can see that you had a busy night. Party?'

'I wish!'

He didn't seem the type anyway.

'So what can I do for you Agent McGee?'

'Benham Parsa. We need everything you know about him.'

She couldn't help but shiver. Hearing his name out loud really brought her back years ago. It was not good.

'That would require more than a meeting. What specifically do you want to know about him?'

'What's his end game?'

That was an excellent question. Parsa was unlike many terrorists. He didn't have a manifesto, he was not a Jihad fanatic and he was not affiliated to any known terror group, apart from the one he had created himself. The Brotherhood of Doubt's goals were clear: making money out of terror attacks. But Parsa's goals were never really defined. All the attacks he had perpetrated before seemed like they had a specific purpose, but she had never been able to determine what. For all she knew, Parsa was not even a religious fanatic. He kept repeating that America was the enemy, but she had never heard him referring to religion to justify his hatred. In her opinion, his radicalisation had something to do with his parents' deaths.

'I think he's driven by revenge.'

Revenge about his parents, his country or the death of his fellow terrorists, she didn't know. Of course it was just an hypothesis.

'So he feels like NCIS has done something to him?'

'From what you've told me in your email, you've neutralised part of his organisation. He's not the type of man to forgive.'

'So he's seeing us as an opponent to beat? That would mean that he wants to kill us, right?'

'Yes.'

'But he talked to us. He said that if we stopped pursuing him, he will stop coming after us.'

Ellie frowned. That didn't sound like Parsa at all. When he had a bone to chew, he was not likely to let go. When he had taken people hostage in Bahrein the previous year, he had not let the authorities talk him down. She didn't know why he had targeted that luxury hotel but she knew that his plan had worked perfectly and he had been able to survive the attack. Parsa was not the kind of man to leave his enemies alive, even if they complied. That didn't make sense.

'I don't think you should trust him. But that's why you're here, right?'

McGee nodded. 'We think he has a bigger plan and he needs us out of the way. We don't know, however, how the murders of two of his followers fit into this.'

'What do you mean?'

'I'm sorry, I can't give you all the details of an active investigation.'

'I have higher clearance than your Director,' countered Ellie. 'And what I know can help your investigation.'

McGee seemed to consider what she had said, then replied, 'We have found the bodies of two members of the Brotherhood of Doubt. Poisoned, with an arsenic compound. They were both stopped before they could conduct an attack on US military targets.'

Ellie was shocked. She didn't know what to ask first. However, there was one idea that came to her mind that was more pressing than all the others.

'Who were the targets?' she asked.

If the agent in front of her was surprised of her question, he didn't show it. 'The first one was a PTSD support group in Lincoln Park. The other one was a New Year's Eve party in Congress Heights.'

She thought about it for a second. The Brotherhood of Doubt was maybe Parsa's organisation, but they functioned independently. Their interests were in lobbying to stop anti-terror measures to pass and to destroy targets that would be profitable for them to rebuilt. These two attempts made absolutely no sense, they were not priority targets and since the Brothers' numbers were limited they would certainly not have attacked unless… Unless Parsa had specifically asked them to do it.

In that case, Parsa was shaking the chess game, and that meant only bad things for the future. Parsa knew that she was still out there, observing the complex web of terrorist actions. If his goal was to disturb it so much than nobody was able to predict anything, then he could only have in mind something big. Something terrible. Something lethal.

'Any lead on their killer?' she asked, trying to repress the bad feeling that was coursing through her veins.

'Nothing. They were poisoned before they could complete their mission. We don't know who, or why.'

Ellie had no idea too and that worried her even more. She had always taken pride in her ability to read events not with her emotions but with her intellect. She could see links and patterns where everyone else could only see disasters. She could understand the moves of the big players and anticipate their actions. However, Parsa had been the only one she could never beat and it had cost lives.

'Do you think it has something to do with the bomb that killed Secretary Jarvis?' she said, an idea slowly forming in her mind.

This time, Agent McGee looked surprised. 'I don't know, why?'

She needed to have a look at the chess game. Things had felt weird for months now, but she had thought that it could be explained by the rise of the Islamic State of Iraq and the Levant, and the civil war in Syria. Evidently, there was more to it than these explanations.

'I'm not sure,' she replied, honestly. 'I will need to research. Could you send me everything you have on the current case?'

McGee didn't seem very happy but agreed.

'I think it would be better if you kept my involvement in this secret. Parsa always seems to know more than he should. If he hears you've been talking to me, he might retaliate.'

'Sure.'

'I'll contact you in a few days if I have news.'

She would have to be careful. Nobody at NSA could know that she was back on Parsa's case. She could lose her job. She could lose Jake too. It was vital that her husband was not implicated in all of this.

She had no choice. It was either Parsa or her. It was time to stop him, once and for all.

—

Jethro had barely taken the time to go home and shower before stopping for a coffee and coming back to work. Alex and Tony were half-sleeping on their desks and McGee was late.

'Update!' he barked, making the two agents jump.

He noticed that his bad mood was spreading to them but he decided to not care. Parsa could hit them at any time and the sooner they had a lead, the better.

'We might have something,' said Bell. 'Metro Police has searched the motel room where Dwight Simon was staying and they came up with nothing, or so they thought.'

'We didn't see it yesterday because we were tired,' added Tony with something of a reproach in his voice.

'Are you giving me a lame excuse, DiNozzo?'

His senior agent looked like he was going to snap at him, but Bell cut them short. 'The pack of matches that the police found on the table was from another motel. So we thought that maybe someone had visited him, or he had visited them.'

'Which motel?'

'It's called the Hampton Inn. In Bowie, a few miles east on John Hanson Highway.'

'Then what are you waiting for?'

Gibbs walked to his desk and grabbed his bag, checking that his gun was in full working order. The elevator bell rang and McGee entered the bullpen, speaking fast as soon as he saw him.

'Sorry boss, didn't hear my alarm clock, then my car didn't start and…'

'McGee!' he shouted, appreciating the fact that his subordinate stopped talking immediately. 'Keep your bag, you're driving.'

They all rushed to the elevator and the next half hour was spent driving silently to the motel.

Upon arrival, Tony and McGee headed to the motel reception, while Jethro and Bell scanned the snowed car park. The two agents came back and announced that the manager had never seen their victim but he had recorded the names of the clients who had been staying in the motel two nights ago.

'I'll check them,' indicated McGee, getting his smartphone out of his pocket.

Gibbs had never liked these devices but he admitted that it was practical.

'I got something!' announced the agent, ten minutes later. 'Drew Abrahams. According to their company's website, he's a colleague of Simons'!'

'Which room?'

'114. Boss, he hasn't checked out!'

Jethro drew his SIG, quickly imitated by his team. Tony and Bell went around the building to use the fire escape while McGee and Jethro went up the main stairs. If Abrahams was their killer, or even if he knew anything about Simons and Parsa, they had to catch him.

Silently, they reached the first floor and tiptoed toward room 114.

'Mr Abrahams?' said McGee after knocking.

There was no answer. Jethro nodded and McGee tried again. 'NCIS, open up!'

Again, only silence replied. Jethro nodded again, and McGee took a few steps back before kicking the door open. Guns forward, they both entered the room but soon they realised that their weapons were unnecessary. Jethro repressed an angry gesture as he discovered that the man who was their best lead in the case was lying dead on the floor.

DiNozzo and Bell arrived soon after.

'Damn it!' cursed Tony.

Jethro would have cursed too if we was not so tired. It seemed that the exhaustion of last night had finally caught up on him.

'Call Ducky,' he ordered Bell. 'Tell him we have another body. We have to do this all over again.'

They were back to square one.

—

Ziva had just finished her lunch but she was not ready to leave the terrace she was sitting in just yet. The sun was warm enough to be comfortable without feeling stuffy and she wanted to appreciate this moment of calm before going back to work.

During the morning, several employees of a highly recommended security company had entered her offices and had installed video equipments and erected a checkpoint at the reception. Many of Ziva's employees had expressed their discomfort at these new measures and she couldn't blame them. Things had been tense in the office since Omar Isaak's last stunt.

Ziva knew she had to talk to her employees, explain what was happening and probably reassure them. The problem was, she didn't know how to do that. She had never been the one to coddle others and make them feel safe. Her natural reaction in times of crisis was to power through and ignore the fact that other people might be struggling. When Gibbs has been wounded by a bomb many years ago, this behaviour had caused Abby — the normally sweet and non-violent Abby — to slap her.

Ziva was older now, but she still struggled expressing her emotions. She wasn't even sure that opposing Isaak was the right course of action. After her long discussion with Naheem, she understood Isaak's motivations better. The man would never hear reason. Ziva had unwillingly reopened a wound that could never fully heal.

She knew all too well that some actions couldn't be erased. Like the first time she had killed a human being. It was during one of her first missions with Mossad, when her final training was not even completed. She was working with a fast-response group for retrieval of agents in undercover operations. They had targeted a Hamas cell preparing an attack here in Haifa, for which their undercover agent had found enough incriminating evidence. The arrest should have been done without problem but one terrorist was hidden in a wardrobe during their assault. He had shot Ziva's partner through the wood of the wardrobe, so she had pulled the trigger too. Her bullets had riddled the wooden door with holes, then there had been a silence. Carefully, she had moved towards the wardrobe and had opened the door, to see the face of her first victim. He was still alive, breathing erratically, bleeding all over the clothes that were in the wardrobe. He had dropped his gun and she had seen the fear in his eyes. Fear of dying for the one who was so quick to bring death to others. It had lasted just a few seconds. One more breath. Two maybe. Then she had seen life leaving him. His body had subsided, his head had rolled down.

Ziva had vomited the whole content of her stomach that day, next to the lifeless body. Later, in the safety of her bed sheets, she had sobbed uncontrollably. It was one thing to know that this man deserved to die, that he had killed her partner and was going to kill many innocents. It was something else to feel in her whole body, in her bones and in her heart that she had committed something irreversible. From this point forward, her soul had been stained irremediably. Every new life that she had taken had added to this darkness that had started in her that day.

She often wondered if she was doing enough to reverse that process, to save her soul. She already knew that no matter how many deaths she prevented, that first stain would always remain in her. Maybe she couldn't be saved. Maybe Omar Isaak was right and she didn't deserve to build a new life.

Her thoughts were interrupted by her cell phone ringing. She checked the number and saw that it was Chaviv.

'Miss Mizrahi? The security agents have finished installing their equipment. They would like to check if there's anything else you wanted.'

'I'm just two blocks away, I'll be right in.'

She paid for her lunch and headed back to work. The streets were busy but she was a master in the art of avoiding coming in contact with strangers. It only took her five minutes before reaching the elevator. As she arrived, she noticed that the reception counter had been elongated and the receptionist was now sharing the space with a security guard who was staring at several monitors. She had not wanted a security gate as the company had first suggested, but the guard had a portable metal detector just in case. Furthermore, all their servers were now encrypted to prevent any breach of their confidential data. That would not help if Isaak managed to get a warrant, but she suspected that he didn't have enough power to attack her legally. At least now she was ready in case he tried to come back by force.

'Everything is in order,' she confirmed to the engineer who presented her with the checklist of everything his team had done in the morning.

She signed the checklist and thanked the contractors who waved goodbye before leaving. She then walked towards her brand new security guard and introduced herself to him.

'I am Ziva Mizrahi.'

'Amon Assad. Nice to meet you.'

The man was very tall and imposing, the very image of someone there to protect people. She appreciated his quiet strength, it reassured her.

'Needless to say, I am happy to have you with us Mr Assad.'

He smiled and showed her how the many cameras were helping him keep an eye on everything that would happen in the building. The receptionist sitting next to him kept glancing at them, and became very pale when Amon addressed the subject of a possible lockdown in case armed men were trying to assault. There was no way around it, Ziva needed to speak to her employees.

She asked Chaviv to gather everyone in the main conference room. One by one, they all came in, many with puzzled or scared looks. They were all expecting an explanation. They were all expecting to be reassured. However, she didn't know if she could provide them with what they needed.

'I trust that you all now know that from now on these offices will be protected by OakTree Security,' she started. 'This is in relation with the incident that occurred yesterday when Mr Omar Isaak threatened this organisation with retaliation if we kept up doing our work. I am convinced that he will not attempt anything against any of you, but as your boss I felt necessary to ensure that your workplace would be a safe one. This organisation is doing a vital work and we are helping many people who desperately need it, so I don't intend on changing any plans we have or canceling any of our projects.'

The employees exchanged concerned looks and she could see that they were far to be reassured, so she decided to be less clinical and more personal.

'I know you are scared. I know that many of you have hesitated before accepting to work here because of the sensitive nature of our job. And I know that for most of you, you have changed your mind when you saw all the good we can do together. So I need you to trust me again. Our cause is right. The people who declare themselves as our enemies will never diminish my drive to help others, and I hope that it will be the same for you. Thank you very much.'

She saw that these words had reached them. As they were leaving the conference room, she could see that their spirits were up. Hers, however, was far to be appeased. It was one thing to put herself in danger, it was something entirely different to expect her employees to show the same dedication. It was her dream, not theirs. They shouldn't have to fear for their lives.

She retreated to her office, hoping to be alone with her dark thoughts. But as she sat behind her desk, her assistant Chaviv opened the door, unannounced. The young man closed the door back behind him.

'What is it, Chaviv?'

'Miss Mizrahi… Ziva,' he started with difficulty. 'I'm sorry, I can't keep quiet longer.'

'Why, what's happening?'

'I heard what this crazy man said yesterday! Sorry… the walls are thin.'

'It's alright,' she reassured him. It wasn't like Isaak was trying to be discreet anyway.

'I'm worried about you,' confessed her assistant. 'Omar Isaak is a powerful man in Haifa.'

'I'll be fine.'

'But you're not fine! I can see it, when you think that nobody else is watching it's like life leaves you. And… I heard you. On Christmas Eve. I had forgotten my umbrella and… You were crying.'

Ziva didn't know what to say. Chaviv looked so sorry for her, but not like he was pitying her, more like a mother worrying for her child. Her first instinct was to get angry and tell him to mind his own business, but she realised that it was also for these kinds of situations that she had hired him.

'I'm… I will be alright,' she tried to explain. 'I just need time to adapt. I've made pretty big changes in the last months and it is… stressful.'

She had promised herself that in this new life, she would not shove her feelings away. It was so difficult, though, to change a whole life of conditioning. "Stressed" was probably the most she was ready to admit right now.

'Maybe you should talk to someone?' suggested Chaviv, looking pleased that she had opened up a little. 'Not necessarily someone from work but someone who could understand. I think it would be good for the company too if you could relax.'

She knew that these words were very wise but she was honestly not sure to find anyone she could talk to.

'I'll… think about it.'

Chaviv understood that he was sent away and closed the door behind him, leaving Ziva with her thoughts. Talking to someone… easier said than done!

It was not like she had many friends in her new life. She had cut links with anyone in her old life, including people from Mossad once the inheritance matters had be solved. Chaviv and Magda, her very first employees, were working for her and therefore she could not burden them with her problems. Briefly, she considered making an appointment with a psychologist but she could not see herself detailing all her life to a perfect stranger. She remembered how difficult it had been when she had had to do it in NCIS after difficult missions.

This thought brought an idea. Calculating the time difference, she dialled the area code of Washington DC, USA, and waited.

I hope you enjoyed this chapter and the first appearance of Ellie! Next time: the case becomes more dangerous, Gibbs and Tony still don't see eye to eye and we spend some time with Ducky! In the meantime, I always appreciate your thoughts, so feel free to leave a review!

Loufoca