She should have known better. She really should have known better. With her experience and her job, she should have expected something like this to happen. Something bad. Something awful.
But it had all started so well. Michael was here, staying at her apartment. Tony was no longer irritable and snappish (and she was not going to change that by bringing Michael up). And there was a Scrabble game on tonight that she could actually go to. That she was even in the mood to go to as well. It should have been the perfect day.
Which she should never have thought of it as because that guaranteed that it was all going to go wrong.
Like a case involving ICE, the FBI, NCIS and the CIA. High profile targets. Things going very, very wrong.
But that was fine. She was used to cases like this coming up, they all were, if you could ever really be used to dealing with multiple agencies and jurisdiction and the like. Not to mention the complexity of the case. But they dealt with it. Got through the case. Managed everything.
That should have been the end of it. That should have been her day over. But no. It wasn't.
Because now she was at the hospital. For Michael to come out of surgery. Because Tony, her partner had put him there. He had shot Michael.
She didn't know what to think. She didn't want to think. But she did. She needed to figure out the next steps. What was going to happen to her, Michael and Tony? Were they going to have to face her father? Was Tony going to be in trouble? Did she care?
She hated hospitals. Hated the sounds. Hated the smells. Hated the whiteness of them. Hated the waiting. Whether it was her waiting for news of someone or her being the someone who had to be released. Why did everything always have to take so long? It was like time slowed down.
She saw Tony leave a room, arm in a sling. Resolutely, Ziva turned away from him.
[xxxxxx]
"Where is she?" Raphael muttered, looking down at his phone for what had to be the fifth time.
Pamela poked her head around the door. "Still no sign of Ziva?"
He shook his head. "Or word from her either."
He didn't even look up to reply there, he kept his eyes on his phone. Just in case a message did come through. It didn't but it could have. He wanted to be ready.
"She's probably on a case," she said to him. "You know that they can't be on their phones of they're on a case."
"Who's on a case?" Fakhir asked, also appearing in the doorway.
Pamela shuffled backwards to let him go through.
"Ziva."
"Ah." He nodded. "Yes, and if she is working late it would have to be urgent, wouldn't it?"
"Definitely not going to be checking her phone," Pamela agreed.
Raphael sighed again. That made sense but surely, she could still text? Ziva had seemed to be very very insistent on coming to this game. Surely, she could just text to tell them? How did Amelia cope with trying to organise them all? She normally did it even when she wasn't here. Not this week, she was visiting family. Which meant it was down to him to organise the game. Which he wanted to go well. Prove he could do it. And then Ziva decides she is not showing up?
"We should just start," Fakhir said. "You know that sometimes something comes up in work on her. She'll reply at some point this evening with apologies."
True, that is what she always did if she couldn't phone one of them right away. But that didn't stop Raphael from checking for a message.
He had already sent one asking her if she was coming but there had been no reply. Which, like Fakhir said, wasn't really odd in itself but Raphael found himself feeling on edge. Ziva had been acting not like herself recently.
Distracted. More blunt than usual. Or just really distant. And then she had actually wanted to come tonight instead of making excuses.
"Come on, Raphael."
He took one last look at his phone and sighed. Nothing.
"Oh, alright. I am coming."
[xxxxxx]
The game was fun, he had to admit. Even if Fakhir had threatened to take his phone off him so he didn't get distracted. Which was probably the reason he didn't win but it had been fun. Well, that was the excuse he was using for his pitiful playing anyway. He was forty points behind Fakhir, the runner up. Forty points. He was never going to live this down.
"Yes! I win!" Pamela cheered.
"I still think it's cheating that you use British spelling," Fakhir said disgruntledly.
"That's because I am British, last time I checked."
'Ding'
Raphael lunged for his phone, knocking over some tiles. Everyone groaned and complained.
"Raphael!"
But he didn't pay any attention to them, instead tapping on his message notification eagerly.
Oh. It was just his wife. He didn't mean that in a bad way; he loved her very much. It was just that she was not the person he wanted to be texting him right now.
"I will take that off you," Fakhir threatened.
"The game is over so you can't," Raphael replied, sticking his tongue out.
"Ziva?" Pamela asked hopefully.
"No."
"Oh." Pamela actually slumped back in her seat in disappointment.
See? He was not the only one who wanted to know?
Fakhir rolled his eyes as he put the board away.
"She will phone or text tomorrow saying she had to work late into the night and be full of apologies. It's happened many times."
"I suppose."
"You will see," Fakhir said confidentially.
Raphael nodded but somehow, he didn't feel like this was going to be the case.
No. He shook his head sharply. That was just silly to think about. He had been watching too many scary movies recently. He was being silly. Nothing weird was going on with Ziva.
Was there?