Jenny is reluctant to admit defeat on the Jeanne Benoit assignment without solid proof that La Grenouille is behind Tony's abduction, but Gibbs rips her a new one when he hears that; though she clearly isn't happy, she lets it go and clears Gibbs to tell McGee what's going on.

Gibbs and the Mossad officer are about to go down to see if any progress has been made on tracking the van when Jenny stops Ziva. "We need to talk," she says shortly.

Gibbs hesitates at the door, not sure he wants to leave them alone. The director has an expression of badly-concealed anger and suspicion on her face; Gibbs feels the need to protect Ziva. Ziva shoots him a look, though, defiant, and that's what convinces him to go. Whatever beef she and Jenny have—and Gibbs can pretty easily guess what it is—Ziva wants to take care of it herself. He's never known her to back down from a fight, but he doesn't want her to do or say something she'll regret. He wouldn't put it past her to be stubborn enough to goad the director into cancelling the Mossad liaison officer position altogether.

There's little he can do about it right now if she won't let him intervene, though, and DiNozzo's abduction takes priority anyway. He departs reluctantly, leaving them to it.

The door swings shut and Shepard and Ziva stare at one another, faces hard. "You already knew about Jeanne Benoit," the director accuses; it's a statement, not a question. She's trusted Ziva for a long time, but either Ziva has been prying into something she shouldn't or Tony has been talking about things he shouldn't. Jenny intends to get to the bottom of whichever transgression has occurred. "How?"

Ziva knows her own position is on the line here. It takes all of her considerable courage and grit, then, to answer the question. "I learned about it recently." Her voice is emotionless, controlled. She's going to do her damnedest to keep Tony from falling under the hammer for this, even if it means losing her job.

"I didn't ask when, Officer David. I asked how."

"I heard the case being discussed."

"Where did you hear it?" La Grenouille has clearly heard about it, too. Either Ziva is working with the enemy—doubtful, for sure, but still a possibility—or the two have learned details of the operation independently of one another. Much like Gibbs, Jenny doesn't believe in coincidences, and this seems like a big one.

"I heard about it here."

"Here at NCIS?"

"Here in this office." Ziva was hoping to avoid saying that directly, but it seems that Jenny isn't going to let her slip out of it.

"You were not present in this office for any of the meetings I had with Tony about this. How did you hear?" Jenny's voice is getting harder and harder as they talk.

"I was eavesdropping." Ziva knows that saying it like this will put responsibility for her knowledge solidly on her shoulders, not on Tony's, because it makes it sound like she essentially had her ear to the door, intentionally listening in. While she did listen to a conversation she wasn't meant to be privy to, her only real crime is in not hanging up the phone once she knew the call wasn't for her. Admitting that will put Tony in hot water, though, and she cares too much about him and his career to let that happen. She has Mossad back in Israel to fall back on, but if Tony loses his job over the sharing of classified information, he'll experience great difficulty in finding another government position for the rest of his life.

"Why?" Jenny demands.

"I cannot tell you," Ziva answers resolutely.

Jenny doesn't answer for a moment, studying Ziva's expression. "You realize, don't you, that I could terminate your position here?"

"Yes, Director."

"I suggest you tell me the truth, then, Ziva," Shepard says sternly.

"I cannot," Ziva repeats.

Frustrated, Shepard curls her hands into fists and then relaxes them. Right now, the why of the matter not an important detail, and she chooses to let it go for now. "Fine. Then tell me if you've mentioned this to anyone else."

"I have not."

"How am I supposed to trust you on that?" Jenny snaps.

"That is up to you, Director Shepard."

Jenny sighs angrily. "Damn it, Ziva, I'm trying to give you the benefit of the doubt here, but you're not helping yourself at all!"

Until now, the Ziva has resembled a soldier standing still and at attention, her back ramrod straight and her expression blank and serious. At Jenny's last words, though, something cracks her hard exterior and she seems frustrated, too, for the first time in this conversation. "Do you wish to find Tony, or would you rather stand here and question me about things that are not relevant to his rescue?" Can't Shepard see how much more Ziva cares for Tony's fate than her own!?

The director steps closer and lowers her voice. "I can't let this go until I'm sure you aren't a part of his disappearance in the first place."

Ziva has a sudden violent urge and has to fight it off. "Have you ever trusted me at all?" she asks with a quiet fury.

"You know I have, but you're hardly giving me any reason to trust you now!"

"If you have ever trusted me," Ziva snaps, "then let me help you find Tony. When that is finished, I will gladly sit across an interrogation table from you until you are satisfied, and I will accept whatever punishment you deem necessary. I will not sit by idly while my partner is in danger, however, and you will not stop me."

The fire in Ziva's eyes is unmistakable—clearly, she cares very deeply for Tony DiNozzo, and that's enough to push out any niggling doubts about any association Ziva might have with La Grenouille. Shepard is still suspicious about why Ziva would listen in on an assignment briefing that had nothing to do with her, but Ziva's right in that there'll be time to discuss that later. For now, Jenny just has to remind herself that Ziva has saved her life before and has proven that she can be trusted.

"Fine," Jenny agrees after some deliberation. "You stay in line this time, though, or I'll go right past benching you and skip to having you arrested. We'll discuss your insubordination later. Are we clear?"

"Yes, Director," Ziva answers, none of the relief she's feeling showing on her face.

"Okay. You're dismissed for now. Go find DiNozzo, and bring him home." Sometimes, Jenny feels that accepting this job was a mistake, and this is one of those times.

"Wait, please. I have an idea, actually."

"And what is that?"

"I want to talk to Jeanne Benoit," Ziva says, determined.

"No. Absolutely not."

"She already knows me, and she trusts me," Ziva pushes.

"How does she know you!?" Jenny inquires, frustrated. This would all be much simpler if Ziva would simply tell the whole story up front.

"I met her several weeks ago." Seeing that Shepard seems to be rethinking not having Ziva thrown in an interrogation room at this exact moment, Ziva sighs and tells her an edited version of the hospital story. "I injured myself and went to her hospital for treatment, though I did not know at the time that she worked there. While in the emergency department, I came across her and Tony. It was clear that Tony knew me, so he told her we were friends. She insisted on stitching my hand up and we talked at length while she did so. Tony had the presence of mind not to tell Dr. Benoit that he or I work for NCIS, but she will surely have to find that out now."

Shepard still looks like she wants to protest, but Ziva presses her point. "She may know something about where Tony is being held. She is a kind person and I do not believe she has anything to do with this, but she may have more information than she realizes."

The director has to admit that Ziva has a point, so she sighs and gives in. "Okay," she agrees slowly. "But if you mess this up at all, Ziva, your future at NCIS is gone. Go get some good information… give me a reason to keep trusting you."

"I will not let you down, Director," Ziva agrees, determined.

Shepard motions her out, and Ziva heads down to the bullpen. She finds McGee still at his computer and Gibbs gearing up. "What did you find?" she asks urgently.

"I finally got a good read on the license plate from the van," McGee says, bringing her up to speed immediately. "It was reported stolen yesterday from a business in Alexandria. Boss is going to interview them now. I'm staying here to try to track where it went after leaving your apartment."

Ziva nods quickly. "I am going to talk to Jeanne Benoit."

Gibbs pauses at that, giving her a hard look. "You s—"

"I have cleared it with Director Shepard," she interrupts.

"Okay. Both of you, call me if you find something or learn something. If you hear from DiNozzo, trace it and call me for that, too."

Orders given, the three go off in their own directions.

Ziva has never given less regard to the speed limit than she does as she drives toward Jeanne's apartment in Georgetown; she's mildly surprised that she didn't have any police attempt to pull her over on the way. When she can't find a place to leave her car, she double parks without a second thought and heads inside.

She knocks on Jeanne's door and waits impatiently, disregarding the fact that it's getting pretty late and Jeanne may be in bed. After a minute or two, the door opens. "Zena?" Jeanne asks, surprised to see Tony's friend standing on her doorstep looking stressed.

"Jeanne." Ziva gives the other woman a small, harried smile. "Could I please come in? I need to talk to you."

"Uh, sure," Jeanne agrees, getting over her surprise enough to let Ziva in. Trying to be the gracious host despite her burning curiosity, she leads Ziva to the sofa and makes sure she doesn't need anything before sitting next to her. "What can I do for you?"

Ziva pulls her Mossad ID out of her pocket and hands it over with a sympathetic smile. She knows this isn't going to be a fun realization for the doctor.

"What is this?" Jeanne asks, looking confused.

"That is my governmental identification. I am a member of the Israeli intelligence agency known as Mossad."

"You—what?" Not only is Jeanne thrown off by this information in general, she's also not sure why it's suddenly being given to her.

"I am here on assignment from my government, working as a liaison for NCIS."

"And what's NCIS?"

"NCIS stands for Naval Criminal Investigative Service. We are essentially the police force covering your navy and marine corps."

Jeanne looks up, a growing suspicion that she doesn't want to acknowledge seeding itself in her gut. "Why are you telling me this?"

"Because I think it will be the easiest part for you to hear out of everything I have to tell you about."

"What do you have to tell me?"

Rather than answering immediately, Ziva pulls out a second set of identification—DiNozzo's. "I have to tell you about your friend Tony."

Jeanne takes Tony's NCIS ID and the badge that Ziva also pulls out to pass over, and she gapes at them. The photo is Tony's face, for sure, but the name is wrong. Anthony DiNozzo, it reads. Not Tony DiNardo. "He… he told me his name is Tony DiNardo. He said he was a professor!"

"That is because he was told to tell you those things," Ziva clarifies softly.

"Told by who?"

"By someone he reports to at our agency."

"But why?" In addition to her confusion, Jeanne is starting to feel hurt.

Ziva gently takes back the IDs and badge back. "Because of your father."

"My… what?"

Ziva has been trying not to give the other woman too much at once, overwhelming her, but she can see now that doing this in pieces is just throwing Jeanne off more. "Your father. Did you know that he is under investigation for arms dealing by multiple governments and organizations worldwide?"

Jeanne sputters out a denial, but Ziva isn't done. "He has been accused of supplying explosives and guns to terrorist organizations and insurgents in the Middle East, Russia, and Central Africa, among others. He has been difficult to track down, and the more time he spends running his empire, the more innocent people die. Tony was assigned to you in the hopes that your father would come visit. When he did, we planned to take him into custody."

"No, you're wrong! I don't know who you're talking about, but it's not my father," Jeanne insists, standing up and backing away. Ziva stands, too, looking at Jeanne solemnly.

"It is your father that has been committing these crimes," Ziva assures her quietly. She pulls a photo of René Benoit out of the file she's holding under one arm, and she holds it up to the man's daughter. "I know it is difficult to believe and even harder to come to terms with."

"So why are you telling me this, Zena?" Jeanne demands incredulously. "If my dad is some big criminal, why would you tell his daughter anything!?"

"My name is Ziva, actually." She remains calm despite Jeanne's anger and disbelief. "I am telling you because circumstances have changed."

"What does that mean?" There's suddenly some fear injected into Jeanne's voice. "Has something happened? Is my dad okay?"

"Something has happened," Ziva confirms, "but not to your father. The one in danger now is Tony. We have reason to believe that your father has abducted him and now his life is in jeopardy. We need your help to rescue him."

That's a lot to take in, and Jeanne sits heavily back down on the couch, her head falling into her hands. Ziva waits as patiently as she can; she's just about to prompt the other woman when Jeanne's head pops back up. "Even if what you're saying is true, what could I possibly do about it!?"

Ziva sits back down, too, looking earnestly at the other woman. "Our most urgent question right now is where Tony is being held. Can you think of anywhere your father might possibly take someone? It would likely be somewhere with a measure of privacy, a place with little foot traffic."

Jeanne shakes her head, looking slightly dazed. "I don't know, I can't…" She rips a hand through her hair in frustration. "I can't think of anything. And I still think you're wrong. You and Tony lied about so much, what's to say you're not lying about this, too?"

"Think about it, please, Jeanne. Has your father ever acted suspiciously? Has he ever told you things that did not feel quite true? Have you ever noticed any inconsistencies?"

"No, of course not," Jeanne answers immediately, but then she pauses as her eyes fall to the same Afghan rug she pointed out to Tony recently. She'd asked her father what business he could possibly have in war-torn Afghanistan, and he'd laughed and said that business was far too boring to talk about with his daughter. She'd let the subject drop at the time, and now she wishes she hadn't. "Well, I mean, probably not."

Ziva sees the moment of doubt and presses her advantage. "I know that you are hurt and feel betrayed by Tony lying to you, but if there is any way you can see for your father to have done this, if you have ever cared about Tony… please. Believe me and know that I am only trying to help him because I care about him, too. Help us find him." Her sincerity is evident in every word, and Jeanne can't help but believe her this time, at least partially.

"Okay," she says after a pause. "I'll do what I can. I can't think of anywhere that my dad would take someone he's…" She trails off, unable to say the words "abducted" or "kidnapped".

"That is alright," Ziva says encouragingly. "Can you tell me where in the D.C. area that your father spends a large amount of time, or where he visits every time he is here?"

Jeanne racks her brain. "I mean… he visits me at the hospital and my apartment. We go out for meals to some of his favorite restaurants, and he usually stays at the Mandarin Oriental."

"Is there anywhere that he goes consistently without you? Anywhere he goes for business purposes?"

"Um… he takes a lot of trips to Baltimore. I think he does business at the port. He might have a warehouse there, if I remember right."

Ziva's eyes light up with a fierce kind of excitement—clearly, this is the kind of information she's been looking for. "Do you think that Tony might be… um, being held at that warehouse?" Jeanne ventures.

"It is a definite possibility. Do you know where it is?" There's a new urgency in Ziva's tone that wasn't there before.

Ziva shakes her head, helpless. "I'm not even sure that he does have a warehouse there. I've never been to it if he does, and I'm not sure why I'm remembering that there is one." Something is niggling at her memory, though. Maybe she overheard a conversation about it when she was younger.

"Have you ever been with your father on one of his Baltimore trips?"

"A few times, yeah."

"What area of Baltimore did you and your father stay in?"

Another dim shadow of a memory occurs to her. "He likes to stay in a luxury hotel near Broadway Pier, but once…" She pauses. "We went down to Dundalk, and I remember that at the time, I couldn't figure out why. It's not exactly the nicest area, right off the Patapsco River."

"That is part of the shipping district. Do you remember anything more specific than just the area?"

"No, I'm sorry."

"Do not be sorry—I believe you may have just given me the lead that will help us find Tony."

Jeanne can't bring herself to smile; she's too angry, shocked, betrayed, and afraid for that. She puts a hand on Ziva's arm as the other woman stands, though, and reminds herself to be gracious. "I hope you find him. When you do, please tell him that I want to talk to him."

"I will," Ziva promises. "Thank you, Jeanne."

With no more time to spare for the way she's turned the other woman's world upside down, Ziva leaves. She's barely out the door before she has the phone to her ear, ringing through to Gibbs. "What do you got, Ziva?" he asks after a single ring.

"Warehouse in Dundalk on the outskirts of Baltimore."

"You got an address?"

"No. The general area was all Benoit could tell me, and even that was a guess."

"Yeah, but that's a big shipping district. That's good work, Ziver. Meet me back at NCIS."

"I am on my way. Did you learn anything from the owners of the stolen van?"

"No, dead end. They don't have working security cameras and they didn't know anything when I questioned them."

"Okay. Has McGee contacted you?"

"Not yet." Gibbs hangs up and Ziva starts her car, racing back to headquarters.

She beats Gibbs inside and finds a very frustrated Tim sitting right where she left him. "Were you able to track the van?" she asks.

"Well, I was tracking its earlier movements through town without too much trouble, but then I got a hit on the BOLO a few minutes ago. The van was found abandoned and wiped. I found another camera that I think shows two men and what might be Tony getting into another car, which I also ran the plates on. Also stolen, reported missing this afternoon—I tried tracking it, too, but I lost it once it got on the freeway. I put a new BOLO out on it but haven't gotten any hits yet."

"In which direction was it traveling when you lost it?"

"North on I-95."

"Okay. If I give you a specific neighborhood, what are the chances that you can pick it up again there?"

"Well, if you're right on the neighborhood and there's adequate surveillance and we get lucky… maybe."

"Try it," Gibbs interjects, and both McGee and Ziva look up. They've been concentrating so hard that neither noticed his arrival. "Look near Dundalk Marine Terminal."

They both watch anxiously over McGee's shoulder as he works. The way his fingers are flying across the keyboard, it's difficult to follow what he's doing, especially for the computer-illiterate Gibbs. There's no mistaking McGee's triumphant, disbelieving laugh when he finds something, though. "I got it! I don't see exactly where it stopped, but the car passed an ATM camera on Broening Highway a couple of hours ago."

Gibbs claps McGee on the shoulder. "Gear up!" He tells his agents. They waste no time in doing so. On the way out, Gibbs looks over McGee's new BOLO and puts a call in to Baltimore PD. He gives them a rundown of the case and finishes with a description of the car and explains where they last saw it. "Find that car, but wait for my instructions. No one storms that warehouse until I say so, you got it?"

Once they're in the car, they waste no time in flying toward Baltimore. Much like Ziva, Gibbs puts even his usual speed to shame. It's almost an hour's drive under normal circumstances, but they make it in just under forty minutes. When they're nearly there, Gibbs gets a call from Baltimore PD's chief saying that they found the car abandoned outside a warehouse, just as expected.

Upon arrival in the area, they quietly exit the car and don protective gear. They convene with Baltimore PD—Ziva hopes that they have enough manpower to get Tony out without anyone getting hurt.

"You all—" Gibbs gestures to the Baltimore officers— "follow us. That's our man in there. Our priority is to get him out safely by any means necessary, do you understand?" There are nods all around. "If it turns into a firefight, Ziva, I want you to get in there and protect Tony. You focus on getting him out, and the rest of us will have your six." Ziva and Gibbs exchange loaded looks—he's giving her this assignment primarily because he knows it's what she'll do anyway. She'll risk her own life to rescue DiNozzo, so Gibbs will make damned sure that she doesn't lose it.

The group discusses a few more tactical details and then they silently move in on the building, fanning out on Gibbs' orders. Some of the Baltimore guys take the other entrances; Gibbs, Ziva, and McGee file quietly through the main door with the other officers in tow.

There's a guard with a machine gun stationed near the front entrance, but he must be new because Ziva is able to neutralize him with a single well-placed gun butt to the head, and he falls almost noiselessly to the ground. Gibbs silently motions for one of the Baltimore cops to cuff him as the rest of the group moves on.

They have to take out one more guard along the way, but soon they get to a part of the warehouse that has quiet voices emanating from within. The faint words sound like French, and Gibbs gives Ziva a questioning look.

She holds up a hand for silence—as if anyone in their group is making a sound—so she can listen. "They are talking about Tony, I believe," she breathes to Gibbs. "They are certainly referencing a prisoner, at the very least. One voice is saying that the Frog should be back to talk to him again soon, and the other voice is saying—" Despite her worry and her urgency, she has to let out a noiseless laugh. "The other is saying thank God because the prisoner hasn't stopped talking since he woke up and they are getting tired of it." Sounds like Tony, for sure.

Gibbs doesn't share her amusement, but he nods. "Just the two voices that you can make out?"

Ziva nods, too. WIth silent permission from Gibbs, she steps forward toward the doorway to see if she can get a good visual on the room. Luckily, there's a small, grimy window, and she looks for as long as she thinks she can without being seen. She can see Tony duct-taped to a chair; she feels a sharp pain somewhere around her heart when she notices that he still has flour in his hair and in splotches on his face. He's wonderfully alive, though. Ziva tears her eyes away before any emotions can surface—now is certainly not the time.

Then she turns back to the others. They huddle in tightly to listen as she whispers. "There are five men in the room besides Tony, who is strapped to a chair near the left wall. Of the five, one is standing guard near this door, one is standing guard near a door on the opposite wall, two are in the far right corner talking, and one is standing behind Tony. They are all armed."

Gibbs immediately gives instructions based on what Ziva's told him; he trusts her enough to not feel like he, too, needs a firsthand visual on the room. "You two, get yourselves around to the other side of that far door. Take out anyone you have to on the way, but do not be seen or heard. We don't want them to know we're here. Come in from that side to back us up once you hear us storm the room." The two officers that he gestures to nod and silently peel away from the group. "McGee, you're with me—focus on the two in the corner. Ziva, you know your job. The rest of you, take out the guards. I have the guy behind DiNozzo." Gibbs waits until everyone agrees in nods before finishing. "On my mark…" He holds up three fingers, puts one down, puts down the second, and then finally puts down the last.

From there, it's a flurry of activity. Gibbs bursts through the door, shooting almost as soon as he enters; Ziva and McGee are hot on his heels. They immediately split off in different directions.

The element of surprise is on their side; the men inside are startled and Gibbs' team takes two of them down before they can react. They quickly start diving for cover and shooting back, though, and within seconds, there's a hail of bullets going in both directions.

Disregarding all of this, Ziva steals across the room to where Tony is; he looks alarmed and afraid to see her. Gun in one hand and knife in the other, she dives forward to start hacking at Tony's bonds. "Ziva, look out!" Tony cries, and she whips around to point her gun at an angry Frenchman who has just noticed her. Before she has time to fire her shot, though, the man goes down thanks to a bullet from McGee's gun. Ziva goes back to cutting Tony free, and as soon as she does, she's yanking him away. Tony stumbles in the direction she's pushing him in, stiff from being knocked out twice and bound in the same uncomfortable position for hours.

That's where they run into a problem, though. When Ziva looked into the room from the window, she couldn't see that what looked like a wall from her angle was actually a hidden hallway, and there's a gunman coming out of it now.

Ziva can see what's about to happen, but not in time to stop it. She's been urging Tony ahead of her, aiming to get him out safely, and now he's between her and the gunman. The man raises his gun to fire and without a thought spared for her own safety, Ziva leaps at Tony to knock him out of the way.

They tumble to the ground and she leaps up, gun still in hand. The battle is over, though. Gibbs shot the man that just tried to kill her and Tony, and all of the other criminals are on the floor, either dead or incapacitated. Ziva counts heads quickly—it looks as if everyone on their side is unharmed.

She turns to Tony to check him over as well. "Are you alright?" she asks urgently. "Did they hurt you?"

"No, no, I'm fine. Jesus, how did you find me? I thought I was a goner for sure. That was close."

"McGee did some Elf Lord magic," Ziva answers, aiming to make him smile—he does. "Jeanne Benoit helped, too."

"Jeanne?" He looks at her with an unconvincingly clueless face. "Who's that?"

"The game is up, Tony. Director Shepard told ev…" Ziva trails off, suddenly feeling woozy.

"Ziva?" Tony says in sudden alarm, his voice sounding very far away to Ziva. "Oh my god, I think she's about to pass out," he says to someone behind her.

Ziva's still standing, but she can't feel her feet. "Oh my god!" Tony says again, and this time, his voice is full of anguish. "She's bleeding—call an ambulance! I think she was hit." As he talks, he grabs her gently under the arms and lowers her to the floor; this is good because she would have made it there momentarily by herself in a much less pleasant manner had he not. "Stay with me, ninja. You're alright, I've got you."

She watches faintly as Tony accepts a wad of cloth from someone above her head—McGee, maybe?—and presses it firmly to her abdomen. Now she notices the blood he was talking about. Two more hands pull at her bulletproof vest until the velcro on it detaches and it comes free. "Why didn't her vest stop the bullet?" This time Ziva's sure it's McGee—she can recognize his worried voice.

"One in a million shot," Gibbs says gruffly, somewhere just out of sight. Ziva can't quite get her head to move to follow the conversation. She's feeling curiously weak all over. "When she jumped at Tony, she must have twisted in a way that exposed that part of her abdomen for a split second—just long enough for the bullet to hit."

"Boss, that's a lot of blood..." McGee sounds troubled.

"You think I don't know that, McGee? Tony, keep pressure on that wound. Strickland, where is that ambulance?"

"Should be less than five minutes away, sir," comes a voice Ziva doesn't recognize. Must be one of the Baltimore officers.

"Look at me, Ziver," Gibbs orders, leaning down to get closer to her face. With difficulty, she rolls her eyes up to do as told. "You didn't come all the way from Israel and become one of the best damn agents I've ever worked with just to die in a warehouse, you hear? You focus on keeping your heart beating and let us get the rest."

"Okay," she agrees drowsily.

Gibbs presses a long, surprisingly tender kiss to her forehead before standing up and barking more orders. She understands what he's doing by walking away—he's telling her he's not concerned that she's going to die, because if he was really worried, he'd be right here, seeing her out as she took her final leave of him. Some part of her recognizes that he may be trying to convince himself, too, though, unable to sit there and watch her die. Like Ziva, he's lost too many people and it may be just too painful to let him be present in losing another.

Maybe dying is making her perceptive, because she can feel McGee's hesitation, even though he's not saying anything and he's out of her line of sight. He's waffling over something, probably the same thing Gibbs is. "Hang in there, Ziva," he finally says before hurrying off to help their boss.

Now it's just her and Tony right here in this little bubble of fear and horror. Tony is being silent for once, and that scares her more than anything. He's got his thigh against her torso as he leans close to keep pressure on her bullet wound, and she can see that he's looking anywhere but at her face. "Tony…" she mumbles. Her voice is so weak that she can barely hear herself, and she clears her throat. "Tony, look at me."

He finally does then, and the agony in his expression almost makes her think he's been hit, too. Then she realizes with a surge of deep, overwhelming affection that this sweet man is hurting for her. Getting shot doesn't bring tears to her eyes, but seeing Tony's love so plainly written across his face does. She can't believe she ever doubted it.

"Does it hurt very much?" he asks her anxiously, noting her eyes filling.

She shakes her head slowly, feeling like she's moving through syrup. "It is not painful at all. I believe I am in shock." The words are hard to get out, but talking is clearing her head a little, keeping her just above the surface.

Something flashes across his face as she says that, too quickly for Ziva to decipher. He must be thinking the same thing that she is—shock can kill just as surely as a bullet can, and her body going into that state is a dangerous thing indeed.

Ziva is quite suddenly filled with certainty that she will not survive this. She's at peace with the notion; to be a Mossad is to hold in one's heart a willingness to die for something important, and Tony is no less important to her than Israel ever was. The knowledge that she loves him does not come suddenly but rather is gently unveiled, having been there all along without her noticing.

Maybe he can see her thoughts in her face, in her tears and the tiny, affectionate smile on her lips, because he starts to look a little panicky. "Ziva, don't—whatever light you're thinking of going toward, don't do it. Please don't. I can't lose you, I can't—" His voice breaks to the point that he can't get out another word. The edges of his features start to turn white as her vision fades, and she fights to hold onto it. She wants his face to be the last thing she sees.

If there was ever a time in her life to harness her emotions and speak them, it would be now, but it is so hard to concentrate. "Tony," she says instead, and the one word makes her cough.

He can't answer, fraught with premature grief. He just shakes his head, silently telling her no. No, don't go. No, don't leave me. No, don't die. Please don't die. Somewhere, sounding miles and miles away, the ambulance arrives; Ziva can hear it. It's too late, she knows. Just a few minutes too late.

It's now or never. "Tony, I…" For once, it's not her emotions, her training, or her fear stopping her from speaking. In a cruel twist of fate, it's simply a lack of blood supply to her brain that's keeping her from saying the words he needs to hear. She forces herself to focus, to think. Tony is the only thing in the world right now that matters, and he deserves to hear the words at least once before she dies. It takes a monumental effort, but she finally gets it out: "Ani ohevet ot'h'a," she murmurs.

She doesn't realize that in her brain's final moments of oxygen saturation, it has reverted to her native tongue. She doesn't realize that she's just said "I love you" to Tony in Hebrew instead of English. She doesn't realize that he understands her all the same, despite not being a Hebrew-speaker himself.

She also doesn't realize it when her heart stops.