Chapter 2: Fantasies and reality.

McGee awoke to the rather enticing view of a pair of lace-encased bosoms. He closed his eyes, reset his optical sensors, and tried again. They were still there, bobbing inches from his face. Even better, somebody was straddling him; there were legs gripping either side of his body and deep warmth across his chest. His eyes widened slightly, his pupils dilating in anticipation; whatever had happened to him, it couldn't be all that bad.

Trying to attract the attention of the owner of the breasts turned out to be a mistake. The moment he moved his jaw, an excruciating pain rocketed through his face and a groan was forcibly propelled from the back of his throat out into the room.

The breasts slid out of range, the mysterious woman dismounted, and a small, delicate face moved into his eye line. "Don't try to speak; she dislocated your jaw."

McGee attempted to speak. What was meant to sound like "Who?" came out more like "Hurh?"

"That woman. Officer David. I think I've got it back in place now. The doctor's on his way." She rubbed her neck absently.

Ziva had done this to him? He tried to squeeze the memories out. He had been sitting next to Ziva in the hospital after her surgery, trying to read that new detective novel, but a late night of writing followed by an early morning call out had made him so tired the words kept sliding out of focus. Then there was the dream - the one with Ziva in a tight nurse's uniform. He was beginning to worry about his subconscious: first Kate in a leather outfit complete with whip, then Ziva, and now some woman in her underwear telling him she'd fixed his jaw.

The woman stood to her full height, which admittedly wasn't much of an effort, as the door flew open and medical staff rushed in.

Ziva surveyed the imposing barb-wire topped walls of the building Mossad called home. The place would be empty by now. She made for the corner security camera. The weather shields encircling it had always been a little dodgy and it was not unknown for them to droop across the lens. Slowly she bent a flap over the optics. When she was sure the picture was obscured, she crawled for the wall and climbed it in absolute silence, cursing both skirt and handbag and wondering what "normal" women did when they were forced to scale walls.

In no time she was slithering her way across the roof to the region above Michael's office. Carefully sliding the tiles to one side, she lowered herself into the roof cavity, replacing the tiles behind her. Her torch led her to the root of Michael's light fixture, where she drilled a small hole and inserted her fish-eye lens. This would be her sanctuary for the night.

Ziva awoke early, not wanting the sounds of her own raucous snoring to alert anyone to her presence. She knew an operation was her only hope, but she had never found any surgeon she was willing to trust to perform the required work.

It was a full hour before she heard voices in Michael's office. She peered in and almost gasped in surprise. Tony.

Michael was handing Tony a file. "This is all you need to know," he said. "The director has ordered the agency to pursue her."

"He'd use his resources to settle a family score?"

Michael smiled. "It is not quite so simplistic; she was Ari's supervisor. Even in the United States, a supervisor killing her subordinate is frowned upon."

"Great," Tony breathed.

Michael allowed his phone to ring once before snatching it and holding it to his ear. "What?"

There was a short pause as something loud and guttural transpired in Hebrew. Michael's eyes roamed to Tony's face and stalled there. He muttered something more into the phone and racked the handpiece. "I will only be a moment."

The moment Ziva heard the door click shut, she withdrew the eyepiece and placed her mouth to the hole. "Tony," she whispered hoarsely.

Tony's head snapped up. "Ziva?"

"Shh, Michael does not know I am here. I am in the ceiling."

"Your father has put out a contract on you."

"So I heard. I recognized the man they sent. Michael is meeting with him as we speak. I will take care of it."

"Ziva," Tony whispered urgently.

"What?"

"Are you still wearing the nurse's uniform?"

"No!" Tony smirked at her exasperation. "Apologize to McGee for me," she said, deftly closing her access hole.

Ziva was waiting in an alley a few meters from his usual mid-morning coffee haunt. He never saw her coming.

Her mind whirled as she slid his body behind a dumpster: this would not stop here. Dropping the body unceremoniously to the ground, she took the only decision left to her; it was time to put her backup plan into motion. At the first public phone box, she made an international call, uttered a single word, and hung up.