A/N:I don't own anything I'm not supposed to. The characters, references, some dialogue + anything else all belong to whomever. Please don't sue me - it is just for fun. The rest came out of my brain.
Sorry, this took longer than I'd hoped to write - horrible, crazy schedule, groan!
I know very little about ships or the U.S. Navy in general. It's fanfic., so some of the descriptions etc., etc., are written to suit my evil purposes!
The usual for the case and background….
"There is nothing quite so good as burial at sea. It is simple, tidy, and not very incriminating."
Alfred Hitchcock
October 2010
Tony would describe himself as curious or inquisitive. Others would describe the trait more critically; he was nosy. The characteristic was a central component in his considerable ability as an investigator. This dedicated aptitude for mysteries served him admirably when applied to solving crimes. Tony noticed the out-of-place, caught anomalies in seemingly ordinary situations. He had an almost unfailing instinct for spotting discrepancies in human behavior - especially in matters of disguised truth. During the past weeks he had observed Ziva's conduct regarding the new man from Miami. Sometimes employing a direct approach, sometimes drawing conclusions from casual remarks she made and sometimes, basically, snooping. Gradually he began forming a sense of the person he had mentally labeled 'the Unsub.' It wasn't a particularly flattering term – more frequently associated with sinister strangers and unhinged killers. Tony stuck carefully with clever nicknames whenever discussing the matter with Ziva.
Thus far he had discovered the man was older than Ziva – apparently by some margin - and his occupation required a certain level of security clearance. The first conclusion was, in actual fact, quite a promising revelation; the second less so. Tony's shadowy suspicion remained. Although unable to isolate the precise reason, the little ripple of concern lapped, periodically, at the periphery of his thoughts. They emailed each other – a lot. However, as far as Tony could tell, Ziva hadn't seen the unnamed friend since her return from Florida. His process of deduction involved several minor skirmishes which, if nothing else, underscored Tony and Ziva's unique talent for achieving stubborn stalemate over the simplest of issues. Following one such squabble, Ziva had suggested Tony could have read the emails – if only he had sought permission. His willingly optimistic assumption was the contents were fairly innocent and non-incriminating.
"The SecNav does not want to have to turn this ship around. Get in, get it done and try to avoid a public relations disaster."
Director Vance's emphatic words reverberated in their heads as Tony and Ziva ducked under the still whirring blades of the helicopter and ran across the flight deck of the supercarrier. Special Agent Nichola Lewis waited for them at one side – a mixture of relief and worry on her face.
"Agents DiNozzo and David?" The young woman's inquiry was shouted over the rhythmic whump of rotors as the chopper maneuvered elsewhere and the busy operations continued. "Nicky Lewis."
"Hi, Tony DiNozzo." – The dazzling smile flashed before vanishing into an eye roll under the deafening noise. "This is my partner, Zee-vah David."
Ziva's greeting was a nod – words would be wasted. The group turned and entered the base of the island, making their way down several levels. It was marginally quieter below decks; though the intermittent roar of circuits and bumps still erupted. Furthermore, here the din was augmented by the steady hum of machinery and multitude of sounds generated by a small ocean-going city.
"Man, am I glad to see you guys." – Reaching her quarters, Lewis began an eager welcome. "At least I think I am." She smiled quizzically at Tony.
"Yeah, you're glad to see us." Tony's grin was full of understanding reassurance.
She was slightly sturdy in build - pretty with short dark hair and blue eyes which currently held self-doubt.
"I mean the Director sent you and that can't be good, there's the journalist." She glanced apologetically between them. "We've been away for six months, now there's this death and…"
"Sitrep?" - This time his voice was firmer; interrupting the distracted explanation of the irrelevant.
The ship was returning from deployment by way of a brief humanitarian trip in the Caribbean. A late hurricane in the area had brought torrential rain, deluging floods and mudslides to one of the smaller islands. En route to Norfolk – after months at sea - the carrier had sailed around most of the inclement conditions bearing welcome Search and Rescue capabilities and other practical assistance. The generosity of those who serve illustrated by delaying the longed for rendezvous with home – in order to lend a helping hand.
Tony's question stopped her superfluous commentary.
"Oh yes, of course." Embarrassment for not immediately starting the debriefing showed.
This was Lewis' first assignment as an Agent Afloat; just under eighteen months out of the Academy and a new promotion to the rank of Special Agent under her belt. She was relatively inexperienced but competent and on course for a promising career.
"We discovered the body three days ago. Her neck was broken. It could have been an accident but the ship's doctor wanted it investigated." She smiled uncertainly. "I haven't found any witnesses."
"Why is the doctor concerned?" Ziva matter-of-factly began an assessment. "Is there any evidence which indicates the fall was not accidental?"
Her rational thought process automatically ignored the appeal in Nicky's comment.
The younger agent looked apprehensively at her reinforcements. The MCRT enjoyed a reputation of either fame or notoriety within NCIS – depending on the perspective – for remarkable devotion to duty, a peerless success rate and exceedingly unorthodox methods. Tony and Ziva were mini celebrities in the fabric of that workplace lore. Tony was sometimes categorized as arrogant, reckless and a womanizer; Ziva as an unstable, unfeeling former assassin.
Then there was the titillating fascination over the partners' relationship. Colorful gossip spanned a broad range of wild conjecture. At one extreme Gibbs spent his energies preventing the two from killing each other on a near daily basis. On the other, the legendary leader was permanently thwarting an on-going, torrid liaison. Nicky was smart enough to realize the truth was unknown and probably lay somewhere in the middle. Nevertheless, it was intimidating to be facing two thirds of Leroy Jethro Gibbs' crack unit – especially this pair - whilst armed with less than satisfactory answers.
"Just the way she landed at the bottom of the companionway. It looked odd, like she fell through the gap – that wouldn't make sense."
Nicky shrugged uncertainly; unsure if Ziva was unfriendly or dauntingly uber-professional. "Maybe I missed something."
Tony picked up on the anxiety caused by Ziva's somewhat challenged interpersonal skills.
"Background on Petty Officer Taylor?" - Drawing the Junior Agent's focus to the case details - away from perceived offense - for a support mechanism.
Nicky responded to the nudge.
"She was in the Supply Dept., good at her job. There were no problems reported." She looked at Tony. "She was…." - Pausing because the young woman was dead and it seemed disrespectful, somehow, to offer harsh realities. "A ton of people knew her, none of them very well. I think she was….tolerated."
"Not liked then?" Tony flatly stated the fact.
Ziva bit back a smile at Tony's unconscious channeling of his boss' manner. The steady, short inquiries were distinctly 'Gibbsian' in quality.
"No, she wasn't really." Nicky shook her head in agreement.
"Was there anyone to whom she was close?" Ziva's smile lingered in her voice and she appeared warmer. "Or anyone she had trouble with openly?"
"A few….although close isn't how I'd describe them." - Gratefully receiving the thawed mood. "She'd had fights with several people and then there's this…."
Walking over to the desk, Nicky flipped open her laptop and cued video footage.
The three of them watched an F/A-18 Super Hornet approach for a landing and then abort at the last minute because of personnel on the flight deck.
"The pilot was seen arguing with Petty Officer Taylor a couple of days before this incident. That's her, right there." – Waving her hand at the screen. "You can see the camera's showing F; he shouldn't have tried to set down with a Foul signal. I mean it was reviewed and no action taken but…."
Tony screwed up his face, skepticism evident. "I can think of easier, more effective ways of killing someone than parking a fighter on top of them."
"I know." The Junior Agent admitted. "The thing is Petty Officer Taylor shouldn't have been up there. She wasn't cleared for that area."
There was touch of defensive pride in making the point. Lewis knew her stuff and had followed procedure. "When I questioned her about it, she said she had a meeting with someone. She didn't – at least not officially."
"She worked in Supply." Tony stared at the screen speculatively. "That's gotta be the key."
Tony and Ziva were facing each other each other. "What are you thinking?"
Immediately recognizing his expression and knowing he had formed a theory, Ziva requested the direction in which Tony's intuition was taking him. And Nicky – left in McGee's usual place - saw her first glimpse of Tony and Ziva's special rapport.
"Supply Clerks, they're like the Concierge at a good hotel." Tony started his explanation. "You know, that guy who can get you anything you want."
He cocked his head. "For a price: tickets to the game, an impossible dinner reservation. Hookers." His last item added with effortless charm - ever the playboy for an audience. "Taylor was well-known but unpopular. I'll bet she was supplying more than duty requirements."
Ziva didn't question his hunch. "We need to discover what and to whom." She turned towards Nicky. "Do you have any suspects?"
"The pilot, it was a pretty bad argument." Hastily rifling through papers, aware her desk was a mess, she located her notebook. "And…only one other. He's one of the Fire Control Techs."
Tony scribbled down the name, tore the page out and handed it to Ziva. "We'll go talk to the throttle jockey. You take this guy."
Special Agent Lewis was relieved by the efficient assistance.
"There's a lot of people on board – about five thousand. I don't know how we'll narrow the search if I'm wrong about these two." The note of defeated worry crept into her tone.
"Same as we'd do in a town. Means, motive and opportunity." Tony boosted her confidence again.
"I should update Mr. Butler." Nicky reminded them of the second reason Tony and Ziva were parachuted in from D.C. "The Post reporter?"
A journalist had been embedded with the ship for the duration of its mission. Covering all angles of life on a U.S. Naval aircraft carrier in blogs and Op-ed articles; fostering the support of folks back home for their defenders. The extension of the deployment, to aid the stricken islanders, was the sort of coup which would be considered a gift in terms of favorable reporting. Now the positive publicity might be marred by an unexplained death and a stalled investigation. Vance had instigated corrective measures at the behest of the SecNav.
"Fuck." Tony grimaced. "I'd forgotten the goddamned hack."
As they walked down the crowded, narrow passageways, a routine drill was occurring. Boots thumped, pounding overhead as crew members rushed purposefully to their posts. Hatchway covers clanged and banged. A volley of gunfire erupted from the practice range; the sound of the shots echoing and bouncing off the metal surfaces. Tony glanced at Ziva and noticed the strained tension flickering suddenly across her face.
"He's pestering me for answers." Initially, Mr. Butler agreed upon co-operative silence - until the facts were determined. However, the possibility of a dramatic scoop loomed and he was growing impatient.
"Yeah, well, he can wait." Tony was scrutinizing Ziva who seemed pre-occupied, distant.
Nicky realized this was a firsthand display of another aspect to Tony and Ziva's instinctive, incomprehensible behavior. Although Tony was carrying on a conversation with her, his attention and gaze were focused solely on Ziva.
"He wants to write this up - says we can't restrict the freedom of the press." - Intrigued by her observations.
Tony's eyes never left Ziva even whilst dismissing Nicky's concerns. "There's nothing to restrict. We don't know anything."
"He's threatening to go ahead and file a story. You guys are here because the Director doesn't want it to look bad." Lewis was candid in conceding the necessary addition of seasoned help. "He gave me a really hard time about the bad publicity…"
"You're doing fine." He soothed absentmindedly, still concentrating on Ziva.
"Crazy Ninja runs amok is a terrible headline." Tony grinned wolfishly as his remark produced the desired result. "Vance just wants us Field Agents to stop Probationary Agent David from shooting or otherwise maiming anyone."
Ziva's expression eased and she returned the smile.
"NCIS Agent falls overboard might be less damaging." Her deadpan threat was a playful acknowledgement - that she had sensed his concern. "How well do you swim Tony?"
Despite not fully understanding what was causing their reactions to each other, Nicky was amazed by the perpetual shifts in the interaction. Transposing, in a matter of minutes, from case based through a hidden trial to lighthearted – all achieved by unspoken, almost telepathic, messaging.
"Well the zipper-suited-Sun-god didn't do it." Tony had tracked down Ziva. "He was jerking off at Mach One when Taylor died."
She was leaning against a railing on the island, pensively scanning the Occident and watching the ocean.
He and Lewis had concluded their interview with the surly, conceited F/A-18 pilot. The antipathy for the Petty Officer was undisputed. His rationale outlined no further than the deceased was a conniving bitch. However, Tony's derision of the aviator's mindset was a simply a release for frustration because the alibi was irrefutable.
Standing alongside Ziva, Tony appeared absorbed by the workings of the flight deck as the personnel prepared for the night. The last occasion she'd been on a ship there had been a firefight, a murder and a deceptive scuttling – clearly the earlier commotion had triggered introspection.
"It was weird, you know, thinking you'd drowned." – Deliberately not looking directly at Ziva, he tentatively tried accessing her thoughts. "Like….like the imperfect storm had got you."
Weird was a curiously impotent word for chronicling the experience. A more accurate depiction would be raw, undiluted pain. Without warning Tony had found himself positioned on the other side of the equation. He shared the suffering of victims' friends and family distraught over the unknown fate or final moments of their loved ones. The advice he had so freely dispensed over the years – resist dwelling on the specifics because it only exacerbates the anguish – was utterly useless. His heart had shunned the platitudes and phrases in favor of endlessly wondering exactly how she'd died, where and why. Whether she had been caught inside the submerging vessel or battered into exhaustion by huge waves.
The scenarios invaded his sleep. Ziva trapped in total darkness. Gasping for air as water filled her lungs through a panicked, distressed descent into oblivion. Other times, in his mind's eye, she was floating on a beautiful and calm sea - under a perfect blue sky. Tony would reach out and Ziva would slip away - his very own pale, lifeless Ophelia. Then he would jolt awake and, regardless of how dreadful the dream, the torment of reality was far worse – amplified by the constraints of speaking in generalizations about the team's loss.
She glanced quickly at Tony in appreciation; he didn't need to ask.
"I did not think anyone at NCIS would ever hear of the Damocles." – Fixing her eyes on the sun dipping below the horizon. "That you would be tracking the ship."
She had filled the empty, desolate hours in a variety of ways. However, rescue by Tony had never manifested as means of distraction. A punishing regimen of exercise – maintaining her physical fitness - until the effects of continued brutality and poor diet took their toll. Practicing conversations in all her languages and re-reading books in her head; any mental stimulus used in fighting the inexorable dulling of her skill set and intellectual agility. Ziva formulated strategies for attacking the camp or plotting an escape. Even inventing origin stories for her captors - before grinding isolation, degradation and despair eroded her spirit.
Since Ziva didn't shut him down, Tony pursued the fragile overture.
"It was the last known location we had for you; Tim, Abby and me." – Including their colleagues and stressing their commitment in careful deflection from a personal obsession with her whereabouts. "Christ, Abby and McGee hacked Mossad."
She turned around from surveying the vast expanse of rolling water.
"Sometimes I wondered what you….all of you, were doing. I imagined what the cases under investigation might be." - Following his example and detaching any individual involvements. "It was helpful."
Helpful was another unsatisfactory word; as equally defective for conveying the truth as Tony's claim of weird. A natural consequence of misfortune is the human capacity for revisiting happy memories and seeking refuge in the securities they provide. During Ziva's imprisonment the comfort derived from reflecting on her associations and life at NCIS was dissipated by an additional sharp layer of remorse and confusion. Merciless interrogation on the organization had emphasized both the shattered link and the strength of her connection. She was especially vulnerable on the issue of Tony. Struggling to withstand the differing techniques and assaults well beyond the limits of her endurance - to protect the team, him.
"You didn't think we'd be in contact after….just 'cause you'd gone home?" Realizing 'we' was ambiguous, Tony didn't wait for a reply. "Then Gibbs told us about the sinking."
He grinned fleetingly at his boss' unfailing gut. "Though I still haven't figured out how he knew we were on it."
"And you believed the story?" It was a peculiar concept; hearing how the news of one's death had been received.
"Oh yeah." His comment was tinged with wry sincerity. "No survivors is pretty definitive. 'Cept I don't think Gibbs ever bought it. Some stuff didn't add up."
Tony omitted his own questioning of the theory. Once the shock – and first few difficult nights of nutritional liquor consumption – had worn off, his talent for puzzles activated. Tony constructed a life-raft from the flotsam and jetsam of fragmentary intelligence. Dunham's accounts of a possible female captive and increased Mossad activity in the vicinity buoyed his disbelief. There was the glaring absence of any official notification. In Tony's estimation, her father's blood ran at a temperature roughly equivalent to that of liquid Nitrogen. Nevertheless, he was certain if Ziva had been killed in the line of duty there would be some type of announcement.
"It seems we were not as untraceable as we supposed." Ruefully amused, Ziva was both interested and reticent. "Which pieces were wrong?"
The ruse had been a created by altered circumstances and designed for disguise. Her operational self wished to isolate flaws in the tactic – for future reference. Moreover another, repressed, part of her psyche was being drawn into this subtle exchange - controlled emotions slipping their bonds and involuntarily engaging with Tony.
Tony was more than slightly stunned the dialogue wasn't already dead in the water. "I guess 'cause there was no proof – nothing - not from Vance or even Eli."
He leaned further over the rail, gazing down at the gunwale – lost in recollection.
"I was expecting confirmation. Or recognition you'd been part of NCIS. I mean, when the retired ones croak they tell us. If it was true….if you were…." After more than a year he still had trouble - an irrational superstition - over verbalizing the event.
Tony shrugged – striving to hold a casual line. "So the geek club kept trying to finding you."
"Gibbs told me the mission was your idea." Ziva raised an inquiring eyebrow. His neutrality was cast a little too obviously this time.
In a tranquil backwater of his subconscious, beneath all the relatively sensible evidence that Ziva might be alive, had drifted a foolish, fanciful hope. That if she were dead, he would know with absolutely no doubt whatsoever – because he would feel it. Rationally, the notion was a classic stage for the bereaved. Denial dressed as faith. Yet this agnosticism on the accepted doctrine of Ziva's demise had fuelled his actions. Tony had never spoken about the subject. He had barely identified its significance internally. However, the perception had been so strong Tony had worried he wouldn't be sufficiently convincing for his showdown with Saleem - a crucial component in the scheme. The terrorist must be goaded into producing his valuable prisoner – to revel in his enemies' errors - so there would be as little delay as possible in Ziva's retrieval.
Her rebuttal was totally unexpected. "Yeah, kinda." Tony hedged. "It was….tough." He hesitated. "On everyone." - Shying away from exposing the trickily personal, nebulous element.
"I am sorry." – Running her thumb in a circle around a raised nut in the metal barrier, Ziva offered a grave, caring apology.
"For what? Not drowning?" Tony's quiet joke belied the intense atmosphere.
A chance of a breakthrough – understanding - hovered elusively in the encounter. Their eyes locked.
Ziva shook her head with a faint smile. "For….doubting you; accusing you."
She wanted to say 'for hurting you' – because that confession would be the truth. Unfortunately, like Tony, she settled on avoidance. Acceding to the principle she had hurt Tony and regretted that hurt, laid bare disconcerting feelings. There was steadiness in clinging to the standard excuse afforded by professional collegiality. Tacit admission they possessed the power of inflicting that sort of emotional harm upon each other would act like an existential quantifier. It would be an explicit statement; testimony of a relationship which far surpassed that of co-workers or even extremely good friends. Ziva smothered her impulse, broke the eye contact and refocused on the case and safety.
"I interviewed Petty Officer Jeremy Carter. He claims he was playing cards with six friends." There was a hint of awkwardness in the switch of topics – aware Tony would recognize retreat.
"His shipmates remember his presence for part of the game. One suggested I check the fan room roster." She looked up, her expression appealing for a reprieve on the evasion. "I have not been able to locate such a room."
Briefly Tony considered forestalling her escape. Relenting in the sure knowledge exerting pressure would trip Ziva's defenses - which would likely spark a quarrel. The discussion was inconclusive but could be construed as dimly positive.
"Well that's 'cause it doesn't exist." – Grinning because one of the sailors had sent Ziva on a snipe hunt. Unfamiliar with her temperament, it was a move the man might regret later.
"Why would his friends lie?" Ziva asked indignantly – realizing she'd been misled.
"Not lie really; it's like a code. The Fan room, X-ray room's another word for it - they're someplace you go if you want a little privacy." Tony suppressed laughter at her growing outrage.
"Carter wanted privacy. Espionage perhaps?" Ziva missed Tony's point completely. "Drugs? Sabotage?…."
"It's more specific than that." He interrupted the sensible reasoning.
"It's…uh….It means for sex Zee-vah; if you wanna be alone with someone." He cocked his head, still amused. "They were trying to tell you Carter's sleeping around – without actually snitching."
"Oh."
There was a moment's silence whilst Ziva assimilated the implications; vexed by revealed näiveté, impressed with Tony's insider experience about shipboard life. And newly curious about precisely how he'd spent his spare time as Agent Afloat. She gave him a searching look which he returned – shameless charm daring her to ask.
Clearly he could read her thoughts and Ziva decided against giving him the satisfaction of a reaction. "Do you think he was involved with Taylor?"
"Maybe." Tony was slightly disappointed Ziva hadn't taken the bait.
"Supply Clerks organize the guest berths, like where we're sleeping. There's usually a side-line business. In my day…." – Pausing for creation of just the right amount of innuendo.
"Fifty bucks'd get you access for starters and it'd be a lot more…." He grinned wickedly. "For all night."
"We should consult Special Agent Lewis." – Steadfastly ignoring the invite. "Then we can question Carter again."
"OK." Tony nodded, looking at his watch. "We're due to check with civilization in about half an hour anyway."
"Where is Special Agent Lewis?" Ziva looked up from the crime scene photos. "I thought she was joining us."
Sitting in her quarters after dinner and the video conference with the Navy Yard, Tony and Ziva were reviewing the evidence. The update to H.Q. had been disheartening. Gibbs was comfortingly taciturn. The body had been shipped Stateside for Ducky and Abby's expertise – the results of which were still pending. Vance was grimly chafing for a swift wrap up. Despite the fact no-one could – as yet - definitively prove the death was criminal.
"She's got a backlog of paperwork." Tony was lying on one of the bunks, vaguely bored with the lack of concrete progress. "You saw her desk. Told her we'd kick this around and see if we could come up with anything."
Ziva tilted her head thoughtfully. "You are being very…." – Carefully selecting the appropriate word. "Lenient with her, Tony."
He sat up, gauging if Ziva was accusing him or merely passing a comment. "Yeah, she's a rookie."
"You were not so welcoming when I was a rookie." She closed the file and snapped the cap onto her pen.
"If you were ever a rookie you'd 've been about twelve. Zee-vah David: the Agent Prodigy, remember?" The affectionate reference to a stolen childhood covered his surprise at Ziva's frank declaration.
"Besides, it isn't the same. You were…." He ran a hand along his jaw - thinking of a suitable, yet innocuous description.
"In the employ of a foreign government?" Ziva smiled as she supplied the accurate detail. "A spy?"
There was a purpose in Ziva's analysis. Prompted by their late afternoon talk – by the unresolved disquiet engendered - she was classifying the evolution of the relationship. It was a pitifully logical attempt to retrace the tendrils of their entanglement for deeper comprehension; which, for Ziva, denoted regulated order and tighter control.
"Well, I was gonna say different but yeah, I'll give you that." Tony opted for meeting honesty with guarded honesty - uncertain of her motivations.
"You were….unpredictable, wilder. Actually, feral's more like it." - His grin taking the sting out of the amendment. "I didn't trust you, Zee-vah."
It was awfully simple to hang all the turmoil and conflict around the innocent neck of an uneasy alliance. Their clashing personalities and egos forced into coping under the handicap of natural mistrust. Instant, fundamental attraction transforming, with breathtaking speed, into a complex, intangible love-affair was a much more dangerous proposition; a conclusion which was to be overlooked at all costs.
"Nor I you." Ziva entered into the bargain of self-delusion.
Tony stood up and stretched. "You've gotta feel sorry for Lewis." - Re-directing the discussion into the original, less unsettling, sphere. "It's a fucking god-awful posting."
Two years after-the-fact and Tony still harbored severe resentment over being sent to sea. He had hated everything about the task.
Ziva laughed. "It cannot have been so unpleasant?"
"You're kidding me, right? A civilian locked in a tin can with thousands of military personnel. Nothing but petty crime."
He started listing the tedious duties. "Gambling, drugs, fights and minor theft." – Waving a hand at the file on Ziva's lap. "Or policing people's sex lives for Christ's sake."
His final grievance reanimated Ziva's earlier ponderings. Curiosity bested caution. "When you were on the carriers did you ever…."
Now a retraction wasn't feasible. Nevertheless, as Tony swung around to face her, Ziva found herself wishing she had exercised restraint. "I wondered if you were involved…had….were seeing anyone?"
"No." He looked quizzically at her.
Somehow they were circling relationships again. Tony felt as if he was taking a test repeatedly; almost like Ziva was expecting a particular answer from him. Either he kept flunking or she wasn't entirely sure of the question.
Part of Tony's unhappiness when Vance had decreed the re-assignment was unadulterated dislike for the job. Tony's opinion encapsulated by the rationale that if he'd wanted to spend time at sea he'd have joined the Navy himself, or taken up cruises - or bought a boat. The anonymous, more significant, complaint was the timing had been lousy – eventually nearly fatal. Immediately prior to Jenny's assassination, it appeared he and Ziva were on the verge of taking a step forward. Even a step sideways seemed a feasible possibility. The dizzying whirlpool swamping them would be quelled. Despite selective blindness to the reasons, Tony hadn't been interested in chasing casual sex. Then they'd been reunited and all hell broke loose shortly thereafter. The parallel with their current set up was uncanny – too uncanny to be acknowledged.
"I looked at the menu. I just didn't wanna order." He shrugged dismissively. "Why'd you…."
There was a knock on the door and a serious young woman walked in. "Are you the cops? The ones here about Taylor's death?" - A touch of scorn edged the name.
"Yes." Ziva answered for both of them. "And you are?"
"María, María Perez." She appeared very young and her uniform bore the insignia of a Hospital Corpsman. "You've been talking to Jay… to Petty Officer Carter?"
Tony and Ziva exchanged an imperceptible look when she slipped up over the name – adding his Rate as a belated nod to formality.
"We are conducting an investigation." Ziva assumed cool authority. "We are not at liberty to disclose details."
María Perez was nervous yet unfazed by the rebuke. "You've talked to him. I don't know what he told you." She twisted her fingers. "He had nothing to do with it."
"And you know this how?" – Tony studied her demeanor.
The nerves became more pronounced. "He wouldn't kill anyone."
As Tony was preparing a sharp put-down, the girl carried on with renewed determination. "Anyway, he was with me."
"Right." – Sarcastic doubt, alerted by the provision of a convenient alibi. "When and where?"
"The whole evening. I went on duty at twenty-two hundred and he was in his quarters before that." Tony glanced at Ziva who nodded – that part of the story checked out.
Ziva's manner became less curt. "Did anyone see you together?"
"We were alone." - Steadily looking her in the eye.
"Where?" Tony prodded for a complete response. It wasn't a case of good cop/bad cop. He was genuinely dubious and it showed.
The unwavering gaze faltered and she hesitated. "Here. We were in here."
Her head dropped and she blushed.
"We will have to verify your account, María." Ziva smiled encouragingly, trying to ease the young woman's discomfort.
The Ensign sighed. "Yes."
"You understand?" Her voice was kinder, more sympathetic – affected by Perez's loyalty. "We will have to reveal what you are saying?"
"Yes." – Resigned toward disciplinary action. "We'll be up on a charge." A plea replaced the anxiety. "Don't talk to Jay tonight?"
Tony cocked his head. "Why not? This is a possible murder." – Unmoved; additionally perturbed by Ziva's gentler approach.
"He's asleep." - Fixing her attention on Ziva, sensing an ally.
"Asleep?" Tony's raised eyebrows and scoffing tone heightened the incredulous query.
He was even more amazed when Ziva hissed his name, in reproach, under her breath.
"Yes. Asleep." María bristled, taking a step nearer to him. "The deck guys, with the extra Ops., they've all been working 'round the clock."
Her gaze reverted to Ziva. "He's exhausted. Please wait until tomorrow?"
Ziva didn't commit. "Do you have any other information for us? Perhaps you knew Petty Officer Taylor?"
"No." Once again animosity bubbled beneath the composure. "I didn't work with her."
She waited for a few moments, anticipating more questions. Instead, Tony motioned at the door with his head.
"OK, thanks for the help." - He turned away from Perez; unsubtly terminating the interview. "We'll be in touch."
After she left, Tony collapsed exaggeratedly against the bunk post, shaking his head - exasperated. "Jesus."
"Do you believe she is telling the truth?" Ziva was fiddling with the files; a singular, earnest quality in her tone.
"Let me go get my badge and gun and we'll see." - Pushing slightly upright.
The prospect of rudely hauling the young man - who at the bare minimum had been economical with the truth - out of bed was distinctly tempting. Ziva moved in front of him and caught his hand in unthinking prevention.
"Tony, he cannot leave." She released his fingers, suddenly self-conscious.
María Perez's guileless defense of her lover had struck an envious chord. A keen pang of an absence in her life startled Ziva. Her realization highlighted by the spontaneous physical touch – which was unnerving. "It can wait until the morning?"
The departing storm had bequeathed churning, mildly heavy seas in its wake; nothing the massive vessel couldn't handle. Sporadically a larger crest would strike, causing a more discernible rocking motion. As one such wave hit, the ship rolled. Tony, whose relaxed pose was already not quite balanced, braced his arm on the rail – otherwise he'd collide with Ziva. It was late and even before the lurch they were situated perilously close to each other.
"I guess so." - Concentrating on how not to concentrate on her proximity.
"You aren't getting domesticated on me, are you?" Tony was half-joking; perplexed at the peculiar softening in Ziva's attitude.
Seized by the disturbing possibility the 'Floridian friend' could have wrought this change in Ziva. The empathy between the two women might be merely an example of his burgeoning influence.
"No." She smiled up at him.
"If we wake him now, we will have to question him now." – Pacing away from Tony, faking a yawn and utilizing commonsense for diversion. "Tomorrow will do."
"Please tell me you have something that's gonna release us from the life aquatic - preferably yesterday."
Standing in the ship's Comms. room Tony was cradling a coffee - trying to appear more awake than he was. Ziva was working out in the gym whilst Tony conducted the hastily arranged conversation.
"Good morning Anthony." Ducky's cheery voice and smile beamed out of the screen. "Do I detect yearning for terra firma? Winston Churchill is alleged to have described the Royal Navy as nothing but rum, sodomy and the lash. Although some sources do suggest he included prayer…"
Tony pulled a face. "Uh Ducky? It's three minutes after six." - Interrupting the anecdote before the M.E.'s penchant for tangents gathered momentum. "Too early for rum and I'll pass on the rest, thanks."
"Ah, of course. Well there is no sign of any of those vices in our Petty Officer." Ducky methodically imparted his findings. "No alcohol or other substances. No physical injuries to speak of. The Sawbones was quite correct; a broken neck was cause of death."
He noticed Tony's disappointed expression. "There were traces of skin under the fingernails of her left hand. Insufficient for an easy identification, Abigail is working diligently on the problem. However, I can tell you the DNA belongs to a male."
"Defensive?" Tony hazarded a guess.
"Perhaps." This was the Scotsman's innately polite way of telling Tony he was probably wrong. "There is no indication of a struggle. A more plausible theory might be she grasped at someone."
Tony absorbed the new angle. "So someone pushed her, maybe. Or definitely saw the fall."
Ducky approved Tony's second deduction. "In all likelihood, someone else was present, yes."
"OK." - Grinning appealingly. "Get Abby a gallon of Caf-Pow if she pulls the match today."
He signaled 'cut' for the link just as Nicky joined him. "Anything from the autopsy? Or the lab.? We're not set up for those….."
"Maybe some forensics." Tony's short interjection wasn't homage to Gibbs. Rather it was an attempt to curtail Nicky's bright chirpiness – unwelcome at that hour. "You?"
Heading to meet up with Ziva, the agents swapped developments. Tony's assumption was correct. The victim had been earning a secondary income as a facilitator for any sexual antics, amongst other schemes. Tony's dampening efforts had no effect upon Nicky. He dispatched her to interview more of the crew. Living and working with them for an extended period meant she was familiar with who-knew-who and other insights. There was the added bonus of getting rid of the enthusiastic chatter.
"Petty Officer Jeremy Carter?" Tony tapped him between the shoulder blades. "Special Agent Anthony D. DiNozzo, NCIS, D.C."
When he chose, Tony could adopt an air of hardened, no-nonsense menace. The terse voice, full name and rank were a statement of intent. This was official, serious - Tony didn't want his time wasted.
"You already know Agent David." Another warning – Carter's first responses hadn't been satisfactory. There was an unyielding expectation Carter must improve for this round.
The tall, blonde man turned around. "We should get off here." – Indicating the noisy, busy flight deck.
As they walked toward relative quiet, away from the business end of the ship, Carter peeled off layers of protective gear, wearily rubbing a hand across his forehead. The acrid odor of aviation fuel, oil and sweat hung in the humidity.
"She talked to you. María came to see you, didn't she?" The blunt, direct question was a novel twist.
"Well, you talked to us too, Jeremy." - Quiet taunting in the comment. "Only you weren't telling the truth. Maybe she wasn't either?"
Carter brushed off the accusation. "I told her not to. Said she should stay outta it….but she's worried." A fond smile flashed and disappeared.
"Really?" Tony laughed mockingly. "Why is that?"
Carter stared at Tony. "She doesn't need to be scared, OK?" A Comms. device buzzed in his pocket – nagging for a return to duty. "María's got nothing to do with this."
He wasn't bothered; projecting self-containment and cool. More interested in protecting the girl than refuting any suspicions of culpability.
Ziva was observing him. Noting Carter's concern centered upon the medic - just as María's had for the Fire Control Tech. last night.
"Where were you four nights ago Petty Officer?" She was reserved, less antagonistic than Tony.
For this interrogation, the contrast was deliberate teamwork. "Were you with Ensign Perez?"
Carter fiddled silently with gloves - thinking. Then he glanced away into the distance. Apparently making a choice - assessing the risks and benefits involved.
"Look, I get the need for a little rack PT. Away for months, zero chance of getting laid." Patronizing and sardonic; Tony took advantage of his vacillation. "So you find a clearing barrel, slip Taylor a hundred bucks and…"
Tony's exceptionally nasty, derogatory barb struck its designated target. Aggression boiled; provoked by the labeling of Perez as an easy lay, available for anyone.
"It's not like that, you fucking smug bastard." Carter snapped angrily, stepping forward and getting in Tony's face.
Inwardly, Tony prepared to duck - it looked likely a punch would be thrown. He had calculated the insult; though Tony hadn't gambled on producing such a ferocious reaction. The young man hadn't seemed excessively hot-headed - until that moment.
"OK." - Instantly downplaying the tension with neutral understanding. Tony grabbed Carter's shoulder and firmly pushed him back a couple of paces. "So tell us how it is."
"We were together. I didn't kill Taylor." Defiant resentment still smoldering, he pulled the two-way radio from a pocket. "We done here?"
Tony was amused by the cocky attitude. "No. We're investigating a murder, you dealt with the vic., you lied." - Pausing for the calm lecture to take effect. "Plus it's against regs. - and you know it."
Carter surrendered, holding up the device. "Let me take care of this?" Tony nodded.
Whilst he placated the Air Officer demanding an explanation for his abrupt absence from the flight deck, Tony and Ziva shared a conspiratorial smile. Carter finished his excuses and turned to face them.
"Why did you lie to me?" Ziva re-opened the line of questioning. Total innocence was still not quite established.
"'Cause I've done nothing wrong." The logic was a little fuzzy and he expanded the explanation. "You people know what you're doing, yeah? So you'll figure it out and María's none of your business."
It was a straightforward yet thoroughly convincing pretext. Marginally attached to the death, his primary aim was keeping an illicit relationship secret. Carter's confidence was born out faith in the system. Ironically, Tony adhered to the same belief. When an intern had suggested he could enjoy a more prosperous, more glamorous career in the private sector, Tony's retort was 'then who'd catch the bad guys' – without a trace of sly self-deprecation.
"I am afraid it is our business." Ziva pressed the issue. "Did you see Petty Officer Taylor on the day she died?"
"I saw Taylor around 18:30 that night. I paid her, arranged for the guest quarters. We wanted…." Carter stopped awkwardly.
"Yeah, we got that part." Grinning, Tony filled in the blank.
Carter shook his head. "I told you, it's not like that. I mean it is….that as well. We just wanted to be alone." – Irritation brewing again. "We met at Great Lakes during basic. Stayed in touch, then we were stationed close by and….We've been dating nearly two years. I work up top in crash and smash, she's below with the medics – the rule's dumb."
Ziva frowned, touched by the tale. Living in cramped conditions must be hard enough – the enlisted bunks were stacked in tiers of three, sixty to a compartment. Any chance of solitude or privacy would be valuable commodities – even more so if you were in love. Sex or not, it would be worth paying for a few quiet hours with your girlfriend. Unbidden, recollections of the previous night and Tony - the man, not the colleague – popped into her head.
"'Til there's an accident on the flight deck, something happens to you. Or the hospital takes a hit." Tony injected a dose of unsentimental practicality into the impassioned justification. "And then it's a big problem."
"So it wouldn't be tough if one of my buddies, ones I work alongside all the time, was hurt?" Carter was undeterred, glancing at Ziva.
"Are you telling me you wouldn't be upset if something happened to him?" - Pointing at Tony.
Erroneously presuming they were just partners, the younger man inadvertently drew an unfortunate analogy. Taken aback, Ziva's dissociative façade cracked.
"I….he….Our work….it is different. We are on the same team." Finally stringing together a coherent sentence, she admonished primly. "You are in violation of the Naval Ethics' Code."
He shrugged carelessly. "We've talked about it, faced it this time out." The deployment had taken them to a war-zone.
"We handle working on the same ship – for now anyways." – Smiling diffidently. "I'm gonna propose in a little while."
The two early twenty-somethings were exhibiting a greater level of maturity in conducting their relationship – working and romantic – than Tony and Ziva had ever managed in five years. Partly it was because their situation was less complicated. Mostly it was because they weren't afraid and they didn't communicate via inept encryption or mixed signals.
"Do you know who else might have been contributing to Taylor's fun fund?" Tony dragged the oddly disconcerting discussion on topic.
Ziva's cell rang. "Abby." – Announcing the caller and listening intently to the burbling report before nodding at Tony. "She has a name for us."
The name belonged to a married Junior Officer. Taylor and he had an affair before he moved on to numerous further conquests. Jilted and vengeful, as shore-leave loomed, the Petty Officer threatened to tell his wife – unless he paid for silence. In the course of a highly heated argument, she missed her footing at the top of a companionway and fell. An accident; at least the Lieutenant swore he'd only tried to catch her arm. In truth, no-one could ever be certain which left a bad taste in Tony, Ziva and Nicky Lewis' mouths. The journalist was persuaded a tragic mishap wasn't really worth the column inches; saving lives made for much better press. And Special Agent Lewis concluded the office scuttlebutt didn't do nearly enough justice to whatever was going on, not going on - or both - between Tony and Ziva.
Waiting on the flight deck for the all clear, Tony spotted Carter. Just as readiness was declared, he held up his hand, requesting a few minutes longer. Climbing into the helicopter, Ziva looked over her shoulder and watched them chatting. She could only make out a couple of words; 'Do it right' and C.O.'
"What did you say to him?" Harmless interest initiated the inquiry.
Tony's summary was flippant. "Told him one of them needs to find a new ship or, better yet, another career-path."
"You are a romantic." Her mouth twitched into a smile as she made the proclamation; remarkably delighted by confirmation of a long held suspicion. There was an alter ego beneath Tony's cynical, dissolute shell.
"No, Zee-vah, I'm realistic." Rejecting the compliment, Tony elaborated his objections. "They're gonna get caught. When they do, they get busted down a pay-grade and fined several thousand dollars."
He met Ziva's eyes briefly. "They're pretty much at the bottom as is. It's stupid, that's all." - Blocking any inference of care behind the intervention.
Then Tony leaned forward, staring out of the open door as they lifted airborne. "That's the kinda stuff you think through when you ask someone to marry you."
Ziva contemplated the implications of his foray into responsible, shrewd wisdom. She noted the reflective expression and strange hint of very personal feeling in his voice.
"That and whether she considers a big screen t.v. life-support or a luxury." Tony grinned. "'cause that's a deal-breaker." - Straightening up and leaning into his seat, Tony closed his eyes and the window of Ziva's opportunity.
The tantalizing glimpse into his past, his vulnerable and complex self, vanished before she could connect with him.
The first mistakes: Tony and Ziva should have advanced the intimate discourse opened in the past twenty-four hours. They should have addressed the undertow of latent desire which surfaced in the cabin. They should have broached the subject of Ray or Tony's allusion to near-miss marriage. Instead they deferred; hiding behind deflector shields. Burying the potential for progress and pretending all was well.
Huge thanks for the reviews and alerts. Likes/dislikes, good/bad & other comments are awfully helpful and always encouraging. As ever, make of it what you will and hope you enjoy the read.