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.

OK, chapter six – still setting up the pieces, still with me? I borrowed just a little inspiration from 'Cloak,' 'the Inside Man' - if you'll forgive me.

As always for my stories, I've tried to write what happened to Ziva ambiguously; only Ziva knows!

And the usual for the background details….

"Knowing your own darkness is the best method for dealing with the darkness of other people."

Carl Jung

February 2011

"How are the mighty fallen." Tony followed the police officer into the precinct's interview room, a self-satisfied note of relish in his voice.

"Smile Zee-vah, I've gotta get this for posterity." - Aiming his 'phone as if snapping a picture.

"You are here to secure my release, Tony." Ziva did smile; one infused with the reminder that freedom meant revenge for too much enjoyment of her plight.

Inwardly Tony had flinched at the sight of her seated and bound. She was holding herself ramrod straight, the smile was a little forced. If the scene had triggered a memory for him, it must have done the same for Ziva – in much sharper relief. Making fun of her predicament would allow Ziva to refocus on Tony.

"No hard feelings?" Producing the key, the officer looked at Tony, rather than Ziva, for an affirmative.

Judging from the Federal Agent's attitude toward the woman, he might possess the magic voice of reason. Tony ignored the question.

"We were just responding to a call. We didn't know." The officer continued, removing the cuffs somewhat gingerly.

He stepped back, watching almost in admiration as Tony moved nearer to her, holding out a hand and pulling Ziva upright.

"How many?" Tony asked in mock reproach, looking down at Ziva.

This time her smile was easier, warmer. Although the idea would seem incongruous for such an indisputably dominant male, Tony was never threatened by her exceptional combat skills and Ziva always appreciated the honest esteem.

"Three." - Adding mischievously. "And perhaps one half."

Ziva indicated the policeman who had swelling and the unmistakable beginnings of an impressive bruise above his eye socket. Tony noticed the streaks of mud on Ziva's chin and cheek; the damp splotches on the knees and legs of her cargoes. A temporary warm spell had brought a thaw, the ground was very soggy, slushy and the marks were a testament she'd been forced down whilst being restrained.

Procedurally, an understandable action – one Tony had participated in on countless occasions – and entirely necessary if Ziva was in full Ninja mode. Nevertheless, armed with inside knowledge, Tony wasn't impartial. His irrational opinion of the response to Ziva's fight reflex was disapproval for the local LEOs.

As Tony gently brushed the dried dirt from her face, the cop appealed defensively once more. "Her story didn't check out. She got mad and resisted – with force."

Pondering the reality 'resist' wasn't a sufficiently accurate description of the small whirlwind of fury they'd encountered at the property. "I got one with a broken nose, one with a dislocated wrist and one still at the E.R."

"Yeah?" – Implying he was totally unfazed by the complained list of walking wounded. "That's not 'cause you made her mad…" Tony laughed unkindly. "that's just because she fucking can."

The current investigation had involved an inter-agency territorial dispute and withheld evidence. Gibbs was not a man who respected boundaries which might interfere with prosecution of his duty. Ziva had been assigned to reconnoiter a laboratory – uninvited and after hours. Unilaterally, she proceeded to gain entry and had been discovered by two private security guards – who'd never heard of NCIS and who'd also notified the authorities. Ziva's pretext for being on the premises was flimsy to nonexistent; furthermore, there was an unforeseen glitch. McGee had erased her identity several months earlier – as comprehensively and exhaustively as only McGee could. Apparently her records hadn't been restored with the same due diligence.

When the police ran the preliminary background check, they found Ziva's previous incarnation. And believed they had apprehended a foreign national, at a sensitive location who was pretending to be a Federal Agent. Annoyed by her error, at being caught and puzzled by the official confusion, Ziva's patience had worn thin and - after one shove too many from a zealous officer - snapped. Another had grabbed her shoulder; darkness, perceived attack and instinct completed the furious chain reaction. She'd used her single 'phone call to contact Gibbs – who'd dispatched Tony to sort out the misunderstanding because of his contacts with Metro.

"We've all been here. Remember the car pound?" She was still a little subdued and Tony pointed out occasional wrongful arrest featured as a rite of passage for Team Gibbs.

"I'm amazed you've gone this long without being booked for something." - Maintaining the casual manner. "Moving violations don't count." – Trying to provoke Ziva by referencing her accident record.

He dispensed a dazzling smile at a couple of prostitutes on their way to the holding cells. "Still, this does take me back."

Even when he was a detective, Tony always had a soft spot for the street girls; viewing them more as purveyors of a public service than criminals. They inhabited a perennially dangerous, seedy world and must have been someone's daughter once.

"To last night Tony?" Ziva acidly remarked; catching the direction of his gaze whilst she re-threaded her bootlaces, fastened her belt.

"Someone gets cranky when they're arrested for assault." Tony teased good-naturedly, adding with a smiled flourish. "And, how could I forget, impersonating a Federal Agent. Was it Probationary status or did you go for the full rank?"

She finished signing the necessary documents and collected her weapons.

"I was not impersonating anyone." Irritably putting the knives away and returning her back-up gun to the ankle holster.

Tony leant against the desk, watching Ziva check over her beloved Sig. "That for Timmy's blue screen of death when you corner him? Can I be there when you do?"

Upon hearing Tony's off-hand question, the Booking Clerk glanced furtively at Ziva as she handled the firearm. Given her arsenal and the injuries inflicted on his fellow cops, the man was beginning to grasp why the arresting officer had insisted she was kept isolated and hand-cuffed until satisfactory explanations, bail or formal charges were forthcoming. Ziva was still oddly uncommunicative.

"Look Vance'll make the charges disappear and McGee'll get the record straightened out." Tony guided them towards the main entrance. "Of course, it was McDoomed's fault in the first place so I understand if your faith's a little shaky."

Ziva shook her head. "This was not McGee's fault."

Then she sighed wearily, a wistful note in her tone. "If only it were that simple to make one's history vanish, by pushing a button."

"What d'you mean?" The comment brought Tony up short and he shot a searching look at Ziva.

"Nothing." She walked ahead of him, coolly dismissing his curiosity. "It was a general observation."

The barrier locked into position; whatever thought had prompted her mood was swiftly banished. Tony drew level. He suspected if he pushed the subject, Ziva's already taxed temper would flare. And it was nearly one o'clock in the morning, hardly the best time for initiating any type of discussion. Yet he was reluctant to just drive her home and leave Ziva fretting over an unknown phantom.

"Please, for the love of god Zee-vah, think of the children." Tony raised his voice slightly, sounding like a pleading spouse at the end of his tether.

"Street-walking?" - Ensuring the respectable citizenry reporting stolen cars, reclaiming lost belongings or complaining about noisy neighbors could hear the commentary. "I'm always down here in the middle of night, bailing you out…."

"Ow." Ziva ended the theatrical performance by giving him a mildly dead arm and a playful smile. The unhappy shadow had lightened.

Tony grinned; rubbing his bicep and holding the door open for Ziva with his back. "What were you picked up for again?"

McGee was aghast when briefed on the error; equally horrified by any professional incompetence on his part and terrified by the possibility of retribution from Ziva. Not to mention the mix-up provided Tony with plenty of fresh ammunition. Additionally, the Junior Agent was enmeshed in his own identity crisis. Whilst Ziva's information was incomplete on some databases – trapped in cyber limbo – McGee's identity was truly absent without leave. It had been stolen and his finances were bearing the brunt.

The newest case veered between advances or set back. Starting with a murder and missing family – safely found. Then the sorrowful widow was distinctly not and the corpse belonged to a wife-beater. The evidence was suggesting one of those depressing crimes which the MCRT found morally justifiable but legally wrong nonetheless.

"Is she up to it?" Gibbs stared at Ducky. The proposed strategy was intelligent and might yield results – it was also laced with unavoidable unpleasantness.

Ducky nodded. "I believe so." He closed a drawer. "I'm not saying it won't come at a price, Jethro - merely that Ziva's background may resonate with Gunnery Sergeant Wooten."

"And if it doesn't, she'll pay the price anyway." The former Marine shook his head in stating the downside.

Gibbs' dilemma was a difficult one. He maintained faithful vigilance over the well-being of his team. In essence, they were his family and Gibbs filled an understated – though deeply important - fatherly role for all of his people. Where matters concerned Abby or Ziva, he achieved a special blend of enlightened respect and old-fashioned protection. However, currently, helping another woman in trouble required asking Ziva to draw upon her own ordeal.

"She is already bearing the cost." Ducky broke into the contemplation.

"You and I can only speculate as to her experiences. We can observe their toll. Opening up to someone might, perhaps, be beneficial for Ziva also." - Tactfully suggesting a novel therapy.

On his way to the squad room, Gibbs pondered his friend's advice and a separate factor. Psychological insight was one of Ducky's areas of expertise and his judgments were usually extremely reliable.

"Ziva." – Calling her over to his desk.

"Go talk to Georgia Wooten, see if she'll admit the abuse to you." Sympathetic blue eyes conveyed the unspoken message he knew what the gruff order entailed. And his half smile revealed gratitude for her quiet nod of compliance.

Ziva headed for the elevator, there was a pause before Gibbs glanced across the bull-pen and instructed. "DiNozzo, go with her. Wait in the car."

The second part of Gibbs' musings; he had considered accompanying Ziva himself because they shared a close bond. Although, the two women would need privacy for the delicate interview, he didn't want Ziva facing any potential fall-out alone. After further thought, Gibbs had conceded Tony's connection to Ziva was on a different, much deeper level.

He was neither unseeing, nor mentally deficient, nor insensitive. Moreover, Leroy Jethro Gibbs carried extensive personal experience of love in all its guises – from wondrous joy to disastrous enmity – as a legacy. Tony and Ziva perpetually teetered on the brink of either outcome and Gibbs was convinced one day they would fall – he just wasn't sure, yet, in which direction. Willful promotion of the relationship might lay the groundwork for future problems. That worry would keep for another time; today care for his team took priority.

Ziva walked down the pathway leading from Georgia Wooten's front door. She halted, on the point of turning back and making a second attempt; Gibbs' plan had nearly worked. When Ziva partially expressed her struggle, explained that she understood Georgia's pain and what the consequence were, the Gunnery Sergeant had lowered her guard. There had been a fleeting moment of recognition and empathy; which caused Ziva's withdrawal.

The hasty, clumsy reference to seeking revenge – a hard, practical quest – was induced by panic. That Georgia would ask how Ziva knew. That she would have to confront the roiling mess of images and feelings raging in her head. That she would have to relive the memories, confess their existence and, thereby, expose frailty.

Tony sat in the vehicle, watching the indecision play out before Ziva resumed her departure. Gibbs hadn't articulated the rationale for Tony's inactive presence – such a measure was unnecessary, Tony could read his boss' intention. The visit hadn't lasted long and he guessed Ziva's effort was unsuccessful. He didn't need to guess that she was rattled. He was certain; because of the way she was moving and the set expression on her face. Tony got out of the car, swapping into the driver's side.

"Jesus, do you sit in front of the steering wheel?" – Grinning and sliding the seat back for leg room.

Ziva gave him a wan smile as she sat down. Significantly, she didn't protest the rearrangement.

"So what'd she say?" Tony kept the inquiry on the topic of Georgia Wooten – not Ziva.

She shook her head. "Nothing. I failed."

"You didn't fail, Zee-vah." - Starting the engine and quietly denying her ownership of fault. "She chose not to open up."

The return drive was virtually silent. Tony threw out the odd comment – unrelated to the journey's original aim – and Ziva would answer, staring steadily out of the side window. When they arrived back at the Navy Yard, Tony wandered out onto the campus park, away from the buildings.

"Where are you going?" She didn't follow immediately.

He waved his arm at the coffee stand. "Coffee run. We're out here, might as well pick up a round." – Taking a place in line and calling over his shoulder. "Want anything?"

Slowly Ziva joined him, pensively gazing at the river.

"What's that god awful slop McFussy always gets?" - A trace of joking revulsion in his voice.

She wasn't listening and Tony knew she wasn't listening; he also knew McGee's taste in coffee. It was smartly done. Ziva remained pale and preoccupied; casually Tony was offering her breathing room – a chance for reasserting composure. And he was hoping Ziva might be coaxed into addressing the underlying problem thus permitting alleviation of her stress. He handed her the cardboard holder whilst pulling out his wallet and paying.

"She will not confide in us." Ziva took her drink as he retrieved the tray.

Tony walked over to a bench – situated about halfway between the coffee shop and the office. Placing the tray on the seat - ostensibly to check the order.

"Maybe she doesn't want us involved." – Sticking his wallet inside his jacket pocket, straightening up. "She could've had enough and killed him."

Ziva trailed behind; torn between running from discomforting territory and seeking respite from agitation.

"I do not believe she did." She looked at Tony uncertainly. "Georgia Wooten is closed down but I do not think that is the reason."

Tony pried the lid off the coffee, splashing some onto his fingers. "Shit, that's hot." - Shaking the liquid off his hand and shooting a quizzical look at Ziva. "Then it's something else."

He rested against the back of the bench seat; waiting to see whether Ziva would pursue the issue – so far, at least, she hadn't bolted.

"She will not accept help." Ziva was pacing a small, irregular orbit, gripping the cup in her hands. "She is too strong-willed, independent."

Tony looked at her directly and cocked his head. "She's like you, Zee-vah, wants to deal with it her way."

The similarity was drawn as a nonchalant observation, worried about spooking Ziva. 'Tali had compassion. She was the best of us.' Ziva had once told him. It wasn't that Ziva lacked compassion; she simply didn't know what to do with it. The Gunnery Sergeant's suffering had touched this instinct and the disturbance was magnified by Ziva's own wounds. Like the Marine, Ziva projected outward strength to conceal fragility – and Tony understood. Moreover, he suspected her arrest had combined with the abused Marine's story and formed an unholy alliance.

"He was her husband." She stepped back a little. "I accepted the possible scenario, was trained for…."

"Don't let Gibbs hear you saying the Corps. doesn't train its women properly." - Interrupting the illogical rationale with an easy smile.

Ziva paused, a puzzled look in her eyes. "I volunteered."

"Did you?" He held her gaze and posed the question with quiet intensity.

She tensed, flexing the fingers on one hand. "Yes. My situation was different. I am not the same."

Tony didn't say anything for a few minutes, debating an alternate angle. Ziva was rejecting a direct link with beaten, subjugated woman; shying away from his first approach.

"What does the senior, who's been mugged, have in common with someone who's being beaten up?" Tony glanced away, thinking of suitable items for his list. "Or had a home invasion or had the shit kicked out of them in a bar brawl?"

"They are all the victims of criminal activity." Ziva's answer was prompt and very typical.

"Apart from that." - Wryly amused; she could be frustratingly literal at times.

"Violence? Injuries?" She shrugged; a faint smile on her lips. "Bad luck?" Even when he was being serious, Tony could be flippant, occasionally, in a theory's delivery.

"They'll all give you an excuse." He had been a cop for a long time and was using the experiences as a method for accessing Ziva's anxiety. She was obviously interested on some level.

"They shouldn't have taken the short-cut, dated the guy or whatever." Tony expanded the notion. "It's a kinda standard reaction to fear…."

"No, not fear." Ziva stiffened and her eyes flashed in cutting off the depiction. "It has nothing to do with fear, Tony." - Spitting out the denial and stalking away.

Tony mentally head slapped himself for not paying greater attention in selecting the word. Ziva didn't acknowledge fear; she had a hard enough time managing regular feelings. Fear dictated confusion, vulnerability and it was rigidly suppressed. Seizing the ill-judged remark and taking refuge in anger, she could justify fleeing from the distressing familiarity of Georgia Wooten's psyche.

"Fuck." - Under his breath, a heartfelt mix of exasperation and annoyance at his stupidity. He let her go.

Ziva stormed past a trash can, tossing in the nearly full cup with some force. She was unnerved by the interaction with the Marine, by Tony's concerned double view; the association of Georgia and herself. She was even more disconcerted that she derived a solid reassurance from his intuition.

Ziva craved his ability to read her apprehensions; Tony's allusion to being frightened wasn't completely inaccurate. Gradually, she stopped, turned and walked back to the bench.

"I'm not buying you another coffee." The ghost of a grin framed the charming olive branch.

Reciprocating the smile and proffered peace, Ziva perched next to him, cautiously asking her question. "She is safe now. Why would you say it was fear?"

Tony stared out at the park, constructing a neutral reply.

"Maybe not fear exactly. She doesn't want anyone to know. And if the fucking son-of-a-bitch hadn't shown up dead, if she'd found another way out, that'd be OK." His voice was harsh; Tony despised abusers of all kinds.

"Gunnery Sergeant Wooten will not let us help because she is afraid of what people will think." Ziva considered the implication.

"Yeah." Tony nodded agreement of the hypothesis. "You know, vics. have to tell a whole bunch of strangers what happened. Face it all over again. Cops ask them to repeat the story 'cause we need verification of the facts. Crime scene guys crawl all over their house."

The illustrations were very deliberately compiled and carefully avoided personalized examples. If she wanted, Ziva could maintain a comfortable distance from any disquiet.

"Or their clothes and stuff get taken as evidence. The system sorta makes it worse." He paused to see if Ziva would comment.

"If they have to go to the hospital, it's the same deal." Tony cleared his throat, rolling a pebble with his foot.

"Whether it's broken bones, or a kit and exam..." - Trying to cancel the vision of Ziva in freshly procured fatigues. "Or stitches.

"Or they just need checking over." – Steadfastly holding the matter-of-fact, calm tone.

It had been a brief glimpse - in the hospital at the military base - she'd lost weight and had appeared heart-breakingly small. The effect heightened because Gibbs had requested over-sized clothing; the loose fit would be kinder on stiff joints, painful bruises and inflamed skin. Their boss was prone to moments of astonishingly considerate, inspired thinking.

Tony glanced at Ziva, gauging her demeanor – which was more relaxed, less fraught. "She doesn't want that kinda interference. Or she's guilty."

She twisted a button on her coat. "She would like to forget or hide from what he did."

Ziva thought about the woman's trips to multiple Emergency Rooms and Walk-In Medical Centers – never the same location. The desperate desire to preserve shreds of dignity, cover shame and retain custody of her son.

"No-one wishes to be perceived as a victim, Tony." Ziva warily edged nearer the darkness. "To appear weak."

"Doesn't mean someone's weak, just human; it's a control thing." Tony hesitated over the last phrase.

Ziva's reckless indifference for her physical safety was matched proportionately by a compulsion for restriction of her emotional responses. Raising that particular matter risked provoking her defenses again.

She could dispassionately analyze the two situations; intelligently interpret the data within the context of Georgia Wooten. Since her rescue, Ziva had successfully contained the destruction. Her character denoted she could separate and discard that which was of no use. Ziva dispelled much of the bleak horror, replacing it with hope for her future. Unfortunately, the quarantine tactic only functioned if it was impermeable. Ziva couldn't allow herself to feel or draw upon the residual damage – because that would unleash insecurities and hurt. When the detached mindset and agenda collided, earlier that day, the impact created a churning turmoil. And there was no set of orders or instruction manual for guidance – she was lost.

"Injuries can be treated, will heal." – Carefully circling an admission. "Other effects will linger. Reasons can mitigate them."

"That's why people try and make it make sense, rationalize it." Tony sought to settle her renewed tension. Yet he didn't want to hit another nerve. "Want to believe they had influence, choice in the events."

"You get told I knew I shouldn't have gone out, or if only I'd…whatever works for them." – Shrugging at the infinite variations on a theme.

"Reminders are inescapable, usually harmless." Ziva frowned, taking a breath.

"Sometimes I find they are upsetting, confusing – not very often." – Quickly adding the rider against exposing flaws.

It was an imperceptible revelation of personal involvement. That she was threatened by the investigation. That Ziva was left vulnerable by the encounter. And they were no longer conversing in terms of bland generalities.

Tony studied her for a second, before very gently including the most relevant excuse. "Or they'll say I volunteered."

She met his gaze. "It is humiliating to realize that I am scared….of remembering, talking about memories – even to help someone."

Then her eyes darted down and her head dropped.

"Hey." - Softly determined, waiting until she looked at him again. "Someone had control over you, Zee-vah. Absolute power; it is very scary."

Her fingers tightened around the button. She nodded, momentarily squeezing her eyes closed; as though blotting out the notion.

"You didn't choose or volunteer for anything that happened to you." Tony continued; lightly correcting Ziva's previous claim of self-infliction.

She hadn't left, nor was she angry – just a little nervous.

"Explanations are not always easy….people can misunderstand." There was a solemn note of acknowledgement in her voice and her eyes held grave appreciation.

Tony had soothed the misery. Somehow, seemingly effortlessly, he'd tapped into her tension and doubts; even the mention of control had echoed Ziva's speech to Georgia.

"Everyone handles stuff differently." He raised his eyebrows philosophically, starting to move toward the offices.

"And, by the way, you shouldn't have to explain, to anyone. Not unless you want to." Tony glanced down at her as they walked.

Ziva noticed his eyes were darkened and his voice was low - quietly serious.

"That is your choice." He was adamant on the final point.

They progressed back to work in comfortable silence for several minutes.

"You seem to have acquired wisdom in recovering from your mid-life crazy." It was an affectionate, teasing compliment.

Partly for her own distraction – grown up Tony contributed a devastatingly appealing dimension to an already tempting personality.

Ziva was thinking of Ray and his lack of comprehension; he wasn't unsympathetic – quite the opposite. However, their conversations about her captivity were difficult. Ray asked too many questions, or didn't understand her process or challenged her perceptions. Intermittently, it seemed as though he were fixing the direction for her reactions.

Whereas, Tony simply let her react, adapting from her initial position. He would offer his two cents – only she wasn't required to accept them. Ziva was suddenly conscious she was comparing her boyfriend and her professional partner - which couldn't be a good development. And this recognition stirred a different, muddled tempest in her mind.

"Well, maybe it does come with age." – Smiling as he dumped the long-cold extra coffees into a trash can. They had served their purpose. "Christ knows fuck all else does."

"I told you Tony, older men can be extremely attractive." She couldn't resist; despite the fact, sub-consciously, a tiny anti-flirting alarm was ringing.

"I wanna be clear about this." He stood in front of her, in the lobby. "I could be attractive plus you think I'm charming." - Innocently posing an awfully leading translation of Ziva's remark.

Tony was searching for his own confirmation. During the discussion, he'd been struck by a shaft of outright jealousy; acutely aware that Ray was – rightfully – her primary confidante. Except Ray wouldn't feel like the guy negotiating Niagara Falls on a tightrope – with no safety harness. She wouldn't keep Ray at arm's length. Additionally, his place as Ziva's self-appointed guardian had been usurped.

For the second time, Tony felt something had been taken from him; the sense so strong he couldn't ignore its presence. However, Tony categorized the feeling strictly within the sphere of colleagues, friendship. He was testing to see if what they had – and that was becoming an exceedingly tricky entity, whatever it was – remained intact.

"I did not say I think you are charming." She laughed in outraged protest.

"Yeah you did." He cocked his head; there was a distinct dare in the wicked grin.

"No, I did not." – Smiling, Ziva issued a rebuttal. Then she remembered her words and swiftly amended the statement. "I said you inherited your charm from your father."

Tony bit his bottom lip, casting a speculative, highly smug look at Ziva. "Therefore you must think I'm charming."

"I meant other people might….they found you charming." – Wishing she'd heeded the internal warning; he was infuriatingly charming when he was like this.

"You didn't say other people. You just said I was charming, no qualifier." Amused because she was flustered and it was fun and they could fence like this all afternoon.

"I must update Gibbs." Ziva surrendered; opting for graceful retreat otherwise Tony would extract her agreement – then increase the charge.

"OK. I gotta go find McGee." Tony meant the mission literally; he'd a fairly good hunch as to the identity of the McGee thief.

Gibbs' premonition that encouraging Tony and Ziva's mutual support system would manifest in complications inched nearer to actuality. They were talking to each other, being more honest and trusting. The friendship was working. Improvements in this area sparked a new, fledgling re-evaluation of the entire relationship – for both of them. The jury was still out; the verdict might bring further progress or uncertainties – either way, it would be Tony and Ziva style.

Many thanks to the reviewers; you do a fabulous job of squashing my 'should-I-really-hit-publish' jitters! Please post a comment if you have the time. What worked/didn't, Likes/dislikes really are very helpful.

Thanks also to the alerters. As ever make of it what you will and hope you enjoy the read.