Disclaimer in the first chapter, but for the record, all I own is my computer. And even that belongs to my parents.

Her Mission, His Mistake

When the plane landed in Johannesburg the following day, Tony could barely keep his eyes open. He cracked his neck, glad to be out of such an awkward position, and fought to keep his eyelids open. They had been bounced between three different planes in Washington and France and Kenya, through customs over and over again, and he wanted to sleep more than anything else in the world.

A soft hand rested on his shoulder for a second as Ziva deplaned, the three foot drop slightly harder in steep stilettos.

Correction, more than almost anything in the world.

The tip of her heel caught on the rim of the plane and her gait hitched for a second, nothing Ziva couldn't correct smoothly, but Tony watched as every man on the tarmac anticipated her fall. Not that he could blame them. Ziva's cover had only gotten more alluring as time had passed. His suit had gotten more mussed, but her skirt had simply gotten shorter. His shirt had gotten wrinkled, but her hair had simply gotten taller. They were both equally frustrated, but at least her cover was intact.

"Excuse me, sir, are we expecting you? This is private property." A tall man approached Tony with a poorly concealed pistol in his jacket pocket. Tony and Ziva had been expecting this. They had purposefully rented a private helicopter and landed on Jamal's private tarmac in hopes of being confronted by one of his men. It was the only way Tony could pretend to be a French terrorist with ties to an extreme amount of C4, courtesy of Abby, and get in good with Jamal, courtesy of Ziva.

Ziva pressed her body close to Tony's, trying to convince herself that the adrenaline in her veins was due to the linebacker approaching them and not the nearness of his skin. She had to maintain her cover. They both knew that, which was exactly why he wrapped his arm around her waist, his thumb tucked into the rim of her waistband.

"Jean Bonswa." Tony smiled at the man and resisted the urge to react to the blatant way he was ogling Ziva. He was going to have to get used to men staring at her like this. A lot. "Jamal Koram and I share common friends, and a few common enemies."

"Is that so? What if I want to share a few other things?"

"That can be arranged." Ziva spoke this time, her voice deeper than Tony had ever heard it, but the look on her face the same one he had seen a thousand times. The flirtatious look she shot him everyday across her desk, and he didn't like to see her using it on someone else. He looked at her instinctively, a flash of something resembling pain in his eyes, and she pressed her hip tighter against 

him. There wasn't anything else she could do, and certainly nothing she could say. She could only imagine how awkward it was for him to watch based on how desperately she was trying to keep from feeling awkward herself. The minute she felt awkward…she'd be killed.

"What do you have that Boss needs."

"How do I know you're not a cop?" Tony asked, as he always did. The tall man laughed, but Ziva could see his muscles relax.

"How do I know you aren't one?"

"You don't. Take this as a good faith installment. There's plenty more where it came from for Jamal to purchase later in bigger quantities." Tony tossed the large man a square packed labeled C4, resembled the many bombs he and the other NCIS agents had found taped under cars and buildings, expect this one wouldn't go off if the goon threw it in a fire. Abby had filled it with a chemical of the same consistency, but three tenths the flammability.

"There isn't a detonator." He held the package warily before handing it off to the equally large man who had driven the vehicle. Tony smiled and Ziva laughed lightly, the air tickling his ear.

"So you can through it at me and run away? Not likely. If Monsieur Koram decides to do business, then we will talk detonators."

The two men exchanged glances, and Tony and Ziva did the same. They had considered what to do for Plan B, but it was considerably harder than Plan A. And left considerable room for error.

"Alright, get in. Marcus will get your bags." The head honcho waved them to the car and Tony and Ziva hurried in his direction.

"There is one good thing about this." Ziva whispered in his ear as they climbed in the backseat.

"What's that?"

"No movie references." She whispered back. He narrowed his eyes and barred his teeth, but hurriedly flashed her a smile as the driver turned around suddenly to check the rear mirror.

They rode the rest of the way in silence, the two big men in the front not prone to talking, and Ziva and Tony too wary to break cover. Ziva herself, although she would never admit it, was terrified of facing Jamal again. She wasn't the same agent she had been before—Ziva the Mossad agent would go to every possible measure to get the information she needed, and her agency would support that. Ziva, here for NCIS couldn't expect the same of herself or her team.

She wasn't sure if that meant she was getting weak or getting more mature.

The car hit a bump and the left wheel dipped into a pothole, sending Ziva far to the left and directly in Tony's lap. He could feel her warm skin against his, her thin shirt hardly a barrier, and her skirt too short to be considered one either, and he battled the urge to do something a little more…risqué.



Ziva tried to fight her way back to her side of the car, but this area of town seemed to be riddled with potholes and every time she was airborne she ended up right back where she started, squirming around in his lap like a fish out of water.

"You're killing me." She distinctly heard him mutter. The corner of her lip twitched upward and she combated the urge to really make him uncomfortable. At least Ziva knew this wasn't only difficult for her, at least she knew that she wasn't the only one feeling everything a little too…sensitively.

The car pulled into a dark alley and the door swung open. A large hand clasped around Ziva's forearm and she no longer had to worry about getting off Tony because the driver rectified that issue with extraordinary force. She grunted slightly as her ankle twisted with the force of her removal, and Tony could see the tiny half moon bruises beginning to form on her arm.

"Get your hand off her. Now. I can just as well turn around and sell my merchandise to half a dozen other men out there. Madeline is here as my guest, and you will not touch her unless I tell you so." Ziva bit her tongue to keep from shooting Tony an un-characteristic scathing glare. Madeline would appreciate such a speech, but she certainly didn't. What were a few bruises in light of an entire operation? He could have jeopardized everything. Didn't he understand she was here as a prostitute; they were going to do so much more than that.

"You heard Monsieur Bonswa, Marcus. She belongs to him. We must ask, as it is with any good man." Marcus let go of Ziva immediately, the larger man in his face with a stormy expression across his face. "You know the rules. Boss gets first pick, Marcus. Keep your hands to yourself."

"You alright?" Tony asked as he rejoined Ziva, the two of them walking a few paces in front of Marcus and the other man down the dark alley.

"That was a really stupid thing to do. You could have gotten your self killed."

"You're welcome."

"Thank you." Ziva smiled faintly. "There are three men on the rooftops." She whispered softly. He nodded his affirmation.

"Wouldn't be much of a terrorist if he didn't have backup."

"In here." The two men led Tony and Ziva into an abandoned warehouse at the end of an even longer, darker alley. They followed the two men down three winding hallways and into two different elevators, planting three different wires along the way. This way Jenny and Gibbs could keep tabs along the way; McGee could hack into Jamal's system from those plants.

The building itself looked like a typical warehouse, albeit a bit twisty, until they reached the bottom floor. Then it got ornate and quiet extraordinary. Ziva couldn't believe, in fact, how much it resembled Jamal's hideout in Cairo. There were the same couches lining the room, full of dark headed men with not-so-secret guns, and women walking around with platters of finger foods like half dressed 

stewardesses. There were hallways lined with closed doors that, if it was anything like Cairo, were full of luxurious bedrooms meant to lull and seduce.

"Marcus, Shaman. I see you bring friends." Tony felt Ziva stiffen in front of him as an unfamiliar voice rounded the corridor, a voice he could only assume was Jamal. Ziva turned to look at him, and for the first time in the years that he has known her, he could see fear readily available in her eyes. Tony took a step forward instinctively, whether to protect her or to preserve his cover, he wasn't sure, but he wrapped an arm around her waist and rested it lightly on her hip.

On a normal day she would have him hung from the rafters for such an action, but today she leaned back into him and seemed to relax.

A massive man rounded the corner, easily six foot five and built as a wrestler, with eyes bluer than cobalt and hair as dark as ink. He was smiling, but Tony could detect falseness in his gaze, hardness, and he disliked Jamal instantly. It could have to do with the fact that he was a terrorist, of course.

"Madeline." The smile on Jamal's face widened, and Tony could feel Ziva tremble ever so slightly. "When Shaman said our Monsieur had a salope with him, I was hoping it was you. I see you found yourself a new Frenchman."

"I see you have yet to find yourself a new profession, Jamal." Ziva's voice was strong again, teasing a flirtatious, but she had yet to move from Tony's arms.

Jamal laughed loudly. "The same Madeline, I am happy to see. Come, my dear. There is much I wish to discuss with you. The night is young, and you have been away too long."

Ziva hesitated for a moment, knowing what her answer would have to be. She had hoped she could wait longer before this would come up, find an alternative method around disappearing alone with Jamal and his insatiable appetite, but she knew him too well to expect anything less. There were things she could do, but not her first night here. He'd get too suspicious. Too nosy.

Tony tightened his grip around her waist, wanting to fight Jamal for her, knowing he couldn't do it. How could he let Ziva disappear with this guy with full knowledge of the things she was going to force herself to do in the name of NCIS? When he had signed himself up for this case, this was the very thing he had been prepared to stop. But he hadn't expected it to come up so soon.

"My monsignor and I have business to settle, Jamal." Ziva shook her head, trying to reason her way out as much as possible. "I am here with him; it is only fair he has the first night."

"He has you other nights. I haven't seen you in years, Madeline. He can wait." Jamal's voice was stronger now, and Tony was aware that the other men in the room were suddenly standing at attention, ready to fight at will. He understood now how Ziva's former partner had taken a bullet to the forehead. They surely armed themselves subtly around here.



"Sorry." Ziva turned to face him, leaning so close they were forced to take a few steps backwards and away from the crowd. Jamal, for his part, let them go. "It seems I am spoken for tonight."

Ziva stepped back for a second, alarmed by the blood rushing in her veins and how heavily her heart was thumping in her ears. This was it. She could pretend now that this was for the cover, act as if they were playing a part of Jamal, or admit to herself that this was for her. In the end, did it matter?

"Jean."

She started, not quite sure what she was going to say. Ziva moved forward again as she spoke, their bodies melded together, curve to curve, breathes mingling. Her lips parted instinctively.

"Madeline."

Tony felt every muscle in his body tighten as her softness met him like a caress. He lowered his mouth to hers, nothing left to loose; she was going with him tonight—if something happened, he wanted to die feeling this of his own accord. Nothing videotaped, nothing ordered. His idea.

It was everything they had thought it would be, and yet, at the same time, a spark so much greater. Hunger and passion, three years of pent up desire releasing itself in one desperate kiss in a dark basement before fifteen dangerous terrorists. Her hands wound themselves around his neck and his fisted themselves in her hair, and they stood like that, in their own world, consumed by passion and fire and emotion, until the taste of salt water fell upon Ziva's lips and she broke the kiss.

"Tony."

"Ziva."

He watched in silence as she walked over to Jamal. He watched as she smiled at him, as she laughed with him, as he wrapped his arm around her waist and led her down the hall and behind a door.

Tony watched until he couldn't see Ziva anymore at all.

So0o…I'm taking a poll; Who wants Ziva to actually "prostitute" with Jamal and deal with the aftermath and everything that may entail, and who wants her to find a cunning way out of it?

BTW: Salope French for prostitute. Sadly one of the few words I actually know.