Disclaimer in the first chapter, but for the record, I don't even own my bedroom any longer. The relatives have invaded, so I think my chances of owning NCIS went out the window a long time ago.
I am really sorry it's taken me so long to update!! School started back up, and it's been crazy. Add that to the new remodeling job we are doing on the house, and half the time I don't even know if I am sleeping in my room or a hotel. Thanks for sticking with me!!
Her Mission, his Mistake
Tony was asleep when Ziva untwisted herself from his arms and tiptoed to the bathroom. She splashed some water on her face and ran a hand through her tangled hair. Much to her dismay, and amusement, there was still a smile playing across her face. Tony seemed to have that effect on her.
Ziva was an experienced enough agent to know that she needed to find a way to turn her emotions off as much as possible. She had known something like this would happen between her and Tony sooner or later—there were too many shared looks and caresses—but Ziva had prevented herself from taking the first step for practical reasons. Safety had to come first. Especially now, with Jamal talking about bombs and hidden weapons that weren't bombs at all, when they were thousands of miles away from Gibbs and everyone else who could help them. There wasn't time for her to smile like a giddy teenager, or bask in the afterglow, or think about Tony when she should be thinking about how to extract information from her target. She had to focus. Both of their lives depended on it.
"Hey there, beautiful." There it was again, that giddy smile, spreading across her face as Tony wrapped his arms around her waist and kissed her neck. The Mossad half of Ziva wanted to duck out of his grip and bring him through a blow by blow tactical plan of their next moves. The NCIS Ziva, the one with the smile and the warm glow, sank back into his touch.
"Good morning."
"Morning? It's twelve in the afternoon."
"What?" Ziva spun out of his arms now, alarmed, her eyes wide and surprised. Twelve? Jamal always sent for her by this point in the day. Jamal was rigid about his schedule, and Ziva was always called to him by nine in the morning. And that was only the first request of the day. Jamal always needed something from her by now. What if this meant he was on to them? Or he had suddenly moved the plans forward and was about to make a move right now?
"I tired you out." Tony's smug smile would, on a normal day, cause Ziva to rise to the occasion. She would tease him back, as he expected, and they would banter back and forth until one of them gave up. But today, Ziva was too panicked.
"Jamal's going to be wondering where I am. He's going to get bored, and bored always leads to annoyed." She twisted away from Tony's attempts to kiss her and scurried into the room, tearing through her suitcase, muttering under her breath the entire time.
Tony leaned against the back wall to avoid stepping inside Ziva's war path. He waited until she had shimmed into her tank-top and nearly see-threw shorts and was headed towards the door. Ziva looked back at him as his hand closed gently on her forearm, almost surprised to see him there. Great. She'd already forgotten he was there in her rush to continue the mission. That did wonders to his ego.
"What are you doing?"
"What do you think I am doing?" Ziva snapped, angry with herself for causing that hurt expression in his eyes, angry with him for promising he understood when he didn't. The mission had to come first. She knew that, had always understood that, and she thought he did, too.
"Jamal didn't send for you. Do you think he is going to want you to just burst into his room and ask him to talk shop?" Tony set his Special Agent face clearly into position before he began speaking, and he saw the relief fill Ziva's eyes.
She was the most professional person he had ever known, and perhaps the only one who would ever be able to turn her emotions on and off like a light switch. Except, perhaps, Gibbs. But Tony understood the risks of not doing so out here, and he understood she was afraid for him. Because he wasn't like her. Because he cared about her too much to let her walk to Jamal over and over without eventually snapping. Because he knew she had seen a man die for doing just that, and he knew she cared too much to let history repeat itself.
"Jamal likes initiative." Ziva responded softly, her resistance gone as she saw Tony slip on his professional face and meet her toe to toe. They could do this, work Jamal the way they had to for the mission, for their lives, and still explore the emotions between them. Maybe they could really do it all.
"So do I." Tony teased, his trademark grin shining through, and Ziva felt herself smiling back. He kissed her then, and Ziva wrapped her arms around his neck and leaned into him. He kissed her slowly, almost to reassure himself that he still could, his hands tracing the curve of her hip and the dips in her collar bone. It was as languid as the previous night had been zealous, and they were both delighted to notice that the passion was the same.
"You can stay, you know. I can think of some things I need you to do around here." Tony whispered into her ear. Ziva sighed against his chest, rose up to kiss him softly, and took a step towards the door. Every sane nerve in her body was telling her to wrap herself up in him and never move, to let him make her feel like she deserved any of his attentions, but she knew her place.
"Business comes first. It has to."
"I know."
Ziva padded to the end of the hallway and stopped before Jamal's door, shocked to see it open a crack. Jamal never left his door open—he was too paranoid for that. There were, like always, two of his personal guards standing at the doorway. They didn't seem to object as she pushed the door open and stepped inside, so Ziva continued on down the hallway. More likely than not, Jamal had instructed his men to pretend she didn't even exist. He was possessive that way, always had been.
In the living room she could see Jamal with three other men, all of them looking Middle Eastern, none of them identifiable from her distance. She felt a growing sense of satisfaction as she realized Jenny and everyone else back home was getting a direct feed of their private conference.
"We have three more pilots, Jamal. Kaman recommended them and faxed files over this morning. I brought them personally." The shorter man to the far left was speaking now, and Ziva was sure she didn't recognize the voice.
"Good. That puts our number exactly where it should be. Do we have someone working on uniforms?" It was Jamal now, his oily voice more cultured than the rest, but tempered still with more anger than Ziva had ever heard from him during a professional setting. Jamal prided himself on being emotionally unattached with his attacks, even as reports of death tolls came in. This attack had to be bigger than anything he had ever tried before, the culmination of all his others. The end result—it was the only reason Ziva could think of for the fury in his tone. Jamal was prepared to use everything he had, and he had nothing left to risk after this was over.
"Hasan told me to contact him in the morning."
"Good. Than come back here tomorrow. I want a full list of everyone we are using and expected dates."
Ziva hastily knocked on the side of the wall and stepped forward into the room, sensing that the meeting was coming to a close. It was better that she announce her presence herself, rather than have one of Jamal's men find her spying.
"Ah, there you are, my dear." Jamal's face broke into a smile when Ziva entered the room, and she tried to pretend she wasn't bothered by the eyes she could feel boring into her. The men were watching her, undressing her mentally, and she couldn't help but be amused when she noticed Jamal was just as put out as she was. Did he think his dirty claim to her was somewhat more profound?
"Good morning. I hope I am not interrupting."
"Never. We're done here." Jamal glared pointedly until the men took their eyes off Ziva's smiling face and too exposed body and headed for the door. Jamal's face softened as he wrapped his arm around her shoulders, leading her towards the living room couch.
"Seemed important." Ziva fished carefully, pouring him a glass from the decanter on the coffee table. Jamal accepted the glass, sipping slowly, his other hand resting on top of the wooden box in the center of the table. The same box he had almost opened for her the other night.
"I trust you, Madeline, but business is business. A woman's place is not in the board room." He opened the box and withdrew a handful of papers, holding them a hairswidth away from her sight before he straightened them and placed the stack back inside. He was baiting her. Waiting to see what she was going to do for the information, how far she was willing to go. Her hunger would show where her loyalties lay.
Ziva's eyes widened with anticipation. This could be it. If she could figured out what he was planning, when, Jenny could hear everything and pull them out. They could go home, mission accomplished. This could decide everything.
"That depends on the type of meeting." Ziva smiled coyly, trying to morph her desire to punch Jamal in the face into a sleek smile. "And what, or perhaps where, the woman is." Ziva smoothly transitioned herself onto his lap, ignoring the satisfied grin that splayed across his face. He thought he'd played her, and it killed Ziva to let him be so smug.
Ziva pictured Tony's face in her mind as she moved, Tony's hands on her waist, Tony's lips on her neck. Except, when she kissed him softly and felt his chuckle rumble though her bones, it wasn't Tony at all.
"It seems I am out of flowers, my darling, and I am in much too good of a mood now to resist you any longer. Here, look as much as you want, I have nothing to hide from you." A lazy, self satisfied smile was apparent on Jamal's face and he didn't seem at all wary as he opened the box and handed the papers into Ziva's eager and waiting hands. It never ceased to surprise her—even the most paranoid man could be cowed with a lap dance. And they say men have all the power.
Ziva's eyes hurried across the page, and when she was done reading, it took all her willpower to keep from running to the bathroom. Bile was building in her throat and her hands were trembling. She had never expected such a plan to come from Jamal. He was a horrible man who deserved to rot, sure, but she hadn't thought him smart enough, cunning enough, to pull something like this off. She and Tony were in over their heads.
"What do you think?"
"I am very impressed." Ziva chose her words carefully, trying to keep the tremor from her voice. She had to repeat the plan so Jenny could hear without alarming Jamal to the bug's presence. She had to be cool, collected, on the top of her game. This was what she had been trained for.
"We are almost ready." Jamal said with a smug grin, locking the papers back up in the box. "Kaman has sent me enough pilots to disperse everything to avoid detection, and they are all dedicated men who will follow orders after landing."
"So you are trading Kaman a bomb for pilots?"
"And connections. He has many connections in Washington, D.C, my darling. My men will do the rest." Jamal took a sip from his wine glass and eased back into the couch.
"How do you expect to get them past security?"
"Let's just say they will fit right in." Jamal said with a smirk.
"It is not like anyone would notice a few extra tourists in Congress any way." Ziva bite her tongue, hoping Jamal wouldn't react. She had to speak carefully, bit by bit, so Jenny could detect without getting herself killed. But Jamal was so paranoid she didn't expect him to be satisfied with any conversations out loud.
Jamal chuckled and swallowed the rest of his wine. Ziva sighed deeply and moved in for the last bit, prepared to duck or deflect if necessary.
"Although I am surprised you chose anthrax. It hardly seems original enough for you, Jamal, America has had many anthrax scares over the years."
"You think me un-ambitious?" Jamal's face darkened slightly and Ziva pushed forward, braced and ready. She was so close to finished she could almost hear McGee and Abby laughing back at home. So close.
"I do not judge, Jamal." Ziva reached for her own glass and tried not to jump when he backhanded it, shattering the glass on impact. Shards flew everywhere with a snap, and Ziva flinched as blood trickled down her hand.
"I am not a coward, Madeline, nor do I copy other men. This is anthrax so powerful no medication has yet to find a cure. Airborne, and deadly within five minutes. I am going to become a legend among my men, and you will not think me lazy. I won't allow it." His face was deep purple, mottled with anger, and Ziva had to repress every survival instinct she had ever been taught. Madeline did not fight. She seduced.
"I know you are not. You are a very powerful man." Ziva ran her fingers through his hair and kissed the side of his jaw, massaging the tension from his shoulders until she felt the coils of anger dissipate under her touch. When he looked at her again, he wasn't smoldering any longer, and he ran a gentle finger down the side of her face.
"Don't toy with me, Madeline. I am a very dangerous man, and I don't like being played with."
"That's half the fun, isn't it?" Ziva smiled and slipped off the couch as the side of his arm was beginning to slip beneath her shirt. She could still feel Tony's touch warm against her skin, and she wasn't ready to trade that feeling. Not for oil and gunpowder and filth. She needed more time.
"I am expecting company for dinner tonight, Madeline." Jamal spoke up as she was halfway to the door. "Kaman and his men are coming to finalize our agreement. I expect you to accompany me."
"Of course."
Tony was sitting on the bed, flipping through an old South African newspaper when Ziva came back. She headed straight to the bathroom, and he took one look at the blood sliding down her hand and followed her.
"What the hell happened?" He turned on the water and took her injured hand in his much larger one. There were four or five glass splinters gorging her palm and a steady trickle of blood dieing her hand and her wrist crimson. Ziva winced as Tony carefully withdrew the splinters and gingerly stuck her hand under the faucet.
"I found out Jamal's plan, Tony. And it is huge. Much bigger than I thought he was capable of."
"How bad are we talking?"
"Kaman Hacksmani is trading him one bomb for a half dozen pilots who are prepared to smuggle mutated anthrax into D.C."
"Holy shit."
"It gets worse." Ziva wrapped a towel around her hand and tossed the glass into the trash can, allowing Tony to lead her into the bedroom. She took a seat on the bed and tried not to wince as he applied antiseptic and band aids to her cuts. "Jamal has men who are prepared to spread the anthrax around the Congressional building. This version is completely untreatable; everyone will be dead within minutes."
"I guess we are really lucky Gibbs is listening to that bug. They can take care of this, Ziva. If anyone can, Gibbs can."
"I know." Ziva laid her head against his chest and sighed as he wrapped his arms around her. There was a growing pit of dread gathering steam in her stomach, and her instincts were never wrong. Something was going to happen. Something bad, and she had the overwhelming fear that there was nothing she could do about it. That fear was what had propelled her to join Mossad in the first place—it was hardly new. But the sudden and equally terrifying fear that something could happen to Tony, because of her, because of this, scared her almost as much as the dread itself.
"I got you something to eat. It doesn't look particularly tasty, but you need to eat something, Ziva." Tony seemed completely nonchalant, as if he thought about taking care of her every day, as if this was just what he did. And maybe it was. But Ziva hadn't had anyone take care of her since her mother died, since Tali died, and mundane common courtesies were more than mundane to her.
"I've got something else in mind." Ziva reached forward and pulled Tony down on top of her. He complied instantly, mouths meeting, hands eager and willing, muscles primed and ready.
For once, Ziva would worry about tomorrow tomorrow. Today, right now, all she wanted was Tony. Today she would listen to the crazy part of her brain saying that if she could feel him inside her right now, taste his lips, touch his skin, than there wasn't anything to be afraid of.
Today, right now, nothing else existed but the two of them. Their bodies, their desires, their needs. There was nothing else going on in the world—which is, perhaps, why the next few hours came as such a shock.
...Dun Dun Dun... I know what happens next. Do you?