A/N: You're sort of getting two chapters in one today because I didn't feel like the first chapter had enough meat to it to keep you interested. I hope you like it.
Disclaimer: Disclaimed.
Friday, 18 December 2015
"So, where were you this morning?"
If it were anyone else asking the question, Ziva would know that they were baiting her. Coming from Tony, the question would show suspicion. From Gibbs, she would assume it was actually a statement of condemnation. From McGee, it would be teasing. But from Quinn? Kind, non-jaded, tried-to-think-the-best-of-people Quinn? Ziva suspected it was just a normal question asked out of interest, and simply intended to spark conversation. Probably. But that didn't mean that she wanted to tell him.
"Nowhere interesting," she replied lightly and with a shrug, as she steered the Charger down the crossroad that would take them to the plumbing business that Ricky D'Augustino worked for. "I was running late."
Quinn turned his head in her direction. "Oh, really?" he asked, still not sounding anything but sincere. "Tony came by looking for you. He said you'd left home before him."
Ziva kept her expression neutral even as she cursed Tony in her head for (unwittingly) blowing her cover. "I did," she replied easily. "But I had to make a stop on my way in. It has to do with his Christmas present," she added on a whim.
Quinn shifted in the passenger seat as he became a little more engaged in the conversation. "Oh! What are you getting him?" he asked, as if they were conspiring together. "Is it related to a movie? The Godfather? Is it a horse?" He paused and affected a very serious tone. "Ziva, are you buying Tony a pony?"
Ziva glanced at him, frowning at his over-eagerness and hoping that he was joking. "The present is not for you, Quinn. You do not need to be so excited."
Quinn shrugged. "I like Christmas. What are you getting him?"
In all honesty, Ziva didn't have a clue yet. And she knew she was running out of shopping days. "It is a surprise," she lied, and then deflected the attention from herself. "What are you getting Yasmin?"
"Hiking boots."
Ziva took her eyes off the road to look at him with one arched eyebrow. "Hiking boots?"
"She likes hiking," he said obviously. "We're going to go once a month this year."
"That sounds like a good idea."
"Yeah," he said casually, before turning the tide on her. "Are you okay?"
Ziva paused as she caught up to the quick turn in conversation. "What?"
"Are you okay?" Quinn repeated, more carefully this time. And suddenly the innocence of his previous questioning ebbed away. "I know this case has a history with you and McGee. And McGee and Gibbs and Tony—especially Tony—have been hovering around you more than usual. I kind of got the impression this was a hard one for you."
Ziva clenched her jaw and took a corner faster than she should have. But her attempt at intimidating him into silence failed.
"I'm not asking for the details," Quinn went on. "I just need to know if my partner is going to be able to deal with the rest of this case."
Ziva bristled at the implication. "Have I given you any reason to think I cannot deal with it?" she demanded as the mood in the car quickly deteriorated.
Quinn took a moment to compose his reply. "I think you're skirting the edges of giving me a reason, yeah."
She narrowed her eyes at the road to cover the flash of guilt she felt at combing through Bonnie's mother's house that morning (especially when she had come up empty). For a moment she considered that Quinn knew what she had done, but she quickly dismissed it. There was no way he could know. Not even Tony knew. So what was he basing his accusation that she wasn't performing her duties effectively on?
"Please explain how I have been letting you down," Ziva fired at him.
Quinn sighed. "You're not letting me down," he insisted. "That's not what I'm getting at."
"What are you getting at?"
"You haven't been yourself," Quinn said carefully. "You've been quiet and sad and then occasionally too angry—"
"Too angry?"
Quinn looked at her like she'd just made his point, but he didn't rub her face in it. "You're just not yourself," he repeated.
"And I assume you have been discussing your concerns with Gibbs," she stated, feeling the sting once again of Tony talking to Gibbs behind her back.
"No, I haven't," Quinn told her firmly. "I haven't discussed it with anyone. I'm not trying to catch you out here, Ziva. I'm on your side. This is me looking out for you and watching your back."
Ziva let out a bitter snort, and pulled the car up to the curb near the plumber's business at speed. She stood on the brakes so hard that Quinn had to put his hand out on the dashboard to brace himself.
"You already said that Tony, Gibbs and McGee are hovering," she pointed out. "You think I need yet another man looking after me?"
"I sincerely doubt that you need even one," Quinn replied, gingerly pulling the seatbelt away from his neck. "But I'm your partner now, Ziva. You've got to accept that. And you've got to be as honest with me as you would be with McGee. It's not just your ass on the line out here."
Ziva narrowed her eyes at him. "Do not worry about your ass, Quinn. I can assure you it is safer than mine."
Brown eyes narrowed back at her. "Hey, don't get angry with me," he said, taking her to task in the way Tony and McGee had never really been comfortable with. "I've brought it up because you're not acting like yourself. I like to think that you're my friend as well as my co-worker, okay? And if my friend is going through something—"
"You just said you were worried about your ass," Ziva cut in. "Do not try to spin this into something else when you have already showed your hand."
"Ziva," Quinn started, but she didn't care to hear what else he had to say. She popped open her door, got out and then slammed it hard.
She worked on composing herself again as she stomped down the sidewalk towards Ricky D'Augustino's place of business. Screw Quinn, she thought as she tried to put it behind her. He barely knew her or who she really was. She did not need to worry when he said she wasn't acting like herself, because he barely even knew what that meant.
She ignored the tiny voice in her head that told her otherwise.
Quinn slammed the car door and Ziva heard his quick footsteps on the sidewalk behind her. His long legs had him catching up quickly just as she swung open the door to Benny's Plumbing, and he was right behind her left shoulder as she approached the young woman sitting at a battered desk amid piles of folders and papers. On the wall behind her was a poster of a gleaming kitchen sink, and beside that a poster of a low-flow showerhead. There wasn't much else by way of decorations, and even the posters were stretching the definition. Ziva suspected that the shop front didn't get much foot traffic.
The woman behind the desk—her nameplate identified her at Sue—looked up at them curiously, and Ziva gave her a faint smile and held up her badge.
"Good morning. I am Special Agent David from NCIS. This is Special Agent Quinn." She gestured behind her. "We are looking for an employee of yours named Ricky D'Augustino."
Sue's eyes lingered on Ziva's badge, and then her thin eyebrows drew together in a frown. "What?"
Ziva took another deep breath to hold onto her frustration. "We are looking for Ricky D'Augustino," she repeated. "We need to speak with him. Is he here?"
Sue looked between Ziva and Quinn nervously, and Ziva watched a red flush spread up her neck to stain her cheeks. "Is he in trouble?" she asked softly.
"Is he here?" Ziva countered, letting an edge creep into her tone that was meant to warn her of Ziva's fading patience.
Sue looked down briefly, chastened. "Um, he's supposed to head out to a job now, but he might be still out the back." She got to her feet, smoothed down her skirt and stepped out from behind the desk. "I'll go check."
"We'll come with you," Quinn said in a way that sounded friendly, but which hid his suspicion. He did that a lot, Ziva realized, and suddenly it rubbed her the wrong way.
Sue gave him a tight smile and led them to a door at the end of the room. Behind the door was a larger room with a concrete floor and rows of shelving full of plumbing supplies. Three men in steel-capped boots, well-worn work pants and sweatshirts were standing around a small counter built into the wall that held a kettle, some canisters of sugar packets and instant coffee, and a toaster. Ziva recognized one of the men as Ricky D'Augustino. He and a much younger man who looked barely old enough to be out of high school were laughing at a much older man who seemed to be performing some kind of interpretive dance routine. They all stopped what they were doing when Sue called out.
"Hey, Ricky? There are some people here to see you."
Ricky looked between Ziva and Quinn quickly before his eyes settled on Ziva. The smile left his eyes as he seemed to size her up, and Ziva tensed in preparation to give chase if he bolted. Beside her, Quinn held up his badge and introduced them.
"Special Agents Quinn and David from NCIS," he announced. "Can we have a word with you, Mr D'Augustino?"
The clueless frown Ricky gave them seemed to be genuine, but he nodded. "I guess. I'm about to head to a job, though."
"We won't take up much of your time," Quinn told him in that same deceptively friendly tone.
Ricky glanced at the older man and gave him a shrug, and then headed towards Ziva and Quinn. "Won't be long, Mickey," he called back to his co-worker. "Make sure the van's all ready to go."
"Sure thing," the young kid said.
Ziva and Quinn parted so that Ricky could walk between them back into the shop front. Ziva followed him, and Quinn came in behind her. Ricky stood in the middle of the room and crossed his arms, and then looked down at Ziva. Up close, his size was imposing. But Ziva could be imposing as well.
"How can I help CSI?" Ricky asked with a smile that didn't reach his eyes.
Ziva didn't bother to correct him. She moved so that she was standing right in front of him with her shoulders squared. "We have some questions for you about a woman named Bonnie Stewart," Ziva told him, and then watched carefully for his reaction. There wasn't one. Not even a flicker of recognition passed through Ricky's eyes.
"Who's that?" he asked.
"Dead woman," Quinn said from somewhere over Ziva's left shoulder.
Ricky glanced at Quinn, but returned his gaze to Ziva. "I don't know anyone called Bonnie," he told her.
"Are you sure?" Ziva asked as Quinn produced a photo and held it out to Ricky.
Ricky took it between his thumb and forefinger and peered down at a photo of Bonnie smiling in front of the NCIS base in Norfolk. After a moment he brought it closer to his face and narrowed his eyes, as if he was searching his memory.
"She kind of looks familiar," he said. "Maybe." He looked up at Ziva again, and she didn't see any deception in his eyes. His standoffish attitude from moments ago had faded, and even though they hadn't asked him much of anything, Ziva's gut told her he wasn't involved in Bonnie's death. "Why are you asking me about her?" he asked.
"We found a fingerprint at the crime scene that matches yours," Ziva told him.
Ricky's eyebrows went up. "What? Where was the crime scene?"
"Her house in Falls Church," Quinn told him. "Can you tell us where you were on Tuesday afternoon?"
"Working," Ricky said firmly, and then thought a bit harder. "Tuesday I was at a house in McLean for a blocked toilet, and then another place a couple of blocks away from here for a problem with a hot water system. I can give you records."
"We'll need to take a look at them," Quinn said.
"Sure," Ricky said, and took a step towards Sue's desk. He paused, though, when he took in the piles of papers there. "Uh…might need Sue's help with that."
"Have you been to any houses in Falls Church recently?" Ziva asked.
"I think I was there on Monday," Ricky said. "Problem with a kitchen sink."
Quinn took out his phone and flicked through his photos to find one of the front of Bonnie's house. He held it out for Ricky. "Does this place look familiar?"
Ricky tapped the screen. "Yeah, that's it. I reckon I was there Monday." He pointed at the photograph of Bonnie that he's given back to Ziva. "That coulda been her place. There was a blonde there. I mean, I can't be 100 per cent certain. I wouldn't be able to pick her out of a line up. But it could've been her."
"Did the woman seem nervous or upset at all?" Ziva asked.
Ricky shrugged his shoulders and gave what seemed like a self-aware chuckle. "Yeah. When I turn up at a place and it's a woman there by herself, more often than not they get nervous around me. I'm big and hairy, I get it. I try not to take offence."
Ziva wondered if Ricky's employer knew that the guy he was sending out to jobs where he'd be met by women home by themselves was an ex-con who'd done time for sexual battery. Ziva wanted to believe that people could be redeemed. She liked to think that she had redeemed herself after acts she had committed at Mossad. And yet, she still felt that a leopard couldn't change its spots. What that said about her, she wasn't sure.
"We need to see those records," Ziva told him.
Ricky nodded and headed for the back door. "I'll get Sue," he said. He opened the door and Ziva watched him closely as he stuck his head into the back room. "Hey, Sue? I need a hand with your filing system."
As they waited for Sue to return, Quinn stepped up to Ziva's side. "I think he's clean," Quinn muttered.
"We need to check," she reminded him.
"Yeah, I'm just saying—"
"Rule number three."
"I know."
Sue returned to the office and gave Ricky a shy but flirty smile. "There's no filing system to speak of," she told him.
Ziva watched Ricky's eyes settle on Sue's butt as she walked back to her desk. She felt her stomach turn and looked up at Quinn. "Check the records. I am going to talk to the others."
"Got it," Quinn said.
As Sue and Ricky became preoccupied with records, Ziva slipped through the back door. Neither of the men who had been out there before were around anymore, but Ziva figured they wouldn't be far. She walked down a row of plastic pipes and silver fittings to where she had last seen them, and then spotted a back door that was open. Outside she found two plumbing vans and the young man, Mickey, who had been with Ricky before. He heaved a thin, coiled length of pipe off his shoulder into the back of the van and then slammed the door, and then turned around again. He jumped when he saw Ziva standing there, and then fell into an embarrassed smile.
"Sorry," he told her for no reason. "Didn't hear you come up."
"Are you Mickey?" she asked with a friendly smile.
He gave her a nod. "That's me," he said, and wiped his dirty hands on his pants like he was going to shake her hand. Ziva kept her hands deep in her pockets.
"I am Special Agent David," she told him again. "Do you work most days with Ricky?"
"Yes, ma'am," he told her as his cheeks flushed. "I just started two months ago. He's been taking me out to jobs with him while I learn how to do everything."
"Are you learning a lot?" she asked conversationally.
He nodded eagerly. "Yeah. He's been a good teacher."
"Were you with him on Monday and Tuesday?"
Mickey's eyes drifted for a moment as he thought about it. "Uh, yeah. Probably. I've been here all week, so…yeah."
"Do you remember going out to a house in Falls Church?"
His cheeks flushed again. "I don't know. Maybe. I don't know my way around some of the suburbs."
Ziva nodded and tried not to get frustrated with him. She took Bonnie's photo out of her pocket and held it up for him. "Do you recognize her?"
"Oh, yeah!" Mickey said, bobbing his head quickly. "Yeah, we saw her this week. It could've been Monday or Tuesday."
Ziva eyed him. "You are sure it was her?"
He gave her another embarrassed smile. "She was hot. I remember."
"Did you or Ricky talk to her much?"
He shook his head. "No. She was, like, busy with something in another room. Ricky fixed her kitchen sink and then we left. She didn't say much 'cept thanks."
"Okay," Ziva said, nodding. "What was the problem with her sink?"
"Blockage," he said confidently. "I haven't been here long, but I've seen a lot of those."
"Did you do any of the work yourself?" Ziva asked. They hadn't found anyone else's fingerprints in the kitchen except Ricky's. However they had not dusted the pipes under the sink. That was not routine.
Mickey shook his head and looked at his shoes. "No, ma'am. I'm not allowed yet. I just hand over tools and lend a hand when a third one's needed."
Ziva nodded. "What about Tuesday, at about four pm?" she asked. "Were you with him then?"
"Um, that was the day we spent, like, four hours on this guy's toilet." He made a face, then chuckled. "It was so gross."
Ziva took him at his word on that. "Well, thank you very much," she said, and turned to go.
"Hey, is Ricky in trouble?" Mickey asked her.
Ziva turned around again to look at him. He seemed worried. "Not right now. Why?"
He shrugged. "He's a good guy, is all."
Again, Ziva had to wonder whether the business knew about Ricky's background. Most businesses would do background checks on their employees, but not always. Still, it was not her place to enlighten them, as much as she wanted to.
Ziva gave him a tight smile and then headed back inside. Sue was back behind her desk and Ricky was sitting on the corner of it. Quinn stood facing them with a bunch of papers in his hand, and raised his eyebrows at her when she stepping into the room. Ziva gave him a nod.
"Thanks for your time," Quinn told Ricky. "We might be in touch if we have further questions."
Ricky shrugged and then let his eyes give Ziva the once over. "No problem."
Ziva bit her tongue and nodded at them, and then headed back out to the street. It took until she'd gotten to the car for her skin to stop crawling.
…
"Ricky D'Augustino has an alibi for the time Bonnie was killed," Ziva announced as she and Quinn returned to the bullpen. McGee and Gibbs both stopped what they were doing and looked up to hear more. "He was at a plumbing job in McLean."
Quinn held up the papers he'd gotten from Sue. "Plumbing business records confirm it."
"As does the trainee plumber he took with him to the job," Ziva added.
Gibbs opened his mouth, but Quinn pre-emptively answered his question. "We also called the homeowner, and he confirmed that he called Benny's Plumbers out on Tuesday to fix his toilet. And that a guy matching Ricky's description turned up at midday. Didn't leave until after four."
Gibbs sat back in his chair and laced fingers together behind his head. "How'd his fingerprint end up at Bonnie's?"
"He was there the day before to fix the kitchen sink, just like Bonnie's mother said," Ziva said, and then dropped into her chair. "He was very upfront, Gibbs. He was not involved."
Gibbs slid his eyes over to McGee. The senior field agent withered a little before nodding.
"Yeah, that just means that we have to work harder to find this guy who called her," he said. "I'm on it. Abby's on it. We'll get there."
"Get there faster," Gibbs said. He stood up and walked around to the front of Ziva's desk, where he pointed at her and then clicked his finger. "With me," he said to her.
Ziva got to her feet quickly and hurried after him to the elevator. She thought they might have been going to see Ducky, but when Gibbs stopped the car almost as soon as it started moving, she could have kicked herself for falling into the trap.
Gibbs turned in the dim light to face her. His face was blank, but she read the concern and suspicion in his eyes as clearly as if he'd been shouting about it. She drew a breath and removed her grip from the handrail as she braced herself.
"Where were you this morning?" he asked her, keeping his voice gentle for the time being.
"I had an errand to run," she told him, keeping eye contact. If Quinn had called him while she was outside talking to Mickey, she would break his thumbs.
Gibbs' eyes barely narrowed. "Ziva." He didn't believe her.
"I had an errand," she repeated. "I do not understand why this is so difficult for everyone to understand."
Gibbs shifted his weight to his other foot, and then back again. "It's not like you."
Ziva couldn't believe what she was hearing. Since when did Gibbs follow Quinn's wavelength? There were still days that passed when Gibbs wouldn't even talk to Quinn simply because he wasn't Tony. But now they were both passing the same expert judgment on her?
"I run errands!" she argued, letting her arms come up and drop away quickly. "I have a house and a partner, and sometimes having those things lead to errands."
"You always run your errands in the afternoon," Gibbs said.
Ziva snorted and rolled her head to the side. "Oh, for God's sake."
"You're never late," he added.
"Today, I was. And I apologize. Believe me, it will never happen again." She went to step around him to start the elevator again, but Gibbs blocked her.
"Do I need to be worried about you?" he asked gently.
"Because I have errands to run?" she asked, incredulous.
Gibbs didn't reply. He just looked at her until Ziva was clear that he knew she was lying, wouldn't press her for details, but expected an honest response if she wanted him to let her go without interrogating her further. And it would be interrogation.
She crossed her arms and leaned back against the wall. "I am fine," she told him, leaving the fight out of her voice. "Really."
"You can't make this thing personal, Ziva."
"I know."
"I mean it."
"I understand," she assured him.
Gibbs nodded and turned to start the elevator again.
"Gibbs?" she said impulsively. "I want to interview Eddie Hertzog."
Gibbs looked at her like he couldn't believe she'd asked.
"I am not making it personal," she told him firmly.
"That's exactly what you're doing," Gibbs said crossly.
She held her hand up to plead her case. "No. Listen. It makes sense for us to interview the person who was sent to prison because of what he did to her. Don't you think he might hold a grudge?"
Gibbs stepped right up to her and looked her in the eye. "I thought he mostly went to prison because of what he did to you," he challenged.
Ziva swallowed down her unease at that. "I was a part of it," she agreed, hating that her voice weakened.
"A critical part," Gibbs said.
The comment sent a cold shiver down Ziva's spine, but she raised her chin so that he wouldn't know he was getting to her. "Thank you for the compliment," she shot back.
Gibbs gave her a knowing look and stepped back to a more comfortable distance. "We've got no cause, Ziva," he told her. "We got video of the guy who probably killed her, and it ain't Hertzog."
"What if they are working together?"
"We'll look into that once we know who the guy is." He turned to turn off the emergency brake, "We keep following the evidence now, Ziva. And if solid evidence points to Eddie? Then we'll talk to him."
She sighed in defeat. "Okay. Fine."
"Don't make it personal," he reminded her.
Ziva nodded and swallowed down the lump that was trying to form in her throat. "Nothing personal."
…
She couldn't take a full breath. The air was too hot and dry, and every time she pulled it in it burned her throat and lungs until it felt like she was swallowing fire. The heat and dust scratched her eyes and rubbed her skin raw, but this pain was nothing compared with what he brought upon her every time he visited.
Her adrenaline was already high when she heard the scrape and thud of his boots outside her cell. She tried to bite down her panic. She didn't want him to see her fear. She didn't want him to think he had broken her. She would endure the horror of what she knew would come next with stoic silence and not give him the pleasure of her cries. She would never beg him to end this. She would never let him know how much pain his body brought to hers. When he killed her, she would die without a sound.
He would get nothing from her.
She did not move from her dark corner when the door to her cell swung open. She expected to see him, but instead a thin blonde woman was thrown into the dust by Ziva's feet. She collapsed in on herself like a rag doll before lifting her head and baring her bruised neck. Bonnie's bright blue eyes screamed out her fear.
"Help me!" she begged. "Ziva, help me!"
"You have to be quiet," Ziva heard herself say. The pain in her dry throat brought tears to her eyes. "Do not give in to them."
"Help me!" Bonnie screamed.
Ziva moved to grab her and hush her, but she couldn't move her arms. She was weighed down—probably chained to the wall like she always was. How had she forgotten that? She looked down at her body and a crashing wave of panic slammed into her chest. There were not chains around her wrists. They were hands. Someone else's hands. And not just one pair. There were dozens. Hands all over her. Huge, male hands gripping on to every part of her body. Keeping her down. Keeping her where they wanted her.
Ziva tried to throw the hands off her. She pulled at them and kicked and rolled on the ground. But the hands got tighter around her—they started hurting her and digging into her—the harder she fought them. They closed around her mouth and nose, and she smelled the cigarettes and beer over the dust and sweat. She wanted to vomit.
"Help me!" Bonnie screamed again, and through fingers around her eyes Ziva could see a dozen men grabbing at Bonnie and rolling her around in the dirt.
Ziva thrashed with all her might, but the hands kept holding her down. She felt them invade her. She was helpless. But there had to be a way out. Tony was here, wasn't he? Tony wouldn't let this happen.
"TONY!" she screamed through the hands.
She smelled him there and turned her head. He looked beaten down as he sat beside her, and he reached his hand out to take the one of hers she had managed to free.
"Just hold on," he told her with a voice like gravel. It didn't sound like him. "It'll be over soon."
She looked at Bonnie. The men had left her. In death, she was bent at an odd angle as blood trickled down her arms. Bruises rose quickly around her arms and her neck. Then hands closed around Ziva's eyes and the agony within her became unbearable. Dust filled her mouth and then her lungs. More hands found her throat and squeezed hard, choking her. Her fear skyrocketed and her heart rate spiked. The fire in her body suddenly switched to an icy chill that invaded every vein and nerve, and she knew this was the end.
Do. Not. Scream, she reminded herself. But then he was there, forcing her eyes open and holding her jaw in a crushing grip.
"You will look at me," Saleem demanded, and then she felt herself falling.
Ziva landed on her bedroom floor and, barely awake but in a full panic, she scrambled to press her back against the wall. The nightmare was still in her head and under her skin as she blinked through the dark and tried to lay eyes on Bonnie. Where was she? Where was Tony? She drew in harsh, ragged breaths that she could only barely hear over the blood rushing through her ears and her heart pounding rabbit-fast.
"Tony?" she whispered harshly.
He didn't answer. Her panic shot up again. She couldn't work out why he wasn't there. She crawled back to the bed and grabbed her gun, and then pushed herself to her feet and swept the barrel of the gun around the room. No one, not Tony or anyone else, was there.
Ziva licked her desert-dry lips and edged her way out of the bedroom to the dark hallway. With each step some of her sense returned, and by the time she reached the top of the stairs she knew she was home, that Saleem was dead, and that Bonnie had died days ago. But she didn't know for sure that she was safe. She didn't know someone wasn't in her house to take revenge for her part in Eddie Hertzog going to prison.
She pressed her back against the wall as she started down the stairs, and her breath caught when she realized there was light coming down the hallway from the kitchen. She stopped halfway down the stairs and listened hard, and a sharp stab of fear went through her as she heard someone moving around. Ziva flicked the safety off the gun and crept the rest of the way down the stairs. Her socks muted the sound of her footsteps as she approached the kitchen, but she was sure whoever it was would be able to hear her heart. It was beating so hard it hurt. She raised her gun as she approached the door, steeled herself for whatever she would find, and then swept into the room. Her gaze immediately fell to the man sitting at the kitchen island, and she pointed her gun directly at his startled face. She stared at him for one blink, two blinks, as her adrenaline surged and her body started to shake. Then the message finally got from her brain to her arm that there was no threat, and she could lower her weapon.
Tony swallowed a bite of his sandwich. "Did I wake you?" he asked carefully.
Ziva opened her mouth to apologize for almost killing him, but couldn't find her voice. The only noise she made was from her shallow, ragged breathing.
Concern etched itself on Tony's face. "Ziva?"
She shuddered as if she'd been shocked, and then her nerve endings went haywire and she started shaking uncontrollably. Unexplained terror rolled through her, sending rivers of ice down her arms and legs. Noise filled her head and dark spots formed in her vision, and the pain in her chest from her racing heart started stealing her breath. It brought her nightmare right back again, and for a second she thought of the gun in her hand and how she could end this. But she couldn't move her hand. She couldn't move anything. She was paralyzed.
She had no idea how long it took her to realize Tony was right in front of her. His soothing voice broke through the noise, and she grabbed onto it like a lifeline.
"Breathe with me, Ziva," he said right against her ear. "Listen to me."
She tried, but it was like she didn't have control of her body. Images from her nightmare were flashing through her mind on a loop even though she tried to force them away, and as long as they were in her head, she couldn't stop her panic.
"Come on, Ziva," Tony said. "Follow my breathing."
She gasped and felt tears spill onto her cheeks. Her heart—God, her heart—hurt so much she was sure she was having a heart attack.
"Ziva, I want you to think about that time we went to the Bahamas last year," Tony said evenly, keeping up his patient effort to get through to her. "Think about that day when it was just you and me by the water. We swam in that warm, crystal clear water for hours. Remember that? It was so still and warm. We found that private little piece of beach, and it was so quiet. Just us. Remember that?"
Thoughts of torture in the desert started mingling with memories of paradise. Yes, she remembered. Just the two of them on a white sand beach—warm, fine sand, not the harsh and hot sand from the desert—on their first true vacation together. It had been perfect.
"And remember that night we stayed up?" he went on. "We watched the sunset, and then we spent the night just talking and drinking wine, lying in bed together until we watched the sunrise. Remember? We realized it was the first time we'd done that when we weren't on a stakeout. And I think I must've told you 20 times that I loved you."
Thoughts of that night slowly pushed aside her memories of hell in the desert. She'd laid beside him, on top of him, beneath him in the dark, and she'd never felt so relaxed or content. She drew a steadier breath and felt her panic drop a notch. She became aware that Tony wasn't just in front of her, but around her. He was holding her against his chest and had his arms around her, and one of his hands was stroking slowly but firmly up and down her back in time with his breathing. As he drew a breath, his hand slid from her lower back up to her shoulders. As he exhaled, his hand ran down her spine again. She started following his rhythm.
"Remember we made those plans to just disappear there and never come home? And then McGee called and ruined everything by insisting on being our moral compass?"
A laugh bubbled up from inside her at the memory, and then she drew a deeper breath. This time she noticed the wonderfully familiar and deeply loved smell of him all around her. It brought her further back to earth, and she was able to lift her arms and wrap them around his waist as she pushed her face into his neck.
"Stupid McGee," he said softly, and pressed a kiss to her cheek. "I think we should still do it, sweetcheeks. Disappear in the Bahamas. How good does that sound?"
She nodded as the pain in her chest started receding. "Good," she said shakily.
He pressed another kiss to her cheek. "I'm full of good ideas."
Finally, Ziva was able to get her breathing more or less under control. Her fear started seeping away, and soon she was able to feel her feet on the ground again. Her chest still hurt a bit and she still felt shaky, but she gathered enough control over herself to force her eyes open and draw a deep breath.
Tony's hand left her back to brush her hair back over her shoulder. "You okay?"
She pulled back from him far enough to meet his eyes. She gave him a nod, but the look of worry on his face was so deep that it brought a fresh round of tears to her eyes. She rolled her eyes at herself and lifted her hand to wipe them away. "Yes," she told him.
He stroked his hand through her hair again. "You haven't had one like that for a while."
Ziva could only thank God for that. She had only had about four panic attacks like this in the years since Tony, Gibbs and McGee brought her back from Somalia, and that was plenty. The last one that had hit her this badly was soon after her father died. "No."
"What happened?" he asked. "You didn't think it was me down here?"
She shook her head and laid her hand on his chest. "No, I had a nightmare. I got confused."
"Bad one," he guessed.
"Yes." She drew another deep breath and blew it out again. "I am sorry I almost shot you."
Tony chuckled, and took her face between his hands and kissed her. "No, you didn't. Are you okay?" he asked again.
Ziva nodded, and despite feeling simultaneously drained and wired by the panic, she pulled away from him. "Yes." She rubbed her face and tried to focus on the normal in her life to calm her down. "Did you just get home?"
"About 20 minutes ago," he said, and reached to push her hair back over her shoulder. "Just wanted a sandwich. Sorry I didn't get home early enough to make you dinner."
"It is fine," she assured him, and looked around his shoulder at the clock on the oven. "What time is it?"
"Almost midnight."
Ziva guessed she had about two hours' sleep. That was something, at least. She wasn't sure how much more she'd get tonight. Her panic attack had receded, but she was still wired and shaky, and she didn't want to have that dream again.
"Are you going to come back to bed?" Tony asked her.
She swallowed and shook her head. "No. You go. I just need to…" She tried to think of how to explain herself, but couldn't think off the words.
"Walk it off," Tony supplied.
She gave him a brief smile. "Yes. Walk it off."
He gave her a knowing look, and then took her hand and gave it a tug. "Come with me." He led her to the dark living room, where he toed off his shoes, took off his tie and then lowered himself to the couch. He gestured at her to come with him as he lay down and stretched out on his back. "Come on," he said under the strain of his back muscles trying to relax. "Snuggle up, sweetcheeks."
Ziva loved him for making the allowance for her mood and her issues, but she shook her head. "No, Tony, you've got to get up early tomorrow. Go to bed. I will be there later."
Tony shook his head. "Come here," he implored.
"Tony—"
"Come. Here," he repeated again, and held his hand out to her.
She relented. Tony could be exceptionally stubborn at times, and she knew from this particular tone of voice that he was using that he'd keep arguing until she grew tired of it, and then they'd both be left in bad moods. That held no appeal to her, so she planted her knee between his calves, braced herself on the couch cushions and maneuvered herself until she was tucked in comfortably between him and the back of the couch. She rested her head on the meat of his shoulder as Tony wrapped one arm around her and reached for the blanket slung over the armchair beside them, and then fanned it out over the top of them.
"I am okay," she told him again. "It was just a dream." She paused as Tony started rubbing his hand up and down her back, encouraging her to relax. "Bonnie was asking me for help. But we were in Somalia." She smiled wryly. "I am mixing up my traumas."
"Well, you're getting old. It happens," he said flippantly, and then kissed her temple to dull the cut he'd made.
Ziva breathed out a chuckle and hugged him a little tighter. She loved him for continuing to be himself right now and treating her like he normally would.
"Do you want to talk about it?" he asked.
No, she didn't. It was her natural inclination to wave it all away and pretend that it never happened and didn't bother her. But she knew it was important to Tony that she was open with him about these things. Being open with him, even when he couldn't do anything to change what had happened, showed him that she trusted him and needed him. He'd told her so in those exact words early on in their romantic relationship. And because she loved him, because she did need him, she made the effort.
She drew in a deep lungful of the safe, loved smell of him to ground herself. "There were a lot of hands on me," she said, and her voice became thinner as emotion tried to rise to the surface. "Everywhere. Holding me down and squeezing me. And I couldn't help Bonnie as she was tortured and screamed for help."
Tony's hand kept its steady rhythm up and down her back as he tried to stay outwardly calm for her, and she heard him trying to keep his breathing even. He took stories of her time in Somalia, even the stories that happened only in her dreams, badly. But he listened to them. He said he wanted to help her. And he did.
"You are helping her, Ziva," he said, his voice barely wavering.
"Too late," she countered.
"Not your fault."
She only grunted at that.
"Where's the case at?" he asked.
"Nowhere," she told him with frustration creeping into her voice. "I interviewed a man who left a fingerprint in the kitchen. He is a plumber who had been called out there the day before. And he has an alibi for Tuesday. Our only other official suspect is the man who made the call to Bonnie soon before she died. But Abby and McGee are no closer to getting a good, useable image of him off the street surveillance cameras."
"They'll get there."
"I know."
He went quiet for a moment before putting a question to her. "Official suspect? Is there an unofficial one?"
"Only to me," she grumbled, still annoyed by Gibbs' refusal to listen to her.
"Eddie," Tony guessed.
"I know he is in prison," she said. "That does not mean he is not behind it."
"So, why don't you talk to him?"
"Gibbs says we do not have enough reason to yet." She popped her head up to look at him. "And that is not a plea for you to talk to him on my behalf," she said firmly. "I know you like to have your little chit-chats—"
"I won't interfere," he promised.
She held his gaze for a moment. Just long enough to be sure that he was being honest, and then lay down again. "Gibbs wants more concrete evidence of Eddie's involvement."
Tony went quiet again. Ziva didn't like it. It meant he was thinking, and probably thinking specifically about how to frame his argument against her.
"What?" she asked on a sigh.
"Why do you feel he's involved?" he asked. "Really. Make your case."
She sighed again and pushed herself up and off him, but Tony reached for her arm.
"No, come back," he said softly. "Don't get angry with me. I'm trying to help."
"I know you are," she told him as she pushed her hair off her face and found a comfortable sitting position. "I just cannot argue my point while I am lying on top of you."
"I don't have a problem with you trying," he said.
Ziva rolled her eyes at his predictability. "Not this time."
Tony put one arm behind his head, and rested his other hand on her thigh. "Okay. Shoot."
"Before Bonnie, he stalked at least three other women. But he got away with it. It was Bonnie who brought him down."
"So you think he holds a grudge."
"She hurt his pride," Ziva said. "And that was a big deal to him. The last time she hurt his pride, he got physical with her. When I hurt his pride, he almost strangled me to death."
Tony squeezed her thigh. "I agree he's not the kind of guy who'd just let it go when a woman gets one over him."
"It would not have been too difficult for him to find out that Bonnie had applied to be an NCIS agent," she went on. "So killing her would have turned into a screw you to us as well."
Tony looked at her thoughtfully. "Yeah, but when we knew him, we weren't NCIS."
"At the trial his defense lawyer made the point that we used to be," she said. "And again, it would not be hard for him to find out that we were reinstated soon after he was sentenced."
Tony considered that, but didn't say whether or not he agreed with her. "What else?"
She swallowed and fought the sudden urge to rub her neck. "Strangulation is personal," she said. "It is about having power over someone. Eddie lost that power over Bonnie when he went to prison and she got on with her life."
"But he didn't personally strangle her," Tony said carefully. "He is in prison."
"Yes, but he could have instructed someone to do it that way."
He watched her quietly, and Ziva tried to implore him with her eyes to tell her she was right. But when he let out a long sigh, she knew he wouldn't.
"Ziva, you know I'm always on your side," he began, and it was all she had to hear to make her deflate. She fell back against the back of the couch with her arms crossed. Tony sat up and leaned closer. "Listen. I'm on your side, but there's no evidence. Gibbs is right. And you know it."
"I can feel it," she told him, lifting her chin defiantly.
"I don't doubt it," he said. "But there's nothing concrete here."
"If Gibbs would let me talk to him, I am sure that would change."
"Maybe it will," he agreed. "But you know what? Eddie's not going anywhere. So take the time to follow every lead, cross your 't's and dot your 'i's. Make it watertight."
She could have taken offence if she thought he was trying to tell her how to do her job. But she also knew the value in being reminded of the obvious at times. She smiled wanly at him.
"Is this one of the times when you want me to listen to and take your advice?" Ziva's deafness when it came to Tony's pleas or wisdom had been a bone of contention for a long time during their partnership, and particularly at the time when they had worked together on Bonnie's stalking case. But she had come a long way since then. Or at least, she hoped she had.
Tony gave her a knowing smile back. "Exactly," he said, and gave her a quick kiss.
She took a deep breath and calmed herself down to the point where she absorbed the information and felt it click inside her. If Tony and Gibbs—the two greatest allies she'd ever had—were telling her the same thing, at some point she became foolish for not listening.
"Okay," she said. "I will play Tony Knows Best on this."
He grinned at her. "I love that game." He gave her another kiss and then got to his feet and tugged on her hand. "Come to bed. I'm tired and I want to snuggle."
She wasn't ready to, but Tony did look tired—even more than he should have given the drama she made him deal with—and stressed out on top of it. She felt a stab of guilt for taking up all their time tonight, and a crushing wave of love for him.
"Did you ID the person your foot belongs to?" she asked as she stood up.
His head and shoulders dropped as they started towards the stairs. "Nope. No progress."
"Any hints?"
"A few, maybe." He shrugged. "I don't know. I think it's going to be a long one. And a puzzling one. The team is already tetchy."
She held his hand as they walked down to the bedroom, supporting him even if she couldn't help him. She got back into bed as Tony undressed and brushed his teeth, and when he got into bed beside her she snuggled into him like she knew he loved. He slid his arm around her and she tilted her head back to give him a soft, lingering kiss.
"I love you," she whispered to him.
"I love you, too," he told her. Then added, "Don't let me sleep in past five."
She smiled as he closed his eyes. "I won't."
It wasn't long before his breathing deepened and slowed, and his arm around her relaxed. But Ziva didn't follow him to sleep. For the next hour, as Tony twitched and gently snored, Ziva looked down the bed and out the window as snow started falling outside and thought about his good advice. She had known for a long time now that when it came to her, Tony often did know best.
She just wasn't sure that he knew best when it came to this case.
Thanks to those of you still following. I know interest is waning, but it's so nice to see the same people come back every week to hang out.