A/N: She's baaaa-ackkkkk. ::said in creepy voice...:: Happy week of Halloween! I just became aware yesterday that at my college, we're encouraged to dress up in costume Thursday and Friday of this week. I'm therefore torn between being Ziva (I did buy a Star of David pendant for my costume, after all) and Kate. Perhaps, I'll go as Ziva on Thursday and Kate on Friday? Oh, no, wait, the Shabbat starts on Friday, right? So that would be more fitting for Ziva since she's Jewish! ::grins:: I'll figure something out. Feedback is very much appreciated, though! Okay, so, this chapter is pretty nuts. It switches between Tony's point of view and Ziva's, because otherwise, you'd just be staring at walls and stuff. One more chapter to go, y'all...one more chapter and then this saga is over. But not to worry! ::grins even wider:: I just became the victim of several plot bunnies that refuse to be ignored. Alright, people, just start reading. You can even skip the Disclaimer! (not really, it's witty this week.)
Disclaimer: I don't own Gibbs' rules, nor do I own that adorable orange watch he's wearing nowadays. ::makes heart out of hands:: I unfortunately do not own the Hail Mary. I do believe in God. If that bothers you...Well, I can't really tell you not to read the story, because you've gotten to chapter twenty-four ... I suppose I can ask you not to hold it against me? I'm a nice person! ::grins:: Really...Okay, get reading. Oh. Wait, no, the concept of LINAS came to me at midnight last night when I was finishing this chapter. It sounded like something that may exist. If it does...alert your local police station and let them know LINAS' whereabouts. Get those perverts off of our streets. ::frowns deeply:: I can't beLIEVE that people are so crass and disrespectful toward women. If you find a sweet man out there, let me know! Okay, NOW you may read.
I awaken a few hours later tied to a chair in a room with a dirt floor. Dim light filters through grimy windows and reflects on each tiny dust particle in the thick air. My throat feels raw and I know that if I try to speak, I either will not be able to or it will be hoarse.
Something feels different, and I look down to see that the pregnancy pack has been removed from about my waist. Under other circumstances, this would be a relief. But I have been taken hostage, that I can see quite clearly, and now there is no choice but to drop my persona of Ana Stadelvard.
Alone in the room, I find myself wishing Tony knew where I am. The last time I was held captive, I thought perhaps I would never get out alive. Tony, McGee, and Gibbs came to save me. Unfortunately, I somehow do not feel that I can plan on that. The only way I will be able to escape is through wit and skill, both of which I am rusty in doing.
The door creaks and I wrench my neck as far as I can to see who is on the threshold. The angle he has my chair in the room prevents me from doing so. My shoulders tense when two large hands clamp down on them. Hot breath plays with stray curls by my ear.
"I would say your name, beauty, but I'm afraid I don't know it," a cool voice hisses in my ear before yanking on my hair. I bite my lip to prevent myself from screaming, drawing blood. "Be a nice little beauty and tell me who you are."
Shaking my head, I croak, "Not unless I can see the face of my captor." Whoever the man is, or his companion, swiftly kicks my knee and I hear a loud 'pop', followed by searing hot pain shooting up and down my leg. With watering eyes, I swear to myself that I still will not scream, and allow myself a few unsteady breaths, which do nothing for the pain.
Although he has hurt me, and knows it, the man steps around the chair and across from me, leaning backward casually against a water-heater. "Hello, beauty," Dr. Owens murmurs saccharinely, clad in an ivory suit, blue satin tie, and silver dress shirt. His shoes are brown, and he holds in his hand a wooden walking stick with a gold ball on the end of it. I shiver at the nightmares I had about Saleem's staff, emitting a shallow gasp. "Now, beauty, please…disclose to me your name." Tapping his right palm with the gold ball threateningly, he stares me down. I know that if I do not answer him, he will follow through on his unspoken threat.
"I am Ziva Davíd. I work for NCIS," I state softly, staring at the ball as if mesmerized. But the daze is out of fear. I do not want his staff to be out of my sight for a moment. Somehow in my mind, it adds up to mean that if I cannot see it, bad things will happen. Painful, horrid things…
"What is NCIS?" A low chuckle rises from his chest.
Gulping, I satisfy his question. "Naval Criminal Investigative Service."
"And what, my beautiful Zee-vah, do you do?" Dr. Owens steps forward and begins circling my chair counterclockwise, as if stalking prey.
"I am an agent," I state tersely, jumping as the wooden staff comes down hard on the back of my chair. It does not, however, strike me. While I want to sigh in relief, I instead hold my breath.
Again in front of me, Dr. Owens shakes his head and waves his staff at me. "No, no, pretty. You are obviously not American."
"Au contraire," I snap. "I stood at my Naturalization ceremony nearly one year ago. I am an American, if not by blood, in heart."
Dr. Owens ignores me and drones his next question. "How long have you worked for NCIS?"
"Almost six years."
"And you are married?"
"No." Furrowing my brow, I stare at the staff in confusion.
There is a full belly laugh from Dr. Owens before he leans forward on the staff, commanding my attention for a moment. As I glance at his deep silver eyes, I am welcomed with none of the warmth from our previous appointments, but rather the cold bitterness of a take-none-for-dead murderer. I am greeted with the types of men I see on a daily basis. I am greeted with the polar opposite of Tony, and Gibbs, and McGee. Palmer, Ducky. Director Vance.
I am faced with my father.
"No, Boss, I don't know where she is," I argue nervously from the kitchen window into my cell phone. "She was here when I left, and now she's nowhere in the house. I looked in every room and tried her cell phone what must be a hundred times, but that isn't gonna help us, because it's been stepped on…"
"People don't just disappear, DiNozzo," Gibbs snaps. "D'you want help finding her? Is that what you're saying?" There is a long pause, during which I debate whether to agree or deny the need for his wisdom. Just as I'm about to answer, Gibbs gives me a muffled, "Be there soon."
I bite my lip, staring out the plate glass at gently falling snow, wishing she were there with me to snuggle up in front of a fire and watch a movie or drink hot cocoa. There's a feeling in my heart, like pressure squeezing it on all sides, and I know I'm stepping into some pretty dangerous territory with Ziva. Pretending to be in love and being in love are two different things. I know that from experience. The whole Jeanne mess is something I never want to go back and do over again.
People always say, "Dude, if I could, like, go back…and do that over again, I would." Not me. No. I never want to go back there. I never want to see the pain in Jeanne's eyes when I told her it wasn't real. I never want to fall in love with her again. I did that once. That's good enough. I learned my lesson. No more love for DiNozzo. Got it.
But then I saw her. And now…now she is missing. "Ziva…" My beautiful partner's cell phone lay in pieces on the floor, the hinge resting inches from my shoe and the battery across the room from me next to the pantry door. Abby, luckily, still is with Gibbs, and in an hour, she can have any and all data—such as saved text messages or incoming calls—from the phone that will potentially help us find the Israeli goddess. Hopefully, she's fully in tact, instead of lying in pieces on the floor somewhere.
"Why, Ziva? Why didn't you just call me?" I hold out my own phone and takes pictures of anything that can be considered evidence, trying to keep my mind off of what is inevitably happening to Ziva Davíd.
-break-
"Miss Ziva," Dr. Owens purrs, drawing closer to her with the staff. "You never told me what your pretty little scars were from." He traces my jawbone, which causes me to flinch away from his touch; he taps the knee he had previously kicked. The slightest touch sends heat of pain through my cartilage and bones, which is odd.
I did not think bones had nerve endings. I stow the thought in the back of my mind, making a silent promise to ask Ducky upon my arrival back in Virginia. I do not allow it to even cross my mind that I may not make it back at all.
"I did not think that was a requirement for an undercover assignment, sir," I bite out, still staring at the staff.
"Oh, Lovely, it isn't. I guess I'd like to know what exactly I am dealing with."
Swallowing, I begin, "I was taken hostage." Dr. Owens lets out a bark of laughter. "I was held in Somalia for over four months."
"Somalia? What business would NCIS have in Somalia?" He polishes the golden ball with the lapel of his suit.
"I am originally Mossad. My father is the Director." My eyes never leave the brass, even when it is covered by the off-white rayon.
"Is he? Fascinating." I know that he does not actually care. "So you fight?"
I allow myself a glance at my knee. "When I am in one piece, yes."
"Oh, so, fighting right now would not be feasible?"
Shaking my head, I state, "Unfortunately for you, Dr. Owens, I find many things feasible when my life depends on winning."
I've paced the kitchen seventy-three times before Gibbs arrives. I've kicked the wall—and broken the heat-run vent—forty-two times. I've come close to punching the molding eighty-nine times. I'm so close to losing my grip on reality to the wrath I have boiling in my veins that I don't hear him enter.
"Sit down, DiNozzo," the Silver Fox orders, and I obey, perching myself on the edge of the cushion. "Tell me what you've got." Abby slips in behind him and down the hall to the dining room to set to work on Ziva's phone.
I consider everything that I've found so far. "Well, we got in a fight."
"That all?"
"No…" I mumble.
"Marines don't mumble, DiNozzo," Gibbs snaps.
"I'm not a Marine. I'm barely a Sea-man, who, by the way, we still haven't found." My voice is bitter and I immediately regret the tone. "Sorry, Boss."
"Rule Number Six." Mm, Boss, you're forgetting Rule Number Eighteen.
"Right, Boss." Steepling my fingers, I stare straight ahead. "We were fighting, and I left, and she didn't try to stop me. I went and drove around for a few hours, then got a pizza in town, tried calling the house to apologize `cause I picked up her favorite pizza…I didn't get an answer." Sighing, I continue, "So then, I went to Wegman's and bought some paper towels and I saw a flyer for TJMaxx, right? So I went there, and I saw this necklace I thought she'd like, and came back here."
"Is there a point to this, DiNozzo?"
"Yes, there is. So, I called again, saying that I was sorry and whatnot…straight to voicemail. Didn't even ring. So I drove back here." I choke out my last few words, "And Ziva was gone."
Gibbs is silent, but mirrors my position. "Look, Tony," he finally says softly, "We're gonna find her. We did last Fall and we're gonna do it again. Got it?"
"Yeah."
But I don't, really. There's an awful feeling in the pit of my stomach that I can't shake.
But, as if by reflex, I know what to do and start doing it.
Hail Mary, Full of Grace…
Yahweh, please…please…
I sit blindfolded, as though Dr. Owens knows the object of me watching his staff. "Beauty?"
"Mm," I utter, not a question or an answer, but just a soft sound.
"Beauty, I was thinking we'd like to play a game." His voice is husky and by my ear. If possible, his breath is hotter than before. I feel something fabric—covering something hard—brush against my leg.
"What kind of game." We? "And who is 'we'?"
Several male laughs echo in the room. My stomach sinks. No…
One of them steps forward. "Y'all're bein' mean t'this hurr wuh-mun," a familiar voice grunts. "I want to see her face when I have my way with her." I swallow hard. Why has his voice changed? Where is his accent?
"Gentlemen, gentlemen," a younger man murmurs. "We shouldn't do this." My heart soars with the hope he is going to prevent this, but soon falls. "I agree with Bud," he states. "I vote nay to the blindfold."
The fabric over my eyes is ripped away, some of my hair with it. I am faced with four men, plus Dr. Owens. One of them is Buck's father. The other three are not familiar with me, but are wearing similar clothing to Dr. Owens; ivory suits, sateen ties, and silver shirts.
Glaring, I spit, "You look like a Barber's Quartette." The men look between them. "Barbershop," I softly correct myself, feeling my cheeks blaze in humiliation. They roar with laughter until the younger one from before—with a peach tie—kneels before me and places a gentle hand on my thigh.
"Ziva," he whispers. "Ziva, do you know who we are?"
I stare into his eyes, hoping mine convey appropriately the anger and hatred I have for them, but none of the fear. "You are bastards, keeping me in a basement against my will, preparing to do wretched things to me because you like feeling empowered. You are pigs. You ar—" A swift blow to my cheek forces me to fall silent, my face smarting with pain.
"No, Ziva." Someone who once seemed so potentially kind is now disgusting and crass. "We are LINAS." I raise my eyebrows in confusion. "Love Is Not A Sin."
"What is this LINAS?" I inquire, repositioning my arm to be more comfortable within the ropes binding me to the chair.
"LINAS is—" he begins, until Buck's father pipes up,
"—an organization that re-empowers us men in the world. Women fucked things up the first time, with the prohibition shit and the Rights movements." Snorting something out of his palm, he sways and then laughs, "We love women. They love us. So why can't we show them any damn time we want?" I cringe at his words. "They learn to enjoy it. That's all that matters."
Peach Tie lights something that looks like a joint. "My name's Chris. I'm Dr. Owens' son." Chris points to a man with a lime green tie. "That's Howard." He has dentures that keep falling out, a balding head, and sagging chin. A man with a purple tie steps forward and bows his head. "He's John." Then, a man with a yellow tie steals the joint from Chris. "That's Albert."
I stare at Buck's grandfather. "Who are you?" I murmur acidly.
"Matthew Conoghey," he replies through beautiful white teeth. "Pleasure to meet you."
"What are you doing? Why me?" I ask, as though they will actually tell me. Chris laughs. He is obviously the spokesman for this LINAS.
"Oh, Ziva. Beautiful, sexy, perfect Ziva," he answers debonairly. "You have so much to learn tonight."
Dr. Owens looks up. "You know, Chris didn't believe in any of this when he first found out. He was actually against it. But he learned, too. As did Albert, then Howard, and then John, after him."
"How did you 'learn'?" I ask, my voice wobbling slightly.
"Watched." Chris shrugs, then takes a long hit on the joint held tightly between his forefinger and thumb.
"So it is a cult, then?" Peach Tie leers in my face. "A big, disgusting cult that has little to do with love and all to do with rape?" I turn my head to Dr. Owens. "I certainly hope you are happy with what you have taught your son, Dr. Owens."
"Oh, I am," he grins. "I most certainly am."
The nightmares begin now.
"…so in a nutshell, I ripped all of the info we need from the CPU and memory of the phone. I found all of her missed calls. Ten from Tony, four from me, and two from you, Gibbs," Abby rambles, just as she has been since she called us into the dining room a big past midnight. "And I found a saved text that she never got to finish." She hands the phone to me and my breath catches.
tony i m srry. pls come bck now something is
Gibbs takes one look at the screen and shoves it back to Abby. "What's the rest of it supposed to say?"
Abby shrugs. "Sorry, Gibbs. Your guess is as good as mine."
"Well, can you figure it out?"
"Nope. The only person who knows is Ziva." The strength that had adorned Abby's face before—and that had emanated off of her entire body—was nowhere to be seen. She throws herself into Gibbs' arms and wails, "What if she's deh-heh-hed?"
"She's gonna be fine, Abs. Just fine." He gives her a moment to collect herself and she soon releases him. Though her cheeks are streaked with tears, she sniffs loudly and continues.
"The text was auto-saved at five-thirty tonight." Setting the carefully reconstructed phone down on the table, Abby pouts at us. "That means that, if we assume from the hurried and non-Ziva-like speech of the text that she was in trouble of some kind, the kidnappers broke in around that time."
"That's good work, Abs." Gibbs places a gentle but grateful kiss on the Goth girl's forehead and sweeps from the room. "DiNozzo, get on the phone. You know who to call."
I do? Oh. I do.
I get out the phone book and flip to the 'S's, quickly dialing the number associated with the rectory. "Hi, Father MacGregor? I…have something to confess."
A/N: EEK. Okay, so, I already started Chapter 25. ::smiles warmly:: You should have it by the end of this week, time and schoolwork permitting. I hope you enjoyed it. It was really difficult writing about LINAS, and even thinking of it ... EEP. I hope I conveyed the right sense of ... well, whatever it should be. Fear? Disgust? Chill? Whatever it is, I hope I wrote it alright. Reviews welcome! ::waves:: Bye!
PS: Remember to watch NCIS on CBS at 8PM EST! -Vance, who is absolutely nowhere to be seen in this episode...
PSS: Yeah, Leon? And why would they wanna do that? -G
PSSS: Because he's flyin' like a G6! Oh, right Boss...Confessing... -T
PSSSS: Can someone come get me now? Please? -Z