Title: Picking up the Pieces and Filling in the Gaps
Author: ChelseaDaggerCinderella
Summary: Tony and Ziva spend the four months between 'Hiatus' and 'Shalom' strengthening their partnership…and their relationship, but Tony still winds up working undercover for the Director, and Ziva has demons of her own to deal with. Can they come together to make everything alright again?
Disclaimer: I don't own NCIS, although I'd like to. No infringement intended, Mr. Bellisario.
Author's Note:
Okay, so no one really took the bait on the contest...guess I won't be trying that again. So, I'm really excited about this chapter and I'm even more excited to see what you guys think of it. I know you'll all be either screaming or groaning come the end of this chapter, but you'll eventually love me for it…if you are a believer. Haha. Read on!
When Ziva got home that night she was completely and utterly exhausted. She wasn't even hungry, which was strange for Ziva. It had been a rather trying two days and all she wanted right now was to take a long, hot bath, and then crawl under the covers for the night.
She tossed her keys onto the hallway table (as she kicked the door closed), and threw her bag down on the loveseat before extracting her tired limbs from her jacket, and hanging it up in the hall closet, neatly. She toed off her boots, sighing in relief that her feet were free to wriggle without their harsh confinements, and set them next to her door. She stretched her arms over her head and felt her back crack, followed by her shoulders popping, and then finally her neck as it, too, cracked. She ran in place for a minute, making sure her knees met her stomach with each movement, and then bent over to touch the floor.
Knock, knock, knock, she heard, and silently cursed. It can only be one person, she thought to herself tiredly, unsure as to whether his appearance would be a good thing or a bad thing. But she opened the door and let him in regardless. He turned around and went to speak, but she held up her hand, halting his words. "Before you say anything, Tony, I want you to know that I am dirty, tired, grumpy, and stiff—and I want nothing more than to take a bath and go to sleep. Therefore, if any of what you were about to say is going to interfere with these plans, then please stay silent."
He laughed a little and then nodded, amused when she sighed in relief. Then he shrugged out of his coat, and then his suit jacket, and watched as a look of confusion came over her face. Now it was his turn to hold up a hand to stop her from talking. Specifically, he held up his right index finger in a trademark DiNozzo-move and motioned for her to sit down on the loveseat, silencing her when she began to speak once again. "Sit," he ordered, pushing her down onto the small couch before turning on his heel and heading towards the bathroom. He started the hot water and plugged up the tub's drain with the stopper, reached below the sink to where he knew she kept her bath salts and threw some into the water. He then went to the kitchen, initially intent on getting her a glass of wine, but then deciding that she'd probably appreciate a beer more.
He went back out to the living room to bring it to Ziva and escort her to her bath, only to discover that she'd disappeared. That's strange, he thought. "Ziva?" he called to her, and got no response. He checked her bedroom—nothing. "Ziva?" he called again. He was on his way back towards the bathroom when he realized that the water had stopped running. He quirked a small smile in response, proud of his little ninja-spook and her ability to disappear and then reappear like a mist. The small smile then grew into a grin when he spotted the not-so-subtle trail of clothes that now littered the floor leading into the bathroom. He poked his head around the corner and called her name again. "Ziva?" he asked softly, spotting her already soaking in the tub, her hair atop her head in a messy bun, and her head leaning back against a rolled up towel. "Uh," he said, unsure of what to do now that she'd hijacked his good deed. "I brought you a beer," he said lamely, cursing the way he sounded. Way to go, goof-ball! Only slightly better than 'I carried a watermelon…'
"Thank you," she said, holding out her hand for it, her eyes still closed. Without any other option, he stepped in and handed it to her, smirking a little at the quirk of her lips as she took her first sip, and trying really hard not to concentrate on how incredible she looked right now…naked and under the water. He turned on his heel, determined not to make a crude remark and ruin what he had hoped was a moment, but before he got far at all he heard the greatest words a guy could hear from a beautiful, naked girl in a bathtub. "Care for a swim, Tony?"
He laughed, actually happy, and then shucked his clothing, throwing it to meet Ziva's on the floor. He carefully stepped into the water, and silently rejoiced when she repositioned herself so she was leaning into his chest, the beer still in her hand. He grabbed the washcloth from the side of the tub and gently lathered her shoulders before cupping his hand to bring water up to rinse them clean again. She sighed in contentment and then lifted the hand with the beer to offer him some. He accepted the bottle and took a swig, clucking his tongue as he handed it back to her.
"What?" she asked, concerned, but too tired to be alarmed.
"Oh, nothing," he commented off-handedly, "I just wished I'd gotten two…"
The sound of her chuckle was music to his ears…
This time when Tony woke up he heard scratching of some kind and a strange feeling like he was being watched…or loomed over. He flipped over very quickly and lashed out at whatever it was, not thinking about the possibility that it could be Ziva…sneaking about so as not to wake him up. She blocked his strike with her arm and then grabbed his other wrist instinctively. "Sorry!" they both chorused before pausing and laughing at each other as well as the situation. She released his hands and he dropped back down on the bed, securing the sheet around his hips.
"I did not want to wake you," she said, a small smile playing on her lips.
He took in her appearance: sweats, a turtle neck beneath a black hoodie, earmuffs, and a scarf (her sneakers had dropped to the floor haphazardly in their small skirmish). "Going for a run?" he asked, not entirely unaccustomed to finding her gone in the morning, lost to her daybreak jog. She nodded, bent down to retrieve her sneakers and then sat on the bed to lace them up on her feet. He snaked his hand around her waist, and she inwardly shook her head. "You know, there are other ways to burn excess calories, Ziva," he hinted not-so-subtly. Same old Tony, she thought, and stood up, firm in her conviction.
"Tony, I am going for a run right now. I am going to attempt to clear my head and figure out what it is that I want, and what…is going on between the two of us."
He went to speak, almost all traces of his previous playfulness erased from his face, but she stopped him with a finger to his lips. "I do not regret last night, Tony; but this cannot continue as it has been. You and I must decide on what we intend to be to one another." She kissed him on the forehead quickly and turned to exit the bedroom. When she reached the doorframe, though, she turned back to look at him. He was sitting there with an extremely thoughtful look on his face, and seemed to be taking what she said very seriously. "You said you wanted to be with me, Tony, but your explanations for wanting me all included Jeanne." He looked back at up at her then, not saying anything. She swallowed hard and shifted from one foot to the other, more apprehensive than she'd like. "If you cannot separate your feelings for her from any feelings you have for me, then I'll have my answer, Tony." She finished quickly and turned-tail for the front door.
As soon as he heard her leave, Tony collapsed back on the bed, lying on his back, and threw his arm over his eyes. She's right, he admitted to himself. But the question was: could he reasonably support his relationship with Ziva without factoring in the things he'd discovered about the two of them while he was engaged in his 'relationship' with Jeanne? Could he adequately separate the two when his realizations about Ziva were so closely linked to his time spent with Jeanne? Could he do it at all? And most importantly, would it be enough?
Tony had just stepped out of the shower in his apartment when his cell phone rang. He groaned loudly and cursed, very much not in the mood to deal with work at this moment. He had all of these issues to deal with…and all of this thinking to do…and none of it, absolutely none of it, was going to be made any easier by being shoved together with Ziva at this moment in time. But, alas, there was nothing he could do—his cell phone was beckoning him back to reality.
He wrapped a towel hastily around his hips and dashed into his bedroom to scoop up his phone from his pants on his bed. "DiNozzo," he answered gruffly at seeing the exchange for the NCIS dispatcher appear on his phone's front screen. He listened to the dispatcher tell him to report back to NCIS immediately and thought about the myriad of different ways he could tell this particular pencil-neck to go scratch. But he refrained like a good little NCIS agent and said simply, "Understood."
Ziva was still out running when she got the call from NCIS dispatch telling her to return to the Navy Yard. She hightailed it back to her apartment, but seeing as so much time had passed with her having to run back to her place, she couldn't risk sparing the extra time to really clean up. She tossed her clothes aside, jumped in a cold shower for exactly thirty seconds, threw her hair up in a bun, and pulled on jeans and a long-sleeved shirt. She slid into her boots, grabbed her keys and was speeding her way back to the yard within twelve minutes of the initial call. Not bad, she thought to herself as she took a corner on two wheels. Tony would be furious with my driving if he were here, she thought to herself automatically. Then she mentally frowned, and shook herself. Tony is not here, Ziva… But, of course, the question she knew she didn't have a perfected answer to was—did she want him to be?
"Do you know them, McGee?" Ziva asked, referring to the photographs of the two agents who found themselves the victims of a terrorist bombing.
McGee was very sad as he took in the news of his friend's demise. Ziva knew that look well…unfortunately. "Jim Nelson and I went to FLETC together," McGee said, pointing to the Agent on the right. "I was at his wedding two months ago…"
She thought about saying something to McGee, but she knew from experience that right now nothing was going to make much of a difference.
"This better not be another recall drill," Tony shouted heatedly from behind the pair, his sudden appearance and the tone of his voice making Ziva go rigid for a moment. Tony was a sensitive subject with her right now, but, of course, that was far from public knowledge—so she really had to remember to control her reactions right now, and especially throughout this crisis. It would probably be difficult on Tony because of his fondness for Agent Cassidy. They'd spoken a few times about the other agent, and Tony had a great respect and affection for the woman. If she were in the sort of shape Ziva expected her to be, then Tony would begin to feel guilty and protective in his own right. Tony and his women, she thought, not jealously, but almost with admiration for the type of person he was.
She turned around and looked at him with as much calmness and support as possible without arising suspicion. "It's Agent Cassidy's team out of the Pentagon, Tony," she said, not anticipating that he'd automatically jump to the worst-case scenario. She could see the blood drain from his face and fear take over his eyes.
"They were attacked," McGee added.
"Is she okay?" he asked immediately.
"She survived," McGee said accurately. Cassidy was far from okay, but she was alive—and that's what Tony was asking.
"Her men weren't as lucky," Ziva specified, nodding to the two agents behind her on the plasma.
"Well what the hell happened?" he yelled at the pair, as if that were going to make things better.
"That's what we're going to find out, DiNozzo," Gibbs said, not breaking stride as he sped from one side of the squad room to the other. "Grab your gear," he ordered, screaming it again when all three hesitated. "Grab your gear!"
The camera flashed as Ziva continued taking pictures of the crime scene, taking in what little remained in the already-sparse storefront with aversion and disgust. "Flags of Iran, Iraq, Syria, and Saudi Arabia," she said distastefully. She was appalled and confused. "What type of store was this?!"
"McGee's working on it, Ziva," Gibbs said as he made his way around the crime scene like a mist—just everywhere at once.
"I don't suppose any of you have seen the head?" Ducky asked.
"Still looking for it, Ducky. Judging by the holes in the ceiling," she said, craning her neck up towards the recently aerated building, "I may have to try the roof next."
Tony shook his head. It doesn't make sense! What point was there to this? This building wasn't anything! "Why blow yourself up in an empty store?" he asked aloud, without thinking.
"It wasn't empty, Tony!" Paula screamed from her position by the doorway. She looked horrible. She had a cut over her right eye, a bruised left cheek, and it looked like a broken left pinky. Plus, she was shaking from the trauma of losing her team so instantaneously and horrifically. "It's my fault!" she screamed over and over, tears falling, and her entire body shaking with the emotional devastation.
Tony felt horrible for her. He felt horrible for speaking without thinking through the implications, and he felt horrible that she was in pain. She was a good friend and a great agent—she didn't deserve this—no one did. He took a step towards her. "It's not your fault, Paula," he said, in an attempt to be comforting. He didn't count on her incredible and all encompassing anger, though.
"You weren't here—Tony!" she screamed. "I killed my team!"
Gibbs took hold of Paula's arm and urged her outside. "Cassidy, outside. Outside. Take it outside…DiNozzo, find me that missing head!"
Tony gulped once, nodded that he understood and then made a seamless transition from confused follower to determined leader. He looked up to examine the roof expertly. "Well, it's a drop ceiling. So I think it's probably wedged up there somewhere," he said, squatting slightly to get a better look up the building's skirt. He nudged Ziva in the arm and she spun around quickly. "Ziva, you're going headhunting," he said, sounding all the more like the leader she knew he was. She'd always had faith in him; Gibbs had always had faith in him—it was always Tony who was the holdout. She'd had faith in him—and because of that fact she was now being sent to search for a severed head. Ah, the irony, she inwardly sighed. What a pleasure, she thought to herself glumly—but wisely she said nothing before climbing her way in to the ceiling of the building with a flashlight and a plugged nose.
Ziva clicked through the photos and documents they'd collected so far and attempted to get her head around the timeline thus far…just like they always did. "Swabbed his apartment. Not a trace of explosives. He was a former sailor. President of the Muslim Society for Promoting Peace. Tony checked out his friends. Their alibi holds up. They were at a restaurant when—"
"You going to make a point soon?" Cassidy screamed at her. She was shaky and unstable—and extremely angry.
Tony looked up from his computer, his eyes focusing in on the two women before him, hoping that it would not digress into the extremely-capable-female version of a pissing contest. Under normal circumstances he would have been rooting for it, but these were far from normal circumstances and he really couldn't imagine getting in between Paula, whom he respected and at one point lusted after, and Ziva—she who's relationship with him remained hazy, murky, and teetering at the edge of a precipice. Plus, he'd bet on Ziva in a fight against—well, almost anybody—in an instant; and Paula had been beaten down enough already.
Ziva's eyes sharpened as she realized that she'd been made the outlet for Cassidy's rage. I can deal with that, she thought, thinking that if nothing else, she would allow herself to be a punching bag for her fellow agent. Ziva had heard Tony sing her praises often enough to know that it would be a worthy deed. So she played into the anger instead of trying to play nice. "Yes," she said in her best snippy voice. Ziva rounded on her. "Who did you see entering the building yesterday, Cassidy?" If Ziva had been attempting niceties, she would have broached the topic with much more tact, she wouldn't have invaded so much of Cassidy's personal space, and she most definitely would not have spat her name at her like a toxin.
"I'm not convinced that it wasn't this guy," she said, motioning to the plasma and the picture of Yazeed. "I mean, how do we know that Ducky didn't make a mistake?"
"Tony?" Ziva asked, not removing her eyes from Cassidy's—a sure way to piss off someone in the middle of a territorial dispute.
Uh, oh, Tony thought, seeing where this was headed, and not liking his default position as Monkey in the Middle. But he knew Ziva was right. "Because Ducky doesn't make mistakes, Paula," he said, gently.
"Which means that what you saw yesterday was, by definition," she added, really twisting the knife, "mistaken."
"Look, even if he did die the day before, it doesn't mean he wasn't involved. Right...Tony?" she asked.
Simultaneously confirming Tony's suspicion, dragging him into the middle of the quickly-heated dispute, and forcing him to go against Ziva at a time when he could use any points he could get, Tony ceded. He and Ziva had long ago agreed that they were not to let work suffer because of anything that may or may not be going on with them personally. Fighting and bickering, squabbling and annoying each other was one thing; this was different—even if it didn't seem obviously so. "She does have a valid point, Ziva," he said, hoping he didn't just piss her off.
"And we don't even know what his cause of death is. I mean, for all we know he could have committed suicide!" Cassidy shouted, not really making any sense at all—a sure sign of her emotional turmoil.
Besides trying to be the bitch in Cassidy's eyes, Ziva was actually appalled at this statement. The absolute non-sensical manner in which this otherwise smart woman attempted to link together the facts actually did spark something in Ziva. "A suicide bomber who commits suicide before his bombing?!?!" She huffed. "I mean…that doesn't even make any sense!"
Tony stood up then, really wanting to diffuse the situation as easily and effectively as possible. "No, it doesn't! But it does raise an interesting point," he said, coming to stand in the path between the two hostile women. "Imagine, if you will, ladies, an assisted suicide of a suicide bomber who suicided before his suicide bombing. It's kind of like how many chucks would a woodchuck chuck if a woodchuck could chuck wood."
"DiNozzo!" Gibbs yelled, smacking him on the head. "What the hell is wrong with you?"
Tony let his eyes travel pointedly back and forth between Ziva and Paula, indicating that something was amiss. "I'm just trying to lighten the mood of the room a little bit, Boss."
"I got a better way," he yelled, sitting behind his desk. "Leave. And take her with you," he ordered, indicating Cassidy.
"That works for me," Ziva said softly, just enough to give Cassidy an excuse.
"That works for me, too, Day-vid!" she said, purposefully mispronouncing Ziva's name.
"David," she corrected softly.
"Reevaluate the crime scene," he ordered. "Do not come back until you figure out how the guy she saw got out before the explosion!" When Tony and Paula had left he turned to Ziva, his expression probing. "Are you getting soft on me, Officer David?"
Ziva sighed, planting her hands on Gibbs's desk. "Look, I know what she's going through. Sometimes you need to find something or someone to focus your anger on." She looked at him sincerely. "It's your only relief," she said pointedly.
Gibbs shook his head, torn between being proud of her, and being appalled at her stupidity. "Of course, the drawback is, you know…that they tend to hate you—for life."
Ziva shrugged. "If it helps her get through it, I can live with that." I've lived with worse…
Tony wanted to bang his head against a wall. He'd spent twenty minutes in the car with Paula listening to her rail against Ziva as though she herself were a terrorist. It was incredible how, though she knew almost nothing about her, Paula was able to form an incredibly strong hatred towards Ziva. It was all Tony had been able to do to keep from defending his partner at every insult and slam, but he realized that what Paula needed most right now was to let it all out. So he, quite literally, grinned and bore it.
"I don't know how you can work with her!" she screeched as they unloaded the sedan at the curb.
Tony laughed to himself quietly, thinking of all the ways in which he and Ziva worked together. Then he shook himself and ordered himself to pay attention to the tasks in front of him—keep Paula occupied and calm, and of course, find out how the disappearing man pulled off his magic act. So, he laughed it off. "Well, I worked with you, didn't I?"
"Funny," she sneered. "What do you think Gibbs would do if I slapped her?"
Tony laughed outright in his head, thinking of the expression that would cross Ziva's face if Paula ever did such a thing. She'd tear her to pieces, he decided. "I'm more worried about what she'd do; ya know, Mossad assassin and all."
"You don't think I could take her?" Cassidy squeaked, aghast at the mere suggestion. Warning, Will Robinson, he thought to himself. He couldn't answer honestly—Ziva would mop the floor with Paula—so he did the next best thing; he laughed it off. "I took you, didn't I?"
She's got you there, DiNozzo… "Ah, technically you did put me down, but I distinctly remember the floor was slippery that day." They each took hesitant steps into the charred remains of the building. Tony looked around and assessed. "Okay, I'll do the left, you do the right."
She took in a ragged breath. "Okay."
"Are you okay?" he asked her, knowing full well that she was far from 'okay.'
"It's just so dusty in here," she commented, trying to cover for the tears in her eyes.
He put a gentle hand on her shoulder. "Paula, you don't have to do this."
She shrugged it off. "We both know that I do." She nodded to him and then took a closer look at him over her shoulder. "When did you start being so caring?' she asked, a little more surprise and astonishment in her voice than Tony appreciated.
"I have always been caring," he said only semi-petulantly. "I come from a very caring family," he added, proud that he didn't choke on the words at the thought of it. "The DiNozzo's, in fact, are celebrated for their caringness." Inside, Tony was cracking up.
"Right," Cassidy said, not buying it any more than Tony was.
Tony relented a little. "Maybe I wasn't as caring once as I am now…"
"What brought that on?" she asked, and then looked over her shoulder, spotting a far away look on his face. "Or should I say 'who'?"
Tony swallowed hard, thinking of the pain he'd caused as of late. Cause enough of it and you become very astute in recognizing the signs of emotional agony, Paula. He gave a bitter laugh. "Paula, meet can of worms; can of worms, meet Paula," he said, acrimony lacing his words.
She hissed. "That bad, huh? It's gotta be a woman then."
"Plural," he deadpanned.
"That's a shocker," she said sarcastically. "What happened?"
Tony didn't know if this conversation was the best idea in the world. This wasn't exactly the time to be getting into such things, not even counting the fact that it all surrounded a pool of secrets that people were never supposed to find out about. But Paula was looking at him like the little lost dog or the kid who begs his parent for another story before bedtime. Tony shrugged. Well, if it'll help distract her…he figured it couldn't do too much damage. So he tried to play it cool. "You hear about La Grenouille?" he asked, sure that she had.
"Wasn't gonna bring it up. Word on the grapevine indicates you're probably not to keen on rehashing it."
"Not terribly, no; but you asked what happened to turn me into the emotionally astute model DiNozzo you see before you…"
"The Benoit girl happened?" she asked, a little shocked.
"Yes—and no."
She stood up and motioned between the two of them with her index finger. "You think now is a good time to get cryptic on me, Tony?" she asked with a menacing tone.
"Collateral damage, Paula. I hurt Jeanne, true, and I didn't exactly get away without some scars; but I hurt someone else—someone I really care about." He shook his head sadly. "And I've been trying to make things better, but I'm thinking I might actually be making them worse." Ziva wanted him to be able to tell her why he wanted to be with her and not why he wanted to be with her now that he couldn't be with Jeanne. He did want to be with Ziva—but it was because he knew he could never have with Jeanne what he could have with Ziva: honesty, understanding, and his best friend. But he wasn't allowed to tell Ziva that anymore—she wanted his reasons and not his anti-Jeanne reasons, and truthfully, he couldn't blame her. He just didn't know what to tell her.
"You love this person," Paula said, gleaning truth from Tony's words, tone, and expression.
"I don't know, Paula," he hedged.
"No, Tony—you love this girl. I can see it," she said, nodding in approval. "And that's a good thing." She took a breath and looked around the storefront thinking about the importance of loved ones while you could be with them. "You should tell her," she decided.
Tony shook his head. Love? Is that what this was—love? Well, yeah, he loved Ziva; but did he love her?—was he in love with her? "Maybe," he said, more to himself than to Paula, but aloud nonetheless.
She heaved a large, sad sigh. "You know, Tony, it's cliché, but it is true. Life is too short not to tell someone you love them if you do." She looked at him intensely, piercing him with a hard stare. "And you do. That matters, Tony."
"You guys miss me today, Abs?" Tony asked the Goth as he logged and signed for evidence.
"Why?" she asked, deadpan. "Where were you?"
Well…okay…so much for being appreciated and missed around here, he thought with a child's mind, having expected a perky burst of energy from Abby. One could always bank on Abby's excitement to give them a lift when you had a case of the blues. "Never mind."
"Of course, I did, Tony!" She grabbed him up in a sudden hug, squeezing him tightly, which, of course, made Tony groan with the pain of his injured right shoulder. "Sorry!" Abby squeaked in apology laced with concern. "Are you okay?"
Tony shook it off and shot Paula a sidewise look. "Cassidy hit me," he said, trying to play it cool.
Paula scowled in response. "If I'd punched him, Abby, he wouldn't be standing."
Tony began to smile but before he could really even quirk his lips he was groaning again, this time from Abby punching him. "OH!"
"Never lie to a woman, Anthony DiNozzo!" Abby yelled, getting right up in his face. Tony just gave her a look that said: Are you kidding me, Abs? Have we forgotten recent events? Abby scowled for a moment and then she heard Ziva chortle from the sidelines. Ziva's less than happy exclamation combined with the look Tony was shooting her snapped Abby back to reality. "Oh…right." She just shook her head and walked away with a confused expression on her face.
Tony shook it off and strode over to McGee. "What do we got, McGeekle?"
McGee's only response was to roll his eyes before launching into sit-rep mode. "Well, Ducky is still saying that Yazeed was dead when the bomb went off, and Abby is saying he was alive."
Well Abby's never wrong and Ducky's never wrong, so this is like 'Sophie's Choice', Probalicious. "What did Gibbs say?" Tony asked.
"Where the hell you been, DiNozzo?" came a Gibbsian voice from behind him.
"Solving the mystery of the vanishing dirt bag, Boss," Tony deadpanned, nonplussed.
"Yeah, well it took you long enough."
"He found a secret passageway into the store next to it," Cassidy told Gibbs. "It was actually quite impressive."
See? Somebody appreciates me. "It turns out both places were part of a magic joke shop that closed down about twenty years ago."
"So I was right," Ziva said, directing her stare towards Agent Cassidy. "You didn't see Yazeed enter the building."
"Thank you for pointing that out," Cassidy said in what sounded like a civil tongue. "Officer Day-vid."
"David!" Ziva fired back, surprising Abby and causing her to bob her head back and forth between the two wondering what the hell she'd missed.
Tony shot Ziva a look that said cool it, and he calmly redirected attention back to the matter at hand. "But now we know we're looking for another man, and we're hoping…praying, actually, that you can pull a print off that," he said to Abby, all his charm being put to good use.
She took the offering as though it were sacred and swore her dedication to the cause. "If there is a print, if there is a fiber, if there is a drop of dried sweat, I will find it!."
"Not bad," Gibbs commented as he made his way out of the lab and called for the elevator.
"Uh, Boss?" Tony asked, following behind him. "I've got a question for you." Tony hesitated a little, already knowing the answer, but unsure as to whether he really wanted to hear it. "That thing you said yesterday. We were really supposed to have the weekend duty Cassidy's team took?" We were really supposed to be the ones in that blast? This could've all been over with right now?—with all these unresolved issues floating around?
Gibbs nodded. "Yep."
"So that really could have been us."
Gibbs shook his head, irritated at Tony's narrow-minded thinking. He entered the elevator and turned around to face him. "It could have been us every single damn day of the week! Sometimes it has been." He slammed the elevator button that would take him back up to the squad room. "You want to worry about something, worry about tomorrow." And the doors closed.
Tony thought about how happy he was last night just being with Ziva. He thought about all the nights they'd had together doing everything from shots to movies to making love. They'd gone through so much together and done so much together—but they hadn't done it all. That's when Tony thought about how this morning could have been their last morning.
He and Ziva could've entered that building and been blown to smithereens without ever figuring out what they truly meant to the other. He and McGee could've gone into that building and then Ziva would be the one as messed up as Cassidy was now. Just another cause of her pain, he thought to himself bitterly. And then he thought about the last possibility—that McGee and Ziva had gone in there…and been blown apart by some nut job with a God complex. And just like that he was angry. He was angry and he was hurting. The thought of looking at either one of his friends as he'd had to look at Hall and Nelson was heartbreaking. But the thought of seeing Ziva like that—the thought of her dying at all—it had him leaning against the wall while he composed himself. It would be excruciating, he realized.
Ziva came out of Abby's lab just then and spotted Tony looking distraught. She hesitated for a moment, unsure as to whether he'd rather she let him be, but like always, she couldn't just leave him there in pain. She placed her hand on his shoulder, like she had so many times before. "Is something wrong?" she asked him.
He used his left hand to cover her right hand on his shoulder and spun around so he was facing her, still holding her hand. "That was supposed to be us," he said, his voice gravelly.
"But it wasn't," she said firmly and objectively.
He shook his head and ran his fingers over her knuckles slowly, reveling in the feeling of her skin. "No, not this time…"
She went to say something, but they heard the sound of Abby's lab doors opening and they each dropped the other's hand as if it had burned them. No one came out, though, and they shook their heads, chuckling dryly.
"So what's with the fever-pitch between you and Paula?" he asked her, his eyes narrowing.
"I am merely being helpful," she alluded.
"By antagonizing her?" he asked skeptically.
She shrugged her shoulders, very nonchalant. "She needs someone to hate," she said casually.
Tony wasn't buying it. "Because hating the terrorists isn't enough?" he replied dryly.
"Because if she hates me then she can stop hating herself," she explained calmly, her eyes belaying a sensitivity and wisdom that Tony had never seen her display before.
In that moment Tony was overcome with something that he could not aptly describe. He'd never before witnessed something as…incredible…as what Ziva was doing for Paula. He swallowed hard, unable to verbalize the depth to which he appreciated and respected Ziva in that moment. So he nodded stiffly, and he and Ziva turned to ride the elevator back up to the squad room, each step in perfect synchronicity with the other.
They found themselves back at the same storefront where it all began. The three senior religious clerics were seated around a table, Paula standing in the background next to Tony, calmly attempting to pray for her team, and Walid at the head of the table, praising Yazeed's efforts for this, his dream come true. "This was Yazeed's dream, to show the world that these terrorist groups do not speak for us. We thank you for making it a reality."
"Well, at least something good is going to come from all of this," Tony said under his breath.
Gibbs's cell phone rang and he quietly answered it, trying not to disturb the proceedings. "Yeah, Gibbs."
"Boss, either Abdul or Jamal is a match!" McGee shouted into the phone in a panic.
Gibbs hung up immediately and drew his Sig, leveling it at Abdul Walid. "Hands on top of your head!" he shouted.
Tony drew his Sig as well, following Gibbs's lead. "Boss?" he asked, unsure as to why they were holding Walid at gunpoint.
"It's one of them, DiNozzo. The prints found on Umar's laptop match the painting gear," Gibbs said quickly.
"What laptop?" Walid screeched, doing as he was told, but still very confused and frightened.
Gibbs rounded on him. "Where's Jamal Malik?"
"He was here a minute ago!" Walid shouted, even more frightened than before.
Gibbs grabbed up his radio and shouted into it. "Ziva! It's Malik! Find him!"
Then it all happened in slow motion. The wall behind them opened and standing there was Jamal Malik, a bomb strapped around his waist, a crazy look in eyes, and a detonator in his hand.
"Behind you!" Tony shouted, making a move to intercept him before he could detonate the bomb…but Cassidy was closer. Before Tony could even comprehend what was happening, Cassidy had jumped through the secret passageway and tackled Malik. "Paula!" Tony shouted, running after her, but it was already too late. As soon as Cassidy and Malik cleared the passageway it snapped closed behind them just as Tony rammed into it full force. Then the explosion and the screams. "Paula!" he shouted again in futility, banging his open palm against the bricks.
Tony just hadn't seen any of it coming…any of it. Paula had been saying that she should have been in there with her team when the first bomb went off—she said that she could feel it. He'd thought it was survivor's guilt, never considering for a moment that it was a portent. That it was fate. He felt an overwhelming sadness come upon him at the realization that Paula was dead. He took a few ragged breaths in an attempt to process what had just happened.
And then he heard the shouts from outside. "We need a medic! Somebody call a bus!"
Ziva was patrolling the perimeter and checking and rechecking to make sure things were in order. She could hear the low murmurs from the proceedings inside the storefront, and confident in the situation being under control inside, she turned her attention to her surroundings—assessing every angle and scrutinizing every passerby. There were four Metro PD officers aiding her in securing the premises, and there didn't seem to be many people around.
Ziva thought back to the earlier scene between her and Tony in the hall outside Abby's lab. He had looked so…torn. As if something inside of him had been cut or ripped out. She'd been seeing so many painful looks cross Tony's face lately that it was a wonder he wasn't clinically depressed yet. But the way he'd looked at her in that one moment when he turned around—like she was the best thing he'd ever seen in his life—and the soothing and familiar way in which he caressed her hand…for a moment, it was if it were just the two of them in their happy little denial-bubble again.
But bubbles pop. "Ziva! It's Malik!" she heard Gibbs say through the radio. "Find him!" Ziva's brain processed the situation very quickly. It was only over the course of a few moments that everything happened, but in those moments Ziva realized that if Malik were not inside the storefront where the clerics were, then the most likely place for him to be would be next door—and through the secret doorway. Ziva was six steps away from the second storefront. She took huge strides that would have constituted running if she'd had to cross a greater distance. It took her merely seconds to come to her realization and to head towards the second storefront. In the back of her mind she heard Tony shouting to Cassidy, but all Ziva saw in her mind's eye was the door to the second storefront—two steps away. Her Sig was in her right hand, and she readied herself to fire almost instantly. She didn't get that far. She had just reached her left arm out, intent on wrenching open the door, when the bomb went off, sending glass and some shrapnel right through the glass door…and into Ziva.
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