Pivotal Moments

Author's Note:

This will eventually be a series of scenes crossing the last season or so, filling in the gaps in the information about Ziva and Michael up to and beyond scene takes place during the events of the season 6 opener.

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September 2008: Morocco, Tel Aviv

The tension in her left elbow was the first thing Ziva felt as she woke up. She laid still as she'd been trained, betraying no sign of wakefulness until she was sure where she was. She tapped one finger on her left hand as if she were simply shifting in her sleep. The dull pain in her elbow told her the tension was an IV. The faint scent of cleanser added to her certainty that she was in a hospital.

Ziva remained still a moment longer, reviewing the events of the previous—hour? day? She couldn't be sure how long had passed. Three weeks ago, she'd been send here to Morocco to set up the mission with Rivkin: ingratiate herself at the nightclub, determine how regularly the target visited and how best to monitor him, work up her undercover routines. The weeks had gone quickly; Rivkin was oddly aloof as Rebekah had mentioned, and while Ziva had worried at first that too little interaction would leave her too much time to reflect on NCIS, the mission had quickly absorbed her attention. Until last…well, until she'd been singing and had seen…a bomb? The idea of the bomb was fixed in her mind, but she wasn't sure whether she saw it or felt it—Ziva mentally shrugged the question aside. Either way, it was unlikely she was being held.

She opened her eyes.

Michael was asleep in a chair across from her, with his wrist wrapped in a bandage but otherwise seemingly intact.

"Rivkin?" Ziva said softly.

He jerked awake, looked her over frantically, then sighed with relief. "Thank God."

She smiled. "Worried?"

"The doctors said you'd hit your head pretty hard, and even though you have no other serious injuries, it was difficult for them to predict when you'd wake up. But you remember me, and seem yourself, so…"

Ziva nodded, suppressing the tingle of alarm that went through her at what might have been. "How long have I been out?"

Rivkin glanced at his watch. "It's nearly midnight. The bomb went off at 10 PM yesterday."

The bomb was confirmed then, Ziva thought. "I don't remember exactly what happened, but I remember something about a bomb."

"Yeah. Fairly simple home-made explosive or it'd have done more damage; Moroccan police are looking into exactly where it came from. It seems to have been meant for the American." Rivkin paused. "He was closest; he was killed in the blast."

Ziva sighed and laid back on the bed. "Any civilian casualities?" she asked softly, staring at the ceiling.

"No," Rivkin answered.

Ziva didn't often pray, but she said a silent thank you. "So when are we getting out of here?"

At this Rivkin smiled. "Let me check with your doctor." He rose and left the room.

Ziva closed her eyes again as he left. She wondered what would have happened if she'd died. Would anyone have called Gibbs? Perhaps Rebekah…It twisted her stomach in knots to think of the team losing someone else so soon after Jenny. Abby might never recover. At least the others were all out of harm's way. Barring an accident, she didn't need to worry about them. Tony's face flashed through her mind, concerned and tender as it had been the last time she'd been in a hospital, with Roy. She felt an urge to sob and sternly told herself to regroup. Clearly the drugs pumping through her had affected her, but it was time to get it together. Ziva pushed herself up to a seated position as a doctor and nurse rushed into the room, beaming at her progress.

***

The doctor refused to release Ziva until the next evening, but her injuries were relatively minor except for the concussion. She was sent off with Michael to rest and, on Mossad's orders, to close up shop at their undercover apartment before returning to Tel Aviv in the morning.

He kept his arm around her waist as they climbed the two flights of rickety stairs to the apartment, and Ziva was surprised to find herself aware of his presence beside her as a man, one she was fairly attracted to. It shouldn't be surprising, she reflected, as they stopped at the landing while he unlocked the door with his good hand. It was standard practice in Mossad for partners to use sex for comfort during strenuous missions. The bombing was just the sort of thing that usually brought on such intimacies.

As they entered, she caught at Rivkin's hand.

"Are you alright?" he asked, concerned.

Ziva smiled gently at him. He'd been reliable, and she appreciated that. She smiled more flirtatiously.

Michael grinned back after a moment, and Ziva tugged his hand, pulling him closer. When he was just in front of her, she leaned up and kissed him.

***

The alarm went off at 0700 and Michael's arm stretched over Ziva to turn it off.

"Back to Tel Aviv, today," she said softly.

Michael pressed his face into her hair, wrapping his arm around her. Ziva stroked his arm aimlessly. "Looking forward to your own place?"

He sighed. She felt the rush of air against her neck through her twisted curls and rolled to face him.

"Michael?"

Rivkin's face was serious.

"What is it?"

"I can't help wondering if there's more they should have told us. About the bombing. We were lucky, but it could have so easily gone the other way."

Ziva propped herself up on her elbow. "What could they have known?"

"After the bombing, while you were out, I called headquarters. Hadar seemed so unsurprised by the details—"

"He never seems too phased by things."

"Still. I got the impression they knew more than we did. I've gotten that sense before, too. I know there's need-to-know, but I'm not sure how much I can trust the people in charge if they don't trust us."

Ziva watched his face as she processed what he was saying. She knew her father had been keeping her at arm's length, lately. It wasn't out of the realm of possibility that he or his subordinates had withheld sensitive details. "I know what you mean," she answered simply.

Michael's eyes leapt to hers, startled by the admission. "You seem so strongly tied to Mossad."

Ziva smiled faintly, regretfully. "I was, once. I left, you know, to be a liaison in the United States."

Rivkin nodded that he knew.

"Giving my loyalty for four years there, having it rewarded by the people around me—I feel I've come back to Mossad with clearer eyes, less obsessed and more critical."

Rivkin's eyes crinkled as he smiled. "Getting back together with your ex."

Ziva laughed. "I suppose that's a good analogy." Her face grew serious again. "But I do not think my father would intentionally let me come to harm. And we did not." She suppressed the doubt that she felt as she said the words aloud.

Rivkin lifted a hand to stroke her cheek. "No, we did not." He pulled her down into his embrace, and Ziva went willingly, abandoning her questions and then all thought.

***

That night, as her father debriefed them, the phone rang. And there was Vance on the other end, asking her back. Ziva was startled by how quickly her heart beat at hearing Gibbs' voice again. When he told her he missed her, she rushed to pick up the phone, to conceal from her father how intimately familiar she was with this other father figure. Mistake, she told herself as she did it. You should have let him see there's nothing to hide. But either way, she was going back to DC.

Rivkin drove her home from the debriefing. Rebekah was now undercover, somewhere Ziva wasn't cleared to know about, and he invited himself in, joking that she still needed medical supervision. Ziva flirted back, but when the lights were off and his fingers were tangled in her hair, she wondered about Tony, if this meant she would see him again soon.

***

In the morning, before her flight, Eli summoned Ziva to his office. She went gladly, more relaxed now that she was packed for DC than she could remember being since she'd left. Her ebullience faded slightly at the look on her father's face, but she was still smiling as she sank into a chair across from his desk.

"Ziva," he began, "it has come to my attention that you've become rather close to Michael Rivkin."

She shook her head, nostrils flaring, suppressing disgust. "Who is it that reports my slightest move to you, Father?" she asked, aggravated,

Eli shook his head. "You misunderstand. I do not object to your liaison." He smiled thinly at the double meaning. "I have had doubts about the man's loyalty, and I need your help to monitor his fidelity to Mossad."

Ziva nodded. There was no other response to such an instruction.

"I had been planning to assign you both to a mission in the US, but now I will likely send him alone. When he comes to DC, support him as he asks—but if he gives you reason to think he might not hold our values most closely--" Eli looked meaningfully at Ziva and did not finish the sentence.

She nodded again.

"Well then," Eli beamed. "Give me a hug before you fly off again."

Ziva hugged him stiffly, keeping her face remote as he'd trained her to do. There was no doubt in her mind who was in the right and who in the wrong. But all she'd been asked to do was to help Michael where she could, and the reality of the assignment would seem much different when they were both on another continent. A continent she'd been missing far more than she'd allowed herself to admit until now.

It was not hard for Ziva to smile as she pulled away from her father and said a quiet Shalom before taking her leave.