Pivotal Moments
Chapter 16 expands Semper Fidelis and Ziva, Tony and Michael's reflections on what has become of them.
A/N I don't really buy these episodes as TIVA on the show. There's some here because I inserted it into the earlier episodes in earlier chapters. Just for the record.
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Washington DC
Michael laid in bed, perfectly still, until he heard the front door lock as Ziva left for work. Then he was instantly on his feet, gathering his laptop and phone from around the apartment. He found a brief text from Tabul: Success?
He typed his response quickly: The bug was set. No need to mention to the man that he'd been interrupted, had had to subdue an American agent in the process of setting the bug. After he'd received his orders to find a way to monitor members of the intelligence community discussing Israeli matters the day before, Michael had gone to Tabul, a contact of the cell he'd been part of, and blackmailed him for plans to the home of the Secretary of the Navy by threatening to turn him over to Mossad. If the bug had proved as useless as Michael feared, Tabul might now have to take responsibility for the matter.
He would have to find out from Ziva what had become of the agent. The thought of her made him sigh. She too might end up responsible for this. But at least her pleas of innocence would be true; he'd made sure to get drunk enough before arriving the night before to avoid her questions. It remained only to deflect the accusations against himself. He opened his laptop.
***
Ziva settled herself at her desk, wondering if she should pack her things here, too. She glanced up as Tony entered, and he smiled at her.
"Gear up," Gibbs said before either of them could speak, "situation at SecNav's house."
The agents holstered their weapons, relieved to have something to do. In the truck, seated next to each other while Gibbs drove, they found themselves briefly aware of their legs pressed closely together, but then Gibbs began to give them the sketchy details he had so far, and they settled down to work.
Going about the case, Ziva was surprised to find that she and Tony, without any discussion, were teammates again. The stress of fighting all week was gone, and they were working in synch, moving from task to task seamlessly, working Agent Foster-Yates for information by communicating to each other with glances and nods. Working the crime scene was effortless, and Ziva felt more at ease than she had in what felt like weeks.
And yet foreboding still nagged at the back of Ziva's mind when she let it, and flared every time the phone rang. So when Michael called in the middle of the morning, she wasn't surprised.
She saw Tony take in the fact that she was speaking Hebrew and grow instantly tense. "I have to run out for a few minutes. I'll be right back," she told him softly, hoping he'd understand and give her the time it took to resolve things.
"I'll be right here," Tony answered. It reassured her more than she could say.
*
Tony took a moment to watch Ziva leave before he opened a window on his computer and translated what she'd said. As he read over the words, he knew she wasn't being called home; it had to be Michael. And if he was still calling and making lunch dates, he wasn't headed to the airport. Tony felt the anger building in him. Ziva was his, was theirs. He needed to tell Michael himself to get lost or he'd never forgive himself if the man got Ziva taken away from them.
*
Ziva watched Michael across the cafe as she headed to his table, eyes flickering over his face, registering his demeanor: calmer than during his last visit, at least.
She forced a smile as she joined him. "Shalom." He smiled, taking her hand, and pulled her down to kiss her cheek.
"Have you seen the menu?" he asked, waving to the waiter.
"I'm busy today," she said and saw him stiffen slightly. "I wish I could stay for lunch, Michael," she added to soften it.
"It's OK. Join me for a drink." He smiled. "Another vodka, just a splash of soda this time, please," he told the waiter.
"Ah, nothing for me, thanks," Ziva told the man. Michael looked at her and she shrugged. "I'm working on a case."
"Tell me," he slurred, grinning.
She paused, wary.
Michael grabbed her hand. "Ah, this is what a relationship looks like, how was your day, dear?"
She laughed, genuinely. "I'll tell you when it's over."
Her phone rang, and she glanced at it. Tony. When she answered, he told her it was urgent and she made her excuses to Michael, hoping Tony hadn't just tried to do her a favor by helping her avoid him.
"I'll see you later," she said to Michael. When he didn't answer, she leaned down and kissed him quickly. She left the restaurant quickly, wishing she'd had time to confirm Michael's plans to leave but also relieved she hadn't been forced to make a public scene. It could wait until tonight, in private.
*
Tony watched her leave, trying to determine from her posture what she'd told Michael and coming up empty. "That's for my friend, I can bring it over," he said to the waiter, snatching Michael's drink off the tray. The man looked surprised but said nothing as Tony walked away.
Tony set the drink down in front of Michael.
"Thank you."
"You're welcome. Is this seat taken?"
Michael gestured for him to sit. "This is a little like that scene in Heat. When Pacino and DeNiro finally meet?" Tony joked.
"I'm Deniro in this scene?"
"Huh. You think you're Deniro in this scene. Okay, you can call me Al. I'll spare you the singing."
"You've come to chase her away from me," Michael said, clearly not rising to the bait.
"Mikey Israel. In the very tan flesh—trip to LA did you good."
"Ziva prefers darker skin," Michael jibed.
"How does she like being played? Cause I think we both know this romance isn't Kosher," Tony snapped back.
"I can understand your suspicions, given what we have about you in your dossier, Agent Meatball."
Tony's nostrils flared. "There's an El Al flight tonight, out of Ronald Reagan at 8:25 PM. Lands at Ben Gurion tomorrow evening," he said firmly.
Michael downed the glass Tony had brought. "I'm not finished spending time with Ziva."
"NCIS says you are."
"Ziva's very lucky to have a man like you in her life. Like a...big brother."
Tony thought fleetingly of Ziva's actual big brother and suppressed a predatory grin. If Ari had been the one defending Ziva, there would not have been any conversation involved. "I've got some work to do and you clearly have some drinking to finish," he told Michael lightly, "and after that I think you should start packing."
"You can question my feelings for Ziva all you want. Unfortunately, you can't question her feelings for me. Can you?"
At this defense, Tony relaxed. Michael didn't suspect anything of what had happened the night before. He hadn't realized he was still worried about it until now. "Say goodbye, Mikey. Get on the flight." He stood and left. As he drove back to NCIS, Tony knew that Ziva wouldn't be happy over what he'd done, but he had at least satisfied his own need to tell Rivkin off to his face. Hopefully he wouldn't get another chance.
*
Ziva was still twenty feet from their section of the bullpen when she realized Tony had lied. The posture and activity level of Gibbs and McGee didn't fit with their having just located a suspect. And Tony was nowhere to be seen.
Trying not to make a scene of her entrance, she slipped in quietly. As soon as she'd put her gun away, she moved to Tony's desk, trying to figure out where he'd gone, and to what end. In his trash she found what he transcribed, and felt something inside her crack at the knowledge that he was still suspicious, even of her.
"We have not found Tabul yet," she said tightly as he returned, rising to vacate Tony's desk.
"We really should be working harder," Tony answered lightly.
"I came back here quickly because you said we had found Abin Tabul," she hissed. "Where were you?"
He paused. "Where were you?"
Of course, Ziva thought. It was hardly surprising.
"He was in LA on business just like he's in DC on business," Tony said quietly, confirming it. The betrayal was like a slap in the face.
"I cannot believe you!" Ziva said. "If you wanted to meet him you could just ask me to introduce you!"
"I wouldn't be doing my job if I didn't check on him!"
Ziva took a deep breath to control the tension and pain.
"Gibbs told him to clock out. I told him to clock out. Perhaps it would carry some more weight if it came from you."
"Michael is here to see me," she snapped. Clearly she couldn't trust him with the truth anymore. "He is not working. He is on vacation."
"Well he certainly is drinking like it."
Foster-Yates interrupted and Tony glared at Ziva as he rose to show her to the conference room.
Ziva felt like her stomach was in knots, and it surprised her mostly because the panic she felt about Michael was purely professional, but somehow after one night, Tony's disrespect was crushing.
***
Back at Ziva's apartment, Michael quickly opened his laptop. He confirmed that the bug was not transmitting, then hacked into the NCIS mainframe long enough to be certain as well that the agent from last night had died. He swore under his breath. Everything that could go wrong, it seemed, had. He'd have to deal with Tabul, then find a way to set up monitoring the men involved in the poker game last night. He neatened his suitcases, not wanting to be in Ziva's way. He'd need her good humor a little longer it seemed. Before he closed the laptop, he opened another program, one that would backdate emails and archive them before she could see them. Michael sighed. He had hoped it wouldn't come to this. He pressed send, then closed the computer and headed to Tabul's apartment.
***
Tony watched as Ziva prepared to leave. She hadn't spoken a single superfluous word to him since that morning. He only hoped she'd understand when she was calmer that he had had to do it.
"Goodnight," she said as she stood, her tone telling her she had no wishes for him to have a good night.
"'Night," Tony answered.
She took her coat and left.
Gibbs stepped into Tony's view. "Rule Number 11, DiNozzo."
"I would never date a co-worker, boss. Trust me. I mean why would you even--" He caught his mistake.
Gibbs smiled.
"That's twelve. Eleven: when the job is done, walk away," he recited.
"The case is wrapped up, DiNozzo," said Fornell. "In a nice little bow."
"And-and that works for you, Fornell? Crazy terrorist kills himself?" Tony was almost sure Rivkin had been involved.
"Can't really understand the mentality, doesn't mean I can't accept it." Fornell headed out, his step as jaunty as his tone.
Gibbs leaned in, whispering, looking over at Ziva's desk. "So, what's on your mind?"
"Rivkin's been in town," Tony said simply. He wasn't sure how much Ziva wanted Gibbs involved.
"I know."
"With Ziva."
"Guy doesn't listen."
Hearing the words from Gibbs was a relief. Tony wasn't alone in thinking so. "Does that bother you on a professional level or a personal one?" he asked carefully.
"I tell you what," Gibbs answered, "I'm having a little trouble untangling the two."
"So you are bothered?"
"Oh, yeah. It bothers me. You stay on it."
"Yep."
As Gibbs walked away, Tony thought carefully. He hoped like hell Michael had just gotten on the plane and gone home, but it didn't seem likely. And he'd need evidence to pressure Michael into leaving if he had to confront the man again. He headed for the lab, turning to Abby for answers, and shorting learned that the laptop found with Tabul's body was used at Ziva's apartment. It seemed like just what he needed to get her on his side again, to get her to accept irrefutably that Michael needed to be taken out. He headed for the elevator without another thought.
***
After she left the building, Ziva stopped in front, looked up at the window she'd stared out of during so many cases, and dialed her home. Michael answered. "I'll be home in a little while," she said softly, and hung up.
She could feel the tears filling her throat as she looked over the building, memorizing the details. Michael had not left. She had to call. She did not think she would see inside these walls again, and the worst part was how she had left things with Tony, when just that morning they had been at their best. She wished there had been a way to say goodbye to the others. Well, she could always get in touch later.
Finally Ziva forced herself to turn and head to her car. As she pulled out of the lot, she flipped her phone open and called Hadar, entered her code.
"Shalom, Officer David," he answered.
"We need a forced extraction. Now."
"Target."
She grimaced. He just wanted to hear her say it. "Michael."
"Rivkin? She was sure she could hear glee beneath his solid tones. Have you notified your father?"
"I am notifying you. Who do we have in the area?"
"How bad?" He sounded tired and she realized he had not expected a disaster so soon.
"Who do we have?"
"I will handle it."
She sighed. He was not going to let her choose the person to take Michael down. This would not end quietly. "He's at my apartment. I will make sure he stays there."
"Someone will be sent."
***
Tony paused outside the door to Ziva's apartment, remembering the night before, the worry in Ziva's face, then later the joy—he forced the image of her out of his mind. And yet, he thought, if she were alone—later he would be defensive because of this moment, because there was a single flash of adrenaline in his brain when he paused to consider Ziva, lonely and angry and beautiful.
He knocked. "Ziva, it's Tony."
Michael opened the door.
Tony felt suddenly doused with cold water. "You're here."
"Ziva is not. She should be back soon; you're welcome to come in and wait for her." He descended into the living room. Tony shut the door. "Did you really expect me to leave because you threatened me?"
Slam. "I had my hopes."
"They include you coming here late at night, maybe finding Ziva in an emotional state, you help her pick up the pieces?" He smirked.
"I'm here about a case," Tony said calmly. "An American agent was killed last night. All the evidence points to a terrorist named Abin Tabul; I think you're familiar with him."
Now Rivkin turned, facing Tony.
"Of course, he killed himself before we could catch up to him."
"A zealot?"
"That's the theory," he said lightly. "That's a little too clean for me."
"It doesn't sound clean at all. Sounds like the further you dig, the messier it gets."
"Oh, what can I say?" Now Tony was sarcastic. "The events of the past year have made me a little suspicious."
"Even to the people closest to you?"
"Oh, especially them. We pulled information from Tabul's computer. It says that at some point, the internet was connected—here. Ziva's account."
"She is tied to this dead man," said Rivkin simply, uncaring.
It was at that moment that Tony stopped caring whether this ended well for Rivkin or not: that moment, when he was clearly willing to let her take responsibility for his actions.
"She was obviously duplicitous, practicing the art of misinformation."
Tony tried to keep hate from his voice. "That appears to be the shape of things." He descended the steps toward Rivkin.
"You're here to question Ziva? All because of a string of numbers on a terrorist's computer?"
"I was. Until you opened the door."
Michael raised his glass to his lips.
Tony pulled his handcuffs out and freed his gun. "As soon as you're done with your drink, Michael, you're under arrest. For the murders of Abin Tabul and Federal Agent Tom Sherman."
Michael's face lost its taunting smile, then regained it. "Good luck with that."
Tony extended his cuffs and gun, but Michael rushed him and the pair fell to the floor, fighting, not unlike Ziva and Tony's sprawl across this same furniture the night before.
At first Tony was relieved, wanted this, wanted to take out his rage and his protective instincts on Michael's face. And he didn't seem to be doing too badly until the moment he realized that Michael was holding a shard of glass, that this wasn't a brawl but a death match. He lunged for his gun.
"Enough," he pleaded, his finger on the trigger. "Don't do it. No!" There was no choice. He pulled it hard, again and again, the gun's report thundering through his body as the consequences of this moment swept over him.
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Thoughts?