Punching in the number into the phone, Ziva took a deep breath. She had hoped for a less crowded room, but had not had any such luck. At least she had enough change to feed the payphone for a while.
"Ken?"
She closed her eyes briefly as the voice carried over the line, swallowing. Too long since she had last heard his voice, too long since she had seen him, too long since she had last touched him, too long since she had last felt his lips on hers, felt their bodies moving together.
"Shalom, Michael." Ziva whispered, closing her eyes again against the onslaught of tears.
*Ziva, where on earth are you? Shepard called Mossad, saying that you have terminated your liaison position and that a crazy terrorist is after you. Your father's going crazy!* MIchael hissed into the phone. Apparently, she had caught him in a public place.
*I cannot really talk right now, Michael. I need to see you. Someplace safe. I'll explain then.* Ziva said, wiping away a stray tear that had escaped her control.
*Ziva...* he started, and then decided to switch tracks. He had to see her; he had to make sure she was okay, even if it jeopardized his own mission. *We'll use the safehouse. You still have the key?*
*Yes, I do. See you there.* Ziva nodded, and then hung up. She forced herself not to run out of the bar, but to take slow, deliberate steps. Outside, she glanced at her car, hesitating. Chances were that Jen was looking for some way to search for her. There would be a BOLO out on her car; she needed to find another one. Or call a cab. Damn.
Yes, it's Michael Rivkin. Sue me.
TBC