I do not own NCIS

Russian

Hebrew

Middle Eastern Dialect

English

It had been months since Ziva's return from Israel. Abby had recovered from her encounter with Taras Stanislav and Gibbs's impotent fury had somewhat abated, as had Tony's. Any mention of Russia, Israel, or Taras would set off Tony on a furious rant, and make Gibbs storm out to get coffee. Abby had refused to come to work for weeks after coming home, and now required a security guard to stand outside her lab while she was there, and was staying at Ziva's when the work day ended. Ziva had taken up sleeping with her gun under her pillow once more, a habit she had slowly stopped since she had been with NCIS.

"Hello Gibbs." Ziva murmured as the grim special agent stormed by towards the elevator.

"Ziver." Gibbs growled. Ziva winced. Gibbs had held her responsible for letting Abby get attacked. Although she hated to admit it, he was right. Her instincts had been dull, she should have recognized the Russian who had broken her nose only weeks earlier. Mossad Ziva would have. Mossad Ziva would have put a bullet in his brain the second she saw him. But NCIS Ziva had let her friend get attacked and let herself get taken hostage.

Groaning inwardly, Ziva put her head down on her desk.

Gibbs grimaced to himself as the elevator went down. He really needed caffeine. A buzzing in his pocket took his mind off the coffee urge and the anger he still felt towards Ziva, himself, and the Russian mobster who had played all of them.

"Yeah Gibbs."

"I hear you're looking for Taras Stanislav."

"Who is this?"

"My name isn't important. What is important is that I can help you get to Mr. Stanislav. Meet me at the bar you go to every Friday. Come alone." The line went dead.

Unable to help himself, Gibbs grinned. The gut feeling was back, and it told him the hunt was on once again.

Twenty minutes later, Gibbs was at the bar. He was met at the door by a young latino man.

"You call me?"

"Yeah. Come on in." Together Gibbs and the man walked through the bar into a back room.

"Sit." said the young man, pointing to a chair.

"First tell me who you are."

"Sit first, then we'll talk."

"No."

"Agh fine. Look, I used to do business with the russian you're looking for."

"What kind of business?"

"Fuck you man I'm not tellin a cop what I do."

"Okay," Gibbs pulled out his badge and tossed it onto the table in the middle of the room. "Right now I'm not a cop. What business?"

"I moved drugs. Real weight too. Me and my boys would get deliveries of several thousand keys of primo junk and it would take us weeks to move all that shit. We did some heavier shit for em too, we moved some guns did a few hits."

"Can you get the Russian to meet you?"

"Fuck man, I don't have his number, no one does. I've never even seen the cold fuck."

"Then why are we having this conversation?" Gibbs growled, snatching up his badge and walking towards the door.
"Yo man, hold on a minute! Look, I got a bunch of other guys who did business with Mr. Stanislav coming over here. I checked em out too. They aren't fond of him either. Way I see it, with us you can make a nice little package to send this russian bastard away on." The young man grinned at Gibbs slyly. "Maybe even get him a needle eh?"

"Why are you ratting? All of you, why are you prepared to rat out Stanislav. From what I know, he'll come for you when he finds out."

"Like I care. I've got so much protection it don't matter who he sends. He could come himself and just end up a chalk outline. The fucker treats everyone who ain't in his little "organization" like total shit. Do you know how much I got paid to move twelve tons of cocaine? Ten percent. That's it. I do all the work, I sell all the shit, and all I get is a lousy ten percent. Then most of that goes to covering my ass!"

"What did you end up making?"

"Couple mill but that ain't the point! The Russians they don't respect nuthin. They fuck you up for looking at em wrong and they'll step on you just for kicks. I should get what's owed. That Taras fuck won't pay, so maybe you will."