-1In the Dark
Chapter Four
By Gale Force
"You know, Cote, I'm worried," said Michael Weatherly, as he drove. "I'm wondering if the show is about to jump the shark."
Ziva blinked. Jump the shark? What in the world….?
She could not say "What the hell does jump the shark mean?" out loud, of course. Instead she said, "Why are you wondering that?"
"Well, the fans aren't happy...our friend George notwithstanding. They don't like the way this season has been going. With us, I mean."
Ziva's eyes narrowed. "Oh, so?"
"Well...you know. Our relationship. First we had a sort of romantic "will they or won't they"...then we got our own love interests. Now it looks like we don't even like each other... Let alone trust each other. You know the fans didn't care much for our season finale. And I don't like it either. I wanted us to get together."
"I'm sure you did," murmured Ziva.
Weatherly grinned at her. "Come on, Cote. It's what the fans want. And I think it'd make for some pretty good story arcs. Instead of building up the tension on whether or not we would get together, the tension would be…worrying each other would get killed, and of course concealing the relationship from Gibbs. That would make a helluva lot more sense than that silly Palmer-Lee affair from two seasons ago. That was so lame. So contrived."
Ziva stiffened. Was he making a joke about that tragedy? The death of a fellow agent…even if she'd turned out to be a traitor of sorts.
Hot words trembled on her lips, but before she could say anything, Weatherly turned into a parking lot and stopped the car. "We're here." he announced.
"Oh, really?"
"No. O'Reilly." he said. Then chuckled as if he had made a funny joke.
Ziva noticed that the second 'l' in the neon sign for O'Reilly's bar was dim. She wondered why these bars and other businesses allowed their signs to look so shoddy, as she followed the actor into the smoky interior. "Two beers, Sam," he called to the bartender, while simultaneously pointing toward a corner seat.
Most of the people in the bar must have been regulars, Ziva thought, as they looked up at Weatherly and she as they passed and merely waved, or otherwise showed no interest. But a couple of people had looked at them and were whispering together excitedly. Finally one of them came up bearing a napkin and a pen, asking for an autograph.
They obliged. The person thanked them profusely and walked away.
"We'll be on all the gossip sites tomorrow," Michael murmured. "Are we an item, or are we not?"
Ziva was getting very confused by the way Weatherly seemed to talk interchangeably about their characters on this TV series and themselves as actors. Or was this proof that he'd been brainwashed into thinking he was an actor when he was really an NCIS agent? And just as she had come to her senses, perhaps his confusion was evidence that he was returning to his.
Or perhaps not, thought Ziva, as yet another individual came up to them asking for an autograph.
"Don't you just love this?" Weatherly asked cheerfully, as the fan walked away.
Ziva grimaced.
"Okay, Cote," he said leaning across the table (for they were on opposite sides, in a booth). "Something's bugging you…tell me what it is."
Ziva stared deeply into Weatherly's eyes, trying to find some trace of Tony there.
Subjected to such searching scrutiny, what else could Michael Weatherly think? "Uh, Cote," he began softly.
Ziva held up a hand. "What would you say if I told you I was not Cote de Pablo, but rather Ziva David?"
Weatherly blinked at her. He started to smile, then stopped. "Uh..what?"
"I am Ziva David."
"Uh, Cote… you are an actress who plays Ziva David. Look, we've been working really hard, and…"
"How many languages does Cote speak?" Ziva demanded. "Can she speak Hebrew?"
"Well, no."
"I can." And she rattled off a few sentences.
Michael held up his hands. "It doesn't do any good to speak it to me. I don't understand it."
"Well, let's go find somebody who does!"
"Okay…well…let's finish our beers first."
It was Weatherly's turn to look at her searchingly. "If you're Ziva David…where's Cote?" he asked casually.
"I don't know. All I know is this afternoon - you remember when I kicked you - up until that point I had been in Washington, DC. The next thing I know, I'm being shoved up against a wall and I reacted."
"Yeah, I remember," said Weatherly.
He finished off his beer. "Okay, let's make tracks."
"Where are we going?" asked Ziva as Weatherly pulled out of the parking lot and turned left.
"I'm thinking…Beth Israel Temple of Hollywood? They'll be someone there who speaks Hebrew, eh?"
Ziva nodded. "Good idea."
She saw Weatherly glancing sideways at her as he drove.
"You think I'm crazy?" she asked, more calmly than she felt.
"I don't know what to think," Weatherly said frankly. "Let's wait until we get to the Temple." Because, he thought to himself, when the Rabbi tells her she's speaking gibberish instead of Hebrew, that's when I'll tactfully suggest we go to the hospital.
They arrived at the Temple, parked, and went inside. A rabbi came to greet them.
Ziva started speaking immediately, in Hebrew, and the rabbi responded to her in that language. She almost had to laugh as Michael Weatherly's face took on a stunned look.
Finally the Rabbi turned to him politely.
"Let me guess," Weatherly said. "She was speaking flawless Hebrew."
"Yes."
"With a Spanish accent?" he asked hopefully.
"No, pure Israeli."
"I see." said Weatherly, faintly.
"Now I really need a drink," he said, as they were once more driving along the streets of Los Angeles. "I have to admit I'm feeling pretty damn confused right now."
"You are telling me?" said Ziva bitterly.
Maybe Cote did know how to speak Hebrew. Michael thought. Because it just isn't possible that this woman could really be Ziva David. This isn't the Twilight Zone. More's the pity.
Besides, he continued thinking, if this were Ziva David…that would mean that somewhere, there was a Tony DiNozzo. And a Gibbs. And an Abby!
"Look," said Ziva suddenly. "There's a martial arts studio there. Let's go in."
Michael glanced at her, then turned into the parking lot.
"What are you going to do?" he demanded as they walked into the studio.
"I feel like beating up on someone," Ziva said frankly. "Let us see if they have ay instructors here who feel like bouting."
"Uh…Co….I mean…Ziva…uh… you've already proved with the Hebrew…"
"Perhaps…but perhaps you require some more proof.."
Except, thought Ziva, this body she was inhabiting…it lacked the layer of muscle that she had… why had she not realized that before? She was still trim, in shape, but if someone were to punch her in the stomach…she wasn't so sure that she could withstand it…either she had not worked out in her normal fashion for at least the last six months…or she had indeed transposed bodies with this Cote de Pable…
II. Cote De Pablo
Cote de Pablo sat at the desk of Ziva David, reading through files. Thankfully, it appeared, murders and robberies didn't occur every day of the week, as the audience was led to assume by their weekly dose of NCIS.
She had entered the building that moment and wandered around in somewhat of a daze. Everything was exactly as it was in the TV series, only all this equipment actually worked.
There were some differences. She, Tony DiNozzo, Timothy McGee and Gibbs had their desks as normal, but indeed the room which they inhabited was a huge one and there were at least a half a dozen agents sitting at them, working away at something. And at least another half dozen empty desks which other agents must occupy when they weren't on assignment.
Despite herself, Cote soon became immersed in the files. What human stories unfolded behind each impersonal set of words.
Each time the telephone sounded, Cote had to suppress a start. She did not want to go out in the field…no, please no.
However, such was not to be. The phone on Gibbs desk rang. By the one-sided conversation that ensued, Cote knew that something had happened. And when Gibbs hung up the phone, he spoke the words she dreaded. "Get your gear, everybody. There's been a killing at Quantico."
Chapter III - Mixing It Up….
Has the next subject been acquired?
Yes, O Great One.
Very well. On my signal.
Yes, O Great One.
Cote rode in the van with Tony DiNozzo, with Timothy McGee in the back. Gibbs was driving his own sedan to the site.
Tony drove in silence. Cote glanced at him sideways. This last season of NCIS had rather changed the character dynamic between Ziva and Tony… they were now more enemies than anything else…and neither she nor Michael had been pleased with the way things had been going. Sure, it was giving them a chance to show their acting chops, but the changes were so….out of character..the show was lacking that fun that it used to have…. It was a pity.
She had been thinking about talking with Michael and Mark about the matter…but now…now…
As they approached the frontage road leading to Quantico, Cote breathed a sigh of relief. The traffic in this area was insane!
Her cellphone rang. Surprised, Cote flipped open the phone and saw that Gibbs was calling them. "Hold up," he said. "We're getting more details."
"Gibbs says to hold up." Cote told Tony.
He glanced at her, then pulled the van into some kind of a layby just in front of the gates leading to Quantico.
"I'm going to stretch my legs," he said briefly, getting out of the van.
Cote got out too, as did Timothy McGee. Gibbs drew in in his own car, and also got out, but stayed by the sedan, talking on his cellphone.
The three of them stretched their legs, silently, while looking around.
Then Gibbs waved his hand in a signal and they all got back into the van.
As they did so, they heard the shriek of tires and the sound of sirens approaching. A car barreled past the layby, then spun so that it slid just in front of the entrance to Quantico. The car began heading in the other direction. It fishtailed, it drove through the layby to avoid a police car, and fishtailed again into the driver's side of the NCIS van.
Now.
Now, O Great One? But…
I said, Now.
Yes, O Great One.
Tony DiNozzo's eyes widened as he saw the car coming toward him. He'd just fastened his seatbelt and so couldn't dive out of the way, the jolt was terrific…he saw a white light and the pain in his head was intense.
When he opened his eyes again he saw Ziva and some guy bouting on a bunch of mats in the center of a huge room. No car….no van….no Gibbs.. What the hell?
Meantime, Michael Weatherly opened his eyes to find himself with a blinding pain behind his eyes and a feeling as if a knife had cut him in two. The remains of an airbag were draped around him.
"What the hell?" he said dazedly.
"Scooch over, Tony, scooch over," yelled McGee. "Ziva, you'd better drive. We've got to get that bastard."
Almost like an automaton, Michael released the seat belt and scooched over, He heard the door open behind him and Cote de Pablo climbed in and started the car. Although his head was buzzing, he was sure she was mouting the words, "oh my god oh my god oh my god as she pressed down on the accelerator in a squeal of tires.
Michael clutched his head in his hands. "What the hell?"