With his arms crossed tightly to his chest, Tim watches Tony bolt up the stairs toward Director Shepard's office. Two steps at a time until he strides across the landing. Tony never looks back. The door slamming shut cuts through Tim, causing him to shudder violently in Ziva's chair.
I don't understand what's happening.
His eyes rove the bullpen as though the answer is here. He should be at home right now. He had plans with his online friends, a raiding party in his game du jour. He should be halfway through a pizza and laughing at some stupid comment a person halfway around the world made about someone's mother. Tony probably had a date because he always has a date. Who knows what Ziva and Gibbs would be doing. For Gibbs, probably soaking up bourbon like a sponge and building a boat in his basement.
And Ziva?
Tim's gaze slowly returns to her computer monitor, at the personnel reports that shouldn't be there. He scrolls through them and as far as he can tell, they are the same ones at NCIS just cut and paste and translated into Hebrew. At the bottom, he discovers a spot where she added her own thoughts. He runs her notes through an online translator, but the results don't surprise him. She thinks him quiet and reserved and a bit too "French toast."
I wonder if she meant milquetoast.
He sends Tony's notes through the translator next. According to her, he's loud and obsessed with movies and the last line doesn't translate quite right. Tim thinks it might be as close to the word for womanizer as they have in Hebrew. He doesn't bother with the rest of them.
He rubs his hands against his cheeks, hard enough for his teeth to scrape at the inside of his mouth.
None of this is right. It can't be. Nothing here could be the work of Ziva David, the woman who had their six on countless missions. The woman who sat, smiling and jovial and friendly while harassing Tony and helping Tim. She's the same woman who blew off her own half-brother's head to save Gibbs' life.
And now?
She's gone to ground to protect the person who tried to kill Gibbs.
None of this adds up. I don't get it.
Tim's frown deepens as he considers the possibilities. Blackmail. Extortion. Threats. The list never ends when it comes to trying to protect your name, your family, your friends. In his short time as an investigator, he has seen almost everything. And even now, the evidence against Ziva is damning.
What else do I need? Yeah, an interview.
With the thought already in his head, he scampers back to his desk. Tim calls Ziva's phone, but it goes straight to voicemail. He tries it again and again as though he could get a different result. Voicemail every single time.
He tries to ping her location, but her phone is switched off.
Nothing is even coming up, which leads him to believe she probably pulled her SIM card. Rubbing at the back of his neck, he considers treating Ziva like he would a suspect. He knows it's innocent until proven guilty, but he needs to talk to her. Right now. He needs to hear her say that everything they've found is just one big mistake. Deep down, he knows—hopes—that's what it is.
Tim bets she is running her own game to hunt down Arram Biton. His only complaint about her on the team always was that she never learned how to work with one. Preferring to be a lone wolf instead.
He plugs her cell phone number into the location search again, but this time he pulls historical data. Trying to figure out where she's been and where she spends most of her time. For someone trained in espionage, her movements are surprisingly predictable. Home, work, a place that Tim cross references with a small gym. Then, there's one he doesn't recognize. Her phone spends an hour or so, almost daily, at a residential address in the heart of Dupont Circle.
Without a second thought, Tim scribbles it down on a Post-It.
Then, he grabs his gear and as he holsters his gun to his hip, he glances up at the director's office. Every part of him is screaming: wait for Tony! It's the thing he should do because they are partners. But ever since Gibbs was shot, Tony has been possessed by an angry, bordering on manic energy. Out for blood like a hangman with a noose and all he needs is a neck.
Are we searching for the right person?
Tim needs to talk to Ziva first. Alone. Needs to hear her side of everything. In his gut, he's hoping it's nothing more than a mistake. Something that'll disappear with a little handwaving and talking.
He writes Ziva's address down on another Post-it before leaving it on Tony's desk. Hopefully, he'll have a healthy head start. Just enough time to figure out what the hell's going on. Maybe he'll find out it's all a mistake and then, the three of them will work together to hunt down Arram Biton. And if Ziva did help Arram Biton, he'll make the arrest himself. Better than giving Tony a chance to shoot her.
In his haste, Tim doesn't notice he slides both Post-Its—his and Tony's—right into his pocket.
-oooooooo-ooooooooo-ooooooooo-
Tony marches straight into the director's office, unannounced. Behind him, the door slams shut. At the first desk, the director's newest secretary stares up, awed and confused. Nathan, a dark-haired young man with a perfectly pressed suit and expertly coiffed hair, tilts his head slightly. With his chiseled jaw and huge eyes, he looks like he'd be more at home on the silver screen in a 1940s flick than behind a secretary's desk. His jaw muscles tighten as he scrambles to his feet.
He rushes into Tony's path, arms outstretched like a defensive lineman. This must be the official position for secretaries to assume when one of Team Gibbs sweeps into the office on a warpath.
"Agent DiNozzo, what a pleasure." His voice is as pained as it is professional.
Tony exhales through his nose, long and low. Struggling to keep his anger in check. He understands now how much he must look like Gibbs during one of his tantrums when he stomps up here, throws a few threats around before striding back to the bullpen all triumphant and proud.
Will I ever see Boss do that again?
That thought doesn't send Tony backpedaling to his desk. Instead, it lights the fire to spur him onward.
"I need to see the director," Tony says.
To his credit, Nathan shrinks back. Just a little. Most of NCIS knows about his aspirations to be an agent, but he failed the poly last year. But Nathan is trying to put on a brave front.
"Now," Tony snaps.
"She's on the phone." Nathan makes a face as though he's said too much. "It's a very important call."
Tony raises his eyebrows.
"She is not to be disturbed," Nathan says.
"That's not my problem."
On any ordinary day, Tony would joke around with Nathan. He would shoot the shit and there are times when he has. But extraordinary times call for extraordinary measures. Tony feints right before going left and that's when he learns, Nathan never played football. Getting past him is too easy and Tony barrels through the door into the director's office.
Director Jenny Shepard sits at her desk, phone against her ear and wearing a broad smile. Her index finger is wrapped around the phone cord and she's pulling at it, playfully. As soon as her eyes land on Tony, her face twists into a mask of malice.
Nathan stands in the doorway, one hand on the doorknob and the other on his head. He wears a hangdog expression as he readies for whatever she'll lob at him. Tony almost feels sorry for the kid.
"I'm sorry, ma'am," he starts. "I tried to stop him…" Tony tunes out his long-winded apology.
"I'll have to call you back," Shepard growls before slamming the phone down.
Looming over her desk, Tony channels his best Gibbs glare. He doesn't know exactly what he expected or what he wants to say. He hopes the words will come, but sometimes, just showing up is the most important thing. That's what Woody Allen said and Tony tends to believe him, because he's well, Woody Allen. He sets his jaw, fighting the anger simmering below the surface.
"We need to talk." His voice comes, barely above a whisper. "About Ziva."
Shepard meets his eyes, unfazed. All those years spent years under Gibbs' glare means Tony's will have no effect on her. She shifts her weight as though she is crossing and uncrossing her legs.
"Forgive me if I'm surprised to see you, Agent DiNozzo," she says. "I was under the impression you were at the hospital with Agent Gibbs. Is he still in surgery?"
That knocks Tony back a little. He straightens up, his glare softening. He barely manages to keep a crack in his shell from forming.
He swallows hard. "That's what Ducky said the last time we spoke."
"You should know – " she gestures at her phone " – I was just speaking with a friend of a friend's sister who happens to be the head of intensive care at St. Alban's. She'll be taking Gibbs' case over personally as soon as he's out of surgery."
Tony swallows hard. "How is he?"
She purses her lips. "You know as much as I do. Still in surgery."
"It's been hours." He sounds like a lost kid, and he knows it.
"Gibbs is a fighter." Shepard nods. "He'll be fine."
They glance at each other like two strangers on a crashing plane. As though they both know it's the end but neither one is ready to say it.
In the doorway, Nathan rattles the doorknob. Tony forgot he was even there and based on the look on Shepard's face, she did too. The kid probably didn't know what he was supposed to do, leave Tony and her alone or wrestle the agent back to the bullpen. She waves at him dismissively and Nathan's expression turns to panic.
"You'd like me to leave?" he asks.
"Yes," she says curtly. "Thank you."
"I'll be just outside if you need me."
And with that, Nathan gently closes the door behind him. Shepard smiles halfheartedly as though say, good help is hard to find these days. Then, she climbs to her feet and heads towards her drink cart.
"We need to talk about Ziva David," he blurts out.
"Would you like a drink, Agent DiNozzo?" Shepard asks. "Lord knows you look like you could use one."
Even though he shakes his head, she pours something brown—probably bourbon—into two highball glasses. She offers him one, but he just stares at it. Eventually, she places it on her desk. She leans up against her desk, casually sipping her drink. As though nothing has happened. As though his entire world hasn't fallen apart in the last eight hours.
He notices that she isn't wearing her heels, just her stocking feet. It strikes him as odd, but he doesn't know why.
"What is it you would like to discuss about Officer David?" she asks.
"She's leaking information to Mossad." Clenching his teeth, Tony presses his hands firmly against his chest. "Information about us."
Shepard heaves a little sigh, looks away. When she sips her drink, she makes an mmhmm noise.
Tony's mouth falls open. Snaps closed. Falls open again. He tries to lean into her field of vision, but she is staring at a far-off bookshelf.
"Did you know about this?" he sputters.
The silence stretches until Tony jumps to his feet. He throws his hands out, merely inches from the director. She doesn't look threatened or even bothered by it. His face grows red, hands working into fists, but she is simply sipping on her drink.
"How could you allow this to happen?" His voice is rising.
"I didn't 'allow it.'" She does one handed air quotes "There was a certain flow of information agreed upon between Director David and myself."
Tony blinks, head tilting. "Director David?"
"The head of Mossad is Ziva's father."
As soon as the words leave her mouth, Tony's mouth drops open. Pacing and lurching around the office. Shepard continues on her drink as though none of this is particularly important.
"Ziva's father is head of Mossad. A spy agency." He pauses for effect. Shepard says nothing. "And you gave her security clearance and complete access to NCIS' files. Are you crazy?"
Shepard's face pinches. "I'm going to let that slide, but only because of the day we've had. I understand you are upset – "
"I'm not upset, Director! I'm angry! My boss might die because someone was spying in our house." He stops pacing long enough to throw an accusatory finger in her direction. "Someone you let in!"
"Mossad was only supposed to have access to files as they pertained to their investigations. And in return, they would aid in ours." She purses her lips again. "It was the free flow of information."
"And how did my personnel file fit into that? Gibbs'? McGee's? Hell, for that matter, she has yours too."
She bites her lip before drinking more bourbon. Her eyes are narrowing, her head tilting as she works her jaw. And that tells Tony that Shepard didn't know about her personnel file being in there, too. She probably believed the flow of information bullshit she was shoveling at him.
"So, it was okay if it was ours. I see…" Tony throws his hands out. "You know, since you're best friends with Ziva's dad, why don't you ask him where the dirtbag who shot Gibbs is?"
She flinches. "What?"
"I believe that dirtbag is Mossad, too."
And that's what causes Shepard to slouch against her desk. She puts her drink down before leaning her hands languidly against her desk. She is shaking her head as though to convince herself it isn't so.
"Oh my G-d," she murmurs.
Tony rips the phone off her desk. "Call him. Ask him where we can find the guy."
Shepard still shakes her head. "Once I review the evidence, I'll do what I can. Until it's substantiated, I can't do anything about the agreement."
"The hell with you and your 'agreement!'"
Tony chucks the phone back on her desk. It crashes against the surface with a bang before clattering to the floor in a heap. Shepard shies away, backing until she stands by the long conference table.
Shepard goes red-faced, index finger pointing at Tony. "You are out of line, Agent DiNozzo!"
"Am I, Director? My boss might not make it. One of my partners is spying on this agency." Shepard goes to speak, but Tony is on too much of a roll. "They've got files on all of us, including you! How does it feel to be such a huge threat to national security?"
Her cheeks go ruddy, her body as tightly as a spring.
"And as we speak, McGee is ripping apart Ziva's computer to find out exactly what she's been doing. We'll get to the bottom of it, one way or another."
Shepard's jaw is doing that little bounce thing like when Gibbs burrows deep under her skin. Her eyes are narrowed to slits, murderous intent dancing in them.
"Agent DiNozzo, you're suspended until further notice," Shepard growls. "Surrender your badge and gun before you leave the premises."
Tony remains still. She presses a hidden button on the bottom of the table's surface. It's so quick that Tony almost misses it. He hadn't even known the office was equipped with a panic button. The entry door wrenches open to frame Nathan's concerned face. Shepard's angry eyes light on her secretary.
"Nathan," she says, almost out of breath, "please call security."
Nathan doesn't move. His eyes dance between Shepard and Tony as though he doesn't understand what's going on. He knows he stumbled into something big, but he doesn't know which side he should be on. Tony wonders just how much he heard in his secretary closet.
Tony shakes his head. "How do you think everyone is going to feel when they find out?"
Shepard licks her lips. The silence hangs between them.
She doubles down. "Your badge and gun."
"I don't think so," Tony says.
Nathan clears his throat. "Ma'am?" He checks with Tony. "Sir?"
"I was just leaving," Tony says. "Good evening, Director."
And with that, Tony heads out of the director's office. On his way, he levels a serious glance at Nathan.
"I hear the FBI is hiring, kid," he says.
Nathan just blinks at him.
"Agent DiNozzo," Shepard calls sharply.
Tony pauses, just outside the doorway. He doesn't turn around.
"Let Barrows and his team handle the shooting." Her tone is knife-like. "Take Agent McGee and go to the hospital. Check on Agent Gibbs together. This is not something you should be involved in."
He remains silent.
"Do I make myself clear?" she asks.
He half-nods. "Crystal. Are we done?"
Without giving her a chance to answer, Tony heads out of the office. Nathan keeps a watchful eye on him until he's out of the director's office. Tony makes a mental note to slip the kid's name to Fornell at some point. Hell, after that mess, he might need to slip Fornell his number.
Once he's back in the bullpen, he frowns at the empty space. Tim isn't anywhere to be found when he should be elbow-deep into something computer forensic-y on Ziva's computer. He's probably on a snack run to the vending machine or in the bathroom. Tony digs around the back of his desk, liberates the last bits of his food stash and ditches it all on Tim's desk. Popcorn, candy bars, Nutter Butters and even a microwavable can of Dinty Moore.
Settling into his desk, Tony rubs at his forehead. He doesn't know how he should be acting here, doesn't even know how he should be feeling. He hadn't expected his meeting with the director to go well, but that was so much worse than he thought. How could she suspend him when he brought a mole to her attention? He did everything right, but…
His phone rings. He nearly leaps out of his skin.
"DiNozzo," he answers on reflex.
"Anthony." Ducky's soft voice almost brings him to tears. "How reassuring it is to hear your voice since I last spoke to your voicemail. I would like to offer you an update on Jethro."
As if Tony's day could get any worse. He clamps one hand over his eyes and the other clutches his phone as though it could save him from drowning. He can't bear to think Ducky might be calling to tell him that Gibbs died on the table. He can't…He can't…
Tony pulls a shuddering breath.
"Jethro is out of surgery." Tony holds his breath, fully expecting the but. "We are most fortunate he survived, but things will be difficult going forward. The bullet nicked his small intestine and his liver. The surgeons removed part of both organs to stop the bleeding. Now, we wait for Gibbs to heal. They expect him to make a full recovery. How long that will take remains to be seen."
Tony's breathing hitches, tears of relief barely held at bay. "Thanks for the update, Ducky."
"You should be commended for your help, Anthony. The doctors have informed me that Gibbs would likely have bled to death without your quick thinking."
"Is that so?" Tony struggles to keep his emotions in check.
"And how are you holding up, my dear boy?" He pauses, but Tony doesn't speak. "I hope you, Timothy and Ziva are handling it well."
"Can we…. " Tony swallows hard "…can we talk later? I'm kinda in the middle of something."
On the other side of the line, Ducky makes a strange noise between a cough and a gasp. Before he can reply, Tony hangs up. Pockets his phone.
And buries his face in his hands.