Chapter 32—
Ziva ran away from it all. From Tony, from Danny, from this mysterious Detective Burley. She ran from them with little thought to anything else besides Burley's words. Words that told her in no uncertain terms that Scorpion was back. He would come after one of them. Scorpion, she knew all too well, was a vengeful man, and painfully so.
A trail of images ran through her mind, and she seemed to be conjuring up impossibly drastic and painful scenarios against her own will.
"Stop it," she whispered harshly to herself. "You're safe. You're safe." Like a mantra, told herself this. "Tony . . . Tony will protect you. You will protect you. You're safe."
Her eyes, downward, landed on a stone embedded into the gravel beneath her feet. She kicked it, hoping the path it followed across the ground would distract her for the tiniest second like it used to when she was a child. Alas, no such luck.
A single car flew past the building, and then silence fell, and she all of a sudden became acutely aware that she was alone.
...
"No," Ziva said sternly, minutes later. She turned on her heel and stormed through the parking lot, away from Tony, who had followed her down, as she knew he would. As if her refusal wasn't enough, an almost aggressive wind picked up, tossing her hair this way and that as she distanced from him.
"Ziva, wait!" he called, arms waving as he chased after her. Just as he began to catch up, she stopped walking and turned around abruptly, staring at him with tempestuously cold eyes. He halted violently and met her glare with reluctance and disappointment. She'd looked scared a minute ago, but now . . . now, she looked angry. He did not want that to be his fault.
"No," she said again, with more force this time. "I am not going to be a puppet in one of your police operations. A case that, might I add, isn't even yours to solve!"
"That's not the point," he insisted, trying to grab her hands. She flinched and he pulled back sadly. "It's yours to solve, Ziva. Don't you want to get even? Nab him for good?"
"He is not worth it, Tony, believe me," she said, her voice wavering, much to her frustration. "He is a worthless human being who deserves to die but for some reason the universe wants to keep him alive. Whether or not somebody out there finds satisfaction from locking him behind bars is their business, not mine. I will be glad when he is off the streets and we are safe, but a personal vendetta is not something I have time for."
"Fine, then don't do it for you – do it for me," Tony insisted, slapping his flat palm against his chest. "Do it for us. I know how hard it's gonna be for you, but I wouldn't have asked if we didn't need you in this Ziva."
"I am not a cop, or in law enforcement – it is not my place," she argued, but her voice was feeble.
"Are you kidding? I can't think of anybody whose place it might be. We'll get this guy, Ziva, but not without you." He reached for her hands again, and she let him take them. "Okay," she whispered. "Okay, I will help."
...
"Let me get this straight, DiNozzo," Raimey said in an obnoxious, condescending voice as Tony stood before his desk like a school boy sent to the principal. "You want to use an office aid for an op? My office aid?"
"Sir, I am aware that Miss David knows the mark well. Very well, in fact. They had a . . . somewhat professional relationship." He swallowed, but his throat was dry. He hated talking about Ziva like this. "He is more likely to divulge incriminating information if it is somebody he trusts."
This was not Tony's best case, he knew, but it was the best case he could make while simultaneously trying to 'suck up to the boss'. So, like usual, he painted the ideal end result of a risky op using buzz words and fake professionalism. He knew very well that this plan of his could very well go pear-shaped. But he also knew that it would be equally terrible for all parties involved if he did nothing, and Tony DiNozzo was not one to sit back and do nothing.
"What about the case with NCIS? Special Agent Gibbs has been calling," Raimey said.
"I talked to him yesterday. His people are pursuing a lead but for now the case is mostly being investigated in D.C. Any further discoveries will be taken up there."
"But you're still liaising with them?" Frank's fingers locked together as he stared up at Tony from his desk chair.
"Yes, just not until we finish this. Gibbs understands. He's, uh, big on personal vendettas himself."
"Not the best quality in a federal agent," Raimey said rudely.
"You have to admit it, Boss. He's good."
For a while, the Major did not say anything, but eventually, he leaned forward with an attentive gaze. "Okay, DiNozzo. You have my attention. Your plan better keep it."
...
"You clear on this, Ziva?" Tony asked of her, again.
"Crystal, Tony." She was trying to sound breezy, but the fear in her voice was all too obvious. He stopped what he was doing – flicking through one of the many files stacked on his little white desk – and stood straight, watching her in worry.
"Your first undercover op," Danny chimed in, also holding a file. He did not pull his eyes away from the page he was on. "Exciting stuff."
"What was yours like?" Ziva asked, searching for hope.
"I got beat up by three gang members the size of refrigerators," he replied dryly, looking to the sky and remembering that fateful day. "But it could have been worse."
"How?" McGee asked. He was up in the office assisting with ear pieces and surveillance.
"I was wearing a cup," Danny finished and McGee and Stan laughed.
"Don't get ahead of yourself, Price," Stan said. "This isn't exactly an undercover op – she's going undercover as herself from before she met us."
"Because I did not have enough fun the first time around," Ziva said, her tone heavy with sarcasm.
"You're gonna be okay, right?" Tony asked, walking over to her. His voice was soft, but Danny, Burley and McGee were all within earshot, and turned their heads in curiosity. Tony did not even notice.
"Was that a question or a reassurance?" was her reply. She tried to smile, but honestly, she was scared. Scared of getting hurt, of seeing Scorpion, of losing herself. Or of losing him. The curl of her lips dissolved into sadness, so he covered her mouth with his own softly, holding her chin between his thumb and forefinger.
"You're gonna be okay," he repeated as Tim handed them an earpiece each and pretended not to have seen the romantic exchange. This time, it was a statement, and she seemed pretty convinced.