In all fairness, he had to give her credit.

Even when she wasn't intentionally trying to evade him, she still managed to shake him off.

At the beginning he had hung back, aiming to be as inconspicuous as possible. Acting casual. Just a regular guy enjoying a night out in the city. Sure, if secretly tailing your partner – who had a knack for being rash at the most inopportune times – because someone tried to kill her, was what every single guy did on a weeknight.

Casual? No. Far from it. He was enjoying it less and less every second, thanks to the increasing sense of foreboding that refused to dissipate.

It wasn't a definite feeling or some strange perception of the future (though he had tried to convince Palmer that he possessed Jedi senses, once). It was just a thickness. Sitting at the bottom of his stomach, getting heavier the less he acknowledged it. It was like a knot, twisting as the hours went by.

And the longer he followed her, the more ominous it got.

Currently he was sitting in one of the older company cars, as his was too easily recognizable, as were the newer Chargers. He tried to remain detached and patient, but it was proving difficult. He was getting restless, and he felt a strong desire to do something.

For hours he had been following her. To the convenience store (for one of her stupid smoothies), to the local precinct (she had a few things to straighten out), to the pharmacy (on Ducky's orders), and to some random hunting store where she left with a new boot knife (go figure).

And now, he was on a mildly busy street downtown where she was inside some café getting food. It took most of his patience not to follow her into one of these seemingly mundane locations, but Gibbs gave him specific instructions to keep her in the dark.

So here he was, restless.

He sat and watched intently as she walked out of the restaurant, paper bag in one hand and keys to the car she was borrowing from the agency in the other. As she approached her driver's side door, she quickly scanned the street for whatever she deemed suspicious. From what he could tell, her gaze wandered over to some cars near Tony's, but thankfully his stakeout position remained unnoticed. Her eyes flitted to the security cameras placed along the street – even the supposedly hidden ones. It was all very Bourne.

(The first sign of insanity. Making movie references without anyone to hear them.)

She tossed her food bag in the car and quickly climbed into her seat. He waited for her to start up the engine again, but the sound never came.

Instead –

The car door slammed shut again and he shot his head up in time to see her stalking away down the sidewalk, zipping up her jacket as she went. It was all very subtle, with her left arm swinging loosely by her side, the other lingering towards her right. But he was trained to pick up on subtleties, after all, and how long had he known her? This was not the walk of someone who was going back inside because they forgot napkins.

No.

She was walking with a purpose, in her confident manner that radiated power. This walk was sharp, and clean. And although it was impossible to tell with the constant hum of the city, he was sure she was being silent.

She was being stealthy.

Something was definitely not right, and she was getting closer to the end of the street and beyond his vision. Nearby, a car – SUV, fricking gigantic – started its engine and hovered for a few seconds, temporarily blocking his line of sight.

The knot in his stomach tightened.

Ziva just turned a corner, and now he couldn't see her. He considered calling Gibbs, but instantly dropped the idea as he realized it was already too late – that would waste time, not buy it. He grabbed his gun and quickly climbed out of his car, not bothering to lock it.

Quickly he crossed the street, checking inside the windows of her car.

Damn.

Nothing of interest. Nothing that would randomly cause her to drop everything and flee down the street.

He checked up and down the road a few times and noticed that the car from earlier had pulled out of its parking spot and was now rolling down the pavement, now seriously hindering his ability to see the corner his partner had just turned at.

He picked up the pace a little bit and stopped discreetly by the crosswalk and looked to his right, scanning. Nothing, until –

There.

She was down at the other end of the sidewalk, fifty yards away from him. She was standing alone, close to the wall, almost as if frozen. She had her weapon (one of her many spares?) out, holding it stiffly by her side.

But she wasn't pointing it at anything, and there was nothing or nobody around. Even from a distance he could tell she was tense, like she was waiting for something. Her eyes scanned the windows of the buildings across from her, and she glanced in his direction for the smallest of seconds. She must have seen him, but she didn't call out, or move.

What was she waiting for? Surely not him – she may threaten it constantly, but she would never draw her weapon on him in one of her point-proving agendas.

He continued to watch her, unsure of whether he should approach or not. Something still felt off. He swore he felt the air getting hotter, and thicker. He took a tentative step forward, his own hand resting on his duty weapon (because he was technically still on duty, hooray for him).

He took a few more slow steps forward and still, still, she did not move from the position she was holding. This was doing nothing to ease his anxiety, and the longer she stood there, completely still, the weirder this whole thing became.

The hell was she doing?

He almost said so, words halfway up his throat before the sound of an approaching car rounding the corner drowned him out.

He glanced briefly at the vehicle, startled at the sudden proximity. It was a large black SUV, with tinted windows and an unusually slow roll. Strange, but then – this was the same one that had caused him to lose sight of his 'quarry' before.

He suddenly stopped walking.

The car accelerated relatively quietly, but Tony could feel the vibrations on the ground beneath him. Then, barely a second later, another black SUV rolled out from behind a building on the street perpendicular, trapping them in a T.

Ziva immediately raised her gun at this second vehicle's sudden appearance and the sound of tires squealing with urgency. And then Tony knew exactly what was going on.

Ambush.

He started sprinting up the sidewalk, but was unable to catch up to the SUV approaching Ziva from behind. She paid it no attention, not even knowing it was a threat. His heart pounded against his chest as the screeching of tires rung in his ears.

The car ahead of him was now speeding towards her, capitalizing on its opportunity as she was distracted with the other car.

"No no, wait, Ziva NO!" he yelled as he watched an arm extend out the window as the car slowed down only feet away from her.

Upon hearing his shouts she made an attempt to whirl around, a look of confusion and intensity etched on her features. But as she turned her body, she barely had time to blink before the car opened fire. Several gunshots hit her squarely in the chest and she was thrown backwards and onto the ground, her own weapon falling out of her hands. It clattered against the sidewalk uselessly.

Oh my god.

Fuck.

Tony sprinted onto the street and tried to fire shots at the tires and windows of the vehicle, emptying his magazine blindly. He was distraught, enraged – shocked. None of his attempts made contact. He couldn't even get a license plate number, the car already out of his reach.

Panting, still reeling, he stopped for a second at the end of the street and then turned back around, dreading what he would find.

Ziva was lying with her back on the sidewalk, almost completely still. Her arms were sprawled out on the ground and one of her legs was bent inwards and almost underneath her. She was barely moving the other one, the heel of her shoe digging into the pavement.

Tony approached quickly with a half-running, half stumbling pace, not processing anything. He didn't bother to holster his gun, instead dropping it aimlessly on the ground as he crouched beside her, muttering under his breath.

(Don't do this to me. You're a freaking ninja, remember? Fuck.)

While continuing his panicked rant he forcefully tore off her jacket, expecting to find a bloody mess of bullet holes and fabric. But the only thing he found was a dark blue bullet proof vest, blatant, unmistakable, three gold bullets scattered on the left side. The shock reverberated, another weird wave of panic and ecstasy slamming into him.

He had no idea she had been wearing a vest. No idea.

Then came the numbness, emptying, stilling. He didn't know what to say, and he was having trouble forming thoughts. He dropped his hands, which he had raised to put pressure on her wounds. What. The. Fuck.

And then –

Release.

He let out a long drawn out breath and couldn't help but grin stupidly, letting out a relieved chuckle at an octave slightly higher than normal. He briefly glanced at the sky and then back down at her, breathing deeply, out of reflex. He scooted a little bit closer, practically hovering over her.

"Hey," he said calmly, tapping the side of her face lightly. She shifted a little bit, still mostly out of it, eyes not really open.

He checked her pulse just to be thorough. More relief washed over him as he felt the beating underneath his fingers.

"Hey, Ziva," he said again, this time a little louder. He tapped her face again, trying to force her back to full awareness. This time she opened her eyes and looked right at him, the same look of confusion still on her features.

Immediately, she started coughing.

(Well, getting hit point-blank will do that to you.)

She tried to sit up but she failed as she continued to cough violently, grimacing, only managing to roll over partially. Tony helped pull her off the ground by the shoulders of her vest, while her coughing fit continued. She made to take the vest off, trying to relieve some of the pressure, but he pushed her arm back down.

"Leave it. They could come back. Gibbs would kill me."

She seemed tempted to hit him for a second, glaring coldly, incredulous, but the moment quickly evaporated as her coughing started up again.

He practically dragged her back to where his car was, supporting some of her weight as she continued to struggle with normal breathing. He quickly crossed the street, one hand supporting his partner and the other hand holding his retrieved weapon. They had yet to be clear of danger, and he practically shoved her into the passenger seat, not wanting to waste even a second on being a gentleman.

He ran around the vehicle and quickly ignited the engine, peeling out of the parking lot.

They rode in charged silence, barring the continuing coughing fits from Ziva, which were thankfully becoming less intense as the minutes wore on. She hadn't moved really since he shoved her in the car, but Tony had been too preoccupied with ensuring the SUVs were gone and fleeing the scene that he hadn't noticed her stillness. But now that they were in relative safety, cruising on the deserted highway, he spared her a glance to make sure she was okay.

Her eyes were closed, and she was breathing deeply. She had undone the front of the vest, so that the sides were hanging open loosely. The left side still had three gold bullets still embedded deep in the fibers of the vest. He frowned, uncomfortable at the sight of it.

One of her hands was resting on her lap, with the other gently prodding the wound on her shoulder. She winced as her fingers made contact, but she hid it well. Mostly.

Before he could open his mouth to say anything, she dropped her hand and beat him to it.

"You," she began, closing her eyes again tiredly as she shifted in her seat, jaw stiffened, "should have practiced more."

Even for Little Miss Unpredictable, that was…not expected.

"What?"

"After failing the first time you tried to follow me, you should have learned."

"That was three years ago. And you're welcome," he replied dryly, turning his attention back to the road, irritated at her irritating mixture of complacency and lack of gratitude.

Of course she knew he was following her. She always freaking knew.

"You want me to thank you for going behind my back and not trusting me? You could have just spoken to me!"

"And say what? Oh, hey, are you planning on doing anything stupid that could jeopardize your safety tonight?"

"Stupid?" she scoffed, temper flaring. "Something did not feel right, I knew I was being followed, so I went to lure them out. I did not realize they would –"

"Try to kill you?"

A pause, measured.

"Yes."

"Well that seems to be today's theme, doesn't it?" he snapped seriously, silencing her.

But she wasn't finished.

"You might have saved me the trouble if you had just talked to me, instead of sneaking around all night."

"You're lucky I did."

"You flatter yourself," she retorted, automatically, neither party recognizing just how misdirected all this anger was.

Tony softened, a little stung, not wanting this to escalate.

"I was just doing what Gibbs wanted."

(He is all too aware of his history with following orders, but fuck that.)

"Gibbs told you to do this?" she asked, the slightest tone of disbelief in her voice.

"He was worried about you."

Would he be flattering himself if he admitted that he was worried too?

She had nothing to say to that, and judging by her expression, he had the strange sensation that she knew what he was thinking.

"Where are we going?" she finally asked, breaking the silence again, only now realizing that they were not en route to either NCIS headquarters or one of their apartments.

"Gibbs," replied Tony, tone steady, purposefully neutral.

Ah, where else? Crazy how one word between them could be enough sometimes.

And so the rest of the car ride remained mutually silent, neither person wanting to resume their argument. Tony did, however, turn on the radio to lessen some of the tension, muttering about crappy music as he mindlessly flipped through stations. She let him be, strangely, instead choosing to ignore both him and her aching torso.

They pulled up quietly into Gibbs driveway, and Tony hesitated before killing the engine, wondering how this was going to go. Ziva was already out of her seat by the time the car was off. He climbed out of his more slowly, shutting the door loudly, noticing for the first time there was another unfamiliar car already parked in the driveway. His partner had seen it too, and was walking over to it, examining it curiously.

"Is McGee here as well? I did not realize he got a new car."

"The Probie would never drive something like this. Remember his Porsche?"

This car was all-black, generic. Official.

Then he realized. Official – a government car?

"Wait," began Ziva, who instinctively took a step backward and checked her surroundings, her hand lingering towards her right side, as he had seen her do earlier. "I recognize this car!"

And suddenly he did, too.

"One of us isn't being framed again are we? Cause I'm really getting sick of it."

"Gibbs would have found a way to contact us," she dismissed, still not comfortable letting her guard down.

"So then what the hell is the FBI doing here?"

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