"Are you sure just waltzing down there is a good idea?" he whispered furiously, still understandably cross from their (fine – her) brush with death and proceeding argument.
Ziva ignored him, quickly making her way towards the basement. Front door unlocked, straight through the kitchen. They both knew right where to go, of course, and to Tony's disappointment, his protests did nothing to hinder her obvious beeline.
From the second they'd gotten out of the car, she hadn't listened to a word he'd said. He tried to tell her they should call Gibbs (We are at his house, Tony. I do not think it matters), check the back of the house just to be thorough (For what? A SWAT team?), or have their weapons out if it was really their boss that was in trouble (at this, she laughed).
Now she was hovering by the basement door, which was slightly ajar. They heard voices, but they were muffled, quiet. Well, no yelling was probably a good sign. Maybe. She lifted up her hand to push the door open, but Tony grabbed her shoulder roughly before she could complete the action, turning her around so that she was looking directly at him.
"Hey!" he whisper-shouted, forcing her to snap out of it and pay attention to him.
"What!?" she snapped back, trying to hide the fleeting wince at being manhandled.
"What about all those other times when the good ol' FBI interfered? Have you seriously forgotten that?"
"Of course not! But we are here anyway, and I need answers."
"Well so do I, but it's not me who's at risk here!"
"Okay fine! You want to tell me what to do, is that it?"
He released her shoulder. That wasn't what he meant. She didn't move, but kept glaring at him.
"I'm asking you to be careful. Can you handle that?"
"I am always careful," she scoffed, as if this was perfectly obvious.
"Tell that to people who tried to kill you. Twice."
The back of his mind realized the voices downstairs had stopped, but he kept his gaze on his willful partner, who let out a breath, steeling body and mind.
"Water under the fridge, yes?"
He didn't bother to correct her. (But he had to write that one down.)
She took a small step forward and leaned in, tempting, burning.
"If you touch that shoulder again, I will kill you."
She turned away and pushed open the door, not waiting for him to follow her or call her back. While these threats were not rare, exactly, they always managed to put an end to any conversation. So Tony hesitated, slightly, but then followed her down the stairs, not really looking forward to whatever was waiting for him.
The first thing that greeted his eyes when they turned the corner at the bottom of the stairs was Gibbs. He was standing next to his boat, just looking at them, expression blank but noticeably unsurprised. A bottle of bourbon (ha) and a sanding block were lying on the workbench a few feet away.
And –
Sitting behind him on a wooden stool was Fornell, still dressed in work attire, holding a mug and looking right at home. Better yet, standing stoically next to him was a woman, definitely another agent. Tony knew he recognized her face, but her name was eluding him. He smiled at them with his characteristic quasi-false charm, taking a small step forward.
"Toby! Not in trouble again, are we? To what do I owe this pleasure?"
Four – ish, Ziva was still mad at him, so that didn't count – pairs of eyes staring at him like he was an idiot.
(Fair enough.)
"It's not about you, DiNotzo," responded Fornell, mispronouncing Tony's name, not entirely amused.
Krieger! That was her name, he remembered suddenly. The very pretty, albeit green, agent that took fighting lessons from Ziva last year. She'd forbidden him from observing their sessions, of course, but what good was McGee if you couldn't bribe (blackmail, whatever) him into installing secret cameras? That had been highly entertaining, until Shepard had caught him.
(And angrily reprimanded him for commandeering MTAC for personal use, threatened him with an official discipline, assigned him extra harassment training, etc.)
That seemed like a lifetime ago.
Tony cleared his throat.
"Right, well, what brings our federal brethren to Gibbs's basement, sir?"
"Officer David."
Behind him, she stiffened.
He looked over at Gibbs, unsure of what to say, or reveal, to Fornell. He didn't know exactly why these two were here or what they knew. And he wasn't going to take Fornell's word for it that they weren't in some sort of trouble.
"Boss?" he asked, looking for some direction.
Gibbs glanced briefly at Fornell, whose expression still hadn't changed.
"Come here, both of you," replied Gibbs, signaling for Tony and Ziva, who had been hanging back, to come closer. They both approached Gibbs with looks of mild confusion.
Instead of words though, they were both greeted with slaps to the back of the head. As usual, Tony felt he deserved it, even though he had no idea exactly what he was being hit for. Ziva, however, did not appreciate it.
"What?" she asked, gaping.
"For doing something stupid."
"Hold on, I w—"
"Don't make me hit you again."
Tony choked back a laugh, but sobered quickly at the glares from his coworkers.
"And you should have called me!" said Gibbs, who was now glaring sternly at both of them. Tony immediately stopped smiling. How the hell did he even know something happened? Okay, well, they were both together, looking a little worse for wear, so it wasn't all that hard to guess.
"It was her idea not to," he countered, words spilling out of his mouth.
Ziva rolled her eyes. Gibbs didn't seem to care either way.
"So, you were saying Agent Fornell?" prompted Tony with a false smile, desperately trying to steer the subject away from head-slapping. Once Gibbs had turned his back, meaning to listen to Tobias, Ziva elbowed Tony in the gut as payback for his childishness.
(Which earned them a look that clearly meant shut up and pay attention.)
"My colleague and I came here for, ah, friendly conversation," started Fornell, leading them off once he was sure they were done with their antics.
(They had a different name for it at his office, but Team Gibbs always got results, at least.)
"About?" asked Gibbs, although he had an idea.
"For the past few months one of my intel units has been tracking the movements of a suspected terrorist cell with unnatural amounts of financial activity in several banks in the DC area."
"Aren't you a little old to be taking on that kinda thing, Tobias?" joked Gibbs, to which Fornell chuckled appreciatively.
"The cell is suspected of having strong ties to Hamas, which I've worked before, and Krieger here took the lead," he explained, acknowledging his counterpart with a vague nod. "Our director thought I was the best man to supervise."
"Doesn't explain why you're in my basement." commented Gibbs, never one to make unnecessary conversation.
"I was getting to that."
Gibbs only shrugged.
"Five days ago we raided a warehouse by the docks that we learned some of the suspects were using as a sort of garage. We found explosives, automatic weapons, computers, radios, you name it. Like they were stockpiling for a major operation."
"You know what they're planning?"
Fornell shook his head, noncommittal.
"Working on it. The men at the warehouse were less than cooperative. Most were killed in the raid."
"Most?"
"One or two escaped, we think. We know there are more involved."
"There a reason you're telling me how much you don't know?"
"Ah, you underestimate me, Gibbs. We have audio strategically planted inside the banks they're active in. Nothing concrete, but my people are working out what their next move is."
His boss seemed satisfied with this, at least outwardly, but Tony was less patient.
"Soooo, what does this have to do with us? Or Ziva?"
The woman in question was still remarkably silent.
"We're not set on our next raid yet, but the chatter we picked up has been useful."
"Chatter about what?"
"Your name came up," answered Fornell, addressing Ziva. "It was obvious that they want you out of the way."
"What?" laughed Tony, not finding this funny at all. "Why her? You're the ones that are tracking them!"
"Unclear. Maybe they think killing an asset to Mossad and NCIS will cause enough damage to stop any federal pursuit. Maybe this is some convoluted way to get back at us, given our agencies' history. Or maybe they just hate Israelis and view her as a scapegoat." Or maybe this is their major operation, he didn't say. Her death would certainly incite some blowback. Maybe they wanted to poke the proverbial bear.
There was silence for a few moments, in which everyone just took it all in.
"Well thanks for the heads up," began Gibbs, taking a sip of his bourbon from his mug. He swallowed it down and continued. "But my agent was already almost killed. Yesterday would've been nice."
"Our analysts only finished translating the chatter this afternoon. Special Agent Krieger and I came by as soon as we were available."
"Is this little visit on or off the record?"
"Off. You know how it is. I've never cared for the Bureau's politics, myself. And I know you don't like to waste any time."
Gibbs laughed. Yeah, he understood.
They were all interrupted by a gasp coming from Krieger.
"Ziva, you're bleeding!"
Ziva seemed surprised for a second, then looked down at her shirt, which was slowly soaking through with blood from her shoulder.
"It is nothing. The stitches must have reopened," she said, pulling off the vest that was hanging loosely off her shoulders. She had forgotten she was still wearing it.
Gibbs pulled out a stool and kicked it over to where she was standing.
"Sit," he said, indicating the stool with a nod of his head while grabbing a towel for her from one of the shelves. "Talk."
She debated how much she should reveal, but stopped after feeling a sharp stab of guilt at the look on his face.
"After work I stopped at my apartment to get some clothes. I went back out to do some errands, and I noticed someone following me."
Tony avoided looking at her, and Gibbs, who was clearly displeased at his agent's lack of discretion.
"On my last stop I was walking back towards the car, and something did not feel right. One of your gut feelings, yes?"
Still, Tony remained silent, eager to hear her explanation without the hostility that she seemed to save just for him.
"I got out of the car because I wanted to draw out whoever was following me. I did not know it would end so badly."
"Okay, so what happened?"
"I walked down the street a little bit and waited at the corner. I felt that somebody was close to me, so I kept waiting. A dark-colored SUV came from behind the building, and out of instinct I moved to defend myself. I…did not notice the one approaching from behind. It opened fire before I could react."
"And DiNozzo? Where was he?"
He opened his mouth to interject but she beat him to it.
"He followed me, and he tried to warn me. It is not his fault. I should have called you."
She knew better than to apologize, but she was looking for Gibbs to say something. Instead he just let her take over holding the towel against her shoulder, glancing back at Tony with an indecipherable look.
"And the vest?"
"I thought it prudent after this morning."
(But it is, you know, a vest, she almost heard her partner joke.)
"You get anything off the cars?" asked Gibbs, changing the subject and turning towards his senior field agent.
"Nothing except the model and color. I was more concerned with making sure Ziva wasn't dying."
That oversimplification left a sour taste on his tongue, but he was not about to elaborate. There was no need to explain how he watched them empty almost half a clip into his partner and truly believed, actually believed, that she was dead, or close to it. How in that short and fleeting moment, it had been absolutely real.
"Anything else, Tobias?" asked Gibbs, breaking the temporary yet expectant silence.
"This has everything my people have collected," replied Fornell, getting up from his seat and handing Gibbs a small flash drive. Gibbs took it in his hand and examined it a little, as if he'd never seen anything like it before.
"Everything?"
"Everything. Only – try not to obviously interfere. I'm not looking to start a turf war."
Only half a smirk for that, because he could give two shits about a turf war if it meant the safety of his team. But, he conceded, stuffing the drive in his pocket with a nod.
"Now if you'll excuse us," began Fornell, grabbing his coat from the workbench and signaling Agent Krieger to follow him. "I have to report back to my director. He thinks we're on a late night coffee run."
"It was nice to see you again, Ziva. You too Tony," added Agent Krieger, who briefly glanced at Gibbs with a small smile. The three of them returned their farewells (Gibbs rather silently), watching as Fornell reached the top of the stairs.
"Oh and Jethro," he started, but was cut off by Gibbs raising his mug to his friend, eyes alight with humor.
"Never saw you," reassured Gibbs, who received a dismissive wave of the hand from Fornell in return.
The silence that followed was remarkably more tense than only moments before. The absence of the FBI agents seemed to have sapped away any sense of direction or resolution. They were both just waiting for Gibbs to talk. Yell. Demand without speaking.
"DiNozzo," he barked finally without turning his head to address Tony.
"Yeah Boss?"
Ziva's head shot up too, with the ghost of some foreign emotion on her face. And that's what it was. A ghost. Because as soon he thought he saw it, it was gone, and the only thing left was the warmth of chocolate brown hiding the chill of uncertainty and almost.
"Get the car ready."
Tony bit down his protests, not wanting to incur wrath of Gibbs any further.
Ziva waited, patient. Well – about as patient as she could manage after the shitstorm of the past twenty-four hours.
"I didn't have him follow you because I didn't trust you."
And there it was. Gibbs could always read her. Those blue eyes, which were so unforgiving, yet so powerful, saw right through her. (One of two, she thought, and she was somehow very glad that the other one was at least an ocean away.)
"You did not think I could handle the situation?" she challenged, defiance biting.
"No. I know you are extremely capable of handling it. That's why I had someone on your six."
"What? Gibbs, that makes no sense."
Gibbs took a step closer so that he was dangerously close to her. Well, if he had been angry, it would've been dangerous. But he wasn't angry. Not really.
"Would you have done anything different if I hadn't sent Tony to follow you?"
Silence.
"No."
No. A one word answer. Simple, easy. The way the truth should be, but often isn't.
If Tony had been sitting right next to her, yelling at her, she still would've gotten out of the car. She still would've taken three to the chest. Only now she would probably still be on that deserted street trying to catch her breath. She would still be in danger. And who would've been responsible for that predicament?
Only her.
Shit.
"I did not mean to drag him into this," she let out finally, neither needing clarification on who she was talking about.
Gibbs paused, nonchalant, but all too serious.
"You'd do it for him."
In a heartbeat. Even with their petty (ish) trust issues.
"What are we going to do?" she asked, sincerely hoping that whatever he told her to do could wait until she had some decent sleep. She wondered if she looked as terrible as she felt.
"First you get yourself looked at."
(So, yes.)
"Ducky could –"
"Three slugs to the chest isn't a scrape," he warned, cutting her off. "You need x-rays, all that."
It was probably a mark of how tired she was that she did not fight him further on it.
"Fine."
"Hospital first, then we start looking for answers."
And with that he was on his way up the stairs, waving a hand to indicate she should follow. She did, albeit somewhat (fine – much) slower thanks to her aching chest and still-stinging shoulder. She cursed herself for not grabbing her pain meds from her car before walking down that stupid street. Though – she was due a trip to the hospital, so that was irrelevant, she supposed. Still, these goddamned stairs.
She closed the front door behind her without bothering to lock it, making to head for the car where her teammates were waiting.
She slid into the backseat and shut the car door as silently as she could. Gibbs swiftly backed out of his driveway and started speeding down the road, not commenting on Tony's mutterings about safe driving and needing a baby-on-board sign.
"DiNozzo."
Tony braced himself for sudden arm movements in the direction of his head. Instead Gibbs reached to his side and tossed Tony his cell phone, which landed ungracefully in his lap.
"Uh, yeah?"
"Call Fornell back. Tell him we need to borrow a jet."
Taken aback, Tony shared a glance with his equally confused partner in the backseat.
"Are we going on vacation?"
"You could say that."
Silence.
"But – are you saying that?" he quipped, hesitant, not liking the look on his boss's face.
"Where?" interrupted Ziva, leaning forward slightly.
Gibbs didn't even bother to meet her eye in the rearview.
"Israel."
Thanks for reading, drop me a line, then be on your way! Also, I may have stolen that joke about the vest from an episode of Archer. Sue me. (Only, don't.)