It had been far too long since Anthony DiNozzo had gotten any decent sleep.

He'd been in Israel four days, and he had not managed one session of peaceful sleep where he actually woke up feeling rested. Four days.

And before that, it was three nights in a safehouse in DC. He would toss and turn, never able to get comfortable. His mind would never settle down, and there was always something, some trigger, that kept him awake. So there he lay in his bed, his legs tangled in the cotton sheets and sweat running down his back. He turned over onto his side, but he knew it would be of no use. It never worked.

Instead he took to observing the full moon spreading its light over the Tel Aviv skyline. The light filtered in through the window and illuminated the carpet in front of his bed like some sort of spotlight. If this weren't the third consecutive hour he'd been unable to sleep, he might have found it relaxing.

But now he resented it, as he felt as dead awake as the moon staring back at him.

With a frustrated sigh he untangled himself from the bed and stood up, hoping that if he got out of bed and tried later he might actually get some rest. He threw on a shirt over his slightly damp torso and quietly opened the door. After grabbing a cool glass of water from the kitchen, he made his way back to his bedroom.

He was about to go back in when he suddenly changed his mind and continued down the hallway to Ziva's room, impulse telling him he might as well check on her if he was already awake and wandering around the halls.

(Jesus, when did he become this overprotective?)

He didn't know what he was expecting to find, but he couldn't help it. He would just look in for a minute, and then be gone to try and get back to bed. He approached her door quietly, as he had no intention of waking her up. He pushed it open without a sound and stepped inside, but was surprised to see that her bed was empty. And much like his, the sheets looked as if someone had been having a restless night.

He glanced in the bathroom, but the door was open and the lights were off.

Something moving on the balcony caught his attention, and he froze, heart suddenly in his throat and instinct screaming at him to find one of the weapons stashed around. The sliding door was wide open, and the beige curtain was swaying slightly with the breeze. He took a cautious step forward, not daring to call her name in case he wasn't actually overreacting.

(He was.)

It had only taken a few more steps, muffled against the carpet, for him to finally catch sight of Ziva. As far as he could tell, there was no threat. If there was, she certainly would not be standing motionless like that.

She had her back to Tony, arms crossed stiffly over her chest. She was staring at the ground below her, gaze distracted, thoughts clearly elsewhere. The wind blew a few loose strands of hair against the side of her face, but she didn't seem to mind. She didn't take her eyes off the ground when Tony came to stand next to her, and he was struck by how eerily unfocused she was.

The night was completely calm as he took his stance beside her, leaning on the wall. When she didn't acknowledge his presence, he took a good look at her face. Immediately he felt a stab of idiocy as he realized that he wasn't the only one who fought with the night.

The longer he observed her, the more it made sense to him.

None of this had been easy on her, no matter how hard she tried to hide it. She had been forced to return here, to Israel. She didn't protest, in fact had seemed mostly onboard with the idea, but it could hardly have been her first choice. It was obvious, between the sulking and the frustration, that she was troubled. The early rising, the silent breakfasts, the halfhearted smiles in response to his jokes. She was not comfortable here. And he saw now that it really couldn't be blamed on him, not entirely, because she preferred to spend most of her time alone in her room anyway.

(And he'd seen the way she jerked awake on the plane.)

He leaned forward a little on the wall of the balcony.

"Weird dreams again?" he asked softly, not wanting to startle her with his sudden breaking of the pensive silence.

Slowly, she turned her head halfway towards him, unsurprised that he found her.

"Just the one. It is always the same."

"And?" he pressed on, his voice quiet but encouraging. His green eyes focused solely on her.

"And normally I do not care so much, but the same one? Over and over?"

"Since when?"

"Since the first time I was shot at."

Frowning, Tony had an odd feeling that he already knew the answer to the question he was about to ask.

"Do you want to tell me?"

She hesitated, considering.

"I…it is almost like I am replaying a memory, but," she paused, lowering her voice as she felt the heat of his eyes on her. "I would rather not discuss it."

He said nothing, conceding that he had at least managed to get something out of her.

"Have you slept at all?" he finally asked, breaking the renewed silence. She ignored him, (again – he already knew the answer) but did turn to face him.

"I have to see her."

Her eyes had a soft, yet determined look about them. Serene, yet masking the ache. Almost pleading.

"Who?"

(He was on a roll here, asking questions he already had ideas about.)

"Tali. I may not get another chance."

A heartbroken ex-lover and a dead director, both on his watch, had taught him all about chances, and it was with a pang of – fuck, he didn't know – that he heard the hidden message in her words. She would see her sister, regardless of her situation.

Her mind was already made up.

He knew he should protest, stop her from going, convince her that this was not a choice she had to make right now. Once, he had been told that you always have a choice, but he was starting to believe that wasn't really true. Was she expected to go against her nature? To sit here, stuck, angry, resigned to keep to a secrecy that was forced upon her?

What would he have done?

Frustrated at his apparent lack of verbal response, she continued to speak in a flurry of determination.

"I know that if anyone finds out I have gone, we will both be in trouble. And I know you are going to say that it's dangerous, and that this is a terrible idea, and then you will reference some movie and tell me how this will not end well and that I should go back to sleep because I am going crazy, yes?" she asked hurriedly, trying to gauge his response and defend herself.

He continued to stare thoughtfully, the bright moon in the background setting her eyes on fire even more.

She waited.

"No. Actually I was going to say I'd go with you."

"What?" she asked, thrown off-guard by his simple acceptance. He didn't back down.

"I'll go with you. It's my job."

Even if it wasn't his official assignment to protect her, he still would've gone with her. And if someone had asked him why, he would've given them the same answer.

She narrowed her eyes at him for a moment, unsure if he was going to throw in some catch or take it back. But he held her gaze with a look that expressed his sincerity, and she was suddenly overwhelmed with relief and traces of hope. She broke the stare and headed back towards her bedroom.

"We should leave now. Our detail will not be expecting it."

Quickly, she threw some things on the bed and began packing them into her backpack, making sure she didn't forget any of the weapons she had strategically hidden around the room. Then she tossed him an extra combat knife she had placed under the bath mat in the bathroom, just incase. He caught it from where he was standing in the doorway, just watching her, having already prepared a go-bag in the off chance she did something rash and he needed a quick exit.

(Did it count as rash if he was doing it too?)

"What about Gibbs?" he asked her, still watching as she finished packing some extra clothes. She paused and let her shoulders fall slightly.

She had been hoping, stupidly maybe, that they could avoid mentioning that, at least until they were already gone and it was too late to turn back. And she didn't want to think about how she was deliberately disobeying him. Or her father.

"He will not be happy if he finds out."

Well yeah, he figured that.

"So what do I tell him if he does?" he asked.

"That everything is fine. Make up something, I don't know."

"He's not stupid, Ziva."

She turned around from what she was doing and met his gaze. He was still in complete seriousness, but his expression told her that he didn't really anticipate his boss finding out. Not if they were careful.

He waited, her piercing eyes impressing the weight of what she was saying.

"Then blame it on me, and tell him you were doing your job."

It was rather convenient for her, this little loophole she'd created in dragging him along, but he'd already agreed to go, hadn't he? Staying behind and leaving her to go alone was not an option. Maybe it would be if they were completely different people, but he had no use for wishful thinking.

She might've had a choice, maybe, not really, but he didn't. There was no other way.

They were leaving.

To put it simply, the trip was long. Long, hot, and unproductive.

Now, looking out onto the dry expanse of sandy plains all around him, the dust trailing up behind their stolen Jeep (Ziva's idea), Tony was beginning to think that maybe it would've been easier to fly.

But, showing their faces and using their passports at an airport was a risk they could not take, so they decided on making the trip via car. So here they were, the dust and the heat clouding around his shaded eyes as he glanced over at his partner behind the wheel. She had barely spoken since they'd snuck out of their safehouse in the middle of the night.

He turned and looked out the open door/window area (it was a Jeep), taking in the suburban infrastructure beginning to appear on the sides of the road as he pondered their "escape". Thinking back on it, the whole thing had actually been easier than he thought it would be.

They had gone out the back door and carefully snuck around the side of the house, so that the officer on surveillance detail would only see them if he suddenly checked his rearview window and looked directly at their shadowy corner, guarded by bushes. He didn't, luckily, and they were able to successfully steal an inconspicuous-looking car (thank god she knew that wiring-trick thing) from a few houses down.

From there they had begun the approximately 250-mile trip from the outskirts of Tel Aviv to a suburban area just outside Cairo. They had ridden the coast the entire night (except when they got to Gaza), and by early morning they made a quick stop for breakfast, all without any trouble.

Kind of.

There was a slight delay at the border, which had involved a lot of yelling, both of them being ordered out of the car, and an excessively thorough examination of their passports. Ziva did not seem to share his mildly panicky outlook on the situation.

(She had assured him it was normal, or at least not uncommon.)

And for the past two hours they had been driving from Port Said to their destination, which based on their changing surroundings, he guessed they were fast approaching.

"Where exactly are we going?" asked Tony as he fanned his shirt to get some air, the material sticking uncomfortably to his back.

They had both changed their looks somewhat to blend in more easily, since it was key that they wouldn't stand out or be recognized. He had switched out his T-shirt for a looser, beige "tunic-thing" that they'd picked up from a street vendor, and Ziva had removed her blatantly Jewish necklace and switched to her preferred cargo pants. At least the change in attire had still allowed them to carry concealed weapons - his Sig was tucked in the small of his back, and a knife was holstered to his leg. He didn't know exactly what she brought, for which he was secretly thankful.

She kept her eyes on the road as she answered him.

"I know her control officer. He has a house outside the city limit. He will know where she is," she replied, taking a sharp left without stopping at the intersection. Tony had learned to deal with her erratic driving a long time ago, but he still gripped the door reflexively.

"Do you trust him?"

"He works for the CIA," she deadpanned, as if that settled the matter. Not good enough for Tony, who had a particular dislike for certain members of that organization.

"Well yeah, professionally he is reliable. But do you actually trust him?"

The sunglasses blocking her eyes made it even harder for him to guess her thoughts, and for a second he thought she wouldn't answer. But she did, softening her voice just a fraction.

"Yes. He is an old friend of my family."

He thought maybe she would elaborate, but she remained silent. She'd been doing that a lot lately.

Only a few minutes later they pulled in to a short gravel driveway, turning off the engine almost immediately. The dust that was kicked up by the tires still hung in the air when they approached the front door, Tony keeping a wary eye on the rusted chain-link fence and the open windows of the many neighboring houses.

Ziva knocked a couple times, but no one came to the door. She didn't wait for Tony to make some redundant comment before trying again.

Still nothing.

He had a sinking, gnawing feeling that they were being watched.

She raised her hand to knock again, but the door creaked open before she could. A man with dark skin and even darker hair eyed them uncertainly through the opening, glancing between them suspiciously. Upon seeing who was standing on his porch, his face immediately lit up with recognition and confusion and Tony noticed that the hand that had been tensely held behind his back had dropped to his side.

"Ziva?" he asked, incredulous, strangled little laugh escaping. "I was not expecting you. The last time I heard from you, you were on your way back to Washington. What are you doing here?"

The man's eyes flickered to Tony, who made no friendly gesture.

"I did not mean to show up like this, Kadin, but I need to see my sister. Do you know where I can find her?" she asked, neglecting to introduce her partner or waste any time with small talk.

The man named Kadin muttered a few unhappy-sounding Arabic words under his breath and opened the door wider for his two guests. Tony was momentarily distracted by the sight of a young girl, no older than four or five, peeking around the corner of the next room. He gazed at her for a few seconds, wondering, but was brought out of his trance by the sound of Kadin's voice.

"I think it is best if you come inside," he replied, motioning for Tony to come as well, as his demeanor was rather intimidating. The girl that was presumably Kadin's daughter scurried up the stairs when the two strangers tentatively stepped into the house.

Tony slid his sunglasses to his forehead as Ziva spoke, her voice not betraying her tension at all.

"Kadin, this is Special Agent DiNozzo. He is my partner at NCIS."

Tony managed an odd sort of grimace-smile while shaking the man's hand. It was firm and more welcoming than he had been expecting.

"It is nice to finally meet you, Agent DiNozzo. Ziva speaks very highly of you."

Although surprised to learn that she had talked about him with Kadin, he let it slide. He suddenly wondered how much of his reputation had been spread around the CIA rumor mill.

(Or did they even have one of those?)

"Please, just call me Tony."

Kadin returned the light smile and led them to the kitchen area. By the time he turned around and motioned towards the table, his smile was gone.

"Here, sit down. I will bring us drinks. We have a lot to talk about."

Tony took a sip of what he thought tasted like guava juice, resisting the urge to smack his lips.

He glanced over at the person sitting next to him, who had left her glass untouched. From the way she had stiffly taken a seat, it was obvious that he was not the only anxious one in the room. Both were waiting for Kadin to begin whatever it was he was going to say.

He knew this was not a casual social call, but Tony had been expecting at least a little show that these two had been friends, as she had mentioned before. Instead, Ziva had been unusually quiet, even by her standards.

Kadin cleared his throat, placing his own glass down on the table and gazing at the two of them seriously.

"You may not know, but earlier this year your sister was working on an operation regarding illegal arms trading between terrorist groups in Egypt, Saudi Arabia, and Jordan. If we succeeded, a major part of the trade ring would be reduced, if not eliminated," began Kadin, who poured more liquid into Tony's glass as he spoke.

For the first time, Ziva shifted in her seat. Kadin continued explaining.

"Her role was to infiltrate a small group of radical militants here in Cairo and work her way into the circles of larger, more high-profile targets. Her cover was a low-level Jordanian dealer whose parents were killed by the government in the fighting against the fedayeen, looking to expand her business."

Tony could have laughed. This kind of thing really did run in the family, didn't it?

"Every other week she would find a different place to contact me from, using payphones and stolen cell phones. On one of the scheduled nights, I did not hear from her. That was three weeks ago."

Ziva tensed, more visibly this time, her shoulders and arms stiffening her posture, unease growing at the pit of her stomach. Kadin glanced at her, but said nothing of her reaction. She kept her head down as he continued to speak.

"We waited three days per protocol, but she never made contact. We arranged for an emergency extraction, but our resources here in Cairo are limited."

Tony certainly did not like where this was going, and he didn't dare look at his partner. Reluctantly, Kadin continued.

"We were ambushed before we could even leave the country. Eight of my men were killed, and three were injured. We could find no trace of Tali."

Ziva kept her head down and closed her eyes briefly. When she declined to speak, Tony stepped up for her, not bothering to keep the edge out of his voice.

"Are you still looking for her?"

"It was not my choice to give up, Agent DiNozzo, but I was given an order. She has been gone too long."

(Again with this orders bullshit. It just loved to stick around.)

He narrowed his eyes at Kadin, finally glancing at Ziva. Her head was still bent, her eyes closed. She took a deep breath and clenched her jaw, trying to keep everything in check.

"Excuse me," she said softly while rising from her seat, ignoring Tony as he stared after her when she walked down the hallway.

She quietly closed the door of the guest bedroom they had been offered and left the two men sitting uncomfortably at the kitchen table. Tony had half a mind to follow her in there, but it took him only a second later to realize he had no idea what to say.

He would wait, he decided. She didn't need this from him yet.

For now he just rose from his own seat and silently offered to help Kadin with the dishes. He felt a little ashamed at the feeling like he was intruding on something, and he meant something to Ziva, so he figured he might as well be useful while he was here. But he couldn't shake the uneasiness. Like something was still out of place, left undone.

Like this wasn't going well at all.

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