Chapter Eight

Nobody Puts Baby in a Corner

I wasted, wasted love for you
Traded out for something new

All We Are, Matt Nathanson, s5e2 Family

As what typically happens when things finally come to a head, time sped up exponentially while Gibbs' attention narrowed to a laser-focus. Everything around him just became background noise – dull, vague, unimportant. It had been a strategy that served him well during his time as a sniper. Sitting, waiting, biding his time until the action exploded, sometimes all around him. But he simply kept his eye on the target until it was eliminated.

When Hamza realized some of the hostages had escaped without his notice and began shouting, Gibbs knew the gig was up. He moved with military precision toward the raging man, trusting Ziva to get into place, and McGee to alert the FBI it was time. Everything had to happen in tandem without room for the tiniest of missteps.

Except this time, DiNozzo wasn't able to have his six, so he should've known it would all go sideways.

He approached Hamza, attempting to calm him down. "I don't know what you're talking about. I don't remember a purple tie. I'm not even sure what color tie I'm wearing," he said.

Hamza wasn't buying it but Gibbs didn't think he would. The unstable man had reached the end of his rope, and placed his gun against Gibbs' head. It wasn't the first time he had a gun pointed at him, and it probably wouldn't be the last. It wasn't as if it didn't alarm him – it did – but he'd learned a long time ago to never let it show.

"You released them" Hamza said, sounding completely deranged.

"How would I do that? You've been watching me the entire time. Putting your gun to my head won't change that." Gibbs said calmly.

He knew the enraged terrorist was beyond listening to reason. Gibbs real goal was no longer to calm Hamza down but to let McGee know that he had a gun to his head. The standoff was over. The time to act had finally come. Forcing himself to remain perfectly still, he kept his eyes unblinking as they stared with deadly intent into the murderous expression of his foe.

As he'd expected, he heard the FBI team enter simultaneously from both the inconspicuous kitchen door and the glitzy opulence of the main entrance. Hamza's attention was diverted by the distraction, his pupils dilating in surprise, but Gibbs had been waiting for it. He immediately dropped to the ground, jerking out of Hamza's loosened grip. Letting DiNozzo's knife slide from his sleeve into this hand, he stood back up behind Hamza, knife at his throat in one fluid motion. The so-called leader of the terrorist group didn't even have time to react before Gibbs had taken the dominant position.

A cacophony of shouts and screams filled the ballroom as the various reinforcement teams stormed inside. A long, seemingly endless stream of law enforcement officers covered in protective gear with letters spelling FBI or SWAT emblazoned upon their vests filled the previously open areas of the ballroom. Their number soon overtook those of both the hostages and the small terrorist cell. Suddenly in the chaos, shots were fired from the back of the room where Ziva was supposed to be taking down Mustafa. Tension flooded Gibbs' insides, making him go cold with icy daggers of fear splintering against his heart, but he kept his focus solely on the terrorist who was his responsibility. There would be time to check on both Tony and Ziva once the threat was neutralized.

Growling low in his throat, Hamza raised his weapon, attempting to readjust his aim in the chaos around them, but Gibbs still held his knife against the man's throat, and he didn't hesitate, pressing it close enough to draw a single drop of blood that swelled precariously.

"Go ahead. I'll take great pleasure in letting you be the one to bleed out all over this floor," he said menacingly.

Shots were fired again, this time at the front of the ballroom, near where Tony lay injured and defenseless. Hamza lunged, and Gibbs, releasing some of his pent-up anxiety and frustration, dragged his knife along the man's throat. Hamza Demir was dead before he hit the floor.

/* /* /* /*/

Ziva's temper had more than reached its boiling point by the time she saw Hamza Demir raise his gun to Gibb's head. It had been a long, miserable, humiliating day. And Ziva detested being humiliated. Someone had to pay for it.

When the terrorists had first revealed their weapons, her first instinct had been to shoot them all in rapid succession. Her instincts usually bent towards assassination despite the fact NCIS frowned upon it. They always wanted the kill to be justified, which more often than not was a waste of time. The first one, at least, was a shot she could easily have made, although she could not guarantee that none of the hostages would be harmed since they were huddled so closely together.

Still, she had been tempted to take a shot, but when Gibbs handed over his own weapon, she knew she was beaten. He would not chance putting the hostages at risk, and he would not allow her to do it, either. She had a grudging respect for Gibbs, and she did not want to jeopardize her place on his team. She had learned a lot from him already, developing investigative skills she had never learned at Mossad. Of course, she would never admit that NCIS did anything better than Mossad out loud, but the skills she had learned were valuable, and she wanted to continue adding to her repertoire.

So, she had surrendered her gun, if not the number of lethal weapons she had hidden on her body. The fools had never even thought to look if she was otherwise armed. They had, she noticed, taken Gibbs K-bar. Terrorists always underestimated a woman, and she used it to her full advantage. She had sat on the raised platform with Gibbs and the diplomats, biding her time until she could strike. She knew Gibbs would not put up with this indignity for long.

She had tracked the movements of the four men all evening and knew they had gone to the men's room in pairs. When the siege began, she had heard the commotion from the hallway and was therefore unsurprised to see one of those same men escorting a battered Tony back inside the ballroom. Her partner had managed to do what she had not and taken out one of the terrorists, but he had taken a beating in the process. He was often too cavalier with his own health, and she thought it was a weakness in his character. She preferred to take down opponents without any harm to her own person.

It was a bad look.

Ziva believed her extensive training and superior techniques were a given and allowing any lesser opponent to inflict injury was an insult to her skills. Self-preservation had been instilled in her at a very young age, but her partner either hadn't been taught or more likely didn't heed the lesson.

So, Tony bearing minor injuries did not surprise her. What did surprise her however, was the presence of his former mark – Jeanne Benoit – amongst the hostages.

Ziva hated that woman.

Actually, she hated what Benoit represented. Tony had been undercover for nearly a year right under his teams' noses, a team of trained investigators, and none of them had suspected a thing. How could this be possible? She was Mossad. She was trained to notice. And Gibbs! Nothing happened at NCIS that he did not know about. It was inconceivable that this had happened, and Ziva's frustration over the entire affair had left her with many sleepless nights. She knew Tony was a capable agent, but he was not in her or Gibbs' league, and the fact he had successfully fooled both of them burned like acid in her belly.

She could not tolerate it. Ziva needed to have the upper hand, and the fact she had so easily dismissed her partner meant she would need to re-evaluate. He was a better liar than she had ever given him credit for. The fact he had stupidly fallen in love with his mark while still making fools of his team only added insult to injury.

To make matters worse, he had gone and idiotically taken a bullet for that woman. Surely, he could not think she was worth this. Now, they were a man down when they could have been easily matched against the terrorists. Not that she and Gibbs were not more than a match for them on their own, but it was unnecessary and pointless. He had lied to Jeanne the entire time they were together, and the woman had accused him of murder, nearly getting him arrested. Certainly, she was not worth such a fuss.

It was with this seething anger and frustration simmering inside her that she saw Gibbs make his move. She leapt to her own feet, eager to release the sour cocktail of emotion. Gibbs had ordered her to take out Mustafa who was all the way at the back of the room, but she felt Emir was the bigger threat. He was the more violent of the two, and he had already caused injury. Emir was standing beside Jeanne Benoit when the commotion began. He raised his weapon as the FBI swarmed into the ballroom.

Everything happened very quickly from there. Ziva saw Tony, who she had assumed was incapacitated on the floor, reach out and grab Emir by his ankle, causing him to stumble, but it was too late. She had already flung her lethal, serrated knife that she kept strapped against her thigh with unerring accuracy. The blade would have hit Emir dead center in the chest if he had not already fallen. Instead, it grazed Jeanne's upper arm. She let out a cry of pain as blood appeared like crimson as it spread against her gossamer sleeve.

The FBI poured into the room. Ziva heard shots from Mustafa's direction, but before she could turn her attention toward the third terrorist, Emir raised his weapon and fired at the FBI from his position on the floor. The lead FBI agent killed him with a single shot to the head. As Ziva turned toward the back of the ballroom, she saw an ashen Tony's furious glare directed toward her.

/* /* /* /*/

Now that the time for action had finally come, Timothy McGee really wanted to be part of the troops storming into the ballroom instead of stuck in his control room like an errant school boy. The FBI squad leader had nixed that without a moment's hesitation, leaving Tim fuming. He was a trained Federal agent, and they wouldn't have nearly the information they did about the room, the hostages, or the terrorists without his surveillance.

They owed him.

Still, the leader, a Special Agent Zachary DuBois, who was a middle-aged, greying hard-ass with a really nice suit and who strongly reminded McGee of Gibbs, hadn't been swayed. He claimed Tim was too personally involved and should wait outside until the FBI had completed its task. Big brother leaving little brother out of the action, believing only they were up to the job.

Typical.

Tim had been so enraged that he'd considered calling the Director for support. He knew she wouldn't be happy with the FBI pulling jurisdiction of an op where NCIS had been directly involved, and she'd never had a problem going toe-to-toe with other agencies. He'd actually had his phone in his hand when another, unsettling thought struck him. Would the Director be angry that he hadn't contacted her already? He'd been so busy gathering intel; he hadn't even considered giving her a sitrep that three of her agents had been taken hostage. Gibbs or Tony usually did that sort of thing.

He realized she was probably ticked off because she had to already know the situation. All the alphabet soup agencies would be chattering about it by now with both the FBI and a SWAT team at the conference. She hadn't contacted him directly, so perhaps she thought the entire MCRT had been taken hostage. He should've at least had Abby give her a heads-up.

Yeah, he definitely didn't want to be the one to talk to her until the siege was over, the hostages were safe, and he could calmly explain that he'd been too involved listening in on the action to spare the time to make a call. He couldn't afford to miss a detail that might be crucial later on. When it was over, Gibbs could talk to the Director. He always managed to calm her down.

Unfortunately, that still left McGee tucked safely away in the now silent communication room while the FBI rescued the rest of his team. Gibbs would probably never let him live that down – if he somehow managed to keep his job when this was all said and done.

It was infuriating being locked out when his team needed him. It wasn't that he thought he was a match for either Gibbs or Ziva with a weapon, but he could hold his own. His team was already a man down with Tony incapacitated. He should be in there – he had more of a stake than any of the FBI agents.

McGee found himself almost wishing Fornell was there and in charge instead of the stern, unyielding Zachary DuBois, who was currently leading the vast number of FBI agents. At least Fornell would know how Gibbs operated, and that he would want his own people in on the bust.

One of the communication lights was blinking, and he flipped the switch to hear Abby's strained voice. "What's happening McGee? I'm going crazy here not knowing, but Duckman said not to move in case you need anything."

"Wish I could tell you. Agent DuBois won't let me take part in the raid," he said bitterly.

"They have to be okay. All of them. I just need to hear that they're okay. This waiting is torture," Abby said. "I had a dream last night about Tony bleeding, and I knew something was going to go wrong. I just knew it."

Loud voices from the ballroom echoed through his headset, making the knot of anxiety in his stomach clench even tighter. It was the sound of gunfire that propelled him out of his chair and into the hallway to see what was happening. There had been a few shots, and the room was now filled with law enforcement personnel. Tim waited, forcing his feet to remain still in the elegant hallway, until he heard a deep voice signal the 'all clear' from inside.

He hurried toward the room, his eyes barely even noticing the plush décor as he scanned for a glimpse of his missing teammates. Seeing the puddles of blood on the floor made him queasy. Hostages were already being escorted out looking dazed and frightened and desperate to be anywhere else. There were several groups huddling around victims, and McGee was anxious to find his people.

He didn't have to look far. Tony was on the floor just feet from the main entrance, a pool of blood beneath him. The part of his face that wasn't bruised was nearly grey and rather ghoulish. McGee could see both Jeanne Benoit and Brad Pitt working furiously as they tried to staunch the blood flow. The body of one of the terrorists lay only inches away from Tony with part of his skull missing. The wound was so fresh, blood still trickled from it, mixing with Tony's blood on the polished floor.

There was something disturbingly obscene about it, and McGee shuddered before looking away.

"Get the medical team down here, now," Brad Pitt said urgently.

One of the nearby FBI operatives replied, "Already on the way down. There's a helicopter on the roof ready to transport."

"Have to… process scene … Gibbs'll… be furious," Tony said, slurring his words. "She didn't… deserve… this."

"What is he talking about?" McGee asked, both alarmed and perplexed. Tony was all inappropriate jokes and innuendo, not weakness and confusion.

"He's in shock," Brad said curtly.

"Most important… wasn't… lie," Tony mumbled. "Tell… Gibbs."

"He's had substantial blood loss, and he's only made it worse by refusing to stay still," Jeanne said at the same time, her face pinched.

It was then when McGee noticed that her arm was also bleeding heavily. At first, he'd thought it was Tony's blood, but he could see the stain on her sleeve growing as they spoke.

"Were you hit?" he asked, eyes wide. He looked around for the medics. With any other victim, he would've immediately checked the wound, but he felt off-balance with this one. He wasn't exactly sure how to treat Jeanne Benoit.

"Knife, not a bullet. It'll keep," she said impatiently, never taking her eyes off Tony's wound or paying any heed to his nonsensical rambling.

McGee noticed a bloody knife laying on the floor not far from the dead terrorist that hadn't yet been tagged. A knife that looked ominously familiar…

"How is he?" Gibbs asked, appearing out of the crowd and dropping down beside Tony without regard for his bum knee.

"Boss. Didju… bring pissa?' Tony asked, his one good eye slipping closed. He really was a mess.

"He needs to get to a hospital. He's lost too much blood," Brad said, looking at Gibbs. He seemed to know that if anyone could get it done, it would be Gibbs.

Sure enough, Gibbs reached into the crowd of agents and grabbed Zachary DuBois by the arm pulling him into their circle like magic.

"This man is my agent, and he needs a hospital. Now. What is the hold-up?" he demanded.

"No hold-up. Here they are," Agent DuBois said, nodding toward the door where several medical personnel were pouring into the ballroom with stretchers and medical supplies.

"GSW to the neck/chest area with critical blood loss, no exit wound. Superficial wounds to the face," Brad said, directing several of the medics towards Tony and moving back to let them work. "The man behind me has a GSW to the leg. The tourniquet has been on over an hour."

Another medic met Brad's eyes and nodded solemnly before setting to work. McGee had forgotten all about Dr. Higgins, who'd been one of the first hostages shot in what seemed like days ago.

"There are two more gunshot wounds and various injuries toward the back of the room, near the kitchen," Agent DuBois said.

"One of those gunshot victims is a terrorist. Treat the hostages first," Gibbs said, glaring at DuBois as if he was going to argue.

DuBois met his glare with a steely gaze and said nothing.

"Dr. Benoit has a knife wound requiring stitches," Brad said, nodding in Jeanne's direction.

This was the first thing that seemed to surprise Gibbs, and he looked carefully at Dr. Benoit's wound, his brow furrowed.

"It's not urgent," Jeanne said quietly. She, too, had moved back, but her anxious eyes followed every move the medics made as they attempted to slow Tony's bleeding.

McGee was alarmed to realize that Tony hadn't reopened his eyes, and he hadn't made a sound as the medics worked.

A quiet Tony was never a good sign.

"We need to transport. These two are in the first helicopter. There's another one waiting to land for the victims in the back, and there are ambulances standing by out front," the lead medic said to Agent DuBois. They'd already begun moving Tony toward the elevator.

"I'm going to ride along with him," Jeanne said, her voice sounding shaky for the first time since it had all begun.

"If anyone's riding with him, it won't be you. I'll go," Gibbs said, growling. McGee was stunned. He couldn't remember a time his boss had willingly left a crime scene, especially one like this.

Jeanne's eyes flashed as she stood up to him. McGee thought he could see sparks, and he swallowed thickly. "And can you perform emergency surgery if the bullet lodged in his chest moves closer to his heart? Because I can, but I can't give the FBI the information they want. It seems a time for both of us to stay in our lanes," she said coolly.

McGee could tell that Gibbs didn't like it, but he couldn't argue the point. If heads were ever going to roll, it would be now. Gibbs was beyond pissed. McGee was frozen to the spot, unable to look away and wondering what his boss was going to do.

"She's right, Gibbs. It's what's best for Tony. Go, Jeanne," Brad said succinctly, taking the decision out of Gibbs hands.

McGee could see a tic throbbing in Gibb's jaw, but he didn't argue.

"Where the hell is Ziva?" he demanded once the stretcher bearing Tony, along with Jeanne and the medics had left the ballroom.

"I am here," Ziva said, disgruntled. "These agents insisted upon questioning me before I could speak with you." Only Ziva could the word 'agents' sound like a swear word.

"Questioning you? About what?" Gibbs asked, turning his ire upon the FBI's lead agent. He looked ready to kill someone.

"The doctor's wound came from her knife," Agent DuBois said smoothly, completely unruffled by Gibbs' fury.

"And you're accusing my agent of wounding her? She was at the other end of ballroom," Gibbs said, nearly spitting.

"Ah… Boss," McGee said, trying to stop Gibbs' assumption. He knew that knife did belong to Ziva. Both Gibbs and DuBois ignored him, however.

"She did wound her," DuBois said unflinchingly. "And she wasn't in the back."

Gibbs rolled his eyes and turned to Ziva, obviously expecting her to disabuse the FBI agent of his misguided assumptions. Ziva however, looked sheepish as she refused to meet Gibbs eyes.

She took a deep breath before pulling herself back together and defiantly raising her chin. "I know you wanted me to focus on Mustafa Yldimn, Gibbs, but–"

"I didn't want you to do it, Ziva. I ordered you to take him out," Gibbs said, teeth clenched.

Ziva pursed her lips. "Yes. I am aware, but I felt Emir was the bigger threat, and when he raised his weapon, it was instinctual to try and stop him."

Gibbs raised his eyebrows, incredulous. "And yet you hit Jeanne Benoit instead?" he asked. "I know you have better aim then to completely miss your target."

Ziva was obviously trying to hold her temper in check, her frustration palpable. "Tony," she hissed through gritted teeth, her eyes sparkling dangerously.

"Tony what?" he asked, snarling.

"Tony grabbed Emir around the ankles and brought him down… but it was too late. I had already released my blade," she said the last bit very fast, as if expelling something distasteful.

"So, you wasted your chance to take Mustafa down when DiNozzo had already neutralized Emir?" Gibbs asked, unrelenting.

Ziva's nostrils flared. "I did not think Tony was capable–"

"Well, the first part of that statement is correct. You didn't think. You weren't supposed to think, you were supposed to follow orders. You left Mustafa unhindered," Gibbs said.

Ziva took another breath. "As I said, I thought Emir was the bigger threat."

"And yet Mustafa was the only one to shoot a hostage in the fray – something he wouldn't have been able to do if you had followed orders," Gibbs said, shouting.

McGee's heart was thudding wildly in his chest, and he actually wondered if Ziva and Gibbs would come to blows. Neither showed any indication of backing down. Usually, Gibbs tended to give Ziva more leeway than he did with either Tony or him, but right now, he looked as if he could take her head off.

"Agent Gibbs, you can handle disciplining your subordinates later. I need to process this scene, and I need your statement to do that," Agent DuBois said, breaking the stalemate.

Gibbs looked as if he could murder everyone in the near vicinity.

Author's Note

I'm really happy with the way this chapter turned out. I hope you are, as well. More fallout come…

Melinda's NCIS Rule Number One: Always leave a comment – it keeps the author motivated. Thanks so much for all the responses – I really do enjoy reading them, and it always makes me want to write more.