Disclaimer: I own nothing but the typos. If you recognize it, it isn't mine.
Author's Note: Thanks to everyone who read, alerted, fav'd and left a review.
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Tim starts to turn, "Ziva – "
"I said, 'do not move!'" Ziva barks.
Tim freezes, his heart feeling as though someone just chucked it off a cliff. She stands off to his right side, her weapon pointed directly at his head. Even if he were a sharpshooter—hell, even if he was Gibbs—there is no way to pivot and make the shot before she could drop him.
"Throw your weapon to me," she orders, jerking her chin towards her feet.
He holds out his stabilizing hand, a clear sign that he's surrendering. Then, he flings his weapon hard in the other direction. It lands in the underbrush with a thud. He puts his hands on his head because he won't give her any provocation to shoot him.
She throws him a nasty look. Huffs loudly through her teeth.
Just where the hell is Tony? Unless Ziva got to him first...
Tim can't bear to even think about that. Despite his best intentions, the scenarios rush through his head, rapid-fire. They all are of Tony, broken and bleeding, somewhere in the forest. He tries to swallow down the fear rising in his throat.
"You don't want to do this, Ziva," Tim tries.
"Where is he?" she growls.
She just lets her gaze glide over the tree line. Searching for Tony or the FBI agents or maybe even, her extraction team. Whatever she searches for, it isn't there.
Tim plays dumb. "Who?"
"You know who." She narrows her eyes. "Where is Tony?"
"I don't know," Tim says, shrugging as best he can. "I lost him in the woods."
Nodding, she seems to accept this. "I need to go."
"You're surrounded, Ziva," Tim replies. "The FBI, NCIS, Homeland Security, and a bunch of other agencies are onto you. What you need to do is surrender."
"I cannot do that, McGee. This, you understand."
"No, I don't."
When he hazards a glance at her, the cold and calculating look in her eyes terrifies him. She is appraising him, studying his weaknesses and contemplating how easily she could take him out. Gone is the friendly, amiable person who sits across from him in the bullpen. In her place is a cold-blooded killer who will do whatever she needs to escape.
Tim never thought she could shoot him, but right now, he isn't so sure.
Oh my G-d, she might just kill me…
She sizes him up, clearly trying to decide whether she should run, kill him, or take him hostage. He knows he's the weakest link on the team. Hell, everyone knows it.
Damn it.
"You need to surrender, Ziva." His voice sounds anxious to his own ears.
Shifting her weight, she reaches toward the small of her back. When she brings her hand back, the sunlight glints off the handcuffs in her grasp. Tim's eyes widen, his heart skips a beat.
What the hell is she thinking?
She moves the gun away from his head as she reaches for his hands. She thinks he won't fight back. And right now, he doesn't know if he will. Because she is a Mossad trained killing machine and him, he's an out of shape computer geek who barely passed the agency physical.
At that moment, a black blur explodes from the tree line.
It takes Tim a moment to recognize Tony.
Tony's head is down, his arms out at his sides like a football player. He leaps to take Ziva down in a flying tackle that would make his OSU football coach proud. Anticipating the action, Ziva drops her shoulder and uses Tony's momentum to flip his body over hers.
He grabs her waist as he goes down. They roll through the dirt in a tangle of limbs. Tony lands flat on his back with a loud, "Ugh," as Ziva flumps on his chest. She straddles him, one hand clutching his shirt and the other in a fist cocked over her shoulder. He groans, writhing and bucking to get out from under her.
Tim loses sight of her gun in the confusion.
He is already rushing toward the fight to break it up. To try to arrest Ziva.
Ziva lands a savage punch to Tony's face. He releases a loud cry before slumping back against the ground.
"Tony!" Tim yelps.
Tony doesn't get up.
Ziva scrambles off Tony. Using the momentum, she rolls to her feet.
She comes up with her back-up weapon off her ankle. Her hair is as wild as her eyes, desperate and feral like a caged animal. The gun is pointed at Tim. Something passes across her face as though she's still deciding between bolting or shooting them both. It turns Tim's blood to ice.
Tim slides to a stop, wide-eyed and hands raised.
Ziva prods at Tony with her foot. He doesn't move.
"Ziva, don't do this," Tim starts. "Please give me the – "
Suddenly, a loud clap of a gunshot rings out through the woods. A tree behind Tim explodes, woodchips pelt against his back. He still glances down, still checks to make sure he isn't hit. His heart is pounding in his chest, trying to escape. His mouth goes dry, the words die on his tongue.
Oh my G-d, she shot at me.
"I did not miss, McGee," Ziva warns. "If you do not stop, I will shoot you and then, Tony."
And for a moment, the entire world grows silent. Tim stands there, rooted to the ground, uncertain what to do. She has the weapon and the power here. Neither one of them are ready to make the next move. She seems uncertain as to whether she should shoot them and bolt. Tim isn't about to rush someone who has a weapon pointed at him. A part of him wants to tell her, "Run", because there are other agents already in pursuit. Then, he could check on Tony. Then, he could give chase. Then, the gun would be pointed somewhere else.
She stares him down, almost challenging him.
Tim fixes his eyes on Tony, hoping for any sign of life. Tony is slumped against the ground, prone and arms splayed. From where Tim stands, he catches the slow rise and fall of Tony's chest. Thankfully, he is just unconscious. If Tim doesn't play the situation correctly, it could end up worse. Far worse for both of them.
"Where are your handcuffs?" Ziva asks suddenly.
Tim blinks, surprised by her voice. "What?"
"Your handcuffs," she snaps. "Get them."
He can't believe after all this, she is still going to take him hostage. She could run. Easily. She might even manage to evade the FBI agents on her way to freedom. Sure, as soon as she bolts, Tim will be yelling and shouting for their location. He'll probably even try and pursue her after he checks on Tony.
She pulls a deep breath through her nose, finger sliding back to the trigger.
Tim is already moving. He grabs his cuffs from his jacket pocket. Then, he holds them out as if to say, Now what?
She gestures at him with the gun, but he doesn't move.
"Put them on," she says.
He starts, "Ziva…"
He is stalling and she knows it.
Her eyes narrow as she rechecks her aim on him. She is aiming for his head, a spot right between his eyes if he has to guess. He hates how he knows this. Hates how he knows exactly where she'll put her bullet because he watched her put down criminals before. His body feels as though it's made of lead.
Tim glances at Tony again, but the older man still isn't moving. He is so stationary and so silent. Everything that Tony DiNozzo is not. Tim swallows hard.
If she takes me, how long will it take someone find him?
"Put them on," she orders. "Behind your back."
"I'll just slow you down." Tim sounds braver than he feels. "You should go. Without me."
She shakes her head. "Do it now."
He doesn't move fast enough. It's as if she's speaking a foreign language and his addled brain is still trying to connect the dots, trying to make sense of the words. The command is simple, but the understanding and execution are beyond him right now. His teammate should not be holding a gun on him, talking about taking him on the run. Tim stares, numbly, at the cuffs in his hands.
Ziva shifts the gun towards Tony.
"I will kill him," she says, matter-of-fact.
That spurs Tim to action. He starts to work a cuff around his wrist.
"Look, I'm doing it," he yelps, frantic. "Don't shoot Tony. Please."
Suddenly, there is a flash of movement on the ground.
Tony rolls his body sideways. He sweeps his leg against the back of Ziva's knees, sending her crashing to the ground. She lands hard on her side, the air leaving her in a loud whoosh. The weapon flies out of her hands, disappearing into the vegetation. But she's already lunging for it.
Tim scuttles after it.
Tony grabs Ziva's leg. Drags her back away from Tim and where the weapon is.
Ziva shifts to come after Tony. Hand raised for a vicious punch.
Tony ducks away from it, pulling her back to the ground.
And suddenly, they're grappling again. Rolling over each other, struggling to be the one to end up in control. Tim can't tell who's winning anymore. If anyone is even winning.
Ziva lands a punch in Tony's face, the thwack echoing through the trees. Tony recovers quickly. He manages to slam his knee against Ziva's chest. Both are fighting, wild and dirty, for their very survival. Ziva levels an elbow strike to Tony's solar plexus that leaves him retching into the dirt.
Then, Ziva, on hand and knees, starts towards Tim and where the weapon is.
On his knees, Tim digs through the plant life for the gun. Searching and probing as quick as he can. The weapon should be here. It has to be here. He saw it fly out of Ziva's hands here. Right here.
Ziva lets out an actual growl, just as Tim's hand closes around warm metal.
Tim is about to turn when Tony surges towards Ziva. He grabs her ankle to haul her backwards. Kicks her right in the face. Her head jerks sideways and she falls, almost in slow motion.
Ziva slumps against the ground, out cold.
It all happens so fast, Tim is dumbfounded.
As Tim scoops up the weapon, Tony leans back against the ground, breathing hard. Tim quickly closes the distance between them. He keeps the weapon pointed at Ziva, and he holds out a hand to help Tony, who struggles to stand up. It takes Tim a couple tries to pull Tony fully upright. He's wobbly on his feet, his gaze unfocused and glazed from the punch. His lower lip is split open, blood dribbling down his chin. His right eye is starting to swell. He keeps a hand pressed hard against his sternum as he breathes raggedly.
Tim claps a hand against Tony's shoulder. He can't believe they're both still alive. That they managed to finally catch Ziva. That it's finally, finally over.
"Are you okay?" Tim's voice is high pitched and thin.
Stone faced, Tony is surveying the devastation. "'Tis but a scratch.' How are you, McGee?"
"Just great." Tim laughs nervously because he can't believe what happened. Can't believe it's over.
Tim passes Tony his handcuffs. After everything they've been through this summer, Tony should be the one to do the honors. As he cuffs Ziva, relief, raw and ready, slips over Tony's face.
In the end, the takedown is more rushed and haphazard than Tim thought it would be. But it's over and they're safe, and finally able to live their lives like normal again. Even Tim must admit this was probably the best Tony could do when he had to force the FBI's hand.
They stand in a strange silence. Letting the weight of their experience wash over them. Tim can't believe they could ever end up here. Arresting one of their team members in the middle of the woods for espionage, he as senior field agent and Tony as team leader. If you asked him when Gibbs left, Tim thought Tony would never have been able to handle leading the team. And now, Tim doubts Gibbs could have done a better job himself. No, Tony is the only one who could have pulled this one off.
I'm glad Tony was the one here with me.
To the left, they hear the movement of people crashing through the woods. Tony unholsters his weapon while Tim swivels toward the noise. In case it is an extraction team for Ziva.
The two agents in running clothes comes bolting through the undergrowth with their weapons raised. They survey the scene: an unconscious and cuffed Ziva and the male NCIS agents waiting for back-up.
One of them is Fornell's senior agent, Ron Sacks. Tim didn't recognize him in the parking lot. He is shaking his head, his smile baleful.
"Nice to see you again, Senior Agent Slacks," Tony says, grinning.
Sacks' eyes pinch. "It's Sacks and don't think you get a pass because you outrank me now."
Tony just stares at him, allowing his promotion to speak for itself. Sacks narrows his eyes further at Tony and then at Tim, who in his mind shouldn't be his equal. Tim is too tired to even deal with it.
As he holsters his weapon, Sacks laughs mirthlessly. "Fornell is gonna love- " he draws out the word loooove "— this. Mind if I tell him, DiNutcase?"
Ignoring the nickname, Tony waves his hand. "Be my guest."
Sacks stares at Tim for a long moment as if trying to come up with a nickname for 'McGee.' Whatever he'll eventually come up—and it looks like it might take a while—Tim has already heard before, and way worse, from Tony.
It probably doesn't take more than a few minutes for the place to be crawling with agents and police officers. Tim doesn't keep track of time. Just goes to retrieve his and Ziva's weapons from the underbrush, then he stands out of the way where Sacks told him to. Tony, he's helping clear the scene, despite what Sacks told him to. Sacks and another agent carry a still unconscious Ziva out of the forest to an FBI squad car while the rest take Tim and Tony's statements and clear the scene.
At some point, Tim and Tony end up back in the parking lot beside their agency sedan. Fornell shows up, hands on his hips and lower lip jutted. If Tim didn't know better, he might think Fornell is pouting. His eyes rove from Tony to Tim and back again. Bits of betrayal slither across his face. Sacks stands over his left shoulder, failing to keep the smirk off his face.
"What in the name of Mata Hari's headdress happened here?" Fornell's voice borders on a whine.
Tony's face pinches. "I made an arrest."
"But did you have to steal my collar, DiNutzo? That's something Gibbs would do." Fornell's expression turns further betrayed. "And here, I thought we were going to be friends."