Disclaimer: I own nothing but the typos. If you recognize it, it isn't mine.
Author's Note: Thanks to everyone who alerted and commented. Love seeing that people are still around!
-oooooooo-ooooooooo-ooooooooo-
At his temporary desk in Barrows' workspace, Tony tries to keep his attention on his latest cold case. After the last one ended with an arrest and a confession in less than a day, Barrows had another one ready to go. The newest case involves an ensign killed during a convenience store robbery gone wrong back in the early 1990s. Since the killer was likely a civilian, the case should belong to Metro. Yet, Barrows still thinks there might be a connection to another service member. Tony doesn't agree. It has the all the hallmarks of a smash and grab. He doubts the victim will ever see justice, but he should still try.
He leans back in the chair, trying to keep his eyes locked on the files. If he squints at it just the right way and only looks at the printed words and lets his vision go a little blurry, he can pretend he is still back in the bullpen. He should still be back in the bullpen.
Nothing here feels right. The lighting is too dark and yellowed because he isn't anywhere near the windows. The arrangement of the desks is all wrong, and his view is of the cubicle wall that separates him from Barrows and his team. Whenever he does see another person, it's almost always Barrows. And he's almost always smiling. And a smile from a team leader doesn't feel right. Even the air here is all wrong. It's cooler in this side of the building because the air conditioner works and his temporary desk is right under a vent.
Oh, how he hates it.
I'll just click my heels together three times. There's no place like home.
His mind won't work because nothing is right. Nothing has felt that way since he realized his team was shot to hell by his teammate—or teammates, he doesn't know yet—betraying him.
He squints at the case file. Lets his eyes go just a little blurry.
And then, it all slips back into focus. It all makes sense. What's been bugging him since Barrows plopped the case file down on his desk.
There's virtually no evidence.
It starts deep in his gut as a familiar niggle. That clench in his lower abdomen that feels like he shouldn't have eaten the triple-bean burrito with extra cheese last night. Something is wrong with the case. He looks at the file on his desk, but that isn't the one bothering him.
He buries his face into his hand, sighing.
I watched Ziva turn off the mic on McGee. She said they did it together. I let myself think they did it together.
What if there was something more? What did I miss?
Hopping to his feet, Tony bolts out of his workspace. He nearly flattens another agent in the process. He mumbles an apology, arms out and eyes downcast. The agent levels a death glare at him, but she keeps moving. Thankfully, she keeps moving.
Tony takes a lap around the building. The agent floor is nothing more than one big circle, around the elevators to the desks to the staff lounge to the conference room and back again. Once he finishes the first lap, he takes another. There is something simple and easy about walking, the rhythmic movement allows his brain to kickstart.
He runs through everything he knows as he goes.
Ziva turned off the listening device. That led to Tim being assaulted and chucked into the dumpster. Ziva told him that she and Tony would turn off the mic together. And then, Internal Affairs showed up to sort out the mess. Tony was too busy reeling from the reassignment to consider what happened.
To even consider looking for evidence.
That niggle in his gut turns into a deep, dark pit that threatens to swallow him whole.
He stops dead in his tracks. Closes his eyes. Screws his face up into a nasty grimace. He smacks his hand against the back of his head.
"Rule Eight, DiNozzo," he growls at himself, sounding every bit like Gibbs.
Never take anything for granted.
He pivots without a second thought, rushing straight for the bullpen. He lingers at the entrance like a lost child, trying to make sense of the scene in front of him.
Jethro Gibbs stands by the plasma, arms crossed and glaring mercilessly at the TADs at Tony and Tim's desks. Ziva's desk is empty because that one, if the scuttlebutt is credible, already quit NCIS for private sector work. The TADs—one man and one woman—are talking over each other while Gibbs' jaw muscles clench even tighter. It might be cold cases, but these agents act like Gibbs is King Solomon about to cut their babies in half. Based on Gibbs' expression, he might be considering cutting the agents in half.
The scene is painful to watch as a bystander. Suddenly, he misses his old team.
"Boss." Tony's voice is barely a whisper.
Gibbs wheels around. "DiNozzo?"
Relief slides across his face before it slips away just as quickly. Tony shouldn't be here. He isn't allowed anywhere near here. The resulting silence is ear-splitting. The TADs look at each other, faces worried.
"Look into the husband," Gibbs snaps at them. "I'll be back."
As he strides out of the bullpen, the two agents share a terrified glance. Two strangers on a sinking ship, forced to work together in a feeble attempt not to die alone. Tony fights the urge to salute them.
"Tony," Gibbs says.
"We need to talk, Boss," he says.
Gibbs raises his chin as if to say go ahead. Tony dips his head toward the elevator. Without needing to be asked, Gibbs leads the way. Mere seconds later, they are safely cocooned in the elevator car with the lights down low and the emergency siren ringing in the background.
Straightening his suit jacket, Tony stares at their reflections in the door. They are nothing more than shapeless blobs. No matter how many times he sees himself in here, he never gets comfortable with it.
"Something's on your mind." Gibbs' remark is a statement, not a question.
"What happens to Ziva when this is over, Boss?" Tony asks.
"You know the answer."
Tony presses his lips together. "Tell me anyway."
Gibbs' eyes narrow, just a little. "She'll be reprimanded and reassigned. If it was a habit, she'll be fired."
"And McGee?" Tony asks.
"You know that, too."
"Yeah, he'll be reprimanded and reassigned. Maybe, fired." Tony crosses his arms, frowning. "There's just something that keeps bugging me about this, Boss."
When Gibbs tilts his head, Tony realizes his boss didn't see it either. The problem was staring Tony in the face for days, but he never even noticed. He rubs at the back of his neck, the skin where he slapped himself is still ringing and red.
"Rule Eight, Boss," he says.
Gibbs huffs, looks away.
"I took what Ziva said for granted." Tony throws his hands out, eyes widening. "I never even looked into it myself."
"That's IA's job, Tony."
Tony shoots Gibbs a look. Gibbs is never one to let other people do his job, never trusts anyone other than his most inner circle to get to the bottom of any situation. If he thinks Tony would believe that he trusted someone like Schuyler Harris as the only person to work this, Gibbs has another think coming.
At least, Gibbs has the grace to look mildly embarrassed. Whatever angle Gibbs is working, he doesn't want Tony to be a part of it.
"Do you really trust Harris?" Tony asks.
Gibbs shoulders slouch. "Trying to. Barrows says he'll cut it."
Tony starts, "Boss…"
"Vance won't tell me anything," Gibbs interrupts. "Won't even let me reinstate you until it's done."
"Boss," Tony says again.
"I won't involve Abby."
Tony finds himself nodding because he didn't expect anything less.
"There's just something bothering me about everything," Tony says.
Gibbs turns to full face him. "What's that?"
"I don't know," Tony answers honestly. "And I think that's what I'm having so much trouble with. I'm trying to figure it out."
Half-nodding, Gibbs seems to accept that Tony won't stop. Gibbs might be ready to roll over and play dead, try to secretly work some angle while keeping Tony in the dark. If that's the case, Tony will work on his own. He'd rather think Gibbs was working his own side, rather than believe he could trust what Ziva said and accept that he'd throw Tim to the wolves with no proof.
Tony doesn't know what's going on, nor does he even fully understand it. He has worked in law enforcement long enough to know when to trust that little tug in his stomach. It feels like the elevator's lurch beneath his feet or the way his stomach drops when going down a roller coaster. Just on the edge of something, at the cusp of that terrifying freefall.
And even if Gibbs had tried to stop him, Tony was just going to throw Rule Eighteen in his face.
When he notices Gibbs has nothing to say, Tony hits the emergency stop on the elevator. The elevator lurches, the lights come on, and they return to reality. The door slide open and suddenly, they're disgorged onto the agent floor.
Tony should head back to his temporary desk—because he knows nothing good will come from this and once he starts, he'll never stop until it's finished—but he doesn't. He follows Gibbs right back to the bullpen where the TADs crowd around Tony's desk. Their heads are bent together, actively discussing the case over the crime scene photos. When Gibbs strides back into the bullpen, they freeze, wide-eyed. Tony remembers exactly how he felt in those early days too. Terrified and like joining NCIS was the worst mistake of his life.
The male TAD's eye trace from Tony to his desk. "Should I move, Agent DiNozzo?"
"I'm not even here." Tony heads to Ziva's empty desk. "Pay no attention to the man behind the curtain."
The TAD's eyes turn into slits as he goes deep in though.
"What man? And what curtain?" His face lights up. "Is he our perp?"
Tony makes a face. "It's from The Wizard of Oz. Judy Garland and all those munchkins."
"I've never heard of it." The TAD blinks. "Aren't munchkins a kind of doughnut?"
"No," Tony replies. "They're magical, little people who have a rather complex social structure. You know what, I'm not here to discuss this. I have work to do."
"But – "
"Activating the Cone of Silence…now!" Tony throws his arms out.
Even though the male TAD bleats at him, Tony ignores it. When Gibbs growls at the TADs, they slink back to their desks like whipped dogs. Tony might not be there, but they still speak in hushed tones and creep around as though his Cone of Silence wouldn't keep him from hearing them.
Sitting into Ziva's desk chair, he holds his hands to his chest. He tries to channel his inner-Ziva. He thinks about ninja things. Karate Kid, Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles and those grainy kung-fu movies where the lips don't match the dialogue. He likes to think he can channel his teammates when the time calls for it. Can tell exactly what they're thinking and why and in a pinch, try to work at an angle like they do. It was a strange game that he and his partner in Peoria used to play on his early days on the force. Try to put yourself in the mindset of your suspect to figure out their motives and next play. Tony was the one to adapt it to his team.
He leans back in his chair. Steeples his hands against his chin. Glances across the bullpen at the two strangers in his and Tim's chair. How strange it must be to sit here day after day. He doesn't like the view from here.
There isn't much on her desk, just a couple of pens, an inbox with a case file, and a small Israeli flag she got after her citizenship test. It's spartan and lacking any clues as the person who sits here. When he doesn't find anything, his eyes jump to Ziva's computer.
"'Why don't you pass the time by playing a little solitaire?'" he mutters to himself.
The male TAD looks over, eyebrows raised. He remains quiet, but he is thinking it. He might as well be saying it because Tony can still hear it.
"The Manchurian Candidate," Tony says. "Frank Sinatra. Laurence Harvey. Guy gets brainwashed into becoming an assassin." The male TAD starts to speak, but Tony clucks his tongue and says, "Cone of Silence!"
Once it's silent again, Tony logs onto Ziva's computer using his own credentials. He won't be able to view any of the files saved on her personal drive, but he can access the local computer drives. If he thinks there is something worth looking at closer, he'll just ask…
His eyes slide to Tim's desk occupied by a stranger.
On second thought, I'm on my own on this one.
Tony digs around the computer for a while. The minutes slip past as he digs through files and partitions and things he doesn't fully understand. Gibbs barks orders at the TADs and they attempt to tap dance into an answer. Tony knows exactly what Gibbs wants. He could give it to him, no problem, if he were supposed to be here. If he weren't safely locked away in the Cone of Silence.
In the end, he concedes whatever he looks for might not be on the computer.
Tony turns to the desk drawers. Unsurprisingly, Ziva doesn't keep much more than pens and pencils and the odd case file in her desk. The only sign of life is a dog-eared copy of Pride and Prejudice in the back of the bottom drawer. Tony expected a box of tea bags or a mug with a dopey saying or even a secret KitKat habit. He feels oddly disappointed.
Tony is almost ready to admit defeat when he looks at the case files a little closer. Both are labeled with murders the team solved some time last year. He barely remembers the cases. They were the blink-and-you-miss-it kind. Open and shut ones. His favorites.
He doesn't know why she would even bother keeping them. It's not like she gunned down a suspect and needed to keep a hard copy in case IA came knocking.
He flicks one of them open. Inside, there are several pages of handwritten Hebrew.
The documents are strange because they shouldn't be in an old case file. In fact, nothing that should be in there is present. His and the team's reports are missing. There's no autopsy report, no evidence report, and no forensics report. Nothing.
He frowns at the Hebrew.
Finding a document in Hebrew isn't weird itself because that is Ziva's native tongue. She still uses it regularly to communicate with her contacts. Occasionally, she'll receive a fax from another NCIS office when an agent needs a document translated.
Still, it's their hidden location that sends Tony's gut churning. There is something here, but he just doesn't know what it is yet. He feels that familiar electric charge humming through his body. He just has to figure out what it means.
Why would she hide her papers inside an old case file? Unless she didn't want us to find them.
When Tony glances up, he is shocked to find the bullpen nearly empty. Only Gibbs is still there, at his desk with a coffee cup. He stares disinterestedly at a report on his desk, but Tony can tell he isn't reading it. He is waiting for Tony to finish. Tony realizes he doesn't even know what time it is.
He starts, "Boss…"
Gibbs looks up, eyebrows rising. "Got something, Tony?"
"Maybe…"
Tony holds out the papers written in Hebrew. Climbing to his feet, Gibbs crosses the bullpen quickly. He squints at the paper before realizing he can't read them. Then, Gibbs puts on his reading glasses. When he realizes he still can't read them, he tilts his head at Tony.
"What are these?" Gibbs asks.
"I don't know because I can't read them." Tony points to the case file. "They were hidden in here. It looks like Ziva didn't want them to be found."
Gibbs tilts his head, unconvinced but considering.
"How long has Ziva been an agent?" Tony asks.
Gibbs shrugs. "Four…five years now?"
Tony shakes his head. "Not at NCIS, but an actual agent."
Gibbs' brow furrows. "About six months."
Tony's gut kicks up again. Based on the spark that ignites in Gibbs' eye, he knows where this is heading. Tony, he wishes he knew the answer to the question he is about to ask.
"What if Ziva never left Mossad?"