Disclaimer: I own nothing but the typos. If you recognize it, it isn't mine.
Author's Note: Thanks to everyone who's read, favorited and followed.
And Bobilady - I don't have a definite date on when it'll be posted in full. I have the rough draft completed, but I'm editing/adding chapters as I post. I haven't written the epilogue yet. So, I'll have it up as quick as it takes me to rewrite the rest. I think there's 5-6 more chapters to go.
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Standing outside the NCIS building, Tony keeps his attention split between the parking lot and the entrance door beside him. He leans against the wall, hands in his pockets and one foot on the brick façade. If anyone walks past him, they'll think he is taking a moment to breathe in these trying times. Even though the sun shines high, cheery and inviting, in the sky, it doesn't share any warmth with those below. It might have only been a few weeks since everything started, but it feels like an entirely different season. He lived an entire life in these past weeks.
Tony's hand grips around the burner phone he bought last night, the one that Harris has been sending updates to. He could've used his regular phone, but he didn't want to take a chance that it may have been bugged. It has been silent since Harris texted that Ziva left the director's office. Whatever is going on inside the director's office, Tony isn't part of it.
When the wind kicks up, Tony shivers violently. He might look great in his suit—he does dress to impress, after all—but damn it, he is freezing.
He doesn't know how long he stands there. Waiting. He is supposed to be moving out of his temporary desk and back into the bullpen right now. Harris' recommended reinstatement came through yesterday and here Tony is, still not doing his job. He needs to see one more thing finished before he can return to being Gibbs' senior field agent. Before he goes back to his old life.
If Harris' text is to be believed, Ziva should be leaving the building any second. Then again, that last text came nearly seven minutes ago. When being escorted by security, it only takes three minutes to make it out of the building. Tony knows all too well, but he and Gibbs have been kicked out of the office more than a few times under Jenny Shepard's tenure.
Tony is hoping that Harris' intel is wrong because the only FBI agents in position are the two washed-up hasbeens assigned to Tim's protection detail. At least, they were able to scrounge up a wire and a listening device in the trunk of their car, but Tony doubts they'll be any real help if anything happens. Tony doesn't even know where they're parked in the parking lot, but he knows they're listening. He hopes they're listening, but you never really know. They are Feebees, after all.
I hope Fornell can make it. If he's late, she'll be on a plane home in no time...
I can't believe Vance moved up Ziva's meeting by two hours. I wonder if Harris is on to something.
As if on cue, Ziva David comes barreling out of the building so fast that she nearly crushes Tony with the door. Her curly brown hair is frizzy and puffy, her body bunched up tight as she stalks past him. Right behind her, there is a tall, sickly thin man. He looks like Jack Skellington from The Nightmare Before Christmas made flesh. They rush towards the parking lot.
"Hey Ziva!" Tony calls out.
When she turns back to face him, Jack Skellington barks something at her. Deep and guttural, some order in Hebrew. The man doesn't break stride as he continues toward the parking lot.
Ziva stops in her tracks.
"Tony." Venom drips from her voice. "I supposed it was you who is responsible for what has happened."
He shakes his head. "You only have yourself to thank."
Ziva squares her shoulders. Narrows her eyes. Sizes him up.
She can be almost terrifying when she isn't grandstanding. Tony swallows hard as he matches her stance. Her eyes skirt towards the parking lot, but Tony moves closer until they're merely inches apart. It's a huge risk, but it's a calculated one. If Harris couldn't stall inside, then it's Tony's job to stall here.
He moves within striking distance. Based on the look in her eyes when she glares him down, she seems to be considering it.
"It was you who moused me around," she accuses. "I knew it."
Tony blinks. "I think you mean ratted you out. What was I supposed to do, Zee-vah? You turned off the listening device during McGee's op. During my undercover ops. You could've gotten me killed." He holds his hands out to show he is unarmed. "You almost got McGee killed."
"That was…" she considers before settling on "…unfortunate. We had no way to know it would occur."
"Yes, we did!" Tony is yelling now. "That's why we listen. If you don't listen when someone is undercover, you'll never know if they need back-up!"
"Perhaps if McGee could handle himself, he would have not been in as much danger."
"Or we could've had his six," Tony says. "Like we're supposed to because it's our job."
Ziva merely shrugs as though it hadn't occurred to her. "It is no longer of importance. I have been terminated and I am sure you are most happy to see me gone."
"I'm delighted," Tony says through clenched teeth.
Rolling her eyes, Ziva begins to head towards the parking lot. Tony watches her go, counting the seconds until it is appropriate to lob another question at her. If he responds too readily, she will make a run for it and be on a plane back to Israeli within the hour.
…four…three…two…one.
"Tell me, Ziva, did you have my six in the field?" Tony calls after her. "Or was it all fake?"
When she turns back, her eyes are hard. She crosses her arms, settling into a stance with her hip cocked and head tilted. She watches him, careful and cautious.
"I did what I was supposed to do," she replies coldly.
"Just like you were supposed to stopped sending updates to Mossad?" When she raises her eyebrows, he drops his voice to a near whisper. "I know about everything."
"It is like I have stated, it is no longer of importance." She shrugs. "I communicated with my handlers to keep them up to date with my activities. I chose to have a reverse in place."
Tony squints her, trying to determine the murdered idiom. "Do you mean a back-up plan?"
"Perhaps, you are correct. I have plans to return to Mossad should American law enforcement not work out." Shifting her weight, she leans forward, curious. "And you have learned of this, how? From McGee?"
Tony shakes his head. "No, I found your secret stash of papers. The ones you kept in your desk that you thought no one would find. Cute trick holding them in an old case file. I wouldn't have found them if I hadn't looked. McGee never said anything about it. Threatening him was a nice touch."
"There are many ways to guarantee someone's cooperation."
Tony steals a step closer. Then, another.
"I doubt he'll stay quiet for much longer." He quirks a half-smile. "He has his own career to think about. I mean, he already talked to me about turning off the mic."
Her expression sours further. "And to the FBI."
"To the FBI?" Tony chuckles. "No, that was Harris. You planting the bug in his room tipped him off. He called Fornell after I found your papers. I called Fornell too."
There is a stunned silence as she glances between Tony and back to the parking lot. Her eyes stay locked on the parking lot as if she is searching for Jack Skellington. Somewhere in the massive number of cars, Tony only hopes the FBI has managed to set up a perimeter by now. Of course, the Feebees always wait until the last minute.
"Tell me though," he blurts out. "Why did you do it?"
She looks back. "Do what?"
"All of it? Turn off McGee's mic?"
Her expression closes off. "I needed the silence for a moment. McGee was…" she can't seem to place the word until she settles on "…bothering to me. Too much with the computers."
"That's it? He talked too much, and you turned off his mic." When she merely shrugs, Tony makes a face. "And what about me? Was I bothering you?"
"You were getting in my way." Her tone is menacing. "I had thought a suspect would bomb your show. You are always so obvious at drawing attention to yourself. All everyone only ever sees is you."
It takes him nearly a full minute to react because he is so dumbfounded. "Blow my cover. Then, why did you bother to change your reports after I signed off?" When she tilts her head in question, he clarifies: "Why would you write in your reports that the listening device stopped working?"
"To show a history of the device being nonoperational." Her emotionless voice sends a chill traipsing down Tony's spine. "If anything were to happen during your operation, it would be explained."
Her smile is a menacing ghost, and it sends Tony's heart pounding.
"So if I died, you covered your ass." He closes his eyes, the emotions washing over him. "No one would suspect you. They would think I was killed by a suspect."
Oh my G-d…
Suddenly, he is blinking at her. Disbelieving and shocked. His breathing is measured, small and tight breaths, to keep from giving away his distress. There is panic starting below the surface, but he is keeping it in check. He manages to keep his emotions level.
"Why would you do that?" He barely manages to get out.
"Because my father wished me to continue my role. He believed I would have more access as an agent. I did not wish for you to compromise my operation." She wrinkles her nose. "You have a tendency to get in my way."
And there it is, all out and in the open for once. Surprisingly, she is being honest with him. As honest as she has ever been. He'd like to think she's telling him the truth because she believes she will walk away from this. That she'll make it back to Israel without being arrested. Not that she's planning to put a bullet in his brain before she runs off with Jack Skellington.
She must not know the FBI will be here any second. I hope I can keep it that way.
Tony still can't believe that she expected to have a cover ready to go if he was killed during an undercover assignment. He is trying not to reel, but it's getting away from him. This is someone who was part of his team, part of the group who was supposed to keep him safe during his work.
He trusted her.
"One more thing." When he pauses, she looks over with her eyebrows raised. "Why did you lock me out of the car that day McGee got assaulted?"
She shrugs slowly. "I did not believe you would be as willing to turn off the microphone as McGee was. I knew it would be safe because he would be with a group of people for the party. I needed a few minutes to ensure we could enjoy the silence without something bad occurring. I believed if I could show you how it was done, you would be on my side for the next time." She shifts her weight, crossing and recrossing her arms. "It was what I believed worked with McGee. Until I uncovered that he was still listening."
"I can't believe you didn't think he would work around it."
Huffing, she shrugs. For a moment, Tony wonders whether she didn't think Tim would go against her, that he would've kept tabs on Tony. She had such little faith in Tim that she thought he would fall into her way of doing things. That he would pretend like his partnership with Tony didn't matter.
I thought that way for a little while.
From across the parking lot, Tony catches movement along the line of parked cars. There are two men, sneaking alongside a car. The only clue to their presence is the very tips of their head peeking over a car hood. From where Tony stands, it looks like the FBI is finally getting into position. Tony has so many more questions that will go forever unanswered, but he holds one in his heart like a cross.
"Why didn't you just kill me yourself?" he blurts out.
Her eyes widen slightly. Her attention fully refocuses on Tony as if seeing him for the first time. Her eyebrow jumps as she quirks a strange grin.
"We were too close. You and I." Her voice is cold and mechanical. "If you were killed, I would have been discovered. The only way to be undetected was for a suspect to kill you." Her grin borders on frightening. "Or for you to run from you like you are accustomed to. Like you did in your past when things did not continue to down your street."
"Go my way," he corrects on reflex.
It takes Tony a long moment to fully understand the weight of her words. That she would try to drive him from the only place he ever felt wanted. Needed. Cared about. Like he had the scraps of what could be considered a found family. Or –
Oh my G-d, she was going to make it look like I took off again. Kill me and ditch my body.
That dark pit niggles deep inside his chest. He looks at her, strangely, taking a full step back. Despite being on the same team for years, he never really knew her at all. Ziva was someone he risked his life with day after day. Someone he thought had his six during missions and yet, she had planned for something to go terribly wrong. It was someone, who at some point, he cared about deeply enough to head into a terrorist cell with Tim and no hope of rescue.
"Why?" Tony whispers.
"It was my mission." Ziva's expression is stone. "You were not to compromise it."
He tries to keep the shock from his face, but he can't manage to hide it. It's there, raw and real like an open wound for everyone to see. He takes a step back, but never takes his eyes off her.
Ziva seems almost surprised he was the first to blink. Her face pulls into a smile, triumphant and victorious. As if she won their final fight.
"That should be everything you need," Tony suddenly says.
Ziva tilts her head, drawing a step closer. The smile slips from her face.
"Who do you speak to, Tony?" she demands.
"My back-up," Tony says.
In the parking lot, the two agents behind the cars are now moving closer. Their guns are raised and ready. Several more agents are moving from the far side of the parking lot for the takedown. At the entrance to the NCIS building, a fleet of security guards hold the door closed to keep her from running inside. They are closing around Ziva and Tony.
Ziva's head whips around as she soaks up the scene. Her gaze turns murderous as she glares at Tony.
"And that is what real back-up looks like, Zee-vah," Tony says.
McGee and I, we do this sometimes.
At that moment, she lunges for him. Her hands are out as she throws her entire body forward. He could dodge the attack, but he needs to put on a show. Needs there to be witnesses to the attack. Needs something that could be used to put her away in prison.
I do this sometimes.
Ziva tackles Tony, knocking him down against the concrete. His head connects with the pavement, jolting down his entire body. Stars swarm in his vision, bright white and black fireworks. They explode before his eyes before slowly dispersing until he is aware that she is straddling him, one hand on his collar. He moves to throw her off, but there is a sudden weight against his chest. His blood turns to ice as he stares into her dead, shark-like eyes. Her expression thunderous, biblical and terrifying.
She holds a gun against his heart.