Surprisingly, it doesn't take much for Tony to wiggle out of their case. When Gibbs glances over, his eyes are squinted as though he could see straight through Tony. And maybe, in a way, he can.
Tony holds out the phone, an excuse—about how his apartment is currently on fire or his lunch order was wrong or how Jimmy Palmer is stuck under a corpse again—ready on his tongue.
"Harris?" Gibbs asks.
Tony flinches violently. "Yeah, boss. How did you know?"
"Lucky guess," Gibbs deadpans. Then he adds: "Go. We'll handle it."
With a clipped nod, Tony is about to head back to his desk. Tim still stands there, right in Tony's personal space. His smile is awkward and strange, everything that Tony feels right now. There are so many things that Tony wants to say, but he never has known how to express his emotions.
Tony hides his feelings behind a smirk. "The Oscar speech will have to wait, McGee. You can tell me how awesome I am later."
Tim genuinely laughs. "How awesome you are. Yeah, right." He pauses to shift his weight. "But in all seriousness, Tony. Thanks."
There is more emotion in that word than Tony has ever heard. Not one to deal with the fallout of his actions, Tony just smiles at him and raises his chin as if to say, You're welcome and we will never speak of this again. The look in Tim's eyes tells him that the message was received.
Then, Tony moves back to his desk while Tim heads back to his own. Tony grabs his weapon and creds before starting towards the stairwell. A second thought leads him back to grab his go-bag because he has no idea what Harris has planned. They might stay in the building or they could be heading anywhere. Tony wants to be ready.
He finds Schuyler Harris waiting for him in the garage where he leans up against an agency pool car.
"Agent DiNozzo," Harris says.
Tony nods. "Harris."
Tony doesn't bother questioning why Harris is in town or even where they're heading. Tony figures he'll find out soon enough and if he doesn't like the answer, he might head right back to the bullpen to talk about his feelings with Tim. Yet, Tony finds getting into a car headed to an unknown destination preferable to that.
The sky is a grungy, dishwater grey with low clouds darkening and swelling with the promise of rain. There is a chill lingering in the air, closing around them like a tight blanket. The ice crystals in the air stab at Tony's lungs like tiny needles. He hugs his coat closer.
When they leave the Navy Yard, Harris is behind the wheel. He drives nothing like Tony expects: five miles below the speed limit, stopping too long for red lights, and constantly checking his mirrors. He fully expected Harris to drive like Gibbs where Tony never knows if he'll reach their destination alive or in a body bag.
When they're stopped at a light, Harris plugs an address into a well-used GPS device. Tony can't see where they're heading, but Tony figures Harris didn't put it in at the Yard because he wants to keep it secret. The machine orders in a dull, boring monotone: "Drive one hundred and twenty-six miles."
Curiosity suddenly gets the better of Tony because he glances at the device.
"Where are we going?" he asks.
Harris frowns but keeps his good eye on the road. "If I told you, you'd probably get out right here."
"We're halfway across the city."
Harris swallows audibly. "Yeah."
That just raises Tony's hackles even more. He knows Harris wouldn't have called unless he had no other choice, but the fact that Tony won't want to be there makes it all that much worse. And yet, Tony tries to surrender himself to the universe, to the good of the case, to finding the answers. He might believe himself a huge, unstoppable force, but in reality, he is merely a cog in some machine plugging away towards justice. He finds it easy to trust Harris, but so much harder to trust the universe these days.
They're headed west. To Virginia.
Harris merges onto the Beltway deep into rush hour traffic. Slowly, the traffic thins as they move further and further away from the city and eventually, they clear the suburbs too. Outside the passenger window, Tony watches the land slowly morph from an area thick with development into rolling farmlands and eventually, mountains.
Darkness comes hard and fast, the clouds keep them from even seeing the sun dip below the horizon. When the rain starts, it comes as thick, icy splats against the windshield.
The GPS helpfully chirps, "Dive for forty miles."
In the driver's seat, Harris clutches the wheel tighter. His knuckles are white, his face pale too. A sheen of sweat works its way down his head. He blinks rapidly. Eventually, he jerks the car onto the highway's shoulder. He sits, breathing hard, as the ice continues to splat against the windshield.
Tony leans over. "Did something happen to the car?"
Setting his jaw, Harris shakes his head.
Tony tries again. "Did we run out of gas because – "
"I can't see!" Harris' tone is sharp before he heaves a broken sigh. "Between the sleet and the dark, I can barely see the road. I'm on a restricted driver's license and I'm not supposed to drive after dark. I thought if we left early enough that we'd get there before I had a problem."
Without speaking, Tony exits the car. The air is freezing, cutting straight through his suit jacket. The sleet lands on the back of his neck before sliding down his back. He jogs around the car as Harris hops out of the driver's seat. They pass each other, silent and not looking, before they settle into their new seating positions. Tony adjusts the mirror and the seat. Then, as if nothing happened, they're back on their journey.
Tony follows the directions that are relayed in GPS' chirpy voice. They exit the highway in what feels like the middle of nowhere. Though they could be in the middle of a huge city, but Tony can't see anything of the world outside in the dark and the sleet. Right now, his world is tunneled to the low visibility that the pounding sleet allows. Thankfully, the ground is too warm for it to stick.
"Turn right," the GPS chirps. "Your destination is on the right."
He does as directed to angle the car into a long driveway. While Tony can't read the sign by the entrance, he can see enough to make out the word Prison.
Tony stops the car right there. Horrified, he swivels to look at Harris, who is staring out the windshield.
"Why didn't you tell me that we were going to talk to Ziva?" Tony bites out.
Harris won't look at him. "Because you don't have come."
"You're damn right." Tony pounds on the steering wheel. "I'm done with her and – "
"But I'm not," Harris interrupts. "She told Fornell that she had something relating to my investigation into Director Vance. I don't know how she knows, but she told Fornell that she wouldn't speak to me unless you were there."
"And you just decided that I should be here?" Tony is blinking incredulously. "Without asking me?"
There is a long silence that stretches through the car.
"What about Somalia?" Tony asks. "That should've been more than enough. We were sent on a revenge mission for the director of NCIS and Mossad. That should've been enough. You said it was enough."
When Harris looks over, his expression is caught between guilt and determination. "It was a solid lead, Agent DiNozzo. You were right that Director Vance knew Ziva was alive. He sent you and your team into that terrorist cell as a personal favor to Eli David. What you didn't know is that there was a reason Vance wanted her saved."
Despite himself, that catches Tony's interest. "What was the reason?"
Harris' good eye widens. He throws out his hands. "I don't know. That's why we're here. She promised to tell me why Vance wouldn't leave her in Somalia. Whatever it is was big enough to risk an international incident."
Tony scrubs his hands against his face, sighing. He decides that he'll trust Harris, just barely, but he is done trusting the universe again. He might be a cog in the machine, but even cogs have feelings.
Tony doesn't move. He keeps his foot on the brake. Outside of the car, the sleet slows enough to treat them to a sight of the prison. It's a short, squat building with flood lights around it. Just off to the side, Tony notices a chain link fence with barbed wire around the top. He doubts that'll keep Ziva contained for long if she doesn't want to be there.
"I understand," Harris says, "if you won't come inside. At least, drop me off at the entrance and I'll see if I can get anything out of her. We've already come here."
"You brought me here," Tony snaps. "We're doing it."
With a resolved shake of his head, Tony puts the car in gear. They pass through a checkpoint where a bored security guard scrutinizes their IDs and grills them about their visit before telling them where to park. They get as close to the entrance as they can. As they head inside, the sleet attacks them on their way across the parking lot.
Harris allows Tony to lead the way into the building.
Inside, the prison is less inviting than the outside. The air is thick and humid, reeking with the scent of staleness, old socks, and unwashed bodies. The lighting is low and sulfuric with a horror movie feel to it. Tony feels as though he is watching a movie at they fill out their visitation logs and surrender their belongings.
A tall, blonde female guard who is missing a front tooth leads them through the checkpoints before they arrive at their destination. A small interview room in the back of the building with a lock and a small glass window. Just inside, Tony notices a woman at the table. His heart twists in his chest.
Ziva.
"She's already in there," the guard drawls in a southern accent. "Are you boys sure you want to do this? That one gets rather feisty."
Harris glances at Tony, who doesn't move. It's Harris who wears his friendliest smile, but that twisted grin could be off-putting to those who don't know him well.
"We'll be fine," Harris says.
"You sure you boys don't want a guard in there?" She looks Harris up and down. "I can be a big help."
He shakes his head. "Thanks for the offer, but it's a very important discussion that needs to happen privately."
The guard merely shrugs. "Your funeral. If you need assistance, there's a panic button on the wall."
And with those encouraging words, she uses her ID to open the interview room. When the men step inside, Tony stops short at the sight of her.
Ziva sits at the interview table, hands clasped and head raised. She wears the same Mona Lisa smile that she used to in the bullpen. Her skin is pale and haggard, her hair limp and unwashed. If weren't for the orange jumpsuit, Tony could swear they were still at work. It makes his heart flip-flop. The last time he saw her, she held a gun to his heart. He thought she would put him in the ground.
"Hello Tony," she says as if there weren't worlds between them.
Tony balls his hands into fists. Remains silent.
Harris approaches the empty chair at the interview table. When he tries to pull it out, it doesn't move. He blinks at it as if he hadn't considered it could be bolted to the floor.
He starts, "I have to admit I was surprised you wanted to arrange a meeting, Miss David. I was told – "
"I wish to speak with Tony," Ziva interrupts. "Then I will share that which I know."
Tony looks over, feigning interest, but he doesn't actually look at her. He chooses a spot on the wall where the tan paint on the cinder-blocks is chipped directly behind her. Ziva must realize because her grin twists.
"You have thought of me," she says.
Tony makes a show of thinking about it before he shakes his head. "Not even once, Ziva."
That's when he notices that she is messing with the handcuffs attached to the table. It only takes a half-second before she is free and standing. Almost instantly, Harris is on his way to the panic button on the wall by the door, but she slides into his way. She keeps her hands out. Harris drops into a fight stance.
Tony steps forward. "Harris, wait."
And Harris stops, fist raised, good eye wide and expression poleaxed.
"Agent DiNozzo?" he asks.
Tony shakes his head as he approaches them. If Ziva wanted him dead, she would've shot him back when they were at NCIS. She wouldn't have brought him all the way out to the middle of nowhere. She wants something. He watches as she slips closer to close the distance between them. Even with the orange jumpsuit and the bags under her eyes and the greasy hair, she is still breathtaking. She approaches him until she is close enough to attack him if she wanted. Every part of him should be terrified, but he knows she won't harm him. Not here, not now.
She drops her voice. "I do not believe you."
"'You can't hide what's in your heart,'" Tony says.
Her grin is bemused. "Still, with the movies."
Harris uses the distraction to move closer to the door. From his new position, he chimes in: "The Green Mile. Interesting choice, Agent DiNozzo. Fitting for the circumstances."
Ziva swivels to look at him before turning back to Tony. "They always are."
"What do you want, Ziva?" Tony asks.
"I promised that I would see you again."
"That's it?" Laughing mirthlessly, Tony puts his hands on his hips. "All this was a ploy to see me again?"
Ziva shakes her head before checking on Harris. When she looks up at him, her eyes are devoid of any expression, dead and empty like a shark. Tony's stomach goes into a free fall. She might not be ready to kill him here, but some things are worse than death.
"I wished to communicate a message in person," she whispers.
Tony raises his eyebrows. "I'm listening."
"Perhaps you have wondered why McGee was not arrested?"
Those words turn Tony's blood to ice. The thought of how Tim avoided being arrested had kept him up at night. He laid awake sometimes wondering when the FBI would be around to arrest Tim for his part in Ziva's case. There were charges that Tony chose not to think about or even consider. Tony thought Gibbs might've wondered that too, but they never breathed a word to each other in case it might conjure Fornell in the Navy Yard to arrest the junior agent. It had grown into an elephant in the room, as if they didn't say anything they could pretend a giant mammal wasn't peering from behind a potted plant in the corner.
Tony chose to believe Gibbs called in every favor he was owed. It wasn't true—he knows that, he knew that—but he needed something to hold onto. Believing Gibbs could keep one of them out of prison was better than believing there was something else at play.
Despite his best intention, Tony can't keep the surprise from rising on his face. It comes, hard and fast, like a rip current before he manages to chase it away. Ziva catches it because she wears a cold, baleful half-smile.
"That was my doing," she says, almost conversationally. "You are most welcome for it. I explained to Fornell that McGee did not aid me during my mission. I exchanged his freedom for only a few of my many, many secrets."
Oh my G-d, I never thought Ziva was the reason McGee didn't get arrested.
Tony licks his lips. From across the room, Harris gives a hard exhale. He tries to let the silence linger, tries to let it mean something, but she knows him all too well. Every hair on his body is on edge, he's cold down into his core, he might as well be made of gooseflesh. He is dying to explode into a cacophony of words and movie quotes, desperate to fill the space with noise.
He forces an easy smile. "What do you want, Zee-vah? A parade?"
Her grin broadens because he isn't fooling her. "No, I wished you to know. To understand."
Tony's face falls. "Why would you do that for him?"
"Perhaps you wish for me to say that it was because McGee was always kind to me. And he was, always kind to me. Though it did become tiresome. And yet, that did not even matter." Her smile borders on malicious now. "It is a funny thing to hold his freedom in my power when I, in fact, am not free. It would not take much to remember a time when he might have assisted me."
Tony takes a full step back. "But you just said, he never helped you."
"You are correct." Ziva nods. "He never assisted me, not even by mistake, but that does not mean that I could not – " she drops her voice when she breathes the word like it's something sinister " – remember something. You remember Tony, I can be very convincing when it is necessary."
Tony's mouth drops open. For a moment, Tony wants to appeal to Ziva's kinder, more human side, but he is now starting to understand there never was one. She is a product of her years of training that striped away her humanity and left this wreck of a being in its wake.
He can't bring himself to talk. He snaps his mouth closed.
"That is what I wished to tell you." Her smile is triumphant now as she stands taller. "Now, you will think of me whenever you are with McGee."
Tony swallows hard.
"And when I believe," she continues, "you have forgotten me, I will remember his assistance. You Americans are strange with your statute of limitations. You never forget some crimes. What is the time on espionage?"
The room goes deadly silent as if the air was sucked completely out. Tony can't seem to take a full breath. When he glances at Harris, the Internal Affairs agent has gone as white as his scar and he keeps his hands hugged to his chest. He looks like a condemned man who led his friends straight to their death.
Still, Ziva never takes her eyes off Tony.
"Forever," Tony whispers.
"Then perhaps it is best you do not forget me."
And Tony stands there, unmoving. His heart thunders in his chest, his pulse roaring in his ears. And somehow, even without touching him, Ziva managed to hurt him even more than if she put a slug in his chest. He can't even bring himself to move.
She surveys the carnage she left in her wake with that Mona Lisa smile on her face. And for the first time, Tony finds it evil and cruel as if she was never human in the first place.
From his spot by the door, Harris speaks up: "Are you done yet, Miss David?"
When she turns to look at him, he doesn't flinch. Harris settles into his stance as he raises his chin.
"I was told you would answer my questions," he says.
She nods. "Yes, I will tell you what you wish to know."
"How did you find out I was looking into Leon Vance?" he asks.
She makes a face. "That is not of your concern."
"Then tell me why you brought us here. Tell me why Vance was trying so hard to protect you that he was willing to sell out his own agency." Harris' good eyebrow furrows as he studies her. "Your own father was going to let you be arrested by the FBI. Director Vance moved up our meeting time so you could escape. Tell me why."
At the mention of her father, Ziva winces. She moves to tuck her hair behind her ears as the color drains from her face. She crosses her arms and glares at Harris. To his credit, Harris doesn't falter in his stance. He slides an inch closer to the panic button.
"My father did not do that!" she yells. "He would not!"
He holds his hands out in surrender. "You are right, Miss David. I am playing with emotions like you just did with Agent DiNozzo. He would not do that to his daughter. I might not know your father, but I don't believe he would do that to you. But why is Director Vance helping you?"
"Because Leon Vance is dead," she announces.
Tony wheels around. "I just saw him at the Navy Yard this morning."
She shakes her head, lips curling into a half-smile. "The director of NCIS is not Leon Vance. That man you know is named Tyler Owens. The real Leon Vance is dead."