Disclaimer: I own nothing but the typos. If you recognize it, it isn't mine.
Author's Note: Thanks to everyone who read, fav'd, followed and left a review. FF seems to be having issues at the moment. I'm not getting alerts/review e-mails, but I still am checking on here. I'm not sure what's going on, but this story is cross-posted on AO3 if it can't be accessed here.
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"Haven't we done this before?" Tony quips.
Ignoring him, she shouts: "Everyone will stop!"
The agents, who were creeping closer, freeze in their positions. Their weapons never waver, but Tony pays them no mind. The only two people left on the planet are him and Ziva. Right now, there is only this moment. Nothing before or after has ever existed.
Tony is stock-still, spread eagle against the cold concrete. He doesn't move as Ziva reaches to undo the buttons to his dress shirt. Her fingers are warm despite the rising chill in the air.
"If you wanted that, you could've just asked," Tony jokes darkly. "I would've needed dinner first. Maybe a bottle of nice wine and a lobster or – "
She jams the gun harder against his chest to quiet him. Her glare could freeze hell.
Once she discovers the microphone taped to his chest, she violently rips it off. When it pulls out chunks of his chest hair, his skin burns like fire. He can't stop the yelp from escaping his throat.
Ziva's smile is cruel.
Somewhere far away, Tony hears cars rushing to the scene. There might be a growing crowd out there, but right now, it's just two of them locked together. Everything else is worlds away, nonexistant and unimportant. It sounds like Tony is underwater, the entire world barely there over the roaring in his ears. Tony has been on the wrong side of a gun more times than he can count, but this is the first time he truly believes he might die.
Security swore she wasn't armed.
"What do you want, Ziva?" he asks through clenched teeth.
"Make them go," she says. "I must leave."
When she shoves the weapon deeper into his chest, he grimaces. Pain blossoms in his chest and if he's lucky, there will be a bruise there tomorrow. If not, well, he'd rather not consider that.
"You know I can't do that," he says. "You lost the chance to run the second you pulled a weapon on me. Attempted murder of a federal agent, you know what kind of time that will get you."
"Perhaps I shall pull the trigger then."
Tony raises his chin, almost challenging her. Over her shoulder, the morning sunlight reflects off the building right into his face. It halos around her head and shines against her hair, making her look like some great saint from his childhood. His mother once told him that he would see religious symbols before he died. He hasn't seen a saint since he last set foot in a church over a decade ago. Now, there is one sitting on top of him.
His heart clenches, but he is ready.
He locks eyes with her, sets his jaw. "Then get it over with."
There is a pregnant pause where she seems as though she just might. His entire world tunnels down into that very moment. Somewhere far away, there is the sound of the FBI agents as they still set up their perimeter. They are so, so far away. Right now, it is just Tony and Ziva.
She watches him curiously as if she might plead for mercy.
He glares back. "If you're going to do it, just do it already."
That makes the pressure against his chest lighten. His eyes widen as he pulls a full breath. Ziva is still there, eyes wide and jaw slack. As if she didn't expect him to tell her to pull the trigger. Using her offhand, she clutches his jacket. She leans to get into his face. Her hips grind into his stomach and he is dangerously close to throwing up.
"I do not believe that is what you want." Her tone is jovial and light.
"We both know you're going to." He makes a face at her. "I'm not going to give you the satisfaction of begging for my life."
She half-nods. "I would not wish to hear it."
Tony laughs through clenched teeth. "Just tell me one thing. How did you manage to keep him quiet?" When she tilts her head, Tony locks eyes with her. "McGee. He never said a word. How did you keep him quiet?"
"There are ways to injure someone without leaving a mark. Ways I have never had to show you."
"Is that how you made him an asset?" When Ziva's eyes crinkle, Tony knows she doesn't understand. So, Tony clarifies: "That's what you called McGee in your papers. The Asset."
Her mouth curls downward. "I called him The Agreeable One because he was the one who would be best to work for my mission. The one most likely to aid me when I needed it. It is apparent you have obtained an improper translation."
"Maybe." Tony shrugs as best he can. "Tell me what did you call me? It's really been bugging me."
She says something, a word in Hebrew that comes like a bark. It sounds sinister and ominous. And here she is, a beleaguered saint speaking the devil's words.
"What does that even mean?" he asks.
She speaks no more. Whatever it is, he'll never know, and he moves on before he loses her.
Shaking head, Ziva leans further into Tony's personal space. "It is a strange thing how McGee would never talk. No matter how much I asked and tried to convince him. Believe me, he learned many of my ways. And yet, he never answered any of my questions or did what I asked of him."
"Your ways?" Tony asks.
The corner of Ziva's mouth ticks upward as she drives her knee into a spot on Tony's left side near his ribs. Fire ignites down his left flank that sucks his breath away. He flinches violently, but between her and the gun, there isn't anywhere to go. Tony barely stifles his cry. He struggles to take a deep breath, but it feels like his chest doesn't work anymore. There is a spasm deep in his chest as if his lungs are fluttering.
I can't fucking breathe.
"There are many others," she says coldly.
It takes a moment for him to catch his breath. His lungs constrict again before managing to suck a deep pull of icy air. Her smile is biting and cruel, she watches him with shark-like eyes. He swallows hard, barely shifting his body. He slides his left hand closer to his side. She double-down on her grip and presses the gun deeper into his sternum.
Ziva is going to kill him. This much, Tony knows, but he wants answers before she does.
I made my peace, but I want answers.
"Was any of it worth it?" he blurts out.
She cocks her head. "You speak of turning off the microphone?"
"No, all of it." Tony licks his dry lips. "Killing your brother on an order to save Gibbs. Joining the team under false pretenses. Pretending to be our friend. Threatening McGee to keep quiet. Spying on us and NCIS and my country. Trying to kill me."
Instead of replying, she leans further into his personal space. It's close enough for him to smell the sandalwood in her hair, the black tea on her breath, the pink tinge to her lips, a kiss of freckles across the bridge of her nose. Their lips are almost grazing each other's. He never noticed the gold flecks in her brown eyes before. He never realized how beautiful and terrifying she is.
Her voice drops to nothing. "My only regret is you were not killed during an undercover mission."
Tony blinks at her. Speechless for the first time in his life.
At that moment, she leans back to address the FBI agents. She takes her eyes off Tony. Under her body, he shifts himself slightly to the side. He moves his left hand even closer to the weapon on his chest. When he moves, he'll only have one chance. He already made his peace with death, but he will try to save his own life. If he doesn't, at least he had a good run.
"I will be leaving with Tony," she announces. "No one will follow us."
"That's the thing, Ziva." Tony chuckles. "We aren't going anywhere."
At that moment, he grabs her hand that clutches the weapon. In one fluid movement, he shoves weapon skyward while throwing his body sideways.
She pulls the trigger.
The gunshot rings out in the silence,but the bullet goes wild. Tony twists Ziva's wrist until she drops the weapon. She slams her fist into his face and his head bounces against the concrete again. He yells, but he doesn't stop moving. Tony bucks upward again to send Ziva flying from him.
Before she can recover, six FBI agents tackle her against the sidewalk.
Tony lays on the ground for a long moment. He breathes—in and out, in and out—surprised to find his lungs still work. Shocked that he is still alive. Astonished he hasn't gained a new hole in his chest.
Beside him, there is the sweet sound of a perp fighting against their arrest. Curses and shouts and the scuffle of bodies against concrete.
Tony exhales through his teeth.
I can't believe it's over…
In his line of vision, a dour and cranky face appears. From Tony's spot on the ground, Tobias Fornell looms like a giant. He makes a beleaguered face at Tony before he holds out his hand. Tony grabs Fornell's hand and struggles to his feet. As soon as he is upright, Tony doubles-over, coughing and hacking. Keeping his hands on his knees, he tries to coax his lungs back into working again. Once they're settles, he stands to his full height and absently rubs at the sore spot where Ziva shoved the gun against his chest.
That's going to leave a mark.
"It took you long enough." Tony's voice is hoarse. "Were you waiting for her to shoot me?"
"It crossed my mind, DiNutzo," Fornell says, making a face. "It would've made the case more of a slam dunk. No one told me that her meeting with Director Vance was moved up by two hours until you called. Traffic on the Beltway is murder this time of day."
Tony rolls his eyes at Fornell's choice of words.
Merely a few feet away, the group of FBI agents are wrestling a handcuffed Ziva to her feet. She glares balefully at Tony. She stops moving for a moment and goes slack in their grasp. As soon as the agents loosen their grip, she lunges at Tony. The agents manage to hold her back. In the middle of the group is Fornell's senior agent, Ron Sacks. He grins broadly as though he is having the time of his life. And maybe, he is.
Fornell studies Tony for a moment. "What did she say to you?"
"That she had planned to kill me." He swallows hard, rubs at his sternum. "That she was going to kill McGee too."
"That is not what I said," Ziva shouts from the group.
Tony shrugs. "That's the thing about turning off a microphone, Zee-vah. No one knows what actually happened. That's why we listen!"
Fornell shrugs. "Well, DiNutzo's got a point."
Ziva shouts a Hebrew curse at them. Whatever it is must be inventive because Sacks presses his lips together to keep from laughing.
Fornell looks at him pointedly. "What did she say?"
Sacks shakes his head. "I'm not even going to repeat that. My grandmother would wash my mouth out with soap for a week."
Ignoring the exchange, Tony eyes Fornell. "Care to tell Ziva what she's won?"
Fornell is trying to swallow his laugh. It ends up as a tiny smile playing at his face. "Ziva David, you are under arrest for harassment of a federal agent, witness intimidation, false imprisonment, intent with a deadly weapon and, and, and..." Glancing at Sacks, Fornell snaps his fingers. "Help me out here, Ron."
Sacks breaks off from the group to join Tony and Fornell. After he checks his notebook, his eyes rises slowly as he goes through the charges. When he reads them, Tony must space out for a moment because he only catches Sacks finishing with: "…and espionage."
"Oh yeah, the espionage. Can't forget the espionage." Fornell grins broad enough to show all of his teeth. "That's my favorite part."
Then, Fornell goes through her Miranda rights. Ziva remains still, her expression appearing bored as though she believes she will be out of custody before the end of the day. Once Fornell is done with her rights, Ziva opens her mouth to speak.
Tony beats her to it. "I'd stay quiet if I were you, Ziva. The FBI tends to be a stickler for those Miranda rights. You really, really don't want them to use what you say against you. Because they will."
Ziva just glares at Tony. "I will remember everything."
"I'm sure you will." Tony grins at her. "'And frankly my dear, I don't give a damn.'"
Ziva laughs, clear and tinkling like a bell. "You are quoting Gone with the Wind, Tony? I had believed you would have something more memorable to say. That line is quite forgettable."
"That's the only one that fits, Ziva." Tony crosses his arms, nodding. "Once we're done here, I won't think of you again. You, however, will have plenty of time to think about me."
She glares at him. "I will see you again soon."
Suddenly, Fornell snaps his fingers. "That sounded like another threat. Add it to the list, Ron. Then, get her the hell out of here!"
Sacks begins to pull Ziva back towards the parking lot where a few FBI cars have arrived. The rest of the amassed agents are milling around as they start to close out the scene. Based on the way they move, Tony figures they're looking for the errant bullet from Ziva's weapon.
"Glad you survived, DiNutcase!" Sacks calls over his shoulder. "I owe Fornell twenty bucks!"
"Fornell owes me half," Tony calls back. "See you later, Slacks!"
They leave it at that as Sacks and another agent lead Ziva to a waiting car. A third agent jogs over to help shove her into the back seat. Fornell hangs back, carefully watching Tony.
He laughs heartily. "You know, DiNutzo, you're not getting half my money." Then he tilts his head, thoughtful. "Though, I always look forward to the chance to arrest one of Gibbs' team. Ziva David wasn't the one I wanted, but I'll settle for now. Right now, it looks like I'm two for three."
Tony shakes his head. "How long will it take before you let me forget that you arrested me?"
"Maybe when I arrest McGee in six years," Fornell says, shrugging.
Despite himself, Tony smiles. "I hope we never do this again. Ever."
"We'll see." Fornell is still riding that post-arrest high. "You and your team are like Pokémon. Gotta catch them all. Maybe I'll even get Gibbs one day."
When Tony glances over, Fornell just shrugs.
"I gotta say thanks for the tip, DiNutzo." They both glance back to the parking lot where Sacks and a pair of agents still wrestle Ziva into the back of a parked car. "Are you sure you don't want the collar? Espionage is a nice arrest to have under your belt."
Tony makes a face. "My agency was about to let her run from espionage charges. They tried to bury everything."
"Good thing Harris played along, right?"
Tony raises his eyebrows, not wanting to breathe a word. They'd gotten lucky that the Internal Affairs agent had handed off the case to the FBI without much pushback, that he was more worried about Ziva's arrest sticking than his career.
"You don't know how much he risked to help us," Tony says.
"Believe me, I do." Fornell shakes his head. "Do you know how much heat I caught by postponing Ziva's arrest until today? My boss is going to have my ass when I get back."
Tony looks at him. "Why did you wait?"
"Harris told me I'd catch a bigger fish with a longer line." Before Tony can ask, Fornell's expression darkens. "No, we didn't get what we needed. Though, if Harris gets canned over this, I'll make sure he gets a cushy job at the FBI. But if the charges don't stick…"
"Then use superglue."
Fornell laughs again. "Ziva should be going away for a long time. That – " he gestures at the twisted piece of wire on the ground with his chin " – and the little stunt you just pulled will give us more than what we need to put her away. Everything else is just icing on the cake."
That jogs Tony's memory at the piece of loose tape still stuck to his chest. He reaches into his shirt to remove the rest of the adhesive tape. He winces when he pulls the last of it free. He rubs absently at the sore skin and the hairless patches. It'll be months before he looks as good as he usually does.
Fornell shakes his head. "Don't think I'm paying for the show, DiNutzo. I left all my singles at home."
Tony barely manages to bite back the rueful laugh. He hands over the rest of the listening device to Fornell. Just as Tony is about to speak, Fornell ducks his head. The hair on the back of Tony's neck rises and the back of his head begins to throb in the usual spot.
"Tobias," a familiar voice says behind Tony.
"Goodbye Gibbs," Fornell says before he sprints for the car.
Barely a half-second later, the FBI car goes peeling out of the parking lot. The back windows are tinted, but Tony knows Ziva is in there. He can feel her plotting what she'll do to him if she ever leaves prison. If they're lucky, it will be a long time before she is able to breathe free air again.
Tony's entire body tenses. He doesn't look back.
"What the hell were you thinking, Tony?" Gibbs asks.
Tony winces. "How long have been you there, Boss?"
Gibbs slides beside him, holstering weapon. He squints at Tony, who is watching the FBI car tear down the street from the NCIS building. Fornell is almost as bad a driver as Gibbs. Almost.
"Long enough," Gibbs says quietly. "Security wouldn't let me leave."
They stand in silence for a moment.
"You coulda been killed," Gibbs whispers.
"But I wasn't." Tony wears a roguish grin. "Rule Eighteen."
Gibbs' eyes darken. It takes a long time until he begins to nod. It's better to ask forgiveness than to ask for permission. Though, in Tony's mind, he has nothing to apologize for. He neutralized a threat through his own means when he couldn't trust his agency. He protected his partner from the same threat. He saved Gibbs' team. He almost got killed along the way, but he saw the job through.
That's all Gibbs ever wants. Results.
When Gibbs remains quiet, Tony looks over his shoulder at his boss. Gibbs is studying him, his expression a mix of exasperation and pride. Like he did what he should have, but not the right way.
Just behind Gibbs, Tony catches movement in the window of the entrance door to the NCIS building. There is a sea of security guards unbarricading the doors and returning the interior to business as usual. In the mass of humanity, Tony catches a familiar, scarred face. Schuyler Harris watches them. His face is pale as though he can't believe what he just witnessed. He raises his chin Tony to say, Good working with you. Tony throws him a little wave. And just like that, he fades in the background.
Gibbs glances over his shoulder. "Who was that?"
"Harris," Tony says.
Gibbs claps a hand on Tony's shoulder before studying the younger man intently. Tony feels oddly like a bug under a microscope.
"Good work, Tony," he whispers.
"But we aren't done yet."
Gibbs nods. "You need to get your head checked."
Tony just stares at him. When Gibbs gingerly touches the back of Tony's head, he flinches violently. There is blood on the very tips of Gibbs' fingers. The pound in Tony's head is its own heartbeat. Gibbs raises his eyebrows, but Tony shakes his head. The world greys a little at the edges, but he stays conscious.
Gibbs grabs his shoulder to keep him upright. There is concern dancing in Gibbs' eyes and he looks like he is about to be nice. Tony hates it when Gibbs is nice because that means everything is wrong in the world. Gibbs is only nice when someone is dead or almost dead or about to get arrested or framed for murder. Tony wants a head slap. He wants an order. He wants Gibbs to yell at him until he is red in the face. He wants Gibbs to yell at someone, at anyone. He wants Gibbs to be the man he recognizes.
"You just checked it and it's fine," Tony says. "'Tis a flesh wound.'"
"Go to the hospital," Gibbs orders.
Tony opens his mouth to protest, but Gibbs shakes his head.
He continues: "Talk to someone. See a doctor."
"What about McGee, Boss?" Tony asks. "She was hurting him, and we never even knew."
Gibbs swallows hard. Looks away. "I'll handle it."
