Note: Thanks for all the recs. I had some really good new ones to choose during my waiting day, and now I've got a whole list for when I need another. Much appreciated.
Chapter Twenty-One
I'm Still Standing
Tina began her morning like a woman on a mission. Despite the fact they already had plenty to do in tracking down these fugitives, shutting down all their illegal activities, plus a missing agent with another hospitalized, Tina voluntarily added more to her workload. It was that important. She couldn't help but feel there was something rotten and potentially dangerous going on at NCIS. The whole liaison situation was strange and didn't follow protocol.
She'd looked it up.
As a foreign liaison officer, Ziva David was required to have a DoD contact officer controlling what classified information could be shared. Ziva didn't have one, and it didn't sound as if the Director of NCIS cared. Ziva also wasn't qualified as an investigator. If any of the lawyers who defended the criminals the MCRT prosecuted learned of this miss-step, they'd have a field day getting the evidence thrown out. Ziva should never have been allowed to handle it at any point during the discovery process. Tina was quietly ensuring that the Israeli had an FBI partner with her on this case so the chain of custody was air tight.
A liaison officer's purpose was to liaise between the two host agencies. What was Director Shepherd trying to pull? The case here in Philadelphia revolved around American citizens, breaking American laws, and potentially trying to steal American weapons. There was no reason to involve a liaison officer from Mossad.
Maybe if they used those weapons to commit an international crime of terrorism, but as of yet, the information they had was that the target was an American warship – the USS Delaware. It had nothing to do with Mossad. NCIS was treating the liaison as if she were an actual agent, an investigator.
She wasn't.
Tina wasn't comfortable allowing Ziva access to classified intel, unlike the way NCIS apparently felt. She'd taken steps to block any access here in the Philadelphia FBI office, and when she received notification that there was an attempt to access that classified intel, she had a good idea of the culprit.
She suspected it – yet still had no proof. The access originated from a computer in the squad room – an empty desk – and not the one where David had been working since her arrival. Evidence that it was Ziva was only circumstantial, if that. It motivated Tina to begin her own investigation.
Despite her determination, she knew she'd taken advantage of DiNozzo's altered state, and her conscience was bothering her. While she would've done the same on any other case, DiNozzo was a fellow LEO, so it made it more of a grey area. She didn't think he'd have shared anything with her under ordinary circumstances, and she couldn't blame him for that. Had the situation been reversed, and the FBI had a potential bad seed, they'd want to handle it in-house, too.
It didn't appear NCIS was handling anything, however, and she wasn't sure if DiNozzo had any support amongst his superiors when it came to the Mossad officer. While Gibbs was clearly protecting his injured agent, DiNozzo said he wasn't ready to confront Ziva. What did David have over the territorial team leader? What was going on at NCIS? Something was off.
So, Tina did what she had to do and took advantage of DiNozzo's compromised state. It didn't mean she didn't feel guilty about it.
She couldn't get that strange – almost panicked expression – on Ziva's face after they'd learned DiNozzo was alive out of her mind. When Tony mentioned Ziva's computer, Tina remembered the way Ziva was hunched over it, as if she didn't want anyone to see what she was doing.
Tina needed to get a look at that computer, even if just to see if there was reason to get a warrant. Besides, she was certain that if she did get a warrant while Ziva was still in possession, whatever was on it would suddenly disappear. Maybe she wouldn't be able to prosecute her, but if Ziva was truly up to something nefarious, it might be enough to put scrutiny on NCIS and what she was doing there.
Before Tina decided to risk looking, she wanted to talk to Ron Sacks, who'd been partnered with Ziva for the past few days. Perhaps he could give her some insight if she was on to something or barking up the wrong tree.
Hence the reason she was sitting in her car in the parking lot at FBI headquarters. She knew Ron had developed a habit of getting breakfast at the little shop in the next building while he'd been in Philadelphia. She hoped he wouldn't break that pattern today, because she found herself in the mood for a croissant. It definitely wasn't a conversation she wanted to have in the office.
She didn't have long to wait as Ron pulled his car into a spot not too far from her own. He huddled against the cold as he walked past the FBI building and into the coffeeshop. Tina got out of her car and followed him.
The snow from the previous day hadn't accumulated much, yet it left clumps of dirty snow pushed against the sidewalk from the snow plows. Tina wore sensible shoes, but she still stepped over the patches as if they were landmines. She didn't want to spend the rest of the day with wet feet.
Pushing open the door to the coffeeshop, she went up to the counter to order coffee and a croissant. She noticed Ron sitting at a small table against the wall, but she didn't acknowledge him as she paid for her breakfast and turned around.
"Agent Kehoe," he said, sounding pleasantly surprised.
She liked Ron well enough, although she detected a kiss-up lurking beneath that uptight, by-the-book agent he projected in the office.
"Good morning, Ron," she said, taking the chair across from him. "Sleep well?"
Ron shrugged. "As well as you ever do in a hotel bed."
"Hopefully we'll be able to wrap this up, so you can all get back to DC," she said.
"Maybe. It seems as if every time we think we catch a break, it only gets more complicated," he said.
"Did you get all the women that Barrows was using into a safe house?" she asked.
"We did, along with Lola. We'll keep them there until Barrows and Evans are caught. After that, its ICE's decision," he said.
She nodded. "Maybe their testimony against Barrows will work in their favor, particularly for Lola who reported it. McGee left his program running last night, tracking down the numbers on her phone. With a little bit of luck, we should get a location today."
Ron grimaced. "As long as they turn the phones on. I have a feeling they're keeping them off unless they need to use them, and once they realize Lola isn't coming back, they'll ditch those phones, too."
She knew he was right, but still hoped they'd get a location before that happened. Even if it was just a spot they'd already abandoned, they might find a clue there.
"I'll just be happy to end this joint investigation with NCIS. I hate working with those guys. Gibbs is even more impossible than Fornell usually is," Ron said.
It was the opening she'd been hoping for.
"At least Gibbs and Fornell have been partnering with each other," she said, earning a snort from Ron. "How has it been working with Ziva?"
Ron shifted uncomfortably, taking a sip of his coffee, giving him time to think.
"At first, I enjoyed working with her because she shares my dislike of DiNozzo. After a while though, it occurred to me that she's supposed to be his partner. If my partner talked that way about me, I certainly wouldn't trust her to have my back."
Tina nodded. "I'm not so sure DiNozzo does, either."
/* /* /* /*
This time, Tony's return to consciousness was a little easier. Although his chest still felt very sore and uncomfortable, breathing was somewhat easier. He wasn't gasping, and the elephant that had been sitting on him must've gone on a diet. Somehow, being able to breathe without having to think about it made him more aware of the throbbing pain in his hand. He hadn't really paid much attention to the fact his hand was broken, but now, he realized it would probably need physical therapy before he could even try for his requalification to handle his weapon.
As the night's sleepy disorientation began to lift, he also realized he was alone. Vulnerable. This was the first time Gibbs hadn't been there when he awoke. It wasn't like he needed him. He wasn't a child – as if anyone was ever there when he was, anyway – and his boss certainly wasn't the type to hold anyone's hand. He just… he'd become used to the company. His heart rate increased, despite his best efforts to remain calm. He watched the steady rise of the line on the monitor as it crept higher and higher.
He needed to get a grip or that thing would start beeping, and a nurse would run in here to knock him out again. Or worse – one of the endless residents who apparently found having a plague survivor in their midst of significant interest requiring all sorts of tests and study.
He didn't want that. Turning away from the machine, he scanned the room for threats, carefully looking into each crevice and corner. His bed took up most of the room. There were two chairs, one a hard, standard hospital chair, the other – the one Gibbs had been sleeping on – softer, larger as it held the cot within. The chair was all put together now, as if it had never been used. The bathroom door was shut, causing a wave of apprehension to rush through him, making the hair on the back of his neck stand on end.
Even though it was ridiculous, he still wished he had his gun. He wasn't sure what was wrong with him. He'd been jumping at shadows and paranoid about every new face that entered his room. Knowing it was unreasonable didn't mean he could stop it or talk himself out of it. He'd tried. He was a federal agent for God's sake, he shouldn't be this skittish. It wasn't normal.
He probably should try and stand up. At least he'd be on his feet if there was going to be an attack – face it like a man. Problem was, he wasn't entirely sure he wouldn't fall right back over. How manly would that look? Still, if he wanted to get out of here, he'd have to prove he could stand. His ankle was only sprained, but he could see by the wrapping that the swelling hadn't yet receded.
A fine sheen of sweat broke out across his forehead and palms, making them slick. As soon as he reached for the cannula beneath his nose, however, Gibbs angry voice filled the room.
"I've told you to leave that alone. Next time, I'll break your other hand."
"Boss," Tony said, his entire body sagging in relief, the heaviness on his chest lightening. "Where were y… ah- I mean… what's going on?"
He swallowed, knowing he sounded weak and whiny. He began focusing on his breathing, even though his ribs didn't hurt quite as badly, hoping it would slow his heart rate down. He plucked at a loose thread on the blanket covering him. It was a pale, mauve color, thin, and of indeterminate age. There really was nothing flattering about it.
Gibbs put his coffee on the window sill, and a corn muffin on the sliding table that reached over Tony's bed. He pushed it in front of Tony, placing a second muffin on the end near his chair.
"Eat something. There was a security guard outside your door while I was gone," he said, answering the question Tony hadn't fully asked.
He was hoping his boss didn't catch his momentary panic, but since when didn't Gibbs know what you didn't want him to know? He poked at the muffin unenthusiastically.
"Was going to get you a donut, but they said it would make you puke," Gibbs said, sitting down and taking a sip of his coffee.
He must be in worse shape than he thought if Gibbs was being thoughtful.
Tony continued to poke at the muffin, causing it to crumble and spread crumbs all over his tray. He still had no appetite. Now that the paranoia was retreating, he began to recall vague details about the night before. Tina visited, and although his mind was dangling the exact details just out of reach, he knew there was a reason for his disquiet. He'd revealed more than he'd wanted, and that should never happen.
Tony didn't have a reputation for being good undercover because someone else thought so. He'd earned it, sometimes through blood, sweat, and tears. He was so used to keeping his true self hidden that it was second nature. He could immerse himself into another person, another life, and never mix up any of the details. After all, he only ever showed people what they expected to see.
How then, did he let Tina trip him up? Get him to admit… something. He couldn't remember what, but he knew he'd slipped, and it involved Ziva. Gibbs was going to kill him.
"Stop playing with it, and eat it," Gibbs snapped, apparently reaching his quota of concern for the day. His own muffin was nearly gone.
Tony forced himself to break off a piece of the now-crumbled muffin and stuff it in his mouth. It tasked like cardboard, but he chewed and swallowed it down. He ran a hand through his hair nervously. He needed a shower. And a hair wash.
"Ah, Boss, I really need… to talk to Tina. D'you… think you could ask her to swing by, or maybe… let me borrow your phone?" he asked.
If he could hear the desperation in his own voice, he knew Gibbs wouldn't miss it – or mistake it for his lack of oxygen.
"Why?" Gibbs asked.
"I'm, I, ah, I just want to ask her… a question," he said, ignoring the throbbing in his hand and the tightness in his chest.
"So, ask me."
Tony shifted his position, his skin feeling too tight. He tried desperately to put on a calm façade. He couldn't tell Gibbs the truth. Not now, not when he was already feeling so rattled and exposed. If Gibbs found out he was talking about the team's business with outsiders – especially FBI outsiders – Tony would get his ass kicked, broken bones or not.
"Uh, see, it's like this. You know how I usually… don't react to those pain meds… all that well?" he asked.
"Usually?" Gibbs asked, smirking.
Tony felt his face coloring. "Right. So, you see… I can't exactly remember all… the details of our conversation, and I think… I think I… might've said something I shouldn't."
There. Keep it vague, nothing he could be called on, just a simple discussion between he and Tina – so he could find out what the hell he'd said. Gibbs couldn't demand specifics if he couldn't remember what he'd said. There had to be a reason he felt so on edge. The stupid, assless johnnie he was wearing was scratchy, making him itch all over.
Gibbs rolled his eyes impatiently. "Couldn't be that inappropriate, or she would've reported you. She didn't."
Tony rubbed the back of his neck with his uninjured hand, getting it tangled in the Cannula tubing. He pulled it away quickly, turning panicked eyes onto Gibbs, who half-smirked but didn't say anything.
"See… I'd feel better if I knew… exactly what I said."
"DiNozzo, we've got bigger problems. I'll tell her I'm sending you to a sexual harassment, seminar," he snapped.
"But–"
"Or maybe I actually will if you don't drop it," Gibbs said, voice rising.
Tony flung himself back against his pillows, frustrated, his ribs screaming in protest. Why couldn't he remember? Those damn meds were going to get him in trouble, and he hated not having self-control.
With perfectly unwelcomed timing, a nurse came in to check on his vitals, and she asked about his pain level.
"I'm fine. Could I have… some Tylenol, though?" he asked.
She looked surprised. "Tylenol isn't going to do much for broken bones. Let me get you something a little stronger."
"No," Tony yelped.
"DiNozzo, take the meds," Gibbs said irritably.
Tony shook his head, resolute. "No. They make me… loopy, and I'm messing up."
"DiNozzo!"
"Tylenol," he said to the nurse, leaving no room for argument – from her or Gibbs.
She didn't look convinced, but she handed him the pills. He dry-swallowed them immediately, before she could even fill his plastic water cup.
Gibbs scowled, but shrugged indifferently. "Fine. Suffer."
"There's another thing… I wanted to ask," Tony said, deciding to just get it all out.
"You think you've earned any favors?" Gibbs asked sarcastically.
"If I'm not under the influence… of the drugs, I can have my… service weapon, "Tony said, flashing a brittle smile.
Gibbs eyes narrowed. "Why do you need your gun?"
"I'd just like… to have it. If I need a guard, then there's… a real threat. I'd just… feel better if I was armed," he answered plainly.
"You've got a broken hand, dumbass," Gibbs said, but without any heat.
"I know, but it's my… left, and I'm right-handed."
Gibbs paused, staring at him, although he didn't outright say no. "You don't need it while I'm here."
"But if you have… to go?" Tony asked, persisting, heart thudding.
He'd feel so much better being here, so defenseless and exposed, if he had access to his weapon. He trusted Gibbs, but right now, there wasn't anyone else. He'd rather depend on himself.
Gibbs didn't answer, but Tony knew that meant he was thinking about it. Gibbs would never be without his weapon, either.
"Tina said you found Lola… in the ER looking for… me. What did she say? I guess… it means she was… working with them, after all, but… they really sounded as if they didn't… know the snitch well. I don't get it. Maybe my memories… are distorted," he said, trying to let Gibbs see he could still focus on their case, even if he couldn't quite catch his breath.
"She wasn't the snitch," Gibbs said.
Tony looked up, something inside him shifting. He really didn't want to believe it was her.
"Why was she… looking, then? They must've told her… something," he said.
Gibbs narrowed his eyes, studying him like a bug under a microscope. Tony wasn't sure what he was looking for, but he must've found it, because he continued to share.
"She wasn't in on whatever's going on with the weapons, but Barrows had a sex trafficking business on the side," Gibbs said, his cold eyes nearly sparking with rage.
Crimes against women and children were always a touchy subject with Gibbs.
"Is she safe?" Tony asked, concerned.
Lola really did try to help him – better than his own partners did. He still was having trouble wrapping his head around it all, and he wasn't quite sure what he was going to do about it. He certainly wasn't going to take it – but that meant either he left NCIS, or he broke up the team. He couldn't help but wonder if Gibbs would just prefer the former. It would solve all his headaches – and he never took ultimatums well. If forced to choose, which side would Gibbs take?
"Hey!" Gibbs said, and Tony realized he must've zoned out and missed Gibbs' response.
"Sorry, Boss," he mumbled.
He picked off a little more of the corn muffin, just to have something to do, his hand was throbbing mercilessly. He knew Gibbs could tell what was on his mind. He'd also worked out the reason his boss parked himself here every day rather than working the case. That was far from typical Gibbs behavior.
He was trying to show – in his own non-verbal way – that Tony still had support. A back-up that was guaranteed to have his six. While he appreciated the effort, Gibbs' bulldozer methods sometimes felt too much like taking all his control away. Right now, he felt desperate to hold onto it.
"I don't know what… I'm going to do… about it yet," he said softly, eyes down, knowing Gibbs would catch the non-sequitur as if they'd been discussing it all along.
He'd bet it was on Gibbs' mind as much as it was on Tony's.
"I know. I don't, either," he said, unusually open.
Tony raised his eyes, a tiny flicker of hope bursting to life. "But you'll let me… figure it out?"
Gibbs paused, thinking. Tony could practically see all the scenarios running through his mind.
"I'd like you to talk to them before you decide on anything," he finally said.
Tony grimaced. "I will – but not yet," he said, pinning Gibbs with his eyes.
It wouldn't be above Gibbs' conscience to tweak the circumstances a bit and force a meeting. Tony wasn't ready for that. He needed to put himself back together and feel stronger first. He didn't want to look so weak when he confronted them.
"They know I'm pissed, but I haven't addressed it," Gibbs said.
"Why not?" Tony asked, surprised. Patience certainly wasn't Gibbs' strong suit.
"Too much going on – and the case has to be first," he said.
"And you don't want… to deal with it… in front of the FBI," Tony said astutely yet disheartened.
He stared out the window at the cold grey day, feeling it mirrored his insides. Gibbs was right that Sully, along with the potential of a mass casualty event, had to come first. The problem was, he still wasn't sure that Gibbs wouldn't make excuses for Ziva. He was already starting with the need to talk to them. Tony was fairly certain how that would go. Ziva would manipulate the situation so that Tony came out looking like the one at fault.
"Hey!" Gibbs said.
He'd moved closer while Tony was lost in thought and not paying attention. He reached out and placed his hand on the back of Tony's neck, giving him a light squeeze. Tony's aching body leaned into the contact.
"You said Ziva was grooming McGee. I need to figure out how far it's gone, and if either of them is salvageable."
Tony's eyes widened in surprise; unsure he'd heard that right.
"You… You'd do that?" he asked quietly.
Gibbs looked at him solemnly. "What d'you think I've been saying? If you can't trust your partners, the team can no longer function."
"And…you're sure you… want me to be… the one who stays?" he asked cautiously, needing the confirmation.
Gibbs raised his eyebrows. "Told you before that I consider you a friend. Not about to lose you."
The words warmed Tony's chilled soul more than he wanted to admit. He'd searched so long for someone that would think he mattered, but he'd been burned too often to take it at face value. No matter how much he wanted to do just that.
There could be no take-backs. No saying something nice, lowering Tony's defenses, then pulling it back and leaving him floundering.
"What's changed?" he asked.
"What? Failing to do their job isn't enough?" Gibbs asked.
"You've known for a long time… that I didn't trust Ziva, and you… didn't care then," Tony said, brutally honest.
Gibbs pressed his lips together, clearly struggling to keep his temper in check. "I listened to what you said, and I've become more aware. With this dereliction of duty, there's valid grounds."
"Valid grounds? And the constant insubordination wasn't? Or is that only… when it's insubordination… against you? You still want… to protect her. You never hold women to the same standards… that you hold the rest of us. Well… except one," Tony said bitterly.
Gibbs frowned; clearly unsure what Tony was talking about.
"Paula Cassidy ring… any bells? You were all over… her from the start," Tony said.
"Yeah! She was a suspect in a murder investigation," Gibbs said, and for the first time since Tony was hurt, his voice held its usual bite.
Tony shook his head. "Even after she was cleared, and on… every case we've worked together since, you hold… her to ridiculously high expectations. Yet you let Ziva – and even Kate – slide on much worse."
Gibbs shoulders slumped, surprising Tony. This brief glimpse of defeat was so out of his realm of experience, he wasn't sure how to handle it.
"I could see what was happening," he said, his voice low.
"What are you… talking about?" Tony asked, lost.
"I know you like to put on an act in the bullpen – play the clown, the frat boy, the playa – but I think you forget that I know it's an act. I could see she was different for you – but her act wasn't," Gibbs said, frustrated.
"Wasn't what?" Tony asked, not following.
The fact Gibbs seemed to be opening up had him wrongfooted. It was uncharted territory.
"An act. I knew you were going to get hurt," Gibbs said.
"I knew what I was doing. Don't you… think that was my decision… to make?" he asked.
Gibbs took a deep breath, seeming to struggle with what he wanted to say. It was typically around now when he'd just explode, or hit Tony on the back of the head and tell him to drop it, unwilling to discuss anything emotionally charged.
Gibbs didn't do any of those things this time. Instead, he hung his head.
"I know. Doesn't mean I liked it."
"That sounds like its… coming from experience," Tony said, his natural investigator shining through.
It wasn't often Gibbs allowed this brief glimpse into his personal life, and Tony didn't want to do anything to interrupt.
Gibbs sighed. "My Paula was Jenny Shepherd. I wanted to spare you that, Tony."
Gibbs had been trying to protect him? Imagine that. He had a weird way of showing it, but maybe things weren't as lost as Tony feared.
"Well, if it makes… you feel any better, you were right," he said, shrugging.
If Gibbs was coming clean and opening up, Tony owed him the truth. The pain in his chest was becoming more and more insistent, and he feared he wouldn't be able to cover it soon, but he still didn't want those drugs.
"No. It doesn't make me feel better at all," Gibbs said quietly.
Tony gave him a small smile, feeling as if the past few years were melting away. They were back to a two-man team, backing one another up, and more like partners than a boss and subordinate. Tony really missed those days. Not so much all the work and schlepping around all the equipment by himself, but the comradery, feeling as if they shared a like mind. Even the pain that had been steadily growing more insistent seemed to improve at the words.
Gibbs apparently knew what Tony was thinking, and he returned the smile.
"Don't give up on me, DiNozzo. I might be stubborn, but I still believe you don't waste good. Whatever happens with the others, you and I work together."
Tony nodded, trying to pretend there wasn't a huge knot in his throat.
"Anything new… on Sully?" he asked once he was able to speak again, trying to steer the conversation onto safer ground before he embarrassed himself any further.
One of those small, secret smirks that Tony always liked to see crossed Gibbs' face, and Tony knew he was just as happy to steer toward less emotional topics.
"There was evidence he'd been in the same building where they'd held you, but no idea how long ago," Gibbs said, sobering up.
Tony winced. "You think… he's dead?"
"I don't know. It's been a while, but… we also found two bodies in that building, and he wasn't one of them."
Tony's head shot up, surprised. "You didn't tell me that."
"No, not when you were so ill."
"So… what are we doing to find him?" Tony asked, stomach churning. The pain had become so intense, he was trembling.
"We are following up on leads that we got from Lola's phone," Ziva said unexpectedly from the doorway, her dark eyes documenting all his injuries in that superior way that drove him nuts.
McGee stood behind her, smiling widely as he peered into the room.
"How are you feeling, Tony?" she asked, obviously perplexed by how relaxed he and Gibbs appeared sharing their breakfast.
Reeling, Tony turned his face toward Gibbs, stunned and betrayed.
