Fic - NCIS - La Longue Carabine - Tony/Ziva
Title: La Longue Carabine
Author: tinkerbell99
Fandom: NCIS
Characters: Tony, Ziva, with a bit of the rest of the team
Rating: PG-13
Spoilers: Through the beginning of Season 7
Disclaimer: NCIS and The Last of the Mohicans do not belong to me. Quotes from the movie are contained within.
Summary: "Ever seen last of the Mohicans? If you had, Saleem, you'd already know how all this is going to end." An alternate version of Tony describing the team in that Somali camp and of the aftermath that follows. Tiva undertones and Last of the Mohicans movie references throughout.
Author's Note: This started as I noticed a few similarities. It just kind of snowballed from there…
"Ever seen Last of the Mohicans? 1992? Daniel Day-Lewis and Madeleine Stowe?"
Saleem fingered the hilt of his knife.
"Course not," Tony scoffed. "You probably read the book instead." He shook his head in disgust. "If you had seen the movie, Saleem, you'd know how all this is going to end."
"And how is that?"
Tony arched against the unforgiving chair. "Well, first - and this is a spoiler alert - it's different from the book." He laughed softly. "Ends the same for you either way, but we'll get to that. First, we have to establish the characters. Setting. Then comes the plot." Across from him, Ziva sat slumped and unmoving in the dimly lit cell.
"I do not wish to know about a movie." Saleem leaned in close, silver blade in hand. "Tell me about NCIS."
"Not afraid of a few spoilers, are you?" Tony questioned. "If you were, you shouldn't have given me truth serum!" He rocked against the chair with his last words as if punctuating his point. Amused, Saleem backed away.
Tony took a slow breath and began. "Takes place during the French and Indian war. Funny they call it that, when it was the French and English doing the fighting. Actually, the colonists and the natives seemed to be the ones getting killed." He twitched against the invisible tightness in his throat while he watched his partner before him. "Seems like it's never the ones dying who give the orders." Bruises glowed darkly on Ziva's pale skin.
Dragging his eyes back to Saleem, Tony continued, "Anyway, it takes place on the frontier, in the middle of nowhere with just these outpost forts and...camps." His eyes skittered around the room. "Real primitive places. Lot of guns, though. But you're probably familiar with all that," he grinned up at Saleem and earned a slap.
"Enough. Tell me about your people."
"I am," Tony spat. He swallowed against the burning in his throat. "First, there's Cora Munro. She's not from America, but over time she comes to appreciate it there. To understand it. To like it." Ziva raised her gaze slightly, a question forming in her swollen eyes.
"Cora, she's the daughter of Colonel Munro. He's British. Well, actually Scottish, but that's a whole other thing. Anyway, she's the daughter of this real important English officer." He swallowed. "Long, dark hair. Dark eyes." His words slowed as he tried to stop them from tumbling out of his mouth. "She's beautiful." His eyes found Ziva's with purpose and she lowered her head.
Tony exhaled a breath before picking up again. "Anyway, there's this Huron Indian, Magua, working with the French. Nasty guy. Got a thing for knives." He looked up at their captor. "You'd like him. Got a lot in common." Saleem reached for a canteen, but did not speak. "He's got a blood vengeance against Colonel Munro. And even though he may have his reasons, he decides to take it out on Cora. Munro's daughter." Tony eyed Ziva's bent form. "Any of this sounding familiar, Saleem?" he asked, a bite in his words.
Replacing the canteen's cap, Saleem looked on with a disinterested glare.
"No? I'm surprised. It really should. Well, here's where it gets good. There's these three guys, and two of them are the last of a vanishing people. The Mohicans. Bet you couldn't guess that from the title," he laughed. "Anyway, the father, his name is Chingachgook. Strong, silent type. Doesn't say much, but he's clearly the one in charge. I wouldn't want to cross him." He gestured with his chin toward Ziva. "She gets what I'm talking about here." He almost thought he saw a smile, but maybe that was just the serum flowing in his blood.
"Then there's Chingachgook's son, Uncas." Tony observed McGee's crumpled form, motionless on the ground. "Course, things don't turn out so well for him," he muttered softly. He inhaled the dusty air. "Anyway, midway through the movie Cora and her sister, Alice, are taken by-"
"Who is the third man?" Saleem interrupted. Tony's eyes narrowed slightly in confusion. "You said there were three men. This Chingachgook, Uncas, and...?"
Tony's lips pulled into a grin. "Ah, see, now you're interested!" Saleem turned to peer out the window into the distance. "I told you it's a good story!" He swallowed against the dryness in his throat. "The third man, Saleem, is Hawkeye. Nathaniel. La Longue Carabine. Adopted son of Chingachgook. Daniel Day-Lewis in a role he should have gotten more credit for." Tony straightened his shoulders and squared his chest. "He's the masculine yet sensitive hero of our story."
"And you fancy yourself this 'long rifle'?" Saleem asked.
Tony chuckled. "You know your French! Of course you do. Probably got that from a book, too. Anyway, Magua, that's the Huron, kidnaps the Munro girls. Leads them north into Huron land. And all the while Chingachgook and his sons are following on their trail. Why?" He turned to Ziva and captured her eyes before he spoke. "Because Hawkeye's in love with Cora. 'No matter how long it takes, no matter how far, I will find you.' That's what he promises." Ziva shied away from his heavy gaze. Tony leaned back. Facing the ceiling, he sighed. "Great scene, under the falls..."
"What is your point, Agent DiNozzo?"
His head snapped forward to glare at Saleem. "My point is that those three men run day and night to find them." His voice darkened. "And you know, you just know, they're never going to stop, because there's nothing Hawkeye won't do to get Cora back. Or, Saleem," he leaned forward as far as his bonds would allow, "to exact his revenge."
"Was that some sort of threat? Your friend is bound on the floor. This one?" He gestured with the tip of his knife to Ziva's pale neck. "Can't even rise from her chair. You overestimate your capabilities...Hawkeye," he smirked.
Tony's lip curled dangerously. "We haven't gotten to the end of the movie yet, Saleem." In the silence that followed, he continued, his words slow and quiet. "There's a showdown, a reckoning, on top of this mountain." He sighed, eyes focused on Ziva's defeated face. "It was too late by the time they all got to Alice." He swallowed against the words that would come next. "Cora's sister died," he concluded softly. The statement hung in the dusty air. A solitary tear slid down a bruised cheek. "And Uncas, well, that's where I'd like to make a little plot change. Desert's pretty flat, Saleem. No cliffs around here."
Saleem smirked. "And what of the gallant Hawkeye?"
Tony continued, voice matter-of-fact. "Oh, he did his part. Held the Hurons at bay. In the end he got the girl."
"And Magua? The savage villain? Felled by Hawkeye, I suppose, to rescue the girl. A typical ending." Saleem looked pointedly at Tony's bound wrists. "I do not think that is a possibility here."
"Oh, no, Saleem. That's where you're wrong. Didn't I tell you? That's the twist. You'd think it'd be Hawkeye, but it's not." Tony grinned and pulled in a breath. "In the end, it's Chingachgook who takes Magua down."
There's a whistle and a belated crack, but Saleem is already dead on the floor.
***
"You know Rivkin was Heyward, right?"
"Tony, please. Not this again." McGee scrubbed one hand over the back of his neck. The grit of sand mingled with sweat and sun burned his skin. He leaned his head against a hastily erected wall and watched as two men in desert camo ran by. Everything around them moved so fast, but the noise of the temporary base seemed frustratingly muffled after the gunfire in Saleem's camp only a short time before.
Beside him, Tony fingered a bloodstain on his pants. "Think about it," he said quietly, head bowed. "Makes sense. Eli David sent Rivkin to Ziva. Cora's father has Heyward take her to the fort. 'Course, she wasn't supposed to assassinate a terrorist along the way..." His lips drew up in a humorless smirk.
McGee shot him a worried glance. "Keep drinking your water. They said it would help clear your head."
"My head is clear," Tony snapped, but he reached for the bottle anyway, wincing as he twisted against bruised ribs. "Guy hit on her through the whole movie. Lied about things he saw." He took a sip of the too-warm liquid and resisted the urge to spit in the sand. "Only decent thing he did was sacrifice himself for her at the end." He squinted against the hot wind. "Can't say that for Rivkin."
McGee breathed a tired sigh.
"It was a mercy killing in the movie. Hawkeye shoots Duncan while he burns in a fire. Puts him out of his misery." He took another sip. "Don't think Ziva sees it that way here."
"It's over now, Tony. Let it go."
Tony inspected a swollen hand as he gripped the bottle. "She didn't say a word the whole way here," he reflected. "Just looked right through us. Like we weren't even there." With a resigned expression, he replaced the cap. "It's far from over." Muffled bursts of gunfire drifted over the sand from somewhere in the distance.
The two sat in silence until Gibbs approached. Tony stubbornly studied his boots.
"How is she?" McGee shielded his eyes as he looked up at his boss.
Wearily, Gibbs inclined his head, stretching his neck before taking a seat on another bench. "Transport should be ready soon."
McGee's eyes flickered to Tony at the unanswered question, but the senior field agent's head remained bent toward the ground. Looking back toward Gibbs, he tried again. "Is she...okay?"
Beside him, Tony's shoulders shook. "Did she look okay, McGee?"
"Tony, that's not what I meant. I was just asking if she- "
"You saw her in that chair. We had to drag her out of the building. She couldn't even walk! Did that look like 'okay Ziva' to you?"
"Tony," Gibbs' warning came softly.
Exhaling, Tony leaned back against the wall and searched the sky. He squinted against the painful brightness and the persistent throbbing in his skull. Silence reigned for a few moments more until he found the courage to voice the only thought on his mind. "Is she coming back with us?"
McGee's head snapped forward in surprise. His lips parted to speak, but he found himself unsure what to ask. "Boss?"
"Transport's for four," was Gibbs' measured reply.
"Does she know that?" Tony again faced the ground.
McGee bit his lip until a hand landed on his knee in wordless apology. "I was telling McGee," Tony paused and straightened his back, "Actually, I was telling my good friend Saleem that this whole thing is like The Last of the Mohicans." He ran a hand roughly through his hair. "But you've probably never seen it."
They watched as sand swirled with the wind. The sound of gunfire ebbed away. Gibbs nudged Tony's mostly full water bottle with his boot before clearing his throat. "I read the book. Long time ago."
Tony let out a breath in a halfhearted huff. "Yeah." He swallowed and reached for the bottle, taking his time unscrewing the cap. He drank, then looked into the distance. "At least McGee didn't end up at the bottom of a cliff gutted with a knife."
Gibbs studied him narrowly and Tony closed his eyes against the scrutiny. He willed the ringing in his ears to stop. "There's a couple different versions of the ending. One I guess they shot, but never used." He opened his eyes and stared down into the bottle. "Hawkeye basically proposes to Cora on top of the mountain. Asks her to stay with him on the frontier. Be his wife." He drained the last of the liquid before throwing the empty container across the sand. "Guess that one wasn't very realistic."
"Agent Gibbs?" Steeling himself, Gibbs rose to acknowledge a young man's approach. "Medics will be done in a few minutes. Got transportation ready for your team."
Gibbs nodded. "She cleared to travel?" His fingers flexed involuntarily while he awaited the answer. McGee watched with widened eyes.
"We've done what we can for her here, sir. No reason to stay." With a quick nod, the young man strode away. Gibbs reclaimed his seat.
"No spoilers from that guy," Tony muttered. Under McGee's questioning look, he clarified. "He said that she's cleared to travel. Not that she was going to. Or, at least not with us."
Gibbs sighed. "Her choice to make, DiNozzo."
With a huff of breath, Tony pushed up from the bench and paced away, lacing his fingers behind his head as he walked. He stooped to pick up the bottle he'd thrown and drummed an impatient rhythm against his hand. After a few moments, he returned, leaning his body heavily against the wall. He looked to Gibbs. "I don't suppose you're going to try to convince her?"
After studying his senior field agent for a moment, Gibbs shook his head. His lips were pressed into a thin line, eyes focused on his own tenting fingers. "No."
Tony's flat palm slammed against the wall. "'Course not," he spat.
"She'll make her choice."
"Yeah." Tony swallowed. "What if it's the wrong one?"
Gibbs blinked. "Then we find her again."
Tony's head made contact with the wall as he again searched the sky. "I hate sequels."
The trio remained in silence until movement from beside a canvas cover caught their attention. Rounding the corner, Ziva appeared, flanked by a medic at her side. Gibbs rose, but motioned for the younger agents to stay behind. McGee stood next to Tony, and together they watched Gibbs' approach. Ziva's eyes stayed lowered to the sand. The man to her left spoke mostly to Gibbs, gesturing occasionally to her, then to a vehicle some fifty feet away.
McGee inclined his head toward Tony's ear. "She's walking on her own. I mean, that's gotta be good," he said hopefully. He watched for a few seconds more. "What do you think they're saying?"
Tony just shook his head as the muted conversation dragged on. Gibbs' figure shimmered in the heat. "On some of the DVDs," he began lowly, "there's an extended final scene. Chingachgook gives this long speech about how the frontier is changing and his way of life is being destroyed." He watched as Ziva's dark hair blew before her eyes. She made no move to stop it. "Never liked that ending."
"How come?"
"Gibbs seem like the speech-giving type to you?" A ghost of a smile pulled at McGee's lips. "Original ending suited it better. Things were left unsaid. Just the three of them on top of a mountain. Nothing carved in stone."
"I always liked endings like that," McGee mused.
"Why's that?" Tony's eyes remained fixed on his boss.
"Well, you could make up whatever ending you liked. Finish the story however you wanted." He shrugged. "Guess that's why I like to write."
As he spoke, Gibbs turned. He gestured with his chin, indicating that they should follow across the sand. Ziva, Tony noticed, walked behind him. Neither spoke a word.
"Guess we get the original ending, then," Tony sighed. "Too many things left unsaid." He shouldered his pack and McGee moved to follow.
***
"Agent DiNozzo?" Tony looked up from his shoes. The collar of his shirt scratched against his sunburned neck. "Director Vance will see you now."
With a grim nod of thanks, Tony stood, straightened his tie, and stepped through the door. It clicked shut with finality behind him. Once inside, he turned as Leon Vance rose to his feet from behind his desk, the early morning sunlight streaming in behind him. He eyed Tony's bruised cheek and solemnly extended his hand.
After the briefest pause, Tony stepped away from the door, closed the gap between them, and accepted Vance's grip.
"Congratulations on a job well done." He nodded in response, lips drawn into a line. Vance released his hand and indicated a chair. "Have a seat, Agent DiNozzo. Thanks for coming in so early. This won't take long." Vance settled himself behind his desk and folded his hands over a stack of cream colored files. He let a beat pass before speaking again. "Plan worked."
Tony didn't respond.
"It's a credit to you," Vance offered, unfolding his hands. When there was still no reply, he opened a file and sifted slowly through the paper within. "Gibbs and McGee, too, certainly," he added, pulling one sheet of paper to the top.
"Wouldn't have happened without them," Tony finally spoke.
"True," Vance nodded, "but mostly, it's you." His gaze settled squarely on the younger agent. Somewhere in the room, a clock ticked gently. The smell of burnt coffee made Tony's stomach turn. "Your idea, your execution, your Op." He glanced down at the typed sheet before him, then back up at Tony. "Successful one."
"Some parts more than others."
Concealing his reaction, Vance shifted two folders deliberately before speaking again. His eyes returned to the file. "You seen David since you got back?" he questioned casually.
Tony inhaled, ribs protesting at the breath. "No. Not since we returned to NCIS yesterday afternoon."
Vance nodded slightly and finished a paragraph before he looked up. He took in Tony's slightly rumpled shirt and rimmed eyes. "You sleep since you've been back?"
Tony didn't answer, just held his gaze.
"I'll take that as a no." He reached for a pen and resumed reading the paper on his desk, making rough notations in the margins.
Seconds ticked by all too slowly. The back of Tony's neck began to itch. Eventually, he broke the silence. "Was that all, director?"
Slowly, Vance replaced the pen. He gathered sheets of paper, squared their edges, and tucked them back into their files. His hands once again folded on top of the desk. "No." A moment later, he found a toothpick and removed it from its wrapper. Sunlight glinted on the cellophane. "We need to talk about Saleem's camp."
Tony's vision flickered to the top of the desk. "You have my report."
"And Agent Gibbs' and McGee's." Vance nodded, then inclined his head. "But they don't tell me what I want to know. And neither did yours."
"What is it you want to know, director?" Tony waited for the answer he didn't want to hear.
"Ziva David," Vance spoke sharply. He leaned forward even more, resting his weight on top of his arms. "Where does she fall?"
"You'd need to ask her."
With a half smile of annoyance, Vance leaned back in his chair and exhaled before speaking. "At the moment, Miss David doesn't work for me. You do. And I'm asking your opinion. Just like I'll ask Gibbs and McGee. Is she worth taking back?"
Tony exhaled a mirthless laugh.
"Something you want to share?" Vance straightened.
Tony's lips pulled back to a humorless smile. He swallowed. "Just," he ground his teeth. "This whole time I've been trying to figure out if you're Sachem or General Webb. Turns out, maybe you're Montcalm."
Vance inhaled slowly, letting silence fill the room. Tony's head dropped down to once again study his shoes under the quiet rebuke. The fight drained from his body with each tick of the clock. Finally, he spoke. "What makes you think she'd want to come back?" he asked quietly.
The director leaned back in his chair. "Eli David left his daughter to die in a desert," he began matter of factly. "She was captured by the enemy. Mission failed and she had to be rescued. By us. By you." He pointed one finger at Tony, who looked up in surprise. "How do you think that plays inside Mossad? She goes back to Israel, what's she got left?"
"So you want her here?"
"I'm tasked with providing my agency with the best possible assets. I need to know if she's still one of them."
Tony nodded very slightly and focused on holding his features steady.
With a softer voice, Vance continued. "Contrary to what you may think, Agent DiNozzo," he began, "I am not the Sachem, General Webb, or Montcalm."
Despite his efforts, Tony's eyes widened in surprise. Vance drummed his fingers on top of the files in a deliberate rhythm.
"I'm not sentencing David to die in a fire in front of Mossad. I force her back to Israel, Eli will have her dead inside a year whether it's planned or not. If she goes, that's her choice. Big world out there; plenty of options for her. I'm just not sure one of them is here." Tony clenched his jaw. "General Webb," Vance continued, "failed to reinforce his troops. Was afraid for his own safety and sacrificed his men in the process. You ever wonder who pulled the hidden strings for you to get in and out of Africa to begin with?"
Tony's mouth opened, then closed. The morning sunlight seemed too bright, but his shoulders began to relax under its warmth.
"And I'm not the French guy, either," Vance grinned around the toothpick. "I don't hire other people to do my dirty work. Surely by now, you know whose side I'm on. I'm not the bad guy here."
Tony looked on in silence as the director stood. Finding his legs, he scrambled up after.
Vance's fingers rested on top of the file containing McGee's report. "Last of the Mohicans, DiNozzo?" he asked, eyebrows raised.
Tony let out half a laugh in nervous acknowledgement.
Vance shrugged. "Creative way to get around truth serum. Just don't try it on a polygraph." He began to walk toward the door. Tony followed. "Though I gotta admit, Gibbs makes one hell of a Chingachgook."
Tony swallowed his surprise. Vance caught his expression with amusement. "One of Jackie's favorite movies. Probably seen it half a dozen times."
Tony merely nodded, and Vance paused with his hand resting on the handle of the door. His face drew together in seriousness once again as he faced the younger agent head on. "End of the movie," the director began quietly, "the younger sister, Alice, she jumps off a cliff. It's all too much for her. She's too fragile. Broken. Cora was always the strong one."
Tony watched, his own breath too loud in his ears.
"Decisions are going to have to be made, but I don't want to rush them. You asked me what I wanted to know."
Tony nodded, the message already clear.
"What I want to know, Agent DiNozzo, is which sister we took back from that desert." With that, the door swung wide and Tony was dismissed.
***
The door swung wide from Vance's office to reveal Gibbs and Ziva seated opposite the assistant's desk, each carefully avoiding the other's gaze. Summoned, as Tony had been, for an early morning meeting about all the things they couldn't say. Gibbs looked, Tony noticed, little worse for the wear. Some extra sun, a scratch or two, just another day at the office. He thought briefly that the man could probably fight through the entire French and Indian, Revolutionary, Civil, and Gulf wars and still appear the next day dressed, shaved, and coffee in hand as though he'd merely had to cross the street.
Ziva, though, she was different. Different from Gibbs, different from herself. While Gibbs rose to his feet with no further concern than the cup in his hand, Ziva uncharacteristically took her time. Her normal grace was replaced by cautious, wary shifts in posture and stance. Tony couldn't help but notice how she tried to camouflage the pain in her ribs by pulling her sweater tighter around her waist. Pain, he reflected, that probably make his own twinges feel like an amusement park ride.
As Vance ushered them inside and Tony out, Gibbs met his agent's eye with a careful, assessing nod. He swung into the office without comment, leaving Ziva to follow behind.
Tony found his feet slowing as she passed. He caught her eyes for a moment. Found them in the middle of the swollen bruises that marred the rest of her face. She looked at him. Looked through him. Acknowledged his presence as one would a stranger and passed into the threshold with the door closing behind her.
He heard the door click like a rifle primed to fire.
***
One foot in front of the other. One step at a time. Pick up keys from his desk, grab his bag, and take the elevator out into the early morning sun. Go home. Go somewhere. Go anywhere where those empty eyes wouldn't crowd his mind. At least, that was the plan.
Tony made his way down the stairs and entered the bullpen. It was still quiet, too early for most except those on team Gibbs. Whoever, Tony wondered, the people were on team Gibbs currently were.
One foot in front of the other. One step at a-
"Did you see Ziva?" McGee looked up from the monitor on his desk.
Flinching slightly at the unexpected presence in the otherwise quiet room, Tony turned to his partner in slight irritation. "What are you doing here?" He eyed the clock, comparing it to the dark rims under McGee's eyes. "Vance told you to stay home today."
McGee's fingers flew over the keyboard. "Vance told all of us to stay home today." He squinted at the screen as he spoke. "Actually, so did Gibbs. I had to turn in the rest of my paperwork." He gave his mouse several impatient clicks. "Then I ran into Abby..." he let that statement hang in the air. No words were really necessary after that.
Finding himself suddenly tired, Tony leaned against the edge of his desk. "I'm amazed she isn't here right now."
"She's running ballistics on a case from last week. Only way she'd let me out of her sight." He rolled his eyes. "After that it was Ducky."
"Our own Mr. Phelps."
"He gave me some aloe for my sunburn." McGee rubbed his peeling nose as he eyed his partner with concern. "You should have him take a look at your ribs."
"I'm fine," Tony pushed off from his desk, his torso calling his statement a lie.
"I was there when it happened, Tony. I doubt you're fine."
He chose not to answer and instead watched as McGee powered down his machine. "You heading out?"
"Yeah." McGee grabbed his bag. "Didn't exactly sleep much last night. Just came in to drop off the last of my report." He squinted at Tony. "Why are you here? You were finished last night."
Tony let his eyes roll up to the balcony. "Meeting with Sachem. Webb. Whoever he is today."
Unsure how to respond, McGee nodded. "I heard Gibbs and Ziva were up there, too. So much for that whole 'staying home today' thing." He bent low toward his desk, eyeing the keyboard with a disbelieving stare. "How is that even possible?" he muttered.
"What?"
"There's sand in my keyboard. How did that even happen?"
"Just another souvenir from our African safari." Tony sighed. "Sand's one thing that's never left behind." His eyes drifted back upstairs. "Gets into everything and never goes away."
Distracted, Tim agreed. "Guess so. It's gonna take me forever to clean that out."
Tony didn't voice an answer, just tore his eyes away from the balcony, clamped one hand down on his partner's shoulder, and steered them both away from their desks. Together, they walked toward the elevator, dodging the agents who exited into the bullpen ready to begin their day's work.
Eyes on the carpet, one foot in front of the other. Anywhere but here. The air conditioning seemed too cold on Tony's skin. He wondered if he'd always feel chilled after the heat of the desert.
"Tony?" It took him a moment to realize McGee had stopped next to the keypad with his eyebrows raised in concern. "Did you hear me? I asked if you saw Ziva up there."
The elevator opened, but he couldn't make his feet move.
McGee placed his hand against the door. The metal shuddered as it retracted back into the wall. "Yeah, McGee. I saw her." He brushed past Tim's hand.
"How's she look?"
"She looks..." He exhaled a defeated sigh while Vance's words swam in his head. The elevator pinged insistently. "She looks like Alice."
The door closed before them.
Anywhere but here.
***
Anywhere but here, as it turned out, meant Gibbs' basement. Tony wondered why he was even surprised.
He hadn't intended to wind up there. It was just that after spending the better part of the morning staring at the ceiling above his couch and the majority of the afternoon driving around the greater Washington area, he'd eventually given in and turned back in the direction he'd always known he'd head. He'd sat parked down the street while the sun crept down and leaned against the porch until the streetlights turned on. He'd lingered in his boss's kitchen until his feet finally found the basement stairs.
One foot in front of the other all the way down.
"You're supposed to be sleeping, DiNozzo." The lack of surprise in Gibbs' tone only confirmed that he'd known the plan all along.
"Yeah, well, I'm supposed to be doing a lot of things." Tony paused, running his hand over the wooden rail as he slowed for the last few steps. "I'm just not sure what any of them are." Shaking his head, he launched himself off the last stair. "You talked to Ziva." A statement and a question all in one.
Gibbs looked up briefly, leisurely, but continued with the boat.
Circling around the half-formed arch, Tony tried again. "What did Vance say?"
Gibbs straightened his back and rolled his neck. He turned to the work bench and emptied a jar. A bottle of bourbon soon appeared.
Nodding acceptance to his boss's silence, Tony began to pace. "You know, he's seen the movie. Thought you'd make a good Chingachgook." He accepted a newly filled jar. Gibbs returned to the boat with empty hands reserved for his tools. "All that woodworking you do, I bet you could make a mean one of those axe type things he's always using." Tony made a halfhearted throwing gesture with his free hand before circling both around the cooling glass.
The only sound was the scrape of the wood and soft rustle of shavings floating to the ground.
Tony studied the golden curls on the cement floor. "Ever built a log cabin?"
No response.
"Just as well, it'd probably burn. They tend to do that." Tony swallowed the end of an over long pull. He studied the liquid in his hands before he spoke again. "You know, we didn't even know she was alive," he said quietly. "Not really, anyway."
Gibbs crouched to level the wood.
Tony continued to speak to the bourbon, watching as it swirled in the jar. "Going in, all I was thinking was take out Saleem. Get the job done. Then they pulled off that hood..." He took a drink and listened to the scrape of the tools. "Now, it's like some second chance, except it's not. Not if she doesn't want it to be." He stepped to the work bench, and his thumb came to circle the top of the bottle.
Blue eyes watched carefully as he added to his jar. "I mean," he huffed, replacing the lid, "what is she even thinking right now?" He directed the question to his silent companion.
Gibbs just shot him a warning glance.
Tony shook his head and stared down at his drink. "You won't tell me. Of course you won't tell me." He exhaled a bitter laugh. "You won't talk to me, she won't look at me, and what did I expect? It's the end of the movie, the credits rolled, and I'm standing on that mountain all alone!"
Gibbs straightened. His eyes flickered from Tony's face to the jar in his hand and back again. He took a deliberate step forward and finally spoke. Soft. Accusing. "That what you're afraid of?" The words were barely a whisper.
Tony held his gaze.
"Standing there alone?" He inched closer.
Tony swallowed. "What if I am?"
"Then get your priorities straight!" Gibbs eased off after the sudden shout. He retreated a bit. "Desert was the easy part."
Tony clenched and unclenched his jaw. Gibbs returned to work on his boat, but Tony remained rooted to the spot. It took half the jar for him to speak again.
"What if...What if we hadn't gone after Saleem? We didn't even know she was out there." He pursed his lips, then leaned against the work bench. "One more week...hell, one more day and we would have lost her." He swirled the liquid in this hand thoughtfully. "Maybe we already did. You've seen the way she looks."
Gibbs' shoulders fell a fraction of an inch, but he didn't say a word.
"Vance asked me which sister we brought back from the desert. I didn't know what to say." He stretched in a futile effort to stop the aching reminders from his ribs. "It just can't be so...accidental. Coincidental. " Tony trailed off and took a sip. "We all know how you feel about those." He sighed. "It's just...if we can find her that way, we can lose her that way, too."
Gibbs reached for a raw length of wood and began to measure out tiny pencil marks, one at a time.
Eventually, Tony chuckled. "This," he gestured with the jar toward Gibbs. "This is what you do." He finished the jar and pulled his lips into half a grin. "You just work on your boat without saying a word. Let everybody else do all the talking. 'Cause, eventually, they're gonna say what it is they should say and then you..." he trailed off as his boss reached methodically for another piece of wood. "You just keep on working on your boat." With a wry smile, Tony turned his eyes to the floor.
"You gotta give her time, DiNozzo. She's only been back a day."
"Haven't we all," Tony muttered. He took a few aimless steps. "She just looks so lost."
Gibbs inclined his head. "Then find her again."
No matter how long it takes, no matter how far, I will find you.
The line came to him, floated into his brain from a hot and dusty room a lifetime ago. Tony closed his eyes and Gibbs softened his words. "Gonna take time. You'll get there."
You'll get there. Somehow, Tony couldn't find the courage to ask him to clarify exactly what he meant. You'll get there. Not she'll get there. He realized with sudden alarm that he didn't even know where there was to begin with. But Gibbs did. Or he seemed to. Seemed like he had all the answers just like always and Tony decided it was probably best if he didn't ask questions on an empty stomach and two jars of bourbon anyway.
"She's alive because of you." Gibbs ran a tired hand over his head. "Just, give her time to realize that. Mean time," he reached for the bench, "make yourself useful." He handed over a sanding block.
Tony exchanged his empty jar and rolled the block thoughtfully in his hands. "You know," he observed quietly, "your boat's better than truth serum."
"Tell me something I don't know, DiNozzo." Gibbs resumed his work while Tony approached a rib. "You'll get the same headache with the bourbon, though," he added.
Tony hesitantly raised his hands.
"With the grain."
He smiled, almost. "On it, boss."
And time began to pass.
***
Gibbs was right. He usually was. Tony knew this.
It took time.
Time which passed both fast and slow, in moments that took days and weeks that lasted seconds. Time that ticked on through crime scenes and Abby's lab, the autopsy bay and a boat. It listened to the story of Daniel Cryer and observed the appearance and dismissal of Ben-Gidon. It watched Gibbs whisper words into Ziva's ear that Tony would never come to hear and Ziva would take time to understand. And slowly, the memory of the desert heat and presence of those empty eyes faded. Their appearance became less and less common like errant grains of sand.
Until, that is, the day Ziva cornered Tony in the men's restroom, chased a shocked probie agent from a urinal, and asked to watch a movie.
***
"You stay alive. If they don't kill you, they'll take you North, up to Huron land. Submit, do you hear? You're strong, you survive. You stay alive no matter what occurs. I will find you. No matter how long it takes, no matter how far, I will find you."
***
Probationary agent Alexander Cole whistled when he peed. This was common knowledge around the NCIS water cooler, and so Tony wasn't so surprised by the first few notes of 'The Twelve Days of Christmas' as he was by its abrupt conclusion.
"Cole, you can't just leave it at the French hens. You gotta at least finish the-" he turned to find the source of Cole's distress standing unimpressed in front of the door. Silent as her stealthy entry, Ziva let her eyes wander none too subtly to the probie's unzipped fly. She raised one eyebrow suggestively, and he made a quick exit past her, the door closing behind him as he struggled with a button. Tony thought for a moment, as he zipped his own pants closed, that he saw a flicker of amusement cross her face.
"Good way to clear a room there, Ziva."
She shrugged, a slight gleam of mischief still evident in the quirk of her lips. "He could have finished," she offered with perfect innocence.
Tony turned on the faucet and swiped at the soap. "Nah. Heard one verse, you've heard them all. Literally."
"The whistling would not be so bad if he could lift a tune," Ziva observed, coming to lean one hip against the counter.
Carry a tune, he mentally corrected. "Or if it was something other than Christmas carols."
"Is that all he-"
"Year round." Tony shook the water from his hands and reached for a paper towel. He realized abruptly that he'd run out of things to say. Except, of course, for all the things they left unsaid.
They looked at each other for a moment while he waited for her to speak. He reached over to tighten the faucet's handle. It continued to drip.
"I have been thinking," she began slowly, "about that movie."
It should have taken him a moment to understand. It should have caught him off guard. But the truth was that somehow he'd known this day was coming for months. He'd waited for the question since that day in Saleem's camp.
"The one you...told about." She looked up shrewdly, making sure he understood what she couldn't find the words to say. Satisfied he knew, she lowered her gaze. "I would like to see it," she finished in a rush.
He didn't bother to act surprised. Just watched her with a measured stare. "Are you sure that's a good idea?"
She looked down at her interlocked hands with a tight smile on her lips. "I think it is time," she stated simply, then looked up to meet his eyes.
He waited. Watched for any sign her resolve would falter. When it didn't, he gave a quick nod. "See you tonight, then."
She left without a word.
It took him several minutes to follow.
***
"We do not understand what is happening here."
***
Tonight actually became two nights later thanks to a petty officer's disappearance and a staff sergeant's murder. He wondered if she'd change her mind, but she appeared at his door on a Thursday night bearing a cautious smile accompanied by a nervous laugh. Tony found himself wishing this was just another night, another movie, another lifetime set before an African camp.
"Am I too early?"
Tony shrugged off her uncharacteristic lack of certainty and ushered her in. "Not at all." In fact, he wondered if they were both months too late. After taking her coat, he realized there was nowhere else to turn except the couch. "Make yourself at home," he offered.
She did, choosing to slip off her shoes and perch cross-legged on the middle cushion. Tony wondered if she even noticed the way her fingers worried over the edges of her sleeves.
He swallowed, fidgeting with the remote while standing just to her side. "You sure you want to do this?" he asked quietly.
To his surprise she offered him a tiny smile. "Sit down, Tony." Her eyes slid to the seat beside her. He complied. "This movie," she began while running one finger over the case, "it is the way you see the team. The way you see...us?" Her eyes were large against pale skin.
"In a manner of speaking."
"Then I would like to see it. To understand this." He wondered if she was aware that her gestures filled the space between them. Space that had once, long ago, seemed so small.
Turning to the television, he started the movie. "Okay, then." He took a breath as the opening drum beat began to sound over the thudding in his own head. "Here we go."
She turned to the screen and he watched as she read the opening text. He fidgeted beside her. "See, it's called the French and Indian War but it was really England and France fighting for control of the colonies."
She looked at him strangely. "I am aware of the history, Tony."
Chastised, he nodded. "Okay, it's just that things like that - with the names - usually kind of confuse you."
He let her watch in silence for a time. It wasn't until the first battle in the woods that she turned back to him. She had watched with a raised eyebrow as Chingachgook took down a Huron at a distance with his club. "This is Gibbs?" she asked, turning to Tony with an amused squint. He nodded. "Well, that is certainly accurate." A smile pulled at Tony's lips.
"And that," she pointed to the screen where Uncas scalped a fallen enemy, "is McGee?" She shook her head in disbelief. "McGee has many capabilities, but I am not sure that," she again gestured to the movie, "is one of them."
"I was tied to a chair and pumped full of truth serum. I connected the metaphor where I could."
She didn't respond save for a slow half nod. On screen, Hawkeye and Uncas approached the charred remains of a cabin. The music darkened, and Tony felt his shoulders tense. A child's foot lay still underneath a fallen beam.
"Is that-"
"Cameron's cabin," he confirmed quietly. "Same one from earlier, with the kids." They watched as smoke crawled toward the sky.
"It is always the innocent." Her voice was weary and quiet, but sure of the truth.
***
"What are you looking at, sir?"
"I'm looking at you, miss."
***
"What are you looking at?" Midway through the movie, she caught him staring. Or, at least called him on the staring. He hadn't meant to, or at least he hadn't meant to do so as obviously as he had. It was just that he was having a hard time watching the images on the screen when she was right there, next to him, looking present and aware and like it was a year before and not after their time in the desert.
"It's just good to see you again," he said quietly.
She looked at him in confusion. "You saw me at work not two hours ago. And I was here when you went into the kitchen for the popcorn."
He smiled softly and ducked his head. "Not what I meant." Under her questioning eyes, he swallowed before continuing. "When you first got back from...When you first got back," he amended, "it was like you weren't seeing anything. Like you were looking through us. Like you were looking straight through me." He dared to raise his eyes.
Ziva stared at him for a long moment before reaching for the television's remote. She paused it, cannon fire frozen on the screen. She placed the remote back on the table before them, its landing too loud in the still room. Folding her hands in her lap, she moistened her lips and began to speak. Her words were halting but clear, and Tony had the impression that she chose each one with a care that was beyond his understanding.
"I have looked...through...many things these past months. Both after I returned and...during." Her head nodded slightly as she spoke. Tony watched as her pale fingers worried one another over the denim of her jeans. "I found myself looking through my past. Trying to reconcile that which was already done with my present. My future." She sighed wearily, then repeated, "I have looked through many things."
Tony raised his eyes from her hands. He captured her faltering eyes with his gaze. "And what did you find?"
He waited. Watched her purse her lips. Incline her head. Watched as an almost smile fluttered to the surface before being quickly tamped down again. Observed as all the little tells that meant nothing and everything were laid out on display.
She looked at him, took a breath to speak, then stopped. He could only watch as she retreated, fixed her lips in a false tight smile, and reached for the remote. "We should finish the movie."
***
"The whole world's on fire."
***
They watched the end of the movie.
They watched as Cora's father died and as Hawkeye promised to come for her in a temporary haven under the falls. They watched Duncan's death and Uncas' sacrifice on the cliff's edge.
Tony looked away as Alice stepped to her death.
And at the end, three people stood on top of a mountain.
***
"Great Spirit and the maker of all life, a warrior goes to you swift and straight as an arrow shot into the sun. Welcome him, and let him take his place at the council fire of my people. He is Uncas, my son. Tell him to be patient and ask death for speed; for they are all there, but one. I, Chingachgook, the last of the Mohicans."
***
Three people stood there in the setting sun.
And Tony thought that, really, at the end, there were only two.
"You asked me what I found." Ziva's voice started him as the credits rolled light on black.
He looked at her, almost afraid.
"What happens next?" She turned back to the screen.
He shook his head at her sudden change of subject and tried to keep up. "What do you mean?"
She gestured with her chin. "To Cora. Hawkeye. What happens next?"
Tony moistened his lips. "I don't know," he managed.
She accepted this in silence, and a beat passed before she spoke again. "You asked me what I found." Tony could only watch. "I found that," she swallowed, "as much as I want permanence. Resolution..." She inhaled again and raised her hands. Her fingers flexed, then dropped back to her lap. "There is something else that I want even more."
"And what's that?" The words came out as a whisper.
She looked at him, eyes clear and bright. "Another chance."
"You know," he began uncertainly, "I wasn't even sure you'd come back after we found you. " He remembered a long ago day with the sand stinging his skin. "And then you did come back, but…" he trailed off for a moment. "It wasn't really you."
She nodded. "I know. I…am trying."
He smiled a little at that. Alice's eyes retreated from his mind. "So am I."
"Then, perhaps that is enough." She looked at him then. Smiled a tentative smile and reached for his hand.
He looked down to see her fingers entwined with his. "I'd do it all again," he whispered. "I'd find you. I'd bring you back."
She nodded, also captivated by their hands. "No matter what occurs," she quoted. And he heard the promise in the words.
"I'll always find you."
"Then maybe," she smiled a soft smile meant only for him. "Maybe that is what happens next."
Before them, the screen rolled to black.
***
***
***
Author: tinkerbell99
Fandom: NCIS
Characters: Tony, Ziva, with a bit of the rest of the team
Rating: PG-13
Spoilers: Through the beginning of Season 7
Disclaimer: NCIS and The Last of the Mohicans do not belong to me. Quotes from the movie are contained within.
Summary: "Ever seen last of the Mohicans? If you had, Saleem, you'd already know how all this is going to end." An alternate version of Tony describing the team in that Somali camp and of the aftermath that follows. Tiva undertones and Last of the Mohicans movie references throughout.
Author's Note: This started as I noticed a few similarities. It just kind of snowballed from there…
"Ever seen Last of the Mohicans? 1992? Daniel Day-Lewis and Madeleine Stowe?"
Saleem fingered the hilt of his knife.
"Course not," Tony scoffed. "You probably read the book instead." He shook his head in disgust. "If you had seen the movie, Saleem, you'd know how all this is going to end."
"And how is that?"
Tony arched against the unforgiving chair. "Well, first - and this is a spoiler alert - it's different from the book." He laughed softly. "Ends the same for you either way, but we'll get to that. First, we have to establish the characters. Setting. Then comes the plot." Across from him, Ziva sat slumped and unmoving in the dimly lit cell.
"I do not wish to know about a movie." Saleem leaned in close, silver blade in hand. "Tell me about NCIS."
"Not afraid of a few spoilers, are you?" Tony questioned. "If you were, you shouldn't have given me truth serum!" He rocked against the chair with his last words as if punctuating his point. Amused, Saleem backed away.
Tony took a slow breath and began. "Takes place during the French and Indian war. Funny they call it that, when it was the French and English doing the fighting. Actually, the colonists and the natives seemed to be the ones getting killed." He twitched against the invisible tightness in his throat while he watched his partner before him. "Seems like it's never the ones dying who give the orders." Bruises glowed darkly on Ziva's pale skin.
Dragging his eyes back to Saleem, Tony continued, "Anyway, it takes place on the frontier, in the middle of nowhere with just these outpost forts and...camps." His eyes skittered around the room. "Real primitive places. Lot of guns, though. But you're probably familiar with all that," he grinned up at Saleem and earned a slap.
"Enough. Tell me about your people."
"I am," Tony spat. He swallowed against the burning in his throat. "First, there's Cora Munro. She's not from America, but over time she comes to appreciate it there. To understand it. To like it." Ziva raised her gaze slightly, a question forming in her swollen eyes.
"Cora, she's the daughter of Colonel Munro. He's British. Well, actually Scottish, but that's a whole other thing. Anyway, she's the daughter of this real important English officer." He swallowed. "Long, dark hair. Dark eyes." His words slowed as he tried to stop them from tumbling out of his mouth. "She's beautiful." His eyes found Ziva's with purpose and she lowered her head.
Tony exhaled a breath before picking up again. "Anyway, there's this Huron Indian, Magua, working with the French. Nasty guy. Got a thing for knives." He looked up at their captor. "You'd like him. Got a lot in common." Saleem reached for a canteen, but did not speak. "He's got a blood vengeance against Colonel Munro. And even though he may have his reasons, he decides to take it out on Cora. Munro's daughter." Tony eyed Ziva's bent form. "Any of this sounding familiar, Saleem?" he asked, a bite in his words.
Replacing the canteen's cap, Saleem looked on with a disinterested glare.
"No? I'm surprised. It really should. Well, here's where it gets good. There's these three guys, and two of them are the last of a vanishing people. The Mohicans. Bet you couldn't guess that from the title," he laughed. "Anyway, the father, his name is Chingachgook. Strong, silent type. Doesn't say much, but he's clearly the one in charge. I wouldn't want to cross him." He gestured with his chin toward Ziva. "She gets what I'm talking about here." He almost thought he saw a smile, but maybe that was just the serum flowing in his blood.
"Then there's Chingachgook's son, Uncas." Tony observed McGee's crumpled form, motionless on the ground. "Course, things don't turn out so well for him," he muttered softly. He inhaled the dusty air. "Anyway, midway through the movie Cora and her sister, Alice, are taken by-"
"Who is the third man?" Saleem interrupted. Tony's eyes narrowed slightly in confusion. "You said there were three men. This Chingachgook, Uncas, and...?"
Tony's lips pulled into a grin. "Ah, see, now you're interested!" Saleem turned to peer out the window into the distance. "I told you it's a good story!" He swallowed against the dryness in his throat. "The third man, Saleem, is Hawkeye. Nathaniel. La Longue Carabine. Adopted son of Chingachgook. Daniel Day-Lewis in a role he should have gotten more credit for." Tony straightened his shoulders and squared his chest. "He's the masculine yet sensitive hero of our story."
"And you fancy yourself this 'long rifle'?" Saleem asked.
Tony chuckled. "You know your French! Of course you do. Probably got that from a book, too. Anyway, Magua, that's the Huron, kidnaps the Munro girls. Leads them north into Huron land. And all the while Chingachgook and his sons are following on their trail. Why?" He turned to Ziva and captured her eyes before he spoke. "Because Hawkeye's in love with Cora. 'No matter how long it takes, no matter how far, I will find you.' That's what he promises." Ziva shied away from his heavy gaze. Tony leaned back. Facing the ceiling, he sighed. "Great scene, under the falls..."
"What is your point, Agent DiNozzo?"
His head snapped forward to glare at Saleem. "My point is that those three men run day and night to find them." His voice darkened. "And you know, you just know, they're never going to stop, because there's nothing Hawkeye won't do to get Cora back. Or, Saleem," he leaned forward as far as his bonds would allow, "to exact his revenge."
"Was that some sort of threat? Your friend is bound on the floor. This one?" He gestured with the tip of his knife to Ziva's pale neck. "Can't even rise from her chair. You overestimate your capabilities...Hawkeye," he smirked.
Tony's lip curled dangerously. "We haven't gotten to the end of the movie yet, Saleem." In the silence that followed, he continued, his words slow and quiet. "There's a showdown, a reckoning, on top of this mountain." He sighed, eyes focused on Ziva's defeated face. "It was too late by the time they all got to Alice." He swallowed against the words that would come next. "Cora's sister died," he concluded softly. The statement hung in the dusty air. A solitary tear slid down a bruised cheek. "And Uncas, well, that's where I'd like to make a little plot change. Desert's pretty flat, Saleem. No cliffs around here."
Saleem smirked. "And what of the gallant Hawkeye?"
Tony continued, voice matter-of-fact. "Oh, he did his part. Held the Hurons at bay. In the end he got the girl."
"And Magua? The savage villain? Felled by Hawkeye, I suppose, to rescue the girl. A typical ending." Saleem looked pointedly at Tony's bound wrists. "I do not think that is a possibility here."
"Oh, no, Saleem. That's where you're wrong. Didn't I tell you? That's the twist. You'd think it'd be Hawkeye, but it's not." Tony grinned and pulled in a breath. "In the end, it's Chingachgook who takes Magua down."
There's a whistle and a belated crack, but Saleem is already dead on the floor.
***
"You know Rivkin was Heyward, right?"
"Tony, please. Not this again." McGee scrubbed one hand over the back of his neck. The grit of sand mingled with sweat and sun burned his skin. He leaned his head against a hastily erected wall and watched as two men in desert camo ran by. Everything around them moved so fast, but the noise of the temporary base seemed frustratingly muffled after the gunfire in Saleem's camp only a short time before.
Beside him, Tony fingered a bloodstain on his pants. "Think about it," he said quietly, head bowed. "Makes sense. Eli David sent Rivkin to Ziva. Cora's father has Heyward take her to the fort. 'Course, she wasn't supposed to assassinate a terrorist along the way..." His lips drew up in a humorless smirk.
McGee shot him a worried glance. "Keep drinking your water. They said it would help clear your head."
"My head is clear," Tony snapped, but he reached for the bottle anyway, wincing as he twisted against bruised ribs. "Guy hit on her through the whole movie. Lied about things he saw." He took a sip of the too-warm liquid and resisted the urge to spit in the sand. "Only decent thing he did was sacrifice himself for her at the end." He squinted against the hot wind. "Can't say that for Rivkin."
McGee breathed a tired sigh.
"It was a mercy killing in the movie. Hawkeye shoots Duncan while he burns in a fire. Puts him out of his misery." He took another sip. "Don't think Ziva sees it that way here."
"It's over now, Tony. Let it go."
Tony inspected a swollen hand as he gripped the bottle. "She didn't say a word the whole way here," he reflected. "Just looked right through us. Like we weren't even there." With a resigned expression, he replaced the cap. "It's far from over." Muffled bursts of gunfire drifted over the sand from somewhere in the distance.
The two sat in silence until Gibbs approached. Tony stubbornly studied his boots.
"How is she?" McGee shielded his eyes as he looked up at his boss.
Wearily, Gibbs inclined his head, stretching his neck before taking a seat on another bench. "Transport should be ready soon."
McGee's eyes flickered to Tony at the unanswered question, but the senior field agent's head remained bent toward the ground. Looking back toward Gibbs, he tried again. "Is she...okay?"
Beside him, Tony's shoulders shook. "Did she look okay, McGee?"
"Tony, that's not what I meant. I was just asking if she- "
"You saw her in that chair. We had to drag her out of the building. She couldn't even walk! Did that look like 'okay Ziva' to you?"
"Tony," Gibbs' warning came softly.
Exhaling, Tony leaned back against the wall and searched the sky. He squinted against the painful brightness and the persistent throbbing in his skull. Silence reigned for a few moments more until he found the courage to voice the only thought on his mind. "Is she coming back with us?"
McGee's head snapped forward in surprise. His lips parted to speak, but he found himself unsure what to ask. "Boss?"
"Transport's for four," was Gibbs' measured reply.
"Does she know that?" Tony again faced the ground.
McGee bit his lip until a hand landed on his knee in wordless apology. "I was telling McGee," Tony paused and straightened his back, "Actually, I was telling my good friend Saleem that this whole thing is like The Last of the Mohicans." He ran a hand roughly through his hair. "But you've probably never seen it."
They watched as sand swirled with the wind. The sound of gunfire ebbed away. Gibbs nudged Tony's mostly full water bottle with his boot before clearing his throat. "I read the book. Long time ago."
Tony let out a breath in a halfhearted huff. "Yeah." He swallowed and reached for the bottle, taking his time unscrewing the cap. He drank, then looked into the distance. "At least McGee didn't end up at the bottom of a cliff gutted with a knife."
Gibbs studied him narrowly and Tony closed his eyes against the scrutiny. He willed the ringing in his ears to stop. "There's a couple different versions of the ending. One I guess they shot, but never used." He opened his eyes and stared down into the bottle. "Hawkeye basically proposes to Cora on top of the mountain. Asks her to stay with him on the frontier. Be his wife." He drained the last of the liquid before throwing the empty container across the sand. "Guess that one wasn't very realistic."
"Agent Gibbs?" Steeling himself, Gibbs rose to acknowledge a young man's approach. "Medics will be done in a few minutes. Got transportation ready for your team."
Gibbs nodded. "She cleared to travel?" His fingers flexed involuntarily while he awaited the answer. McGee watched with widened eyes.
"We've done what we can for her here, sir. No reason to stay." With a quick nod, the young man strode away. Gibbs reclaimed his seat.
"No spoilers from that guy," Tony muttered. Under McGee's questioning look, he clarified. "He said that she's cleared to travel. Not that she was going to. Or, at least not with us."
Gibbs sighed. "Her choice to make, DiNozzo."
With a huff of breath, Tony pushed up from the bench and paced away, lacing his fingers behind his head as he walked. He stooped to pick up the bottle he'd thrown and drummed an impatient rhythm against his hand. After a few moments, he returned, leaning his body heavily against the wall. He looked to Gibbs. "I don't suppose you're going to try to convince her?"
After studying his senior field agent for a moment, Gibbs shook his head. His lips were pressed into a thin line, eyes focused on his own tenting fingers. "No."
Tony's flat palm slammed against the wall. "'Course not," he spat.
"She'll make her choice."
"Yeah." Tony swallowed. "What if it's the wrong one?"
Gibbs blinked. "Then we find her again."
Tony's head made contact with the wall as he again searched the sky. "I hate sequels."
The trio remained in silence until movement from beside a canvas cover caught their attention. Rounding the corner, Ziva appeared, flanked by a medic at her side. Gibbs rose, but motioned for the younger agents to stay behind. McGee stood next to Tony, and together they watched Gibbs' approach. Ziva's eyes stayed lowered to the sand. The man to her left spoke mostly to Gibbs, gesturing occasionally to her, then to a vehicle some fifty feet away.
McGee inclined his head toward Tony's ear. "She's walking on her own. I mean, that's gotta be good," he said hopefully. He watched for a few seconds more. "What do you think they're saying?"
Tony just shook his head as the muted conversation dragged on. Gibbs' figure shimmered in the heat. "On some of the DVDs," he began lowly, "there's an extended final scene. Chingachgook gives this long speech about how the frontier is changing and his way of life is being destroyed." He watched as Ziva's dark hair blew before her eyes. She made no move to stop it. "Never liked that ending."
"How come?"
"Gibbs seem like the speech-giving type to you?" A ghost of a smile pulled at McGee's lips. "Original ending suited it better. Things were left unsaid. Just the three of them on top of a mountain. Nothing carved in stone."
"I always liked endings like that," McGee mused.
"Why's that?" Tony's eyes remained fixed on his boss.
"Well, you could make up whatever ending you liked. Finish the story however you wanted." He shrugged. "Guess that's why I like to write."
As he spoke, Gibbs turned. He gestured with his chin, indicating that they should follow across the sand. Ziva, Tony noticed, walked behind him. Neither spoke a word.
"Guess we get the original ending, then," Tony sighed. "Too many things left unsaid." He shouldered his pack and McGee moved to follow.
***
"Agent DiNozzo?" Tony looked up from his shoes. The collar of his shirt scratched against his sunburned neck. "Director Vance will see you now."
With a grim nod of thanks, Tony stood, straightened his tie, and stepped through the door. It clicked shut with finality behind him. Once inside, he turned as Leon Vance rose to his feet from behind his desk, the early morning sunlight streaming in behind him. He eyed Tony's bruised cheek and solemnly extended his hand.
After the briefest pause, Tony stepped away from the door, closed the gap between them, and accepted Vance's grip.
"Congratulations on a job well done." He nodded in response, lips drawn into a line. Vance released his hand and indicated a chair. "Have a seat, Agent DiNozzo. Thanks for coming in so early. This won't take long." Vance settled himself behind his desk and folded his hands over a stack of cream colored files. He let a beat pass before speaking again. "Plan worked."
Tony didn't respond.
"It's a credit to you," Vance offered, unfolding his hands. When there was still no reply, he opened a file and sifted slowly through the paper within. "Gibbs and McGee, too, certainly," he added, pulling one sheet of paper to the top.
"Wouldn't have happened without them," Tony finally spoke.
"True," Vance nodded, "but mostly, it's you." His gaze settled squarely on the younger agent. Somewhere in the room, a clock ticked gently. The smell of burnt coffee made Tony's stomach turn. "Your idea, your execution, your Op." He glanced down at the typed sheet before him, then back up at Tony. "Successful one."
"Some parts more than others."
Concealing his reaction, Vance shifted two folders deliberately before speaking again. His eyes returned to the file. "You seen David since you got back?" he questioned casually.
Tony inhaled, ribs protesting at the breath. "No. Not since we returned to NCIS yesterday afternoon."
Vance nodded slightly and finished a paragraph before he looked up. He took in Tony's slightly rumpled shirt and rimmed eyes. "You sleep since you've been back?"
Tony didn't answer, just held his gaze.
"I'll take that as a no." He reached for a pen and resumed reading the paper on his desk, making rough notations in the margins.
Seconds ticked by all too slowly. The back of Tony's neck began to itch. Eventually, he broke the silence. "Was that all, director?"
Slowly, Vance replaced the pen. He gathered sheets of paper, squared their edges, and tucked them back into their files. His hands once again folded on top of the desk. "No." A moment later, he found a toothpick and removed it from its wrapper. Sunlight glinted on the cellophane. "We need to talk about Saleem's camp."
Tony's vision flickered to the top of the desk. "You have my report."
"And Agent Gibbs' and McGee's." Vance nodded, then inclined his head. "But they don't tell me what I want to know. And neither did yours."
"What is it you want to know, director?" Tony waited for the answer he didn't want to hear.
"Ziva David," Vance spoke sharply. He leaned forward even more, resting his weight on top of his arms. "Where does she fall?"
"You'd need to ask her."
With a half smile of annoyance, Vance leaned back in his chair and exhaled before speaking. "At the moment, Miss David doesn't work for me. You do. And I'm asking your opinion. Just like I'll ask Gibbs and McGee. Is she worth taking back?"
Tony exhaled a mirthless laugh.
"Something you want to share?" Vance straightened.
Tony's lips pulled back to a humorless smile. He swallowed. "Just," he ground his teeth. "This whole time I've been trying to figure out if you're Sachem or General Webb. Turns out, maybe you're Montcalm."
Vance inhaled slowly, letting silence fill the room. Tony's head dropped down to once again study his shoes under the quiet rebuke. The fight drained from his body with each tick of the clock. Finally, he spoke. "What makes you think she'd want to come back?" he asked quietly.
The director leaned back in his chair. "Eli David left his daughter to die in a desert," he began matter of factly. "She was captured by the enemy. Mission failed and she had to be rescued. By us. By you." He pointed one finger at Tony, who looked up in surprise. "How do you think that plays inside Mossad? She goes back to Israel, what's she got left?"
"So you want her here?"
"I'm tasked with providing my agency with the best possible assets. I need to know if she's still one of them."
Tony nodded very slightly and focused on holding his features steady.
With a softer voice, Vance continued. "Contrary to what you may think, Agent DiNozzo," he began, "I am not the Sachem, General Webb, or Montcalm."
Despite his efforts, Tony's eyes widened in surprise. Vance drummed his fingers on top of the files in a deliberate rhythm.
"I'm not sentencing David to die in a fire in front of Mossad. I force her back to Israel, Eli will have her dead inside a year whether it's planned or not. If she goes, that's her choice. Big world out there; plenty of options for her. I'm just not sure one of them is here." Tony clenched his jaw. "General Webb," Vance continued, "failed to reinforce his troops. Was afraid for his own safety and sacrificed his men in the process. You ever wonder who pulled the hidden strings for you to get in and out of Africa to begin with?"
Tony's mouth opened, then closed. The morning sunlight seemed too bright, but his shoulders began to relax under its warmth.
"And I'm not the French guy, either," Vance grinned around the toothpick. "I don't hire other people to do my dirty work. Surely by now, you know whose side I'm on. I'm not the bad guy here."
Tony looked on in silence as the director stood. Finding his legs, he scrambled up after.
Vance's fingers rested on top of the file containing McGee's report. "Last of the Mohicans, DiNozzo?" he asked, eyebrows raised.
Tony let out half a laugh in nervous acknowledgement.
Vance shrugged. "Creative way to get around truth serum. Just don't try it on a polygraph." He began to walk toward the door. Tony followed. "Though I gotta admit, Gibbs makes one hell of a Chingachgook."
Tony swallowed his surprise. Vance caught his expression with amusement. "One of Jackie's favorite movies. Probably seen it half a dozen times."
Tony merely nodded, and Vance paused with his hand resting on the handle of the door. His face drew together in seriousness once again as he faced the younger agent head on. "End of the movie," the director began quietly, "the younger sister, Alice, she jumps off a cliff. It's all too much for her. She's too fragile. Broken. Cora was always the strong one."
Tony watched, his own breath too loud in his ears.
"Decisions are going to have to be made, but I don't want to rush them. You asked me what I wanted to know."
Tony nodded, the message already clear.
"What I want to know, Agent DiNozzo, is which sister we took back from that desert." With that, the door swung wide and Tony was dismissed.
***
The door swung wide from Vance's office to reveal Gibbs and Ziva seated opposite the assistant's desk, each carefully avoiding the other's gaze. Summoned, as Tony had been, for an early morning meeting about all the things they couldn't say. Gibbs looked, Tony noticed, little worse for the wear. Some extra sun, a scratch or two, just another day at the office. He thought briefly that the man could probably fight through the entire French and Indian, Revolutionary, Civil, and Gulf wars and still appear the next day dressed, shaved, and coffee in hand as though he'd merely had to cross the street.
Ziva, though, she was different. Different from Gibbs, different from herself. While Gibbs rose to his feet with no further concern than the cup in his hand, Ziva uncharacteristically took her time. Her normal grace was replaced by cautious, wary shifts in posture and stance. Tony couldn't help but notice how she tried to camouflage the pain in her ribs by pulling her sweater tighter around her waist. Pain, he reflected, that probably make his own twinges feel like an amusement park ride.
As Vance ushered them inside and Tony out, Gibbs met his agent's eye with a careful, assessing nod. He swung into the office without comment, leaving Ziva to follow behind.
Tony found his feet slowing as she passed. He caught her eyes for a moment. Found them in the middle of the swollen bruises that marred the rest of her face. She looked at him. Looked through him. Acknowledged his presence as one would a stranger and passed into the threshold with the door closing behind her.
He heard the door click like a rifle primed to fire.
***
One foot in front of the other. One step at a time. Pick up keys from his desk, grab his bag, and take the elevator out into the early morning sun. Go home. Go somewhere. Go anywhere where those empty eyes wouldn't crowd his mind. At least, that was the plan.
Tony made his way down the stairs and entered the bullpen. It was still quiet, too early for most except those on team Gibbs. Whoever, Tony wondered, the people were on team Gibbs currently were.
One foot in front of the other. One step at a-
"Did you see Ziva?" McGee looked up from the monitor on his desk.
Flinching slightly at the unexpected presence in the otherwise quiet room, Tony turned to his partner in slight irritation. "What are you doing here?" He eyed the clock, comparing it to the dark rims under McGee's eyes. "Vance told you to stay home today."
McGee's fingers flew over the keyboard. "Vance told all of us to stay home today." He squinted at the screen as he spoke. "Actually, so did Gibbs. I had to turn in the rest of my paperwork." He gave his mouse several impatient clicks. "Then I ran into Abby..." he let that statement hang in the air. No words were really necessary after that.
Finding himself suddenly tired, Tony leaned against the edge of his desk. "I'm amazed she isn't here right now."
"She's running ballistics on a case from last week. Only way she'd let me out of her sight." He rolled his eyes. "After that it was Ducky."
"Our own Mr. Phelps."
"He gave me some aloe for my sunburn." McGee rubbed his peeling nose as he eyed his partner with concern. "You should have him take a look at your ribs."
"I'm fine," Tony pushed off from his desk, his torso calling his statement a lie.
"I was there when it happened, Tony. I doubt you're fine."
He chose not to answer and instead watched as McGee powered down his machine. "You heading out?"
"Yeah." McGee grabbed his bag. "Didn't exactly sleep much last night. Just came in to drop off the last of my report." He squinted at Tony. "Why are you here? You were finished last night."
Tony let his eyes roll up to the balcony. "Meeting with Sachem. Webb. Whoever he is today."
Unsure how to respond, McGee nodded. "I heard Gibbs and Ziva were up there, too. So much for that whole 'staying home today' thing." He bent low toward his desk, eyeing the keyboard with a disbelieving stare. "How is that even possible?" he muttered.
"What?"
"There's sand in my keyboard. How did that even happen?"
"Just another souvenir from our African safari." Tony sighed. "Sand's one thing that's never left behind." His eyes drifted back upstairs. "Gets into everything and never goes away."
Distracted, Tim agreed. "Guess so. It's gonna take me forever to clean that out."
Tony didn't voice an answer, just tore his eyes away from the balcony, clamped one hand down on his partner's shoulder, and steered them both away from their desks. Together, they walked toward the elevator, dodging the agents who exited into the bullpen ready to begin their day's work.
Eyes on the carpet, one foot in front of the other. Anywhere but here. The air conditioning seemed too cold on Tony's skin. He wondered if he'd always feel chilled after the heat of the desert.
"Tony?" It took him a moment to realize McGee had stopped next to the keypad with his eyebrows raised in concern. "Did you hear me? I asked if you saw Ziva up there."
The elevator opened, but he couldn't make his feet move.
McGee placed his hand against the door. The metal shuddered as it retracted back into the wall. "Yeah, McGee. I saw her." He brushed past Tim's hand.
"How's she look?"
"She looks..." He exhaled a defeated sigh while Vance's words swam in his head. The elevator pinged insistently. "She looks like Alice."
The door closed before them.
Anywhere but here.
***
Anywhere but here, as it turned out, meant Gibbs' basement. Tony wondered why he was even surprised.
He hadn't intended to wind up there. It was just that after spending the better part of the morning staring at the ceiling above his couch and the majority of the afternoon driving around the greater Washington area, he'd eventually given in and turned back in the direction he'd always known he'd head. He'd sat parked down the street while the sun crept down and leaned against the porch until the streetlights turned on. He'd lingered in his boss's kitchen until his feet finally found the basement stairs.
One foot in front of the other all the way down.
"You're supposed to be sleeping, DiNozzo." The lack of surprise in Gibbs' tone only confirmed that he'd known the plan all along.
"Yeah, well, I'm supposed to be doing a lot of things." Tony paused, running his hand over the wooden rail as he slowed for the last few steps. "I'm just not sure what any of them are." Shaking his head, he launched himself off the last stair. "You talked to Ziva." A statement and a question all in one.
Gibbs looked up briefly, leisurely, but continued with the boat.
Circling around the half-formed arch, Tony tried again. "What did Vance say?"
Gibbs straightened his back and rolled his neck. He turned to the work bench and emptied a jar. A bottle of bourbon soon appeared.
Nodding acceptance to his boss's silence, Tony began to pace. "You know, he's seen the movie. Thought you'd make a good Chingachgook." He accepted a newly filled jar. Gibbs returned to the boat with empty hands reserved for his tools. "All that woodworking you do, I bet you could make a mean one of those axe type things he's always using." Tony made a halfhearted throwing gesture with his free hand before circling both around the cooling glass.
The only sound was the scrape of the wood and soft rustle of shavings floating to the ground.
Tony studied the golden curls on the cement floor. "Ever built a log cabin?"
No response.
"Just as well, it'd probably burn. They tend to do that." Tony swallowed the end of an over long pull. He studied the liquid in his hands before he spoke again. "You know, we didn't even know she was alive," he said quietly. "Not really, anyway."
Gibbs crouched to level the wood.
Tony continued to speak to the bourbon, watching as it swirled in the jar. "Going in, all I was thinking was take out Saleem. Get the job done. Then they pulled off that hood..." He took a drink and listened to the scrape of the tools. "Now, it's like some second chance, except it's not. Not if she doesn't want it to be." He stepped to the work bench, and his thumb came to circle the top of the bottle.
Blue eyes watched carefully as he added to his jar. "I mean," he huffed, replacing the lid, "what is she even thinking right now?" He directed the question to his silent companion.
Gibbs just shot him a warning glance.
Tony shook his head and stared down at his drink. "You won't tell me. Of course you won't tell me." He exhaled a bitter laugh. "You won't talk to me, she won't look at me, and what did I expect? It's the end of the movie, the credits rolled, and I'm standing on that mountain all alone!"
Gibbs straightened. His eyes flickered from Tony's face to the jar in his hand and back again. He took a deliberate step forward and finally spoke. Soft. Accusing. "That what you're afraid of?" The words were barely a whisper.
Tony held his gaze.
"Standing there alone?" He inched closer.
Tony swallowed. "What if I am?"
"Then get your priorities straight!" Gibbs eased off after the sudden shout. He retreated a bit. "Desert was the easy part."
Tony clenched and unclenched his jaw. Gibbs returned to work on his boat, but Tony remained rooted to the spot. It took half the jar for him to speak again.
"What if...What if we hadn't gone after Saleem? We didn't even know she was out there." He pursed his lips, then leaned against the work bench. "One more week...hell, one more day and we would have lost her." He swirled the liquid in this hand thoughtfully. "Maybe we already did. You've seen the way she looks."
Gibbs' shoulders fell a fraction of an inch, but he didn't say a word.
"Vance asked me which sister we brought back from the desert. I didn't know what to say." He stretched in a futile effort to stop the aching reminders from his ribs. "It just can't be so...accidental. Coincidental. " Tony trailed off and took a sip. "We all know how you feel about those." He sighed. "It's just...if we can find her that way, we can lose her that way, too."
Gibbs reached for a raw length of wood and began to measure out tiny pencil marks, one at a time.
Eventually, Tony chuckled. "This," he gestured with the jar toward Gibbs. "This is what you do." He finished the jar and pulled his lips into half a grin. "You just work on your boat without saying a word. Let everybody else do all the talking. 'Cause, eventually, they're gonna say what it is they should say and then you..." he trailed off as his boss reached methodically for another piece of wood. "You just keep on working on your boat." With a wry smile, Tony turned his eyes to the floor.
"You gotta give her time, DiNozzo. She's only been back a day."
"Haven't we all," Tony muttered. He took a few aimless steps. "She just looks so lost."
Gibbs inclined his head. "Then find her again."
No matter how long it takes, no matter how far, I will find you.
The line came to him, floated into his brain from a hot and dusty room a lifetime ago. Tony closed his eyes and Gibbs softened his words. "Gonna take time. You'll get there."
You'll get there. Somehow, Tony couldn't find the courage to ask him to clarify exactly what he meant. You'll get there. Not she'll get there. He realized with sudden alarm that he didn't even know where there was to begin with. But Gibbs did. Or he seemed to. Seemed like he had all the answers just like always and Tony decided it was probably best if he didn't ask questions on an empty stomach and two jars of bourbon anyway.
"She's alive because of you." Gibbs ran a tired hand over his head. "Just, give her time to realize that. Mean time," he reached for the bench, "make yourself useful." He handed over a sanding block.
Tony exchanged his empty jar and rolled the block thoughtfully in his hands. "You know," he observed quietly, "your boat's better than truth serum."
"Tell me something I don't know, DiNozzo." Gibbs resumed his work while Tony approached a rib. "You'll get the same headache with the bourbon, though," he added.
Tony hesitantly raised his hands.
"With the grain."
He smiled, almost. "On it, boss."
And time began to pass.
***
Gibbs was right. He usually was. Tony knew this.
It took time.
Time which passed both fast and slow, in moments that took days and weeks that lasted seconds. Time that ticked on through crime scenes and Abby's lab, the autopsy bay and a boat. It listened to the story of Daniel Cryer and observed the appearance and dismissal of Ben-Gidon. It watched Gibbs whisper words into Ziva's ear that Tony would never come to hear and Ziva would take time to understand. And slowly, the memory of the desert heat and presence of those empty eyes faded. Their appearance became less and less common like errant grains of sand.
Until, that is, the day Ziva cornered Tony in the men's restroom, chased a shocked probie agent from a urinal, and asked to watch a movie.
***
"You stay alive. If they don't kill you, they'll take you North, up to Huron land. Submit, do you hear? You're strong, you survive. You stay alive no matter what occurs. I will find you. No matter how long it takes, no matter how far, I will find you."
***
Probationary agent Alexander Cole whistled when he peed. This was common knowledge around the NCIS water cooler, and so Tony wasn't so surprised by the first few notes of 'The Twelve Days of Christmas' as he was by its abrupt conclusion.
"Cole, you can't just leave it at the French hens. You gotta at least finish the-" he turned to find the source of Cole's distress standing unimpressed in front of the door. Silent as her stealthy entry, Ziva let her eyes wander none too subtly to the probie's unzipped fly. She raised one eyebrow suggestively, and he made a quick exit past her, the door closing behind him as he struggled with a button. Tony thought for a moment, as he zipped his own pants closed, that he saw a flicker of amusement cross her face.
"Good way to clear a room there, Ziva."
She shrugged, a slight gleam of mischief still evident in the quirk of her lips. "He could have finished," she offered with perfect innocence.
Tony turned on the faucet and swiped at the soap. "Nah. Heard one verse, you've heard them all. Literally."
"The whistling would not be so bad if he could lift a tune," Ziva observed, coming to lean one hip against the counter.
Carry a tune, he mentally corrected. "Or if it was something other than Christmas carols."
"Is that all he-"
"Year round." Tony shook the water from his hands and reached for a paper towel. He realized abruptly that he'd run out of things to say. Except, of course, for all the things they left unsaid.
They looked at each other for a moment while he waited for her to speak. He reached over to tighten the faucet's handle. It continued to drip.
"I have been thinking," she began slowly, "about that movie."
It should have taken him a moment to understand. It should have caught him off guard. But the truth was that somehow he'd known this day was coming for months. He'd waited for the question since that day in Saleem's camp.
"The one you...told about." She looked up shrewdly, making sure he understood what she couldn't find the words to say. Satisfied he knew, she lowered her gaze. "I would like to see it," she finished in a rush.
He didn't bother to act surprised. Just watched her with a measured stare. "Are you sure that's a good idea?"
She looked down at her interlocked hands with a tight smile on her lips. "I think it is time," she stated simply, then looked up to meet his eyes.
He waited. Watched for any sign her resolve would falter. When it didn't, he gave a quick nod. "See you tonight, then."
She left without a word.
It took him several minutes to follow.
***
"We do not understand what is happening here."
***
Tonight actually became two nights later thanks to a petty officer's disappearance and a staff sergeant's murder. He wondered if she'd change her mind, but she appeared at his door on a Thursday night bearing a cautious smile accompanied by a nervous laugh. Tony found himself wishing this was just another night, another movie, another lifetime set before an African camp.
"Am I too early?"
Tony shrugged off her uncharacteristic lack of certainty and ushered her in. "Not at all." In fact, he wondered if they were both months too late. After taking her coat, he realized there was nowhere else to turn except the couch. "Make yourself at home," he offered.
She did, choosing to slip off her shoes and perch cross-legged on the middle cushion. Tony wondered if she even noticed the way her fingers worried over the edges of her sleeves.
He swallowed, fidgeting with the remote while standing just to her side. "You sure you want to do this?" he asked quietly.
To his surprise she offered him a tiny smile. "Sit down, Tony." Her eyes slid to the seat beside her. He complied. "This movie," she began while running one finger over the case, "it is the way you see the team. The way you see...us?" Her eyes were large against pale skin.
"In a manner of speaking."
"Then I would like to see it. To understand this." He wondered if she was aware that her gestures filled the space between them. Space that had once, long ago, seemed so small.
Turning to the television, he started the movie. "Okay, then." He took a breath as the opening drum beat began to sound over the thudding in his own head. "Here we go."
She turned to the screen and he watched as she read the opening text. He fidgeted beside her. "See, it's called the French and Indian War but it was really England and France fighting for control of the colonies."
She looked at him strangely. "I am aware of the history, Tony."
Chastised, he nodded. "Okay, it's just that things like that - with the names - usually kind of confuse you."
He let her watch in silence for a time. It wasn't until the first battle in the woods that she turned back to him. She had watched with a raised eyebrow as Chingachgook took down a Huron at a distance with his club. "This is Gibbs?" she asked, turning to Tony with an amused squint. He nodded. "Well, that is certainly accurate." A smile pulled at Tony's lips.
"And that," she pointed to the screen where Uncas scalped a fallen enemy, "is McGee?" She shook her head in disbelief. "McGee has many capabilities, but I am not sure that," she again gestured to the movie, "is one of them."
"I was tied to a chair and pumped full of truth serum. I connected the metaphor where I could."
She didn't respond save for a slow half nod. On screen, Hawkeye and Uncas approached the charred remains of a cabin. The music darkened, and Tony felt his shoulders tense. A child's foot lay still underneath a fallen beam.
"Is that-"
"Cameron's cabin," he confirmed quietly. "Same one from earlier, with the kids." They watched as smoke crawled toward the sky.
"It is always the innocent." Her voice was weary and quiet, but sure of the truth.
***
"What are you looking at, sir?"
"I'm looking at you, miss."
***
"What are you looking at?" Midway through the movie, she caught him staring. Or, at least called him on the staring. He hadn't meant to, or at least he hadn't meant to do so as obviously as he had. It was just that he was having a hard time watching the images on the screen when she was right there, next to him, looking present and aware and like it was a year before and not after their time in the desert.
"It's just good to see you again," he said quietly.
She looked at him in confusion. "You saw me at work not two hours ago. And I was here when you went into the kitchen for the popcorn."
He smiled softly and ducked his head. "Not what I meant." Under her questioning eyes, he swallowed before continuing. "When you first got back from...When you first got back," he amended, "it was like you weren't seeing anything. Like you were looking through us. Like you were looking straight through me." He dared to raise his eyes.
Ziva stared at him for a long moment before reaching for the television's remote. She paused it, cannon fire frozen on the screen. She placed the remote back on the table before them, its landing too loud in the still room. Folding her hands in her lap, she moistened her lips and began to speak. Her words were halting but clear, and Tony had the impression that she chose each one with a care that was beyond his understanding.
"I have looked...through...many things these past months. Both after I returned and...during." Her head nodded slightly as she spoke. Tony watched as her pale fingers worried one another over the denim of her jeans. "I found myself looking through my past. Trying to reconcile that which was already done with my present. My future." She sighed wearily, then repeated, "I have looked through many things."
Tony raised his eyes from her hands. He captured her faltering eyes with his gaze. "And what did you find?"
He waited. Watched her purse her lips. Incline her head. Watched as an almost smile fluttered to the surface before being quickly tamped down again. Observed as all the little tells that meant nothing and everything were laid out on display.
She looked at him, took a breath to speak, then stopped. He could only watch as she retreated, fixed her lips in a false tight smile, and reached for the remote. "We should finish the movie."
***
"The whole world's on fire."
***
They watched the end of the movie.
They watched as Cora's father died and as Hawkeye promised to come for her in a temporary haven under the falls. They watched Duncan's death and Uncas' sacrifice on the cliff's edge.
Tony looked away as Alice stepped to her death.
And at the end, three people stood on top of a mountain.
***
"Great Spirit and the maker of all life, a warrior goes to you swift and straight as an arrow shot into the sun. Welcome him, and let him take his place at the council fire of my people. He is Uncas, my son. Tell him to be patient and ask death for speed; for they are all there, but one. I, Chingachgook, the last of the Mohicans."
***
Three people stood there in the setting sun.
And Tony thought that, really, at the end, there were only two.
"You asked me what I found." Ziva's voice started him as the credits rolled light on black.
He looked at her, almost afraid.
"What happens next?" She turned back to the screen.
He shook his head at her sudden change of subject and tried to keep up. "What do you mean?"
She gestured with her chin. "To Cora. Hawkeye. What happens next?"
Tony moistened his lips. "I don't know," he managed.
She accepted this in silence, and a beat passed before she spoke again. "You asked me what I found." Tony could only watch. "I found that," she swallowed, "as much as I want permanence. Resolution..." She inhaled again and raised her hands. Her fingers flexed, then dropped back to her lap. "There is something else that I want even more."
"And what's that?" The words came out as a whisper.
She looked at him, eyes clear and bright. "Another chance."
"You know," he began uncertainly, "I wasn't even sure you'd come back after we found you. " He remembered a long ago day with the sand stinging his skin. "And then you did come back, but…" he trailed off for a moment. "It wasn't really you."
She nodded. "I know. I…am trying."
He smiled a little at that. Alice's eyes retreated from his mind. "So am I."
"Then, perhaps that is enough." She looked at him then. Smiled a tentative smile and reached for his hand.
He looked down to see her fingers entwined with his. "I'd do it all again," he whispered. "I'd find you. I'd bring you back."
She nodded, also captivated by their hands. "No matter what occurs," she quoted. And he heard the promise in the words.
"I'll always find you."
"Then maybe," she smiled a soft smile meant only for him. "Maybe that is what happens next."
Before them, the screen rolled to black.
***
***
***