Ziva sighed tiredly, shutting the door behind her quietly. It had been a long day. She grimaced, shaking her head. She couldn’t remember a day that hadn’t been a long one"not since Tony had left three weeks ago.
She’d never realized before what a difference having Tony around made. Even though she found his childish behavior annoying at times, it had certainly made the slower moments more entertaining. She found she missed tossing paperclips back and forth, and shooting rubber bands at one another. She missed hearing his movie references, and inane chatter. The office was far too quiet and way too tense without him.
And when they got a hot case, she missed having another person to rely on, someone else to carry the workload, to add a new perspective and information. She hadn’t understood how accustomed she’d become to their stable team dynamic until suddenly it shifted with Tony’s absence.
She sighed, kicking off her sneakers. Despite the demands of the day, she’d gone for a long run. She had to. It was the only way to get rid of her anger, sorrow and disappointment. Tony had often made fun of her failure to fully comprehend American slang, but this was the first time her lack of understanding had affected her ability to do her job. It was also the first time Tony hadn’t been there to explain things to her.
Tony would have known what a ‘gypsy’ driver was. He would have understood how to translate ‘working off book’. He would have known the significance of ‘street cash’. She knew from reading his file that he’d worked as a transit cop. He would have recognized a valid hack license, knew how the cab system worked, understood the many ways in which it could operate ill-legally. He would have known how to talk to the dispatcher and get his cooperation. Ziva had scared the hell out of the man with her own interrogation techniques, but in the end, she hadn’t understood his answers. Had she been able to comprehended, known how things worked, they might have been fast enough to actually save Thomas Suri.
Ziva hung her head. They’d arrived only a few minutes too late, but it was enough. The only thing left for them to do was to kill the death squad. At least they could say they’d accomplished that much, but it was a far from the victory Ziva wanted to lay claim to.
Their first truly major case since Tony had left and Ziva knew she’d dropped the ball. How the hell was she supposed to explain to Sayda Suri that her soul mate had died because she couldn’t speak the language? How was Sayda ever supposed to understand her soul mate marrying another woman and fathering a child?
Ziva slammed her fisted into the wall. Thomas and Sayda never had a chance to even speak to one another. So much blood, so many tears, all that hope and faith wasted. She cursed vehemently in Hebrew.
She took a deep breath and let it out slowly. Until now, the team hadn’t missed having a fourth"not really. The workload was heavy but manageable. But this case emphasized what Ziva should have known all along---being short a man would cost them all eventually.
Had Tony been there, not only would he have added his expertise, it would have freed up McGee to stay in the office to do what he did best---ferret out information on the computer. McGee was a capable field agent but in this case, he didn’t know any more about cab companies than Ziva.
They had been the blind leading the blind when they’d started researching the cab company. Had it been less than a life and death situation, Ziva was sure it would have been funny to watch them stumble around like it was their first day on the job. As it was, their ineptitude got a man killed. There was nothing amusing about that.
She headed for the bathroom, taking a quick shower. She wished the guilt was as easy to wash away as sweat. Seven years, seven long years the Suris had been separated. It left a bitter taste in Ziva’s mouth that she hadn’t been able to give them even ten minutes together.
Drying off, and slipping into a bathrobe, Ziva made her way to the kitchen. She put the kettle on, thinking a cup of tea might help. If nothing else the chore was familiar, and mindless.
She leaned wearily against the counter as she waited for the water to boil. When the kettle whistled, Ziva filled a mug, dunking an infuser filled with a dark tea from home into the hot water. She breathed in the familiar, rich fragrance, relaxing minutely.
She made her way into her living room to turn on the TV and DVD player. It had become an ingrained habit since Tony left. She had watched the copy of the surveillance footage that Abby had made for her so many times Ziva had each action and nuance memorized; she continued to watch every night when she came home hoping to spot something she’d missed. It was almost a bed time ritual.
She was searching for something that would tell her more than Gibbs or Jenny had about Tony resigning. Neither had been terribly forthcoming. Gibbs, she expected to be closemouthed, but she and Jenny were friends. She expected Jenny to share more with her, to confide in her. But then Jenny hadn’t breathed a word about La Grenouille to Ziva---maybe they were not as close as Ziva had always thought them to be.
Ziva sipped her tea. Something had obviously gone on between Gibbs and Jenny. The air was noticeably chilly whenever they were in the same room together. Ziva wondered if Tony’s quitting hadn’t been some sort of cover for another operation, one Gibbs had objected to. But that wouldn’t explain the notes Tony had left for Ziva and McGee.
Ziva had no idea what McGee’s note had said. Asking to read it seemed too forward, especially when she had no intention of offering her own for McGee to read. Whatever it was had made McGee flush and then lose all color. She suspected his note was akin to hers---a genuine good bye, one with enough of an edge to cut deep, making it plain Tony had no plans to return.
If it was a cover, it was a damn good one and far better than the one Tony had while dating Jeanne, which made Ziva doubt Jenny’s involvement. When they’d worked together, Jenny was good at execution of plans made by others, but not as good at making her own. Details like good-bye notes wouldn’t have occurred to Jenny.
It was possible she’d loaned Tony out to another agency. That would explain the chilly atmosphere between Jenny and Gibbs as well. Gibbs would naturally object to any of his people being passed around for another agency to use. It didn’t entirely explain Tony’s good-byes…unless he thought it was some sort of suicide mission. Ziva refused to consider that idea. He wouldn’t agree to something like that---at least she didn’t think so, but Ziva was increasingly aware of just how little she really knew about Tony.
She wasn’t sure if Gibbs really expected Tony to return or not. He hadn’t filled Tony’s position yet. But Ziva suspected that was more a battle of will between Gibbs and Jenny than the byproduct of any hope of his coming back. Jenny had been trying to force Agent Lee back on Gibbs’ team, and Gibbs had steadfastly refused to even consider taking her.
After today, Ziva wished he hadn’t been so staunch in his stance. They could have done with some help. Even if Lee wasn’t experienced in the field, she could have been helpful. She wasn’t as good as McGee when it came to computers, but she was competent. She could have been busy researching leads while Ziva and McGee followed up outside the office.
Ziva cued the DVD and let it play, settling back to watch the familiar footage. She watched closely as Tony entered NCIS headquarters at 2:02 AM. According to everyone she’d talked to, Tony often came and went in the wee hours. No one even thought it strange. Ziva thought it decidedly odd she hadn’t been aware of Tony’s habit. Why had she never noticed?
A tall, dark haired man entered with Tony. He was Tony’s height, and moved with the same easy, long limbed gait. Ziva had watched them frame by frame more than a dozen times looking for any indication that the stranger was coercing Tony in some way. His hands were in full view of the cameras and he held no weapons. Tony didn’t seem to be trying to avoid him in any way. Both men looked relaxed, their expressions calm and unconcerned. Tony didn’t act like a man being forced to do something against his will. And he certainly hadn’t tried to enlist the guard in any effort to escape.
Ziva had spoken with the security guard on duty. He said Tony introduced the man as ‘Joe’, and asked if it was okay for him to wait in the lobby while Tony ran upstairs and took care of a few loose ends. The guard hadn’t seen anything wrong with Tony’s request. The guard said he and Joe talked about baseball while they waited for Tony to return.
Ziva rolled her eyes remembering that conversation. They really needed to train their security personnel better. He remembered Joe being a Cubs fan, but not his eye color, where he might have been from and what is relationship with Tony was.
The guard had just shrugged when asked. “They seemed like friends, Officer David.”
Ziva had wanted to throttle the man. For all he knew Tony had met the Joe at a bar earlier. The guard hadn’t even asked for a last name or to see any ID.
Watching the screen, she cursed softly. Joe hadn’t touched anything that would give them usable prints. It was impossible to say if that had been deliberate or not.
Abby was using facial recognition software to try and identify him further. He wasn’t a known felon, at least not locally. Abby had expanded the program to search nationwide, but so far they hadn’t gotten a single hit. Realistically, Ziva knew it would take time---a search of that scope would have to---but it was still disappointing to not have their mystery man immediately identified.
Adding in local law enforcement, government agents and military personnel to the scan there were literally over a million faces to compare their mystery ‘Joe’ to. Ziva had stopped asking Abby last week how it was going. Visiting the lab repeatedly to be told there were no hits was frustrating for both of them.
Ziva watched the camera footage shift from the lobby to their floor. Tony stepped off the elevator still looking unconcerned. There was no hesitation. There was also no urgency. It could have been any other day the way he walked to his desk.
It took less than ten minutes for Tony print out the formal resignation he left on Jenny’s desk. That it took so little time could only mean one thing---it had been written before he’d even gotten to the office. Tony jogged up the stairs. He left his badge, gun and resignation on Jenny’s desk and left without a backward glance.
Back on their floor, Tony headed for his desk once more. He stuffed a few things into his backpack, and the sat down to write several notes, folding them into envelopes. All that took him only a few minutes. Clearly he already knew what he wanted to say.
Ziva watched him pull a metal box from his bottom desk drawer and place it on Gibbs’ desk. Ziva hadn’t even known Tony kept the former Marine’s medals. Tony gave the box an almost fond pat, like one might give a dog. She had never seen the bittersweet smile he made before, and even after so many viewings still wasn’t quite sure what to make of it.
He went to McGee’s desk next putting the American Pie mug casually in the center. It was as though he was giving away something he not only had no use for any more but something he’d never truly valued anyway. It made no sense to her. The mug had to have been something Tony purchased. It had to have been something he wanted at one time, something personal, and Tony had always shown a certain territoriality when it came to his things. Yet, he gave away the mug without hesitation, and took very little from his desk---his sketch pad, his backpack, some clothes from the filing cabinet. He left the rest behind without any sign of remorse.
Tony went to Ziva’s desk next. Her gaze shifted from the screen to where the letter opener he gave her now rested on the bookshelf in front of a framed team photo. When she thought Tony had been killed, Ziva had taken the letter opener as something to remember him by. She hadn’t wanted to appear weak or overly sentimental; the letter opener was sufficiently utilitarian, almost weapon like so she could easily excuse wanting it without attaching any emotional significance to it. No one else needed to know how fondly she remembered the way Tony gestured with it from time to time, how he often succeeded in getting it to balance upright on the point, or that he’d once pretended to dual Ziva with it striking ridiculous poses that wouldn’t have been out of place in most Errol Flynn movies.
She only realized how good her excuse about the opener’s balance had been when, in his note, Tony had told her he wasn’t sure why she’d want something incapable of holding an edge. ‘If anyone could turn the mundane into a useful weapon it would be you, Ziva.’ The line could have been a compliment, but she doubted Tony meant it that way.
When she’d first watched the security footage, Ziva hoped to see some sorrow in Tony, some sign that he hadn’t wanted to leave, or an indication he was being pressured in some way. Repeated viewings only served to confirm what she’d seen the first time---resignation, determination and oddly a lot of relief.
Tony’s next stop was Abby’s lab. He left a note for her and unlike Ziva, McGee and Gibbs, the item he placed on her keyboard was wrapped. It was something he’d pulled from his jacket pocket. Ziva had no idea what it was. Abby refused to open it saying she’d wait until she saw Tony in person. The gift was still in Abby’s lab---safely stored under a large glass beaker encased like some sort of museum piece or relic. Next to it was another wrapped package, also under glass. Abby refused to answer any questions about that one…even when it was Gibbs who asked.
From Abby’s lab, Tony went to the morgue. He left his Mighty Mouse stapler on Ducky’s desk along with another letter. Oddly, it was the only place he lingered. Ziva was still confused by that and inevitably found herself wondering just what it was Tony saw as he glanced around the morgue. What memories did the place harbor for him that made him pause?
Ziva sighed deeply. She sipped her tea watching as Tony made his way back up to the first floor. He was smiling as he stepped off the elevator. It was a true smile…warm and happy.
Looking back on it, Ziva couldn’t honestly remember the last time she’d see Tony smile like that. It had been at least since before Jeanne left. His missing smile, the usual ‘la joie de vivre’ had been one reason Ziva was so sure something was wrong. She’d thought when they all went out for drinks maybe she’d finally discover what the problem was, but Tony had never showed, and they ended up investigating what they thought was his murder.
Joe drew Tony to him, one arm over his shoulder as they left. Ziva had to admit they did look like friends. She consciously tamped down on a flash of jealousy that admission engendered. Joe had gotten one of Tony’s real smiles. He got to share Tony’s space with an honest, easy familiarity Ziva had never experienced. He’d known Tony was leaving NCIS and the team. He probably knew why Tony quit and where he went.
She snarled at the TV. Three weeks. No e-mail. Not one phone call. No letters. Nothing. How could he just walk away?
“You’re not Gibbs, Tony,” she whispered, realizing for the first time just what that meant.
When Gibbs had run off to Mexico, everyone knew why he’d left. He gave a phone number with Abby. It was a life line for them---a way to call him back when he was needed, to bring him home where he belonged.
She realized with sudden insight, Tony never expected to be needed. He clearly thought he could walk away and would not be missed. NCIS wasn’t his home…not the way it was for Gibbs. So what did Tony think of as home? Where had he gone? Why had he left? Did he miss them? Did he think about the team at all?
Ziva sighed. She hated unanswered questions, but until they could track Tony down, she was stuck with them.
Author's Chapter Notes:
Ziva's thoughts.
Chapter End Notes:
Spoilers for episode Designated Target