“Ziva. I thought I told you to work.”
Ziva's head snapped up. “Gibbs, you said-”
“Today we're ignoring Mossad. Get to work. You know the drill.”
She grinned; she'd never been quite so happy to start checking out records, plus she had an extra motivation- she did not want to discover that Mossad had been behind this. Her liaison position would probably be terminated, she would be ashamed, and it would mean her father had been keeping her in the dark- again.
For now Gibbs decided not to let her and DiNozzo in on the lead he had- he needed to see if anything else came up, but after about half an hour McGee jumped up and began talking, ruining Gibbs aims of secrecy.
“Boss, I checked it out, and one was ordered in the name of Lt. Sandra Yates.”
“Checked what out?” Tony and Ziva asked in unison, both looking annoyed at having been kept in the dark.
McGee looked at Gibbs, asking permission, and in reply his boss shrugged slightly and turned away. They'd been working together long enough to know that meant yes, so McGee embarked on an explanation.
“This morning Abby found an interesting development; she was looking at the burn patterns around Ratib's wounds, which indicated a silencer had been used. But, when she looked more closely, she found inconsistencies. They aren't quite the right shape or width for a standard silencer, and they weren't even. In fact, the roughness of the edges suggests a crudely made equivalent.”
“What would you need to make a silencer?” Tony wondered out loud.
“A metal tube, and some knowledge of how to work it.” Ziva replied.
“You would know.” Tony muttered, meaning it jokingly, but this time it hit a little close to home and Ziva looked away.
“Didn't Ratib work at a mechanical repair shop?” Tony asked.
“Yes. That's what I was getting to. I've been checking out the records, and it turns out the shop Ratib works at has been busted for illegally selling weapons components before. An ex-owner is still in prison. He didn't overlap with Ratib, but the shop may well have carried on manufacturing. A Lt. Sandra Yates recently bought a 'cylindrical engine piece', according to the records, but no piece exists like that.”
“Tony, Ziva, go get her.” Gibbs waved his hand towards the elevator.
“Boss, can't I... I found... nevermind.” McGee trailed off, and, sighing, returned to his desk.
* * *
“No you don't.” Tony grabbed Ziva's arm, turning her away from the driver's door.
“It will be quicker.”
“Yeah, quicker on the way to an early grave. I'm driving.” He was still holding her arm, and she was pressed against the car. How close his body was to hers was impossible to ignore, and she knew it was not just her thinking that.
“Fine.” She looked searchingly into his eyes before straightening up, causing him to reluctantly release her and stand back. As she turned and walked to the passenger side his eyes followed her thoughtfully. He wasn't sure what he felt, wasn't ready to admit anything, but at the least he seemed to have developed a very soft spot for the Israeli. Then he remembered the thrill he'd felt a few seconds as her body was almost pressed against his, and was forced to concede it might be more than a soft spot.
The car journey was fairly quiet; Tony felt too thoughtful to bother with idle chat, and Ziva was caught up in the memories this case brought back.
“Please, stop, I'll tell you anything.” The man in front of her, usually a fairly 'tough' guy, sobbed, his body already battered and bleeding.
Keeping the pressure on his finger, knowing another fraction of force would break  it like the last four, she bent down, very slowly. She brushed her lips against his ears as she spoke, speaking in a whisper, “I don't want to hear 'anything'. I want to hear their names.”
“Whose names?” he asked despairingly, before whimpering as a loud crack  echoed through the empty concrete room.
He was quiet, she noted coldly. They often screamed, but this one just whimpered, like a puppy. Sometimes their screams were more satisfying, but this particular simile pleased her; made her think how weak they are, those bastards who tore apart families, who tore apart her family. The thought of Tali's death filled her with anger; sent her into a rage which made this job easier, gratifying even.
“You obviously do not value your fingers. How do you feel about a leg, I wonder? Or maybe none of your limbs are that valuable. How about this room; this nice empty concrete room, and those shackles over there? I know some particularly comfortable positions to leave people in.” her voice grew dangerously low, and she turned to face him, inches away, “Positions so comfortable they start shrieking to the heavens, but I wouldn't want to interrupt their fun so I walk out that door, and then no-one can hear their pleas. They are alone, so alone.” She seized his arm, beginning methodically cutting up his forearm while continuing talking to him, in a mock-friendly fashion “So, Sayyar, what's it to be? A nice concrete room with no-one but you, your guilt and the empty air, or those names?”
His face was contorted with pain, and his arm was writhing but her grip was firm. At her last words however, he seemed to cut off the pain, speaking earnestly but without hope. “If I had those names, I would give them to you over this room. If I knew whose names you were looking for I would have given them to you long ago, I would have given anything except the lives of my loved ones to get away from here, and from you.” he spat the last word with disgust. “But I do not know what you want. So go on torturing me, go on thinking that doing this will somehow make up for the one you lost. But I can tell you now,” this time it was him leaning towards her, “it never will.”
Letting out a frustrated scream, she slapped him across the face in a blind rage, knocking him unconscious. She stormed out, slamming the thick metal door. How dare he say that. How dare he imply she was acting out of self-interest, how dare he mention Tali, however obliquely, how dare he think she would be so unprofessional as to use suspects as a way to release her own emotions...
Even so many years on, Ziva could still feel the self-righteous anger that had coursed through her at Ratib's words, even though she knew he was right, and his words were true.
That evening she went home and sat on her bed. She didn't cry, didn't move, just sat, and realised. He was innocent. There'd been no lie in his eyes. Yet she'd knocked him unconscious. Why? Because of what he'd said? He'd probably been- But before her mind could form the word 'right' she stood up and began to run the shower, fixing the arrogant mask. She was going to wash away the filth of that man, then tomorrow she'd go in and report she believed his innocence, he'd probably be released, threatened so he did not tell anyone what had happened, and then he could go home and everything would be fine. It was fair enough after all; if he'd been part of an enemy cell then he could have posed a major threat, and it was in the interests of the public and the country to question suspects most carefully.
“Ziva?”
“What?” she replied automatically without looking around or taking in her surroundings, her eyes still glazed over. Tony noticed this, and it worried him.
“Are you alright?” he asked softly.
She turned to face him, her eyes blank for a second before she seemed to return to the present.
“Yes, I am, I will be, I am fine.”
“O-kay.” he didn't sound convinced. “But we've been here for about 5 minutes and you don't seem to have noticed.” Actually it'd been more like 2 but she had no way of knowing that.
“Oh.” she didn't even bother making an excuse, that was a sure sign something was wrong, but Tony did not think now was the time to bother her.
“Well, shall we go in?”
“Yes.”
They headed towards the dull concrete naval base, Ziva slightly in front, to pick up Lt. Yates, but however hard he tried Tony could not focus on that.
He was far too worried about someone else, which is probably why he didn't react as soon as he should have to what happened next.