A/N: This is the fifth story in my CIA series. That means that there's a long back story to it that goes back, literally years. I'm not sure there's any way to give a brief summary in an author's note. In essence, Tim got roped into working for the CIA because of when Gibbs had him hack the CIA at the end of season 4. He's had nothing but grief ever since. This story features my OC, CIA Director Levi Carew (one of my favorite OCs, actually) quite heavily and will also have a relatively prominent role for Ray Cruz (Ziva's boyfriend). Because of when I started writing this story (season 5), Ziva is still there and so is Jenny Shephard as the director. I didn't see any reason to make changes in that respect. This is an AU story, but with everyone still as themselves, just with a different track for the stories. I hope that you enjoy it!

Disclaimer: I do not own NCIS or any of the characters from the show. I do lay claim to Levi Carew and the plots I've come up with. They're mine. :D But I'm still not making any money off them.

The Player on the Other Side
by Enthusiastic Fish

The chess-board is the world, the pieces are the phenomena of the universe, the rules of the game are what we call the laws of Nature. The player on the other side is hidden from us. We know that his play is always fair, just and patient. But also we know, to our cost, that he never overlooks a mistake, or makes the smallest allowance for ignorance. To the man who plays well, the highest stakes are paid, with that sort of overflowing generosity with which the strong shows delight in strength. And one who plays ill is checkmated-without haste, but without remorse.
Thomas Huxley

Chapter 1

Thirty years ago...

They were sitting quietly, waiting for the word that the mission was on. They'd scouted the area, found their target and were ready to move. It was just a matter of being told they could go.

The door opened.

"Mission's off."

There was a chorus of groans, but only one stood up to protest. He was new to this op. He was relatively new to the CIA, and he had a very disconcerting stare when he chose to fix it on people. His eyes were basically black. It made him look unsettling at the best of times. When he was angry, people tended to be put off just by looking at him.

Like now.

"No!" he said. "There is a man in there who has been a prisoner for a year! We've been looking for him!"

"No. It was a mistake that they made. They think they have him, but they don't. It's a case of mistaken identity, and as long as they think they have him, we can keep searching."

Those eyes hardened, and he was not backing down.

"Who do they have then?"

"A grad student. Doing research."

His voice was very calm, very collected, but there was no mistaken his disgust.

"Do you mean to tell me," he said slowly, "that an American citizen has been tortured for a year for information he does not have and we are supposed to just leave him there to die?"

"Yes."

"No."

"These are orders. One man isn't as important as securing secrets that could fall into the wrong hands."

The eyes didn't move and the head of this group really wished that he would blink or something.

"No," he said again. "You're not listening to me. I'm saying no. I refuse."

"You're going to disobey orders? These come from high up the chain."

"I don't care if it was the President. I will not leave this man in their hands."

"If you free him, they'll start searching again and this time they might succeed."

"I don't care."

"You'll go in alone?"

"If I have to."

Then, those disconcerting eyes shifted, but the shift gave no relief. Instead, he was skewering everyone in the room with the same stare.

"Do I have to? Is it necessary that I remind you all what we're being ordered to do? We are being ordered to abandon a citizen of our nation to protect a traitor. That is what we are doing. We are putting the life of a traitor above that of a person who was simply in the wrong place at the wrong time."

"And what if you go in by yourself?"

The eyes swung back to him.

"What about your wife?"

To his surprise, rather than looking worried or regretful, the man smiled. He smiled.

"I'll call her myself, if you'd like. Why don't I do that? I'll call her and say that I won't be going home again because I refused to abandon an innocent man but the rest of my compatriots decided it was better that way. I'll tell her that I didn't judge my life to be better than another's. I'll tell her to let my children know, when they're old enough to understand it, that their father died because he hadn't forgotten what his job was even when everyone else had."

He pulled out his phone.

"You're compromising the mission."

"What mission? The mission's off, remember? I'm getting ready to go rogue. I'm sure I'll die in the attempt."

"You're bluffing."

Now, the eyes became so hard as to be almost flinty.

"I do not lie." He held up his phone. "Should I dial the number or are we going to save an innocent man?"

There was a pregnant pause.

"Make a decision," he snapped, as authoritative as if he was the one in charge. "I don't have time for delays."

In an effort to get things back under control, he managed to look away from those eyes and focus on the others in the room.

"There's no leeway here," he said. "If we save this man, we are risking the security of the nation."

"If we leave this man behind, we are betraying everything our country stands for."

The leader glared. He didn't like being undermined...but he could also see the resistance in the others on the team, men who had been under his command for much longer. They were being swayed to think of another option. ...and truth be told, he didn't like it himself. But he could see the big picture.

"It appears we have some disagreement about the nature of following orders."

"Whose orders are they?"

Another challenge. He wasn't giving up. He wouldn't even let the one who led the op speak more than a sentence.

"Does it matter?" he asked, and instantly knew he'd made a mistake by engaging.

"No, actually, it doesn't matter at all...because we're the ones who are here. We are the ones who can see what's going on, not some busybody living in safety in the States. We can see that the orders are wrong. We can make a decision as to the appropriate course of action."

"And pay the price?"

"Of course."

That surprised him. He had expected him to say that there wouldn't be a price or some other half-baked lie.

"Of course?" he asked.

"Yes. There will be a price. I'll take it all on my head if it's necessary. The black mark can be in my record. It'll be my idea. The blame will fall on me." ...and the credit. The words weren't spoken, but they might as well have been. If it was decided that it was a good idea, this newbie would get the credit for having a greater vision. ...but if it was decided that it was a mistake, then the newbie would get more leeway than someone else.

"Sir?"

Another voice. Someone else's eyes. Thank goodness.

"What?"

"I don't like disobeying orders, but I don't like the idea of leaving someone suffering in there just because of the chance to find someone else."

"You all feel that way?"

Silent nods.

"All right. Let's move."

"You want me to take point?"

Back to the insolent, frightening eyes.

"No. My team. My lead."

"Of course." He even gestured to let him go first.

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

They moved in with practiced ease. There was no rush. They moved quickly, but not rushing.

It was over quite quickly. Not much in the way of surveillance. Not enough in the way of guards. Definitely not enough for this crew who knew what to do and had been watching the place for weeks.

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

The door burst open, but the occupant barely moved. He'd long since passed the point where he reacted to anything but pain.

"Hey."

...until he heard an American voice. His eyes lifted up to man towering over him, armed to the hilt but smiling.

He couldn't speak.

"I'm here to get you out. What did they do? What shouldn't I touch?"

The words didn't really penetrate at first...but the removal of all his chains did. He hadn't been freed for months, although he didn't actually know the span of time that had passed.

"Out?" he asked vaguely.

"Yes. Out. What's your name?"

These weren't questions that he was used to. This man was asking questions he actually knew the answers to.

"Woodrow Hicks," he whispered. "Really. That's my name."

"I know it is. Where do you hurt the most?"

"Falaqa," he whispered.

"I'm sorry. Anything else?"

He shook his head, not really believing that the nightmare of his life was over.

"I didn't know. I would have told them if I knew, but I didn't know. I don't know! I don't know!"

"I know you don't. It's all right."

"Your eyes are black."

The eyes twinkled a little as the man smiled. "I know. I've seen them. You ready to get out?"

"Out."

"Yes. I promise. This isn't a lie. This isn't a trick. I don't lie. It will probably hurt, but we'll get you out."

"No."

"Yes."

Arms reached down and wrapped around him, pulling him upright for the first time in who knew how long. His feet screamed out in pain. Once they had crushed his feet and then let them "heal"...before resuming the falaqa which would always be the worst. He was pulled off the table, but he was surprised at how gently it was done. The pain was awful, but that was his life. Pain. It was the gentleness of the treatment he was getting in spite of the pain that was always there. He kept looking over at the man pulling him down the hallway, out of his world and into...

"Light," he whispered.

"Yes. It'll be a nice day when the sun comes up."

"Sun..."

"Yeah."

There were other voices. Shouting. Shapes running this way and that, but always steady forward motion...and all that mattered to Woodrow was the voice of the man carrying him, the arms that were taking him out of his nightmare and into a dream.

"You're out, Woodrow Hicks. You're free. We're going to take you home."

Woodrow didn't believe it, but he kept staring into those black eyes.

"I don't lie. I promise. I don't lie. Ever. You're free. You're going home."

"Really?"

"Yes."

"I'm going home."

"Yes. I promise."

"What's your name?" he asked.

The black eyes twinkled once more.

"Levi Carew."

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

Woodrow Hicks was shipped off to a secure hospital and then back to the States. Carew was glad of it. He knew he faced some consequences, but he didn't care.

"Carew!"

And here were the first ones. Carew crafted the expression of polite interest that always seemed to put people off. He supposed it was his eyes. He'd hated them when he was younger, but he liked them now. They were useful.

"Yes?"

"Why did you insist on this? I'm already taking flak about it."

"Tell them it's my fault."

"And let them know I allowed a newbie to change my mind?"

"Not if you tell it in the right way."

"I thought you didn't lie."

"I don't," Carew said, his voice hardening. "But you can tell it right without lying."

"Oh, really? Enlighten me."

"You went in to keep your headstrong, stubborn new agent from getting himself captured or killed because he refused to listen to reason."

"And that's not a lie?"

"Did you really want to risk me getting taken?"

Silence. Carew smiled.

"I didn't think so. I got what I wanted."

"Why are you working for the CIA?"

"I was recruited."

"Why? Why were you recruited?"

"I don't think I'm going to tell you that."

"Why not?"

"I don't trust what you'll do with the information."

"You can't keep secrets from everyone."

"It's either everyone or no one."

"Including your family?"

"Especially including them."

"That'll leave you alone."

"I'm aware of that. So is my wife. ...but if I don't tell her, then no one can demand it of her."

"Who are you?"

Carew smiled. "I'm Levi Carew."

"You have a lot to learn."

"About what?"

"About how things work. You risk too much."

"That's the game. I'll live longer than you, and I'll go farther. Not because I want to, but because I will."

"Why?"

"Because I need to get rid of people like you in the CIA who forget what our real job is in lieu of what you think our job is."

"What is our real job, then?"

"To protect the country...and the people make up the country. The country is nothing without people like Woodrow Hicks. We are supposed to have integrity, and you have none. You put your career and keeping it ahead of doing what you know is the right thing to do."

"And you think that your policy of not lying will get you further?"

"Yes. I'll live to regret your death."

"You threatening me?"

"No. I don't think I'll need to kill you. Your attitude will get you killed while mine will help me survive."

"You're dreaming."

"I see myself as a visionary."

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

The office door closed.

"Have a seat, Agent Carew."

"Yes, sir," Carew said. He'd got what he wanted, and now he didn't care what happened.

"You potentially screwed up a lot of people's plans."

"Yes, I did."

"Why?"

"Because I was right and they were wrong."

"It's not about right and wrong."

"Yes, it is," Carew said. "Just because you don't believe it is, doesn't mean you're right. What I did was the right thing to do."

"And if the man you were supposed to find sells what he knows?"

"Then, I will spend the rest of my life trying to make up for it."

"And that's worth it to you?"

"Yes."

"Levi, I recruited you myself, and I don't regret that, but if you want to make it here, you're going to have to learn a few things."

"Like what?"

"Your idea of not lying is going to be difficult."

"No, it won't. People who lie think it will be, but it won't be."

"But there's something else."

"What?"

"You're going to have to learn the political game."

"Why?" Carew asked. "I don't want to be a politician."

"But you have to be. If you really want to change things, you'll have to be a politician. You have to know how to manage people."

Carew smiled. "I didn't do too badly this time."

"One agent who probably didn't like the orders he'd been given in the first place."

"You're saying it'll be harder?"

"Yes."

Carew considered it. "Why me?" he asked. "Why did you recruit me? I'm not the normal kind of agent."

"You're only asking this now?"

"I didn't really think about it until I was asked and couldn't answer. My wife asked at the beginning, but I didn't care about it then," Carew confessed. "I don't like not knowing."

"I recruited you because we need people like you in the CIA. People who have a different outlook, who will make us question our preconceived notions about how things have to be run. You might be different enough to make a difference."

"So you really want me to do things differently?"

"If you can manage it."

Carew smiled. "You don't know what you're asking."

"Nope, I don't, but I'll be long gone before you can really change things."

"You don't want to see what I can do?"

"I'm interested in what you can do, but I don't want to go through the process. I'm old school." He sobered. "And I don't want to see how it changes you."

"Too late for that. I'm already different."

"Part of me is sorry for it."

Carew grinned. "I would only have been an average teacher anyway. At least here I can make a difference...especially with what I've seen when you've sent me out. I don't like how they think...and if I can change that..."

"This place has a way of changing you."

"I know...but if the change is mutual, I'll be okay."

"And this man you saved? Was he worth it?"

"It's always worth saving someone if you can...even if it means that I pay for it for the rest of my life."

"You might."

"I know that better than you do," Carew said. "When are you retiring?"

"Next couple of years...if I live that long."

"When you're gone, no one will know who and what I am. All the better. Is that everything?"

"Yes. Consider yourself lectured, and the note is in your file."

"Good. I want it there."

"You have a few days off. What are you going to do?"

"Spend it with my family while I can."

Carew stood and left the room. He called the hospital where Woodrow Hicks had been taken. His family was there and he was starting on the process of recovery. Good.

He spared a thought to the traitor who was still at large. He had taken a huge risk, but he didn't regret the risk. He would regret it if his choice led to danger for the country. Otherwise, he didn't care.

At least, that was what he told himself as he went home to play with his children.