Chapter 8: The Man without a Face

A/N: Just to let you know, I'm taking snippets of Season 6 to integrate into this chapter.

Two months later:

Ziva sighed as she brushed out her hair again. Though her memories had started to come back very recently, the last few years remained a mystery to her. Sometimes she would remember the sensation of somebody's strong, muscled arms wrapping around her – it must've been Rafi, she couldn't imagine having let any other man make her feel like that.

But other times she was convinced it wasn't Rafi. After all, she and Rafi had been well known for their explosive arguments, their marital disputes turned physical and their constant silent treatment. It just wasn't like Rafi to wrap his arms around her and breathe soft, caressing words into her ear. But this other man didn't have a face. Who was he, and where was he? Did he worry about her every day, wonder where she was? Did he sleep alone in a cold, large bed, aching for the warmth of her body next to his just as she ached for him?

Because she did – even if she didn't know who he was, she knew that she missed him, knew that she craved him like an addict craves his hit.

*~*~*

Tony sighed as he closed his eyes again, laying his head back down on the pillow in hopes that maybe this time, when he opened his eyes, she would be there.

But then he would open them once more, and the space beside him on the bed would still be empty. Her pillow would remain undented, her blankets undisturbed. His arms were still empty, and the warmth and the solidity of her body curved into his were still absent.

It was only just a matter of time. It had to be. Once she remembered, Mossad would send her back and take back Malachi. He was an all right guy, Tony had nothing against him, but Ziva was definitely more attuned to the life and processes of an investigator. She had to come back. She just had to.

Malachi wasn't as quick a learner as Ziva had been when it came to crime scene investigation. Four months into his new position, and they were still coaching him along in the more mundane and complicated aspects of investigative life. How was it possible that his job was way closer in nature to investigation than Ziva's had been, and yet he didn't seem to know what to do?

Abby was virtually hostile to Malachi, much like she had been to Ziva when she had first started, but unlike with Ziva, her hostility hadn't lessened with time. If anything, it had intensified the longer Ziva was gone.

They were trying their hardest to adapt to this new member, but nobody – least of all Tony – was having an easy go of it. And Tony still would pick up the phone and begin dialing her apartment number at 2 AM, thinking that he would warn her that he was coming over, when he would realize that the new tenants wouldn't appreciate that call. The first ten times he'd actually connected, at least, they hadn't.

It was worse than losing Jeanne all over again. Because this time, it hadn't been a mission. It hadn't had anything to do with NCIS. This was Ziva, pure and simple. He had thought he'd experienced love with Jeanne – until he'd actually held Ziva without federal agents watching them. That slightly drunken feeling he got every time he caught a glimpse of her walking through a door, or taking off her jacket, or gearing up for a crime scene, or waiting for him to take her into his arms.

She would lie back under the covers with him, dragging her fingertips lightly through the hair on his chest as they would talk. He had heard stories that made him truly understand why she'd said, that day so long ago, "You and I come from two different worlds, Tony. In my world, you grow up, and you grow up fast."

He knew everything about her. Even the things she had said that she had sworn never to reveal. It was no wonder that she and Gibbs got along so well – they were more alike than maybe Gibbs even knew.

Ten months later:

"Watch her like a hawk," the deputy director said quietly to the other agents. "The first hint that she's not capable of completing it, you remove her."

"Yes, deputy director," both Myriam and Zelig said quietly.

"I am putting you on this mission, because you know Ziva well. You know those hints. Do not fail me."

"Yes, deputy director."

*~*~*

"You'd think he doesn't trust me anymore," Ziva fumed as the three officers were on the plane headed for Washington, D.C., on the trail of their assigned hit.

"He doesn't," Zelig said calmly, still reading his newspaper.

"Thanks, Zelig, that makes me feel so much better," Ziva replied scathingly.

"Come on, let's give your father the benefit of the doubt," Myriam offered. "He just wants to make sure you're back up to full ability. Besides, this is a high value target. The more of us there is, the better chance we have of getting him."

"I'll believe that when I see it," her friend grumbled in response. "So are we warning the operatives in America that we're here?"

"Michael knows we're coming," Zelig replied. "I called Malachi and warned him just in case."

"So we're not going to be a total surprise to the Israelis abroad," Myriam said in satisfaction. "Good. I didn't really want another Buenos Aires under my belt. Zelig, Ziva, come on, we have to build our personas."

*~*~*

Tony sighed as he took out his files, looking out the window at the sunshine outside. Another perfect day to sit inside and be miserable. But at least he'd have company, he thought to himself as he watched Malachi (or the Invader-of-Ziva's-Desk, as Abby grouchily referred to him as) talking on the phone in Hebrew – by the tone in his voice, he was probably talking to his kid. Malachi looked nearly as miserable as him.

Malachi looked over at him, bade his farewells, and said quietly as he hung up, "It was my daughter's third birthday today. She wanted to say thank you for her present."

McGee entered without a word spoken just then, closely followed by Gibbs, who barked, "Gear up. We're heading to Georgetown."

"For what, boss?" Tony asked.

"A dead sailor, DiNozzo, what else?"

*~*~*

NCIS was already on the scene when Myriam, Zelig and Ziva arrived at the café to meet up with their target.

"Wonder what's going on here?" Zelig asked softly, as Myriam and Ziva both scanned the crowds, searching for their target.

"Looks like a shoot-out of some kind," Ziva murmured, her eyes drifting across the dark jackets milling around the bodies, NCIS imprinted on the backs…

_______

"Okay, relax, quick-draw. We're feds," her companion said slowly as he turned around in the chair.

"Oh yeah?" the pudgy young security guard said, a slight degree of panic in his voice. "What agency?"

"NCIS," she said, cutting off her companion's reply.

"Never heard of it," the security guard replied frantically.

"Naval Criminal Investigative Service," she sighed.

"Never heard of it," the guard repeated.

Her companion turned to her. "You never get used to it. You think you will, but you never do."

_______

"One of the victims must be military, if they've called NCIS out here," Myriam commented, touching Ziva's arm lightly. "Ziva, you okay?"

"Yeah, yeah," Ziva replied. She gestured towards the bullet-ridden body lying in a corner. "Look, there's our target there. Looks like he decided to arrive early."

"Well, somebody's done all the gory stuff for us, then," Myriam said in satisfaction. "Guess we're going back to Tel Aviv." She paused as Malachi spotted them, standing up from his crouched position and coming over. "Malachi, what's going on?"

"I should ask you guys the same thing," Malachi said darkly. "Did you forget the lesson on not killing innocent bystanders?"

"Malachi, what are you talking about?" Zelig asked in confusion. "We just got here."

"Five people dead, three of them American naval officers. I'm assuming one of the civilians was your target. All of them shot by a sniper with Sierra .6 hollow point," Malachi told them, a slight tremble in his voice.

"Meir!" came a sharp call came from behind him. "Stop socializing and get to work!" The owner of the voice showed up within seconds. "What are you doing here?" he asked the three officers sharply.

"I'm sorry, that information is classified," Myriam spoke up.

Ziva watched the icy blue eyes of the American standing in front of her.

_______

"So tell me, Officer David, whose balls get cut off if Haswari isn't a mole but a traitor?"

Ziva looked up into the icy blue eyes of the American agent. "Mine, I suppose," she replied coolly. "Since I'm his control officer."

"Hmm. They promote control officers young in Mossad."

"Have to," she replied cheekily. "The good ones are dead at your age."

_______

She could hear Myriam swearing under her breath as the American turned to look at her.

"It's good to see you again, Ziva."