Catch Me if You Can

Part 11 1 of 2

Jena Rink

November 2011

Author's note: Life got in the way of me having time to really think this through. And I didn't want to continue it unless I had a clear plan, and it was good enough for me to feel like you would all enjoy reading it. So here it is. I have a plan now. And designated writing time every week (late Sunday nights). Please let me know what you think? I know its not as long as what I normally post, but the important part is I have a plan.

Thanks for sticking with me, and for coming back to read again, hopefully. This part is pretty Ziva/Kelly centric, but it was necessary to set a lot of plot points into motion. Enjoy!

-Jena

She hated waking up from nightmares. Her hair was plastered to her forehead, more curly then she ever remembered it being in DC. This wasn't DC. This was years, and lifetimes, and so much later then DC that she couldn't even seem to connect anything about her life now to the one she had in the past. But when she was sleeping, now that was impossible. Her brain couldn't seem to disconnect what she was longing for then. It was shut down enough that the memories, the dreams, the conversations flooded in like tidal waves. She sat for a minute, and considered the dream she had just woken up from. In it, she had seemed aware of too many things. She couldn't tell which parts were memories, and which parts were something else entirely.

She was pressed against him. He wasn't younger. She could smell his cologne and didn't want to move, ever. It was like comforting blanket, wrapping her up and keeping her from having to deal with all of this. The part of her that didn't realize this was a dream wanted to stay here forever. But something was off. There was a nagging part of her consciousness that alerted her to some sort of discrepancy. Yes, they'd done this. She'd done this often, actually, to ground herself. Tony wasn't usually shirtless when she did. In elevators, in stairwells, in their apartment while he was cooking her breakfast on the weekends, and here. In Paris.

He'd been shirtless in Paris. Most of the time, she'd been shirtless in Paris. They'd been blessed with two days where all they were supposed to do was sell their cover as newlyweds on their Honeymoon in old Paris. It made it easier, ultimately, to rendezvous with Norah, like she was an old friend, and to get her back to the states to testify. The sun was setting over whatever memory she'd chosen to dream about this evening, and it was a vivid one. It was freezing, but they'd gotten too warm. They'd opened the door to the balcony, and he'd stared at the lights of the Eiffel Tower, Ziva leaning behind him, her hand holding a glass of wine. She wasn't holding a glass of wine in this memory, though. It was colder then it had been before, and everything was cast in an ashen light.

He had yet to move. It was like he was a memory and not present at all, but she didn't care. She could feel him breathing, and just hugged him tighter, squeezing him as close to her as possible. If no words were spoken at all, she just wanted this. Then she heard him let out a little noise, much like when Gibbs would head slap him or she'd punch him in the stomach. She was hugging him too tightly, apparently.

For some reason, she knew he'd been hurt. She could smell ash in the air, gasoline, and blood. She relinquished her hold on him just enough so that she wasn't pressing against him too hard. He'd been in an explosion. It smelled like the crime scene after his car had been blown apart. She didn't know where her brain was pulling these connections from, but the connections were there.

Was she supposed to speak? She wasn't sure. He had yet to speak, but he groaned again, softly.

"Must you always get yourself into trouble?" her words were cautious, and he stumbled slightly when he tried to turn and look at her. She held him back. She wasn't sure if she wanted him to see her like this. For now she was content to hold him as he became aware of his surroundings. He'd obviously just become aware of where they were. He shivered at the cold, and she traced her hands lightly along his stomach, trying to warm him without letting him have a glimpse of her.

"What are we doing in Paris?"he was colder then she wished him to be, still. She was almost panicked about it. Although it was colder in the room, in this dream, she wasn't shivering. And his skin had an almost blueish tint to it.

"Maybe we were both looking for an escape. It is common for people to fall back on a pleasant memory to shelter themselves from-"

"Don't go all Ducky on me, Ziva. Not now," he whispered, his hands coming up to cover her own, their fingers intertwining easily. She inhaled deeply, trying to keep herself from losing her cool. He was present, that was for sure. It wasn't the Tony of her memories. Because this wasn't a memory.

"And yet,"she said simply, pressing harder against him, craving every bit of contact she could get. She didn't want to see his face, not yet. But he had other ideas. He was as much a willing participant of this dream as she was.

"Ziva,"he pressed out, attempting to turn around, and she held him still, her fingers grasping tightly at his. She inhaled shakily against his back, and pressed a soft kiss at the hollow between his shoulder blades.

"You hung up on me,"he commented softly, and she let out a soft laugh. Of all the things to mention, he had to bring up that? She sensed that it was important, but things were as fuzzy as they were clear at the moment.

"It is too dangerous. You are the Director…My God, Tony. What on earth got you to the point where you felt comfortable sitting at the top of the pyramid? You always-"

"It only takes one thing,"He reminded her softly, and she closed her eyes tightly. Her. She had been his last tether to having an attempt at a normal life. Hasad had told her. He drank too much, didn't talk to Gibbs.

"I am so sorry," she stressed the words, her voice cracking as she fought back tears, "But this escape we are creating for ourselves, it will not slow things down, Tony. Things will continue to move on around us, as much as we would not wish them to. Trust me, I know,"she whispered against him, and he fidgeted.

"I saw a movie like this once,"He said, completely ignoring what she had told him. That should have been her first clue that something was wrong.

"Regardless of whether or not I get out of this situation Tony…she needs you. Sophia needs a father,"she could tell he was fighting the urge to leave the dream. She could smell the blood more strongly now. Clearly something was wrong with him. Why wasn't he fighting? Why wasn't he more snarky, more biting?

"I just want to stay here, with you, in this hotel room,"he whispered roughly,"I'm so tired, Ziva. Too tired, and I just-"she shook her head. This was not good.

"We will always have Paris, Tony. She will not always have a family. You of all people should know that!"she paused, hating what she was about to say,"No one, needs me, Tony. You have all survived this long, yes? She needs you. You both need each other," she pressed out, letting go of his hands and wrapping her hands around his middle again, holding him to her.

"That's bullshit. You know I need you. I needed you!"he said, his voice growing in volume. There he was. He was fighting for the wrong things, though.

"Life is life,"she breathed, and he scoffed.

"And what did you need, Zee?" he asked her, and she swallowed thickly, thinking of the best way to change the subject.

"You gotten on without me for how long, Tony?" she repeated, now unable to keep her tears at bay.

"Ziva, getting on, or getting by, isn't living,"he reminded her, as her tears soaked his back.,"God, you tried to tell me. You think it's easy to realize that you were forced into leaving? That you tried to tell me something was wrong and I was so blinded by my-"

"You didn't do this to me. You were supposed to believe the lie," she mumbled, sniffling.

"But I should have believed in you," he said back, pushing back against her, intent on seeing her face.

"I don't want you to see me,"she whispered, and he stopped moving, his hands clenching the railing in front of them.

"You don't want to see me?" he questioned, and she closed her eyes tightly.

"Tony…"she said, suddenly frozen with fear. She didn't want to see what she'd done to him.

"Please,"he managed, and she let go of him, turning away and walking towards the center of the room.

"Worry about her," Ziva told him,"I will be fine. I have survived this long."

"I just want to stay here," Tony told her again, and she shook her head. He was missing the point, again.

"You were always so stubborn! This is not reality! Do you think I would rather wake up? I would rather stay here as well but this is not, real," she managed,"What is so terrible that you would rather stay asleep then-"he was still facing the window when she turned around. There was a large gash on his shoulder, and he had bruises littering his body.

"Oh my God,"She whispered,"You, are you alright?" he ignored her again. He was swaying on his feet.

"I talked to you, didn't I?" he responded, and she bristled slightly. There he was again. His mind was all over the place. She had to keep him focused.

"Do not change the subject, Tony! What happened? You are hurt! I can-"he spun around, and their eyes met in the hazy light of the room for a moment before she canvassed his body. His pants were torn and bloody. But he looked relaxed, and that worried her.

"I'm tired. Maybe if I just lay down…"he walked towards the bet and sat on the edge of it, and she followed him quickly.

"No, you cannot lay down, Tony. Think! What happened?" she pressed out, and he shrugged.

"I always liked this bed,"he told her.

"Stay, awake!"she ground out.

"But we're not awake, you said so yourself, "he pointed out, slightly loopy, and glanced up at her face for a moment.

"God, Ziva. We need to get some falafel in you. You're skin and bones…"he realized.

"I am finding it hard to eat, but that is not the point,"she said, annoyed.

"You look better, though. You cut your hair. It's so curly,"he reached up and fingered a strand of it, their eyes locked.

"Tony, concentrate, please…if ever there was a time for you to stop being so hyper, now would be it…what, happened?"she said, her hands on either side of him. He scooted up on the bed, and she sat over him.

"We haven't been in this position in a while, have we Zee?" he commented lightly, and she groaned.

"Tony! Focus!"before she had thought to do anything else, she'd reached forward and grabbed his face, planting a kiss on his lips. She pulled away, and he looked gob smacked.

"Ziva David, you minx,"he breathed, and pulled her down before she could really think, their lips meeting again, hurriedly. All thoughts of trying to get Tony to concentrate were officially out the window. She'd craved this for years, and almost never dreamt about it.

His hands palmed her back, pulling her closer, and she let herself lay against him, despite her brain trying to lull her into consciousness again.

"Who says we'll ever get this chance again, we might as well grab it, right sweetcheeeks?" he breathed. It was then that she really saw how injured he was. Although he wasn't acting it, there were cuts and scrapes all over him.

"Tony, what happened?"she asked breathlessly, and he shook his head.

"Doesn't matter, you're here-"he said, pulling her back down for another kiss, his hands skimming her back as she tried to pull away from him.

"If we stayed here forever, we wouldn't have to worry about anything, you know?" he voiced, and she closed her eyes tightly, willing the tears to not escape again.

"I wish it were that simple. You need to go back…whatever is holding you-"

"Who says its even possible for me to go back, Zee?" he said tiredly, letting her readjust herself so that she was cuddling against him instead of sitting on top of him, her head laying on his chest. She tried to sit up, and he pulled her back down.

"You cannot leave her,"she whispered, slightly panicked.

"She's just as bad as I am,"he said softly, his eyes drifting shut.

"What?"she breathed,"Tony! What has happened to both of you? What is going on?"

"I'm tired, I'm just so tired of doing this without you,"he responded, and went slack. She panicked, sitting up and shaking him.

"Tony! Tony come back! Tony!"she screamed, and the room started to dissolve around her. As much as she wanted to stay, now, it was over.

And now, she was sitting, shaking, staring at the open window as the cat at the foot of her bed stared at her, annoyed with her for disturbing her sleep. Ziva exhaled, glancing at the clock. It was 3am. Kelly was already at the coffee shop. She was alone, and she needed a drink. She padded into the kitchen, and stopped at the sink, pouring herself water instead of vodka as she pondered what had just happened. Was there a chance Tony was in trouble? It was just a dream. There was no way it was reality. No possible way. She held herself up over the sink, hanging her head down and trying to steady her breathing. The dream had shaken her. Maybe she should check the news, see if something had happened? No. that would be too obvious. What if they were already tracking the address? If McGee had gotten his hands on the blocked address, there was no telling how fast he'd be at the CIA ,asking too many questions. Perhaps he would just bypass their safeguards and find out the secret himself? That would not be good.

Either way she was screwed. It wouldn't hurt to look. She set the glass down, and walked towards the living room, her eyes scanning the room for Kelly's laptop, her brain swimming with the warnings that this was a bad idea. She should not be doing it. That was when her eyes caught the unfamiliar object sitting on the the kitchen counter. She picked it up, staring at the strange object. She'd seen it before. At Mike's house in Mexico. It was a small doll, carved into a skeletal shape, its wood smooth. Maybe Kelly had gotten it at the market. It seemed strange, either way. What was it doing there?

She shivered slightly, realizing that she'd left the window open when she'd come inside. As her mind unfogged further, she smelt gas. Kelly didn't ever use the stove. Her eyes widened, and she'd barely managed to sprint back to the bedroom before the house was rocked by an explosion. Well, clearly someone had figured out she was here. The cat awoke with a screech, jumping out of the window and onto the terrace, and Ziva stumbled, reaching blindly for the go bag that she had kept under her bed, full of the original money and documents she had managed to gather before she got to London. She threw the doll in her bag and climbed up on the bed as the smell of flames and gas assaulted her nostrils, barely managing to crawl out of the window before another explosion rocked the house, throwing her against the back garden wall. She groaned, and managed to her to her feet, everything aching.

Of course it was pouring rain. Thunder boomed overhead, and Ziva fought to stop shaking. She didn't want to move. She was petrified. Had the dream been an omen? She was wearing Kelly's pajamas, and slippers, and only had the things she had escaped Egypt with. What was she supposed to do now? The fire was growing closer, and she forced herself to move, scaling the wall and landing in the alley behind the house as the fire raged, car alarms going off and police sirens wailing nearby. She had to go somewhere. But where was she supposed to go? Kelly's coffee shop. Clearly they had been targeting her, right? She had to warn her. She made herself move down the street, limping and fighting the urge to just lay down and go to sleep. The only thing that stopped her is what would happen if she were to lose consciousness. If someone were to find her. Obviously she was a victim of the attack, but to a government that had thought she was dead for over 10 years? The outcome would not be good.

Her hands were shaking as she pounded on the back door of the coffee shop. Kelly had barely managed to open the door before Ziva fell over, trying to steady herself as her vision blurred. It would be so easy to fall asleep.

"House, explosion…have to hide,"she managed softly, her eyes sliding shut.

When she opened them again, she was surprised to feel like she was moving. She was. She was in the middle of the countryside, it looked like, and just glancing out the window made her so queasy that she shut her eyes tightly, clenching them away from all incoming light.

"Kelly?"she mumbled thickly,"Stop the car, I have to-"the car came to a halt, and she scrambled out of it, leaning over and throwing up the small amount in her stomach, her vision swimming as Kelly held her hair back.

"Are you alright? Obviously I didn't have time to stop for a doctor, I was afraid…"

"Where are we going?"Ziva asked groggily.

"To be honest I'm not sure. I thought we'd head west, towards the New World," Kelly quipped, and Ziva held her head in her hands, managing to sit on the edge of her seat, her feet toching the pavement lightly.

"Whose car…"Ziva was coherent enough to know that Kelly's car was toast.

"I stole my coworkers car. I hid you outside and told him I needed to run by the market for milk. That was four hours ago. I was hoping you'd wake up and complete my thought…but I figured getting away from the people that tried to blow us up was better then waiting like sitting ducks at the coffee shop," Kelly said this all in a rush, her eyes determined, and Ziva managed to almost laugh.

"Apparently espionage is genetic,"she remarked, taking the bottle of water that Kelly handed to her and taking a long sip, the water doing nothing to soothe her shaking or her thoughts.

"We need to stop for the night, Kelly, rest. I need to get cleaned up. You have the bag I brought with me?"she nodded, and Ziva sighed. They would get a hotel room, wherever they were. Then they would think out their next move.

"Where are we going to go?" Kelly asked her, once they were back in the car, Ziva fighting the urge to keep throwing up.

"Washington," Ziva said finally, as she pulled back on the road. Kelly shot her a look.

"Are you serious?" she questioned, and Ziva nodded slowly, afraid if she moved too quickly she'd get sick again.

"Just find a motel, and then we will make a plan," Ziva said, staring down at the bag between her legs, and what she now recognized as a Mexican Day of the Dead doll staring up at her. Why did that strike a chord? Who would leave that, knowing they would both die, and it would be incinerated. It wasn't even a clue that was meant to be. So why was it? And what did it mean?