Chapter Text
Trying to suppress the edginess that he'd always felt, and normally, previously, let himself project when he hit this state of hyper alert-ness on an under cover assignment, Tony forced himself to continue the shower he'd finally been allowed to take – ignoring his captor's continued attempts to catch him off guard to see if he'd respond to his real name.
This wasn't the first time that he'd had to hide all responses to his real name on a case, but it had been the first time that he had known from the first that the bad guys knew who he was, and that - it seemed - had made the difference when drugs, exhaustion, and trauma had weakened his resistance, earlier.
His reward of a full night's sleep after the subsequent harsh lesson had given him what he needed, though, to submerge himself into his deep-cover/whatever-it-takes-to-survive mindset. Since that night, he'd spent every down moment – not focusing on clinging to who and what might be waiting for him at home – but instead on recalling every lesson and rule he'd learned under Jethor, and the dozen other strategies that he'd picked up on dozens of under cover assignments to create the mask that would give him the best chance of survival.
Under the circumstances, that was “Wistar,” a unthinkingly obedient test subject; intelligent but silent unless suffering; modest and inhibited, but submissive to the man's appetites; and ever-watchful for the clues to what the next lesson would bring and what the next trap might be.
“It's time to eat, Tony!” James chimed out again behind him, but Tony continued to ignore him despite the roiling of hunger low in his stomach. Wetting the bar of soap again, he worked up a thick lather and ran it over his face, again, feeling more of the paint dissolve under the repeated washing.
“Come eat, DiNozzo, aren't you hungry?'
Tony stayed silent, not even glancing in the man's direction as he tipped his head back into the water. He knew the man was watching him for even the slightest response to his name, and refused to give him a justification for more punishment. As it was, Tony had already mistaken the purpling on his legs for undissolved paint until his scrubbing proved them to be lingering bruises.
“Wistar,” the man called softly from behind him, and Tony spun to face him, asking “Sir?”
“It's time to eat, Pet.” James's smile was disturbingly smug, but Tony did his best to ignore it, as he followed the man's gesture to the glass topped table, where a full breakfast had been set up.
“Thank you, Sir.” Tony offered tentatively, hoping that it wasn't laying it on too thick, but sensing that the man was still waiting for something … that there was another trap there he was waiting for Tony to fall into.
Sausages, eggs, two slices of toast, a slice of bacon, a small dish with preserves and butter slices, juice, cream, a sugar dish, coffee... he knew there was something there... stirring spoon, fork, butter knife ... then he saw the catch. Picking up the slice of toast, he completely ignored the butter knife and dipped the tip of the toast into the preserve as neatly as he could, cupping his hand under the toast as he brought it to his mouth and took as small bite. Setting it down, he made a point of moving to the sausages, then the bacon, then the toast, then the juice, pointedly ignoring the eggs and coffee – focusing on only what he could acceptably eat with his fingers. Laboratory rats didn't use silverware, of course, and he suspected that James would have called him on it if he had tried.
“Oh, very good... very good,” the man praised with a delighted giggle as he draped himself over Tony's shoulder to reach for the spoon. Scooping up a bit of the egg, he fed it to Tony, who obediently opened and closed his mouth around it, trying to ignore where James' free hand was roving.
ブレンキン
“Come on in,” Captain Watson gestured into the room ahead of them, taking Ziva's bag from her to set it on the kitchen table as they passed.
The man was somewhat smaller than average height, with sandy blonde hair, plain, unremarkable – if somewhat depressed- features, a slight limp that he seemed unaccustomed to, as if it was a recent injury, but otherwise, he seemed rather unremarkable. Ziva was well aware of the danger in that presumption, especially considering that the man was someone that Gibbs had called for assistance.
As he had noted, Agent Gibbs seemed to despise working with 'wild cards', civilians, and 'green'/untrained field agents, often pushing them off on Ziva and McGee, unless Tony was especially hyperactive and needed to be kept busy. The unexpected reminder of Gibbs second-in-command brought the photograph that Kort had received back to her mind. Although Tony was frequently an annoyance to her, McGee, and nearly everyone in the office, she would not have wished this form or level of field 'experience' on irrepressible man.
Her father often referred to such abuse as seasoning, but Ziva had yet to come to terms with the requirements that her loyalties sometimes forced her to. A quick, clean kill: she could accept that and believed that some people truly deserved to die. Her conscience was easily assuaged in most of those operations. A hard fight, that caused grievous, severe injury, she could accept that as well; it was the cost of picking up a weapon against her. She would not sacrifice her life needlessly, but this... torture where it was unlikely that the victim would have secrets of note; such needless brutality benefited no one and only lowered those whom committed it to the level of animals.
“Tea, Officer David?” the captain asked from beside the kitchen sink where he was filling a plug in coffee pitcher with a tin measuring cup.
“Yes, thank you.” Ziva agreed returning her attention to the man, who was leaning somewhat heavily on the counter as he bent to pull an enameled tea pot from a lower cabinet. Out of the corner of her eye, she noted that Gibbs was watching the man with concern, perhaps wondering if he'd been mistaken to call.
“John...” Gibbs began softly, “I - I'm sorry. I read about what happened to your- friend, and … I saw your blog.”
Captain Watson stiffened for a second, but when he turned to face them, his expression was calm and hospitable.
“Yes, well...” He paused to clear his throat when his voice cracked slightly and continued, “well, you can understand, I expect why I'll appreciate the distraction.”
“Not sure it will be much of a distraction,” Gibbs replied grimly, but Captain Watson shook his head.
“Maybe it's more accurate to say that I'd appreciate the chance to cause some destruction, break some windows, blow up a building, maybe shoot someone.” Watson said bluntly with the sort of calm equanimity that Ziva recognized as having been acquired from years of having done exactly that. Captain Watson, it appeared, despite his common place appearance, attire, and homely flat, had 'experience'.
“About that...” Gibbs began but cut off when the tea pot whistled, and Captain Watson turned to pour out a coffee for Gibbs, and teas for her and himself.
When Gibbs didn't continue his comment, she took it as a sign that the Captain was one of those men who did not like to discuss 'business' over dinner or drinks, but preferred to preserve the social ritual as a reminder of some semblance of civilized behavior, when they were often called to do 'uncivilized' acts. Her father was one of these men as well, so Ziva was familiar with the nature of question that it was acceptably to ask without causing offense.
“Have you known Agent Gibbs long Captain Watson?” she asked. It was a fairly safe question allowing a yes or no answer, a general reference to a number of years, or leaving an opening for stories if the recipient was so inclined.
Captain Watson glanced at Agent Gibbs with raised eyebrows, clearly asking for permission before revealing something. Gibbs answered with a quick nod, but held the Captain's gaze for a minute in a way that Ziva was sure was an order to hold something back. The captain responded with a shrug, “Yes, since Operation Desert Storm. Gunnery Sergeant Gibbs and I were assigned to a...”
He paused glancing again at Gibbs, who filled in, “strike team.”
“Well, officially, it was a joint UN 'peace-keeping'...”
“Yeah, well 'officially' you were Fifth North Umberlands ...” Gibbs responded with a snort.
“That's the Royal Fifth NorthUmberlands Fusilers, to you mate.” Captain Watson responded in the tone of acknowledging a well-worn joke.
“I do not understand,” Ziva interrupted, she had heard of the unit before but... “That unit no longer exists and has not since the eighties?” She wasn't entirely certain of the date, but was hardly expecting the error to cause the captain to spit his tea out, causing Gibbs to chuckle.
When it seemed that Captain Watson could not recover his composure to explain, Gibbs stepped in, “Some minor bureaucrat in the British government thought that using expired unit id's for their black ops agents was a sound practice, not realizing that if there was a unit well-known enough to be recognized as a legitimate military unit, it might be recognized enough for someone to know that it had been expired. John was only 'officially' assigned to the unit to provide a background id, but was transferred to various infiltration and assault teams as appropriate. I was a military buff for a couple of years before I joined the marines, and the first time I met him and he gave me his rank and designation, I told him it was bullshit.”
“Gibbs...” Captain Watson interrupted with a glance toward her.
“Mossad. Liaison to NCIS.” Gibbs answered back, and it seemed to be enough to answer whatever question the captain would have asked.
“Damn, don't take this wrong, Agent David, but you're too young and ...” He broke off with a laugh when she raised her eyebrow warningly, until he continued, “... smart to be thrown into that kind of action. Might be a good idea to look into another career while you're still young enough to enjoy it.”
“So speaks the voice of experience.” Ziva answered, perhaps too sharply, she realized when Gibbs glared at her.
“It's harder than you realize, David, to find yourself out of the field, denied your alternate career by ... injury, and alone thanks to your years wearing masks over masks so that no one can know you, identify you, and get revenge. Even if something good comes along – if someone good comes along, you've been caught up in your masks for so long that you can't take advantage of it ...can't let that person get to know you before it's too late. It isn't a career to grow old in, young lady.”
The captain fell silent, staring into his tea cup for several seconds, while Ziva glanced helplessly at Gibbs trying to figure out how to apologize for the landmine she had unexpectedly triggered. To her surprise, though, Gibbs didn't look as angry as she'd expected. Instead, his expression was almost relieved. Catching her eye, he nodded toward the door, and ordered, “Go see what Kort's up to.”
Rising carefully, Ziva paused to reach out, wondering if the gesture would be seen as patronizing or not, and briefly rested his hand on the man's shoulder. He didn't look up, but covered her hand and nodded.
ブレンキン
. . .
TK
Where Are You?
SH
…
SH
You'd never believe.
TK
…
TK
What are you on about?
SH
…
SH
221 Baker
TK
…
What?!?
…
SH
You didn't sign your text.
TK
...
Trent couldn't help himself, with that comment, Holmes had harassed him for the first fifty or sixty texts they had sent to always sign his texts, so the man really did have it coming.
…
EXPLAIN!!!
SH
…
Lead agent knows JW
mentioned calling in marker.
TK
…
KEEP JW OUT OF IT!
SH
…
Don't know if I can.
TK
…
Don't be an idiot! Keep JW out.
SH
…
Or else?
TK
…
…
…
Trent smiled at the screen as Holmes failed to respond, knowing that the man was just as trapped by the situation as he was, and finding it oddly satisfying.
“Why does your contact not wish us to involve Captain Watson?” Ziva asked curiously, and Trent spun in surprise cursing under his breath as he did.
“That's...”
“Is Captain Watson untrustworthy?” she pressed, and Trent was tempted to just knock her out to shut her up, but that would blow things with Gibbs, and damn it, he needed Gibbs help. His higher ups in both the CIA and MI-5 were pissed with him and blocking him out. If he didn't work this out right, he would literally be a man without a country.
“No, but it's complicated,” he answered refusing her with a raised hand. “If it comes to it and the Captain's going to be mixed up in this, Holmes will just have to deal with it.”
Ziva's eyes narrowed then widened in a way that worried Kort.
…
