Chapter Text
2015
The alley was too quiet.
Tony could feel it in his gut. He’d hoped for a solid case his first time back on US soil in years, a way to cement himself as the new Special Agent In Charge. A clean win to remind anyone who still remembered who he’d been and those who doubted him as the new face in the office that he was as good as ever. Even if the 5 years stationed in Naples had seen him return with a few extra pounds from the pizza and an enviable tan.
But this - shadows stretched to uncanny proportions, the unseasonable prickle of humidity in the air, the eerie silence broken only by the faintly buzzing street lights - this was not what he had in mind. The whole place felt like someone was holding their breath, and he didn’t like it one bit. He liked it even less when he realised he was the one not breathing.
Whatever was about to go down was big, but he could already tell it would not be in the way he hoped.
His hand hovered over his Sig, waiting for movement. Their guy was in that warehouse, he was sure of it. Wanted in three countries and with a rap sheet as long as Tony’s arm, he’d evaded arrest on six other occasions. But not this time; all they had to do now was bring him in. Textbook case.
He rubbed the back of his skull, trying to ignore the tingle there, the warning that something else was coming too. He didn’t need that, only to complete the task.
Tony exhaled hard. This was his job, and this was what he was good at. He was here to arrest an internationally wanted criminal, not to hunt for ghosts of his past lurking in industrial DC.
His comms crackled as, one by one, his team announced they held their entry points, waiting for his call. External surveillance confirmed they had the place covered. He tested the door, locked. He rolled his eyes, it figured he wouldn’t get away without a bruise or two.
One last inhale and go.
He slammed his shoulder into the door. The lock gave way, and his gun came up, sweeping left, right. Clear . Through the office into the main warehouse. Another sweep. Clear again. He waited for his team in the other rooms to confirm the same and join him. The place was silent, any movement would be heard. If the guy was upstairs, there was no way he was getting down without being found now.
There was a new crash, the door on the opposite wall splintering, the hinge swinging wide.
He whipped around, his weapon raised, aiming at the new figure in the doorway - not his team. The barrel of their gun glinted dully in the yellowish light filtered through the dusty windows as it snapped up and locked onto him.
“Drop your weapon!” they ordered. A female voice, he realised, not his target in disguise.
“NCIS!” he barked back. “You first.”
Still hidden in the shadows on the other side of the room, he couldn’t make out anything more of the intruder than the heavy black tactical gear and unwavering stance. “FBI,” she countered. “Put the gun down.”
“Boss, there’s FBI here.” His earpiece came to life again, his senior agent. Her voice was strained. It sounded like she’d skipped the standoff and gone straight to physically subduing.
He kept his gun trained on the newcomer as he spoke. “Great timing, Hanson,” he growled into the mic. “Yeah, I know. Stand down. Find Coop and Fletcher and get your asses in here.”
“That was the first smart thing you have said.” They edged a step closer, locked in a stalemate. Neither gun would be lowered while the other was still pointed at them “Now, I am not asking you. Put the weapon down.”
Something in the firm, commanding tone rang a bell for Tony, but he pushed it down. Criminals, not ghosts, he reminded himself. “No, see, I don’t particularly like it when cowgirl FBI agents crash my party and start waving weapons in my face. So this gun is going nowhere, sweetheart.”
She hesitated just a fraction of a second, he could hear her sudden, sharp inhale. Her outline, still shrouded in the darkness, stepped back a little, and her head tilted, thinking. He kept his gun steady, reaching with his other hand for a flashlight in his coat pocket.
Before he could turn it on, she spoke.
“Well, it’s been a long time since you called me that .”
He didn’t have a chance to process it as her arm lowered, and she began to approach him slowly. As she stepped into the light, he found himself staring straight into the eyes of the very ghost he had promised himself he wouldn’t summon.
Ziva. Ziva Freaking David. The name he’d tried not to think about for so long echoed through his skull as though she’d actually pulled the trigger. She wasn’t supposed to be here. Hell, he didn’t even think she’d still be in DC after this long. But there she was, in the flesh, with the letters FBI emblazoned across her front.
He froze, gun still raised.
“Are you going to put that down, now?” she asked cooly, closing the gap between them until she was at point-blank range. Too close. Her hand raised, two fingers landing on the barrel of his gun and pushing it away from her face.
No hesitation, no fear. Even after this long, she still trusted him. He wasn’t sure he’d return the favour if their roles were reversed.
She raised her other hand, a flash of ID and a badge; proof of the seemingly impossible.
Tony shook his head, finally holstering his weapon. “You’ve gotta be kidding me. Did you miss the memo? NCIS has this one.”
“Did you miss the memo we took over when your people lost him in LA?” she shot back.
That wasn’t his screw up, but the West Coast’s. Tony had barely been back for two days before he’d been given the lead when they’d received intel that their guy was in DC again.
“Lost?” he scoffed. “That was a tactical relocation.”
She shook her head, like she’d expected that answer all along. “You have always been bad at admitting failure, Tony,” she said smugly.
“Oh, that’s rich coming from you.” No, that was veering into the personal; he needed to get back on track. “If you’re so on top of this, where were you three weeks ago in LA, then?”
“Exactly where we needed to be.” Ziva crossed her arms. “Tracking his network through Europe, tracing funds transfers to work out where he’d be tonight. Waiting until he’d slipped through your fingers - again - so we could finish the job.”
He let out a humourless laugh. “Because the Bureau taking over solves everything.”
Ziva’s eyes narrowed. “At least we do not let pride get in the way of jurisdiction.”
“Sure, jurisdiction ,” he repeated incredulously. “And it was your jurisdiction when you just happened to turn up here, tonight, with your guns drawn, was it?”
“This is an active investigation to bring down an internationally wanted criminal,” she replied smoothly. “Do you expect me to apologise for doing my job?”
Tony didn’t actually know what he expected. Meeting Ziva as an equal - both team leaders, both calling the shots - was new. And for all his irritation, the FBI had just as much right to claim the takedown as NCIS.
He was spared having to answer as their teams caught up. They edged through the door, still eyeing each other warily. They halted, looking uncertain if the greater threat was their missing fugitive or their commanding agents, currently locked in a standoff and looking like they were about two seconds away from throwing punches.
“Put 'em away,” Tony sighed, nodding at his agents, weapons still drawn.
“Boss?” Hanson questioned, her eyes darting from person to person, assessing the tension between them. The FBI agents still had their guns in hand, too.
“You heard me. They aren’t going to give us any trouble, are they?” he asked pointedly. His eyes stayed on Ziva.
She nodded once, crisply. “Lower your weapons,” she confirmed. “Agent DiNozzo and his team were just leaving,” she added as her agents obeyed.
Having the Bureau get past his surveillance teams was bad enough. Discovering that the opposing team was headed up by the one person he didn’t want to see again was worse. The final straw was the blatant attempt to push NCIS out of their case.
“Leaving was always your forte,” he snapped before he could stop himself.
Ziva flinched, just for a second. A tiny crack in her armour. The words hung in the air like smoke from a gun he hadn’t meant to fire. The agents froze; the tension shifted.
Hanson’s sharp gaze narrowed. Calculated. Until now, her quick mind had been one of the reasons he liked her best. “You two know each other,” she announced, suspiciously.
Tony exhaled through his nose, his jaw tight. He didn’t want to do this. To explain. Didn’t even want to remember.
Ziva had already schooled her face back into an impassive mask. Professional, with a hint of disdain. But she didn’t speak. She just waited, her eyebrows raised in the barest hint of a challenge.
Tony swallowed hard. He knew he should ignore it, make a flippant remark and move on. Lie and bluff it out. He could leave the past buried exactly the way he’d planned to when he’d first returned to DC.
Instead, the truth slipped out. “Yeah,” he admitted gruffly. “I know her.”
A muscle in Ziva’s neck twitched. No other response.
“I even married her, once.”