Title: Undercover
Author: barbossas_wench
Author’s Email: barbossas_wench@livejournal.com
Rating: R-ish (for now)
Pairing: Jenny/Ziva
Genre: Pre-Slash/Slash
Word Count: 1,684
Summary: Ziva & Jenny reach an understanding…of sorts
Sequel to: First Meeting I & II & Nights

Author's Disclaimer: I own nothing. DPB pwns all, I am mearly a fan. All I share in common with any of this is my name is Jennifer. Though, if anyone tried to call me Jenny, I'd kick their ass. :)

Disclaimer: "NCIS: Naval Criminal Investigative Services," the characters, and situations depicted are the property of Belisarius Productions, Paramount Network Television Productions, Paramount Television, and CBS Television. This piece of fan fiction was created for entertainment not monetary purposes. Previously unrecognized characters and places, and this story, are copyrighted to the author. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, is coincidental and not intended by the author. This site is in no way affiliated with " NCIS: Naval Criminal Investigative Services," CBS, or any representatives of Pauley Perrette or Cote de Pablo.

Just as Jenny stood in front of the dingy mirror beside the door, fixing her hijab, Ziva’s cell phone rang. Try as she might, Jenny couldn’t follow the one-way rapid-fire conversation in Hebrew. Sometimes she got the feeling Ziva was being obtuse in her method of teaching her Hebrew. She tucked the last of her hair in place as Ziva snapped her cell closed.

“You will be going to report alone.” Her curt voice cut into Jenny’s thoughts. 

Jenny spun around, “What! Why?” Anger and something else showing in her green eyes.

Ziva actually took a step back, “Director David ordered me to stay behind, and I have no choice. Your Superiors will understand.” 

Jenny gave an inelegant snort, “Director David!” She barked the name out, “Your Father, Ziva! Don’t afford him more respect then he deserves!”

In an instant, Ziva had Jenny up against the door in a violent hold. “Do not disrespect the Director like that again. I do not talk ill of your people; do not talk ill of mine.” Her voice was a low growl as she looked down in to the green eyes below.

Jenny’s eyes registered shock and a frisson shook her body. She swallowed, “I apologize.”

Ziva pressed her weight against her for good measure before releasing her. “Do not let it happen again.” She growled turning away from Jenny.

Jenny was still rubbing her arms as she left the apartment to meet her taxi.


The scene was still repeating through Jenny’s mind nearly an hour and a half later as Jenny wound her way through side streets, careful to keep her hijab over her hair. The farther away from the U.S. Embassy she got, the seedier the neighborhoods got. She shouldn’t have opted to walk, but she was pissed. Pissed at Ziva for making her go to report to her Superiors alone, they were supposed to be partners.


Ziva knew Jenny was pissed; what she hadn’t been banking on was the older woman’s hurt expression. She’d been counting on Ziva, and she’d had to let her down. Weather Jenny would ever know it; Ziva was just as pissed at her Father as Jenny was.

Ziva threw more clothes in her bag, covering up her gun. It wasn’t the neatest packing job she’d ever done, but the follow-up phone calls had taken longer then she’d anticipated. She started as the door opened suddenly.

Jenny stood in the doorway, hijab in her hands, red hair fanning out around her head like the mane on a young lion. “What the fuck is going on?” Her voice was laced with ice and her eyes raked the younger woman, “And just what the Hell are you wearing?”

Ziva had never heard her like this; she swallowed, fighting the urge to shiver. “I am wearing traditional Bedouin robes,” she ducked her head, pushing a long chunk of hair back behind her ear.

“Why?” She took a step into the apartment, slamming the door so hard, the hinges shook. 

Another swallow, “I’m meeting Sheikh Asad al Sayyid.”

“The Second-in-Command for our Arms Dealer. Where?”

“At his home, in the desert.”

Jenny strode towards her room, intending to get her bag.

“You are not coming.” It was a command.

Jenny stopped, her back to Ziva, she didn’t turn. “Oh, but I am.” 

Ziva could hear the anger in her voice, and there it was again; that something else that she couldn’t place.

“No, Jenny, you are not. The Director—“

Jenny spun around, her eyes snapping, “Your Father you mean! What’s he playing at, Ziva!? Is he trying to piss off every Federal Agency in the States!? Because if that’s not his goal, he really needs to stop bef---“ Once again she was slammed backwards, but this time there was no door to stop her fall, she fell for what felt like forever through the air before landing on her back on the mattress; Ziva on top of her.

WHAT DID I TELL YOU!?” Ziva was possessed, her eyes lit from within.

Jenny struggled under the taller woman, “I. Don’t. Give. A. Fuck. I’m coming!” She writhed, trying to throw Ziva off, her hand slid down her back; she gasped when she felt something under the younger woman’s robes.

Ziva sat up, still straddling the older woman. “Congratulations, you have found some of my knives.” Then, at the older woman’s questioning look, “They do not run out of bullets.”

Jenny’s hands trailed down to her hips as if to hold her for a moment, her body tensed slightly.

Ziva braced herself; she could feel the other woman’s body tense, at the very last second she allowed herself to relax.

At that moment, Jenny surged up, flipping the taller woman off and onto her back, reversing their positions.

“Why?” She growled down at the Israeli beneath her. “Why are you doing this to me?”

Ziva sighed, “It is not I who is doing this, it is, the Dire—“ She closed her eyes for a moment, then looked up into Jenny’s face. “It is my Father.” For a moment she looked ashamed.   

“How?” Jenny’s voice was emotionless, but to look at her; it was exquisite. Or so Ziva thought, lying on her back with the NCIS Agent straddling her hips; the sun was streaming in through the dingy window behind Jenny, lighting her hair up like a fiery halo.

“My brother is selling me to the good Sheikh for a Bride Price.” At Jenny’s horrified expression Ziva continued. “Of course, what Asad doesn’t know is that I am really there to plant a bug in his computer and try and get what information from him that I can.”

“But a Bride Price?” Jenny sounded confused. 

Ziva gave her a comforting smile, “I am not really to be wed to him. He practices the old ways, he still has a harem with more then one wife. I would have to live with him for some time, to see how well I fit into his household before we could actually be married. I will have done all I need to do before that becomes necessary.” Her smile slid from comforting to predatory. “I have nothing to fear from Asad, as I am going to him a virgin, he knows he faces the wrath of my brother should he defile me in any way before we are to be wed.” She licked her lips, waiting to see Jenny’s reaction.

Jenny’s face paled and she swallowed hard, trying not to think about what Ziva had just said to her.

In the moment she wasn’t paying attention, Ziva struck. She arched her back, flipping Jenny back over onto her back, once again straddling the older Agent. “I have shocked you, no?” She asked, leaning down, her Star of David just brushing Jenny’s throat.

“N—no.” Jenny’s voice was a quiet husk in the room, dust motes floating around Ziva’s dark hair. 

“Your right eye, it twitches when you lie.” Ziva grinned before closing the gap between them and kissing Jenny. 

It was not a gentle kiss; there was nothing soft or sweet about it. Ziva’s mouth consumed the other woman’s. Her tongue did not stop to beg or even ask entrance to her mouth, it broke through her lips like a battering ram. But Jenny was right there, accepting; taking the force that was Ziva David. Her body surged under the taller woman’s, her hands slid up the robes, fighting for anything she could grab to pull the young woman down against her, but Ziva fought back, finally pulling away, ending the kiss abruptly. 

“Liar.” Jenny panted, watching as Ziva fixed first her robes, then her hair.

Ziva threw her a questioning looks as she stood up, holding out her hand to help the older woman up.

“No virgin kisses like that.”

Ziva threw her head back and laughed, it was a full, throaty sound. Jenny had never heard such joy come from the other woman, she couldn’t help but smile.

“You are right, I am no virgin; but Asad does not need to know this, no?” She winked before turning her back to Jenny to finish the last of her packing. Finally she had her bag by the door and the tension had returned to the apartment. She walked to where Jenny stood by the sofa, stopping in front of her.

“Jenny, I am truly sorry about this. I did not know what my father’s intentions were on this.” Her voice was quiet, out in the streets; the sound of the Muezzin could be heard.

“I’m your partner; I’m supposed to keep you safe.” Jenny’s voice was once again a harsh rasp. “Back you up.” Her hand cupped Ziva’s cheek softly, as though it were a dove.

Ziva swallowed but did not pull away. “There is something you can do for me.” 

Jenny nodded, not trusting her voice.

Ziva’s fingers went to the clasp of her Star of David; she pulled it from around her neck. Before Jenny could say or do anything she was clasping the necklace around her neck. “Please keep this safe for me; it is very dear to me. I dare not risk taking it into the desert with me.”

Jenny’s hands came up to hold Ziva’s face before she stood up on tip-toe to kiss her. This kiss was soft, gentle, everything their first kiss had not been. 

**”Stay safe and come back to me swiftly.”** Jenny’s Hebrew was halting, her pronunciation slightly off, but the meaning was clear.

Ziva’s eyes widened to shocked, round saucers.  She had not taught that to Jenny, she had figured that out on her own. For a moment, tears leant a sheen to her eyes before she blinked them away. She nodded in reply, before leaning down to kiss Jenny just below her left ear, “Shalom, Jenny, I will not be gone long.” She turned abruptly, grabbed her bag and nearly ran from the apartment.

As the door closed behind Ziva’s retreating form, Jenny sat down hard on the sofa and cried into her hands.