A/N- Yeah I should really be working on my homework or the other story but this just came to me and I couldn't resist. Please read and review.
Disclaimer, I own nothing

Ari Haswari was sitting at the window seat in his room at the Krasnapolsky Hotel observing the night life on the street below. He was dressed in the complimentary bathrobe and a pair of boxers, the sheets on the bed were rumpled and the scent of the woman- a girl really- still lingered in his nostrils.

In hindsight he should have made the effort to reach the Red Light District and find himself a prostitute, money for sex, a nice clean transaction where nobody got hurt. Instead, he'd stepped into the bar twenty feet from his hotel for a scotch and met a fellow traveller.

A tourist in truth. A clear novice in one of those tour groups for under twenty-eights that saw seven countries in six days and got blind drunk in every last one of them. She was in a group of about five girls and kept throwing glances at him for ten minutes before working up the courage to come over and talk to him.

She was Australian, he could tell that in her accent. She was exhausted by the trip and high off the excitement, she was a novice in the art of seduction, determined to prove something to herself and the people she was with more than anything.

But he was bored and she was willing. She even put on a brave face when he kicked her out of the room still buttoning up her new woollen coat with the Italian label and counterfeit handbag.

If he'd had to guess her age he'd say twenty, maybe twenty one, not a virgin but definitely not experienced.

He should have shot her down and sent her on her pretty little way or maybe let her shower first instead of going back to her hotel and her peers with his sweat still on her body and his juices slipping down her thighs.

Still it could have been worse, he'd noticed one of the bar's patrons salting a round of drinks with a clear liquid, perhaps he had saved her life tonight- or at least stopped her from waking up in an alleyway violated, bruised and fearful of travelling alone ever again.

Deciding it didn't really matter one way or another, he reached over to the table where he'd let some absinthe stew for a while.

That was where his control officer found him.

She didn't bother knocking; he wouldn't have bothered getting up. Instead she slid the master key into the door and let herself in, her eyes running a cursory inspection over the room.

"I ran into a sobbing girl on the way up here" she noted, meandering across the room, raising a perfect eyebrow at him, "One of yours?"

He doesn't bother looking up at her but shrugs carelessly, "Most likely...shalom Ziva"

She tilts her head, "Shalom Ari" she looks to the bed and sniffs with disdain, "I will call the help"

He snorts, swallowing some more of his drink "Don't bother"

"I am planning to stay here tonight" she announces simply, as a porter nudges the door open and looks to her for guidance, she nods in affirmation and he drops her bag in the middle of the room, leaving quickly when they stare at him with identical expressions of annoyance.

He eyes the worn duffel bag with the faintest disgust, "Pussy cat, pussy cat where have you been?"

She pushes his legs out of the way and sinks down opposite him on the window seat, "Bahrain" she announces, and he raises his eyebrows, taking in her cargo pants and vest, her hair tied back with a lavender scarf to keep it out of the way, "Did your plane miss the turn off to Tel Aviv?"

She doesn't immediately answer, choosing instead to reach over and help herself to his spirit, her nose wrinkling in disgust, he knows she prefers the sweeter drinks and had assumed his had been mixed with sugar. She swallows the liquor with a forced gulp, her head tilted back to show the delicate bones and cartilage of her thin neck and he feels an overwhelming desire for protection welling up within him.

Ziva is twenty-four years old and already one of the most decorated and accomplished Mossad operatives.

She is a disappointment to their father; she has not risen fast enough and been successful enough to satisfy him. Her face is too youthful and her figure too pleasing to always be taken seriously.

She is twelve years younger than Ari and he remembers holding her in his arms when she was three days old. Her purple eyelids quivering and her tiny hands shaking as they curled around his shirt, she made little mewling noises as he cupped her head in his palm as he'd been instructed. She'd struggled against it and turned it sideways, pressing her ear to his chest and sighing with contentment when she felt his heartbeat against her cheek.

Putting the drink down on the floor, he reaches over and gathers her into his arms, she protests and struggles but quickly surrenders as he slips her onto his lap and wraps one arm about her back and cups her hair in his hand, she sighs with annoyance but allows him to rest his chin on head and leans against his chest, the bathrobe being slid across so she can hear his heart.

They stayed like that for the better part of an hour, taking comfort and strength in one another, neither talking, neither moving, the only movement in the room being that of their breathing.

Eventually Ziva breaks the peace by burrowing her head deeper against him and exhaling through her nose with a sense of resignation,

"The Director is in negotiations with America" she murmurs, her dark brown eyes flickering up to see his reaction. He does not particularly care one way or another, he has long since been of the opinion that the Director of Mossad can go to hell, but clearly this news is important to Ziva so he feigns an interest,

"Oh..." he moves his face so he can look at hers and rubs his hand up and down her back,

"About what?"

Ziva sighs and shuffles marginally closer to him, tapping her fingers against his bare chest,

"There have been some...mistakes, made by Mossad in regards to operations carried on outside of Israeli territory"

He smirks, in other words Mossad has been caught acting illegally again. At least it's not him this time, he idly wonders whether it was another passport forging or if they'd killed another lookalike.

"America is furious with us" she explains further, using the pronoun to personalise the agency, to associate it with a living being and thus give it a life of its own
"There is talk of the President applying to the U.N for sanctions on Israel"

For her sake he grimaces but honestly he doesn't care, worst-case scenario- a few countries kick up a fuss and some Mossad and Israeli ambassadors get deported. They'd be forgiven a few months later when a terrorist blew up a building or two and continue acting on foreign soil as they had always done.

"The Director is working with the U.S intelligence agencies in the hope of minimizing the damage" she pauses and the hand he using to massage her back stills, instinctively he knows that whatever she is about to say is important in some way.

"He has suggested that we be sent to America as a show of good faith" she whispers, and this time his emotion is not feigned,

"Us?" he asks in surprise, "You and I?"

She nods, "I got the call before I left Bahrain, he suggested that I meet you in Amsterdam so as to limit the delay if we receive our orders"

Ari wonders if the 'he' in Ziva's sentence is the director or the deputy director, and decides that it doesn't matter either way. Neither of those men would think twice about sending them to their deaths.

"How do the American agencies feel about our impending arrival?" he muses aloud and Ziva shrugs,

"The CIA has already volunteered to create a position for you and the FBI is suggesting a placement for me"

He finds it interesting that neither of them were consulted before this went ahead. They were simply traded like the Jewish bankers of medieval Europe, given from one ruler to another as a sign of friendship and good faith.

"It will not be so bad" Ziva announces bravely, sitting up and clapping her hands on the window seat as she pushed herself up and crossed to the bed, "I am friends with Special Agent Jennifer Sheppard"

He grins and picks up his drink again, "And I am enemies with Special Agent Jethro Gibbs"

She winces and raises her hand, pressing her fingers to the scar on his shoulder, the bullet had entered an inch away from his ball and socket joint, a shot he would never have missed.

"Jenny was once his lover" she reveals, picking up the phone and hitting the button for the front desk, "I will make sure she keeps him away from you"

He shrugs, truthfully he would welcome a battle with Gibbs; he feels alive the most when he is risking death.

He leaves his drink in her hand and goes to shower, his mind already busy with thoughts of the future.

NCIS Special Agent Caitlin Todd.

Now there was a woman he'd enjoy sexual relations with.

Such a strong, assured woman but he could easily imagine undressing her in a dark bedroom, she would be vulnerable in her nakedness, she would tremble when he touched her. He'd lay her down on the bed and claim her with kisses; her innocent eyes were the colour of jasper and so expressive in their emotions, he would see them filled with desire and that would be her undoing. Women like her, bound as they were to a societal norm, repressed in their own way by a religion that had come so far and yet still frowned upon earthly joys, were always so fragile in lovemaking, so surprised by the bodies capabilities for pleasure. She would be startled by the way she responded to his hands and frightened by the eagerness with which she would respond. He would be gentle with her, it had been a long time since he had cared about a woman's gratification but he could afford to take his time and stretch out every minute with her. He would bring her to ecstasy multiple times and make her beg before he sought his own release inside her. Of course, he would have to be gentle during and afterwards as well, she wouldn't be just another woman for him to kick out once he was done, she was too fascinating a creature for him to be satisfied with that, he intended to have her as many times as their bodies would allow. He'd have to make love to her at night so as to ensure they would have time. He'd have to let her rest between the acts as well, lack of recovery could lead a woman to harm, his medical expertise and personal experience had taught him that, but he would enjoy waking her with warm caresses or perhaps lovemaking itself, hearing her cry out with desire and reach out for him. One night would be enough for his plan, she would be enslaved by her own passion and seek him out again, she would request him the next time and eventually be unable to hide her desire, betraying Gibbs and making Haswari the victor in the game.

When he climbed into bed for the second time that night, reaching over to rest a hand against his sleeping sister he found that he was smiling.

Yes, he would enjoy America.

A/N- In medieval Europe, loaning money was disapproved of by the Catholic church, however before the Medici, Jewish bankers were allowed to lend funds to kings and rulers, hence the reason they were handed around like gift cards. Terrible but true.