How to Live Again: A Guide for those who need it.
(Starts off poorly, but it gets better.)
The heavy beats of the music blaring in her ears seemed to blend with the pounding of her foot steps against the treadmill. Ziva hadn't had the time- or the energy –to make it back to her apartment and run her regular route, so she settled for speeding off to her favourite gym in her little red mini cooper.
People said that the 'cute` qualities of her car contradicted her personality, and she agreed. The only reason she had picked this car out of all of the vehicles that seemed to suit her more at her local dealership, was because of its easy manoeuvrability. She could weave her way in and out of crawling traffic with effortlessness, and fitting into small spaces seemed to be her specialty. So Ziva could get where she needed, or in this case wanted, to be with lightning speed. This was perfect for a day like today, when Gibbs had given his team just a couple of hours to do what they pleased after working for several days straight.
Most who have met the Gibblets would assume that they were extremely dedicated agents, who are faithful to their jobs, and finding the truth. But anyone who took the time to gently pick apart the tightly-nit fibres of the team would know that that was only part of the equation. Though they did love America, and work to make it safe, each agent had their own particular reason for working at NCIS.
Abby Scuito, for example, wished to honour her father, who had been a decorated marine. But her love for science made job choices difficult. NCIS was the perfect compromise. Whereas Timothy McGee had always yearned for the life of a law enforcement officer, whether it be as the captain of his own space ship, sent into outer space by the government on a mission to conquer planets, or as a special agent working to bring bad guys to justice. The internship program at NCIS had been the perfect opportunity for Timmy to try out working for the government. Meant to be a stepping stone to higher places, this job was definitely going to be temporary. McGee was capable of bigger things than head slaps and coffee runs. And he didn't know how much longer he could take agent Dinozzo's constant ridiculing. He dealt with bullies, jerks, and pompous frat boys throughout high school and college, he had had enough. But the quirky personalities of his co-workers slowly won him over, and he became immune to Tony's shots at his ego, Gibb's constant disapproval of his love for technology, and Ducky's strong need to lecture him on everything Scottish, English, and anything in between. Tim learned to love his job, and the feeling that comes from doing it right.
Dinozzo, on the other hand, didn't become a cop for the warm, fuzzy feeling you get inside when you help others. All he ever wanted was to carry a gun, wear sexy glasses, be surrounded by chicks, and get caught in shootouts. But his dreams fell short in Baltimore, so NCIS was his plan B.
Gibb's reason for working at NCIS was pretty obvious. He was an ex-marine, or rather he was still a marine, because according to him, if you were once a marine, you were a marine forevermore.
Though every agent's story was unique, Ziva's was by far the most interesting. She had never aspired to work at NCIS. She had never even waned to become an American citizen. All she ever wanted to do was dance, to let her body move the way it wanted to, the way it needed to.
Her mother had signed her up for ballet when she was a young girl, and Ziva had detested her for it. But as she aged, she took a firm liking to the weekly classes. She became obsessed with the feeling of complete bliss that was complementary with moving in time with the music, and pushing her muscles past every boundary that presented itself. She poured every fibre of her being into dance, and transformed into the most graceful, dedicated, and talented young dancer her teacher ever had the pleasure of instructing.
Ziva's mother hired her daughter the most qualified tutor available, and increased the amount of time she danced from two hours a week, to four hours after school every evening. Ballet became her only escape. From her father, from stress, and from life. When she danced she felt safe, and in control, unlike reality, where she was weak and defenceless to her father's cruelty. Dancing made her strong.
But Ziva's time as a talented young performer was short lived; Eli saw her obsession with dance a distraction to her duties as an Israeli. And, despite his wife's wishes, he ordered all lessons be ceased to make space for his daughter's training. If one good thing had come from Ziva's addiction to ballet, it had been the way constant movement had made her body hard, and extremely muscular. Eli would often find himself smiling whenever he thought of just how toned his daughter had become, she was also capable of contorting her body into a variety of natural, and intensely unnatural positions. This, he would soon find, made her a whiz at hand to hand combat.
So it was then that Ziva's training began, and she soon found that training was the most important thing to her father, not her. Eli pushed her to the breaking point, waking her up at 4:00 am every morning before school, sending her on excruciatingly long runs, and testing her endurance. She would go through the school day utterly exhausted, and instead of coming home and being able to seek relaxation, she fell victim to her father's harsh, almost abusive training method once again. Getting through each day became torture, and Ziva was beginning to more frequently consider giving in. Giving in to the to the beatings when she didn't do something perfectly, giving in to the agony of looking herself in the mirror, and wanting to be able to scrape off the bruises, giving in to the occasional thoughts of ending it all. But she couldn't give in. She knew that somewhere, somehow, she could have more of a potential than being a mindless drone of her father's. She could find a way to deal with the pain and suffering, she had to. And she did, the one way to rid her life of sadness and torture, was to not feel them. But in order to do this, she realised, Ziva would have to create a mental barrier from everything, or in other words, she couldn't let herself feel anything. In order to cast away the pain, she would have to give up feeling happiness, innocence, and love. But this was a sacrifice she was willing to make; she would do anything she had to to survive.