'Brick By Boring Brick' takes place during "Truth or Consequences" (possibly "Reunion" as well) and is based on the song by Paramore "Brick By Boring Brick." THIS IS NOT A TRADITIONAL SONGFIC. We do not own NCIS or Paramore.

First off I want to thank my wonderful co-writer jessisparks2315 :) she is possibly the best writing partner out there and she wrote the majority of the Ziva parts here *claps for Jessi* She will be handling all of the Ziva parts from here on and I (RedHandedJill44) will be tackling Mr. Anthony DiNozzo here :) So please read and review! We want to know what you think! Please!

And now without any further ado, we bring you 'Brick By Boring Brick."


Brick By Boring Brick

She lives in a fairy tale, somewhere too far for us to find… Forgotten the taste and smell of a world that she's left behind...

With a gasp she awoke.

Pain. Blinding pain.

Bright light flashed in her eyes and shadows scurried in the void. She could feel herself reeling backwards from the blinding pain, her rapidly blinking eyes bringing everything into focus.

Then the light was gone.

Blackness shrouded her once again. Voices shouted in Arabic, seemingly coming from all sides. She shook her head underneath the blackness surrounding her head but could see nothing. She searched her mind for the correct words but their meanings and sounds eluded her. Suddenly the voice came again, this time in a language familiar and comforting, yet in a tone that belied a deadly threat. She searched her mind for the Hebrew phrases she grew up knowing, yet all that her mind could come up with was empty silence.

Then the voice came again. "Let me try this one more time." English. Her mind reeled as she understood the words that were – at one point in her life – completely foreign to her. A rough hand ripped the bag from her face and she saw the face of her captor. He was close to her and with calm, cold eyes he looked into hers. "Who are you? What are you doing here?"

Her mouth opened and only silence came out. She could feel her eyes nearly roll into her head as she almost fell out of the chair. The man before her turned around and shouted a few words in… Arabic. She was pretty sure it was Arabic… The next thing she knew the contents of a canteen were being poured down her throat. She gagged and was tempted to throw up on the man before her, but kept it down.

She exhaled and hung her head as she ran her tongue over her mouth and lips. She could move them once more without pain.

"Let's try this again." The man stood and moved before her. He grabbed a handful of her hair and pulled her up sharply. She held in a gasp of pain and looked her captor in the eye. His voice lowered to a whisper and his cold and chilling voice sent chills up and down her spine. "I know who you are, Ziva David. I know you're the daughter of Eli David. I know you work for Mossad. I even know why you are here. But there are a few things, I don't know." He leaned in closer until he was just a breath away from her face. "Tell me everything you know… about NCIS…"

...

It was strange, she thought, how little anything mattered any longer. Even as her body lit on fire with agony at each new method meant to force her to speak, she drifted. She wasn't allowed sleep - that would be far too easy, too humane - but her mind left her body with increasing ease. She danced in places of her past and visited on those she loved. Her sister in the forests of Israel, her mother tucking her in at night in Tel Aviv. She just left her body behind and let her mind go free. It came easily. So much so that it frightened her and she resisted, trying to keep grounded in where she was, who she was; was she losing her mind? Her grip? and then reason reminded her that her mind had no further purpose in a soon-to-be-vacated body, and she allowed herself to drift again.

This time she drifted farther than she ever had. Across the scorching Sahara Desert, to match the burning of her skin. Cold Atlantic waters, to freeze her into the throbbing of her head. Until a familiar brick building rose from the depths of her consciousness and she stood in the bullpen, in an empty NCIS building, with only the dim emergency lights on, staring out the window at the Yard. It was peaceful, there: The place where her mind rested.

Something moved behind her, but for the first time since she had watched Gibbs walk onto that plane, she wasn't immediately on the defensive. Instead, she turned, and she smiled.

Tony. Senior Field Agent. Movie buff. Chauvanist pig. And the one person she would give the world to see. And he was smiling at her, halfway, as though caught up in the sight of her, drinking her in.

A thousand words rose up and caught in her throat and she took a step forward. She'd crossed through fire and ice to get here, and she couldn't think of a thing to say. She wanted to tell him she understood, she forgave him, she saw why he had done... what he had done. As he took a step to match hers, she found the words. You... have always had my back.

"Ziva," he said, reaching for her. As she felt his arms around her shoulders, strong, warm, safe, she said, "Tony, you -"

But something was wrong. The world was spinning - she was spinning, falling apart. As though from outside of herself, she watched her own shape crumble into pieces, dust, like the hot Somalian sand, in Tony's arms, saw his face break as he tried to hold her together until she - and the entire scene - blew away in a wind she couldn't feel.


With a gasp Tony awoke. He shook his head and looked around his room. The nightmare... It was just a nightmare. Ziva was there... she seemed so real - and alive. He thought he could reach out and touch her. He sat up and ran his hands through his hair, fighting the chills that ran up and down his spine. Not since Kate died had he felt this way.

8 months. 248 days. 5952 hours. 8 months since he'd seen Ziva. 248 days without her nagging him about his dating career. 5952 hours without her messing up movie references.

Not since Kate died had he kept such a record of the passing time. It had taken close to a year to get used to not seeing his partner, his friend. But Ziva? Who knows how long this would take?

He got up and walked around his apartment. It was empty, like always, but after tonight is seemed vacant. It was as if something vital was missing.

Ziva.

He closed his eyes and collapsed into a chair, his hands running through his hair. For once in his life he felt helpless... hopeless. He saw her tonight. He saw her tonight. Somehow in that dream -that nightmare - somehow he saw her.

It was in the bullpen, late at night. He was finishing up paperwork, trying to clear his mind, when she walked in. He didn't believe it when he saw it, but there she was standing there like always. He watched as she gazed over the squad room with an affectionate eye, taking in the peace and the quiet.

He felt as if he could sit and watch for the rest of his life, but his mind had other plans. He stood up quickly and nearly gasped as she turned around to face him. With one glance he took in her face, and rage and protection flared up within him as he saw the bruises and cuts that littered her pretty face. A face made all the more beautiful by the marks.

He smiled softly as she nervously glanced around. From the moment the C-17 touched ground in DC, she was forgiven. Never had he held a grudge in her 8 months hiatus. But did she know that? Her eyes told the story and nothing in the world could have told him more plainly. "Ziva...
He reached out to her and took her in his arms, holding her close and tight like he had wanted to for the past 8 months.

"Tony, you-"

And then she was gone. He stood there, grasping at air, and watched her turn into sand and fall away, piece by piece, and blow away on the east wind.

He had woken up then. He leaned back in the chair, cringing at the memory. She was there - he could touch her! - but then she was gone. Taken away by a force unknown. Yet for some reason it gave him hope. It gave him drive. He sat up in the chair, eyes sparking with clarity. Ziva David was alive. That much he knew. No one else could tell him otherwise. She was alive - for now.

And he would find her. Dead or Alive.

And be her dead or alive, he would find who did this to her. He said a quick prayer for them, because hell hath no fury like a man hellbent on revenge.

It's all about the exposure, the lens, I told her. The angles are all wrong now, she's ripping wings off of butterflies...