A/N This fic is based in between season 3 and season 4 and based just before Gibbs comes back

The alarm had been going off for ten minutes before she could bring herself to switch it off. It read half past five which meant Ziva had been up for two hours. Insomnia was not a new part of her life and there was certainly to pattern to its outbreaks but there was usually something going on inside her head and while her headspace was not exactly a blue sky at the moment, it wasn't a thunderstorm either.

Sighing, she swung her legs off her window seat and made to stretch. At least she had an excuse for getting up now. Running had been a big part of her life for as long as she could remember. When she was younger, her and her best school friend would run down the dusty side alleys of Tel Aviv trying to beat each other. Occasionally her friend would win but it was usually Ziva. She had always been athletic and running was a natural part of her; not a habit instilled in her by Mossad, the IDF or her father. For a short while, she could forget who she was now and pretend that she was twelve years old again, running down those alleys with Na'ama, Mossad and the IDF a distant dream, the one black cloud in an otherwise blue sky.

It had been a while since she had felt like that.

The sound of her feet pounding on the pavement made her feel a lot better. It made her feel invincible. Indestructible. Because every day more she spent in America it was another day she felt human, broken even. Nobody really knew why she ran. Because she was vulnerable and because every time she was alone her heart shattered into millions of tiny pieces. To feel human was wrong. She needed to be a soldier. Because to be destructible was dangerous, to be human was dangerous. It was an error in the line of work to which she was used. Ziva felt her shields break and her defenses thaw every day she worked at NCIS. So she ran, because she felt her walls go up and her defenses freeze. And she liked it. She liked knowing that she could still be soulless.

Today was no exception but instead of focusing on the pain of slightly too small trainers and the pounding of her feet, Ziva found herself thinking of what she was missing. Sure, she often missed the movie references and the idioms and expressions that were part of her daily life but usually she thought in her native tongue and therefore did not get confused. Today was different. There was an emptiness in her stomach and a hollow feeling in her chest that wasn't there before. There was definitely something…

And then it hit her. Like a bullet to the stomach it hit her and took her breath away. Then came the overwhelming sense of guilt. How could she have forgotten? How could she have not remembered the date? It was America. They had made her soft. They had made Ziva truly forget why she was still fighting in this world or more accurately - fighting for.

Ziva doubled over on the pavement, unable to move and unable to breathe. The pain and loss was all too real and it felt like it was only hours instead of months. Although she didn't regret her decision, it was a bitter pill to swallow when you killed who you'd been trying to protect.

A tap on the shoulder brought her out of her misery-induced reverie. Looking up, Ziva saw it was a woman with a kind face. "Are you alright?"

Suddenly she was painfully aware that she was doubled over on the pavement outside a building. Golden years retirement home the sign read. Ziva could not even formulate an answer. All sorts of languages were getting jumbled up in her head so instead she nodded and made to get up.

"Are you sure you're fit to walk? I'd be glad to give you a lift home," the woman pressed and the only thing Ziva could think of what why on earth was this woman up at six in the morning.

"I am fine," Ziva said and started off in a shaky jog which progressed to a steady run. What had just happened was still an incomprehensible fact to her. Why did strangers stop to help people like herself when they were on the side of the road? Why didn't the dismiss her as a junkie or an alcoholic and go on their way? Why?

Why had what happened, happened?

"Morning, Ziva," McGee greeted her on her way into the bullpen.

"Good morning, McGee," She replied, carefully arranging her features into a perfect mask of nonchalance. Today was not going to be one of those unexpected heart to heart days or one where she would slip up and accidentally mention something about her past. No, no way.

Of course she had not counted on Tony waltzing into the bullpen with a cry of, "Hello my probies. Today is a day that should have gone down in American history. It is a day that should be remembered and celebrated by all as a national holiday. Kinda like the fourth of July without all the security checks and stuff.."

Ziva internally winced. "And what exactly should be going down in American history?"

Tony looked at her, mouth agape. "You don't know?" At Ziva's blank look he sighed deeply and prepared to launch into a great explanation. "Today, my little Israeli, is the day that the legendary Leroy Jethro Gibbs shot one of NCIS' most wanted bastards of all time. The very infamous Ari Haswari!"

Ziva fought the urge to rid her stomach of her meagre breakfast. All she wanted to do was run and hide so her friends (if she dared call them that?) didn't find out what dirty little secret she harbored. But that wasn't an option. So instead she looked at her computer monitor and mumbled, "I do not think that is worthy of going down in American history."

Tony looked at McGee, surprise on his face. Of course he hadn't expected Ziva to be ecstatic at why he was so happy; Ari had been Mossad after all and she had probably been friends with him or at least knew of him. Still, what was with refusing to meet his eyes and was that a tear he saw in her eye? Probably not. Ziva wasn't one for showing her emotions. She was probably tired because of her insane need to get up at half five for a run.

Pushing his concern aside, Tony turned to McGee and grinned. "So I met this pretty girl last night…."

Later on, after a particularly nasty encounter with a suspect, Ziva sat down at her desk and relished the silence. The squad room was empty and the relief was welcomed with open arms. All day, she had been wanting some time alone because it wasn't easy to mourn when everybody else was celebrating.

Checking over her shoulder carefully, Ziva pulled free a letter from where she's taped it to the underside of her desk drawer. A letter from Ari when he was studying in Edinburgh. The messy scrawl of English letters was faded after spending its life being pulled from envelopes rather violently but still legible.

Dear Ziva,

It has been so long, don't you think? I wanted to write this. I am not sure how long it takes the postal service to deliver from Scotland to Israel but I am sure it cannot be that long. How are you? How is your training going? I am sorry I have not been there but medicine is such an interesting topic and I am having such a good time.

I am writing this quickly before I go out. My friends and I decided to have a go at being tourists for the day. Edinburgh is so stereotypically Scottish it is quite unbelievable. Contrary to popular belief Ziva, Scottish people do not have all ginger hair and they do not all wear kilts. They are normal - although slightly pale - people with quite funny accents. Tourists are the ones who dress up in kilts with Saltire t-shirts so that is what we have decided to do. We will look so stupid but it will be so much fun!

How is Tali? Is she still singing? I love her voice and my only comfort are the tapes which she sends. How is the Deputy Director? Is he still ruling over the Mossad with his iron fist? Please give Tali a kiss for me. Sixteen years old, she will be trouble soon.

Stay safe, dear Ziva.

Haswari

Tali had been dead within a week.

Tony, reading over her shoulder, couldn't believe his eyes. Haswari? That was his second name. The only one which he answered to in medical school.

"What the hell?!"

Ziva spun around quickly at the sound of Tony's angry voice. Quickly, she shoved the letter back to its hiding place but it was clear that it was futile. Standing up, she braced herself for a fight that was sure to come. It was lucky that just as it happened, Ziva David was a very gifted fighter.

"Who the hell do you think you are?" She hissed.

"Geez, I could ask you the same question. Haswari? As in 'Ari Haswari'? As in the murdering terrorist who killed my partner and shot at Abby?" The question was obviously rhetorical. "Why do you have a letter from him in your drawer?"

Ziva remained stony and silent.

"I bet he was your lover, your boyfriend. Yeah, it must get quite lonely on stakeouts, especially in the cold of the desert night. Doesn't leave a lot to the imagination," Tony shouted. Heads bobbed up from desks but bobbed back down quickly when they saw Anthony Dinozzo engaging in a heated conversation with the hot (dangerous) Israeli Mossad Officer who was still the talk of the office.

"You do not know-" Ziva started but was cut off by Tony, who was in full rant mode now.

"How long had you two been together? It's quite obvious he cared for you and you obviously care for him. Tell me, why did you come to work here after Gibbs killed him, huh? Revenge? Were you planning to gain our trust and then kill us all unsuspectingly and fly back to the protection of Mossad?"

Ziva was hurt now. How could he even think…? "Stop!"

"No, I will not stop. I won't stop because you don't deserve me to stop. What else have you been hiding from us? Was your sister a terrorist too?" He stalked off.

Ziva sat down, paralyzed with shock. Mentioning her sister had been the straw the broke the camel's back so to speak. How dare he judge her like that? How dare he when he didn't know a damned thing about her? You came here to seek a new life for yourself. One away from all the lies and the terrorists and the pain. One away from the life you were used to, she thought, her heart hurting, breaking into a thousand different shards.

Oh, how you failed.