Ziva stands facing the wall, anger and fear making her whole body tremble. She whips out a knife, aims it at the paper target and throws with all her strength. The steel blade buries itself in the target's stomach with a dull thunk.
"I am nothing like you!"
Thunk.
"You and I will never be the same!"
Thunk.
"I have people I care about; nothing matters to you! I have friends; I had someone who loved me!"
Thunk. Thunk. Thunk.
"If I had a daughter, I would never leave her in the desert to die!" This time she takes six knives and hurls them one after the other, barely letting go of the first before grabbing the next. They each find their mark in the black paper forehead. A sense of searing rage fills Ziva's body, and instead of throwing her last knife, she charges at the target and slams her fist into the spot where its nose would be.
Her knuckles scream in protest, but she ignores the pain, hitting again and again until she can barely move her fingers. Sinking to the floor, Ziva cradles her throbbing hand and rests her forehead against the icy concrete wall. She feels almost sick. Eli's words flash through her head again, and as she closes her eyes, she sees the office compound and the black phone that carried his hated words.
Ziva turns from her computer to grab the receiver. "David."
"Ziva, we still need you here." Eli's voice makes her blood simultaneously chill and boil. Her fingers tighten on the phone.
"No. I will stay at NCIS." Ziva switches to Hebrew so Tony and McGee won't understand what she's saying. "There is nothing for me there in Israel now."
"Don't you want to finish what Rivkin began?"
"It almost got me killed!" she hisses, experiencing a sudden urge to destroy something. "And you did nothing to come find me—you, my father!"
"Ziva, please." Eli's voice never changes from its calm, cool tone. "I dared not contact you because I didn't know if doing so would jeopardize the mission. I assumed if there was a problem, you would take care of it. I believed in you."
She refuses to fall into his trap. "Three months? You knew something was wrong! But you left me there to rot, to die being tortured by Saleem! I should kill you for that!"
And then he laughs. The sound is so unexpected that she can only sit there dumbly. When Eli finally speaks, his voice is colored with amusement.
"Oh, Zivaleh, we are so alike. You have a strong desire for revenge, as I do, and of course you were trained by the best. But your cunning, your coldness, your beautiful combat skills...nobody taught you that. You inherited it from me." He chuckles again. "We are one, you and I."
Ziva feels nauseous suddenly, and it's all she can do to speak calmly. "I am nothing like you. I never wanted to be. I don't care what you do: I am never going back to Mossad. It killed my sister and my brother. I wish you would love me at least enough to realize what danger I'm in, but you know nothing of love."
She slams the phone down, rises and practically runs to the elevator.
Something gently touches her shoulder. Ziva looks up and meets the ice-blue eyes of Leroy Jethro Gibbs. He says nothing, merely extending a hand. She accepts it and pulls herself up, taking a bit longer than usual because her dominant hand is killing her. Gibbs notes the limp fingers and raises an eyebrow.
Ziva looks away from him. "Gibbs...am I anything like Eli? He told me we were the same. I did not want to believe it, but...how can I not? I am Mossad. We are all the same." She smiles wanly, fighting a sudden urge to cry. "Heartless."
"No." His expression softens slightly. "He's nothing like you, Zivers. You were never the same."
"How can you be sure? You don't even know my father."
Gibbs locks gazes with her. "He told you to kill your own brother. You did it to protect me, not because he ordered you to. Eli would have shot Ari and not lost any sleep over it. But not you."
As he speaks, immeasurable relief washes over Ziva. She knows Gibbs is right. But then pain comes; pain that still won't leave even after five years. She shot her brother, and yes, he was a terrorist, but she remembers him as he was long ago, not the angry young man whose forehead she put a bullet in...
Something must be showing on Ziva's face, because Gibbs steps forward and gently hugs her. "He is nothing like you, Ziva."
She allows herself to relax against him, crying a little but mainly relieved. I am not a monster.