A/N: This is a somewhat hard look into Ziva's past. As I'm sure you all know, she didn't have the easiest childhood. For that reason, there are some difficult themes dealt with below. This story was rated M for a reason, and that reason isn't only for T/Z smut. Please keep that in mind.
Disclaimer: I do not own or make a profit off of NCIS or its characters. I'm simply having fun with my imagination.
Ziva David had been trained to flirt and seduce since she was twelve and her father realized she would one day grow into a beautiful woman.
She first kissed a boy the day after her thirteenth birthday. It was Asa Zuckerman, the best-looking boy in her entire neighborhood. He was fifteen, and she had been doing her best to entrance him for the better part of a year. She kissed him in the grove of trees across the street from her house, and he tasted of cinnamon and success. The butterflies that appeared in her stomach that day had very little to do with Asa's presence and quite a bit to do with the fact that she had successfully completed her self-imposed mission to kiss him.
When they pulled apart, Asa stuttered that he had to go home. Ziva didn't say anything, and when she saw him walking down the street the next day, she didn't really have an urge to stop him.
As she grew older, the art of seduction became less about the innocent acts of kissing and holding hands and more about convincing a guy that he wanted to get into your pants. Ziva learned all the ways she could pleasure a man by taking advantage of his sex-ridden mind. To her, sex was never referred to as an intimate thing; it was a tool used to make a man put his guard down. It was a way to extract information or set someone up to be killed.
When she was seventeen, her father asked her if she was a proud Israeli. When she answered the affirmative, he nodded and asked if she would do anything for her country. Again, she answered yes. Her father slid a manila folder across his desk. Inside were the details she needed to know in order to complete her very first official mission.
That mission required her to seduce a rather high-ranking official in the IDF in order to get him to confess his plans to hand military secrets over to Hamas. From his photo, Ziva could tell that her target was an attractive man, but he was thirty-five to her seventeen. Her squeamishness at the age difference made Ziva disgusted with herself. Surely she could trade sex in return for the safety of her country's citizens.
As it turned out, for someone in the military, Abraham Hirsch was ridiculously open. When they met, he was under the impression that she was transferring to his office to do secretarial work. She behaved appropriately for the first couple of weeks, dutifully completing all the paperwork that fell on her desk. After that, she became a bit more daring and flirtatious. She winked when she handed Abraham papers that he needed to see, and she made sure to engage him in conversations that he found interesting.
All of the flirting made things difficult for Abraham. He had a strong sexual appetite, but very little with which he could fulfill it. He was very rarely around young attractive females, so Ziva's daily presence in his office made his desire difficult for him to ignore. Ziva was aware of this fact and took full advantage of her knowledge.
Abraham made his first move three weeks after her initial appearance, dropping a kiss to her lips as she delivered the day's completed paperwork. Her gasp of surprise made it easy for him to run his tongue along her gum line, and Ziva once again tasted success.
Just a few days later, he led her to the back of a weapons carrier. She employed all the tricks she had been taught. She sucked him dry, then worked him back up again so that she could ride him until his eyes rolled back in his head. Abraham didn't appear to know what to do with himself. He kept groaning, kept touching her torso like he was taking possession of her. Ziva catalogued these reactions, keeping her mind clear and controlled. When she squeezed him from the inside, Abraham let out an embarrassing whimper.
"Please, Ziva. God, please."
Reaching her hand out to rub her fingertips against his scratchy cheek, she let him see an innocent smile. Then she slammed her hips down hard, squeezing him once again when he was completely sheathed within her body. Abraham exploded, and his seed erupted into her body. She could feel it, and it wasn't like she expected it was going to be.
After that first night, Ziva began to spend her lunch break with him. He began to grow more comfortable with her, and she was just waiting for the day that he would slip up so that she could finish the mission.
One lunch, Ziva walked into his office to see him going over some military plans. "Well, don't you look busy?" she chuckled, reaching forward to smooth down his hair.
"Ziva! How's my favorite girl doing?"
The hand in his hair meandered down to his chest. "Much better now," she answered with a tiny grin. She slipped into his lap, but made no other actions to continue her seduction. "What'cha doin'?"
"My girl, can you keep a secret?"
Giggling, she grinded down onto his lap, his arousal slowly becoming evident. "What do you call this?"
"Ah, yes, yes." Abraham's voice was light. He suspected nothing. "You are a good secret-keeper, aren't you? Do you recognize the name Abdul Haddad?"
She did, but she didn't tell Abraham.
"He is a man of a different way of thinking than Israel," he informed her. "He knows money. I am merely providing him with some small pieces of information in return."
Ziva's heart began to beat faster. She had just gotten her confirmation that Abraham was indeed involved with Hamas. All she had to do now was kill him.
"Mmm… that's lovely, Abraham. But that's enough work-talk for now, don't you think?" She reached down to unzip his pants while she sprinkled kisses down his chin. While he was distracted, she made sure to keep hold of the hilt of the concealed knife in her own pants. He pushed her pants down just enough to allow his penis to enter her. Abraham groaned, and she sighed with relief that this would be the last time he would do so.
"You like that Ziva?" His eyes were closed and his head rested on the back of his chair.
She brought up the knife. Taking a deep breath, cut a deep slice on the side of his neck, where she knew his jugular vein was. He did not take long to bleed out, so she wasted no time in getting up off his lap. Afterwards, she examined his bloody corpse with a methodical gaze and gave a sharp nod. Then she walked out.
Later, after she had been lauded by her father for a job well done, Ziva stood naked in front of the bathroom mirror. It wasn't until now that she really took notice of the dull ache that had appeared between her legs.
Inevitably, Ziva grew older. Her missions became more dangerous and complicated. At eighteen, when she was supposed to be in official training for IDF service, she received special permission to continue serving Mossad. She traveled all over the globe, specializing in assassinations and seductions. With hardly any time to relax, it was a pure coincidence that she was at home to celebrate her twentieth birthday.
"Good morning, yakiri," her mother woke her with a kiss to the forehead, a nurturing gesture that Ziva didn't feel entirely comfortable receiving. "It's time to get up. I just sent Tali out to pick up some breakfast."
The obedient girl that she was didn't complain, even though she hadn't managed to get a restful night's sleep. She was padding to the bathroom to start her morning routine when she heard the explosion. Instinct took over. Rushing to the window, she took stock of the outside situation before she even became aware of her mother's panicked shouts.
Her street looked the same as always did, except for the fact that a cloud of smoke was slowly moving its way towards her house. She could smell fire and smoke. Suddenly, a sick clench of dread overtook her stomach, and she finally turned to regard her mother's ashen face.
"Ima? Where did Tali go to pick up breakfast?"
Her mother's tears were enough of an answer.
Tali's death changed her. For a while, she lost the part of herself that allowed her to be anything other than a ruthless assassin. Her father took full advantage of this, sending her on the most dangerous missions. She hardened like a good Mossad officer; her most sensitive parts became shielded by an emotional exoskeleton.
This distance she created between herself and the outside world was something Ziva was proud of. By guarding herself, no death could ever affect her like Tali's again. If she kept herself apart, there would be no pesky feelings to deal with when something bad happened.
It was under this fragile frame of mind that she walked into her father's office to receive a new assignment.
"Good morning, Ziva."
She responded with a curt head nod. "Deputy Director."
Her father smiled, a stretch of the lips that she had not yet figured out meant that he was up to no good. "I have an unusual assignment for you." He slid two folders over to her. Reaching for the top one, she flipped it open.
PROMOTION: David, Ziva
FROM: Field Officer
TO: Control Officer
SUBJECT: Haswari, Ari
A mild flutter of confusion made her blink, just to see if she was reading the file wrong. How was being Ari's control officer supposed to be unusual?
She reached for the second folder.
Paris, despite its reputation and grandeur, was not a place Ziva had ever had the desire to visit. For one thing, it was entirely too cold. She scowled at the snow crunching beneath her boots, and suddenly had to fight a completely uncharacteristic urge to throw some sort of temper tantrum.
"Ziva! Ziva, hey! Wait up!"
She huffed and rolled her eyes, waiting impatiently for her companion to catch up.
"Damn, you walk fast."
"Then walk faster."
Ziva did not like her partner at all. First of all, she hadn't been trained by Mossad, so she did almost everything wrong. Her name was Jennifer Shepard, and her unprofessionalism was astounding.
"You know, when I first heard that the Israelis were tough, I didn't think that meant you would have a stick shoved up your ass."
Ziva did not respond, purposefully biting her tongue to keep from asking what the hell her partner was talking about.
Beside her, Jenny sighed, "C'mon, Ziva. Let's go do something. Eat. Drink. Climb the Eiffel Tower. Something."
"We are on a mission."
Again, Jenny let out a forceful exhale, this time grabbing the crook of Ziva's elbow. "Actually," she explained, "we just gathered and delivered a whole bunch of intel, so I'm pretty sure we're home-free tonight."
Ziva was not an easy person to break down. She was stubborn, and she was not afraid to hurt someone's feelings. "No Jenny," she repeated, wrenching her arm out of the redhead's grasp. Then she walked away.
Once in her hotel, she made use of the small computer lab on the main floor to send an e-mail to her brother. The writing was vague and generic, just a sister checking in. She did not know if Hamas would read it, nor did she know if Mossad would read it. All she knew was that she was in one seriously fucked up situation.
As a rule, Ziva did not have friends. She had colleagues. That was why, three days later, the moment she realized she was in a bar with Jenny for no reason other than that she had nothing else to do, Ziva tried to leave. Unfortunately, by that time she had already consumed two mojitos and the world was becoming a bit fuzzy at the edges.
Ari had always teased her for being such a lightweight.
"So… wanna bet?" Ziva couldn't decide if Jenny was drunk or not. It was annoying. Like her.
"Bet what?"
"Betcha you're too much of a hardass to tell me the truth!" Ziva wanted to punch her in the mouth.
"Much of what I know is classified."
Waving that thought aside, Jenny scoffed, "That stuff's boring. I wanna know about the juicy stuff. You know, guys, drugs, illicit activities?"
It really bothered Ziva that she still could not figure out if Jenny had been affected by her drinks at all. This had probably been a bad idea.
Two hours later, Ziva fumbled her way back to her hotel room, grateful that she could walk in a semi-straight line. Grumbling, she plucked her passkey from her pocket. All she wanted right now was a shower. And possibly some peanuts. Apparently they were really good when you were drunk. Maybe that was just for beer though. Ziva wasn't sure; Jenny was more confusing than usual when alcohol was involved.
Pushing her door open, she immediately stiffened at the unexpected smell of sweat and soap in her room. Her hand clasped her belt, fingering the hilt of her concealed knife.
A soft, familiar chuckle greeted her defenses. "Relax, Ziva. It's just me."
Ari pulled himself up from the bed with a small grunt. Walking towards her, he smirked when he took notice of her dilated pupils and unfocused eyes. "It looks as though you had fun tonight."
Ziva shrugged. "I would not call it fun, but it was definitely something," she replied. Her eyes moved lazily across his face, but she frowned at the sight of his arm being held awkwardly against his chest. "What's wrong with you?"
He smiled the same grin he had used to worm himself out of trouble when he was younger. "It's nothing. Just an injury sustained while I was in America."
Her stomach clenched, and she was fairly certain the alcohol in her system wasn't completely to blame. "Were you acting for us or for them?" she questioned softly.
"Now, Ziva!" He laughed away her question, purposefully avoiding giving her an actual answer. "Have you ever heard of a thing called NCIS?"
Thinking of Jenny, she lied to her brother for the first time in many years. "No. What is it?"
"It is an American agency. I took some of their workers hostage a couple days ago," he relayed to her. Ari spoke with a nonchalance that made her want to fidget, and she tried to remember him instead as the boy that had once yelled at their father for locking her in one of the kitchen cabinets.
"What did you want with NCIS?"
"Ah, you know, the usual. Hamas is preparing to attack America again at some point. They wanted to determine if NCIS would be a good target."
"And?"
The look in his eyes changed. Ziva had always been able to understand her brother on some intrinsic level, but the feral gleam of his pupils did not show her anything she wanted to see. "We will see," was his eventual answer to her question. "The agents I've met so far were definitely feisty, to say the least."
"Just remember to tell me before anything bad happens, okay?"
Instantly, Ari snapped out of his odd stupor and grinned. "Well, of course I will, my little control officer," he teased.
Comforted by his familiar laugh, Ziva allowed herself to relax. She scowled at his teasing, slapping his hand away from her cheek and telling him to go to bed. By the time she finished her shower though, he was gone.
She found that she was slightly relieved that she did not have to put up a cheery façade around him. Instead, she closed her eyes and went over their conversation in her mind. She didn't like the cues that she was getting from him; she didn't want to analyze what those cues probably meant.
What if her father was right?
Ari did continue to keep her informed about the impending Hamas attack against the Navy, but only in vague spurts that simultaneously frustrated and terrified her. As he hinted that the attack was only days away, she reported to her father and begged him to stop it.
"What can I do, Ziva?" he asked in an infuriatingly nonchalant manner. "Ari has told you nothing that would aide us in stopping this attack."
"Then extract him!"
"You know I cannot do that, Ziva. I gave you this mission for a reason. You must complete it."
That was the first time she really hated her father.
Two weeks later, she walked into NCIS headquarters for the first time. She took note of the barely-contained grief and anger that the people around her seemed to exude, and she felt guilt. Pushing that thought aside though, she only allowed these people to see a false bravado. She played the game of seduction that she knew so well with an agent who was either having phone sex or completely disrespecting his recently deceased partner.
She knew immediately who he was. His name was Anthony DiNozzo, Jr., and he was the senior field agent to Agent Gibbs' team. Ziva knew who all the players of the Major Case Response Team were, right down to the forensic scientist and the assistant medical examiner. Ari had requested that she put together dossiers about them a few months ago.
This meant that she knew some of the most intimate details about Caitlin Todd, the fallen NCIS agent. She knew that she had grown up with three older brothers and two sisters. She knew that Kate didn't turn to religion for comfort until about four years ago, when her younger sister got caught in a pretty bad car accident and passed away as a result. She knew that Kate had a tattoo of her sister's name just low enough on her hip that it was almost on her rear end.
Ziva felt bad for the NCIS agents that were obviously grieving a well-loved member of their team. She felt bad for Kate, a woman that had cruelly had her life taken away from her by… who? Her brother? A random Hamas member?
Despite her own doubts, Ziva tried hard to disregard the fact that everyone around her was actively trying to kill her brother. Meanwhile, she tried to hold on to the hope that both her father and NCIS were mistaken, and that Ari had not switched allegiances. It just didn't make sense to her that Ari may have killed Kate without a good reason. The Ari she knew protected Tali from schoolyard bullies and helped her with her math homework. He did not go around shooting bullets into the foreheads of American agents.
Still, when Gibbs approached her with a plan to lure Ari into his basement, she couldn't help but agree. No matter how much she didn't want her brother to be guilty, she knew that the full truth would have to come out eventually. She had a feeling that Ari wouldn't be able to avoid Gibbs for long.
After Gibbs' plan was completed, Ziva sat in his basement for a long time, staring into the dead eyes of her brother. Now, she did not try to remember him as he used to be, nor did she try to make sense of the motivations he had given for his unforgivable actions. Instead, she felt oddly compelled to keep some sort of watch over his body. This action was custom to her Jewish heritage, where the deceased were guarded until they were put in the ground. She was by no means a devout Jew, and Ari wasn't even Jewish by birth, so she had no idea why she wasn't leaving him alone.
"Ziva?"
Gibbs' voice broke her concentration, and she looked up to see him standing at the foot of the stairs. She opened her mouth to reply, but found that her tongue felt stupidly swollen and clumsy. Her teeth clenched back together with a snap.
Gibbs didn't try to say anything else. He simply set a warm mug of coffee next to her before heading back upstairs. She felt undeserving of the comfort Gibbs was trying to give, so she didn't drink it until it had gone cold.