A/N: Hello All! It has been a while since I posted I know. Please tell me what you think of this story, and if I get good feed back I will continue. Thanks (:
Disclaimer: I do not own NCIS, or the characters.
Chapter One
Seventeen year old Ziva David sat with rigid posture in her father's study as the clock ticked deep into the night. For the past fifteen minutes he had not said a word, only looked at her in disgust. She had defied him. She had disregarded his rules, and no one breaks, or even slightly bends Eli David's rules. In this case, rules are not meant to be broken.
His middle child could not look him in the eye, a tell tale sign of cowardice. As for all, she was only ever a coward. The smile that once played across her lips was now inexistent, the deep chocolate colored orbs dull and drooping, she was displaying emotion. Ziva was plagued with the feeling of guilt, why though? Why did she care if he was mad at her, when he was nothing but cruel to her? For the first fifteen years of her existence her soul mission was to please to him, to make him proud, and then when she fifteen everything changed. The night he delivered his first blow to her, it dawned on her; she would never make him proud. She could never make him smile like her siblings; she would never be the cause of his happiness. Yet still, she could not be angry at him since, after all he was her father.
At last he hissed,
"You were not at training, why?"
She did not speak, she was too occupied in her own thoughts to even hear his furious voice. Though, she was brutally snapped back into reality when his palm collided with her olive colored cheek. It sent a searing pain through the left side of her face and he demanded,
"WHY?"
She did not want to tell him the truth though as she knew it would result in a severe amount of pain, but it was now or never,
"I was with a male friend."
A vein popped out of his forehead and he roared,
"WHO?"
Ziva remained silent, she was not one to tattle tale.
"It is not of importance Papa."
He punched her in the jaw with a force that could make even some of Mossad's finest lose their balance. She knocked into the side of the chair and looked back at him before he roared,
"WHO?"
She did not speak to him, she instead stared intently at the parquet flooring before his fist connected once again with her face.
"It does not matter."
He continued,
"Pack a bag; I am enrolling you in the United States Marine Corps. Recruit Training."
Ziva was about to protest until he yelled,
"NOW!"
She did not argue, she ascended the stairs and with the agility and deadly silence of a cat she packed a duffle bag with her necessities. Two tank tops, two pairs of cargo pants, undergarments, an extra pair of combat boots, her sig, knives, cell phone, and tucked into her pocket a picture of her family. Successfully she had packed her bag without awaking her little sister Tali. Though as she had one foot out the bedroom door she heard a little angelic voice,
"Sister where are you going?"
"I do not know tateleh, though I will be back. I promise you."
She gave the young one a kiss on the cheek and whispered,
"Tell Ari and Ima goodbye."
With the bag slung on her shoulder she tiptoed down the steps, each step symbolizing, someone or something that she left behind. Each eerie creak of the step sending a memory of her past spiraling into her mind, soon all she wanted was to plant her feet into the steps and stay, though she knew it was far too late for an apology. Her father met her on the last step with nothing but anger in his eyes.
"Your passport, boarding pass, and the man who will pick you up from the airport."
Ziva studied the photograph. His piercing blue eyes were glassy, though she could tell simply from the picture they hid so many secrets, so many memories that hurt to tell. She knew, because the same glassy expression was reflected back to her every morning. She stuck the photo in her pocket along with her family's and began to head out the door. With both feet almost out the door she turned around and whispered to her father,
"Goodbye Papa."
There was a crack in her voice, the burn of tears in her eyes; though she knew she had to walk down the path to the car that was waiting for her. It was really her only choice.