I don't own anything, yada yada, you know the drill.
Absently, Ziva threw a glance over her shoulder, to make sure that there was no danger. It was dark in the deserted alley, but she knew that there was no other presence. Only hours before, she had returned to Israel from her first mission back with Mossad. It had been a simple assignment, to take out one of her father's political enemies. Maybe working in America had trained her as an investigator, but it hadn't done much for her morality. After making sure of her safety, she shook out a package of cigarettes, a nasty habit she picked up shortly after the director's death. It had hit her harder than she had expected, she wasn't used to letting herself get close to others, especially co-workers. The guilt didn't help either, the fact that Jen's death was more than partially her fault was an almost constant reminder that her arrogance was unwarranted. Ziva couldn't even hold anger towards Vance for terminating her liaison position, for the only reason that she was there in the first place was that she was a friend of Jen's. Sure, she missed her team, but she blocked out the feeling, until all that was left was numb objectivity. She coughed lightly as she navigated quickly through quiet dark streets in Tel Aviv. As she leaned against a wall, she lit another cigarette, feeling the nicotine instantly relaxing her nerves. Thoughts that she had been trying to repress for weeks started swirling around in her mind, and she tried to force them back. She didn't even notice the other woman's presence until she heard her words.
"It's a bad habit, it'll kill you eventually." Ziva recognized the voice. And when she looked up, she also recognized the face. However, she refused to believe that she was staring at the late Jenny Sheppard.
"Hello, Ziva." Jen said, with a slight smile. Ziva just stared at her numbly. A thousand thoughts went through her head, a hundred different emotions, but somehow, she forced a neutral tone.
"Jen," Ziva said shakily, hoping that one word would portray what she was thinking. "What the fuck?"
Jen smirked, leaning against the wall opposite from Ziva. Her casual calmness was infuriating, and Ziva was trying to work out how she wasn't dead. Her first thought was that it was a hallucination, but as Jen walked over to her, took the cigarette from her hand, and took a drag from it, she realized that she was very much alive.
"Ziva, are you alright?" Jen asked with mock curiosity. Ziva glared at her, trying to find questions, knowing that she wouldn't like the answers.
"What the hell happened, Jen?" Ziva finally got out; hoping that the wild confusion she felt wasn't evident in her voice.
"Oh, I think that answer is pretty obvious by now, don't you think." The cocky smirk was back on her face, an expression Ziva used to find attractive.
"No, that is not the case, Jen. How can you explain the fact that you are supposed to be…dead, lying on an autopsy table in a morgue in Washington D.C, and yet..." Ziva trailed off, angry, but not entirely sure where the anger was coming from.
"Ziva, you will understand my position, maybe better than anyone else could." Ziva still didn't understand what she was getting at, and she was starting to doubt whether she'd actually get to the point.
"Jen, what the hell is going on? I saw your body, I found you. You were dead, you are dead. Am I going insane, is this some kind of post traumatic stress mechanism? What is it?" Despite her best efforts, Ziva could hear her hysterics seeping into her voice.
"I am not dead. I assure you." Ziva forced herself to look at her, almost hoping that she'd disappear, but Jen didn't move. She still had the damn smile on her face, leaning back against the wall, and Ziva couldn't help but wonder what had happened to the person that she had trusted with her life at one point. She continued to stare at her, attempting maybe to burn through the other woman's gaze, but she gave away nothing.
"Why?' Ziva choked out. She wasn't entirely sure what she was asking. Why Jen wasn't dead? Why everyone thought that she was? Why she was standing across from her in a deserted alley in Tel Aviv?
"Ziva, I will explain it to you." Jen laid her hand of Ziva's shoulder, but she jerked away quickly.
"Don't touch me!" Ziva yelled at her, a little more forcefully than she had intended. She back up slowly, desperately looking for an excuse to flee the situation.
"Calm down, what are you afraid of?" Jen asked with mock sincerity. Ziva's hand hovered over her gun but she wasn't quite sure why her former boss was positively scaring the shit out of her.
"Something's going on, that I am not aware of, yes?"
"Well, yes. You could say that." Her smile gave away nothing.
"Stop being so damn cryptic, Jen. Tell me what's going on, and then maybe we can go from there."
"I am not dead."
"Yes, I think that we established that." Ziva said sarcastically. "Thanks for the update though."
Jen took a breath. "You know that I have murdered people, Ziva. In cold blood. As have you." Ziva flicked her gaze to the side for just a moment, almost as if she were ashamed. "Lately, I've encountered some problems. Some people that were supposed to die didn't, and as a result, those who weren't supposed to die did." She said it so offhandedly; Ziva wondered if the woman's morals were much farther gone than she had previously thought.