This is another oneshot :) This morning I woke up and I couldn't help writing this.

Let me know what you think about this ;D

I don't own NCIS, but I do own a Tiva cushion.

A Bunny

Ziva opens her eyes slowly. She is surrounded by darkness and silence, but she is not afraid. He father has taught her not to be afraid of anything. She is a rock and no one can break her, neither the darkness nor the silence. She sits on her bed, then she puts her feet on the floor. It's cold, very cold, but she doesn't care. She gets up, holding her bunny plushie in her right hand, pulling it by its arm.

A step. Another step.

Slowly she walks towards the door and she opens it silently. It's dark in the corridor and she lingers a little before starting to walk again.

A step. Another step.

She reaches the stairs and she starts going down them. Her plushie is being dragged on the floor, stair by stair, jolted. Ziva hears some voices coming from the kitchen. The voices are angry, but they are not yelling. They just whisper, probably so as not to wake up the children that are sleeping in the house.

A step. Another step. One, two, three.

She is now in front of the kitchen door, looking at the light coming from the inside. She doesn't enter; she just stops and listens. Her mother and her father are talking. She can hear their voices distinctly now and she hides behind the door so as not to be seen. It's not hard for her to hide. She is just a four year old child, no one will see her as long as she doesn't move or make a noise.

She doesn't understand what her parents are talking about. There are so many words that Ziva has never heard before… but their sound is beautiful so she keeps listening. There's a word that keeps being said, a word pronounced in a very different way by her father and her mother.

Mossad.

Aba says it with a dreamy tone of voice, just like Ari's when he talks about Rocheleh, whereas Ìma says it with anger and pain. Ziva wonders what "Mossad" means. She likes the sound, though. She liked those two "S"… she has always liked this letter.

"Why do you have to do this?" her mother asks. "Don't you think about your family?"

"I do!" Aba yells, but then he gets back to whisper. "I do this for you, for my family!"

"Do you think this is the best for us? For your children?" Ìma asks, angrily.

"Yes!" He pauses for a moment. "I'm trying to make this country a safer place to live in. This is the best I can do for my children, making the world a better place."

Ziva is scared about their tone of voice. She doesn't like when her parents are angry. She feels vulnerable and she is afraid to be left alone.

"Why can't you see that you're only going to hurt us?" Ìma asks and Ziva thinks that she is about to start crying. "You only think about you! Why don't you think about your family for just one time?"

Ìma is yelling now. Ziva can see from the chink of the door her parents looking angrily at each other. She starts crying and runs away, goes up the stairs in a rush and she enters in her bed, still hugging the bunny. She hears someone going up the stairs and opening the door of her room. His father goes into her bedroom, walks closer to her bed, then he stops. He starts caressing her hair sweetly and Ziva is calm again after a few moments.

"Why is ìma angry?" she asks, drying her tears with her hands.

"It's nothing," Aba says reassuringly."It's nothing, Ziva, she is okay."

Ziva nods and smiles lightly. Aba smiles back at her and sits on her bed, looking at Ziva, who is now caressing Bunny's face gently.

"Ziva," Aba says, giving her a start. "I've already told you that I don't want you to sleep with plushies. It's a childish thing, you are grown up now."

"I like my plushies," Ziva replies, holding Bunny tightly. "They help me sleep at night." She smiles widely. "And Bunny loves listening to my stories…"

"Your stories?" Aba asks, frowning.

"Yes." Ziva smiles again, proudly. "Bunny says that I should write novels. He really enjoys my stories."

Aba doesn't smile. He has a strict expression on his face, an expression that Ziva doesn't like.

"Your plushie doesn't speak, Ziva," he says calmly, but with an irritated tone of voice. He stretches his arm and grabs Bunny. Ziva holds the stuffed bunny tightly, but Aba is stronger and soon she has to let Bunny go. Now it's aba the one who's holding the plushie. "I'll take him, from now on," he says. Then he stands up and goes out of the bedroom.

Ziva wonders why her father has taken away from her the only thing that is able to comfort her when she is sad.

They are arguing again, this time not in the kitchen, though, but just outside Ziva's bedroom. They're arguing about Bunny.

"Why did you take that bunny plushie away from her?" Ìma asks with the same tone of voice as last night.

"It's a stupid thing!" Aba yells.

"She is four, Eli!" Ìma shouts.

"She needs to grow up!" Aba replies. "She is not a child anymore!"

"She is a child."

"That plushie makes her weak! I'm trying to teach my children to be strong!"

"What for?" Ìma pauses for a moment. "So that they can survive in a dark room without crying like the other children do?" she asks, her voice sarcastic.

"Yes!" Aba shouts. "I'm trying to raise them as women who will be able to live in this country! Israel is a fragile country, Rivka! We have to raise our children strong!"

Ìma keeps quiet for a moment, then she replies, more sharply than she has ever spoken, "I do not recognize you anymore, Eli." She enters Ziva's bedroom, with Bunny in her hands. Ziva is sitting beside her bed, with her feet naked. She is still wearing her green dressing gown.

"Hey, sweetie," Ìma says softly. "Look who's coming back."

Ziva smiles widely and stand up, grabbing her plushie with strength and love. She hugs Bunny and starts talking to him. She can feel Ìma's eyes still on her, but soon her mother leaves and Ziva is alone in her bedroom again, but together with Bunny this time.

Suddenly, the door bell rang. Ziva took a quick glance at the clock wondering who it could be. She stood up and walked slowly towards the door. When she opened it, she saw something that she hadn't seen in awhile. A mail man was standing just outside the door, carrying a parcel for Ziva.

"Ziva David?" the mail man asked, checking the name on the box.

"Yes," Ziva answered, suspicious.

"This is for you." The mail man gave her the box. "I just need you to sign here," he added then, giving her a sheet of paper. Ziva put the box on the ground and grabbed the paper and the pen that the man was handing. Ziva signed then she gave everything back to the mail man, but the parcel.

"Thank you," the mail man said, smiling a little. Ziva thanked him back, watched him leave, then she took the box and went back inside. She walked towards the couch and sat, studying the box carefully, wondering whether there was a bomb in it. Then she saw on the box the place where the parcel had been sent and her mind went blank for a moment.

Israel.

Ziva kept staring at those letters. Her mind was filled with doubts and memories that she soon pushed away, getting back to focus on the box. It wasn't very big, yet it wasn't small either. She couldn't think about anything that someone could send her from Israel. However, inside of her, curiosity begged her to open the box and to see what it was hiding.

Ziva started opening it slowly. She hadn't received a parcel in months and she was quite thrilled. In a few seconds, the box was open, revealing a dark green paper bag. She put the box on the couch, studying the bag, touching it carefully. There was something soft inside. She put her hand into the bag and she grabbed the soft thing. When she took away her hand from the bag and saw what she was holding, she couldn't believe her eyes.

She is hiding behind the door, just like she did a few years ago. She is getting used to hear her parents arguing, it's something that it's happening more and more often lately. Now, they are arguing because of the same old reason and that word keeps being repeated.

Mossad.

Now Ziva knows what Mossad is. Mossad is the place where her father works, even though it's probably not only one place, since her father is always travelling around the country – or maybe around the world. Besides, Mossad is, according to her father, the only thing that can protect Israel; however, according to Ziva's mother, Mossad is the worst thing ever happened to their family.

Ziva doesn't like the sound of that word anymore. Even though she still likes "S", the sound of "Mossad" bothers her a lot, maybe because it's always linked to fights between her parents.

Suddenly, ìma leaves out of the kitchen, crying, but she stops when she sees Ziva. Ìma kneels, looking at Ziva's face with tears in her eyes, caressing her daughter's cheeks with her hands.

"Sweetie, go and pack your things," Ìma says and Ziva nods. She runs up the stairs and goes into her bedroom. She hear Ìma's footsteps getting closer and she understands that her mother must be going to get Tali, who is still sleeping.

Ziva start packing, thrilled.

We're going on vacation! she thinks, excited. She's used to pack her things rapidly. Their family always book last minute trips because they never know when Aba will be able to go on holiday. Ziva enjoys the feeling of the unexpected vacation. However, when her mother comes into her bedroom, Ìma says, "Bring your toys with you, honey."

Ziva understands that something must be wrong. She is never allowed to bring her toys on vacation. She had always brought only Bunny.

"Not all of them, though," Ìma says, looking at Ziva sweetly. "Just the most important ones. We will take the other ones when we find a home."

Ziva nods, but she doesn't understand. They do have a home. However, she doesn't ask and starts seeking in her toy box, looking for her favorite plushies and toys. She finds the toy soldiers that Aba has bought her for her last birthday, but Ziva decides to leave them there for now.

When her mother comes back, thirty minutes later, all Ziva's favorite toys are on the bed, ready to leave.

"So many?" Ìma asks, with a smile. Ziva nods, smiling back. "I will prepare your suitcase now. Go help your sister, now, okay?" Ziva nods again then she runs towards Tali's bedroom. She enters the room and fins her younger sister on the floor, with some dolls in her hands.

"Which one is better?" Tali asks, raising two dolls.

Ziva shakes her head. "I don't know," she says. She has never liked dolls much, she prefers animal toys and plushies. They are much cuter.

Ziva sits beside Tali, but soon she understands that her sister doesn't need her help, so she gets up and starts walking in the corridor. She goes past Ari's bedroom and she stops. She enters his bedroom which is dark and silent. Ari doesn't live there anymore. He works in the Army now.

Ziva walks around the bedroom and she stops in front of Ari's toy box. It's full of toy soldiers, tanks and guns. Ziva puts her hand in the box and takes one of the guns. Ari hasn't played with those toys for years, so he won't mind.

She goes back to her room, where Ìma is putting Ziva's clothes into a suitcase. The eight year old little girl can see her favorite t-shirt at the top of the suitcase.

"Where are we going, Ìma?" Ziva asks, grabbing Bunny from the bed. Ìma turns to face her. She still has tears in her eyes, but she is looking at Ziva with sweetness. "We're going to Aunt Nettie's, okay?" Ìma smiles, but Ziva doesn't.

"Why?" the little girl asks, hugging Bunny tighter.

Ìma sighs and she comes closer to Ziva. She puts her hands on the child's shoulders and whispers, "We can't live here anymore."

"Why?" Ziva asks again. "I like here."

Ìma is crying even more now. "I know, Ziva, but… You have to understand… What your father is doing… You have to understand, Ziva, I'm doing this for you, for you and Tali… we, we can't live here anymore…"

Ziva doesn't say anything.

"We have to leave, Ziva." Ìma tries to smile reassuringly, but her sadness is drawn upon her face. Ziva nods, her eyes filled with tears. "Oh, Ziva," Ìma murmurs, then she hugs her daughter tightly. If Aba saw them, he would say that she should not cry. But Ziva doesn't care, now.

The morning proceeds slowly, hour after hour, and at lunch time everything is packed. They are ready to leave. Ìma carries all the suitcases to the car, but Aba doesn't help her. He keeps saying, "You can't take my children away from me."

Ziva is sitting on the stairs in front of the house, still holding Bunny. Suddenly, Ìma grabs her by the arm, gently, and they walk towards the car together. Ìma, Ziva and Tali are now in the car, but Aba is still outside.

"Isn't Aba coming?" Tali asks. Ìma doesn't answer and Ziva understands. She opens the door of the car and jumps out. She runs towards her father, who is standing just outside the house where Ziva has grown up.

Ziva slows down and stops in front of him. She stretches her arm and gives Bunny to Aba, who takes the plushie and smiles lightly. Ziva smiles back, crying, then she turns and she starts walking. After a few steps, she stops and turns again. She sees something that she has never seen before: there are tears on Aba's face.

Ziva runs away.

There was a bunny plushie in the bag. Ziva looked at him, drowning in all the memories that that plushie had brought from Israel. Ziva remembered the day when she had last seen the bunny. She was eight years old and it was the day when Ziva had left the house where she had grown up. It was a long time ago, but the bunny looked just like she remembered it. It was clean, soft, cute. She couldn't help smiling looking at it, even though the plushie was carrying the weight of the best and the worst memories of her life.

There was a note with the bunny, tied to its arm. On the note, Ziva's father had written:

I wish I could give you back all the things that I stole you from your childhood and your life.

Ziva immediately thought about Mossad, about all the things she had done in her life, about all the things her father had taught her when she was only a child. He had raised her as a soldier, which was what Ziva had become. Eli had stolen from her the right to have a happy life, a normal life.

I wish I could, Ziva.

Ziva hugged Bunny tightly, smiling a little, trying to stop herself from crying.

But this is all I can give back to you.