a/n - This was written for the WEE on the NFA forums as a gift for Jo. Since I am getting ready for a graduation party for my daughter who managed to survive cancer and her final year at college, I may not get the next chapter of Lost in Translation posted today, so I am posting this one early. Thanks for all the well wishes and wonderful feedback. My son is still in wait and see mode for his leg - they have him using a walking boot for the next two weeks before they decide about surgery. - Emerald

Not Vengeance

"Ziva, why are you still here?" The dark haired Israeli woman looked up, startled. She had been lost in thought, brooding over the last case as her mother would have called it. Abby came closer and plopped down at McGee's vacant desk. "I thought you left with the guys."

"I did, but I forgot my scarf." To prove her point, she waved the woolen fabric in Abby's direction as she stood.

Abby gave her the best Gibbs impression she could manage. "Uh uh, and you booted your computer back up to check for your scarf?"

"Force of habit." Ziva seemed nervous, a rare event for a trained Mossad agent. "I sit down, I turn on my computer. It must be McGee rubbing off on me, yes? But, since I am here and my computer is on, I might as well make day while the sun shines and work on my report for Gibbs."

"Hay – It's make hay while the sun shines." Abby studied the other woman. They weren't particularly close, but she couldn't walk away when Ziva was obviously troubled.

"So, why isn't it 'grow'? Hay is a plant, yes? Plants grow, so shouldn't it be grow hay while the sun shines?"

It actually took Abby a few minutes to sort that out. "You know, Ziva, it doesn't make sense either way."

"And you people wonder why I have such a hard time with your American slang. If it doesn't make sense, why do you say it?" She shook her head and sat back down at her desk. If she were honest with herself, she had turned her computer back on as an excuse for remaining at the office. The last case had angered her as much as it had upset her. How could a woman stay with an abusive husband? For over a month, she had made up reasons to talk to Alicia Moore, to convince her to leave him before he killed her. Alicia made excuses, made promises, and finally today, made a beautiful corpse on Ducky's table. She looked back up at Abby, still waiting at the other desk. "Was I too soft or too hard?"

Abby had a pretty good idea what Ziva was really asking, but she stalled to make sure. "Too soft or too hard on Tony or on McGee?"

Ziva giggled a bit at that, despite her somber mood. "No, I mean Mrs. Moore. Should I have been more forceful in getting her to face what her husband was capable of or was I too rough with her and made her scared to leave him? Why couldn't I get her away from him before something happened?"

She was right, it was the last case that was upsetting Ziva, and Abby was determined to help her. Feeling this was not something to be shouted across the bullpen, or even spoken across the walkway that separated the desks, Abby walked over and sat on the edge of Ziva's desk before she said anything. "No matter how much we want to, we can't save somebody who doesn't want to be saved. You could have dragged her out of that house kicking and screaming, but she would have run right back the minute you let go. She had to be ready to take that step and she wasn't ready. It's not your fault."

"Still, I feel like I let her down. Now she is dead, he is dead, and I don't know what to do."

"It was a righteous shoot." McGee had been the closest one to the door when Petty Officer Martin Moore had charged at them, covered with his wife's blood, brandishing a gun. Three well placed bullets had ended the confrontation before Ziva had been able to pull her own weapon.

"I know it was, I just wish it had been mine." That was the crux of the matter. She was angry that the killing shots had not come from her gun. A desire for vengeance had been dashed by an attempt for justice. She could not fault McGee, after all his quick response had saved lives. Their lives at least, possibly many of the children on the school bus that had rounded the corner at that same moment.

Abby reached over and shut down Ziva's computer. "Does it really matter who it was? He isn't going to hurt anyone else again. Now, you can stew about the one you couldn't save, or you can help the ones that are ready for help. Which is it going to be?" She latched onto one end of Ziva's scarf and used it like a leash to pull the other woman to her feet. "Let's go."

"Go where?" Ziva found herself in the elevator before she realized what Abby was doing. "Are we going to meet up with the rest of the team somewhere?"

"Nope." Abby punched the button for the ground floor as she ticked it off on her fingers. "Gibbs left with a redhead about an hour ago and Tony took McGee with him for pizza and some movies to make sure he's all right." Ziva winced at that. In all her anger over the murder of Alicia Moore she had forgotten that it had only been a month since McGee had shot an undercover cop. Luckily Tony had been observant and was taking care of their less experienced partner. Blinking, she turned her attention back to what Abby was saying. "…and besides, they don't allow any men there, so it's not like they could go even if they wanted."

"Allow men where?"

Abby had been pretty sure Ziva wasn't following the conversation too closely and decided to have some fun with her. "You'll see." She wouldn't say another word on the subject as they climbed into Abby's car. Despite her earlier mood, Ziva couldn't help but enjoy the mystery.

The car came to a stop outside a large brick building. Ziva recognized it from the photos in Abby's office; it was the convent. She shook her head, trying to tell Abby that this was not a good idea. "Abby, I'm Jewish, remember?"

"So? That doesn't matter because it's Tuesday."

Ziva knew better than to try to understand Abby when she got like this, she really did. At least that was what her head was telling her, while her mouth, "Do nuns become Jewish on Tuesdays?"

Abby slung a large duffle bag over her shoulder and pulled her along, still grasping the scarf. It was sort of like taking Jethro for a walk without the stops at all the fire hydrants, she thought. "No, silly, Tuesdays are when the women from the battered women's shelter come to the convent. The sisters feed them and their children and then teach classes to help them become self-sufficient."

It was intriguing, Ziva had to admit. "What kind of classes?"

"Mostly it's stuff like job skills and computer usage, but they even have classes on things like how to balance a checkbook. Whatever they need to live their own lives away from their abusers. The sisters thought a class on self-defense might help some of them with feeling more secure and help their confidence. They asked me to teach it, and I can, but I thought maybe you'd like to teach it with me." She smiled and waited for Ziva's reaction.

It didn't take long to think about. Teaching a group of women to defend themselves was always a good thing in Ziva's book. When those women were the victims of the very people that should have cherished them, it was even better. "It sounds like an excellent way to spend an evening, Abby, thank you." Bypassing the scarf leash, she hooked arms with Abby as they entered the convent. The largest room in the building had been emptied out and borrowed mats covered the floor. Just as Ziva realized they would need pads and other personal gear, Abby dumped the contents of the duffle bag out on the floor in front of them. All the necessary gear was right there. Normally Ziva wouldn't bother with sparring gear, but she wanted the women to feel comfortable hitting her as hard as they could.

The next three hours flew by in a blur. Timid women, some still bruised from their last encounter with a partner's twisted version of tough love, began to transform as the evening went on. They found their voice, learning to yell with power rather than simply scream in terror. The lesson ended with a simple toss to boost their confidence. Again and again, Ziva was slammed to the floor but it wasn't painful or upsetting. She found it exhilarating as she watched her new students take their first step towards independence and before she knew it she and Abby were in the kitchen with the nuns, eating a hearty beef stew and setting up the next week's lesson plan. It wasn't vengeance, it really wasn't justice, but it was very right.

the end