He knew he could not stop. Running, always running. He did not know why he would run, nor where he would but he knew he could not stop. His legs carried him over, all his muscles ached and the breathing became more and more difficult but he could not stop. Then he went through this dark alley he saw no end, hidden by a layer of mist. Of ghostly figures stood on the dark sides of the aisle, their faces hidden in the shadows. It keeps lent to their cries. They were nothing to him while others were waiting at the end of this alley. He knew they were waiting, they trusted him. He continued to race for them. Suddenly a figure emerged from the side. He recognized his mother died when he was a child. Slowing his pace, he observed his features. The pain came into his face. Pain, because she knew what awaited her child at the end of this alley. Pain, because she did not want to see him suffer. Pain, because she knew she had more first place in his heart. Then he ran because others were waiting. His body was protesting against the violent effort which he was subject, but he silenced. The blanket of fog that hid his eyes in the back of the aisle began to disperse slowly. He first saw a hair, dark as ebony. He paused, watching the young girl who turned to him. Her beautiful tanned skin betrayed her foreign origin. He had seen her eyes before. The light at the bottom of her eyes betrayed her feelings. He first read of love and tenderness, joy and pride. Then he detected pain and sadness that gripped her heart. He had read the same on the face of his mother. Then he saw the child she held in her arms a little girl aged three, with the same hair as her mother. The young woman placed her daughter on the floor, next to a boy he knew to be her twin brother. The fog had lifted, revealing the whole scene. Besides the two children and their mother stood a bed on which lay the youngest of the family, young baby a few months. The eldest was watching her little sister. It was the portrait of his mother except her eyes. Emerald green, they were similar to his. His eyes seemed to beg but he could not move. It was frozen, transfixed, unable to act. He knew that something would happen and he foresaw but could do nothing. He did not move when five armed men dressed in black approached the family. He did not move when one of them put his gun at the boy and murdered him before the same fate. He did not move when he saw the young woman rushing to her baby trying desperately to save her from this execution. He did not move when the green-eyed little girl ran to her mother before being hit by a bullet escaping deadly rifles of the five men. He did not move when the mother, having witnessed the execution of these children, turned to him, his eyes filled with pain and anger, sadness and rage. He did not move when it went off, the weight of his guilt weighting approach. He rested his gaze on the little girl with green eyes who lived her last hours. She turned to him and crossed her lips a cry. It was a cry that he could never forget, a cry which haunted all his life, even in his worst nightmares. "PAPAAAAAAAAAA! ".

When Tony awoke with a start, the cry of the little girl still rang in his ears a few moments. He gasped, surprised to find himself in bed, sweaty backs. The moonlight crept between the interstices of its components and danced on the wall facing him. He turned to his alarm clock showed 5:30. Knowing that he could go back to sleep, he decided to get up and use a good coffee. It was the years he was regularly getting this nightmare and it intrigued him. He did not know the young woman who appeared in his deepest sleep. And it was not for lack of trying. He had peeled all photo albums, open all cartons containing his memories of childhood and youth without being able to get their hands on any picture of her. He did not understand why a complete stranger came back as often in his thoughts, nor why he felt good to know in his dreams.

He put the coffee cup he had just finished in the sink. He did not want to think about the nightmare that made him shudder. Because he had to admit he was scared. He walked to the bathroom, hoping that a good hot shower would calm him. When he was ready, he decided to leave work, even if the clock, 6:45, was very early morning for him.

In the elevator that took him to his office, Tony realized that what scared him most in his nightmare was this impression that he had to know the little girl. The color of his eyes, so similar to his, it disturbed him. Then there were his eyes, and trust and love he read, every time he found her in hissleep. And finally his cry, this word was the last to cross her lips and which he had the curious feeling of being used. The young officer of NCIS was relieved when the elevator stopped and opened its doors, cutting short his thoughts. He walked to the space reserved for their team, that of Gibbs before stopping between offices, astonished. A young woman was sitting at his, idly flipping through a magazine she had probably taken in its affairs.

"What do you want,"he asked .

"I expected agent Gibbs," she replied without looking up from her business. "You know when he will get here?"

"No, but I do need my office, if it's not asking too much. Unless you do decide to occupy it all day."

"You know, it was enough to claim it," she replied, rising.

She met his gaze and he was unable to utter a single word. He recognized her brown eyes and delicate features. He wondered how is it that the mere sight of her black hair had not intrigued. Before him stood the young woman who haunted his nightmares. She looked just like water, except that which stood before him she was at least ten years older than his nightmares. While he was watching and, without saying anything, he saw an ounce of surprise and fear crossed his eyes. He barely had time to see the pain on his face paint before it closes and that his face no longer expresses any feeling. She moved away from his desk and sat down at one of McGee. Tony watched him without letting go of the gaze. Her figure seemed familiar. He never tired of admiring it, noting that she had the habit stuck behind the ear of a lock of unruly hair. After fifteen minutes, the woman sighed and looked up the magazine she was reading to dive into the eyes of Tony:

"You want something?"

"Yes ... No ... Finally ... Why do you want to see Gibbs?"

"To prevent him from killing one of the officers of my agency."

"And you work for?"

"Mossad. My name is Ziva David."

"Special Agent Anthony DiNozzo. You know that your agent has killed my partner."

"You are mistaken, Ari would never have done that."

His phone rang, preventing replication of Tony He looked away and talk in Hebrew with his mysterious interlocutor. He even wondered if it was possible that she has the nerve to talk to Haswari under their noses as they tried desperately to catch him. The hand of his boss came down on the back of his head, causing him out of his thoughts.

"Boss?"

"Concentrate Tony. I want to catch this bastard."

"Exactly ... Speaking of Haswari ..."

"What's going on there Tony?"

" Mossad sent one of their agents."

Gibbs slammed the drawer of his desk with force before turning to his agent. Which escaped the furious look was visible to all.

"What do they think? It will be enough to send me a mercenary armed to their teeth to scare me."

"Agent Gibbs!" Asked a voice behind the two men.

"Jenny?" Gibbs replied.

"I have just been talking with the deputy director of Mossad. He sends one of his officers that this matter be resolved without creating a diplomatic incident between our two countries."

"I do not work with murderers."

"Why does everyone believe that Mossad agents are murderers?" Ziva asked, coming towards them. "I'm glad to see you Jenny."

" Me too Ziva. long time no see. How are you ?"

"All right. Nothing has changed, you know."

"You're still on track ..."

"Yes," she cut off before it unveils more.

The two men watched without saying a word exchange between two young women.

"Agent Gibbs, You will work with Officer David. You will share all information on this survey."

Gibbs did not answer, showing his displeasure. Jenny smiled, recognizing the distrust of his former partner.

"I owe my life to her Jethro," She whispered before returning to her office.

Fixed the grammer a bit hope you like it. OOHh! and visit my profile i have a poll please vote i need the answer soon!