Hiraeth-Grief for lost places; homesickness for a home you can't return to; a home that maybe never was.
She is born in the middle of a summer storm, rain streaming down and thunder roaring. She is born silent, so different from others, eyes open to see the world that she will walkrundancekill on. They name her Ziva, wanting her to shine with the light of the sun. It's the wrong name; assassins live in the shadows and the night.
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She learns to dance, wishing to be more like her mother than her brother and father. It lasts until she overhears a remark that Tali is better at it than she is. She burns the ballet slippers in the dead of night, watching the flames crackle and snap, pink turning black and crumbling to ash. She never dances again.
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She is goodbetterthebest(almost), and she surpasses all competition. All but Ari. He always wins and it eats at her, rats nibbling away at her love for him. She's almost glad when he leaves to study medicine, except she knows that there's an ulterior motive. If she is the best it will be because she is, not because the competition has bowed out of the ring.
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She joins the army and doesn't die, so her commander declares her lucky and tells her to volunteer for Mossad. Three months later Tali is blown to smithereens in a bombing, and she has a mission. She hunts them down, grinning like a madwoman, until no one is left alive and there's blood covering her from head to toe.
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Her career is hard and fast, filled with missions. She makes a name for herself in the underworld, building rings of contacts and almost-friends until she can access everything anytime. Ziva gets better, faster, deadlier, and her father uses the weapon he's created to its full potential.
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Her safe little bubble of existence goes to hell when she's handed a pristine folder with her brother's name on it and told to go fetch. She does, good little dog obeying the master, and she shoots him in the head (she never misses). She sings the same song she sang for her sister, and wonders why she isn't crying. Maybe she's forgotten how.
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There is an airplane, and screaming, and threats being issued by a man that she can't quite make herself be scared of. Off they ship her, and she goes quietly, not knowing what to expect from this ragtag team that will now have to put up with her.
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She makes lists about them. The humor-filled partner who doesn't take no for an answer, more scared of life then he will ever let on. The gothic expert, the wonder-filled probie, the babbling doctor. The silent boss, who thinks he knows more about her than he does. She watches, and keeps track of the ways to kill them in their sleep.
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She slips up one day. The director dies, and the new leader (who doesn't like her) sends her packing, back to the desert country she came from. There are new missions and new partners, yet she counts the days until she can go… home? She isn't sure anymore. NCIS beckons, whispering promises of peace and happiness.
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It's all lies.
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More cases come, piling endlessly. The seasons change, cold to hot to cold. Everything seems to be done in extremes here in America.
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Michael dies, and she realizes she isn't too surprised. They go to Israel, trying to smooth everything over. It doesn't work, and she's left standing on too-hot tarmac, waiting for Gibbs to turn around and tell her to get on the goddamn plane. But nothing happens, and off they fly, and down she goes.
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There is no surprise on her face when Eli hands her a folder and tells her to go. Nothing goes smoothly, and when they land there is no team left standing to keep moving towards the target. None but her, so off she goes to slay the dragon.
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The men beat her to the punch, knew she was coming before she even showed her face. There is a mole in Mossad's network, but that is of no concern any longer. There are more important things to worry about now. She is about to discover how mighty the dragon is, and hot the fire she has landed in can burn.
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In a moment of clarity comes the realization that she beat Ari fair and square, becoming the strongest for once in her life. Oh, how the mighty have fallen.
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She fights, but fails, trapped under yards of chain so thick that she can barely raise her head. They get no sound from her, no matter their methods. It angers them, but she refuses to yield.
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RUN.
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No one is coming. It has been months, and Saleem's men are growing weary. Escape or death are all that is left. That and weariness. She is so very, very tired. But she is too strong to die, so escape is the only option available to her. And so she waits, lying still in the dust and blood of the cell.
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Carelessness comes faster than expected, and down they fall. Every. Last. One.
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There are thirty-four men in the compound. All are dead when she has finished her dance of death, bodies riddled with holes. Never underestimate your opponent. There is a truck in the yard, and keys in the ignition. She is halfway to the dusty little town when they pass her, US trucks driving to set the little bird free. "You failed," she laughs before collapsing, ankle shattering under her weight.
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They fight, countries trying to convince her to join their side, fight their fight. She is bitter with resentment at those who didn't come, sick of insincere apologies, so she chooses the land of blood over the land of the free. She wants to kill.
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There is a difference in her when she returns. She is cold fury in a too-thin body, electricity crackling in her veins. It scares the younger officers, worries the old. Blood covers her hands, and there is no inclination in her eyes to wash them clean. The rumors grow wings and fly.
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Agents start to make excuses to leave rooms when she enters, terrified that she will snap and do to them what she does to her targets. Partner after partner request transfers, until finally there are no willing (or unwilling) workers left.
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She no longer sleeps, nightmares coloring her dreams red and black, screams echoing in her ears even when the sun is out. There is sand everywhere, and nobody can convince her that there are not bars on the windows nor manacles on her wrists.
She grows paler and more dangerous each passing day, temper flaring to lash out at those who so much as breathe when she passes. She is more deadly than ever before, and person after person falls at her hands.
Screams in Arabic issue from her room at night, and languages become tangled in her speech. Fear and sleeplessness make her feral, and she slinks through the halls like a wolf. The crowd parts around her like the Red Sea for Moses, except she no longer brings hope, only pain and death.
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Her father no longer looks her in the eye, scared by the emptiness he sees in the depths. She is ordered to only carry weapons on missions. She laughs in the face of the messenger, and asks if he wishes to take her hands as well.
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It is the last order they give her. After all, what is the purpose of rules but to break them?
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There is a cell in America that she is assigned to take out. Her gun runs out of bullets, so out comes the knife, hungry for blood and death. There is a metallic tang to the air, and it is quiet, echoes fading into thin air. The police arrive before she can hide, so she lets herself be arrested and carted off to be questioned. Tony and McGee find her surrounded by bodies, laughing.
NCIS is the same and different. A new woman is in her desk and Gibbs looks older, but nothing else has changed. They sit across from each other in Interrogation, and her old boss cries silently, staring at the hollow wraith across from him. Negotiations take place in large offices, but in that room they are still.
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"Why, Ziver?" "Because fate is inevitable."
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A decision is reached, and off she goes, broken and empty. No one is surprised when a month later she is given a mission with no success rate. She is a ticking time bomb, and Israel does not wish to deal with the fallout.
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She goes to her death with a smile on her face and a bullet to the head.
A/N: Yes, I know this is WILDLY AU. However, it's a damn sight better than how the actual show ended things with Ziva, so I prefer to make up my own endings. I own nothing, yada yada yada. Reviews are twue wove. (Get the reference? Anyone?) Sadly, my collab story (check out my bio for info) has gotten more reviews/favorites in a day and a half than the story I've had up for two months... SO REVIEW! Or I'll cry pitifully in a corner.