Chapter 2

As soon as Tony had gotten to his apartment, he flopped down on his overstuffed sofa and popped "Die Hard" into his movie player. He knew he should be taking a shower; he hadn't had one in days. But as the opening credits rolled silently onto the screen, he couldn't will himself to stop the movie and walk to the bathroom, that would be too much work.

He sat placidly on the couch; his limbs sprawled over the sides carelessly as Bruce Willis dodged another speeding bullet. That guy gets it good... thought Tony no worries, never gets hurt, but he is bald though. Guess that's one good thing about my life.

He continued to watch in a semi-focused state, not entirely paying attention, but catching bits and pieces. He could always watch it again if he felt he missed too much. He caught himself starting to doze off, and turned the volume down. Soon enough he had fallen asleep, his chest rising and falling in an even, silent pace. It was understandable that Tony had succumbed to sleep. Gibbs had pushed the team incredibly had lately, and the long hours and straight days of working were starting to catch up with him. He noticed they took their toll on McGee too, and the younger agent had seemed almost comatose over the last few days. Tony would catch McGee staring off into space occasionally, his mouth hanging open wide enough that he half expected if he looked into the gaping hole he would find that several species of small animals had found a home there, and set up a permanent residence.

Ziva, on the other hand, seemed to be completely immune to the affects of sleep deprivation. Her eyes never losing their delicate glow, and not a single strand of overworked hair falling out of place. She continued to type furiously for hours after Gibbs, McGee, and Tony had lost their fight with the sandman. And Tony awoke to the sound of her long fingers gliding effortlessly over her keyboard. He had told her to sleep, seeing that everyone else had allowed themselves the luxury. But she denied, and turned back to her work. Damn, that kid is loyal, he had thought at the time, such a waste.

Ziva adjusted the settings on the treadmill as she glanced at the clock. She would have to have time to cool off before she got back to work, so she let her machine slow down to a jogging pace, the walking, then she turned off the treadmill and strolled over to the women's change room.

She stared at her reflection in the large, floor to ceiling mirror. Ew, she thought as she pulled her hair out of the tight not it had been in. She felt sweaty, overworked, and tired. And all three of those feelings were evident on her body. The thin layer of perspiration that coated her skin with sheen ran down from her neck, to her chest and back, and her hair flopped around uncompromisingly, causing her to plop down onto the bench opposite the wall with a sigh. Her hair and her sweatiness she could fix, but the dark circles under her eyes were a dead giveaway of just how tired she really was. Tony, McGee, and Gibbs would surely return fresh and awake, having caught several hours of sleep before refuelling with several doses of caffeine. She, on the other hand, would be tired and groggy, and her judgement would be impaired. Gibbs had given his team this time to re-energize themselves, but she had chosen to work out instead. Great.

She peeled off her skin tight exercise clothing, sighing as she felt her body seem to take a breath of relief at its being unconfined. She padded slowly over to the shower room. Though it may seem odd, showering was always her favourite part of working out, especially at this gym. This particular area of the change room seemed different from the rest, the elaborate, and somewhat eccentric patterned tiles disappeared to make way for the dark panels of wood that lined the walls. The lights were dimmer, casting sections of the room into almost complete darkness, but the natural light from the window that covered most of the ceiling and the far wall illuminated a small patch of the room. But the cracks in the large pane of glass sent abstract patterns of lines across the whole space. The shower stalls were planted directly under the skylight, giving the only utilitarian portion of the area a bright, weightless feel.

Ziva adjusted the water temperature to the hottest it could possibly go, without boiling the skin off her bones. She stepped cautiously under the gentle spray of water, gasping slightly as the heat engulfed her aching body. She closed her eyes, letting the sound of the constant drip from the hole in the piping lull her into a calm, peaceful state. Her body was bathed in pure, crystalline light, her senses hyper indulged by the exquisite feels, smells, and sounds of the room. Steam spilled over the sides of the stall, drifting slowly over the panelled floor.

The air was starting to become humid, and thick. And every breath that Ziva managed to take in felt heavy, as though she had inhaled a gas that solidifies itself inside the lungs. As she started to fall deeper into a state of relaxation the feel of the warm spray on her back changed. The gentle stream of water became strong, broad hands that ran down her firm back, over her backside, and down her legs. The heat became a passionate embrace that wrapped itself around her and caressed every nook and cranny of her petite frame. She tilted her head back to give this mystery man space to touch her more intensely, and he responded. Running his calloused fingers down the graceful planes of her neck, across her shoulders and arms, and cautiously caressing her breasts. She willed him to do more, to push harder and move faster. But the loving touch of this man suddenly disappeared, leaving Ziva suddenly alone in the shower room. She shut off the water and wrapped herself in her towel. She stood dripping, chilled, and extremely lonely in the middle of the exotic shower room.

She yearned for the powerful, yet teasing caress of her imaginary lover. But he was nowhere to be found. She reasoned he was probably off being some other Israeli assassin's fantasy, even her own creation had abandoned her. What a fantastic start to the day.

She stood in front of the large mirror once again, this time fully clothed. She wore tight denim jeans, a form-fitting hoodie, and her hair was down and free. She would have normally planned to wear more work appropriate apparel, but she assumed Gibbs and McGee would understand and not ask any questions. Tony, however, would have a field day trying to figure out why she was dressed so casually. He would poke and prod every area that he thought needed poking and prodding. He would stare at her even more than he already did, leaving hot trails across her skin where his eyes had dared to wander. Ziva would try her best to ignore his judgemental gaze, but she would end up having to take several coffee breaks, (even though she didn't actually like coffee) as was usual when she fell victim to his heated gaze. But she could deal with it, whatever problem that was presented could be dealt with.

And she would rather be at NCIS, so she had work she could bury herself in, instead of having time to think. She hated when she had time to think. Her mind would often wander back to when she was a child, when she actually had a chance to be a child. When Ari, Talia, and she would explore the lush forests in Haifa, building imaginary worlds with kings and queens, knights and princes, large, majestic castles, and a kingdom to themselves. They would frolic about in their land for hours, assigning each other different roles in the kingdom. Tali would always be the princess, Ziva the loyal knight, and Ari any of the numerous criminals that guarded Tali's tower.

The three of them would spend each day, if possible, in their forested escape, never leaving a rock unturned, a stream clean, or an area unexplored.

The more time they spent away from their father, the less afraid of him they became. And soon enough they could take his scoldings, punishments, and beatings easily, they weren't mere children anymore, they were rulers of an all powerful kingdom. They conquered beasts of all kinds, took down fierce villains, and faced opponents who were a million times more evil than their father. They could stand strong through any amount of torture Eli decided to put them through. They were invincible.

But things changed when Ziva's father grew tired of his children's growing defiance. He could not, and would not, let everything he worked to build in his offspring go to waste because of some childish fantasy.

One early spring day Eli shook Ziva awake, "Get up," he whispered harshly, "now!" He dragged his daughter by the scruff of her neck outside. Tali and Ari, awoken by their father's booming footsteps, followed loyally behind their elder sister to the chair he had placed deep in the middle of the forest. He threw her down roughly onto the makeshift seat, and, not wanting to anger her father more, Ziva sat still as he tied her down with rope.

Sensing what was coming, she commanded her younger siblings to leave her, and go get her mother. But they stayed, rooted to the spot in horror as Eli struck his daughter, again, and again. He beat her until his hand became tired, and then he took out the whip his brother had made him from rattlesnake sinew. The long strip was hard, but it had the perfect amount of flexibility for the task at hand. He cut the binds off of Ziva's bloody wrists, and pushed her face first into a broad, strong tree. He ordered her to take off her shirt, and she complied, screaming in agony as the wounds on her arms bled in protest. He kicked his daughter's soiled shirt out of his way, and began lashing at her back.

The torture continued for hours, Ari and Tali sobbing throughout. But Eli finished finally, leaving his daughter wounded and weak on the ground.

Ziva's mother had found her days later, seeing that Eli had told her that her daughter had merely gone for a sleepover, and would return soon, and Ari and Tali were far too afraid of their father to say otherwise.

Ziva was admitted to critical condition, and remained there for several months before she was allowed to return home. But even then she was confined to her room for weeks, doctor's orders.

But her father would not stand for his daughter to miss out on any training, so she was forced to resume her extensive exercise program, her wounds would have made physical activity impossible for any other child, but Ziva made it through, somehow.

She could make it through any, and everything on her own. And that is what she intended to do for the rest of her life.

Ziva slung her bag over her shoulder, and walked silently into the bullpen.