Ziva pulled up as she crossed the appointed line, taking no time to catch her breath but immediately swinging the rifle over her shoulder and dropping behind a low stone wall. She took aim and fired three times in quick succession.

Two hundred meters away, three targets fell. Scooping up the casings at her knees, she crawled behind the wall until she had reached the cover of a building. She stood and slapped her hand on the windowsill. A voice inside called, "Time."

"You were nearly thirty seconds faster eight years ago, David." She didn't return the smile of the uniformed man who had emerged from the building holding a stopwatch, dragging another man by virtue of the lanyard securing the stopwatch around his neck. "But you still beat everyone else by a considerable margin. Where are those tender goslings?"

After securing her weapon, she looked at him seriously. "How much longer do I have to do this, Moshe?"

"Ah, ah. Officer Yonath to you in front of the…"

"They are half a kilometer behind!" she erupted. "This is such a fucking waste of time!"

Moshe tried to lay a comforting hand on her shoulder, but she shrugged him off. He allowed her to walk away. She heard him say to his assistant, "You saw what she did hand-to-hand the other day. Why would I chase her when she has the additional benefit of a gun?"

She took a familiar path that led her up a rocky outcropping and toward the barracks. She just wanted a shower by herself in the common washroom after the six-kilometer trek and shooting course through the noonday desert sun. Upon her return to Moussad over a week before, she had been shunted into the training program for new recruits to prove she was still capable of doing her job. She had first accepted the arrangement as a matter of procedure, but eight days in the Negev among recruits so incapable and inexperienced she had to wonder if they had been specifically selected to exasperate her had sorely tested her patience. If she had to be home, she wanted to be useful.

A dust cloud in the distance made her pause. She swung her rifle around and squinted through the scope after wiping the sweat from her eyes. As the military jeep came closer, she was able to distinguish the man sitting in the passenger seat and was torn between rushing to the barracks and going back to join the group. She chose the latter. Shots began to ring out as she crested the hill. Moshe was shaking hands with the first of the recruits to finish the course when she jogged up to him. "Ah, David. Didn't expect you to…"

She interrupted, still unsure about the situation, "The Director is on his way here."

"Shit. This better be about you and not these…" he waved his hands to indicate the men and women panting on the ground near him and stumbling toward the final shooting range, "Eh. Is that all of the wilting flowers?"

His assistant took a quick count. "That's the last coming up the trail now."

"God is merciful!" Moshe proclaimed. Ten minutes later, Ziva was following him back along the path she had taken not long before. The jeep was not visible as they approached the barracks, nor was anyone awaiting them outside. "I think it's an ambush, David."

"Relax, Officer Yonath," she grinned as she emphasized his title, "I can protect you. Remember, I do technically outrank you."

"Not in front of the delicate little pixies." He paused at the door and shouted to the line of dusty, sweaty recruits, "You will have one hour to eat and rest. Then we're in for a fun afternoon and night of…well, I would just hate to run the surprise, my precious darlings!"

To her mild surprise, the large dining and living room was deserted. She grabbed a cup of water and an energy bar and took a seat at one of the two long tables. As per usual, the seats immediately around her were the last to fill with nervous, quiet recruits. They had stopped trying to make friends with her when they'd discovered she was there on what amounted to punishment and stopped trying to outclass her when they'd found they simply could not. The two men who had attempted to assault her in the shower the third day were still in the hospital.

She kept an eye on Moshe as he allowed his assistant to enter his office first. A moment later he exclaimed, "Director David! This is most unexpected." Ziva didn't rush to stand when everyone else snapped to attention.

"As you were." She was aware that the recruits began nudging each other the moment the man with tinges of gray finally infiltrating his dark hair stepped out of Moshe's office. "Dispense with the pleasantries, Yonath. How is the training proceeding?"

"I cannot decide if the recruits are a poor crop or just intimidated." Moshe grinned and spoke in a stage-whisper, "She hasn't lost a thing."

Although she appreciated the candor, she hoped he wasn't making things more difficult. It would be just like the Director to leave her here longer because she was exceeding his expectations and making him feel foolish, if only in his own mind. She could feel his eyes on her. "Officer David?"

She kept her eyes down as she stood and turned to face him. "Sir?"

"You have been deemed fit to return to duty." She was forced to cross the room to accept the file folder he extended to her. "Your assignment begins at once." She scanned the information rapidly and stoically. "Will there be a problem?"

"None at all, sir."

"Then come. Officer Yonath will have your things sent."

A silent hour later, she sat in one of the plush seats of the Director's private plane, feeling very out of place; she had not been given time to change, much less shower. Her feeling of discomfort increased when he was the only one to join her before the door was closed. He took two bottles of water from a small refrigerator before sitting across from her. "I must admit I am pleasantly surprised. Officer Bashan, of course, has kept me informed about your fitness and combat readiness, but…Moshe Yonath is not given to handing out undue acclaim. Nor, I suspect, are the doctors who treated the men you required to be evacuated. One, I'm told, will always walk with a limp." He handed her one of the bottles of water. "Good work."

"I'm glad I didn't disappoint you, sir."

"Ziva, there is no one else here. Drop the pretense."

"Force of habit, Father."

He sighed, but said nothing regarding her formality. He didn't speak again until after takeoff. "Do you have any questions about your assignment?"

"It seems quite clear. I know our operations in Europe and I know the teammates you've paired me with, both good men."

He waited until she had gulped down the contents of the small bottle to ask, "Were your teammates at NCIS good men?"

"Of course."

"Hm. And will you miss them?"

She blinked, seeing McGee's sad smile as he insisted on carrying her luggage into the airport for her, Gibbs' steely gaze following her down the concourse after making a guarantee that he would 'fix things,' and Tony… Tony had left for the USS Ronald Reagan three days before she had returned home. Their goodbye had consumed an entire night that she would not be caught reliving in front of her father. She blinked again and met his expectant gaze. "Yes."

He nodded, but asked nothing further on the subject, although she knew he had his suspicions. He had seen the same photos she had been shown the previous year. It was likely he assumed he already knew all the relevant information, and as she was here and not there… He suddenly said in English, "It is a shame about Jen Shepard dying in a…firefight, was it?"

She swallowed hard, looking away. He knew. "Just a fire."

"A terrible tragedy," he continued, switching back to Hebrew. "This new Director Vance, can he be trusted?"

"No."

"Because he terminated your position?"

"Because he lies far to willingly. There is something…something off."

"I see. We will be more careful in our future dealings with NCIS." He sipped his water. "It does spring to mind that you have been choosing to trust some curious individuals since going to Washington. Agent Gibbs, for example"

She felt surprisingly calm in spite of the dread with which she had been anticipating this conversation for over two years. "Ari betrayed us. You have seen the proof. If Gibbs did not kill him…"

"You could have? You could have ended your brother's life?"

"Yes." She looked her father in the eye, feeling only a minimal compulsion to confess the truth. She refused to back down from his searching stare.

His gaze unexpectedly softened. "You are the stronger of us, then. But, back to what we were discussing. What about…Agent DiNozzo? There have been some interesting developments concerning him in the past year. He was somewhat involved in a death? I know he did not pull the trigger, but his actions…you know what I am referring to?"

If he suspected Jen's death had been a cover-up, there was no way he wouldn't have a very clear picture of more pubic occurrences – public, at least, to the intelligence community. "La Grenouille?"

"Indeed. Although I cannot complain about his death, as Trent Kort has been quite an asset to us."

She slipped into English again, Tony's words coming out of her mouth, "Kort is a lying bastard."

"How can he lie when he does not know we are listening?" he replied in Hebrew with a wink. "But your Agent DiNozzo…"

"Tony was my partner. And my friend. I trust him with my life."

"Only your life?"

"Father…"

"I am only preparing you for the real interrogation that will happen tonight. Your mother is making dinner and has invited your aunt and uncle."

The abrupt switch from quasi-professional to strictly family caught her off guard. "I thought I was leaving immediately?"

"Tomorrow morning. She has been complaining all week that you were sent to the desert before she could feed you properly. She thinks you are too skinny."

Without performing a self-assessment, she asked, "Will you be there?"

"I have been encouraged to work late tonight. It is just as well, considering how famously Nettie and I get along."

Ziva smiled as she recalled the bizarre incident with the sufganiyot when she was sixteen that had effectively repealed the implied treaty of civility between her father and aunt that had existed since his marriage to her sister. He had spent many late nights at the office following that night of Chanukah. Still, it was a good memory; Ziva could clearly picture Tali's expression of utter ecstasy when the pastries had started flying. She sighed. "Have my things been delivered from Washington yet?"

"Two days ago. I cannot guarantee their security."

"I'll arrange a storage locker if you don't have space in the basement."

"Space is not an issue, but I cannot prevent your mother…"

"You mean… What am I saying? You've probably been through it all already." She walked to the refrigerator and got another bottle of water, reflecting the situation was not at all what she had expected. They had barely spoken since she had gone to DC – in fact had been through an extended period when they had not spoken at all after she'd discovered his spying – and now they were on his plane, nearly joking. How odd. "Do you…" She lost the words she wanted and instead continued, "know how long my mission will last?"

"I do not. This cell is proving particularly elusive. It could take a few months." He reached across the narrow aisle and awkwardly patted her knee when she sat back down. "But you will have plenty of time to think about your duties beginning tomorrow. Tonight…enjoy your time with your family."

She felt a chill run through her body that had nothing to do with the cold water she sipped. "You expect that I'm going to die on this mission."

"No, but you know it would not shock me if…there are always casualties in war, Ziva. You have caused many, but never been one. I pray…"

"You don't pray," she interrupted.

"Then I hope this mission is as successful as all your others. When you…"

She interrupted again, "I've heard the speech before. Dulce et decorum est pro patria mori, and all that."

His expression was sad and serious. "Indeed."