Ziva had thought she understood hate. She thought she hated the people who shot her mother. Who planted the bomb that killed her sister. Hated the leaders of terrorist cells she was sent to destroy. Hated people who did bad things.
But now she knew, she had never experienced hate like this. True hatred was when someone you thought loved you, someone who was supposed to protect you, betrayed you. True hatred came hard, fast, and hot. Like love.
The bullpen was silent, still. It was late; everyone had left hours ago, Abby with that look her eyes after Ziva declined her invitation, the one that told Ziva it wasn't over. But Ziva hadn't moved. The computer hummed quietly, the blank email in front of her, words ready to be spoken.
Ziva didn't know how. She didn't know how to tell her father how much he had hurt her, both physically and mentally. . She didn't know how to ask someone if they had ever really loved her. If they valued her as a daughter, not a weapon. She didn't know how to take the words that burned inside her and throw them at her father, leaving a scar.
She wanted to hurt him, she knew that. He had raised her to want to hurt people, hadn't he? Perhaps he hadn't known then it would backfire on him.
None of the letters on Ziva's keyboard formed anything she wanted to say to him. But she had to. She wanted to prove to her father she wasn't just his little soldier anymore.
With steel in her eyes and ice in her heart, Ziva began to type.
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SeventeenRoses