I Will

Original Publication Date: October 6th, 2013; December 22nd, 2013

Word Count: 1236

Level of Cheesiness: na/10

. . .

I take a shirt from the bedspread and fold it carefully before placing it at the bottom of my backpack. Tonight is a new beginning. If everything goes right I can possibly erase all that has gone wrong. Not in just the past year. Hell, not even what has gone wrong in the past eight years since I first traveled to Washington D.C. No, my problems begin when I had been a mere seventeen. I did not run as I promised my mother I would.

I was damned to serve the Israeli army for two years.

My jaw clenches as I grab another shirt. Those two years had been when Ari joined Mossad and my mother had been killed. Maybe if I listened and ran off to Europe everything right now would be okay.

Reaching for my third and last shirt, my brain recalls the letter I received while in the army.

"Mail for Ziva David."

My body sits up from my cot. Mail is a seldom occurrence. Especially for me. But the officer in front of me does not take into attention the fact in my head I am already panicking. He just drops the letter into my lap and leaves the room.

The other women in my room look at me expectantly. They had not received mail for a while and now their ties to the outside world lie in my own hands. With shaking hands I quickly tear the top of the envelope off and slip the piece of paper out of it.

Angry handwriting greets me and as my eyes scan over the paper only one thing can come through for me to think.

Oh, God. No.

Not Tali.

A single tear falls onto my bag before I quickly rub at my eyes. Stupid tears. I grab my only extra pair of pants and reach for my Star of David necklace only to touch my bare skin. Right. Even that had to go.

. . .

"I thought we said no presents," I whisper, looking down at a small crudely wrapped box. He had taken me aside after he gave the doll to the 'old hack' from human resources. It is late and I am absolutely positive people are going to begin to wonder about us at the building's holiday party.

He grins at me with the smile of a child. I cannot help but give a small smile back. "I lied," he responds smoothly, prodding me to open it. "Come on. It's not going to bite you," he teases.

If only I can tell him how much I appreciate this without sounding like a sap. But It was his choice to break the rules. But does breaking our rule mean we officially broke rule number twelve? My fingers pick at the paper to reveal a dark blue velvet box. No.

"I-I can't," I try to shove the box back into his hands. It is a jewelry box. I know it and I cannot accept it. Nope. Too much for him to spend on me. I believe this is the exact reason we said no presents.

But he, being the man he is just smiles and pushes the box back at me. "Open it," he whispers.

And I take a chance right here. I open the box and am greeted with a devastatingly beautiful Star of David Necklace. Replacing the one I lost in Somalia.

. . .

I choke on a sob before I shove my pants in without folding them. Tony should not have wasted his money on me. On somebody so replaceable. I only hope he can make good of it.

Closing my bag and quickly shutting it, I grab my plane ticket from the nightstand. I take one last look at the house I had been born in before turning back.

I need to reclaim my roots. This is just the first step. My free hand reaches for my pocket and pulls out a solitary piece of paper. The words "I Will" shout at me and I look at the first item on the list.

"Be a Ballerina"

. . .

My flights are booked when I arrive in my new destination. Upon my landing in Russia, I had already purchased a ticket leaving for England the next day. My stay here would not last any longer than tonight. I have one reason for being here.

The ticket in my hand was bought a week ago. And though it is more cheating than anything, the last thing I could ever do would be to become a ballerina at this age. But I can attend one.

My possibilities of being a dancer ended when I had to quit dance.

My father did not like it.

But even after I stopped dancing, even after I joined the Israeli army, even after I killed my half-brother, even after I joined NCIS-I still maintained my passion for dance. In a different way, undoubtedly. But it still existed.

I smile, remembering the last time I attended a recital.

. . .

"You shouldn't have," I whisper. His arm is wrapped protectively around my body and I snuggle farther into his warmth. This is the last thing I expected from him-especially not to this extent. In front of us are many other dance enthusiasts decked out in their own formal attire. When Tony handed me a garment bag and told me not to open it until I arrived back to my apartment I was expecting something silly.

Not a gorgeous floor length gown that obviously cost a pretty penny.

But Tony simply laughs. "I know, but I did. I wanted to." He leads me to the hall and leans to whisper into my ear. "Happy Birthday, Zee-vah."

A smile tugs at my lips with his words and I have to use every ounce of self-control in my body not to turn and kiss him. Rule Number 12. That is the mantra running through my head as we continue to walk to the entrance.

A Kiss is not a Date, right?

. . .

The ballet we saw was beautiful. Giselle. And now, the ticket in my hand is for the same show. But this time it will only be me. It does not matter anyway if I am alone here. Tony would never understand Russian, anyway.

Yet being alone is nothing new for me. My father constantly left me in the dust. I would be on stage, searching. Searching for a familiar face only to be disappointed.

With the stage lights hot on my face and my chest quickly rising and falling with the leftover adrenaline from the show my smile would falter only for a minute before I joined the rest of the troupe backstage.

Only there would I allow my eyes to create tears.

But this time my aloneness is for a point. If I want to find myself, it has to be without the help of others. Last time I allowed people to intervene I ended up broken in a million pieces-not knowing what to care about.

Reclaiming my younger self will allow me to discover who I am supposed to be.

Not who my father wanted me to be.

Not who I thought I was.

I want to know who Ziva David was without Mossad. Without murder. Without NCIS.

I want to know who I am.

And it will take time, but the time will be worth it.

I will discover myself.

I will.

FIN

(RIP the fact that this was going to be all fleshed out and a whole length fic)