A/N: So, the long awaited chapter. Lots of questions will be answered, but more will come to light.

Disclaimer: I, nor the 6,000,000 other users on FFN, do not own NCIS. I didn't yesterday. I won't tomorrow. Neither will Anne from Stoneybrook, Iowa, or Candy from Albuquerque, New Mexico. Anyone who writes fan fiction for a major TV show obviously doesn't own it. If we did, we'd be hanging out with the cast right now or writing the latest script in which Tony and Ziva will finally get their act together. So you see? This whole disclaimer thing? Kinda silly.

Ziva sat in her room quietly that night. McGee was in her living room again, this time working furiously on his laptop, but ready to protect her if needed. A cup of tea was left forgotten and cold on her nightstand as she sat on her bed, millions of questions and thought running through her mind.

Ziva felt lost. She felt angry. Angry that she couldn't remember, angry that her partner had to die, angry that she couldn't do anything. She knew it wasn't her fault, but there was this nagging sensation in her gut telling her something. She felt helpless and furious because she was. She couldn't change the past, much less remember it.

Ziva closed her eyes. Her heart pulled at her as she tried to remember the color of his eyes. There was something about him, something she knew, something she felt. She couldn't pin point what it was. But there was something inside her that needed to know him more than anything or anyone. She needed him, but now there was no way to have him.

She reached over to look in her nightstand, finding a thick brown leather book. Opening it, she found it had been half filled. It had to have at least 300 pages inside, most of them written in. She opened it to one of the first pages. It described her first encounter with Tony. She laughed softly to herself at her unique "opening lines" with him, and his flustered reaction. As she continued to read, faded memories of Ari, comments on various cases and missions, and moments with the team came to life. Undercover as married assassins. Trapped inside a shipping container. LA. Jenny. Going back to Israel. The mission in Morocco. Then coming back to D.C. Seeing him again in Columbia. Finding the truth about the mole at NCIS. His outburst in the elevator. Then one day, she wrote about the fire. The fire that killed him. The entries were never very long, never filled with emotion. They were simply recordings of her life, written every few weeks or so, not every day.

The more she read, the more she remembered. Finally she came to one page that caught her eye.

I didn't mean to fall in love with him.

But I did.

That was all it said, but she knew exactly who she had been writing about.

She woke up the next morning like nothing had changed since before Tony died. It was 4:30 AM and time for her morning run. But as she slipped into the kitchen to make some tea before her run, she remembered that she had forgotten.

"You ok, Ziva?" Gibbs asked from the table.

"I remember," She said softly but factually.

"What do you remember?" He stood.

"Everything," She looked at him, tears of relief and sadness welling in her eyes. He pulled her into an embrace.

"Welcome back, Ziva. Welcome back,"

They had left for headquarters almost as soon as Ziva could pull on a pair of jeans and t-shirt and grab her SIG. Ziva had called McGee on the way and he met them there, despite his three hours of sleep that night.

They turned a corner and were quickly met by a large black SUV. Out of the corner of her eye Ziva saw something she didn't expect.

"Gibbs! Gun!" She cried, pulling out her weapon. Gibbs swerved and sped up, trampling off the interstate into deep into Rock Creek Park. They got out of the car and began to run for cover behind the trees. "Did we lose him?"

Gibbs was silent for a moment as he peered past the tree. "No, not yet he said," Moments later the SUV pulled up. Two men emerged, each carrying guns that were much larger than the ones Ziva and Gibbs were armed with.

Gibbs motioned to her silently. Ziva nodded, and they began their impossible mission.

"Jennings," McGee called from his desk, staring at the report in his hands.

"Yeah," he replied from behind him.

"Where's the report on the fire in Abby's lab?"

"I gave it to you,"

"It's not here,"

"I had it an hour ago. Did you take it?"

"No, when you went to get your coffee it was right there on your desk,"

"Really?" McGee asked skeptically.

Jennings stared him in the eye for a moment, then looked quickly off before answering. "Yes,"

He looked to the left, McGee thought, remembering Ziva's instruction on lie detection two years ago.

"Something wrong?" Jennings asked, returning to his work after noticing the odd stare coming from the senior agent.

"Well--" Tim was interrupted by his phone ringing. "Agent McGee,"

"Two men!" It was Ziva's voice, followed by a number of gunshots. "Automatic rifles! Rock Creek park! Liscence plate 375 Alpha Foxtrot—" More gunshots…

"Ziva! Ziva can you hear me?"

McGee put the phone on speaker and began to type furiously, despite the silence that had followed.

McGee and Jennings pulled up to Ziva's location within fifteen minutes of her call. Their guns raised, they began to spread out carefully, looking for any sign of Ziva and Gibbs.

The grounds were silent. Not even the birds dare say a word.

Tim continued to edge forward slowly, looking around as he went. Suddenly he heard the crunch of twigs in front of him, on the other side of a tree. From where he stood he could see a body. Reaching the other side of the tree, he saw Ziva leaning up against it, gun poised, raised towards the body. She was staring off at it, as if there was no one else there.

"Ziva,"

"Tim," She said, relieved, and stood up. McGee went over to the body and checked for a pulse.

"He's dead, Ziva. Where's Gibbs?"

Ziva pointed. "He went that way with the other guy. I heard a firefight then—" As she said this, Gibbs walked out of the trees. "Gibbs!"

"Hey Tim," He said casually.

"Boss, you okay?"

"Yeah, I'm fine. He's not,"

"How'd you guys do it?" They just stared at him. "Never mind, I don't want to know," He said with a small smile.

Ziva sat at her desk for the first time in over a week as Ziva David, the one she knew, the one everyone loved. It had been two days since her memory had returned and returning to normal was something she was glad to do. As her eyes shifted to his desk, her thoughts turned to Tony. She sighed. She just couldn't accept that he was dead.

A phone rang from across the squadroom, and suddenly it hit her.

"McGee," He looked up at her expectantly, pausing his mad fury of typing. "I think Tony is alive,"

"Ziva, keep it down. He's dead," Ziva stood ad walked over to his desk.

"No, he is not. When I lost my memory I got two phone calls, on my cell phone, from a man who said he was an 'old friend.' I think it was Tony,"

McGee stood to meet her with a sigh. "Ziva, you have to let this go, he's gone. And if you tell someone, you'll lose your badge, maybe even your clearance,"

"No, he is alive. He called me,"

"You have to accept this, Ziva. Tony is dead. You saw the body. You saw his apartment,"

"Wait, McGee, the apartment. Was it locked?"

McGee shuffled through some papers to find Tony's file, left where it had been days ago. "Why would it matter now? Oh… Ziva, you might actually be onto something. It was locked, but not on the inside,"

"So how would someone get inside a locked apartment, pour gasoline everywhere, and lock the door without waking Tony?"

"He was asleep, Ziva, you know that,"

"It does not mean it was him. We didn't find his house keys at the scene. There was no positive identity,"

"And a positive identity on the man who bought the gasoline," Abby said triumphantly, running into the bullpen. "The guy from Harvey's Diner and Mini Mart ID'd the man who bought the gasoline as Tony,"

"You mean…" McGee began, his brow furrowed.

"Tony set himself up," She explained.

I had fun writing this one, but I hope the journal thing wasn't too cheesy. Let me explain: her journal would never say stuff like, "Oh, he's so cute. I like him but I don't know if he likes me! Maybe I should ask my friend to tell his friend to ask him to see if he likes me back!" because that's not Ziva's style. Her journal would be more factual than anything. So that's what I mean. I don't mean a corny, sappy journal. I mean a Ziva journal. Ok. I think you have the idea. Now go review. : )