Id est non meum.

Okay, this is the final chapter, unless the characters decide to prank me again and make the story longer. They tend to resent my attempts to order them around. Which actually makes sense, since Ari resents authority. Maybe I'm getting a little too in character for him. Hm… Is it possible to turn into one of your characters? If so, maybe I should switch to writing for Sesame Street or something.

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The guards lay unmoving on the cold cement floor. Ari jogged over to each of them, coming just close enough to fire a round through each of their heads. He didn't bother to check if he'd killed them or they were dead already. It really didn't matter.

A jolt of pain shot through him as he ran to his little sister lying on the ground in a pool of blood. She stirred slightly, mumbling something before she fell back into unconsciousness.

He knelt next to her, brushed a hand over her hair, pressed his lips to her cheek-

And put a bullet through her head.

Standing up, he holstered the gun as he walked out of the warehouse. Oddly, he felt absolutely nothing, no pain, no second-guessing…

For some reason, he looked back just before he shut the door. His sister's unmoving body lay behind the wall that had failed to protect her. Just like he had.

I'm sorry, Ziva. But I had to. You know what happens if we disobey orders.

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The room was utterly dark. Ari sat up abruptly, looking around with wide eyes. He flung the covers back, walked quickly over to the door, flicked the light on, turned around-

His little sister lay across the couch, hair fluttering slightly as she snored. He ran toward her, knelt next to the couch, and flung his arms around her, careful not to squeeze her still-bandaged chest too hard. I don't want to hurt her. I don't. That's just my mind playing tricks on me.

But the nightmare had almost come true. It would have, if he had obeyed orders. She'd been a liability, and he had delayed killing the arms dealer to get her to the hospital.

Remembering how she had looked in his dream, with blood covering her face, he shuddered. That's never going to happen to you, Ziva. Never. You hear me? Never.

His legs were cramping from kneeling on a hard floor for too long. He stood up, lifted her slightly, sat down on the couch next to her, and hugged her tightly, tucking her head against his chest.

Ari didn't notice he was crying until Ziva reached up and patted him on the cheek, wiping away the tears. He stroked her hair gently and pressed his lips to the right side of her forehead.

"I love you."

Startled, he clutched her even tighter. He didn't deserve her love. Not after what he'd done, even if it was only a dream. Not after what he'd almost done in real life.

Because he almost had.

Despite what he kept telling himself, and he would have probably told anyone who asked, even her, though he had promised her and himself that he would never lie to her- despite all that, there had been one moment, just one, when he had considered it.

Just one.

She didn't deserve to have to deal with a brother like him. He wasn't good enough for her. He never had been.

As Ari fell into a deep, for once dreamless, sleep, the myriad of thoughts shooting through his head solidified into one ironclad resolution.

I have to get Ziva out of Mossad.