GAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHH!

13 REVIEWS! FOR ONE CHAPTER! IM FREAKING OUT!

deep breathing, deep breathing.

ok, panic over. You guys are AWESOME!
this chapter is inspired by SilverStella, who thought it was time for Tony to meet the in-laws, and this idea grew from there. also, we have a little insight into Ziva's past. I know I haven't gone into great detail, but I feel Ziva would be resistant to sharing her past, so doesn't bring it up in conversation...

anyways, enjoy!

DISCLAIMER: no i do not own NCIS.

Chapter 11

Rivka David let herself into Ziva's apartment with her own key. She knew her daughters well enough to know that neither of them would be awake, given that it was nine o'clock, and that it was a Sunday. Where a normal mum would complain, Rivka was grateful. She had known a time when her children would be woken at 0500 to take part in some drill that Eli had dreamt up. It could be anything from being dropped off in a strange part of the country and having to make their way home, to being given a live IED and being asked to disarm it. Ari had been eighteen, Ziva thirteen and Tali ten. It was only four years later when Rivka decided that enough was enough. That was when Somalia happened.

Rivka walked into the first room on the right, opening the door. On the bed lay a sleeping Tali, who groaned at the sudden bright light flooding through the doorway. Rivka then moved to attack the curtains, throwing them wide open and pulling the blinds up before Tali could utter more protest.

"Immaaaaaaaa," Tali groaned, burying her head deeper into the duvet and trying to get back to sleep. But both of them knew for a fact that Tali would be unable to get back to sleep. She had always been one of those people who could not get back to sleep once they had woken up, so Rivka could safely say that she would see Tali in the kitchen in a few moments scouring the land for something to eat. It was simple scenes like that which lacked in the David household back in Israel, so these few moments were somewhat enjoyed by all parties.

Rivka moved out of the next room along, ignoring Tali's protest. She assumed that Tali would just be trying to call her back to close the blinds or something. But when she reached Ziva's bedroom, she found out what Tali was protesting over, or trying to get her to avoid.

Ziva lay in bed, a man behind her, with his arms securely wrapped around her. And he had no shirt on. As soon as the door was flung open Ziva's eyes shot open, and widened in horror.

"Ima!"

The evening before

They were breathing heavily now, trying to catch their breaths between kisses. They had at some point moved to the couch, the thought of dinner forgotten in the mix of their passion.

"Just take the damn bed already," Ziva murmured. They had been having this argument for at least fifteen minutes, and the reason that it hadn't been resolved was the fact they were both equally stubborn. And they had some other better thing to be doing.

"Can we not just sleep together," Ziva said again, trying to concentrate while Tony was ravishing her neck.

"What happened to no physical activity," Tony said against her neck.

"Since when was sleep a physical activity," Ziva said. And then she realised what she had said.

"I meant actual sleep!" Ziva said.

There was nothing but the sound of Tony's lips on her skin. And somewhere along the line, Ziva gave up the fight that was her mind against her heart and Tony.

"FINE!"

Present

Rivka pottered around the kitchen switching on the coffee machine and making a start on breakfast. Ziva kept a pretty well stocked kitchen, so she wasn't struggling to find things to make. A few moments later Rivka heard the shower start up, knowing that it was Tali who was trying to wake herself up. A few moments later Ziva walked in, rubbing the sleep from her eyes and pulling on a hoodie on top of her pyjamas.

"Hey Ima," Ziva said, kissing her on the cheek in greeting from behind as her mum cut up the ingredients to what transpired to be omelettes. Ziva pulled a mug out of the tall cupboard and poured herself a generous cup of coffee.

"You didn't tell me you were sleeping with someone."

That statement was all it took for Ziva to almost drop her coffee cup. That kind of statement was her mum all over. A strange blend of motherly comfort and tough love, mixed in with a quick wit and a deadpan sense of humour. Ziva's eyes widened to comical proportions, and it took a few moments worth of spluttering and stuttering to compose a sentence.

"We're not sleeping together! He's just staying here because he's just been discharged from hospital, and I'm looking after him. I didn't want him to take the couch because it wouldn't be good for his injuries, and he wouldn't let me take the couch either."

All Rivka did was raise her eyebrows in disbelief. However, Ziva was saved from anymore answers by Tony sweeping in.

"Morning sweetcheeks," he said, leaning down to kiss her on the lips. However, Ziva was too fast and turned so that his lips landed on her cheek. Then he realised who else was in the kitchen.

"Mrs David," Tony said, addressing Rivka, but still wrapping his arms around Ziva at the same time.

"Are you sleeping with my daughter," she said, ignoring his greeting. However, Tony without skipping a beat.

"No. She wouldn't let me."

This seemed to be the right answer, and Rivka nodded in approval. She turned back to her chopping board, but heard the sound of Ziva's fist hitting his muscly forearm.

"So, what did you say your name was?" Rivka said.

"Anthony DiNozzo Junior, ma'am," Tony said.

"Does that mean there's a Senior?" Rivka said suggestively, and Ziva looked over at her in disgust.

"Mum!"

"I am going to take a shower…" Tony said, sensing that he should leave the two women alone to talk. However, the way he said it made it seem more like a question than a statement, so Ziva answered him.

"Let me help you take the dressing off," she said, turning Tony towards the door. While his back was turned Ziva sent Rivka a pointed look before leaving.

Tony found that Tali had beaten him to the shower, so headed back into the kitchen to go and face Ziva and her mother. He had not expected to encounter Ziva's family so early on in the relationship, Ziva and Tony not having defined themselves, so were going to be at loss as to define themselves to other people.

Tony headed back to the kitchen to investigate what was smelling so good in the kitchen. However, the conversation that he heard stopped him in his tracks, right by the kitchen door, close enough to hear but not be seen.

"You have to tell him."

The first voice Tony could tell was Rivka's.

"About what," Ziva's voice floated to his ears.

"Somalia."

"Somalia is a thing of the past."

"But it is something he needs to know about."

"He does not!"

"Do you not trust him?"

"I trust him. Possibly too much."

Tony had to smile at the admission, but was troubled by the part of the conversation that he had heard. Yes, he was just getting to know Ziva, but she meant something to him. He couldn't quite define what, but she definitely meant something. It was the time Tony thought he should make himself known.

"So, what's for breakfast," he said casually rounding the corner. Ziva jumped a vertical mile when she saw him, but tried to cover it. Tried, and failed.

"Mum, could you, give us a minute," she said, not breaking eye contact with Tony.

There was a pause for a few moments until she was convinced that her mother was out of earshot.

"How much of that did you hear?" she asked slowly and cautiously.

"Long enough to know you trust me?" but just as Ziva was about to breathe a sigh of relief he continued, "And Somalia."

Ziva froze in her step, and moved to stand closer to Tony. They stood there for a moment, neither of them quite knowing what to say.

Images coursed through Ziva's mind. It had been a while since she had thought about Somalia, and now her mother had brought it up she could not stop thinking about it. There were too many memories. Too many horrible memories. And now she was going to have to share them with Tony.

"It was in the summer of 1995…"

oooOOOooo

24th July, 1995

The air was as still and hot as the three bodies that lay in that cell, almost as if they had been there so long that they had blended into their surroundings. The first was a man, around twenty nine in age, and built in a way that showed countless hours in the gym. But those hours meant nothing now, as he sat there tied to the chair, as harmless as a mouse with no sense in direction. The second man was younger, a face that spoke hours in the sun rather than marred with the wounds of battle. He was also attached to a chair, but his eyes were downcast in defeat. He had never been in this kind of situation before. But neither of them truly had. The final figure wasn't attached to a chair. It was slumped on the floor, tasting the bitter earth on their tongue as their face tried to drink in the coolness that the floor provided. Sweat seeped off the body and onto the floor, which greedily drank it up.

It was Ziva David, age thirteen.

The doors swung open to reveal a man. But none of the figured turned to the door. They all knew who it would be.

He leaned down, grabbing Ziva from the floor and hauling her to her feet. Her legs buckled with the sudden exertion of being on her feet after so many days of not needing to use those muscles. He dropped her back to the ground in disgust, and Ziva felt her fractured ribs bend and put pressure against her organs as she hit the hard floor once again.

"Tell me of Operation Novella," the words emerged from his lips, his accent as thick as the hot desert air.

There was silence from the three Mossad agents. And this was not the answer that he was looking for. Before any of the agents could react he brought his solid boot to Ziva's prone body on the floor. Ziva cried out in protest, too tired to push down the cries of pain that she had worked so hard in the beginning to silence. Just as her training had taught her. But training hadn't helped them when they had been captured. Training hadn't helped them escape this hell hole. Training went out of the window after the first week of their capture.

The pain that Ziva felt was mirrored in the older agent's eyes. Agent Farah had never wanted Ziva to come on the mission. He had flat out refused the moment that Ziva had stepped onto the cargo plane. Ziva had heard every word of the heated argument that had ensued between Farah and the commanding officer, and had been surprised when she saw him step back onto the plane, and introduce himself formally to Ziva. It had transpired later on that Farah had a teenage daughter who was the same age as Ziva.

The next agent who had stepped on board had clearly been aware that Ziva was going to be present. The younger agent had introduced himself as Agent Paulo, a friend of Ari's who had taken the mission, and to who Ari had requested he look after Ziva.

Ziva felt herself being hauled to her feet again, feeling the cold blade of the knife against her skin. But she did not shy away from it. She revelled in the cool feeling in the blade, and the salvation that would come if that knife was just to dip a little deeper. She embraced the feeling. She was ready to die.

She felt her ripped shirt ride up, exposing her back. Her captor clearly had an idea from this, and began to carve a pattern in her back. She could pin-point that exact moment where she felt the blade pierce her skin.

"For every moment you wait, one scar will be added to this pretty one's body," he said. It was not the tone of voice that scared her. It was the complete lack of emotion that were present in his calm voice.

"Don't touch her," Farah said, his voice breaking from the lack of water.

"Or what?" their captor sneered in accented Hebrew, and as a reward for his stubbornness, he pressed the blade into Ziva's back.

"Operation Novella."

Farah and Paulo both said nothing, but Paulo's eyes remained fixed to the floor. In the beginning he had been as determined as Farah to keep Ziva safe. But now he was using his energy elsewhere, trying to prevent himself from spilling Israeli secrets. But Ziva did not blame him. Dying tended to make a person more forgiving.

Farah on the other hand stared at their captor in the eyes defiantly. It was proving to be a greater job to break him than their captor first thought. Then suddenly, without warning, their captor pulled out a gun and Ziva's mind did not even register the shot until she saw Farah's body hit the floor. And he never moved again.

That was the only time she ever shed a tear.

"Maybe that will give you something to think about," and with that Saleem Ulman left, and Ziva and Paulo were left staring at Farah's dead lifeless eyes, the same eyes his daughter would stare at her a month after at the funeral, all asking her the same question that she could not answer, that kept her awake at night, for all those years.

Why?

oooOOOooo

Tony sat there on Ziva's couch, just watching her. Her eyes had not moved from that one point on the wall since she had stated her tale. Her eyes were glazed over slightly with tears.
"Ziva?" Tony said softly, and Ziva's head snapped around almost violently. She blinked a few times, the grey fog her eyes finally parting.

"There you are," he said softly, and Ziva smiled gently at Tony, the smile pushing the tears in her eyes until they spilled over. Abruptly, she stood up.

"Excuse me," she said standing up.

"I'll come too," he said firmly. Ziva gave him a strange look.

"I'll follow you, where ever you run to," he said. And it was true. Now, all Ziva had to do was believe it.

so, does it deserve a review? :)