In Ziva's dream she stood in an old empty house. She was searching for something, desperate to find it, yet she couldn't bring herself to remember what exactly "it" was that she was looking for.
She wandered around the building, trying to figure out why she was even there. But she couldn't.
She knew there was a reason why she was there, and a good one at that, but she didn't know what exactly. She wandered around on an instinct, knowing she couldn't leave once she had found the searchable.
The house was divided into smaller rooms. She walked along a ridiculously long corridor, opening doors along the way and looking into the rooms.
The hallway seemed to stretch out into eternity. She couldn't see where it ended, or where it had started, but she was quite sure that any house should not be that large.
And the fact that made the corridor extra creepy was that there were no windows. There were none in the rooms that surrounded it either. The light came from small lamps from the ceiling, but the lights seemed to be motion-sensitive. The hallway was lit only for about fifteen yards in either direction, the rest was surrounded by thick darkness.
All the rooms she looked into seemed exactly the same, the corridor never changed.
She kept going, glancing into the rooms as she went. They were all empty.
She kept chasing a purpose she wasn't even aware of.
It seemed like she had been searching for hours, driven by this unexplainable force, when she finally reached the end of the hallway.
She stopped in her tracks, staring at the simple wooden door before her.
There didn't seem to be anything special about the door, yet se was sure there was more to it than met the eye. She knew instantly that behind that door was what she was looking for, even though she still couldn't quite put her finger onto what exactly this was.
Taking a deep breath she reached for the doorknob and pushed. It opened smoothly.
She stepped in.
The room looked exactly the same as the other ones she had seen before, only bigger.
In the middle of the room stood Sean Thompson, looking exactly as he had in his driver's license photo.
Ziva took a sharp intake of air as her eyes met the scene before her.
The man held Rachel in front of him. he held a knife against her throat.
Rachel looked at Ziva with pleading eyes, the look in them broke Ziva's heart. She had to help her, yet she didn't know how. Any wrong move from her could cause Rachel's death.
Her hand moved to her waist on instinct. Yet there was no gun there. "Let her go," she pleaded the man. He shook his head, an evil grin playing on his lips.
"Take me instead of her." Another headshake.
As Ziva started to approach the man slowly, he quickly pulled the knife over the child's throat, slitting it with no effort at all.
Ziva stopped dead in her tracks, shock pouring over her. She saw blood staining Rachel's light green blouse.
She woke with a start as the little body slumped to the floor, barely making a sound. The man's maniacal laughter still echoing in her ears she rolled over to her back. Her breathing was heavy as if she had just run a marathon and she was covered in cold sweat. Her heart was pounding heavily against her ribcage.
It was just a dream, she convinced herself. Just a dream. Rachel is still alive.
She glanced at the clock on the nightstand. It was four fifty-seven. She let out an inaudible groan and took a look at Tony's sleeping form. He was peaceful, unlike her.
When she had finally convinced herself that it had been just a bad dream and nothing more she slid out of bed silently, making sure not to wake Tony.
She headed through the apartment towards the bathroom, her soft footsteps making no sound against the floor. She closed the door after her and stripped out of her pajamas. Stepping into the shower she turned the water on and let it flow over her body. The warm water felt good against her skin.
She tried to forget the dream as she scrubbed shampoo into her hair, but found it father difficult. She kept thinking about how Rachel had to spend the night in some totally foreign place for her, with a man who wished no good for her.
She felt tears trickling down her face along with the water coming from the shower. She let them flow, unable to bring herself to care.
She didn't know how long she was in the shower, but finally she shut the water off and stepped out, instantly creating a small puddle onto the tiled floor. She grabbed a towel and dried herself, then scrubbed her dripping hair until it was dry enough to not make her clothes wet. She then wrapped the towel around her body.
She exited the bathroom, feeling much better than before and went towards Rachel's room. She stood at the door, leaning against the doorframe and prayed they would find her. That she could hold her in her arms again, kiss her head and tuck her in for the night.
Suddenly she felt a burning need to get out of there. She backed out of Rachel's room and returned to her and Tony's. She found a pen and a piece of paper and quickly scribbled a note to him.
Went to work. Love you, Ziva.
She then changed into beige cargo pants and a dark blue long-sleeved blouse, seeing as it would've been a bit inappropriate to show up in the Navy Yard with just a towel wrapped around her body.
She made her way to the front door, grabbing her keys, wallet and badge as she went. Then she muttered something unintelligible under her breath and headed back to their bedroom to fetch her gun from under her pillow. It was a habit she had mostly managed to get rid of, seeing as there was a little child in the house. But this night she had slept with her gun anyway, just in case Sean or one of his accomplices, if he had those, came after Tony or herself.
Ziva then left the apartment quietly as a ghost, locking the door after her.
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