AN: Set After S5 E15

Ziva had barely put her hand on the door handle when it was yanked open and she was pulled in. Which really wasn't wise for the person who was doing the pulling because it made her get defensive and grab the person by the wrist and twist them in a way that she was very much in control.

"Ow! Ow! It's, ow! It's me!"

The 'me' being Fakhir, who really should have known better. Actually, all of them should know better by now because they had now known her for almost two years now and a fair few of them had already ended up in this very position.

The only interesting reaction had been Francisca who, despite being a conservative, elderly, Catholic, Mexican woman, really had some moves on her. She had managed to completely block Ziva's unintentional attack on her without any of her bones cracking! Very impressive.

"Can you please let go of him, Ziva?" Amelia asked, standing in the doorway.

"Must I?"

Amelia looked the pair up and down and then nodded decisively.

"Please. It looks like you are about to break his arm."

"Not in this position," Ziva assured her.

The way she was holding Fakhir's arm would ensure that he dislocated his own shoulder if he struggled too much. Painful but it would not involve the bone breaking. Unfortunately, Amelia did not look convinced.

"Please, Ziva. He won't be able to play if he can't extend his arm."

"Then I am getting rid of the competition and that is a good thing, is it not?"

"Do I get a say in this?" Fakhir asked in a pain-filled voice.

"No," both women said at once.

"And you can't injure people, Ziva, to get rid of the competition," Amelia added.

"Thank you!" Fakhir said in a pain filled voice. "Owwww."

"Pity."

It really was but Ziva did as she was told and released him. Immediately he stepped away from her and rubbed his arm.

"I can't feel my fingers," he complained.

"He's been waiting by the window this whole time for you." Amelia told her as Fakhir muttered Arabic insults under his breath and tried to rub the feeling back into his arm.

Baby. That hadn't even been a tight hold. The feeling in his fingers should definitely be back by now.

"Really?"

"Oh, yes."

Huh. As much as she and Fakhir got along, they weren't particularly close.

"So, did you end up going?" Fakhir demanded.

Ziva gave him a blank look. "Go where?"

"Iraq!" he exclaimed, throwing his hands up in the air.

Oh yes. She had warned a few of them that she would not be able to make a few of the previous games (between the CIA investigation and this case necessitating some of the team to be out of the country). But she had informed Fakhir that the case involved Iraq because it was his home country and he was normally happy when it was brought up.

"No, Tony and another Agent went."

Fakhir made a disgusted noise and walked away. Ziva shook her head in amusement while Amelia rolled her eyes.

"Do I want to know what he's muttering about?" Amelia asked.

"Probably not.'

"Ah."

Ziva understood that Fakhir was a bit... put out that she had gone to Iraq. It was not her fault, after all. Well, not completely. Jardine had a perfectly good reason for wanting to go, more so than all of them. It was not like she would have been able to give Fakhir an accurate view of Iraq anyway. Gibbs, Tony and Jardine had gone to a Marine base, not a city. She would not have been able to "submerge herself in the culture" as he had put it. There would have been absolutely no Iraqi culture on the base.

"Are you okay to play, Fakhir?" Amelia called in.

She didn't get any response.

"I will go get him," Ziva offered.

So that is what she did. It wasn't hard as he hadn't flying far. Just to his kitchen, it was their apartment they were playing in this evening. He always banned them all from his kitchen, hence why no one else was in here. Not even Francisca.

He was sitting at his table, head in his hands and shoulders hunched. Never a good sign.

Ziva eased herself into the room and wondered what to say. She wasn't good at this sort of thing. What would Abby do? Probably hug him and she definitely wasn't going to do that.

"Are you...," she cleared her throat. "Are you okay?"

She didn't think Fakhir was going to answer with the way the silence stretched between them but he did.

"I just... I just miss home sometimes," he admitted softly, not looking at her.

Now that was something she could very much relate to. Homesickness. It even struck her at the oddest of moments. One second she wasn't thinking of Israel at all and then suddenly it was all she could think about. It had gotten better over the years; the smell of falafel no longer made her wish for home. On most days anyway.

"That is normal," she said carefully.

Ziva wasn't actually sure what she was supposed to say in this sort of situation. She was never very good at talking about feelings and things. Never was. Didn't intend to be either, no matter how long she spent in America.

"Yes, but I thought if you went and saw it, we could talk about the markets and shops and the people and I guess I'm just... oh, I don't know" he trailed off helplessly.

"You are sick for your homeland," Ziva finished for him.

"Exactly! That is exactly it!"

He looked relieved that she understood what he was talking about. He probably felt crazy. Ziva knew she sometimes felt crazy for missing a place more than the people that were in that place. But it wasn't just people you missed. You missed sights, sounds, smells. She hadn't smelled a good dusty summer in ever so long. Oh yes, she had returned to Israel once or twice since coming to America but those were short trips, mostly restricted to official Mossad buildings. She experienced as much of Israel there as Tony and Jardine did of Iraq on the Marine Base. Which was not a lot.

It wasn't a lot at all.