Lachesism - The desire to be struck by disaster - to survive a plane crash, or to lose everything in a fire.

"Hmm," was all her agency mandated therapist said and she made some notes on Ziva's halting explanation.

Ziva chewed the inside of her lip, already regretting taking the woman's advice to try and put her feelings into words. They. Wouldn't. Come. Every time she opened her mouth to say something the words died in her throat. It would be extremely frustrating if it wasn't so pathetic

Dr Olivia McKellen watched her, her face carefully blank. Ziva wondered what the woman was thinking of her. Was she a lost cause? Was she stupid for thinking all these things? Why wasn't the woman saying anything? The silence was really starting to get to Ziva, surely the point of these sessions was to talk. Of course, she conveniently dismissed the fact the she wasn't talking either.

"Can you explain what exactly you mean by," Olivia looked down at her notepad, 'wanting to start afresh from nothingness'?"

Ziva closed her eyes as her own words were repeated back to her. They really didn't sound good. She was never going to be allowed back to work at this rate.

She was trying, she really was. Olivia had got her back to work, like she'd promised. So Ziva was trying, like she promised. Trying hard too. It was just, it was hard. This wasn't how Ziva was programmed to be. She didn't do the whole 'talking about her emotions' thing. Had never seen the point. What good did talking to when actions spoke louder? But that was the problem. The actions wouldn't come. Couldn't. She was still physically incapable of doing so much that she couldn't deal with her emotions the usual way. No running or working out or punching a bag.

Malnourishment and poorly healed injuries sucked. Doctor's orders instructing 'no strenuous activity' also sucked. Everything sucked.

"Ziva?"

Ziva left her internal monologue abruptly. She had forgotten where she was there. A frown crossed her features. That wasn't good.

"Apologies, Doctor," she said, shifting slightly in her seat.

"Olivia," the woman corrected with a sympathetic smile. "And it's okay. You're not the first to zone out and you won't be the last."

Ziva was oddly comforted by that. She'd had a normal reaction to something. That was a first in this whole process.

"So, what did you mean by 'nothingness'?" Olivia prompted, giving her an expectant look.

"I want to start freshly," Ziva explained.

"Afresh," Olivia absent-mindedly corrected, giving Ziva a thoughtful look. "And isn't that what you're doing by coming here.

Ziva looked away. That wasn't what she meant. Starting afresh was the wrong word.

"I, I just want everything to go away," Ziva reluctantly admitted, looking firmly at the pen pot on the therapist's desk. It was yellow with pink stripes and filled to the brim with pens.

"Define 'everything'."

Ziva took a deep breath to try and explain. "It is...strange coming back here," she began slowly.

"To work?"

Ziva waved her hand dismissively, "Work, America, my apartment."

One of Olivia's eyebrows went up but she didn't say anything.

"It's is strange because all these things are still here, were still here and just continued when I was...gone."

She couldn't quite bring herself to say 'Somalia' just yet. Didn't think that she would ever be ready.

"You are finding it disconcerting that life went on while you weren't here?" Olivia asked.

Ziva nodded, glad that the woman could put it more coherently. "Yes."

"And why is that?"

A shrug of the shoulders was unfortunately not an acceptable response. Olivia called it an emotional cop out, that you weren't even trying to explain your emotions. So, Ziva resisted the urge to move them. She didn't want to go into why she found it strange to return and was completely flummoxed by how to reintegrate to normal life. But if she wanted to get anywhere with therapy, she supposed she had to.

"Because time didn't seem to move when I was locked away," Ziva said softly, looking the woman in the eyes for the first time since they started talking.

"Understandable," Olivia said, nodding. "You were locked up without any way of telling the time except for how light or dark it got."

Ziva nodded hesitantly. There wasn't any point in denying that. The had talked about the cell she had been in before.

"So, you're struggling to adapt to normal life?" Olivia asked.

Ziva rested the urge to shout, "Yes, of course I am! That's why I'm here!"

But she didn't. It would get her anywhere; she knew that from experience. She just nodded sharply instead.

A few seconds of silence passed between the two women.

"Well, it makes sense," Olivia finally said.

Ziva shot her an inquiring look.

"It makes sense that you," she looked down at her notes again, "wished that you were 'returning from some sort of disaster' instead of what you actually went through."

"How so?" Ziva couldn't help but ask, despite being scared of the answer.

"Well, it's quite natural to want a fresh start, to leave all your past baggage behind you," she explained quite matter-of-factly. "Wanting a clean slate and finding somewhere where you can slip back into life easily. A disaster means that there's no pieces to pick up, you just go ahead with your life."

"Yes," Ziva said almost enthusiastically, that's exactly what she wanted. A fresh start. A chance without her past getting in the way. "I do not want to have all these reminders of what happened. I want there to be nothing to pick up again."

"Everything leaves its mark, leaves its destruction. Even disasters," Olivia explained patiently.

"Not like this!" Ziva couldn't contain the shout this time. She lowered her voice as she continued, "You are still a part of life going on when a disaster happens."

"Life doesn't work like that, Ziva," Olivia said gently, actually putting her notebook down. "Your past experiences shape who you are."

"But they are stopping me from moving forward," Ziva protested.

She couldn't fit back into life when everything from this summer was screwing things up.

"Or are you doing that to yourself?"