Author's note: Thanks for all the comments and reviews. I wasn't sure what to expect since Breathe has been on hiatus for so long and is almost another world as far as the show is concerned (and not just in the T-Squared sense of the phrase). I think I'll be posting twice a week, but probably not on set days because my work schedule is fluctuating a bit because we have a weekend rotation.

Chapter 2

McGee left Dwayne in the bullpen getting caught up on where the MCRT was on cases and headed for the lab. He could hear chatter even with Abby's music playing. At least he wouldn't have to find Jimmy, too.

They were in Abby's inner office, sitting at the steel table with breakfast and file folders scattered between them.

"Cold cases?" McGee asked as he walked in.

"Leon didn't say only agents could be part of the competition," Abby said. "Unless we have a case. Do we have a case?"

McGee shook his head. "No, and probably not today."

"Why? You know something, Timmy," Abby said.

"Ziva's taking some time off," McGee said.

"She's what? Why? Because of—" He put a finger on Abby's lips to stop her.

"Abbs, I don't know. I really don't."

"Timmy, we need to-"

"Abby." He gave her the look he knew would show he was serious.

"But-"

"She asked me to get details from Damon. She said Tony and I would know who should know what after we talked to him. That's all I know."

"That… sounds ominous," Jimmy said.

McGee thought back over Ziva's words. "Not bad so much as … she thinks some people need to know details." He looked at Abby. "If you do, we'll tell you, Abbs, but if not."

"I know," she said. "I trust you, Timmy. And Ziva must, too. But-"

"Abbs, give her some space," McGee said. "When she's ready for Abby-hugs, she'll let us know. Or Damon will."

"But-"

"Abby, he's right," Jimmy said.

"Look, we'll talk to Damon today and figure out what's going on," McGee said. "For now—"

"Right, cold cases," Jimmy said. When Abby let her fiance change the subject, McGee knew the forensic scientist was as concerned as the rest of them.

"So, why are you both working on them?" McGee said. "Vance said we're not supposed to work together."

"Oh, no, we're not breaking the rules," Jimmy was quick to assure him.

"Jimmy's right," Abby said. "Leon said we weren't supposed to work together on solving the cases. He didn't say anything about triaging them."

McGee knew he had to be making what Tony called his McEyebrow face, but he didn't care. "You want to explain that one?"

"Well, cold cases are cold for a reason," Abby said. "Either there wasn't enough evidence, or it didn't point someplace, or there was a mistake, or the evidence couldn't be turned into clues toward the dirtbag because the science didn't allow it, even though that's changed now, which means some of these might be solvable, but not all of them."

"And you two are sorting through the available cases to figure out which cases are which so you know which ones you might be able to turn into hot cases," McGee said.

"Exactly," Jimmy said. "And that is not against the rules."

"It's a good way to look at it," McGee said.

"We're also looking at who has reviewed the cases," Abby said. "Not that all agents aren't good, but…"

McGee rolled his eyes. "Yeah, like Agent Krone."

"Is he starting up again?" Jimmy asked. "Dr. Mallard was not happy with some of the comments he made while you were out on medical."

"Oh, he's starting," McGee said. "He gave Dwayne a hard time after Vance got him TAD to us while Ziva's out, wanted to know why other agents couldn't have the chance."

"Because Gibbs would kill them, duh," Abby said. "Or headslap them into the Anacostia."

~NCIS~NCIS~NCIS~NCIS~NCIS~NCIS~NCIS~

Ziva rolled down her car windows as she waited for the air conditioning to cool off her car. Even after five years, she still could not get used to the humidity that blanketed the city every summer, so different from the desert heat she was accustomed to.

Even her peace lily was wilting a bit in the damp heat. She had thought it the perfect plant for her desk when she became an agent, but now it seemed to mock her just a bit. Who was she to think she deserved peace?

Damon's words from the night before came back to her. She did not need to deserve love to get it, he had said. Perhaps the same was true of peace? Or perhaps the destruction of peace was the price she had to pay for leaving her father's orbit, where Eli could not — again — hurt her.

She rolled up the windows, allowing the cool air to surround her. She did deserve peace, at least enough peace to live her new life, the one she had chosen. Ziva pulled out the number the director had given her and dialed before she could talk herself out of it. Do not think. Just do. Thinking would only make it harder.

And still, when the person on the other end of the phone answered, Ziva had to force the words from her mouth. Had to push away the fear, as surely as she had done on missions in the past. She could do this. She must do this.

When she disconnected, an appointment scheduled for that afternoon, she slumped back against the car seat. Her hands trembled, and she felt wrung up — no, out. She had done it.

Now, she needed to go home. While nobody was there to see her. Her body needed fuel, and some rest if possible. Otherwise she would not be able to function.

When she pulled into the driveway, it was empty. She opened the side door and was greeted with eighty pounds of German shepherd.

"Yes, you want to go outside, don't you," she said, and took his collar to lead him into the fenced back yard. "Go, play." She locked the gate, then went inside. Most of the shades were down, and she could hear the low hum of the air conditioning, keeping the house at a tolerable level.

Ziva found a peach in the refrigerator and decided that was enough for right now. The fruit oozed juice down her chin as she took a bite and she was reminded of summers in Israel, eating apricots Aunt Nettie handed them as she shooed them outside. They were three then: Ari, Tali and her. First Tali was gone. Then Ari. Now only she remained, and Israel was a place she never planned to return to. She did not know if she would see Aunt Nettie again. She knew she would not see Eli. Not unless he wanted to see her, and he must not. He could not care about her, or he would not have left her in Somalia.

She would not think about that. Not now. She threw out the pit and washed her hands, then went upstairs.

The pile of sheets on her bed smelled fresh, and she reminded herself to thank Damon when she saw him. Folding the crisp cotton in half, and half again, over and over, was what she needed, something to smooth her mind.

She took the sheets to her dresser to put away and only then saw the envelope on her gun safe. She had left her service weapon at the office — regulations, since she was on leave — and had not been carrying her backup today.

Damon's handwriting was unmistakable, and Ziva hesitated, then set the envelope aside. Not now. Perhaps after her appointment she could find the courage to open it, but right now, no. Damon had a habit of being gentle just when that was the one thing that might break her into small pieces, and she could not — would not — risk that when she did not know what to expect from this appointment.

Tonight, she promised herself. Tonight she might need something gentle. For now, she must stay strong and push on.

~NCIS~NCIS~NCIS~NCIS~NCIS~NCIS~NCIS~

Sarah shifted on her feet as the clock seemed to take forever to cover the last thirty minutes until the end of her work day. Her back ached, her sneakers were tight on her feet, which meant they were swollen — again — and the 15 minutes she'd spent talking to Josh during her break and his stop before heading into NCIS felt like a month ago.

When she was able to clock out, she almost groaned when she saw the backpack of her things. She'd managed to forget that she had two days worth of dirty clothes, plus a few things her mom had sent her home with when she dropped her at work this morning. Her mother had said she could drop them off at the house she shared with Ziva and Damon, but Sarah had refused. That was stupid. Now she had to lug the backpack on the Metro.

By the time she walked the two blocks to the Metro, her shirt was sticking to her back, soaked, and her feet hurt more than anything, except maybe her back.

When she got on the subway car, a cute guy looked at her. "Here, take my seat," he said, standing.

Sarah sank into it, setting her backpack on the floor between her feet. She felt fat and awkward and now she was clearly enough of both that cute guys saw her as that pregnant lady they needed to be nice to, not a cute girl to flirt with.

She ignored the little voice in her head reminding her that Josh was happy to flirt when she felt like it.

The air conditioning on the Metro was broken — again — and she was a soggy mess by the time she got off the train, and she still had to walk three blocks to the house. Ugh. At least she'd be the only one home and she could have a long, cool shower.

Except Ziva's Mini Cooper was in the driveway when she got home. That was weird. The team didn't have a hot case yesterday to keep them late — Gibbs and her mom had spent an hour after dinner yesterday shooting hoops — so why was she home now?

She walked and practically groaned with relief when she was able to drop the backpack at the foot of the stairs. Sarah heard noises in the kitchen, so left her backpack for now and wandered back to find out why Ziva was home.

Her friend was sitting at the kitchen table eating a sandwich.

"I did not realize it was so late already," Ziva said as Sarah entered. She checked her watch.

"Is everything all right?" Sarah asked as she headed to the fridge to get a glass of ice water from the pitcher they kept there. "You're home early." She froze. "It's not- Somebody's not hurt-"

"No!" Ziva answered before she could even finish the sentence. "No, I am—" She paused.

"You're what?"

Ziva looked down at her hands, then up at Sarah. "I am taking leave from NCIS. I have… an appointment in an hour."

"What kind of appointment?" Sarah asked. "You're not hurt?"

Ziva shook her head. "No. It is…" She took a breath. "I am going to see somebody, for the nightmares."

"You don't seem like the type to go to therapy," Sarah said.

"You are right," Ziva replied. "I am not. But this time, I must. If I do not wish to become what my father intended, I must do this. For me." She stood and put her plate in the sink. "There is a salad in the refrigerator, enough for a meal if you and Damon wish."

"Not you?"

"I do not know that I will feel like eating," Ziva replied. She walked out of the kitchen before Sarah could figure out what to say.

Sarah stared after Ziva, and wondered what could be so bad, after everything she'd heard about the team going through, that Ziva would take leave. And then she wondered if she wanted to know.