Interlude
Chapter 12
I do apologize for the long delay. I had a small writer's block in getting through from one spot to the next. I have now found the way and things will be quicker from now on. Thanks for continuing to read and review. If you review, please let me know what you like and don't like. It'll just make me a better writer and more worth your time to read.
Small translation:
Like in Malachai Ben Guidon, "Ben" means "son of" and is formal. For women "Bint" means "daughter of" and is very formal.
Ziva stared at her nearly blank email page for a long time. The two words staring back at her. "Dear Father". This had to be done immediately. She would not, could not put it off any longer. After Abby's brief and joyful interruption, quiet remained. Taking a deep breath, she began to type.
"Dear Father,
I regret to inform you that I wish to resign my commission from Mossad, effective immediately. I will not be returning to Israel any time soon. I wish to remain in America and make a life for myself here.
Ziva Bint David"
She stared at the screen for a few moments, her signature extremely formal and something she only remembered signing during her commission in Mossad, reflecting on what a monumental thing this was in her life. But Mossad did not send an extraction team as they should have when she did not check in. NCIS this TEAM that she was a part of, even as a foreign Liaison Officer, did. A little late, but they came for her. They cared whether her body still had life in it; whether she still had the breath of life in her. Closing her eyes briefly, she hit SEND. It was done and she could not take it back. As of that moment, her identity of being a Mossad Officer was ripped away from her by her own choice. Eli could send an assassin to remove her from the human race for what she knew. Ziva knew in her gut that he wouldn't. He wouldn't because he knew that he had failed her. Why kill her for his own failure? She lowered her face into her hands, willing the welling eyes to just dry up already. She was so weary of crying, but that email was the hardest she'd ever had to write. She never thought that she'd ever wish to resign her commission in Mossad. She always thought she would leave Mossad the way most Officers did-in a body bag after a failed mission that they were too slow or caught completely off guard, not voluntarily while still in her prime. Heaving a heavy sigh, she turned off her monitor, her light, took her things and headed back to the Navy Lodge.
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Ziva opened the door to the small suite of rooms that she had been calling home for the last few weeks. She was exhausted from the tension that she constantly felt in the bull pen. From force of habit, she turned on ZNN for news. Suddenly, her homeland flashed on screen. News of a suicide bomb attack in the Golan Heights region was broadcast over the screen. Worry and fear permeated her entire being. She had friends there. Her heart constricted in her chest and she found it hard to breathe. This would be all the information she would have from now on. She thought of calling Avi and Rivka, but they were Mossad. So were Ariel and Joseph and Avner. Hannah wasn't, but Ziva remembered that she said she'd be in Greece for the month of September on vacation. With a strangled cry she shut the T.V. off and flung the remote across the room.
Tears of anger and frustration and a very sharp and sudden sense of loss of self poured down her cheeks. She desperately wanted to call her father, even though she hated him with every fiber of her being then, and beg him for news, but after her email, she knew he'd give her none. With that single, terse email, she forfeited her right to up to the minute information. Eli David had no obligation to tell her a single thing.
As she wiped at the tears still falling, she suddenly became extremely angry. No, it was HE who forfeited HER when he knowingly sent her into the desert on what was a suicide mission and then sent in no extraction team to even see if she drew breath after the first missed contact. She had never felt more alone in her life. She longed for someone to hold her, comfort her, tell her that everything would be alright; that she'd recover; that she truly belonged somewhere. That she still had an identity.
She nearly called one of the team, but resisted that overwhelming urge. She still didn't know where she really stood with any of them. This wasn't like she'd screwed up a lunch order. She'd hurt them all immeasurably and although they all said they forgave her, they still kept her at arm's length, as if she were a seemingly tamed animal that could go feral at any moment.
Instead of picking up the phone, she got up and drew herself a hot bubble bath. While the tub was filling, she poured herself half a glass of wine. Maybe the bath and the wine could calm her down a little. This was something she seldom did since she preferred the swiftness of a shower. For as long as she could remember, she had always regarded bubble baths to be something that Mossad Officers did not indulge in. Jenny Shepherd had changed her mind on that when were running an op in England. Ziva gotten pretty banged up and had been in a good deal of pain. When she and Jenny got back to their hotel, Jenny had drawn Ziva a hot bath with Epsom salts and persuaded her to get in. She had been very skeptical, but did as she was asked and found that it helped, not only her protesting muscles, but it had relaxed her as well. Now this was something she did only when she needed it.
She turned off the tap and sunk into the hot water and amber scented bubbles, placing her wine glass on the edge of the tub. She looked down at herself, noticing that her bruises were nearly gone and most of her scars had begun to fade. They would never truly disappear, but they would fade. She absently traced the outlines on her once, nearly flawless skin. Suddenly, something fat and wet dropped into the water, and another, and another. Ziva did not realize that she had begun to cry again, and, with the tears, returned the overwhelming sense of loss of self. Who was she now? What did she want to do? She knew what she was. She was now a survivor of torture and rape from a foreign terrorist camp, her body a maze of healing scars, her soul trying to heal as well. She knew what she wasn't. She was no longer an Officer in Mossad, nor was she the Liaison Officer attached to NCIS. She wasn't really anything anymore. What did she want? What was she qualified to do? As Ziva dried the last of the tears from her face with a washcloth and began to wash, she suddenly knew what she truly wanted. She knew that she'd have to sacrifice another, precious part of herself, but she was willing to do it.
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The next morning, Ziva arrived in the bullpen even before Gibbs and went up to Director Vance's office. She had seen the light on in his window from the street so she knew he was in. She knocked softly.
"Come in," Vance called, wondering just who could be at the Navy Yard so early. He couldn't hide his surprise when Ziva walked in, closing the door behind her. He leaned forward and folded his hands on his desk. "What can I do for you, Miss David?"
She paced nervously, mouth dry, palms moist. The idea sounded so great last night... "Director Vance, I have given this much thought and...I, uhm, I...I would like to...ask you for an, uhm, application to be an NCIS Agent."
Vance now leaned back in his chair and regarded her carefully. She had been through literal hell and back and she had some serious baggage. However, he had been keeping an eye on her for the last several weeks as she struggled with trying to readjust to freedom again. He couldn't say that he was disappointed. She displayed a tenacity that he didn't expect. Finally, he spoke. "You will have resign from Mossad and, should you be accepted as a Probationary Agent, you will need to give up your Israeli citizenship and become an American citizen. Are you prepared to do that?"
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Dinozzo was gone, schoozing his way with the female agent and McGee finally had a clue why he had to take his polygraph over again. The bull pen was empty save for Ziva and Gibbs. She needed to talk with him, needed his approval. Of all the people in the world, she needed him to...to be...to be her Abba. She was entirely truthful when she told him that he was the one man in the world she looked to as a father. She needed Gibbs to okay this. It was a huge move in her life. She needed Gibbs.
She stood and hurried over to Gibbs' desk as soon as McGee was out of sight. "Being stuck at that desk has given me plenty of time to think. Being a visitor here is..wrong."
He looked up at her, hope in his eyes that she had finally made the right choice. "What does that mean, Ziva?"
She thrust a paper on his desk and swallowed hard. She needed him to say it was okay. She already confessed to him that he was her Abba, that Eli was all but dead to her. He had to approve. If he didn't...she did not wish to think of that option. "Need your signature on this. I want to be an NCIS Agent." She figetted nervously, unable to stand still. She was worried, frightened, even that Gibs might not sign off on her future. She didn't know where she'd go or what she'd do if he said "no".
Gibbs' heart soared hearing that she wanted to stay with the team, the family. Yet, he felt that he needed to be the Devil's Advocate. "I don't know if that's possible. You would have to resign from Mossad."
Ziva stood straighter. "Already have. I sent my father an email."
Gibbs pride in her took up another notch. She had the "balls" to take on her father, one of the most powerful men in the world, and defy him. She certainly had untold amounts of courage. He had to ask. "What does he think about that?"
Her answer was susinct. "Does not matter."
With a final look into her very determined eyes, yet the pain they held, just lingering behind the determination, he agonized over signing off on her re-instatement, but not as a Mossad Officer, but as a Probationary NCIS Agent. She had baggage, so much baggage, but so did he and he was a damn good Agent. Sometimes that pain kept him on an even keel and kept him focused. Maybe hers would too. Maybe it would be her undoing. She already was a good Agent. His heart clenched. She was his heart's daughter. Could he willingly assent to placing her in harm's way because she chose to be a Federal Agent? He looked into her eyes that never shut up and signed off on her paperwork. His daughter of his heart would work with him and he'd protect her as much as he could and give her freedom in her life.