Ziva! She wants you to review. Do it.

I don't own characters.

I don't know the settings.

I don't know the languages.

I don't know, so correct me if I'm wrong.

Ps, sorry HalfBloodLover, I wrote this before your comment! Next will be Gibbs, promise :]

Ziva swung her legs under her chair, but stopped when her father glared at her. לנשום, לנשום, לנשום, she repeated in her head. Respire, respire, respire. French. дышать, дышать, дышать. Russian. Respira, respira, respira. Spanish. Breathe, Breathe, Breathe. English.

It didn't help.

The funeral, of course, had been miserable. Two weeks ago. Now, Ziva was in DC with her father, doing something for someone. If Ziva thought about it, she would probably understand. She didn't feel like thinking though, so she didn't. Instead she just pretended she knew what was going on, that she knew why she was here, that she knew how her dad could keep moving, keep going, keep working, while all Ziva could think about was the fact that Tali was dead.

Those words felt weird in her mouth. Tali was dead. Foreign, some language she didn't know, didn't know the origin of, which was strange because she knew origins, she knew backgrounds, she could recognize every language there was (except a few obscure Islander ones) if she couldn't speak them all. She knew dialects, regions, she knew she knew she knew.

Ziva often felt disconnected. Like stepping off a plane in a new country. She wasn't there, she was at home. She wasn't walking through a foreign airport, she was sitting in class, day dreaming. She wasn't. She was. She wasn't. She was.

"Ziva," her father hissed, putting a hand on her thigh. She looked down at her lap startled. Her legs had started swinging again.

She closed her eyes and continued her calming exercises, languages and words and phrases. She recited. She echoed. She repeated.

Going with her dad on business trips was something Ziva did often. Her dad believed she should see the world. She viewed it as a learning experience, or at least, that's what she told people. In truth, she just liked that out of all her siblings, she was picked to go. And maybe her dad was telling the truth when he said that it was only because she was the oldest. But something inside her said, "favorite" and something inside of her liked that. She didn't see her dad much, and when she did, she was never under the impression he enjoyed her company. So if she thought about it, it was rather a mystery why he would take her. If she thought about it, it wouldn't make sense. So she didn't think about it.

So she wasn't thinking about why she was there. She wasn't thinking about her sister's death. She wasn't thinking about stuff she didn't understand. She wasn't thinking.

It was cold here, and it was giving her the sniffles. Even indoors, in this fancy lobby. She crossed her legs slowly and glanced around. Everything about this place was uncomfortable. It was all black and white, and all the suits and dresses blended right in with the office place camouflage.

After twenty minutes, her father left the waiting room with a man with a wrinkled face. After they were gone for a few minutes, Ziva decided it was time to make her exit. She didn't want to be here. She didn't want to be here. She wasn't needed here. So she nodded to the secretary, holding her stomach in a way to indicate she needed to use the restroom. It was easier to pretend to not understand then to be forced into false pleasantries. Unnecessary small talk in languages Ziva was not comfortable with made her queasy. The woman began babbling at her, but Ziva didn't even worry about translating it. She just walked out of the door, down the stairs, through the lobby and into the street.

Time to find that McDonalds she had noticed earlier.

A few blocks later, she was face to face with all stereotypes American. She grinned as she inhaled the fatty grease. Chicken tenders. Fries. Hamburgers. She glanced in the window on the door to see how long the line was. It was pretty bad for eleven in the morning, but she did not feel like finding another establishment. She pushed the door open, but then stopped as she was about to walk through. Shoving her hands in her pockets, she cursed her stupidity in several languages and walked back outside. She leaned against one of the rather grimy walls. Glancing around, she sniffled, folded her arms, and began walking in the direction she had come from. It was hard to find the right dolt, but…

"Hey!" she ran into something a little bony, a little muscular. Stumbling a little, her arms flew out and grabbed a shoulder, steadying herself.

The boy, a few years older than her, jerked a little, but didn't seem that upset to have Ziva flush against him. He put a hand on her arm and helped her catch her balance."You okay?" Ziva pulled away, and the boy let go, but a second too slowly.

Smoothing her skirt, she kept her eyes trained on the ground. "Yes. I believe so," she peered up at him through heavy eyelashes. He was good looking, she admitted it. Blondish hair, condescending smirk. Americans. "Thank you," she smiled and was gone, in less then a second, leaving the dolt standing scanning the crowd, looking for the faceless girl who had effortlessly disappeared into the crowd.

But she was gone, turning the corner, circling the block, walking back into the McDonalds, but this time spinning a leather wallet between her fingers. Ziva waited in line and ordered a bad cup of coffee and large fries. She smirked as she pulled a ten out of the boy's wallet, and the smirk turned into a grin when she thought of what the expression on his face when he realized it was missing and who must have stolen it. Flipping through the rest of the wallet's content, she laughed at the nuddies the boy carried around. Very unrealistic, she thought, looking down at her own breasts. Finally she found an ID.

"Tony Dinozzo," she laughed and leaned against one of the walls, looking at the driver's license. "What an idiot… what… an… idiot…"

I know I said no AU, but I couldn't help it! Plus, I don't think I'm going to try to write a different country (besides France) again. That was hard. This wasn't really that AU anyway. It could have happened. You never know.

(Um, ps, shameless plug here, but I have a Harry Potter fic up that I would like to know if it's worth continuing… if anyone wants to check that out…)