Thanks JSQ for the read-through

A/N: All chapter titles are from All Points Bulletin by Dispatch.

Another night. . .

I lay awake in bed, foregoing my usual state of remembering, or is it forgetting? I have a shot every night, but I can't keep drinking if I'm going to figure out what happened to Ziva. I suspect that her loving father has something to do with this, but he's plays everything close to the heart. (Well, if he had a heart.)

Over the years Ziva has come in and out of my life, our lives, so many times that I've lost count. (Alright, maybe I do remember.) For what it's worth, no matter what happens between Ziva and I, we always find her. Sure, we've gone through some rough patches but all partners do. My gut tells me to keep searching. Can I guess what happened to her? Sure. Ziva takes her orders from above seriously, especially if they come from her father. What kind of father sends in daughter on a mission like this? Thinking about my answer just fires me up more. A wise man once said - we do not guess, assume, presume or prognosticate. I take the liberty of doing that anyway.

I throw the covers off and get dressed. I do my best work at night. No one is around to talk to me or ask questions. All my crazy conspiracy theories can be quieted if I'm at my desk. Plus, I have a fifth of vodka in my desk and clean clothes because sleep will come later, if at all. Right now, I need to find out who is responsible for the death of Ziva David.

Another crime. . .

After a few months, McGee, Abby and I gather enough intel to present the case to Gibbs and Vance. Saleem Ulman needs be stopped before another person dies. We are federal agents, he killed one of our own, and he needs to be punished. We have to change the circumstances. That we will.

Timmy and I board the plane heading to the Horn of Africa. We have our plan of attack. We go over it so many times there is nothing left to question, nothing left to answer. We don't talk much on the plane. We don't have to. Either we are making it home or not. That's the risk.

Change the circumstances.

I have taken lives. I have wished people dead. But I've never travelled half way around the world to kill someone. Vengeance. I have thought about this man, this terrorist, this supposed martyr for the cause for months. This man took away someone I can't live without. Well, I guess I can live without her but every day is struggle. I know, I know we didn't part on the best of terms. I had nothing left to say to her as I was boarding the plane in Israel. She didn't want anything to do with me. Sure, I killed her boyfriend, but he was manipulative and taking advantage of her. I did it for her. Does she know that? Did she figure it out?

It's a long flight so I brought a couple movies with me. Not that I am really concentrating on them until I hear it. A clue, or maybe a coincidence. No, there are rules against that. But, I can't help chuckling when I remember Saleem's real name is Macreedy. Really? Just like the gentleman in Bad Day at Black Rock. Spencer Tracy with the one arm. Then it makes sense. It all makes sense. I'm really Macreedy – but instead of a train, I have a plane. I'm the stranger who arrives in the small desert town in search of a man. Just like Macreedy, the loss of my left arm leaves me to drink and wallow. Ziva is my left arm.

Another day. . .

I'm sitting here, bound to a chair while Timmy lays on the ground a couple feet away. Mr. Macreedy provides me with some truth serum. He's asking questions about my team. Right now, I don't give a fuck. I just want him to be dead, but I guess that's not how this works. So, I reveal some facts about my team with carefully crafted answers we formulated ahead of time. It doesn't really matter what I say to him because he is going to be dead soon. I have to provoke him because I need him to reveal information, too. I'm the wildcard. He thinks I'm insane. He's wrong.

"You're not only wrong. You're wrong at the top of your voice."

Fucking.

Bastard.

Ziva is alive. He knew all along. That fucking bastard.

He sits her right in front of me. She's here. She's alive. She's not dead. She still looks beautiful despite the bruises and the sunken eyes.

Ziva David is here.

I really have no words. All these months of not sleeping, drinking and working were totally and completely worth it.

"You should have left me alone."

"Tried. Couldn't."

Let me know what you think.