When the first drop of rain hit the window pane, Ziva got up from the bed she had been sitting on. Slowly she walked over to the window, watching as thick droplets of rain ran down the glass. A soft sigh escaped her lips. She had always loved the rain. In Israel, it was all the more welcome. It brought life and color to the desert and cooled the smoldering heat. It meant life for the people there. Children got out, played in the rain. Lovers danced with soaking clothes clinging to their bodies.

Here, rain was different. Heavier, but also much gloomier. It fit her current mood perfectly. Her mind went back three years, the first time she had felt like the heavens were punishing her by opening the floodgates as she stood at Ari's grave, staring into Kadira's dark eyes, seeing the pain and grief there. Before that day, she had truly loved the rain. But from then on, it had reminded her of what ifs and lost chances, words unspoken, lies to cover up their flaws...

The first time she had seen snow she was eighteen. It had been a present from her father. He had paid for a trip to Paris before she had to start her military training. Ari had gone with her. It had been winter, around the time of Chanukah. Though people in France did only think about the oncoming Christmas celebrations. But Ziva hadn't minded. She had enjoyed her time together with Ari. On the second day, December 11, when she was out with Ari, hunting for presents for Tali and their father and Kadira, it had started snowing. Ziva had stood completely still and watched the white flocks dance to the ground slowly. After a while, a smile had spread on her lips, she had dropped the shopping bags on the ground and spread her arms wide, throwing her head back in joyful laughter. Snow had been so much better than rain. It did not wash away what had been done, it covered the landscape and everything, transformed it into something much more peaceful and serene. Her lips curled into a smile as she remember her sudden urge to hug Ari who had been standing beside her, staring at her at first, then smiling and shaking his head at her youthful fascination and joy. And she had done it. She had hugged him so hard that it had been hard for him to breath, but he had just wrapped his arms around her, kissing her hair almost completely covered with snowflakes.

The next time, the snow it had been tinged with blood. It had been in Siberia, they had hunted down a terrorist and when her partner shot him, the blood splattered onto the snow, the contrast fascinating. Ziva had stood there in the cold, freezing, watching as the blood seeped from the body of the terrorist and soaked into the snow. Intricate patterns that had burned themselves into her memory, even more than the face of the man that had been shot. After a few years, the faces and stories blurred together. They were all the same, all had something in common. But the way they died was always unique even though the elements of their demises were reoccurring.

After she had shot Ari, Ziva had left Gibbs' house and stood on the sidewalk, letting the rain soak her clothes and wash over her face, mixing with her tears, making it impossible to tell if she was really crying or if it was just the rain wetting her face. She had stood there, motionless, hoping that the water would wash away what she had just done. That it would rinse the flaws away, make her mistakes and errors disappear. Make it right again. And hours later, she had gotten under the shower in her hotel room. She had just told her father that Ari was dead, telling him she would inform Kadira of the fact that their brother had been shot on a Mossad mission. Turning on the tap, she had let the hot water fall down on her, warming her from the outside while she felt so numb and empty inside.

She wanted to do the same thing again. She wanted to leave the room, the building and just let the rain soak through her clothes. Her gaze travelled across the buildings surrounding the area, and suddenly she realized that wherever Kadira was right now, she was probably close, and maybe staring at the rain just like her.

The sharp ring of her cell phone caused Ziva to jump a little. Walking over to the bed where she had tossed it, she glanced at the caller ID.

DiNozzo NCIS

The last person she wanted to talk to. Though maybe not. The last person she wanted to talk to right now was her father, followed very closely by Gibbs and then DiNozzo. She did not want to explain, she did not want to defend her actions, she did not want to tell the story of her life again. She was tired of all this, tired of telling, tired of explaining over and over again, tired of having to talk when all she wanted was to curl up in bed and die. Which would not be too hard. By now, Kadira should have the intel of where she worked, the type and color of her car, including the license plate, and her address and probably also her phone number. If she curled up in bed, chances were she'd be dead in a few hours, a day at most. Hence why Director Shepard had insisted on her not going back to her own apartment. Instead, she would spend the night at her place, and tomorrow they would try to find Kadira and her "friends".

Brushing a few stray locks of hair out of her face, Ziva took the duffel bag McGee had brought over an hour or so ago. Rummaging through it, she found that she had all the necessary things, even fresh underwear. She could just image how Tony had liked rummaging through her drawers and picking something out, sure that she would have to wear it the next day. Pushing the thoughts of DiNozzo touching her private belongings aside, she pulled out enlarged photographs and set the bag back down on the floor. Taking up residence at the center of the bed, Ziva slowly swifted through the pictures of Kadira and the rest of the gang. She could hear Ducky's voice inside her head as he ran a preliminary report on the guy they had shot. His face was vaguely familliar, Ziva was sure she had seen it before, most likely on some WANTED-list of Mossad.

The young girl seemed to be nervous. It had been her who had fired the initial shot, missing Ziva only by a few inches. Remarkable, at the given distance and the fact that there were a lot of other people around. Scanning through the pictures again, she sorted them by the time stamps on them. Seeing the interaction between Kadira and her husband, she felt a pang of jealousy. Yes, they were killers. But even with the bad quality of the pictures she could see love written all over their faces. How come Kadira got what she never had?

Suddenly, a thought registered with her. The last name of the duo was Esfiri. She had heard that name before, in a Hamas context. Closing her eyes, she took a deep breath and searched for a face, another name, anything. At first, she drew a blank. Nothing. Thinking harder, she thought back on the last run in with Hamas she had had. It had been the whole Ari debacle. And then it hit her. The man Gibbs and Jen had shot when they thought it was Ari shooting at them in the dark, his name had been Esfiri, too. Remembering his face, Ziva dug out that of Farook again. She had never met him personally, and knew very little about him. Two years older than Kadira, he had been born in Gaza, too, spent the first years in Deiral Balah before his parents died and he moved to his uncle in Gaza City. His uncle... Ziva threw the pictures on the bed and ran down the stairs in Jenny's house, barking into her study. The NCIS director looked up from her paperwork and raised an eyebrow at her.

"I am not debating your staying here, Ziva." she told her, taking a sip of her bourbon. Ziva shook her head and drew a deep breath.

"Remember the guy you shot? When Ari was in town and you were with Gibbs?" Ziva panted. Jen frowned at her, then slowly nodded. "I was thinking. The name Esfiri sounded familiar for a different reason. And I got it. The guy you shot three years ago, Muhammed Esfiri... He was Farook Esfiri's cousin. They grew up together, sort of, Farook moved to his house after his parents died when he was nine."

"His parents died?" Jen pried for information, but Ziva shook her head.

"I do not know how. Really, I did not look him up with that much interest. Mossad also did not have too much information on him. But if Muhammed knew Ari, chances are Farook did, too." she said, sitting down in one of the comfortable chairs. Jen watched her face for a while, before speaking up again.

"It really hurt you, didn't it? That she was there, firing at you." she asked. Ziva thought for a moment, and then gave a small sigh.

"Yes. No. I do not know." she said, rubbing a hand over her face. "That is just it. She did not shoot at me. It was the other girl that fired the first shot, I have scanned through the pictures again, it seems like Kadi did not even know they had spotted me. Her reaction shows it all. Jane Doe fires, and then Kadi and her husband take out their guns. They had not seen me before. And when the girl runs, Kadira follows after her, while her husband runs the other way. He only fired at Gibbs and McGee twice, too, Kadira only tried to take down Tony once. And there is something else."

At Jen's arched eyebrow, Ziva took a deep breath before continuing.

"I know it sounds stupid, and maybe I am not seeing clearly. But in that alley, she whispered my name. And she was just as surprised to see me as I was to see her. She did not know I was their mark, Jen. She did not have the slightest idea as to who they had to take out."

The NCIS Director seemed to think her statement over in her head before answering.

"Why would they not tell them who they are to take out? I mean, it would just cause confusion, and the risk that they kill the wrong person, drawing attention onto themselves and having to finish the job later on would be significantly bigger." she argued, frowning slightly. Ziva just stared ahead, shaking her head slowly.

"I do not know. Maybe they were afraid of how she was going to react, and now it is too late to backpedal for her. Maybe... I do not know." she shook her head, burying her face in her hands. This was such a big mess. She had enjoyed her life, for a few moments she had been truly happy with the turn it had taken, with who she was and who she was with. She was satisfied with where she stood; her future had lost some of its gloomy prospect. But now she was not even sure if she would survive the next few days. And if she did, she knew that someone else had to die for it. Someone she had loved so deeply, and still cared for. Someone she was not sure she was willing to let.

Review? Pretty please?

I'm sorry for the slight delay, I was in Franfurt yesterday and did not have internet there.