A/N: Hello all. I hope you're doing well on this fine Wednesday afternoon. First of all, thank you to all of you who prayed for me. I ended up being sick with H1N1:-/ But all is well now, I that's a good thing. Secondly, thank you all for your fine fine reviews. Please keep them coming!! I'd love to know what you think of my writing, even if you don't like it. I like constructive criticism.

Third and final...I am going to mention some of my thoughts about Season 7 in an author's note at the end of this chapter!! I know there might be some of you who are not yet watching the new season and I don't want to spoil ANYTHING for you. So, I figure this is fair warning.

Please enjoy.

Ch. 24

Six Months Later

The passageway was dark but for the small tendrils of light that filtered through small slats in the ceiling. The air was musty and felt heavy, making the passageway seem more claustrophobic than it might have seemed otherwise.

A man walked down the passage. He was in no rush but neither was he taking his time. He was tall, with broad shoulders, dressed in clothes practical for warm climate. He walked with a sense of authority. The men standing at various checkpoints in the hallway averted their eyes in respect and perhaps a little bit of fear. He paused outside a door, listening to the sounds coming from behind it.

The shouts of a man could be heard, often followed be the pathetic yell or strangled scream of what the man presumed to be pain. A malicious grin spread across his face as he rubbed he long nose with a slender finger. Once he heard another shrill yell, he pushed the door open and entered.

The room was dark. All the windows had been boarded up with wood and reinforced with steel. The tall man paced as another yelled and tormented a man chained to a table. The man chained to the table wore only a pair of pants and had a knotted rope tied as a gag around his mouth. He was a bloody mess. He'd already endured countless hours of torment, enduring everything from typical beatings and knife cuts to water being forced down his throat, his nose pinched so that he had no choice but to swallow the water, forcing to regurgitate most of it. His tormentor was no applying the use of electrical shock. The tall man who had entered was quietly surprised that the tortured man had held up so long.

"Why do you not speak? Do you think you are my only well of knowledge? My patience wears thin." said the tall man. The man on the table looked at him with weary, bloodshot eyes. They'd been a clear green color before the start of his interrogation. They'd showed fervor for life and had a mischievous edge to them. Now they showed grim relent, accepting the fate which had befallen their owner.

"Still you will not talk? I admit, it is surprising. You could seem to shut when you spoke to my boss, Agent DiNozzo. Perhaps the removal of the gag?" Tony stared up at Hadar as Hadar removed the gag. He spit out a mouthful of blood without regard of where it landed.

"I only want a conversation DiNozzo. You see, I strive to understand the workings of a man's mind. What could possibly posses you to come all this way for your partner and then convince you to stay as our guest. It surely is not our hospitality." Tony simply stared at Hadar. Then, after a moment, he smiled. It was weak and pathetic, carrying none of its usual luster. Hadar found nothing amusing.

"Enough of this nonsense. You have wasted my time long enough. All for one foolish woman." Hadar pulled his pistol from its holster and leveled it at Tony's head. Tony opened his mouth to speak.

"S-she's...not j-just....any woman. She's Zee--".

Tony's voice was cut off with the blast of a pistol and yell from Ziva. She sat up in bed, her heart hammering a hundred miles a minute. She took deep shuddering breaths as she tried to control her heart rate. She was trembling from head to foot covered in sweat.

For months, Ziva had been having nightmares. They were her constant companion as she slept. The nightmares were all different, but the common theme was Somalia. Some nights, she was back in Africa, again being tortured by Saleem. Other nights, it was Tony, captured and beaten beyond recognition. The worst part of the nightmares for Ziva was that they were not short. She could not wake up from the horrors, but rather had to suffer through watching them, constantly reliving them night after night.

She lay her head in her arms which she crossed over her knees. Her heart beat was beginning to slow. The first time she'd had a Somalia nightmare, she was staying at Gibbs' house still unable to do much on her own. He'd been there that time to comfort her. Now she was painfully aware of how alone she was in her own apartment.

She'd moved into a new place after being in town for about a month. It was a nice apartment and had most of everything she had before. Her team had gone to great lengths to make her feel at home. She made sure to express her gratitude to them for they were truly trying. But no matter how hard she or anyone else had tried, no one seemed able to fill the hole that had been created by Tony's absence. No one had realized how important Tony was to their moral fiber or how fragile they would become with his absence. The sharp pain of his loss had somewhat lessened but had been replaced with a deep ache that would flare up in the quietest of moments.

Ziva chanced a glance at her clock and groaned. It was two in the morning and she was too pent up to fall back asleep.

Ziva tossed the sheet away from her and carefully stretched as she got out of bed. She'd been returned to full active duty a few months back but some of the more major aches and pains came back when she was tired and stressed. She leaned to the left, stretching her right side and gently rotated her foot. As she stood, she flexed the fingers of her left hand, marveling at how well they seemed to be working. She'd been most worried that she would have loss the use of that hand therefore ending anything resembling a career she might have had at NCIS. She got to her feet and went to the family room of her apartment. He had a small television in one corner. Two walls were taken up with shelves full of books in various different languages. The third wall was home to a black glossy upright piano. The family room opened into a kitchen that also connected to the living room. She poured herself a glass of water from the tap and set the cup in the dishwasher.

Ziva went back out to the family room and sat at the piano. She stared at the keys for a while before she began to play. Her mind blanked on everything else as Beethoven's Moonlight Sonata poured out from herself and the instrument. She she played, she became aware that a spring storm had started. The thunder rolled in a majestic manner, loud and full, but not jarringly abrasive. It seemed to swell and diminish with the melody of the piece, echoing Ziva's solemn emotion. The storm was not wild and uncontrolled as it had been the night in Abby's lab. The storm of the night at Abby's lab was raw anguish with violent outbursts that shook to the foundation of those who'd witnessed it. This storm was a lamentation; it resounded pity and sadness, the kind of emotion that comes after the anguish and violence. Ziva continued to play pouring herself into the music, letting the melodies support her, consume her. The sad chords and harmonies wrapped around her like a sad embrace, securing her yet mourning with her.

So absorbed was Ziva that she did not hear the knock on her door. What she did hear was the sound of the storm, intensified by the door opening. She stopped playing and not turning around, pulled her throwing knife that was never far from her person.

"You always play piano this early in the morning?" Asked a low voice from the front door. Still, she did not turn around as she answered.

"I always do, when I have nightmares...or cannot sleep. It would seem inappropriate to play something jubilant when nightmares are such sad things. " was her response. She did not turn around, scared yet apprehensive at what, or who she might find.

"Nightmares are scary. But they can be happy too. I mean, you wake up from them right?" Ziva turned slowly in her seat to look at the figure behind her. The man was tall and stood in shadows. She could not see his face, but having just heard his voice in her dreams, she could not mistake his identity.

"What if waking up is so long in coming that you can hardly believe it is real? That you are so accustomed to the nightmare that you are almost afraid to wake up, because it just might be some cruel joke?" Asked Ziva, her voice thick with emotion. The man gave a low chuckle.

"You think this is just a continuation of that dream, eh? Another device of your mind to screw with you?"

"Something like that." replied Ziva, standing to her feet.

"You would need proof then? Some shred of reality that would prove you've woken up?" he asked, his voice serious.

"What is reality? Right now, at this moment, I could be still be dreaming." The man let out what Ziva could tell was a fake sigh of frustration. The man scratched his head as if contemplating. Finally he looked up as though he'd stumbled across a brilliant realization.

"You're not dreaming. Because, if this were a dream, you most likely be using contractions while you talk, Amadeus." replied the man, who could barely contain his smile.

Ziva could stand it no longer. She went to the man, practically ran to him. He caught her in arms that were wonderfully real. She was so afraid that he would be part of the nightmares that plagued her mind and that as soon as she decided to test his validity, he would vanish like a wisp of smoke. But he didn't, and she knew that it had to be real.

Tony held Ziva close to him, reveling in the touch that he'd longed for for months, the touch that had kept him alive. They stayed that way, tightly holding each other until the rain from the storm began to take advantage of the open door. With reluctance, Ziva pulled away and closed the door. Tony took the opportunity to remove his jacket. Ziva exclaimed when she saw Tony's ratty shirt. She began to ask a question when Tony placed his hand to her mouth.

"Not now Zee. I promise you I'll explain everything. But right now, I'm starving and frankly I'm exhausted. Not to mention probably a little dirty." Ziva seized the hand at her mouth and used it to draw Tony close to her. Tony let her and when he was close enough he wrapped his other hand around her neck. He touched his forehead to hers and smiled. Ziva could not help but smile in response.

"You have always been a little dirty." she replied, her voice teasing. Tony smiled even wider and leaned down to kiss her. When they broke apart, Ziva pushed him away slightly.

"Go and shower. I will fix you something to eat."

"Only if you promise to fill me on what I've missed." he replied, his voice teasing.

"Oh, no, not until you fill me in first. Tony, I ...we thought that you were--"

"I'm not. I assure I'm very much alive at the moment." He gave Ziva another hug of reassurance, one she was happy to receive. He pulled away slowly with a smile and then went in search of a shower.

A short while later, Ziva heard footsteps behind her.

"Hey Zee? How in the world did you end up with a box of my clothes?" asked Tony as he walked in pulling an OSU t-shirt over his head. Ziva turned around from the stove and instantly her gaze hardened.

"Tony, are those what I think they are?" she asked, her voice low. Tony, with just his head and arms through his shirt, looked down at his exposed torso. It was obvious to him that Ziva was talking about the seven, rather distinct, small, circular scars that littered his body in no particular order. He sighed and finished pulling down his shirt. Then he walked up to Ziva, gripping her shoulders with his hands, looking her in the eye as she spoke.

"They are exactly what you think they are. I promise I will tell you everything. Just, let me eat first okay?" Ziva gaze was still stern, but she nodded all the same. She serve him a plate of pasta and watched him eat, patiently sipping on a glass of water. Tony ate as though he hadn't for days. Finally, after two full plates of food, he leaned back in his seat with a contented sigh.

"Grazie, Ziva." he said.

"Prego, Tony. Now that you have eaten, can you explain how you managed to get here while boasting seven bullet wounds?" Ziva's patience had evaporated. Tony sighed again and got to his feet, making his way to her couch. Ziva followed him and sat at one end of the couch, her back to the arm rest facing him. She looked at him expectantly. Tony tapped his chin, deciding where to start his story. After a while, he began to speak.

"As you know, I shut the hanger door. You probably couldn't see it from the chopper, but they brought in some hefty fire power. When I turned around..."

A/N: Sorry for the cliff hanger, but hey, it keeps life more interesting.

So how about this new season?? I think it's great so far and am vastly enjoying myself. Though I admit, I've never been so frustrated with Gibbs before this season. In fact I've never been frustrated with him, but I am now. I'm in favor of Ziva becoming official at NCIS but Gibbs currently doesn't seem to be. I'm looking forward to next week's episode. It looks like we're finally going to get to know what happened to Ziva, at least in part. If you want to talk about any of the new episodes, just shoot me a message!