Disclaimer: I don't own anything.

Ziva had known that tonight was going to be a bad one, call it women's intuition or just a good sense of bad luck, but she had instinctively known. When the bartender had tried to slip Abby something she had thought that he was the source of this gut feeling and so she had tried her best to take him down quickly. However, when she and Tony had caught him trying to sneak around the back of the pub and then heard Ducky calling Abby's name, she had realised she was wrong. Both her and Tony had dragged the bartender back to the pub and left him with some other members of NCIS, who would make sure he was taken into custody, and then they had run after Ducky, following his voice until they found him trying his best to run down the alley opposite the pub. He had explained that Abby had run out after them, trying to follow them so she could watch the arrest, but she had gone in the wrong direction. With so many alleyways to take to find her, they had decided to run down one each just to increase their chances. Then she had screamed. The sound had been one of pure terror and Ziva had sped through the dark alleys as fast as she could. She had thought that she would never hear a worse sound, but once again she was wrong. A gunshot sounded loud in the night, echoing through the alleyways towards her. She had sped as fast as her legs could go, hoping against hope that she would arrive in time to save the bubbly Goth. Another scream was heard, this one slightly more hysterical than the first, and Ziva pushed herself to breaking point. That was where she was now, running full pelt down an alley, hoping that this one was where Abby was.

"Abby!" she called, hoping that shouting her name would let her know someone was coming to help her, so she would hold on. She heard Tony and Ducky doing the same and she concentrated on the path ahead of her. She flew out of the alley and into another, Tony joining her, since his alley had turned in to a dead end. They pounded up the tarmac, heads turning wildly to catch a glimpse of the girl, trying not to miss her black clad body in the shadows. At last they flew out of the alley and into another, this one with two bodies already in it. One was an unknown man; the other was Abby, who passed out as they watched.

"Oh God, no." Tony mumbled his breathing ragged and he instantly dropped to his knees by Abby's side. Ziva pulled the man over on to his back, his head on her leg in case he was alive and checked for his pulse, pulling her hand back instantly when she found warm blood coating his neck. He was the one who had been shot, but Abby didn't carry a gun, did she? Ziva looked over at Tony and Abby, watching as he pulled her up off the ground and into his arms, checking to see where the blood that covered her was coming from. Just then Ducky appeared, his breathing so laboured that Ziva was actually momentarily more concerned for him than Abby. He waved at them, his breathing making it impossible for him to speak and then he calmly walked towards them, dropping to his knees when he got close enough. He looked Abby over and shook his head, trying to control his breathing.

"Not… her… blood…" he tried to take deep breaths and then coughed.

"You ok Ducky? Do you need to lie down?" Tony asked the elderly ME, thoughts of heart attack and how long it would take an ambulance crew to get here giving him a stab of fear. Ducky just shook his head and gave them a smile.

"My physique may be… a little podgy, but… I am actually very fit… for my age. I… just don't usually indulge in… sprints." His breathing was getting better so Tony accepted his words, his grip on Abby not lessoning. She could still be hurt, and the fact a guy was dead in the alley with her was giving him some awful images. Ducky checked over the guy and gave him a rather uncharacteristic dismissive wave. "He was shot in the neck from an angle. Someone stood above him and shot him."

"So we are looking for a really tall person?" Tony asked, hoping against hope that what he was thinking Ducky meant, wasn't actually true.

"No, the man was on the floor when he was shot and from the blood splatter on Abby, I would say he was on top of her." Ziva instantly dropped the guy's body and kicked it aside, not really caring that she was supposed to respect the dead. That man didn't deserve to be treated with respect. She briefly considered leaving the body here to decompose rather than letting Ducky take it back to the morgue, although he didn't seem inclined to do so. They all gathered around Abby, helping Tony lift her carefully in his arms so he could carry her back to the pub. They'd get a car from there and take her home, or to Gibbs' house, since he would be distraught when he heard what had happened to her.

Ziva watched Tony go and then she looked around the floor, looking for bullet casings and telltale signs of who the other person had been, whilst Ducky secured the body of the man. Perhaps it had been someone who knew the man and had caught him trying to hurt Abby, or just a passerby with a gun, someone who couldn't believe they had killed someone and then fled the scene. Something in her told her that wasn't the case, so she cast her eyes further around the alley, into the shadows. A glittering object caught her attention and she bent down to it. A bullet casing, the same type as the ones left at the scene of McGee's shooting. So, she had been here… Ziva did a double take as her eyes found a black object in the darkness, and she reached out to it, pulling it towards her. It was a ladies black shoulder bag. She opened it and looked inside, carefully emptying the contents on the tarmac. A couple of extra gun clips, a syringe, a pile of photos, a compact and a hair band. Ziva picked up the photos and looked through them her eyes widening as she saw they were photos of the team. Jenny knew them, why would she need pictures of them? They weren't pictures to reminisce about though, they were covert surveillance photos. What was going on? Ziva put the photos back in the bag, along with the compact and the hair band. She looked over the gun clips before putting them back in too. The syringe was a mystery. Jenny wasn't a diabetic so she didn't carry insulin, and as far as Ziva knew, she didn't have any other condition that required self injection.

"Ducky? What is in this syringe?" Ziva held out the syringe to the doctor and he moved closer, squinting at the liquid.

"I'm afraid I can't say Ziva. There are many different things that are colourless like this. We will have to test it back at NCIS." Ziva nodded and placed the syringe carefully back in the bag. "What have you got there?"

"A woman's bag. I believe that it was Jenny who shot that man. The bullet casings are the same as the ones left at the scene of McGee's near shooting."

"If that is so, why did she shoot at you and Timothy, but not at Abby? It wasn't as if Abby had a weapon, or any other way to defend herself."

"We will have to speak to Abby once she awakens." They both agreed and then left the alley, taking the evidence they had collected with them, returning to Abby's side at the pub. They decided to call Gibbs on the way there, just to make sure he was home, and then they all piled into their cars, the most sober of them driving.

--

Jenny ran away from the alleyway as fast as she could, her destination unclear, all she was thinking about was not staying near that girl and her friends. She wasn't sure how long she ran for or how far she went, and really she didn't care; she just wanted to escape the lies. Everything she thought she knew was being unravelled at the seams, and she wasn't sure who to trust. The things Trent had told her were being proven wrong by her own mind, which conjured memories at the worst possible times, and the people he was trying to make her kill who appeared to be exactly what they seemed; innocent. She stopped running then, unable to carry on because her legs were about to give way. She doubled over to catch her breath and then curled up into a ball, tears spilling from her confused eyes. What the hell am I doing? She had thought tonight would be simple. She could kill the Goth and then take out the boss, plant the syringe so she could find out what was in it and then go back to Trent, reporting a job well done. Now she didn't even want to see Trent again, her mind no longer able to ignore the signs telling her he wasn't who he said he was. What kind of brother would send her to kill her own daughter? She wiped her eyes as she thought of how close she had come to pulling the trigger on the young girl, having saved her only as a courtesy. No woman could stand by and let something like that happen right in front of their eyes, but she had still been about to shoot the girl, her life now belonging to her.

Jenny snuffled into her sleeve as a fresh wave of tears came. Why hadn't she remembered she had a daughter before tonight? Why did she have to have a memory about her when she was at the other end of her gun barrel? Just after the girl had called her mommy, she had heard something else. It was almost as if the girl had carried on speaking, just inside her head instead of out loud. Her lips hadn't moved and yet Jenny had distinctly heard her say 'The kids don't like it when mommy and daddy fight.' It had been so intense that she couldn't help but recoil in horror as she saw what she was doing through new eyes. She was holding her little girl at gun point after she had suffered a shock and terror so complete, that she hardly even reacted to her own mother waving a weapon in her direction. She had been so disgusted with herself, and she had intended to go to the girl, to make sure she was alright but she had heard her friends calling to her.

She sobbed harder, what kind of mother couldn't even recall her daughter's name? She couldn't remember anything about her, what her favourite colour was (though she would hazard a guess at black or red), where she had been born, how old she was, who her father was. Jenny swallowed as another thought hit her, did she have a husband somewhere, waiting for some news of her whereabouts? Other children? A house? Hell, did she have a cat that needed feeding somewhere that only she knew about? Why couldn't she remember?!

She growled in frustration and pulled her head out of the crook of her arm, looking at her surroundings for the first time. She was in the middle of a residential estate, just down the side of one of the houses. She looked behind her, noticing a gate that she must have climbed over to get there, but having no recollection of doing so. She stood up cautiously, not sure if any of the houses had garden alarms or flood lights. The last thing she wanted to do was alert the house owners to her presence. She walked out of the garden slowly, moving faster once she was off of someone else's property and took a good look around. This place seemed familiar but she couldn't place it. She shrugged, putting it down to how many housing estates there were in DC. Setting off at a fast walk, she rounded the corner of the estate, walking on to another, the feeling of déjà vu becoming stronger. Where was she going? She carried on following the feeling of familiarity, hoping it would lead her to something she could actually remember. Then she stopped outside a house and looked up at it, the feeling finally settling into certainty. This house was very well-known to her. She concentrated as hard as she could on the memory that waited just out of her grasp. This was the house of someone she knew… someone who knew her well… she gritted her teeth and reached for her bag only to find it was gone. She froze in panic; she must have lost it at the scene of her daughters attack. Damn. She didn't have her extra ammo, she was down to two bullets, and if she got in a fight she would be out gunned very quickly. Perhaps this house had ammo or another gun. If she knew the house then surely going in for a quick look around wouldn't be bad.

Jenny grinned and walked slowly up the path to the door, looking around warily before trying the handle. It was open. She clicked her tongue disapprovingly and walked in, shutting it behind her. He never locks his door. She froze, how did she know that, but not who owned the house? Angry with herself for her inability to do anything right, she sighed and closed her eyes. She just had to calm down. She took deep breaths and tried to lower her heart rate. She opened her eyes when she had sufficiently calmed and then she moved along the corridor. There was a light on somewhere, a sliver of illumination painting the corridor ahead of her slightly. She moved more cautiously, a light may mean someone was home and she still wasn't sure if she would be welcome.

Suddenly she heard rapid footfalls from behind the door, getting closer so fast she panicked and jumped through another doorway, relieved to find it completely dark. The door flew open and the footfalls grew louder, passing her hiding place quickly and moving straight to the door. She risked a glance from her hiding place and saw the back of a man, his silver hair bright in the darkness. He didn't seem to notice someone had just walked in to his house, even though something inside her told her he should have been able to hear her. She pulled her head back and heard the front door open and then close again and she waited for a few minutes to see if he would come back in. He didn't and she let out a steady breath of relief. That was close.

Jenny took the opportunity that having the house to herself provided, and moved out of her hiding place, no longer as careful now that she was sure no one would hear her. She walked swiftly to the door the person had just come out of and looked around it, surprised to see it lead to a basement. She looked behind her to see if there was any movement near the door, and then carefully walked through it. There was a set of wooden stairs leading down in to what would usually be a spacious basement; however this one was taken up with a large boat like structure. In fact it was a boat she saw, as she descended the stairs and wandered over to it. it was handmade, the tools for the woodworking laying strewn around by a work bench, some hung up, some just where they had been thrown. There was also a couple of bottles of alcohol stashed up with what looked like paint stripper. She shook her head wondering why he would put those together. She shrugged, a small smile playing around her lips. It was probably a statement of the strength.

The boat caught her attention again and she walked towards it, reaching out a hand to touch the wax smoothed surface of the hull. He definitely knew how to build a sea worthy craft, there didn't seem to be any rough spots at all. She walked around the boat, taking it all in and then she saw the black lettering on it. Kelly. Even that name was recognizable to her. It meant something to her and obviously to this man. What was it? Who was it? She gave up thinking, annoyed at her lack of progress and walked casually back to the work bench, casting her eye all around it. There was a box, the size of one that usually held a wide screen TV, just under there, concealed behind bits of left over wood. She crouched down and pulled it out, carefully trying not to move the wood in case the man could tell if it was moved. Putting it on the bench, she looked around again, listening to see if she could hear any movement. Nothing. She pulled the top off the box and looked inside, curious at what it could be.

Her eyebrows knitted together as she lifted out a blue and red ladies shirt which was wrapped inside a clear plastic bag, mystified at why he would keep something like that in his basement. Then she really looked at the shirt. It was primarily blue in colour, the red appeared to be randomly placed until she realised it was mostly surrounding four holes, with a large swathe down the right side and on the back. It was blood. Jenny's eyes grew wide in shock and she knew, she just knew, that the shirt was hers. She closed her eyes and held it up to her body, her hands shaking and her mind rebelling. Just put it back and leave, part of her thought, Trent will be looking for you. Does it matter if the shirt is yours? They still betrayed you. She hesitated, unsure. Just put it to your body, you need to know, another part whispered, besides, Trent has been lying to you from the start, what difference would this really make? She took a deep breath and pulled it flush to her body, opening her eyes and looking down before she could cave in to her fear. The holes in the shirt corresponded to the bullet wounds on her body perfectly. She gasped and threw the shirt back in the box, turning it over in the process, so that the label on the evidence bag was facing her, the name on it staring her in the face. Jennifer Shepard. Her mind whirled; a mess of memories that suddenly decided now was a good time to assault her.

"So you're the overzealous fed that nearly mucked up eighteen months of undercover work." The CIA Agent and handler for La Grenouille, Trent Kort, said to her, sitting opposite her in a car and oozing irritation. "I prefer to think of it as doing my job." She responded smartly, enjoying the flicker of annoyance on his face. "Jethro." said an older man who sat next to him. He spoke to whoever was sitting next to her and she kept her head straight, watching Kort as Jethro responded. "I'm not my Director's keeper, Tobias." The scene changed and she was lying in bed, having just woken up after the shooting. "If you are my brother, is my last name Kort?" Trent smiled at her reassuringly and nodded. "Of course it is. What else would it be?" The scene changed again and she was back in the darkened alley, in a strange city with the faceless, blue eyed man, only this time she could see his hair. His brown hair, streaked with silver. He turned to look at her as they wrapped their arms around the heads of the guards, their eyes meeting and a thrill coursing through her. Again the scene changed. She was walking towards the Israeli woman, who was coming to meet her halfway in a squad room. "Shalom Jenny." the woman said warmly, and she responded in kind. "Shalom Ziva." They kissed each others cheeks and then talked about an Op that they had worked on together, the sounds receding as the scene changed again. This time she was in a stuffy little attic, the air close and warm. The blue eyed man was beneath her on a bed, his arms circling her waist as he moved, rolling them over so he could better control the speed of their love making, her fingers gripping his arms as he picked up the pace. Again the scene changed and she was standing in the doorway of a large house, the lights dim and the same man before her. She spoke to him softly. "I'd forgotten." He looked at her questioningly so she continued. "How good you are with kids."

Jenny was then catapulted back to the present with one sentence reverberating in her mind. "The kids don't like it when mommy and daddy fight." She took a deep steadying breath as her confusion turned into a full blown panic attack and she sat on the stool in front of the work bench, trying to control her breathing. Nothing she had been told was true, Trent had lied to her. She wasn't even sure if he had told her a single truth! Who was he really? Who was she?! Jenny closed her eyes and put a hand to her heart, trying to count her heart beats as she attempted to bring it down and slow her gasping. It took a few minutes but she was successful and she jumped up, quickly tossing the box back under the desk, and walking quickly towards the stairs. She had to get out of here, she had to leave. Just then she heard the front door swing open and loud voices echoed down to her. He was back, and he had company.