Chapter 5

Catherine woke in the morning, and reached for Ziva, only to find the bed empty. Her first thought was Ziva had another nightmare and managed to leave the house without waking her. Then she smelled the unmistakable scent of coffee.

She got up, put on her robe and headed downstairs in search of her friend. In the kitchen, she found a half-full pot of coffee, but no Ziva.

She walked over to the sliding doors that led to the patio, and there she found her, sitting in the farthest corner, cup in hand, staring out with a blank, expressionless look in her eyes. She was haphazardly dressed, wearing the same white shirt from the night before, now rumpled, with the sleeves rolled to her elbows, and a pair of olive colored cargo pants. Her feet were bare, tucked under her.

"Ziva?" she asked, as she slid open the door. "You okay, sweetie?"

When she received no response from the brunette, she stepped closer and placed a gentle hand on her shoulder.

Ziva leapt up from her seat, dropping her cup, and seized Catherine's hand, pulling her arm painfully behind her back. She yanked her close, inches from her own face. The look in her eyes was blank and dark, promising violence or worse.

"Owwww!" Catherine screeched. "Damn it, Ziva, it's me! Let me go!"

Ziva gripped her harder, still not coming out of her trance. She bared her teeth and growled low in her throat.

For a moment, Catherine actually felt fear. She relaxed her body in surrender, so Ziva would not perceive her as a threat. She spoke softly and calmly to the tense woman in front of her. "Ziva. Listen to me, okay? I am not trying to hurt you. Look at me, I'm Catherine. I'm not Hoffman, not a terrorist or a serial killer. Just look at me. Come on, honey. Come back to me. I'm not a threat, I'm a friend."

For a few terrorizing seconds, Catherine didn't think Ziva heard her, then she felt the brunette's hold relax. Her eyes began to lighten and focus on Catherine's face. She sighed with relief when she finally saw the glimmer of recognition appear in those brown eyes.

"Cath...Catherine," she stammered. "How did you get...? " Ziva saw how she was holding Catherine and her face fell. "Oh my God, Catherine! Did I hurt you? Please tell me I did not hurt you! I thought you were..."

"No, I'm fine. Really, I'm fine," Catherine replied, rubbing her shoulder after Ziva let go. "You scared the shit out of me, girl! What were you thinking about that made you act like that?"

"I was not thinking. I was trained to shut down all emotions and thoughts, to regain energy and strength. Basic Mossad training I have not had to use in years. I guess I went too deep this time. I cannot apologize enough, Catherine. I would never harm you. Ever!"

Dropping her head into her hands, Ziva physically shook. "I fear I am losing my mind!"

Catherine pulled her into a tight hug, placing a tender kiss on the top of her head.

"Nonsense! You're inot/i losing your mind. I won't deny you're in trouble, but you are not crazy, Ziva. I want so much to help you, baby, but you have to be willing to open up. I hardly know anything about your time with Mossad, and what I know of your job now, well, dealing with monsters every day can take a toll on anyone."

Ziva sighed, "Perhaps I have become photogenic, two minds in one body, both disintegrating and losing touch with the reality around me."

"Schizophrenic. And no, I don't believe that."

"Yes, schizophrenic," Ziva muttered in a tortured whisper. "Preferable to what may be happening, I think."

"What could you think is happening to you that is worse than developing a mental illness?" Catherine asked, incredulous.

Ziva looked at her with eyes filled with pain and doubt. She wanted to explain, but she found herself unable to voice her fears. Saying them aloud would make them real, and she just couldn't deal with that. She feared the internal war that was raging within her mind and soul to such a degree that she couldn't find the words to verbalize it.

Shaking her head, she looked away from Catherine, "I don't know. I just know there are scarier things then being considered crazy. " Her voice trembling, Ziva turned to Catherine. "I cannot talk about this any longer. Enough for now, yes? Please?"

"All right," Catherine sighed. "But you are going to have to talk about it sooner or later."

Nodding her head to indicate she understood, Ziva quietly said, "I will leave if you feel I am a danger to you, Catherine. I cannot...cannot bear the thought that I frighten you."

"You don't frighten me, Ziva. You're not a monster. I trust you implicitly. I would go so far as to say I would trust you with my life."

"Not a monster. Are you so sure, Catherine? I believed my brother to not be a monster, but I was wrong. Can two be born from the same devil and one be demon and one angel?"

Catherine didn't understand Ziva's reference to her brother, but knew that the young woman had to be mistaken. This beautiful, intelligent woman could not possibly be a monster. Monsters don't care, they don't feel, and they certainly don't love. She believed Ziva was capable of all of these.

"I'm sorry Ziva, but I just don't understand. You have a brother?"

"Had. I had a half-brother. I killed him," Ziva answered with no emotion.

"Killed him? What the fuck are you talking about?"

Confused, Ziva glanced at Catherine, "Oh yes. I have forgotten that you do not know what brought me to NCIS. At least not the real reason. We have not spoken in many years, you are not aware of this. I will explain when I tell you the rest."

"So you keep promising." Catherine looked at her watch, frowning. "Damn! I have to get to work! I'm only scheduled for four hours today. Will you be all right here alone? I'll be back as soon as I can."

"Yes, yes. I will be fine. Go to work and Catherine...please be careful."

"I will," Catherine softly replied, placing a kiss on Ziva's forehead. "Call me on my cell if you need anything."

Ziva smiled and leaned forward, kissing Catherine softly on the lips. "I will."

When Catherine returned home later that day, she found Ziva exactly where she had left her: sitting in the far corner of the patio, staring off into space, lost in her own nightmares. Not willing to make the same mistake she had earlier, she called to Ziva loudly, to alert her to her presence.

"Ziva! I'm back, sweetie."

This time Ziva immediately turned around to acknowledge her.

"Hello, Catherine. It is safe to come closer if you'd like."

Smiling at Ziva, Catherine walked out onto the patio, and placed a light kiss on Ziva's lips. She ran her hand through Ziva's hair and down her cheek.

"Have you been out here all day? You okay, sweetie?" Catherine asked.

"I have been thinking. So to answer your question, no, I do not think I am okay."

Catherine looked at Ziva for a long moment, then made a decision. "All right, Ziva. I think you've had enough time to get yourself ready to talk. Come inside with me and start telling me what is going on. I'll put on some coffee, and we can sit and you can share."

When Ziva did not respond or move, Catherine bent down to look directly into her eyes, "Not a suggestion, hon. You called me because you needed help and you trust me. I can't do a goddamn thing for you if you don't start talking. So inside. Now!"

Ziva glared at her, then nodded her head and rose, walking back into the house.

After Catherine came back into the living room with coffee for both of them, she sat and looked expectantly at Ziva.

"You know that I am Mossad, yes? But do you fully realize what that means?"

When Catherine shook her head no, Ziva continued. "Mossad is the institute for Intelligence and Special Operations created by the State of Israel to collect information, analyze intelligence and perform special covert operations beyond its borders. The special covert operations was my specialty. It could involve anything at all including preventing terrorist acts against Israeli targets abroad, producing strategic, political and operational intelligence or bringing Jews home from countries where official Aliya agencies are not allowed to operate. That is the official stance, you understand.

I was part of a Special Operations Unit called Metsada, which specialized in assassinations, paramilitary operations, sabotage & psychological warfare.

To be blunt, I could, on any given day, be a spy, a soldier, a saboteur, or an assassin. I excel in interrogation and torture. I have been trained to kill in many inventive ways, some that would leave no trace to indicate the death was anything but natural or accidental. Some killings were done at a distance, some close enough to see the light leave their eyes. We have a saying in Mossad: 'Knives do not run out of bullets.' It all was decided on what orders I received. I was trained to go where I was told and do what needed to be done. Questions were not an option, not that I would have ever considered questioning any command I was given."

"Is that why you think you are a monster?" Catherine interrupted.

"No, that is only part of what makes me a monster. Israel has a strong sense of duty. We are taught early in life that service to our State is our duty. Mossad teaches that our purpose is to uphold the values of justice, integrity, morality, humility, personal responsibility, reliability, discipline and discretion. So anything I may have done was for these purposes and to protect my country, you understand?"

"I think I do, but it sounds a little like brainwashing to me," Catherine said.

"No. The brainwashing, as you say, did not start with the values of Mossad. That came from the blood that ran in the streets of my home town. From the history of all the atrocities that have been perpetrated against my people and my land. I lost my little sister, Tali, in a Hamas suicide bombing. She was sixteen and the best of us. Tali had compassion. After Tali's death, all I wanted was revenge."

"I am so sorry, Ziva. Was that what they used to recruit you to Mossad?" Catherine asked.

"I was Mossad before Tali's death. It just focused my work in a certain direction."

"So who recruited you? Father? Brother? Boyfriend?" persisted Catherine.

"Aunt, sister, lesbian lover." Ziva replied, smiling at Catherine's jaw-dropped expression. "I kid you, Catherine. I volunteered."

Catherine playfully slapped Ziva's arm, "Oh, you! Well, that explains your strong work ethics and discipline but not why you believe yourself to be a monster."

"Understand, my love, assassins are not born, they must be trained. It is basic human morals to not want to take another life. Unless you or someone you love is in danger, most will hesitate to kill another human being. We are taught from childhood, through our parents and our religions, that it is the worst of sins. To be a successful assassin you cannot have such morals or doubts. To think of your targets as fellow humans or to hesitate before a kill, is to die."

"But," Catherine hesitated, not sure if her questions would insult the young woman or cause her to stop talking. "How can you turn off something like that? I mean, it's the unfortunate part of any police officer's or soldier's life to know that one day you may have to take a life. I'm the first to tell someone to not let it get to you, not to take it home with you. I have had the misfortune to have taken a life to either save myself or save someone else. But there is no way you do it casually! Morals can't be that easily set aside!"

"I did not say it was easy. I said it was necessary," Ziva replied.

"Still. With the exception of sociopaths or someone mentally damaged, no one can pretend that the person they just killed wasn't a living, breathing human. Someone just like you in many ways. They had families, friends and lovers. They laughed and cried, just like you," disputed Catherine.

"Perhaps one of the traits of a good assassin is to be a sociopath," Ziva contended. "Mossad's training is designed to remove such obstacles, no matter how deeply ingrained they may be. You have heard of immersion therapy, yes?"

Catherine nodded. "Yeah , it's where they take your greatest fear and basically immerse you in it, until you can tolerate it. It usually is a slow process; they try to make you associate something comfortable with something uncomfortable. Last stage is facing the fear head on, if you're afraid of the dark, they lock you in a dark cellar or afraid of close spaces, lock you in a coffin. It can be extreme, but studies show it works."

"My training was similar to that, but more intense. You are tested and evaluated to see what your fears are. From the smallest fear to the worse imaginable fear you possess, " Ziva explained. "But they are also interested in what you love, what makes you happy. These things can be used as rewards or...are you following me? They would turn something that once brought you joy and pleasure into something painful, hateful, until you stop showing whatever emotion you had for it."

"Why? Why in God's name would they do that to you?"

Ziva gave her a quizzical look. "To kill any emotions I may be subject to, of course. I will give you an example. I had a friend when I was young; we knew each other from the time we could walk. As we became teens, she...how should I say? Became a very good friend. After I had joined Mossad, I did not see her as often as before, and I missed her. They knew of my affection for her, if not the extent of it. When I performed some exercise above expectations, I would be allowed to see her. Sometimes I even spent an entire day with her, doing whatever we pleased. When they were sure I had begun to associate my performance with seeing my friend, things changed.

It was a subtle change at first. She would not arrive at the scheduled time, or would cancel at the last minute. I would be disappointed, but not hurt. Then they would show me tapes of her saying unkind things about me to some other girl, or show me that she went somewhere else when she claimed to be ill. These little things hurt, but part of me did not believe them. This continued until I stopped having any type of reaction to them at all. I had become numb to the slights my friend rained on me. As I became used to these insults, they would turn them up a little every week. I would be shown her going shopping with someone else, saying I was not a good friend to her, saying she hated me, show her dating a boy we both knew and so on. After a while, I had begun to hate her for these betrayals to the point that I no longer requested to see her as my reward.

Then one day, they told me that she had requested to see me and gave me a letter from her. In the letter she apologized for her treatment of me, begging me to see her on a particular day. She swore that nothing would keep her away. I...I weakened. I wanted to believe that she still loved me as I had loved her, so I agreed. When the designated time arrived, she did not show. Hours later, I was taken into a room with a television. It was showing the news, some kind of street festival. In the crowd I saw her. Laughing and joking with the boy from before at the time she swore she would come and see me. Something in me broke then. I thought that nothing she had ever said to me had been truth. I watched as they danced in the street together, ate from a street cart, all the while laughing and touching. Anger bloomed in my heart to a degree I had never experienced before. When she pulled him close for a kiss, something in me died.

I then watched them walk into a cafe, arm in arm, looking happy and in love. Minutes later, the cafe...the cafe exploded. Glass, wood, body parts were thrown everywhere. Nothing of the building remained. She was gone...gone forever. The last image was of a stuffed toy, won at the festival I suppose, burning in the street. I had seen that same toy in her arms as she walked into the cafe. Then the screen went black. I sat there for just a moment, then stood and returned to my quarters. I did not shed a single tear, that day or any day after. I felt nothing, no remorse, no grief. I had learned my first real lesson as Mossad. Everyone will lie to you, and everyone will leave you alone, no matter how much you may have loved them."

"Jesus Christ!" exclaimed Catherine. "They actually killed the girl?"

Ziva shook her head, "No. I found out years later that she was alive. She had been told that I had been transferred to another location and did not wish to see her again. By then, it did not matter. She had been dead to me for so long, and I knew that the part of me that cared for her once had also died years ago. "

"Oh Ziva, "Catherine sobbed. "That's so horrible."

Ziva shrugged and continued. "It was necessary. I understood that then. I was taught that emotion was weakness, and weakness could lead to not only my death, but the death of my compatriots. Every day, without fail, I was told that no one could be trusted. Not family, friends, strangers or lovers. No one. Simple human emotions were deemed to be unnecessary. What need do you have for emotions? It did not matter if the emotion was good or bad, to express it was weakness and failure. After enough time, this became believable to me. I examined my emotions and tried to correlate them to some reaction. Anger would make me careless; I could fail in my mission. Sadness made me vulnerable to being duped, or could lead to my thinking twice when I had a job to do. Happiness had the same potential. And love...love had the potential to destroy not only my life, but my mind and soul as well. It has been documented through history how many empires have fallen because of love. How many great leaders were brought to ruin by love. How many innocents sacrificed themselves in the name of love.

So year by year, I abandoned all such things until there was nothing left but Mossad. Was I lonely? I suppose I was, but I did not waste time thinking about it."

"But, what about comfort?" Catherine asked. "Every human craves the touch of another human. We need it. To have someone hold you in the night."

"Meh, what is comfort, but an emotion?" Ziva retorted. "I learned quickly that you take comfort, as you say, where you can find it. The physical aspects of it, the need to touch skin, to feel physical pleasure or experience the release that comes with it? It can be found anywhere, at anytime. Does it matter from whom you receive that release? No, it does not. Man, woman, what does it matter. It is a purely a biological response, nothing more."

Ziva paused, her internal struggle naked on her face. "I used to know who I was. At least who I was made to be. I had no fears, no doubts. I knew my place and my purpose. All that has changed, and I do not know how to handle it. I do not know why it even matters to me!"

Catherine reached out and gently stroked Ziva's arm. "It matters because you are human, no matter how hard they tried to change that."

Ziva stared at her for a long moment, debating. "Do you know why I came to this country? Because Jenny thought I could stop a potential international incident. And because Mossad knew I could take care of the problem in whatever manner was necessary. My half-brother, Ari, had gone rogue, it seemed. He was working with both the Americans and a terrorist group. That was not known at the time of course, Mossad claimed the charges were a lie. NCIS, Gibbs specifically, claimed these things, as well as the charge that he had murdered one of their agents, Kate Todd. I did not believe this to be true. Not because he was not capable; he was. But because it served no purpose. I was ordered to get him back to Israel any way I could. I had every intention of carrying out those orders."

Ziva was silent as she remembered the events that ultimately led to her current condition. She continued, "The team members of NCIS did not exactly welcome me with open arms, but that was understandable. I could appreciate that they lost a valuable member of their team, it was the emotional ties they all seemed to share with this woman, and each other, that I could not grasp. This was not personal. I had a job to do, nothing more. But for them it was very personal. The more I listened to them, watched them, learned about them, the more I began to doubt. Gibbs explained to me what my brother had done and why. I did not believe this either, but I said I would give him the chance to prove his case. I told my brother everything, so he assumed I was on his side, but I was in a flux. I didn't know anymore what was true and what was false. If I trusted no one, then which of these two were telling me the truth? I had to see for myself. When Gibbs went to confront Ari, I followed. At the time, I did not know if I would have to kill Gibbs to save Ari, but if I found him to be the truthful one, I would not hesitate.

I stayed at the top of the stairs and listened. I should have been shocked by what I heard, but somehow I was not. Ari was telling Gibbs what a monster our father had created. Confessing to killing Kate for no other reason but to bring Gibbs pain. Everything Mossad, my father, had told me was a lie. Everything NCIS had told me was the truth. My mind was in turmoil, my heart, the heart I thought was stone, was breaking. Then I heard Ari tell Gibbs he was going to kill him. I could not allow that to happen. Ari had brought enough shame on Mossad, on Israel. Before he could even finish his sentence...I shot him. For the first time in my life, I had killed blood. I looked at him, lying there in a pool of blood, my brother, my family, dead by my hand. And all I could do was pray for his eternal soul."