A/N: Just a fair warning - things are about to get considerably more violent, intense, etc. Shit is about to get real. I just wanted to have that out there in attempt to have as little WTF as possible, if that sort of business isn't your thing. Okay? Cool.

It was hot. It sounded stupid and ridiculously simple. It was hot. Like a second grader returning to school and recalling their summer vacation. Nothing better to say than 'it was hot'.

She could address the blazing sun, the stagnant haze, or the sticking humidity, but why waste the effort? She could try to make it sound better, more appealing, more aesthetic, but again – why? It was so much easier to just think, and say, what the hell she meant. It was fucking hot, and that sounded fine. Trying to make sense of the mess in her head was complicated enough.

She had tried sleeping. Had tried resting off-and-on for three hours, before she would startle awake again, mind racing about her family, recurring dreams, and Kadin. Kadin, who had allowed her and Tony to stay indefinitely. Staying indefinitely would imply weeks or months, but she wouldn't even consider that.

There was something she had to do.

It was impossible not to think about it. She wished she could just stop, kill it before it took hold, or at least keep it in check. But if she tried that, and she had (she had), she would fail. That much she knew. She could not leave this alone.

Or maybe it would've been better if her father never told her the truth.

(Do the Americans not have a saying – ignorance is bliss?)

She scoffed, even to herself, chewing the inside of her cheek with displeasure.

(Ignorance is for fools and innocent people. People that suddenly find themselves ignorant and dead.)

This was the truth she could not ignore: her sister had failed to make contact as scheduled, and then suddenly disappeared. She had been placed as undercover asset, which was dangerous enough, but it did not end there. Before her disappearance, when she did make contact, she expressed concern that there was a leak somewhere, that they might be suspicious of her. And after missing her check-in, the extraction attempt failed because of an ambush.

And still, no word from her. Or anyone.

How could Ziva possibly consider leaving it alone?

So now, she sat against an armchair, senses dulled from heavy thoughts and lack of sleep. She may have appeared to be relaxing, trying to lure in the rest that eluded her, but in truth she was searching. Searching for a reason to stay. Here, in this place, where she could find no rest. The place that had her so close to seeing Tali, so close to finding the inexpressible joy of an overdue reunion.

But she had not found what she was looking for. And she would not sit here and let her sister die.

(Or accept that she was already dead?)

She could not stay here.

What difference would it make if she left now or in a few hours, when it was light out? Regardless of old wisdom, 'sleeping on it' would do nothing. It wasn't going to change. It wasn't going to go away. There would be no new perspective. She had to go. She could not stay. Not now.

I may not get another chance.

Perhaps it was truer now than it was when she said it the previous night. She would not give up on Tali.

(And fuck this fucking heat.)

She was ready within minutes, having rechecked her weapons and finding that nothing in her bag was out of order. She'd hardly touched it since she'd arrived, but it was a habit. And this was important.

One look at the crumpled sheets and she decided it would be polite to make the bed. It seemed fair enough, since she was sneaking off very early without telling Tony or Kadin, who had kindly offered his hospitality. She would answer their calls later in the day, maybe, but she would not disturb either of them right now. It would only waste time, and she barely had enough as it was.

The first signs of morning light were peeking through the window when she picked up her bag and headed out of the guestroom, silent as the shadows she clung to. The door she left open as she headed down the hallway, putting extra care into keeping her footsteps light – Tony was sleeping on the couch, and she was counting on not waking him.

She turned right at the end of the hallway and someone furiously whispered her name, and she jumped, muscles instinctively flying to her hip.

Her weapon was pointed at his face before he could say another word.

Tony.

So much for not waking him.

He was leaning against the wall across from where she was standing, casual, not betraying his apprehension. If she had turned left intsead of right at the end of the hallway, she would've walked right into him.

He raised both hands in a placating gesture, trying to calm her down.

"It's just me," he offered, nodding, not moving.

"What are you doing?" she asked in annoyance, re-holstering her gun as she did so. He glanced at her bag.

"Trying to figure out where you're going."

"Do you really have to ask?"

"Actually I didn't. Technically it wasn't a question."

Ziva sighed. She definitely did not need this from him right now.

"How long have you been there?"

"Well, I've been standing in this spot for about seven minutes, give or take. But if you mean how long have I been waiting for you to do something like this? All night."

"And you decided to waste your night waiting for me because..." she led, wishing they weren't having this conversation.

"Because I knew you would try to go alone."

"I'm not trying, Tony. I am going alone."

"Why?" he asked, defiant and confused at the same time. Did he not tell her less than twenty-four hours ago that he would go with her? Was he not supposed to watch her six, and all that? Did he not make it clear that she had his support?

"I have to," she replied, eyes burning with loyalty and a nameless ache.

"Ziva..." he started, hoping that by just saying those two syllables he could express everything he needed to say. Her expression softened upon hearing her name spoken like that, but she did not show any indication of backing down.

"It might be useful to bring me along," he said simply, hoping that she would get it. It wasn't just about sneaking off alone to find her sister. While he certainly respected her independent spirit, sometimes he couldn't figure out what she was still hiding from. He did not want her to end up alone.

(Alone and in a body bag.)

She took another deep breath and closed her eyes briefly, willing him to understand.

"Yes. But this is personal."

This had nothing to do with their old trust issues, or her lingering frustration that he had managed to get the drop on her. This started, and would end, with her own family – her own past. And that was a level of shit and mud that she refused to drag him through. Not to mention she did not want to unnecessarily jeopardize his safety, as this was sure to be far from risk-free.

He didn't say anything. It was difficult to decipher whether this was because he accepted what she was saying or because he was hurt that she would've left without a word to him.

"I could help you."

"Please – stay," she replied, resisting the urge to take his hands and make him see that this was something she must do by herself.

It wasn't easy, and it seemed to go against every screaming nerve in his body. How was he supposed to let her go like that? One part of his mind was telling him that Gibbs would be disappointed in him, that he should never have agreed to leave Israel. But the other part was telling him that he should stop thinking about what Gibbs would do, because he wasn't fucking here.

And if he had to let her go alone, he knew he would. He just hoped she wasn't flying into this blind.

"Alright. I'll stay."

He expected her to look relieved that he had agreed to let her go, but his confirmation seemed only to strengthen her resolve.

"It may have been dangerous to come here. If anything happens, Kadin will need your help. He is a good man."

She did not need to say that she was more worried about the safety of his daughter than Kadin himself, and Tony did not need to hear it. And while the back of his mind was itching to know just how Ziva knew Kadin, he let that go too.

He nodded and gazed fiercely at her, his green eyes telling her he would do what he could.

"You can use these," he said quietly, pulling out a small set of keys from the back pocket of his jeans. She looked at him questioningly.

"For the motorcylce in the garage. Kadin said that he never uses it anyway. Might be better than the Jeep out there."

She took the keys from his outstretched hands, not really sure what to say. This small gesture told her that Tony understood, better than his real words actually could. She smiled softly and began heading towards the door, taking a look back at her partner.

"I will not be more than a few days."

He nodded back, ignoring the persistent old knot in his stomach, now returning with new vigor. She did not look back at him as she walked away and right out the door. It wasn't until he heard the rumble of the motorcycle's engine tearing away from the garage that he turned back to the sleeping house, jaw clenched tightly, thinking –

What the fuck have I just done?

Aggression. And instinct.

It was fuel for the fire that had her ripping past the desert landscape at dangerous speeds. Dangerous. It was a danger she ignored, even thrived on. It burned her with a primal energy and the basic need to do. Burned with fervor, warmth, and impulse. Burned with power, perception, and loyalty.

(Interesting – maybe – that she did not think to call it love.)

But even still, it was a fire that had been burning her entire life.

So here she was, hours and hours – days – after leaving Kadin's house, abruptly killing the engine of her recently-acquired motorcycle. She rolled it to a stop against a wall in the deserted alley right next to the place she had spent all those hours trying to find.

It was a crumbling, run-down old building made from sand-weathered stone and an unstable-looking roof. It contrasted greatly with the red and orange blurriness of the setting sun. The dusty glass windows and the paint-chipped door gave the impression that the building was vacant, and had been for some time.

But it wasn't, and she knew it.

(Those fuckers. This place reeked of a hideout.)

And it was exactly the place she was looking for, despite the fact that she wasn't entirely certain where the information had come from.

She had been an active member of the intelligence-gathering community for many years, so she knew better than anyone that not every contact was reliable, and that the source of the flow of information was not always something to be proud of. But her contact had given her more than enough to go on, and she considered it luck that it was the middle of the night by the time her search of possible buildings led her here.

The thought that Tali may be inside this one, this shithole, caused her stomach to flutter and drop.

She approached the front door cautiously, heartbeat quickening and senses alerted to any noise coming from the inside. She pressed her ear against the wooden frame, her gun held tightly in her hands, ready to be raised and fired the second she needed it.

Several stretching seconds of silence passed, and when it was clear that there was no one immediately inside the door, she turned the handle slowly, surprised that it was unlocked. She pushed the heavy door open with as much quietness as she could. It creaked slightly, and she raised her gun, but still there was no one there to challenge her.

She cleared the few dingy rooms close to the door, taking note of the carelessness of whoever occupied the building. Half-completed notes and scrawled-on sheets of paper were strewn about the floor, along with loose tools, a crate of rifles, and food wrappers.

They might be amateurs if they thought this counted as hiding themselves.

(Try locking the front door, for fuck's sake.)

Quickly she bypassed the collection of incriminating evidence and crept around the corner, stealing a glance down the stairs. The staircase was empty, as she'd guessed, so she swiftly made her way down to the landing and peered around the corner before stepping into the hallway.

Still there was no one.

She stuck close to the wall as she stealthily made her way toward the end of the hallway, her grip tightening around her gun and her pulse getting heavier as she approached an open doorframe to her left. She stopped for a moment, listening for voices or sounds of motion.

Nothing.

The angle she was at made it impossible to see what was inside the room until she was standing right in front of it, gun raised in anticipation. Her hand faltered and she suddenly felt exhausted and disgusted when she realized what she was looking at.

Tali.

Her head was bowed over her chest and she was clearly older than the last time Ziva had seen her, but there was no mistaking the soft black curls, tangled as they were, or the tanned olive skin they shared.

She was leaning forward in a rickety wooden chair, her hands bound crudely with thick rope that tied her to the structural beam directly behind the chair. Her arms were lined with raised red slash marks, similar to the unflinchingly visible cuts on her thighs showing through her tattered and bloody pants.

Ziva stuffed her gun away and rushed forward, forgetting about silence and stealth. She immediately drew out the knife strapped to her leg and wasted no time in cutting through the braided bonds holding Tali's arms above her head. As soon as the younger woman's arms were released she fell forward with an unwary groan, her dead weight pushing her forward out of the chair.

Ziva dropped the knife and caught hold of her fatigued body before she could slam into the concrete below her. Tali made a few involuntary pained noises as Ziva sat down on the dusty floor and positioned her sister so that her legs were lying on the floor with her upper torso in Ziva's lap.

Her eyes were wide as she brushed the knotted hair out of Tali's face and noticed the gaunt cheekbones, the cracked dry lips, and the wheezy rattling of her breath.

"Tali," she whispered fervently, cupping one hand around her neck as she did so. She shook her lightly and whispered it a little louder when she got no response from the vacant and tired eyes.

Tali turned her head a little at the urgency of the voice.

"Ziva?" she asked softly, uncertainty etched into her voice and unseeing eyes.

Ziva nodded lightly and swallowed back the lump constricted in her throat.

"Ziva?" Tali asked again in the same quiet, desperate tone.

"Yes," she choked out, unable to say anything more to her disbelieving and fragile sister. She lightly stroked the side of Tali's face and shifted her weight encouragingly.

"Really you?" she asked again, raising her right arm and groping in the air until her raw and chafed hand made contact with Ziva's. Ziva brought the two loosely intertwined hands down to Tali's stomach so she could better speak to her sister.

"Really me. I had to find you. I can help you," she replied clearly with compassion on her lips. Tali did not seem to comprehend what her sister was saying.

"You look so much older now."

Ziva squeezed her sister's hand, unable to reply. Her throat threatened to constrict again but she swallowed it down.

"I will help you. Please. Just come with me," she spoke strongly for the sake of her sister, hoping that the words would get through.

They had to leave soon, they could not linger –

"Ziva," she whispered harshly when her sister tried to move her. Immediately Ziva stopped and looked back down into Tali's face.

"Tell Ari," Tali croaked out, her face scrunched up in pain from the effort. "Tell him about me, okay?"

Her words were interrupted by a hacking cough emanating from dried lips and starving lungs. Fresh blood pooled over her teeth and ran down her mouth, leaving angry crimson streaks as it went. Her throat burned, painful, harder than ever, as Ziva watched her beloved sister struggle to speak. Tali's breaths were deep and failing, and she didn't even have the strength to lift a hand and wipe the blood from her mouth.

"He didn't know..." she whispered throatily, unable to find the strength to finish the thought. Her eyelids drooped slightly and she lost eye contact with Ziva, who did not have the heart to tell Tali that he never would.

"I..." began Tali breathily, before she was stopped by another exploding and ragged cough. More blood spilled over from her lips and onto her chin."It really is you," she whispered sadly, her head leaning to the side and her eyes closing slowly, torturous. Her hand fell limp in her sister's grip and her chest ceased to rise.

Throat so tight she could barely breathe, Ziva moved two shaking fingers over Tali's neck.

Nothing.

Dead.

Numb with disbelief, she brought the lifeless body closer to hers, pressing her forehead onto the fading warmth of Tali's skin. But the tears would not come. The weight of her shock and her grief was beyond even that.

Minutes passed, maybe an hour, and still she stayed there, clutching her dead sister in silence. Finally, cruelly, when she could no longer stand to drown here on the cold floor, she released her hold. She stroked her hair one last time before something on the floor caught her eye, glinting against the concrete. She reached for the object, quickly discovering it to be a necklace, thin, worn. A silver Star of David necklace - the complement to the one Ziva wore every day.

It was as her still-shaking hand closed around it that the numbness vanished.

Enter the rage, staggering, overwhelming. A surge of hatred for the people responsible consumed her veins and her features hardened with the screaming anger taking over her mind. Any traces of compassion or sadness were gone as the new feeling of dark intensity forced her to feel only loathing and unchecked power.

She fought to control her shaking as she picked up her discarded knife and clenched her jaw in steely preparation. The curve of the handle fit molded perfectly to her palm, its sharp precision flashing against the semi-dark. She turned right out of the open doorway and quickly yet silently approached the other end of the hallway, which she hadn't cleared yet. It was in another dimly lit room that she found them, hunched over on makeshift mats and reciting low words in their low, guttural language.

And now, now she knew why no one had noticed her arrive or confronted her when she imposed on their secrecy.

They were praying.

She could not conceal the disgust – the bright lethal fury – that gripped her as she pushed open the door.

The first man was dead before he could even lift his head from his kneeling position, not having heard her approach. Fresh wet red spattered onto the second man, who shouted loudly before he too was silenced with an unflinching slash across his throat.

The third man stared wide-eyed, horrified, at his two bloodied comrades - dead. In one fluid motion, she stepped toward him and drove the blade up through his chest. He dropped, gurgling, having only seconds.

The fourth man tried to move away in a flurry of fear but he was thrown down before he could even stand, hilt of the knife – flung with ease – buried in his heart.

She wrenched it from his body, hands no longer shaking. She turned.

The fifth and last man had managed to find his feet and had backed himself into the wall, eyes fearful and wide. His hands were still in a praying position and he was muttering under his breath as she approached him.

He looked desperately at his men lying ruined on the floor, sweat pouring down his forehead. He sucked in a breath and watched her, eyes pleading. Begging.

She glared back and brought the tip of her blade to his throat.

He fell to the floor in a crumpled heap, his empty eyes still open. She waited until the very last moments of life oozed out of him, then retreated back to the solitude of nothingness.

She walked right out the way she came, thinking only of the gasoline she had found upstairs.

And when it was burning, the building, bodies, all of it; when it was engulfed in flames that glowed dull against the skyline, she left. She just left it there, burning, rotting, speeding away into the darkness.

(She made it about a mile before coming to a crashing halt, staggering off the bike, heaving and heaving as the agony consumed.)

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