Disclaimer: I own nothing.

Chapter Seventeen

October 10th, 2012

A scalding cup of tea rested in her hands as she curled up against the arm of the sofa. A blanket was loosely draped across her legs, and if it were not for the rather vacant expression she wore, she might have appeared like an average seventeen year old. However, as she absentmindedly brought the tea to her lips, two words rolled around within her mind, foreign scum. It was not a particularly obscene insult, though racist. She was unsure as to why it bothered her so much, as she had been called much worse by those closer to her, namely her father. Perhaps it was due to expectation of such abuse from her father, and not her peers. Her mind picked apart the two words, attempting to digest it, and be rid of such bigotry. Though, in the midst of her mental cleansing, she felt a hand come to rest on her shoulder. Surprised, she spun around drenching the blanket and slivers of her exposed skin in the blisteringly hot tea. The touch that caught her off guard belonged to no one other than Jenny, who inquired,

"A towel?"

"Would be of use," and with that the brunette stood, folding the soiled blanket while awaiting a towel. Jenny returned, tossing the item to the Israeli, who caught it with little effort. She dabbed her skin with the linen, trying to pat herself dry. While in the process, Jenny began,

"I did not mean to surprise you. What were you thinking about?"

"Trivial things,"

"I doubt trivial things had a David so concentrated that she was oblivious to her surroundings,"

"Jenny," she groveled.

"Alright, alright, I'm here if you need me," and with that the older woman left the room.

The other recruits were enjoying their hour of square away time, most situated outside their barracks in a clearing. Despite being grown men, two were gossiping much like teenage school girls. Little did they know that a certain Gunny was lurking not too far away.

"Did you hear?"

"Hear what?"

"The sarg finally put the little bitch in her place"

"If she's not tied to my bunk, then she's definitely not in her place"

"You think she's hot?"

"She has a kickass body,"

"She's a little terrorist,"

"She's a sexy little terrorist, but what did sarg say?"

"He called her "foreign scum,"

"And she took it?"

"Well sarg turned away,"

"So she said nothing?"

At this point the salt and peppered haired gunny approached them,

"Recruits!"

"Sir,"

"Your hours up,"

"We'll hit the racks, Sir," the prime gossiper replied. Both recruits then scurried to their respective barracks. Gibbs however remained in place mulling over the conversation he had witnessed.

October 11th, 2012

The testosterone in the air was palpable. Though, it is to be expected when a group of 'men' are issued their weapons for the first time. It was the first day of their marksmanship training and all the recruits were abuzz with excitement. Even Ziva, ever accustomed to the feeling of having a firearm in hand, was looking forward to it.

The recruits assembled in their usual formation, all awaiting the distribution of their rifles. When the gun was placed in Ziva's hand a rather uncharacteristic smile played at her lips. Having her fingers on a weapon relaxed her, as firearms were her most constant companion. However, throughout the duration of her time spent in the States, she had been deprived of such familiarity.

Tony watched his friend with interest. It was clear that she felt comfortable holding a rifle, but he was quite the opposite. He had never shot a gun before, not that he would readily admit to it. However, that was soon going to change as the recruits were sent to an area, after some in depth instruction, to begin honing their markman skills.

Ziva had not worked with this exact weapon for quite some time, as she gravitated towards the smaller and more disguisable firearms. Though, she was by no means a novice in handling large weaponry. She lied down on the grass, picked her target, and fired her rifle. After firing a few rounds she exhaled and smiled. To put it simply, it felt good to be doing what she perhaps did best.

Tony watched her in awe, as he felt the positive power radiating from her. She fired her rifle with grace and finesse, and it was quite obvious that she was quite familiar with weaponry. Though it was even more mystifying once he saw her target. She had created a perfect circle around the center of the target, along with one hole dead center.

Ziva remained rather oblivious to the fact that she was being watched, as simply reveled in the familiarity of shooting. When she was finished, she stood, gathered her weapon, and headed back to her quarters in a daze.

AN: Long time no see! I know I have been awful about updating this story, but I am going to try to speed the story along. It won't have more than 25 chapters and if I fall back in love with this story, perhaps a sequel. I hope you enjoyed this chapter (and leave me a review telling me why or why not). It has been a very long time since I have been in the realm of NCIS, so I am a bit rusty with the characters. Thanks for reading!