Title: Cold Blooded
Pairing: None
Rating: R
Genre: Gen
Cat: Action/Adventure, Angst, Drama
Spoilers: None.
Warnings: Violence.
Summary: Ziva's not the only killer in the world.
Author's Note: Written for the Angst Challenge on NFA. 7 chapters total. Complete.

Black leather combat boots rose into brown cotton khaki pants. The boots made a soft clunking sound as the hips in the pants swished back and forth, left to right. Feminine movements, which only made sense, seeing as how the hips belonged to one Ziva David, Mossad Liaison with NCIS.

She didn't look it, but Ziva was one of the deadliest people in the world. Yes, the world. She had killed more people with her bare hands than her NCIS colleagues had with their guns blazing.

And that is just what she looked to do now.

NCIS had been called in regards to a dangerous terrorist, a woman who went by simply Twist, for her trademark style of assassination – she broke her victim's necks. Her methods were brutal, inhumane, savage. When Gibbs took the call, he knew there was only one way to go about this.

Ziva had to go in alone.

That led to this moment, Ziva standing her ground in the doorway of an abandoned warehouse. It was silent, the only sounds Ziva's breathing and the calm beats of her heart. She wasn't overly concerned. She'd been put in this sort of situation before, when she was in Israel. This was exactly what she was trained for.

Two sharp clacks on the concrete across the building made her focus. Her target had arrived.

A woman of much the same height, build and nationality as Ziva appeared from the shadows. She was even wearing a similar outfit. Ziva raised an eyebrow but didn't say anything.

The clacks continued, until the woman was about 50 feet from Ziva, in the center of the warehouse. She lifted her chin and acknowledged Ziva.

"We meet again."

Ziva gave her a steely look. "Indeed we do, Ms. Twist," she agreed, snapping the last two words.

Twist laughed lightly. "What have I told you, Ziva? It is simply," she made a wringing motion with her hands, "Twist."

Ziva continued to stare. "As you wish."

Twist stepped closer. "What brings you here? I am assuming you were not just in the neighborhood." She reached Ziva and flicked one of her curls. Ziva didn't move. Twist smirked. "You are well-trained, David. Sent in to, how do they say it in America, kick my butt?" She laughed again, only causing Ziva's eyes to darken.

"I have done it before," Ziva said, causing Twist's laughter to die.

"A fluke," she said, emphasizing the word by yanking on a strand of Ziva's hair. Ziva continued to glare, not saying anything, so she continued. "Try your best. I have heard America makes people soft." She smirked. "I am sure you would be heavily reprimanded for your actions should you choose to use your Mossad training on me."

Ziva considered her words. "Perhaps . . ."

Twist barked in triumph. "Ha! You will not get far, Princess."

Ziva's eyes darkened again. "But I have been sent in with the order to do what needs to be done. This one, my boss says, is off the record."

Twist sneered at Ziva. "You lie."

Ziva shook her head. "No. Unfortunately for you," her arm flashed out to grab Twist's, "I am telling the truth."

Twist stared into Ziva's eyes. The look was a sign; the talking was over. Now it was time to fight.

As Ziva crushed Twist's wrist in her grip, Twist threw her off-balance by thrusting a knee to her stomach. Ziva let out an 'oof!' of pain and doubled over only momentarily before reaching behind Twist and with a slicing motion, cutting her off at the knees, causing Twist to lose her balance and focus. It was the perfect opportunity for Ziva to grab her by the hair, pulling her up and laying a solid punch smack dab in the middle of Twist's nose.

"Bitch!" Twist screamed, as blood began to run down her face.

Ziva kept her face straight, though inside she was smirking to herself. It was always so rewarding to fight another woman, especially one whose skills rivaled her own. Women fought quite differently than men, Ziva had found, using their brains to outsmart their opponents, and Ziva was smart enough to not only know how to fight like a woman, but also use the simple but effective strength of a man.

That is just what she did now, as Twist scratched at Ziva's face, her rage overtaking her, the pain and anger clouding her best judgment, so much so that she missed Ziva's hand slipping down to her neck, her fingers tightening their grip on the skin . . .

Then, in a mater of seconds, with a sickening crack, it was over.

A body slumped to the floor, motionless.

Hollow clacks as one woman exited the warehouse, not looking back. She slammed the door behind her, climbed on a motorcycle, and was gone.