In many ways, a dancer is just the same as an assassin. They both tell a story, both require precision and are beautiful to the right audience. Both are art forms that take years to refine and even when at the very top, there is always something that can be improved or tweaked.

This was a conclusion that Ziva had finally come to accept, and it was one she did not regret. Yes, she was a trained killer and yes she was an astounding sniper, but somewhere deep inside she was still the little girl who longed for her aba to come to her dance recitals. She had put everything she possessed into learning her dance moves and making sure that she stretched enough for them and knew how to put on a show to the highest possible standard. When she was removed from this discipline, she learnt to use her dancer's dedication to develop other skills. She became highly proficient at martial arts thanks to hours of study and practice; combining the moves she learnt with her precision she had gained from dancing made her a deadly youngster. This was a surprise to everyone but Ziva - she had absolute belief in herself and what she was capable of. It all stemmed from her want to impress her father, make him proud of her.

Later, this need to be the best was added to with her want to seek retribution on all those who were cut from the same mould as Tali's killers. She rarely spoke of her sister's death in from of anyone else, but once alone it was a different story. For the year after the bombing Ziva regularly shed tears for her sister in the dead of night. However on the anniversary something inside her clicked. This was no way to grieve, and certainly was not suitable for the future of Mossad. Emotions were a weakness, just as her father said, and she was done with being weak.

So it was time for her to put her feelings aside, and become the best she could. No one had seen dedication to training such as hers, and this did little to make her feel any pride. Instead she accepted the commendations and simply continued with as many missions as she could, taking down anyone who posed a threat to Israel and Mossad.

Very few things reminded her of her dark dancing past except for the slight breathlessness she felt after a particularly difficult kata in martial arts or fight on a mission. Sometimes she felt a little nudge in the back of her mind as something reawakened her muscle memory, and very rarely she allowed herself to play through a routine as she lay awake on a mission. At all other times it was as though she had never danced, had never experienced the stage and had never felt the disappointment when her papa didn't watch her.

Once she joined NCIS it was a very different story though. No matter how much she tried to keep her past hidden and her walls up, she found them crumbling around her and people - the team - clamouring to be let in. Slowly but surely they got their way, and it was due to this break down in her solidarity that she foud herself in the gym one evening. She was packing up after a hard training session when she found herself holding her music player. With a quick glance around her to check that all the lights were still off around her, to check that she was alone, she slipped the earbuds in and switched it on.

It was as though she had been transported back all those years as relief and the sense of freedom swept through her. The innocence of her childhood took over and she closed her eyes, letting the beat run through her. She began to stretch her arms out, her legs to each side, and when the song switched seamlessly into the next she went with it. Her form was a little rusty, and very different to how she used to dance, but it came so naturally that she didn't stop to think or analyse it. It was something where she felt safe, in a place she regarded as home, so she felt no need to open her eyes. She preferred to keep them shut, letting the dance flow from within and move her where it wanted to go.

Three songs later the ending faded out, and Ziva found herself curled on the floor, her right leg curled under her with her arms stretching out over her left one in front of her, her forehead touching her knee. To her surprise she found tears running down her cheeks; instead of wiping them away she left them where they were - a testimony to who she was and where she had come from. She remained on the floor a little longer, stretching her limbs out to their fullest, before standing up and grabbing her kit.

It was clear to her, now, that there was no removing of the dancer within her, merely just ways to adapt her. For Mossad, her control and poise was perfect to be a sniper, her extension and energies perfect for martial arts, and her fitness was perfect for enduring her missions, and when it came to victims and witnesses in NCIS, her intuition with the music was perfect. So while to some a dancer and assassin are at opposite ends of the world, to Ziva they were next-door to each other.

So, hey there. I realise I've been away from fanfic for rather a long time, and it's something I regret. However I must reassure you that I do have little niggles for stories every so often, and when Life lets me, I put them to paper.

I hope this one's okay for you folks - feel free to drop me a line or two and comment - be it a good comment or a bad one.

Woody2792x