A/N: If you're someone who follows me stories at all, I know what you're thinking. Allison, you already have four unfinished stories what are you doing making another one? The truth is, I don't know. But this plot bunny wouldn't go away so here we have it!

Enjoy!

Ziva isn't sure how she's still standing. The fatigue of routinely getting four hours of sleep should have, after so long, rendered her body and soul immobile. However, after so many years of constant abuse and neglect, certain things start to shut down and the body loses some of its perception to things that before would have bothered it.

Or so says her brother, who fancies himself a psychologist.

"You look like you're about to collapse, ma'am. Long day?"

Ziva sighs and looks at the man on the other side of the bar. "It is not so bad," she replies, her voice soft, her gaze returning to the soapy rag she is using to wipe off the countertop.

"You know, I've seen you here every night all week, and I still haven't caught your name," the man comments.

"I do not know yours, either," she points out.

"Touché. Name's Brian Clemmens. You?"

Ziva tilts her head to the side, studying him. "Ziva. Ziva Da—" she catches herself, "Regev."

"How old are you, if I may ask?"

She pursed her lips. "Nineteen. Not that it is any of your business."

"Well, Miss Regev, it's almost closing time, right? How about I walk you out," he proposes.

She shakes her head. "There is no need."

"Please, like I have anything better to do at ten o'clock on a Sunday."

Ziva lifts her head slowly, pushing her dark hair behind her ear. The man seems nice enough. He wears some type of military uniform, but that means nothing to Ziva as far as trustworthiness goes. Of course, Ziva trusts nearly nobody in this world, anyhow.

However, if all else fails, she knows that she at least can defend herself. Sighing, she gives a curt nod. "Okay." She removes her apron from around her waist and returns it to the kitchen, punching out like she does every night when her shift is over.

When she exits the kitchen, she finds the soldier standing by the doorway, waiting for her. "Where is your car?" he asks.

She just shakes her head. "I take the bus." He studies her, and she looks away self-consciously. She hates the feeling of their eyes, their prying eyes, as they stare at her, undressing her with them.

"I'll drive you to the station," he tells her.

"Do not be ridiculous. I can walk."

"Please, let my drive you," he insists.

"No! I said I will walk, so I will walk!" she snaps. Seeing the somewhat hurt and dejected look in his eyes, she almost regrets it. Almost.

"I'm sorry. Have a nice night," he replies tersely, before turning on his heels and walking away towards the parking lot. Ziva does not stop him.

As she heads in the direction of the bus station, she feels the hairs on the back of her neck begin to stand up. Looking around the night-blanketed street, she doesn't see anybody or anything, but the feeling won't go away.

And then, in the blink of an eye, she is on the ground. Stunned, it takes her a second to register the man standing over her, gun in hand.

"Give me your money. Now," he demands. Ziva, responsive now, kicks his legs out from under him. In the time it takes for Ziva to stand up, he has rectified himself as well.

"Ziva!" she hears someone yell. Foolish man, she thinks as she sees him jump out of his car, which he has pulled over on the side of the road not ten yards from her. I have this under control.

Ziva punches her assailant straight in the nose and it begins to gush with blood. Distracted by the pain, he does not attempt to block the blow to his stomach. Stumbling, he hits his back up against the brick wall of a building. He is cornered.

A shot rings out.

Ziva saw Brian Clemmens fall the to the ground, a growing dark stain on his navy blue uniform. Shocked, her head whips back to face the attacker, only to be instantaneously knocked to the ground.

The world goes black.

Her black dress was itchy. Returning home from the cemetery, the first thing she wanted to do was take it off. She bounded up the stairs with the speed of a cheetah, but as she was about to reach the top, a voice stopped her.

"Ziva, I want to see you in my office."

"I will be right there, Abba, I'm just going to change into—"

"Now, Ziva," Eli replied sternly. Grumbling to herself, she descended the stairs and followed her father into his study. "Have a seat," he offered in his monotonous, emotionless voice. She did as he told her, pulling up a chair and sitting in front of his desk. He sat in his office chair on the other side of the beautifully crafted piece of mahogany furniture.

"What is it you need?" she questioned, her voice giving away as much feeling as his. It had been an emotionally trying day, and it was especially hard keeping it together.

"You will not go into the IDF," he told her, cutting directly to the chase.

She frowned. "But it is mandatory—"

"Shush. Do not question me. I have gotten your service waived. Mossad has a mission for you."

"Me?" she asked, almost stunned. What did Mossad want with her? She was only sixteen years old, not even old enough to serve in the IDF. And so soon after her own mother's death, as well?

"Yes. They need someone young, strong, cunning. I told them about you," he explained.

Ziva couldn't help but feel a rush of heat in her cheeks. It was rare to hear such words of praise from her father's mouth, and even rarer to hear them about her. "Whatever it is, I accept."

"I warn you, Ziva, you may not like it. It is not an easy mission. You will need to be strong in spirit and in body."

"I want to serve my country, Abba. If this is how you think I can do it best, then I trust your judgment."

Eli smiled, obviously pleased. "Good, good."

Ziva fidgeted uncomfortably, fighting the urge to play with the collar of this God-awful dress. "So… What is my mission?"

She wakes with a start, the unfamiliarity of the bed she lay upon alarming her. Her heart monitor begins to race, and the beeping only serves to panic her more. Why is she in a hospital? What is going on? Has her father found her?

No, that cannot be it, think, Ziva! Anything but Eli.

A nurse races into the room, coming to her bedside. She takes Ziva's hand in her own.

"It's okay, sweetie. You're safe. Just breathe, there we go. You're okay," she soothes. Ziva's breathing evens out.

"Where are my brother and sister?" she croaks out.

"If your brother is your emergency contact then we've already called him. He should be here soon," the nurse assures her.

"And Tali?"

"Excuse me?"

"My sister. What about my sister?"

The nurse looks confused. "I know nothing about your sister."

"So she is not here?" Ziva asks, seeking confirmation.

"No, she is not. Do you remember why you are here?" the nurse, whose nametag reads Karen, questions.

Ziva shakes her head.

"You were attacked last night, Miss Regev. The man you were with was killed. I'm sorry," Karen informs her, giving her a pat. Ziva exhales loudly. Her father hasn't found her. That much is good.

The memories come back to her in one big wave, however. She remembers the soldier, Brian, and being attacked. It is suddenly all so vivid in her mind.

"You walked away with only a concussion and a few bruises, though. You got pretty lucky. Your baby too," the nurse adds.

Ziva looks at her, desperation in her voice. "My baby is okay? Are you sure?" If it was not, Ziva doesn't know what she will do.

"Positive. He or she was not hurt at all during the attack. But I am sorry about your friend. I am sure he was a good man."

"I did not know him. But I am sure he was, too," Ziva replies, but her voice is emotionless. So many years of hiding pain keeps many things from showing on the surface.

"It seems as though you haven't received any prenatal care, dear. We're going to have to fix that," Karen tells her. Ziva nods.

"Okay. But… I have not told my brother about… you know," she informs the nurse, "So please do not mention it."

The nurse gives her a small smile. "I understand."

Tony grumbles and punches the button on the elevator. He hates hospitals. Gibbs knows that, doesn't he? Granted, the two have only known each other for no longer than a month, but he can't help but think that this little hospital visit is intentional Probie Hazing.

The door to room 231 is open, so he stands in the threshold and raps on the door to get the attention of the two women. One is obviously the nurse, the other the patient.

"My name's Anthony DiNozzo, NCIS. Stands for Naval Criminal Investigative service. Are you Ziva Regev?" he questions the woman lying in the bed.

"Yes," she replies. The nurse kindly and politely departs the room, and Tony gets a good look at the woman in the bed.

She is obviously an attractive woman, but her small frame makes him question whether she is a woman or a girl. Her hair is shiny and sleek, but parted down the middle and pasted to the sides of her face it does not live up to its full potential. Dark bags are visible under her chocolate brown eyes, and these eyes are what capture his attention. How is it possible for her eyes to look so broken but so fiery at the same time? How is it possible for them to display courage and determined resolve, but yet be so lifeless and empty as well? It's unsettlingly familiar.

His first opinion of her is a subconscious one, and it is this: she's a paradox.

"I am sorry for your loss," he tells her.

Her expression does not change. "I did not know him," she dismisses his comment. Tony picks up on an accent.

"Either way, that must have been tough," he tells her. He wants to crack a joke, like he always does to diffuse a serious situation, but he simply can't bring himself to do it. Something tells him that it would do not good here. When she does not reply, he clears his throat. "I'm here to take your statement. We're investigating the murder of Petty Officer Clemmens. Can you tell me what happened?"

The girl in the bed, Ziva, recounts her side of the story to him. She does not even bat an eyelash as she describes the action. Her words betray no emotion, and her face is just as stoic as before.

Who is this woman?

When she finishes the story, he is left looking at her awkwardly. "Um… Are you… okay?" he asks.

"I only sustained a concussion," she informs him.

He rolls his eyes. "I didn't mean it like that," he corrects. The desire to crack a joke grows larger by the second, but he is still unable to find anything suitable for the situation. He gets the feeling that she is not one to have her mood lightened by jokes.

"I do not know what other way there is," she responds without mission a beat. Tony just studies her for a second, searching for some form of clue as to what she is thinking. She has more walls guarding her than Fort Knox.

"Ziva!"

The girl looks away from him and he thinks he sees something like relief flash in her eyes as she looks up to the doorway. As soon as it is there, however, it is gone.

"Ari," she greets calmly.

The man named Ari's gaze moves and Tony feels it focus on him. He extends his arm to the man. He is average height, obviously Middle Eastern, probably Ziva's boyfriend. "I'm Probationary Agent Tony DiNozzo, Naval Criminal Investigative Service. We're investigating the murder of Petty Officer Brian Clemmens," Tony introduces. Ari looks confused.

"Ari, Ziva's brother," he says, shaking the agent's hand. "Why is my sister a part of your investigation?"

Tony opens his mouth to reply, but Ziva cuts him off. "I will explain in a few minutes," she tells him, "Agent DiNozzo was just leaving."

Tony places a card on the bedside table. "Thank you for your time. We are going to need you to come into NCIS once you're released so we can get a sketch of the guy. Here's our card. Can we count on you to help?"

"I will be there," she assures him, but like always, her voice is void of all emotion.

All the way to the elevator, down to the basement, to the parking garage, and back to NCIS, Tony finds that he can't get his mind off of this Ziva. Her demeanor is no doubt meant as a cold front to keep people from getting too close to her, but Tony knows that only a certain amount of hurt can make someone that guarded. It isn't until he arrives at NCIS that he finally remembers where he has seen the look in her eyes before.

Ziva Regev has the eyes of a soldier returning from war.

A/N: your thoughts, s'il vous plait?