A/N Okay, so I've seen all these stories where Ziva's in a coma and she ends up having a conversation with Kate. Well, I thought it would be interesting if she had one with the late Paula Cassidy. Please excuse the middle-end of this. I'm afraid it's not very good.

Disclaimer: Don't own.

Ziva hadn't expected death to be a run down cantina filled with marines and other American soldiers. Being Jewish, she didn't really expect anything, but, if she had, it would have been something a little more dramatic like a booming voice or light show or something.

"Well, look who it is." Ziva's whipped her head around coming face to face with the late Paula Cassidy.

"So," said Ziva, "I really am dead then." There was no inflection in her voice; no emotion that would hint at a reaction to her demise.

"One might assume that," said Paula, taking a sip of what looked like root beer. "Though, in your case, they'd be incorrect."

Even Ziva was unable to mask her surprise. "I'm not dead?" she asked.

Paula shook her head. "Uh-uh," she muttered into the bottle in her hand as she took another swig.

"So what, I'm having some sort of dramatic out of body experience or something?" asked Ziva edgily, not thrilled with the woman's lack of care at Ziva's situation.

"Yep." Paula put down the bottle, smiling at it wistfully, before turning to the woman she had only met once in life. "I'm not sure your going to get anything out of it, though."

Ziva sat up, just now realizing that she was seated on the classic ripped vinyl of a barstool. "Oh," she said, shrugging her shoulders. "Do I at least get to know where I am?"

Paula's smile stayed on her face, though the ends had dipped a bit. "We are in the place where I fell for the charm of Anthony DiNozzo," she said, motioning to the bartender. "Now," said Cassidy, "I would hate to waste your trip here. So, what are you drinking?"

Deciding just to roll with whatever was going on, Ziva turned to the bartender. "Surprise me," she said, unconsciously using her seductive, yet intimidating voice. The bartender raised his eyebrows, but immediately got to work on her drink.

Paula lifted her own eyebrow. "You just gave him permission to throw his hardest stuff that no one buys at you, you know."

Ziva actually smiled, "I was counting on it."

Paula nodded, looking impressed. "Good," she said. "Now I know Tony wasn't lying to me when he said you were tough as nails.

"The same could be said for you, Agent Cassidy. I was certainly impressed with your strength of character when we first met," Ziva smiled knowingly. "You were just as Tony described."

"That bad, huh?" asked Paula with a small laugh.

"No," said Ziva, not even hesitating to take a gulp of whatever it was that the bartender had just placed in front of her. "He never said anything bad about you. Though McGee did mention you hating him when we were looking for possible suspects for who would frame him."

"Uh huh," said Paula incredulously. "So you didn't hate me. You just felt like making my life difficult after I lost my entire team."

Ziva opened her mouth like she was going to respond, but closed it. "Think what you want," she said. "I don't expect you to understand my reasons."

Paula sighed. "Look," she said, "whatever reason we have for being here, I'm sure it wasn't so we could fight the entire time."

Ziva took a healthy gulp of her drink. "I agree," she said. "So, what am I doing here?"

Paula chuckled darkly. "Damned if I know. I'm just supposed to keep you occupied."

"Occupied until what?" asked Ziva, frustration ringing out. "Until I die?"

Paula shook her head no as she took another swig from her bottle. "No, I don't think so." If she were going to say anything else, it was cut off when the television behind the bar suddenly flicked on. "Well," said Cassidy, "this looks like something."

Ziva didn't answer, her eyes locked on the scene playing on the TV.

A young woman, looking no older than eighteen sat at an outdoor café sipping coffee. The girl checked her watch before pulling out a cell and dialing a number. "Hey, Sis," said the girl when the person at the other end picked up. "Where are you? I thought you said noon."

Ziva took a shaky breath, unable to take her eyes off of the screen, and unaware of the tear building in the corner of her eye. "No," she murmured, silently begging the girl to just get up and leave, not to wait for her sister.

The girl didn't heed Ziva, however, as she leaned back in her chair and laughed. "It sounds like Dad's working you pretty hard, Z," said the girl as she picked up coffee and took a sip. "Okay," she said, "I'll give you another half hour, but you better be here by then, or I'm gonna tell Ari you're turning into Dad."

The Mossad Officer watching was no longer able to keep the hitch out of her breath as a tear ran down her cheek.

"Okay," said the girl again, a bright smile on her face. "Shalom, Ziva." Tali snapped her phone shut, and flagged the waiter over. "It seems my sister is still caught up at work, could I look at some appetizers?"

"Of course," said the waiter, going back into the building.

Tali was about to go back to her coffee, when something caught her eye. It was a young man, no older than she was, walking steadily, and hastily towards the crowded café.

Ziva could almost see the gears in her sister's mind working as the boy closed in. Even though Tali wasn't Mossad, she, like the rest of the family, had been trained for it since birth.

"Stop!" screamed Tali, standing up and facing the boy just as he squeezed the detonator in his hand.

As the explosion lit up the screen, Ziva was finally able to turn her head away from the gruesome picture. The moment she did, the TV flicked off again.

Paula sat quietly, watching as the agony washed over the other woman's face. A snapping crunch was heard, and Cassidy looked down to see Ziva's glass had shattered from the force of the woman's grip.

Suddenly, Ziva threw herself from the stool, turning angrily on Cassidy. "Is this some sort of sick joke?" she asked, unheeding of the blood dripping from her wounded hand. "Why show me this?"

"I don't know," said Paula, surprising them both with the thickness of her voice. Her eyes met Ziva's. "Your sister was killed in a suicide bombing?"

Ziva stopped short at the pity in the other woman's voice. "Yes," she said. When Paula looked down, Ziva continued. "Yes, Agent Cassidy. You're not the only person working at NCIS to lose loved ones to terrorism. As victims, or otherwise."

Paula nodded slowly. "So," she said, "that's why you didn't take any of my crap when we met. You've been there."

Ziva didn't answer. Instead she settled herself back on the stool and ordered another drink. Picking up a napkin, Ziva started to wipe the blood off of her hand. "I don't see how me watching that was supposed to help." Ziva bobbed her head to the side. "Of course, this could be punishing me for something."

"Punishing you?" asked Paula. "For what?"

"I'm an assassin, Agent Cassidy, use your imagination," said Ziva dryly, accepting the new drink handed to her. The bartender then went to work cleaning up the shattered glass that littered the counter top.

Paula swivelled in her chair, so she could look Ziva in the eyes. "I always thought that was just what you were trained for. I didn't think you had actually been one."

Ziva let out a short bark of a laugh. "Then you were quite mistaken, Cassidy. I have performed my duty to Israel many times."


Paula couldn't help but be a little unnerved by Ziva's reaction. Instead of responding, she turned back towards the counter and finished her root beer before ordering another.

The Israeli kept silent, then, not feeling the satisfaction she thought she would at the unsettling of the diseased agent. Perhaps she was just sick of making people uncomfortable, or intimidated. Just because she and death were casual acquaintances didn't mean she had to broadcast it.

The screen flicked on again.

Ziva didn't even bother watching this time as the familiar basement came into view. She sipped at her new drink, staring off into nowhere as the death of her brother played on the television. She didn't need some crazy out of body experience to be able to see that event, she saw it in her dreams all the time.

After the scene was over, Ziva expected the TV to flick of like it had the scene before. It didn't.

The next scene was one from only recently. A group of kids on a field trip from their elementary school on base had been taken hostage by a group of terrorists. The terrorists wanted to exchange each kid with the freedom of a high priority prisoner from Gitmo. Along with the local SWAT, SEALS, and National Guard, their team had been called in.

The terrorists had only recently moved to the United States, and spoke little English. SWAT originally wanted to call in an interpreter, but most teams disagreed with involving people outside of law enforcement in a negotiation. They were also afraid any interpreter they hired could be a plant by the terrorists.

It was then that Gibbs spoke up. "I've got an interpreter right up your ally." He waved Ziva over. "Not only is she fluent in Arabic, but she happens to know a thing or two about dealing with terrorists."

"Well in that case," said the head SWAT officer, "you're hired."

Ziva was quickly given a bulletproof vest and helmet to where as she approached the terrorist filled bus. When she got close, two men immediately jumped out at her, pointing their weapons at her and screaming in a mix of Arabic and broken English.

Ziva immediately disarmed herself, raising her hands and responding in kind. The terrorists looked shocked that the police had someone who could speak their language, but continued to make demands.

They tried to get her to remove her earwig, but remained insistent that, without it, she would be unable to tell the others the terrorists' demands. They bought it, and Ziva was permitted on the bus after they checked her over for weapons.

From her position on the bus, Ziva had been able to orchestrate an escape plan with the driver, the teacher who, though wounded, was still ready to defend his kids, and the LEOs on the outside. At her signal, three of the five terrorists were taken down by sniper shots to the head. The other two, who had been standing guard outside, were barred from reentering when Ziva picked up one of the dead men's weapons and sent them both to their God.

The whole thing was caught on tape by some sneaky local news reporters. By five, everyone in the DC area had seen the dramatic rescue, and the NCIS agent who pulled it off.

The TV turned off.

"Well," said Paula, "that was impressive."

"I suppose so," said Ziva. "Of course, that's how I got here in the first place." When Paula looked confused, Ziva continued. "Every homegrown terrorist in the area, and soon the country once that footage was sold to ZNN, knew that an Israeli NCIS agent had been central to taking down five of their associates. It wasn't long before one of them decided to do something about it."

"So what happened?" asked Paula.

"We were set up at a crime scene," said Ziva matter-of-factly. "I was interviewing one of the witnesses, when he suddenly asked me if I was that cop he saw on TV with the school bus." Ziva Gibbs slapped herself suddenly. "I knew something was up, but answered ‘yes' anyway. The next thing I knew, he pulled out a gun from his messenger bag and I was lying on the ground trying to breath."

Paula nodded in understanding. "And the next thing you knew you ended up here."

Ziva nodded. "Yes. Of course, it would be nice to know why I'm here."

Paula shrugged. "I don't know. It obviously has something to do with those clips that were showed to you." Paula's eyes suddenly lit up in what could only be deemed an epiphany. "Let me ask you a personal question," she said, turning to Ziva suddenly. At Ziva's permissive nod, Paula continued. "Have you ever felt like you should have been there when Tali died, or that you shouldn't have killed Ari?"

Ziva was a little surprised by the revealing nature of the question. She was about to refuse to answer, but decided that, it wasn't as though Paula was going to broadcast her business to anyone. "Yes," said Ziva. "I have thought those thoughts a few times in my life."

Paula nodded with satisfaction. "See, that's what you're doing here," she said earnestly. "If you had been with Tali, or hadn't killed Ari, you wouldn't have been able to save those kids, or any of the other people you've helped since you joined NCIS."

If Ziva were, going to reply, she didn't get the chance as the cantina faded into darkness around her to be replaced by the inside of her eyelids. Groggily, Ziva opened her eyes to find herself face to face with a very concerned Abby.

"Ziva!" she cried excitedly. "You're awake!"

Ziva could barely process the change in scenery before she was pulled into one of Abby's monster hugs.

"Easy Abbs," said a voice from Ziva's side. "You don't want to dislodge a tube or something."

Abby quickly pulled back, giving Ziva a view of the ugly pink walls of a hospital room. Tony, who had spoken, was sitting in a chair right beside Ziva's bed, eating Jell-O that he probably stole from the cafeteria. Gibbs and Jenny both stood by the door. They'd probably been interrogating every doctor and nurse that went in and out. Tim and Abby stood on the side opposite Tony, both smiling brightly at seeing her awake.

As for herself, Ziva was relieved that they were using the nasal breathing tube instead of the one that went down her trachea. She was also acutely aware of a burning pain in her chest, and a heavy limbed weakness that seemed to have taken over her entire body. "So," she said in a raspy voice. "When can I go back to work?"

The End

Please forgive the stupid hostage scene, I know I was stretching. My only defense is that I've been watching way too many action movies recently.

R/R

Peace,
Hobbit Killer