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Characters/Original Story Line owned by CBS
Story by [Product of a Primal Urge]

My Death, It Is Yours

MDIIY: Chapter One
MDIIY: Chapter Two
MDIIY: Chapter Three
MDIIY: Chapter Four
MDIIY: Chapter Five
MDIIY: Chapter Six
MDIIY: Chapter Seven
MDIIY: Chapter Eight

"Take out the ex….before he takes you out."

The knock at her door made Ziva freeze. She wasn't expecting guests at one in the A.M. Hell, she should be fast asleep since she had to be up for work in a few hours. Eyeing the Glock on the table before her, Ziva stood up stiffly and swiped it off the dark brown top, tucking it into her waistband at her back before stepping very quietly to her door. Her bare feet slid over the carpet in an echoed whoosh that wouldn't be heard by anyone on the other side…she hoped. It had been a few months since she'd escaped from Israel and she hoped that her past mistakes weren't catching up with her. Leaning in slowly but surely, she put her eye to the peephole and felt her breath catch. "Damn…" she muttered, followed by a few curses in Arabic as she flipped through the locks on her door.

Sliding the chain lock over the door she opened it a crack and leaned on the frame. "What do you want from me, Tzabar?" Her voice was hard and far from amused in the early hours long before dawn.

"Al-hiib," he grinned at her, leered was more like it. She could smell the sharp scent of liquor on his breath from here. "I came by to make sure you knew who you belonged to. We belong together, Ziva David."

"You have been drinking, Tzabar. You need to leave." Ziva's eyes were narrowed as she watched her ex-boyfriend with slight detest. "Please." Her tone was soft but firm. Something wavered in her eyes though, something very un-Ziva.

With more speed than Ziva had expected from a man so full of alcohol, Tzabar reached through the space of door and frame grabbing her hair, pulling her towards him. She yelped at the sudden, unexpected attack and pulled herself back, falling on her rear end. Kicking out, her foot caught the door and slammed on the man's hand before coming back open hard against the lock. It was enough time for him to draw his hand away and allow the door to close all the way. Outside of the slammed door, Arabic curses flooded the hallway and Ziva cringed, waiting for the angered voices of other tenants in the apartment complex. It was a rather nice building so people would definitely complain about noise this late- loudly.

Pulling herself off of the floor she reached up and rubbed her sore head, feeling the sharp tingles of recently pulled hair. That's why she didn't like to leave it down on the job. Too vulnerable. Putting her hand to her back to pull the gun out she paused and looked back at the floor where she'd fallen. It was laying there. Scrambling as if the cursing man was inside of the apartment, Ziva snatched it up and her breathe was coming in quickly. She was losing it. He was getting to her.

Hearing his voice fading with heavy footfalls stomping away, Ziva breathed out and set the gun down on the coffee table she'd made her way over to. Her hands were shaking and she was on the verge of tears. "Stop it, Ziva. This is not you." Sucking down a deep breath and letting it out slowly, she gained control of herself again and sat down. The television was still running through a CSI marathon. Grabbing the remote she turned it up a few notches and sunk into the plot line, trying not to think about what had just happened…again. This time had gotten out of control.

The black wireless phone sat on the table next to the bowl of popcorn she'd made. Ziva kept looking at it, with a number running through her head. "No, you don't need to bother Tony…He would just tell you how girlish of you it is for not pulling a Mossad trick on Tzabar…" Her thoughts trailed off as she wrapped herself into the television show before her.

The shrill ring of a cell-phone pulled Ziva from a deep sleep and quickly misting dark dreams. Sucking in a surprised breath, her eyes darted around her looking for the source of the sound to quickly realize it was the small phone in her pocket. Fishing it out her body ached from the awkward half-laying, half-sitting position she'd fallen asleep in on the couch. "David!" she answered without checking caller I.D.

"David, where the hell are you? We've got a case," Gibbs' voice rang out sharp and angry through the connection, making the ex-Mossad agent cringe.

"Be right there-" Click. "Shit…" she jumped up from the couch and scrambled for her gear. The jeans she slipped into had been on her floor but they looked clean. The black t-shirt was only slightly rumpled and her hair was easy enough to pull back into a tight pony-tail- though minus product this time. With a grunt she grabbed her gear and heard the ping of an alert on her phone. Snatching it from the bed where she'd discarded it to get dressed she found a text from McGee; the address of the new case she was guessing and darted for the door, barely remembering to grab the badge from the side table in the hallway.

She was a very fast driver when she needed to be. Well, even when she didn't need to be she could maneuver at some very high speeds around traffic. Now, she was barely holding back from shooting anyone in traffic that dared to move slower than the speed the woman wanted to be going. Gibbs was very upset. Very upset. And he should be, Zee-Va. Her internal thoughts were very snappy as she turned her "scary voice" on herself.

Pulling up along the street behind the main SUV of NCIS, Ziva stepped out and jogged towards the roped off area of a front lawn in a nice looking suburban community. Always in the worst of places… She pulled her badge and flashed it at the cop that was posted there to keep civilians out. "NCIS," she murmured and ducked under the yellow tape heading for the front steps only to pause when she saw movement in the side yard, almost around back.

McGee was snapping pictures and Ziva redirected her course towards him. "What do we have, McGee?" she asked and paused, realizing her eyes had just answered her question. The scene in the back yard made her stomach do somersaults. Timothy just looked at her and offered a tight smile meant to give her some sort of an odd apology, as if he was at fault.

The man in the P.T. sweats and gray shirt with NAVY written on the front lay sprawled on the grass, surrounded by the toys of young children- a swing set, tonka trucks, baseball and bat. His throat was a mess of bloody and ripped skin, the crimson liquid having spilled itself over his Navy shirt and the grass beneath him. His eyes were wide open, staring right at Ziva as she stood there, paralyzed. Oh God…those eyes.

Ziva swallowed hard and took a few steps forward. This man had been at the bar she visited in the early hours of last night. He'd offered her a drink, which she accepted. He had been cute, with that military cut and over-eager eyes. He'd also been polite, innocent. If she remember right, and as the yard seemed to prove, he was a divorced father of two- an every other weekend kind of deal. How she hoped this was the other weekend. Shaking her head and slipping on her Mossad-taught-mask, Ziva glanced around and found Gibbs, just who she needed to talk to and just who she didn't want to. "Gibbs, I am sorry about my-"

"Statements Ziva. The neighbors are out front." Gibbs looked past her to Ducky and Palmer making their way back towards the body.

"Yes Gibbs," she said and turned away, grabbing a notebook and pen. Normally she would argue that she was more useful elsewhere and not a people person, but she knew when to hold her tongue. Now was one of those moments as she was late and already had Gibbs upset with her.

Moving around from teary eyed neighbor to wide eyed neighbor to pissed-off neighbor, Ziva got information from each person. Every statement was more and more vague than the last. Someone had heard a gunshot- no that the T.V. dear. Someone heard glass breaking, not it was a door opening, no definitely glass breaking in the dead's back yard. No one heard a scream. He hadn't heard a damn thing other than his bitch's hot screams in his ear, so don't ask him nuttin….

With a grumble the woman moved away and started to go over times and notes from everyone realizing that there were, in fact, a few things that lined up. Nothing Ducky couldn't confirm though with a liver-temp test. "Not helpful…" she muttered at her notebook and chewed on the end of her pen.

Feeling eyes on her, Ziva looked up expecting a glare from Gibbs or a cocky, you're in trouble Ziva look from Tony but they were busy bagging, tagging and sketching. "Hmm," she mused and let her head sweep around looking for the source of mild discomfort that sat in her chest. Was that…? No…the man was gone too quickly for her to tell but for a moment, she thought she'd just seen Tzabar.

Dropping the pen and paper, she checked that her Glock was at her side and vaulted the yellow tape. Tzabar or not, the man had fled very quickly once she started looking around and often, the criminal returned when the cops came. Quickly checking both directions she crossed the street and peered down the sidewalk that disappeared around the corner onto another block. Picking up her feet she ran around the last of the houses and turned the corner expecting to see the man. There was nobody. With a defeated sigh she trudged back to the scene and snatched up her suddenly discarded notebook and pen.

"Ziva," it was Tony's voice and he was stalking towards her with one of his infamous bragging grins. He stopped a few feet away and dragged his eyes up and down her, offering a very un-Tony frown. "Rough night?" he asked in a soft grumble of low notes.

"Why do you ask, Dinozzo?" she retorted, turning the question back on him.

Tony found her eyes and he cocked an eyebrow pretty high. "Uh, you look like you've just escaped a very rough orgie," he grinned after taking in her frumpy clothes and messy hair quickly thrown up, returning to himself once more. "You're not the kinky S and M type, are you, Ziva?" That stupid spark in his eye was going to get him hit.

"I am not in the mood, Tony. It was a rough night, if you must know. But not in the stack." She shook her head, grinding her teeth.

"In the…eh, I think you mean sack, Ziva." Tony crossed his arms and leaned on the SUV watching her. "I think I'd like to know what you are like in the sa-" Thwak. "Thanks boss," he said cheerfully despite the cringe from the head-slap.

Ziva smiled and turned away, heading for the car as they started to pack up the evidence and head back to NCIS headquarters to make some sense of the mess. The one good thing that came from being late was being able to drive herself and avoid the others long enough to try and pull her look together a bit more. Obviously Tony had noticed her rumpled appearance, but why wouldn't the Armani wearing, prideful, arrogant, full of himself…Breathe Ziva, Breathe.