When the steel doors yawned open, you were amazed by the silence –it was different from the silence at Mossad, where the quiet was eerie and eluded an ancient anger, an encoded since of vengeance for your homeland . . . . But here, the silence was pregnant with a fresh, raw, open sadness that was both tangible and potent. And the familiar drive for vengeance –you notice that too, you relate to that too.

As you take a step further into the room, you find that the grief in the air is nearly overwhelming –but then you are distracted by the man sitting at a desk, talking to himself and grinning like an idiot. So you wait patiently, partially because you believe he is the one you need to talk to, and partially because you are curious as to what his problem is. A few heartbeats and he notices you, pounding at the phone atop his desk, promising to call back the oblivion he was conversing with. And you are amused and so you speak the first sentence of many too the man before you. "Having phone sex?" And he is quick, this handsome stranger, for he concocts the most dismal excuse ever given and proceeds to back his elaborate story with the explanation of charades, which is a concept you are familiar with, but pantomime something to make sure your understanding this pathetic display correctly. You continue to ask simple, pointblank questions to see how far he is willing to protect his flimsy defense and are impressed with the ease in which he lies –though you see straight through the BS.

He grows irritated and ends the game, demanding to know who you are and so you tell him: "Ziva David. Mossad." And his response is, in hindsight, relatively predictable, "Your Israeli?" Sarcastically you praise him for his quick ability to connect the two and, eventually, the purpose of your visit is discussed, which is good, because you really need to speak to Agent Gibbs. And after you and he exchange a few more words, he formally introduces himself as Special Agent Tony DiNozzo –a fact that you were already aware of since you had run dossiers on the entire Major Case Response Team. He confesses that he was remembering his partner, consequently not playing charades –a shocker – and you precede this admission by riling him up with blatant sexual innuendos and though you do get a impressive response from him, he does again, become short and impatient.

"Miss David, you can sit there and slouch provocatively for an hour or you can tell me what you need and maybe I can help."

You decide to humor him and reveal your purpose –as if he'd help you anyway. "You can't help because I am here to stop Agent Gibbs from killing a Mossad officer."

"Ari Haswari?"

"Yes."

And when he beckons you closer with the crook of his finger, you lean forward and are met with a true hostility that you recognize.

"I'd wish you luck, but I want the bastard dead too." And it is here that you find the source of the sadness.

The elevator dings and you look up from where you lean against a filing cabinet, taunting and teasing Special Agent DiNozzo. A familiar face smiles at you as you greet her with a, "Shalom, Jen" and a kiss on her cheek as Special Agent DiNozzo confers with a stern, silver haired man you know to be Agent Gibbs. When Jen introduces you, you are completely aware that Gibbs not only hates you, he mistrusts you –but he relents, slightly, because, thankfully, he trusts Jenny and, coincidently, she trusts you. And then your cell phone rings and you excuse yourself and you answer it, relieved to hear a certain voice speaking Hebrew over the line. As you and Ari, now a wanted man, hash out his flight into exile, you cannot help but express your worry because, after all, you are more than his control officer, you are his sister and the twisted reality is, he's all you have left.