A/N: Okay, I'm not too sure about this story, so what will happen to it really depends on you guys. If you hate it, I'll take it down and boot it to the 'completely insane idea basket' where reside the truly rabid plot bunnies. Anyway, please leave opinions, good bad or ugly, I really want to know. The plot bunny came along when i was watching NCIS and realised just how much Ziva looks like Buffy, sometimes. Hope you enjoy it! Let me know! Oh, I don't own anything. Love you all! Shezzi
Officer Ziva David set the hand delivered letter on the desk in front of her and reached down for the blade that was sheathed at her ankle. She knew whom the letter was from and she wasn’t entirely sure she wanted to read it, but she slit it open and slid the single sheet of paper out. As she read it, she had to force her hands not to clench, thereby rendering the thin fax paper unreadable.
Apparently, her raw fury was showing on her face, and Tony noticed.
“Ziva? You alright?”
“Fine, Tony,” she snapped, standing and making her way stiffly around her desk, the letter left lying on top. Tony started to get in her face, but the expression she pinned him with quickly changed his mind. She turned on one heel and headed up the stairs.
Wondering what had caused such an intense reaction, and feeling absolutely no compulsion not to indulge his curiousity, Tony rounded her desk and lifted the letter. He was disappointed to find that it was written in Hebrew, and therefore indecipherable. He set it down with a frown.
Ziva stormed through the Director’s outer office, ignoring Cynthia when the woman tried to object.
NCIS Director Jenny Shepherd jumped when the door to her office slammed open, then shut. “Ziva! That’s normally Gibbs job,” she complained. Seeing the expression on the Mossad agent’s face, she dropped the humour. “What’s wrong?”
Ziva thrust one hand up in the air, muttering curses in Hebrew, then switched to English. “He did it again,” she told the other woman, who raised one well defined eyebrow and waited for her to explain. “My father,” she elaborated. “He had another child, one that was raised here by her American mother. She’s sixteen now, and he has just heard that her mother has been killed in a car accident. He can’t come and get her, so he’s putting me in charge. I have to go to a young woman who has no idea who I am, and he expects me to take care of her here rather than ship her off to Israel. My father has been in contact with her her entire life, but he has never told her about me, or Ari.”
Jenny was blinking in shock. It didn’t surprise her that Director David would have had another child, or even that he would have that child raised as an American, but when put together, the circumstances were rather horrifying.
“So, he planned to have her recruited to one of our agencies later in life?” she asked, curious, and Ziva shrugged.
“I find it more likely that he would want her to join Mossad and work here or elsewhere in the world as an American,” she pointed out, and Jenny nodded. “He tells me that the girl speaks fluent Hebrew, French and Arabic and has been taking self defense for years, but that she is also well versed in keeping that life a secret. The face she presents to the world is that of a teenage girl obsessed with clothes and makeup, just like any other.” She shrugged, knowing the kind of methods her father would have used to drill the need for secrecy into her younger sister.
“What’s her name?” asked Jenny, curious.
“Elizabeth David, but she uses Summers, her mother’s name.”
“And where is she?” asked Jenny practically, already making plans.
“Little town called Sunnydale, California,” Ziva explained, and Jenny nodded.
She was just starting to say something else when the door burst open once more.
Buffy Summers sat on a vinyl couch in the hospital waiting room, hugging her knees to her chest. Her Watcher sat beside her, one arm wrapped loosely around her shoulders. She was tired, her body ached, and her heart hurt as she thought back over the events of the evening.They had been at the dance when the call came in, all of them celebrating their victory over the Master and Buffy still being alive. Giles had been watching his kids and trying to figure out how to tell the girl who had died briefly tonight that things were going to change, when the policemen had come in. The entire place had stilled in an ever widening arch from the doorway, and one of the cops had made his way over to Giles.
“We’re looking for Buffy Summers,” he told him, and Giles nodded, concerned.
“She’s over here,” he told them, leading them to where Buffy was sitting with Angel and Willow, catching their breath.
“Miss Summers?” asked on of the officers, and Buffy nodded. “I’m very sorry to have to tell you this, but there’s been an accident. Your mother was driving home, and her car was hit by a drunk driver. She died at the scene.”
Buffy stared, eyes widening as her head shook automatically. “No,” was all she said, before Angel caught her as she slipped off the stool. He wrapped his arms around her, keeping her upright, and stroked her hair back from her face.
Upon arrival at the hospital, Buffy had made a single phone call, out of Giles’ earshot, then joined him on the couch, waiting to be told what would happen next. They had been waiting for hours, Angel forced to leave early on before the sun rose, while the police waited for a social worker to come and decide what was to be done with Buffy.
Buffy sat, tense, as she waited. The call to Tel Aviv was one she had hoped never to make, but there had been no other choice. She had compartmentalized her life to a point where no one in Sunnydale knew the truth of her relationship with her father, not even her mother. Giles thought she was completely incapable of having a secret identity, but she knew the truth. A secret is a secret if one person knows about it. If absolutely necessary, you can tell one other, but once three people know, it’s not a secret anymore.
Keeping the Slayer a secret was never in the cards, someone was always going to hear her and Giles, but that made her kind of happy in an odd way. It made it easier to keep the rest a secret; being the Slayer gave her an excuse for knowing everything she did about martial arts, and she was deliberately flubbing her studies to appear the blonde cheerleader she portrayed.
She sighed, shifting slightly, and looked over at Giles. “What now? It’s not like we can just let them send me away from the hellmouth, I mean, I’m needed here,” she said, worried.
“Actually, I wanted to talk to you about that,” Giles said slowly, turning so that he was facing her, his hand now resting on her shoulder. “You died, Buffy. Not for long, but you died. There’s going to be another Slayer called; the magic guarantees that, but it doesn’t tell us what will happen to you, because frankly, this is a completely new situation.”
“Meaning that, if I was sent away, there would be another Slayer to come along and take my place,” Buffy said slowly. “I always knew I was replaceable, but…you’d just let them ship me away and bring in someone else to take my place?” Her eyes filled with tears as she stared at him, betrayal clear on her face.
“No, of course not!” cried Giles, surprised. “I merely wanted to clear your mind of at least one concern for the time being. I have no desire for you to be sent away, but if it should become necessary, I would rather know that you were somewhere else, safe, than here and in danger. Do you understand?” Buffy nodded, her lower lip quivering, and her Watcher wrapped his arms around her, wishing her could protect her from the world.
Jenny and Ziva both jumped, whirling to face the door, where Gibbs stood.
“What’s wrong?” he asked, not interested in beating around the bush.
Ziva and Jenny exchanged glances, then Ziva spoke up. “I have just been informed by my father that he has another daughter, here in the states. She is still a minor, and her mother has just died. He is unable, or unwilling, to come and get her, so he’s passed it on to me.”
Gibbs nodded slowly, assimilating the information. “Where do you have to go?” he asked straight off, not even bothering to be surprised with the whole situation.
“California. Little place called Sunnydale,” she explained.
“You booked a flight yet?” he asked, and she shook her head.
“Good. You’re taking Tony with you, just in case. Understood?”
Ziva considered arguing the point for a moment, but then thought about it. If her father knew about Elizabeth’s mother, there was every possibility others in the Intelligence community now knew as well and would be looking to take the girl for leverage. Ziva bristled at the idea, and nodded her acceptance to Gibbs.
“Let’s get that organized then,” Jenny said, opening the office door. “Cynthia, I need you to organize two tickets to Sunnydale, California, on the earliest possible flight. I’ll leave you two to talk to DiNozzo,” she ushered them out into the hallway. “Good luck, Officer David.”
Many hours later, feeling very lucky and very tired, Ziva and Tony exited the plane in Sunnydale, California. Upon finding out that the next flight to the small airport wouldn’t leave for another week, Ziva had, through her contacts, organized a small charter flight.
Tony was on the phone to the local police, talking quickly. He hung up and stuffed the mobile back into his pocket.
“Seems the police weren’t entirely certain what to do with her, so she’s at the local hospital with one of her teachers,” he told Ziva, who frowned, but nodded. "They've been trying to contact her 'father' to come and get her, but so far no luck."
"No, Hank is in Israel at the moment," replied Zivz as they climbed into a taxi which took them to the hospital. Glancing around, they soon spotted a uniformed police officer.
“We’re looking for Miss Summers,” Tony told the man, who nodded and pointed to a tiny blond sitting with an older man on a couch, head on his shoulder as she stared glassy-eyed at the wall.
“Let me talk to her. She’ll bolt if she doesn’t hear the right thing.” They approached the pair, the man turning to look at them.
“Can I help you?” he asked, cultured English accent bringing pictures of Ducky to their minds.
Ziva held up a hand and addressed the girl in Hebrew. “It’s time for the ugly duckling to join the flock.”
Giles was surprised to hear the language, one he could read but not one he spoke fluently, when the foreign woman was clearly addressing Buffy.
Buffy, hearing the familiar phrase, sat up straighter, and responded in the same language. “But she don't know how to fly. Who sent you?”
“Eli David. My name is Ziva. Ziva David.” Buffy sat up straighter at that announcement, studying the woman in front of her as she had been taught. She immediately saw the family resemblance, both to her father and to herself, if she wasn’t wearing the green contacts and dying her hair.
Buffy switched back to English for Gile’s sake, although she now spoke much more clearly and with just the slightest hint of the same accent as Ziva. “What are you doing here?”
“He sent me to get you,” Ziva replied, still speaking Hebrew. “This is my partner, Special Agent Anthony DiNozzo, NCIS. I’m attached to them in DC, father couldn’t get over here so he sent me instead.”
“Yes,” Buffy muttered. “I was meant to be going over for the summer in about a week. Hank was picking me up on Friday.” She smiled slightly at the thought of her body guard, a man who took care of her in every way. She bit her lip as she realized that it was likely that that trip would be one way now.
“Buffy, what’s going on here?” demanded Giles, confused.
“I can’t tell you, Giles,” she said, turning to face him. “It’s too important, and too dangerous.” Ignoring her Watcher’s shocked expression, she turned back to Ziva and switched to Arabic to continue the conversation. “He wants me to go with you?”
“Yes,” Ziva replied, shrugging one shoulder.
“For how long?”
“He did not say, but he did indicate that he wanted me to take responsibility for you so that you could continue your schooling in the States.” She pulled the letter from her pocket and handed it over.
Giles eyes widened as he watched Buffy read the neat Hebraic script, a slight frown creasing her features. Her fingers trembled as she brushed them over the last few lines, a personal condolence message from her father.
“I can’t leave yet,” she told them adamantly. “I have responsibilities here, and there’s things to take care of and mom…” her voice broke at the last, and Ziva dropped to her knees, gathering her little sister in her arms.
“I’ve got you,” she whispered soothingly, rubbing the girl’s too-thin back. “I’m here.”