A/N: The idea for this fic came to me while I was watching the Discovery Times Channel special about Hamas. It really showed both sides of the argument and the different opinions of Palestinians. The show does occasionally show Muslims are good people and sometimes works against stereotypes, but it still usually shows a one or two-sided view when there are many views that should be addressed.
As always, this is a Ziva story. She is woefully under-represented within the community, but I really think she is a dynamic character. This story is a pre-series AU.
I've noticed that, in the show, Ziva has no real prejudice against Muslims. She is only against those who fight the jihad. (Season four episode, "Suspicion")
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Ever since she was born, Ziva had only been exposed to the worst side of the Israeli-Palestinian conflict. Palestinians were the people who literally killed themselves to kill school busses of children. They held demonstrations where they screamed in another language and held up green flags and guns. To her young mind, Islam was why her father never came to her recitals, or why he and Ari always fought over dinner, spoiling the meal.
Ziva was seven when she first heard the sound of a suicide bomb going off. The boom of the explosive was not nearly as terrifying as the cries that pierced the air. Five civilians were killed. To Ziva, this just confirmed that the monster was real. Ziva felt little sympathy for the twelve Hamas militants killed the next day.
When Ziva was fifteen, Tali was born. Suddenly, Ziva was filled with the overwhelming desire to protect her sister from the terror outside. With age, Ziva had gained wisdom, and she now recognized that there was more to Hamas than killing for fun. She knew they had a purpose, and a mission. But to her, that was not enough for forgiveness. If her little sister were in one of those attacks, no cause, no matter its purpose would be noble enough to justify her death.
So, Ziva went through high school maintaining her stoic stance against the Palestinians.
Then, Ziva joined the Israeli army. Ziva was eager to serve her country and went through training at the top of her class. At first, she was stationed as part of a security detail for a government facility in Tel Aviv. She liked that the assignment had her close to home. This way, she could be there for all of Tali's performances. Ziva knew her father and Ari wouldn't be able to make it to because of their priorities with work.
Then, Ziva was assigned to a patrol inside of Israeli occupied Gaza. Tali had been upset to see her sister go, but she fortunately was too young to understand what going into Gaza could mean for her big sister. Their father had been stoic as usual.
The first week hadn't been too bad. The only hostilities her company received were glares and hateful shouting. Ziva was quickly becoming fluent in Arabic from her studies at home. She was struck by the cries that came, not from the young men and women wearing the green headbands that had haunted Ziva's nightmares. It was those coming from men and women who stood in doorways crying in voices of despair instead of anger. They cried out for their lost children as the remaining progeny huddled behind their legs in fear. For the first time, Ziva thought that it wasn't a rouge terrorist organization that was their monster, but men and women in uniform. Their fears were of soldiers who were working for a government. The atrocities against them were sanctioned actions of the state. For the first time, Ziva questioned the validity of her government's actions against the Palestinians.
Midway through her second week, her patrol got word of a suicide attack on one of their military bases. The attack had also claimed three civilian lives. They were ordered to stay clear of a neighborhood that Intel had determined to be a hotbed for Hamas activity.
Ziva grew nervous at the order. She knew what it meant. There would be a retaliatory Israeli attack on that area. While an eye for an eye was the general belief of the army, Ziva wasn't sure that this was the best way to go about it. Killing people instead of military targets didn't help their cause.
Noon that day, Ziva and her company were informed that the mission in the nearby neighborhood had been completed. A school for Hamas recruits had been taken care of. Ziva balked, she knew the school they were talking about. The ages of students ranged from around eleven to twenty-five.
That night, Ziva prayed for their souls. The haunting song of mourning was kept quiet, so as not to attract the attention of her fellow soldiers. When she finished, Ziva let one tear escape.
The next day, their patrol was sent to assess the situation in the neighborhood. Ziva could hear her commanding officer arguing on the phone. The command had come from a recently promoted officer. Ziva's commanding officer was concerned about going into that territory so soon, and he was angry that the fate of his people rested on an unproven officer. Still, this was the army, and orders are orders.
A thrill of anxiety ran through Ziva as she stepped up into the back seat of the truck. She was taking up a position as a rear guard. Ziva tightened the strap securing her helmet and made sure her riffle was functional. Settled on her stomach aiming out the back of the truck, Ziva felt the vehicle lurch as the driver stepped on the gas.
When they entered the neighborhood, the convoy was immediately on alert. As they approached the sight where the Hamas training school used to exist, the group became dead silent. This was a place of pure death.
In front of what used to be the school was a large gathering of people. The massive crowd was made up of screaming mothers and angry militants. They all stood before the still smoldering remains of the training school that had been home to the children and young adults that were going to become the future of Hamas and the militant movement for a Palestinian state.
The moment they pulled up, every single pair of eyes turned and focused on the Israeli patrol.
For a moment, both groups just stared at each other. There was no shouting or cursing. Not even the birds were willing to break the tension first.
A young soldier in Ziva's patrol who had been in the same basic training class as her nervously raised his riffle. His eyes were wide as he stared at the automatic weapon held by one of the gathered refugees.
The slight movement was enough to cause the tension to snap.
Misreading the rookie's movement as an attack, a young teenager opened fire on the convoy, killing the Israeli man.
Ziva's commanding officer watched his man fall, and gave the command to open fire on the crowd.
The Palestinians fired back, and the neighborhood ground was freshly painted with blood.
Ziva aimed carefully through the scope attached to her weapon, targeting those with weapons as best she could. There had been children in the crowd, and there had been enough young and innocent blood spilled that week.
Suddenly, a low whistle tickled her ear a moment before a deafening blast and a blinding flash assaulted Ziva's senses. Ziva felt herself falling briefly before an agonizing sharp pain ravaged her body sending the young soldier hurtling into unconsciousness.
As darkness fell, the Palestinian civilians finally braved the outside world again.
The lucky ones had been able to take cover once the fighting started. The unlucky ones lay where they had fallen, either moaning in the throws of death, or silent as the graves they'd soon occupy.
The fighting had ended several hours ago when the Jewish soldiers were forced to retreat, leaving behind one of their jeeps that was overturned by a rocket launcher and the dead soldiers who had been in it.
Slowly, as though in a daze, the Palestinians set about the work of double checking to see if any wounded had been left on the field, and the gathering of the dead.
Hannah shook her head mournfully as she beheld the carnage. It was weeks like this that she no longer cared who won, or lost. She just wanted the fighting and death to stop. She wanted an end to the blind hatred and dead children. She would give anything to never see another rocket or hear gunfire.
Her musings were cut short when she heard a low moan coming from the overturned vehicle that the Israelis had left behind. Carefully, she approached the crumpled mass that used to be the jeep. Her eyes widened when one of the soldiers trapped under the jeep tried to move.
"Shhh," she hushed, running up to the truck. She knelt next to the soldier and was surprised to see a woman under the helmet. Looking over her shoulder nervously, Hannah once again shushed the trapped girl. "Please," said the Palestinian quietly. "You are still in danger. Don't move, or make a sound."
Hannah quickly stood and looked around. She hoped the delirious woman had understood the rushed Arabic. It seemed that the rest of the town had finished their work and were heading back inside. Hannah bent down to whisper in the soldier's ear. "I have to go now, but I'll be back soon."
At first, Hannah thought Ziva had passed out again. She was surprised when the Israeli gently tapped her leg. Taking this for comprehension, Hannah stood and tried to subtly head back into her house.
Closing her door, the middle aged Palestinian leaned against it wearily. She had no idea how she was going to get the soldier help. The girl was trapped by a ton of twisted steel. There was no way Hannah would be able to get her out alone. She knew that, once she got the young soldier from under the truck, she could take her to a nearby camp hospital. She knew the woman and her son who ran it often secretly admitted Israeli soldiers in order to make prisoner exchanges for the covert side of Hamas.
Suddenly, it came to her. If she could get a message to the young man at the hospital, he'd be able to get some men from his unit in Hamas to recover the woman. Hoping she remembered the phone number from when her husband had been admitted with chest pains shortly before his death, Hannah picked up her phone and dialed.
Ari gratefully threw his elastic gloves in the trash. His mother had him in surgery all day, and he was really looking forward to sneaking off for a glass of whine. He knew he shouldn't drink if he wanted to blend in with his Islamic neighbors, but he doubted the longevity of his sanity if he didn't indulge in the drink. Throwing on his coat, Ari was about to leave when a nurse called him.
"Dr. Haswari!" she called, running to catch up with him. "You have a phone call!"
Ari sighed with exasperation. He had been so close. "Very well, Nurse," he said, shrugging off his jacket. "I'll take it in my office.
Not that it could be considered much of an office. Ari slowly sat in the squeaky chair behind the second hand desk. He absentmindedly traced the cracks in the plaster with his eyes as he waited for his extension to ring.
The phone barely finished its shrill ring before Ari picked it up. "Hello," he said, his voice as smooth as always. "This is Dr. Haswari. How may I help you?"
"Dr. Haswari?" confirmed the female voice over the phone.
"Yes," said Ari patiently. He was used to dealing with nervous callers.
"I believe I may have found a patient that would be of interest to you and your colleagues," said the woman timidly.
Ari scratched his forehead tiredly. From the woman's tone, he was pretty sure he knew what colleagues she was talking about. His work for Hamas was well known in the area. Most ignored it. His division wasn't for the typical suicide attacks Hamas was famous for. People generally tried to avoid the intrigue unless it served some benefit for them. "I see," he said roughly. He really hadn't wanted to deal with any of this today. "Do you expect payment?" he asked. He had already expended the Hamas allowance he was given for finding suitable Israeli soldiers for hostage trades.
"Actually, no," said the woman. Her voice became even unsure. "I just want to save a young woman's life."
This piqued Ari's interest. Few people called him solely for his life-saving services. "Really?" he asked.
"Yes," said the woman. "She's an Israeli soldier that was left for dead by her patrol after a skirmish this morning." The woman paused, apparently waiting for a response. When she received none, she quickly continued. "She's badly hurt and in need of medical attention. I'd help her myself, but she's trapped under a jeep and I can't get to her. I thought…given your affiliations…keeping an Israeli soldier alive might be to your benefit."
Ari was impressed. Rarely did an opportunity like this come along. Still, sending out a team covertly into a very hostile area was risky; especially when their mission was to save the life of a Jewish soldier. He needed a little more. "That certainly would be to my benefit, ma'am. However, my resources are stretched a little thin at the moment. Could you, perhaps, give me the name of the woman? If she is of high interest, we'll be there momentarily."
"Just a second," said Hannah. She gently laid the phone down. Checking to make sure the coast was clear, the woman quietly ran out to the jeep. Ignoring the other Israeli soldiers who lay dead around the jeep, she knelt down next to the girl. "Honey," she called softly, shaking the young woman's shoulder. For a moment, she feared that the woman had already passed and she was too late. She smiled slightly when the girl moaned and opened her eyes. "Hey," said Hannah gently. She was reminded of her own daughter who had moved to Lebanon several years ago in an effort to escape from the madness. "Can you tell me your name? Mine's Hannah," she said, hoping to keep the woman's attention.
The girl blinked slowly and remained silent for a moment. Hannah was about to ask again when the Israeli suddenly spoke up. "Ziva," she said, her voice not even a whisper. If it hadn't been so quiet, Hannah would never have heard her.
"Ziva?" she confirmed.
The girl nodded. "It's Ziva. Ziva David." It seemed that was all she was able to get out before her strength left her. Ziva closed her eyes once more as she fell back into the blackness.
Hannah nodded. After checking to make sure Ziva was still alive, she gently ran a hand down the girl's cheek. She was so young. Catching sight of the Star of David hanging from the girl's neck, Hannah sighed. She hoped she wasn't sending the young soldier to a worse fate by sending her with this man.
Suddenly remembering her phone call, Hannah ran back into the house. "Dr. Haswari?" she asked, hoping he hadn't been impatient enough to hang up.
"I'm still here, miss," said Ari. His voice was still perfectly calm and charming. Normally he would have hung up by now, but this offer was too intriguing to pass up.
Hannah sighed in relief. "Yes, I know her name now."
"Fantastic," said Ari. "Who is she?"
"She says her name is Ziva David," said Hannah. She held her breath in anticipation.
Ari bolted to his feet. His chair was forced off its front wheels and sent crashing to the floor. "Ziva?" he asked fearfully, his eyes wide.
Hannah was taken aback by the young doctor's response. "Yes," she said, carefully. "Ziva David. Is she someone important?"
Ari ignored the woman. "I'll have a team there in less than five minutes," he said. He didn't wait for a response before he hung up the phone and ran out the door, his Hamas phone already in his hand where he was violently typing numbers. "Hang on, sis," he pleaded as he waited for his deputy team leader to pick up.
Ziva was brought back to awareness by a sudden slew of stabbing pain crawling up her back from her legs. She tried to hold in the scream building in her throat, but was unable to suppress the extreme pain. Before the scream could escape, however, a hand was quickly clamped over her mouth. For a moment, Ziva panicked, thinking the towns people had discovered her. Then she heard a familiar voice.
"Shush," said her brother gently. "It's me, Ziva."
"Ari?" she asked wearily. She was nearly delirious from a fever that had been raging through her body since she first woke up in the presence of the Palestinian woman. She suddenly remembered the woman who had been helping her. "Hannah?"
"I'm here, honey," said a voice to Ari's left. "These men are going to get you out of here." Hannah looked anxiously at Ari. "Will she be alright, Doctor?"
Ari grimaced as he assessed his sister's condition. "I don't know," he said truthfully, his voice breaking slightly. Ari knew he was causing suspicion by letting his emotions slip, but he couldn't help it. This was his little sister. Trying to regain some composure, he turned to the woman. "But she at least has a chance, thanks to you."
Hannah nodded. She had figured out from the phone call that this Ziva girl was obviously very important to this young man. She was surprised. It was rare, to put it lightly, for a Hamas member to have anything to do with the Israeli army outside of business. Knowing the doctor's affiliations, however, Hannah decided it was best not to inquire. She watched silently as the girl was loaded on a stretcher. Four men stood, bearing the weight. The men had parked their vehicle outside of town in order to maintain the stealth needed to rescue the soldier. Carefully, the bearers began their silent journey to the town boarder. The doctor stayed behind for a moment, turning to her.
"Thank you," he said quietly. "You have no idea what your call means to me."
Hannah merely nodded. "I just couldn't watch another child die after yesterday," she said honestly.
Ari nodded before following his men out of town.
Hannah never saw any of them again.
A week later, Ziva woke up in a hospital bed back in Tel Aviv. Taking stock of her surroundings, Ziva noticed splints on both her legs as well as surgical pins stickling out. One of her arms was safely secured in a cast and she felt as though she were bandaged from head to toe.
"Ziva!"
Ziva's breath was knocked out of her as her baby sister launched herself at her. Patting the girl's head with her free hand, Ziva was surprised to feel tears staining her hospital gown.
"Tali?" she asked carefully. "What's wrong, sweet heart?"
Tali only shook her head, unable to speak through her tears.
"We were told you were dead." Her father's voice suddenly intruded on the moment between the sisters. "Tali cried nonstop until Ari called, saying you'd been safely recovered.
Ziva nodded dumbly, vaguely remembering the events of that surreal night. Her head shot up, suddenly. "A Palestinian woman saved my life," she said disbelievingly. "She somehow called Ari and got me out of there."
"Yes," said Deputy Director David. "Ari told me what happened." Looking his daughter up and down, David knew he couldn't send her back out to that world. It wasn't that he was overprotective, but he knew her performance would be hindered if she were once more forced to fight the Palestinian civilians. "Daughter," he said, causing Ziva's head to snap up. "I think you ought to be reassigned. It's about time you joined Mossad."
The End
A/N Okay, so I obviously have no knowledge of the Israeli military. I hope I showed a fair picture of the Israeli-Palestinian conflict.
As always, read and review.
Peace,
Hobbit Killer
Story Notes:
Ziva fans only.
Author's Chapter Notes:
This is a pre-series AU. It's about one of Ziva's experiences in the Israeli army.
Chapter End Notes:
Ziva fans only.