I walked through the glass doors and into the NCIS Headquarters at the Naval Yard, my heels clicking against the linoleum floors. I headed towards the front desk where a young secretary sat facing a computer screen, oblivious to who was about to walk up.

When I reached the front desk I tapped the little bell and asked which floor the main investigative team was on, lieing that I was here as an intern. The lady was quick to believe the lie and told me where to go. I caught a ride up on the elevator where I was luckily the only occupant. The elevator dinged and came to a stop, signaling that I had arrived.

Clutching my Juicy Couture purse tightly to my shoulder, I stepped out of the safe-haven that the elevator provided back into the real world.

Wow, it's really happening, I thought.

I searched the area a little with my eyes before I landed on a collection of desks in the middle of the room where people sat typing at computers and filling out paperwork. My senses noted the bright afternoon sunshine flowing in from the large windows gracing the right-hand wall and how the light lit up the room, drawing away some of the expected office dreariness.

As the Micheal Jackson movie would say – this is it. I drew in a deep breath and began the walk toward the grouping of desks. The walk felt like it took hours and was equivalent in anxiety to the bridal march. After what was truly under a minute, I was at the entrance to the cluster of office desks.

All of the people that I presumed where Special Agents due to my research ceased their typing and turned to look at me as I stood awkwardly in silence.

"Ummm….hi," I stammered feeling very young and teenager-y in comparison to them.

There was a chorus of hellos and heys in response, one accented with a foreign tongue I noticed. They all looked at me, appraising me, trying to figure out why I was there. They took in my floral print dress, my silver rosebud earrings, and my strappy high-heels. My perfectly manicured and pedicured nails were painted a light pink. (Link on profile) Then they moved on to my physical appearance. I was 5'7 with a slim, athletic build. My dark chocolate curls were down and loose, complemented by my pretty hazel eyes and dark tanned skin.

"Is there a reason you're here, kid? You know anyone that died that you might need our help with?" The silverhaired man asked, I think his name is Gibbs.

I ignored the 'kid' comment even as much as I hate people calling me kid just cause I'm not 21. I'm fourteen people! I'm not a little 8 year old ordering off the kiddie menu at McDonald's.

"No," I answered quickly, then clarified, "well, yes, someone died, but not like that. Totally natural and everything."

The two remaining men gave me looks of sympathy and the woman gave me a small smile. All four gazes remained fixed on me.

"Ya see, how do I put this?" I said. They continued giving me their undevoted attention.

"You're Ziva David, right?" I finally asked the Isreali woman, she in turn nodded. "And you're Anthony DiNozzo?"

The man sitting closer to me nodded.

I was trying to figure out how to word something without chickening-out in the middle of it when Ziva interrupted my thoughts.

"What do you need to see us for?" She asked.

Guess there's no time like the present.

"You see ….. I'm your daughter."