She will be a ballerina.
With her curly hair, her full face, her red cheeks.
He will watch Ziva spin and twirl, throw herself into a plié only to come crashing down, now a grown woman cradling her dead father.
She will ride a horse.
Freedom is just a gallop away, and she feels alive. Her hair is in a tight plait, her eyes bright.
She feels alive, unlike her sister. Unlike her late brother. Unlike the girlfriend who's crying for a man that she too once loved; the would-have-been wife will never feel again.
She will live in a castle.
The walls will be taller than any man could climb, and she will be safe. So safe. Nobody could ever hurt her in her castle with its rich embroideries and multitudes of colors, the strong bricks packed impossibly tightly together, the stature ridiculously tall.
Her defenses will be strong, but not unbreakable. And yet again her castle walls come crumbling down, and she is slipping on the couch across from him, telling him that she did love her brother. That she killed him. She had to follow orders, after all.
She will visit Ireland and America.
Ireland and its bright green grass, Ireland and its funny accents and kilts. Ireland with its bagpipes and folk tales. Nothing bad ever happens in Ireland.
America, the land of the free. The home of the big apple, greasy hamburgers and rocky shores. Constant sunshine and southern accents, peaceful protesters and kind faces.
She never did get to go to Ireland, of all the places that she'd been. And America greeted her with more dead bodies, two of which included her only remaining family members.
She will have a boy and a girl.
He can see them now; a little Ziva and a miniature him, a brown eyed little girl and a boy with fluffy hair. She will be a princess, and him a jock. She will dance, she will own her own pony, she will travel wherever her little heart desires. Her nursery will be painted with pink queens and kings on the walls, and she will be so loved. He will be a momma's boy, constantly smiling, and he will buy his son a new movie every month.
She's kissing him goodbye, and she's smiling. And he knows he will never see her again. And their kids will never be, and he'll be lucky if he ever gets another phone call. And she is alone and he is alone, and that's how they will remain.
Alone.
(At least they're alone together.)