She heaves a sigh and flips her phone shut after being sent to voicemail for the second time in a row.
He is late.
She has been waiting for him for ten minutes, and is beginning to be worried.
He's probably just stuck in traffic, she thinks as she took a bite of bread. It isn't uncommon for Ray to be a little late.
For the first hour she doodles on the paper tablecloth. The design is intricate, depicting tangled grape vines in a confusing and complex pattern. Each vine has a place, a complicated place, yes, but a place none the less. Without just one of them, the entire structure will collapse. It no longer will make sense- it will have no pattern. Her tessellation is spread out in front of her, growing by the minute as she absentmindedly draws.
Ziva knows undoubtedly that Ray is one of those vines. He is an important part of her life- he has been for some time now. She doesn't know what she would do without him, and has eagerly awaited their date. She spent an hour and a half getting ready, making sure she looked absolutely gorgeous, despite knowing Ray would probably think her to be beautiful in rags. She had spent a lot of precious time making sure she would look perfect when she saw him for the first time in two months.
She wants to forget everything he did wrong. She wants to forget his ring box, his empty promises. She wants to forget about the Port to Port Killer case, and his lies.
She wants to forget that he hadn't made contact or returned a single one of her calls for two months.
And she tricks herself into believing she can.
She knows she should understand his prolonged silence. She knows it's hypocritical of her to resent him for not returning her calls, when she knows full well what it's like to have to follow orders and not have a choice.
But isn't she worth more than that?
She spends the second hour contemplating reasons why he wasn't here yet- why he wasn't taking her calls. He hasn't yet responded to a single text.
Ray has been late before, but never this late.
Possible scenarios play through her head, none of them good. She considers every possibility except for the one where he stands her up.
That would be too much to bear.
Maybe he was caught in traffic? No, he would have called or texted.
Maybe he got injured? It was a distinct possibility- unpleasant, but probable.
She hasn't seen him in two months. He's been God knows where doing God knows what, and they hadn't had any contact until a few nights ago.
She misses him. She misses how he makes her feel.
The time moves sluggishly. The clock on the wall shows she's been waiting for one and a half hours.
Why the hell is she still there?
She knows the answer to that. Hope. She still holds onto the hope that he is coming, that he will be able to make it. They spent hours planning this dinner, wanting it to be special.
It doesn't feel very special.
The resentment she felt before, for everything he's done, comes creeping back. She can remember exactly how she felt when she found out that he had been assigned to the Port to Port case. She can remember vividly the disappointment that settled in her heart when she discovered that the box was empty.
She can remember what it felt like to be sent to voicemail for the second time, and she can remember the feeling of sadness that burrowed further into her heart every time she checked her phone to see he has not called or texted.
And she can remember the indescribable feeling that settled in her heart when her phone lit up with his name for the first time in two months.
The feelings weren't of joy, as they should be. They were of disbelief- for she had given up on him- and of fear. What would she say? Should she act mad? Glad to here from him? What does she say to him after she has given up hope on him?
Say hello.
The third hour is spent fighting tears as her faith in him fades by the minute. Ziva knows how it feels to give up hope on someone you love. It happened with Eli, many, many times. The dance recitals, the graduations...
Somalia.
She had already given up hope on Ray once. That hope had been restored very recently, and Ziva wasn't sure that it could be resurrected another time.
This was the last straw. He was not going to show.
"Ma'am?" she hears a voice say. She looks up to find a waitress with an apologetic look on her face, "I'm sorry, but I'm afraid I'm going to have to ask you to give up the table now."
Ziva nods, not trusting her voice. She pays the bill and walks out, battling the tears the whole way.
Her hope- her faith- in him is gone.
He stood her up.
She runs through the freezing rain and to her car. The weather seems strangely appropriate.
Ray does not appreciate her. He stood her up, just like her father had done so many times. She had thought Ray was above that.
The old Ray was. This new Ray... Wasn't. She does not like this new Ray.
She is appreciated by Gibbs, by Tony, and by McGee; by Abby, by Ducky, and by Palmer. All of them see her for who she truly is and value her. Ray used to, as well.
He must not anymore, she deduces.
She can't bring herself to turn on the car; in fact she can't bring herself to do much of anything except let go. She lets the tears that she has kept at bay for so long fall from her eyes. They are relentless, pouring down her face like a waterfall. A sob tears through her body as she lets the sorrow of over three decades of continuous betrayal and abandonment finally come to the surface.
The next day, when they see each other and he tells her he got caught up with work, she can't help bit draw parallels between Ray and Eli. With her father, work always came before family. She came second. There was always something more important than her.
She doesn't want to live like that. She doesn't think she can marry a man with so much in common with her father. Her father was a good man, but the work came before his family.
She can't be with Ray if he doesn't appreciate her enough to put her before the work.
She was wrong before. Ray was not a vine. Ray was a weed- a poisonous, thorny weed that wound it's way through her beautifully woven life and intricate relationships. Taking him out of the equation would be painful. Thorns hurt. She would get many scratches and cuts; he won't leave her unscathed. But she can't let him continue to grow in her life, and risk poisoning the rest of her ornately-designed life. Everyone she truly loves has a place in this design of her heart.
Ray does not.
A/N: I decided to write another tag-ish thing to 9.13 because the last one was received so well. I wrote this on my iPod in the dead of night, so any dumb grammar errors can be blamed on my iPod's spellcheck.
I really hope this was good please please review and tell me what you think!