He poured himself a glass of something alcoholic. He didn't even know what it was, but he had hoped it was strong. Because today, today had been a very rough day. It wasn't work that was bad. It wasn't that great, but it could be a lot worse.
Today he was drinking to the small box he'd received in the mail. He'd recognized the adress. There weren't a lot of people he knew in Israel. And as eager as he was to open it, he was also afraid. This was the first contact she'd had with him since that fateful day. It had to be important. He hesitantly ripped open the package, to reveal his Ohio State sweatshirt. He instinctively brought it to his nose, inhaling her scent deeply. It was more intoxicating than his alcohol. He intuitively knew that she hadn't just returned it to him on impulse. He reached down into the box to pull out her short handwritten note.
"It stopped smelling like you. Fix it. Please? As quickly as you can?"
He imagined her lounging around her Israeli home, wearing his over-sized sweatshirt and cuddling under a big blanket, and couldn't help but get a warm and fuzzy feeling all over his everywhere. It wasn't good for him, but he did it anyway. He slipped it on, and grabbed some paper and an envelope. He copied the return address and wrote "Count to a million. It'll be on its way."
He mailed it the next day. A week later, he sent the sweatshirt out, along with a picture of his Ziva goldfish. He received a Skype call for THAT one. And he knew she was totally worth waiting for.