"Some say the world will end in fire.
Some say, in ice.
From what I've tasted of desire,
I hold with those who favor fire.
But if I had to perish twice,
I think I know enough of hate
To say that for destruction ice
Is also great
And would suffice."
The blood is still roaring in her ears, even hours later. They'd materialized just in time to witness him go over the edge.
What they didn't know was their surprise was as equivalent to her own.
She could still feel the cool metal against her back as Bodnar held her with ten-ton strength against the ship; the gun barrel of her own weapon betraying her as he jams it against her side.
She strikes with enough force to throw him back, conscious of the loaded weapon and the training he possesses that guarantees her an imminent death. It's what she anticipates.
She doesn't expect how the next seconds unfold.
"He's lying to you, Ziva. You never learn from your mistakes. And that will be your undoing."
They're both panting from exertion, yet he still manages to sneer at her with enough malice to cause her heart to skip in fear.
He takes a step forward, and a dance begins; and no, this is no tango. There won't be two left standing.
Her eyes watch him, cold and calculating and he's closing in on her. He knows he's got her off balance now.
She does not take her eyes off him even as the acrid smoke begins to hover around them. The chaos below barely registers above a decibel. There's an orange glow reflecting off the water in the backdrop of his silhouette. It only makes him appear more menacing.
She thought her world would end how she was brought into it.
Fire, destruction, and chaos. A country that was forever condemned to be a smoldering war zone.
But she feels so cold tonight. Colder than she's ever been.
Ice has surrounded her heart. And once something frozen shatters, it's irrevocably beyond repair.
"When will you learn to not sleep where you work? Or to lay your trust in the bed you share with others?"
He's grinning maliciously now, and she sees him take a step back, a futile effort to cover his reach for her gun once more, resting under his jacket.
She can't recall what it is that sent her propelling forward; the grin, his words, or the adrenaline that comes the moment a life hangs in the balance.
Whichever it was, he did not see it coming.
He's surprised; she can tell from the way she propels into him. And he's not quite ready for the brunt of the force.
He's too close. And she's too far to grab him.
He's over the edge before she knows what has happened. Before she knows what he meant.
Another death that begs more questions than it will ever answer.
"Ziva."
The smell of fire still lingers; on her skin, on her clothes, in her hair. She even feels it's heat still, faintly.
It does nothing to thaw the ice that's consuming her on the inside.
His touch does not come as a shock. But it alights her skin with pain. Guilt flares with each throbbing pain in her head. It hurts because she's not worthy of this touch; this kindness of him.
"What aren't you telling me?"
And it's not me as in "us". Not the agency, the team, nor the others that responded to the scene. He's asking for him alone.
In the darkest recesses of her mind, she laughs silently at the irony of his question.
There was so much Tony did not know. She's never known where or even how to begin. Yet he's always, always given her a chance to have his heart.
This time, though, she thinks that what he doesn't know has the potential to turn him away for good. He'll never want to know more.
She turns her head, finally, and what he sees makes his stomach drop and dread spread through his veins.
He's seen this look before. It's the look she adopts before she delivers an irrevocable blow.
He waits for the final blow to land.
"Tony," She breathes deeply, and the tears she left unshed flood her face now. "I did not mean for it to happen…."
And that's when she feels the ice in her heart begin to splinter..