The air was crisp and biting. She turned up the collar of her coat as she walked. She was all too familiar with this place, serene and calming if not slightly macabre. Her hands were thrust into her pockets, hair whipping wildly as the wind began to pick up. It was autumn in Virginia and she could feel winter's cold as a breath whispered against her cheeks. Her steps were careful; she glanced to the ground occasionally, tramping through leaves that covered the still-green grass.

She was a stark contrast in blue against rows of white. When she reached her destination, she tried to steady herself. She could not manage a deep breath. I can't do this without you, she whispered. The tears came without permission, bubbling sobs that caused her shoulders to shake. She was loud and messy. She broke the calm, but this place had seen loud and messy before. The quiet absorbed her cries, protected her as grief tore her down. She was on her knees in a matter of moments. Her fingernails dug into the ground, and she gritted her teeth. A scream ripped through her, visceral and pleading.

She felt a pair of hands grip her shoulders, steadying her as she started to rock forward. A strong chest pressed into her back, as familiar arms wrapped around her shoulders, holding her close. She continued to sob, unable to stop the wave of emotions that had overtaken her. He held her tightly, whispering quietly into her ear, as he rested his chin on her shoulder. I'm here, I'm here. You're not alone. She cried. He waited.

Minutes or hours passed, he wasn't sure. But when her sobs had slowed to a barely audible whimper, he sat back on his heels and pulled her in close. She tucked her head under his chin, allowing him to rub her back gently as he held her. He brushed her hair out of her face with his free hand, then reached into his pocket for the tissues he had thought to bring. A hiccupped laugh escaped her as he handed them over, and he knew she was starting to pull herself out.

"I can't believe they're both gone." Her voice was quiet, childlike. He had been married to her for almost ten years, seen their share of trials and stressors, but never had she seemed so broken. There were no words that would bring her comfort. He had nothing to offer but the solace of two hands to hold her and a strong back to carry the weight. He lost himself in thought as he waited for her to calm.

She had prepared him for a week for the first time he met her father.

"95 percent of the time, he's joking."

"The other 5 percent?"

"Um…if he has one hand on his Sig, take a few steps back."

He had thought she was kidding. Her father was a fed, the director of an investigative branch of the Navy that he hadn't heard of before he started dating her. If first impressions were everything, well, they would never have ended up married. Because as it turned out, her father was easy. One mention of their shared Buckeyes alumnae status, and he knew he was in.

But her mother, she proved a challenge. Thirteen years and he was never sure she liked him. There were moments where he held out hope, but then he would make a stupid remark in an attempt at humor and he could practically feel her eyes roll. She was tough, outwardly chilly and stoic. But as the years wore on, his relationship with her mother progressed. He admired her protective nature, and could feel the fierce love she held for her family. In the end, he thought they had come to an understanding: as long as he was loyal to her daughter and kept his promise to be her partner, for her to never have to walk through this life alone, then he would have her mother's respect.

"Can I get you anything? Water or ice chips?"

"No, thank you. I am fine." Her voice was quiet, barely above a whisper. He could hear the strain of the dryness in her throat. Doctors had said it wouldn't be long now, and he sat vigil with her while his wife had stepped out to call their babysitter.

"Ziva? I…" he started, then stopped. He took a breath, then turned to her and took her hand in his gently. Her eyes widened slightly, but she gripped back as best she could. "I want you to know, I'll take good care of them. She's my whole life, you know that right?"

She nodded her head just slightly, a ghost of a smile playing at her lips. He started to stammer, tripping over his words, but her focus was hazy as she fought the fog that was ebbing at the corners of her mind.

"You care for what is most precious to me," she said in as clear a voice as he had heard in months. "For that, I thank you."

He stared at her from his chair next to her bed, fingers gripping her hand tighter. "I'm the one who should be thanking you, Ziva." He tried to blink back his tears as he watched her fall into sleep.

"You know, I knew she wouldn't last long after dad." His wife's voice had broken through his thoughts and he tightened his grip around her reflexively. "They were partners for too long, symbiotic in that way I guess." He felt her shrug slightly against his shoulder, and he nodded in response.

"She made it almost a year to the day," he tried to reason. "I think," he paused momentarily, as he weighed what he wanted to say next carefully. "I think she tried to hang on for you. She didn't want you to be alone."

She pulled back to look up at him, and pressed a kiss to his jaw. "Not alone," she said in her quiet, reverent way.

"No, never alone. I promised."

Author's Note: This is from a WriteWorld prompt on tumblr. I'll be posting any drabbles I write over there on FFN as well for continuity's sake. I'm trying hard to break my writer's block for A Mark. Also, I have no idea where this story came from. I'm sorry. Please don't hate me. :)