As her taxi slowly crawls through the city that was once home to her, she can't help but think that this was an extraordinarily bad idea. This place is her home no longer, she deliberately chose to leave it behind, and she feels like she has absolutely no right to be back here.
The taxi passes through achingly familiar places. The little kosher grocery store on the corner, the path where she ran every morning, the house that she admired with the red path and white marble steps. The slow pace of the traffic makes these places go slowly by her window and the ache inside her chest intensifies with each new landmark she sees. Oh, how she's missed this place.
Stop this, Ziva. You wanted to leave. It's very selfish to feel sorry for yourself, don't you think?
She leans back in her seat and stares straight ahead. While she cannot deny that where she has been and what she has been doing for the past six months has been good for her, some small part of her hates the decision she made with a passion. She walked away from the new life she made for herself and went back to the place she had tried to very hard to forget.
And now what are you doing Ziva? The exact same thing you did six months ago. Can you not just settle down like everybody else in this world?
Except Ziva doesn't think that she'll be able to settle down. She's afraid that she'll be forever roaming this earth, looking for somewhere to fit in.
The car comes to a stop outside of her destination. She gathers her lonesome travel bag and steps out into the cool February air, pulling her coat up and tightening the scarf around her neck. Digging around in her purse, she goes to pay the driver who just looks at her sadly.
"You want me to wait out here? Just in case it doesn't go to plan?"
Had she really been that transparent? She's not sure, but surely not. The tears that had been welling up under her eyelashes had not been allowed to fall. And her face had been set in the same expression it had been since she'd stepped on the plane in Tel-Aviv. However she nods quickly and ducks her head, lest he see the tear that she's allowed to fall.
"Yes, thank you."
The driver smiles again. "Anything for a lady like you. Just make sure you tell me if you're not comin' back out, eh? Don't want to be waitin' out here all night."
She smiles again and turns away, walking towards the front door of the apartment building. There has obviously been snow and it has been trampled on so many times by unrelenting feet that now all that is left is slushy brown puddles that she's careful not to step in.
The elevator takes much longer than she remembers and the walk to the apartment door she desires seems heavy, as if her body really doesn't want to take her there. However, she presses on. What she wants to do must be accomplished tonight, before she loses her nerve.
She knocks on the door and steps back, standing perfectly still. It takes a moment before she realises that she's in a protective stance, ready for fight or flight if necessary. It has been a while since she's stood like this, however she does not move to change it. Slowly, she can feel herself slipping back to the way she used to be. It feels comforting somehow.
The door opens, and there he stands.
Tony.
-x-
Ziva.
His mind does a double take. Months he has hoped that this would happen. Months he has returned home every night, praying that he would open the door to find her standing on the other side. Only recently, extremely recently has he given up hope of that ever happening.
His voice doesn't sound his own when he says, "Come in."
She smiles a small, sad smile. "Thank you."
He sits down on his sofa, picking the beer off of the floor where he left it. She sits down directly opposite him, setting her blue travel bag down on the floor next to her feet.
He looks at it, and realises it's not very big. "Are you here to stay?"
"That depends." On what, he doesn't ask and neither does she tell. It's silence after that. All these days he spent imagining how their reunion would go, this was not one of the possibilities he considered. It saddens him, how little they have to say to each other. Although perhaps there are too many things to be said.
Then Ziva gathers up the courage to speak. "I did not come here expecting… expecting things to be the same. I do not know why I came here either… All I know is that I had to see you."
It's too much. It's all too much. "No," he says, his voice deep in his throat. "No. You can't do this to me. You can't come back here and want to pick up where we left off."
"Tony." She tries to interrupt but he can't do this. It won't be fair, and she won't deserve all of it but he must get this off his chest now, before it's too late.
"I tried so hard to get over you, Ziva. I spent months, months, trying to get over you. It was so hard knowing you were somewhere in this world but I couldn't be with you. It hurt so much. It stung when you left. And I know I had no real reason to feel like that. I had no claim on you, you weren't mines to loose. But it hurt just as bad. And now I'm finally doing good. I'm finally starting to enjoy my life again. I can't go through it again, Ziva. I'm so sorry."
He has stood up somewhere throughout his speech and now he flops back down on the sofa again, almost knocking over the beer bottle. A flash of guilt surges through him as he sees the hurt on Ziva's face.
"Tony," she says in that soft voice of hers. "I wanted to see you. I did not want to pick up where we left off. I only wanted to see you."
He looks down at the floor, scuffing his shoes. "I think you should leave," he whispers quietly, without looking up.
"Alright." She nods, sniffing back what he can only assume to be a sob. He hears her pick up her bag and he hears her shoes slick across the floor to the door. He looks up.
"I am sorry, for disturbing you," she whispers quietly. "Goodbye, Tony." Then she leaves, the door clicking shut behind her.
He runs his hands through his hair, resisting the strong urge to go after her. It's for the best, and he knows it is. But the hurt on her face and the sob in her voice… Yet he knows he couldn't go through what happened again. With a sigh, he leans back and takes a swig from his beer bottle.
"Goodbye, Ziva."
-x-
She walks out the door of the building and to the road, where the taxi is still waiting for her. The driver looks up from his phone when he spots sight of her. His sympathetic smile tells her he is much more astute than she gives him credit for.
"Ah. Guess it didn't go to plan then?"
She shakes her head softly and slips into the back seat, determined not to lose it in front of this kind man. She sets her blue bag down on the floor beside her and leans back into her seat, taking a deep breath.
"Where to?" The driver asks. She almost cannot speak for the lump forming in her throat.
"The airport please."
"You got it."
He drives away, through the achingly familiar streets once more. I am done, she thinks. She has achieved closure and has healed in everything she has meant to. This was the last place on her list. To finally help heal the wounds caused by the one man she has only ever truly cared about.
It's done.
The tears do not come until later.