"No! I am not going without you!" she bellows, and it erupts from her lips far angrier than she desired. In fact, she wishes she had said it sweeter and softer and slower, because then maybe, possibly, it could have carried the indelible weight she had subconsciously intended for it to hold. But instead, the most brutally honest thing she's allowed herself to say to him in six years is probably lost in the heat of the moment, in the impending bomb looming over their heads. She takes a moment, all she can allow herself as the seconds tick by, to steal a glance and his eyes are doing that squinty thing when he is…pensive and ponderous.
This is not the time, though, to be analyzing her partner's facial expressions. Even though it has not quite hit her yet, the imminent destruction of the place that has been more of her home than her actual dwelling is a life and death situation. She has certainly faced her fair share of those, as has he, but this time, it washes over her in a wave of clarity: she could easily, with the snip of a wire or the ring of a phone, die here. And she cannot simply duck and dodge the bullet, or rely on her team to take out the perpetrator; she is trapped inside a building that is destined to explode, with little chance of getting out before it happens. Each breath she takes becomes precious. Suddenly, she is trying to suck in so much oxygen that she is hyperventilating, and the ugly orange walls (she has never liked orange) are closing in on her. Doubling over, she stops in her tracks for a moment, cognizant that she hasn't the moment to spare, but needs to gather herself in order to carry on. Because still, even after all these years, she does not like to break down in front of other people. It is a private thing, an embarrassment, her brain tells her, even if her heart just wants to fall in Tony's arms and let him carry her home.
As her gaze is firmly fixed on the carpet that blurs in and out, she feels a hand interlocking with hers, large and soft and warm. "Ziva," he whispers, letting her name fall off his tongue like a waterfall. "Stay with me. " He places a tentative hand on her arm, knowing instinctively that some days she is still wary of contact. "Come on, "he soothes, "we can make it out of here." For the first time in her life, she finds herself blindly following someone else's lead as he walks her to the elevator, their odd sanctuary.
"The elevator, Tony? Really?" she regains some of her old snarkiness, artfully mixed with a fear for her life and his.
"It'll be faster," he claims, and there's no retort on her tongue, and it feels safer, even now, when they are so undeniably unsafe, to adhere to routine, to custom. They step into the elevator.
He hurriedly presses the button for the ground floor, and again the urgency of the situation impacts her; easily, with a flash of twisting inferno, they might die here, in this cold metal box. She does not want to live with regrets, she vividly recalls telling him on the precipice of accepting Ray's proposal, willfully ignoring the subtle pain and betrayal written all over his face, etched in the lines of his forehead and the upturned corners of his mouth. But she really, truly, does not want to die with regrets, because reparations can never be made. She cannot make an addendum to her life; by the way, I loved you with all my heart, but I never told you because I was blinded by fear. He will never know the inexplicable value he holds in her scheme of things, how very much he means to her, how his smile, the true one that travels all the way to his twinkling eyes, is one of the few and far in between things that makes reciprocate the gesture. That hoping against all rational reasoning and truth of reality that she could have one more moment with him, to say how sorry she was, kept her alive those long days and ceaseless nights in the African desert. Their love story cannot come to a close like this, replete with unspoken promises and a rosy future, but still, when it comes down to it, unfulfilled and unrequited.
Now if only she had the courage to rewrite their ending.
Tony's praying. Delving deep into the recesses of his consciousness for scattered words and meaningful phrases, he strings together what could only be called a plea laced with a healthy measure of desperation. Despite skillfully maintaining a stoic demeanor, he's scared out of his damn mind. This isn't a death he can exert some semblance of control over or evade in a miraculous ray of good luck. If that bomb goes off before they can get the hell out of this cursed building, it's game over for both of them: no morewhat ifs or what could have beens. Their lives will be snuffed out as simply as blowing out a candle; surely, they'll be missed, but after time passes and the hurt fades, they'll forget the beautiful girl who graced their lives with such strength and determination and the man who chased her.
And so he opts to recruit any sort of divine intervention he can possibly garner. After all, it had been his saving grace once before: his bargain with God when his partner had first been taken from his grasp, by jealousy and pettiness and a vengeful father. The deity had certainly pulled through- he had brought her back to him, and invisible next to the Israeli, but there nonetheless, returned his sanity. It's playing with fire to ask for her life to be spared a second time, but he's at the no holds barred point, where he'll, without hesitation, lay anything on the line, his own life included, to salvage her.
Not that he has a death wish, of course, but she just deserves this, all that they have here in Washington, here in America, so much more than he. Born with the silver spoon in his mouth, doors have always been opened for him. She's fought, against all odds, tooth and nail, for her survival, for the life she's made for herself here. Where he knows, even though she'd never tell him, she aches for the stereotypical, oddly idyllic American dream that had been at an interminable distance for so long. And now, blissful happiness, perhaps together, is at their fingertips, but they'll likely fall short of it again.
A jarring movement catches them both off guard, but in an instant, they indubitably know. This is the moment of truth, the moment of wondering whether fate would intercede on their behalf once again. They exchange a quick glance, a broken hearted goodbye, weighed down with so many emotions surging through them at rapid fire speed. As the elevator caves in on them, Ziva leaps on top of Tony, a primal response to shield him from the impact of the blast as they both collide with the floor. He reaches out instinctively, wrapping his arm around her torso to hold her close to him in their final moments. Their free hands interlock, fitting together perfectly and naturally as his head ricochets off the ground, emitting a loud bang, and a piece of debris catapults through the air, landing on her back.
"Marry me," he whispers tenderly, a look of incredulity spreading across her face as the lights go out.
