Angsty fic set after Aliyah and before the new season. Not trying to write any plot resolutions here, just an in-between piece because I was bored and I was feeling rather emo myself.

I wrote this months ago. Before the season premiere. For some reason, I never posted it, and I have absolutely no idea why, because after just a few minor edits, I'm quite pleased with the writing on this one.

Now come on. I'm not going to pretend I own anything. I totally don't.

It's been three months, two weeks, and four days since our return trip from Israel without Ziva, and still. Still she haunts my every thought.

I didn't think it was possible for me to miss anyone this much. And yet here I am, missing her as though she were a vital organ.

As far as I'm concerned, she is.

I go to work every day and I do what I'm told. I work alongside Gibbs and McGee and all three of us do our best not to dwell on the fact that our team is not whole and that things are not right.

I go through the day playing it all off, as though I miss her in the same way that McGee does. As a friend and colleague, someone respected and genuinely missed.

Inside, though, my heart is screaming against continuing to live my life as if nothing is missing; as if nothing significant had been lost. My very existence resists the notion of being, doing, living without Ziva.

I come home every night to an empty apartment. Without her. While it's true that she was never with me when I came home before, at least the possibility had always been out there.

Now it's not.

So like every night, I come home, eat something, and sit in front of the television, watching movie after movie after movie.

Tonight is no different.

I sigh loudly as I realize that the movie is not distracting me, though nothing really ever does. If anything, it makes me miss her more. These two lovers on the screen - they are us. They tease each other, they support each other. They care deeply about each other as partners, as friends, as lovers.

They love each other.

Again I sigh.

Well, I love her ... as for how she feels about me ... I can only guess that since she hasn't called, she must not feel the same.

I reach for the remote to turn off the TV, and put it down again on the table in front of me after achieving my objective. I reach down to pick today's newspaper up off the table so I can recycle it.

I look up and she's there. I blink. And again. I drop the newspaper.

"Ziva," I whisper into the darkness. She doesn't answer, doesn't move, even. Just stands there, looking at me intensely. I get up and start to head toward her, desperate to touch her, to be sure she was real.

Just as soon as I get up she's gone. I sigh quietly as my heart falls to the floor. So she really had been a figment of my imagination. So it was, that I so desperately wanted to see her again that my mind began to trick me into believing that I had.

I look at the clock. Twenty minutes past three in the morning. I'm tired, but not sleepy. And just as every night, my mind is racing with thoughts of her.

I know that I must sleep. Or at least lie down in the hopes that maybe tonight, I'll be able to.

I go through the normal routine. Glass of milk. Change my clothes. Brush my teeth. Piss. The same motions I've done every single night of my adult life. And yet not the same. Nothing is the same without her.

I didn't think it was possible to miss someone this much, and yet, I can't go more than a few minutes without thinking of her; without hearing her voice. And yet, it's been months. I thought by now I would be able to stop thinking about her every minute of the day. I thought I'd stop missing her. Quite the opposite, though - I've grown to miss her more.

I pull down the covers and get into the bed, wondering what she's doing at this exact moment. Is she working a case? Is she having lunch? Is she happy?

Does she miss me too?

That is the question that keeps me awake at night. Does she miss me? Does she think of me? How often? Is she hurting as much as I am?

Or am I forgotten? Nothing more than a mere stopping point in the journey that is her life, and not the destination?

Every day and every night. I wonder. And I don't sleep.

So I lie alone in the dark, allowing my eyes to adjust to the absence of light, and then staring at the wall for the remainder of the night. Wondering. And wishing.

Wishing she were right here. Right here next to me. In this bed. So that instead of holding this pillow close to my body, I can be holding her. Instead. So that instead of staring at the walls in an attempt to get even the slightest bit of rest, I can sleep soundly knowing that she is with me and safe. Instead. So that instead of wondering where she is, I'll know that she is here, and everything is all right. Instead.

Instead, nothing is all right. She's not here. I'm not holding her. I'm not sleeping. Nothing is as it should be.

I reach for her in the middle of the night. I whisper her name in the darkness. I will her to hear me calling for her.

Nothing happens. She can't hear me. She can't feel me calling to her.

She is thousands of miles away, and it might as well be millions. She is gone from my life and I'm missing her and nothing is all right.

This is definitely a stand-alone. I'm not sure why I never posted it. It's been sitting on my laptop for months. I'm working on a bunch of new stuff. Thoughts are swimming around in my brain but struggling to find their way into Word. So for those of you who love my writing (there are some of you, right?), this is just something to hold you over until the newer stuff finally makes its way into actually readable fiction. :D

As always, thanks to those of you who read and/or review.