She knew the feel of betrayal well.
Body posture changed, no matter how well trained one was. It was all very instinctual.
Holding a gaze became forced, instead of naturally conversational.
She had felt the tension in him.
She had watched his eyes hold hers for far too long.
She had seen signs. Ziva David was many things; stupid was not one of them.
That night, as she had rested her head on his chest, her heart had fractured. He had muttered a name in his sleep and it wasn't her own. He had refused to put his sig on the nightstand, instead keeping it under his pillow. Even in her bed, he didn't trust... he didn't trust himself enough to let his guard down.
He was on a mission and she had known it for long enough for the hurt to seep into her soul.
Betrayal seemed to be what she was dealt in life. And she was growing tired of the constant mistrust, the ache that came with knowing that she was, yet again, a pawn.
The ache in hear heart had only grown when she had seen the struggle through her curtains that night. She had muttered a quick prayer to god that neither one be hurt. Even with his distance, even with her suspicions, she still cared.
It was a flaw she had fought for years: she cared more than she should about people she should have long since given up on.
She had sprinted up the stairs, her gun drawn and her heart pounding. And before she could get the door open, she felt the fractures in her heart splinter even more; she would never forget his voice.
"Don't do it."
He had given him warning. She couldn't deny that. She had heard Tony try to protect her from the pain, She had heard him try to protect Michael's life.
She had felt her heart stop, her breath catch, and her cringe when the shots were fired. She struggled with the key in the door. And when she saw the bodies there on the floor, she knew she would never be the same.