My favourite moment in Season 7: when Ziva awaits her release in Jack Knife.
Amidst the fear radiating from the man beside her, she felt immensely calm, as if the world has topped spinning just for a second. She flexed her neck, keeping her focus on the looming truck instead of the petrified man staring incredulously at her. She knew the slight curl of lips frightened him and she felt a slight pang of guilt but it was just a tiny droplet in a bottomless ocean of serenity.
She had not predicted to feel this way but, now that the time had arrived, she was not surprised by her greedy anticipation of death. If the truck squashed the life out of her, she would not be able to regret it, and all the pain and misery would seep out onto the grit of the road and stagnate in the pool of blood around her motionless face.
She could see her glassy eyes lying blindly on the road, staring up at the darkening sky. She could see the lorry hit her, her body flying backwards and hitting the ground. She could see nothing beyond that point except blissful blackness. Everything would be gone. Nightmares could not haunt her if there was no agitated mind to prey on. She would be safe in the chasm of nothing.
Her pupils dilated and she licked her lips, greedy for it all to be over and to feel empty of all her sorrows and anguish. Painless. She breathed steadily, her chest rising and falling, each inhalation reminding her that she was still alive. She longed for her chest to be still and no more air to fill her lungs. A stiff cadaver on Ducky's autopsy table where she would not feel the stab of the knife nor feel the tears splashing on her face.
The lorry rumbled towards her, his wheels growling and complaining, the brakes screeching under the strain, wishing the driver to stop pressing down on them. Ziva agreed. He should release his foot, skid towards her freely, crushing her instantly. It was going to hit her anyway, the death might as well be quick.
She could feel Damon's fearful stare burning into her, his shock at her peaceful, expectant expression aching in her stomach. He disapproved of her careless attitude to death. He didn't know that it was not carelessness that made her hungry for death, but a starving longing. She yearned to feel nothing, hear nothing, dream nothing. She deserved to be nothing.
The lorry was growing bigger, advancing on them, taunting her with its power over her. Suddenly, it stopped, inches away from her. Disappointment overwhelmed her, but she forced her face to retain its frozen expression and she heaved another breath, mocking herself with life.
'And you people think I'm crazy,' he remarked, his voice cutting into her island of regret. If only she had stepped a few metres forward, the breath would have been expelled from her body and her bones crushed to a mess on the road. Instead, she was still panting and the road was decorated only with skid marks.
Slowly, she moved forward, bringing out her gun and resuming her professional calm, her previous overwhelming tranquillity lost to the crisp night air.