Disclaimer: I don't own NCIS or the characters.
He finds her in the laundry. She's cradling something in her hand. He knew that he should have left when he saw her overbright eyes. It strikes him then, that he rarely sees her cry, he wonders if this is one of those times, with her eyes overbright and swimming in pools of tears.
She holds them back, he wonders just how big her dam is that she has built herself, big enough to stop a tsunami would be his guess. She holds out her hands. Their small, they should belong to a child of thirteen. Not this woman who's eyes hold the knowledge of a one hundred year old man who has seen the wars, his parents, siblings, children and friends die. She unfurls them, like how a butterfly unfurls it's wings. They hold a simple gold band, she's staring at him, willing him to understand.
"He was going to propose to me," the words are harsh in her throat, but they still maintain a certain musical quality. She's still looking at him, she wants answers, but he can't bring himself to give them to her. Her eyes are asking why? She doesn't understand, she doesn't deserve this, is his next thought.
"I don't know," that's all that he can bring himself to say. He looks back at the gold band, it holds a diamond, it's slightly pink.
"Pink diamonds are rare, that is what he wrote," her voice cracks slightly. "Like me."
That's the moment when the tears begin to fall. Droplets of water, like rain from the sky. They clean the place, make it fresh. These drops course down her face, cleaning the dirt from her face in tiny rivulets. He steps towards her, noting how she flinches away from him.
She had gotten better lately, probably thanks to him. He can't bring himself to even think his name, it hurts him too, more than he likes to admit to even to himself. The ache in is heart grows bigger when she visibly shields away from him as he puts his arm around her shoulders. Until she realises that it's safe and leans into his body. He lets a tear slide down his face in the safe knowledge that her eyes wouldn't even be able to focus from the moisture that is swelling up inside them. He hates that he can feel his shirt becoming wet from where she is leaning into his arm, and that her sobs can be felt vibrating through his body, like tiny tremors from a quake.
"It's okay," he tells her because that's what he needs to do. She looks at him, trusting.
"No it's not," she contradicts him, she knows to much of this World, she isn't a child who will believe your every word. He wonders if she was ever like that. He opens up her hand, the ring has left a circle of red in the palm of her hand, like a burn that has been seared into her flesh. He slips it onto her finger and lays a kiss onto the top of her head. He then stands and leaves, her next move is up to her.
He isn't surprised when word comes back that the man who killed one Tony DiNozzo. Tony DiNozzo who stopped the man from blowing up a bomb in public, but got shot for his efforts; turns up dead. A bullet hole through his heart.
Or when the bomb maker appears in front of the building. Dead, with the words, 'I'm sorry' attached to his chest. He isn't even surprised when Ziva David disappears from the face of the Earth, despite the best efforts of computer geek Timothy McGee.
He could express surprise though, twenty years later when he's retired and working on his newest boat called 'Ziva,' with his old-time friend Ducky sitting on an upturned crate drinking himself silly with a bottle of scotch that he thought to bring over.
When a young woman turns up, no more than nineteen years old with dark brown eyes, those eyes that are easy to get lost in, that can give and yet withhold so much. Her skin is pale brown, like the earth, not a blemish lines her skin and her cheeks hold a healthy glow, like an overripe fruit that gives off a sickly sweet scent. But it's her smile that makes her stand out, large, inviting, it's like the sun, with the tips of her lips slightly upturned, her mouth is made for a ready smile. She descends the stairs slowly, running her fingers over the smooth wood of the boat.
"My Mum's name was Ziva," she starts the conversation and he feels as though he has been transported back twenty years.
"She died, a year ago. It's like she just gave up. As soon as I was old enough to take care of myself…" The young woman trails off, her eyes close in pain.
"She let me a letter though, said to come to you for answers." She looks around awkwardly. Ducky wasn't as drunk as he thought and is now staring at the girl with interest.
"Didn't know that Ziva had a child, how old are you?" Ducky's eyes are bright with curiosity. He feels as though he's going to be sick and wants to die, because everyone else around him is dying. This isn't a World for old men like him anymore. His eyes once again fall on Ducky and he feels better. With his friend, his boat and alcohol, he can survive this harsh new World, three constants, a good number to trust.
"Nineteen," she answers hesitantly. That number's odd, an undecided number, double digits that are at opposite ends of the scale, number one that's not enough, but the nine is too large to trust.
"But that would mean…" Ducky trails off as his does the math.
"I'm sorry, I haven't properly introduced myself. Where are my manners? My name's Taliah Antonia David."
"Nice to meet you," he speaks for the first time. "My name's Leroy Jethro Gibbs; and I know the truth."
Good? Bad? Tell me what you think. If anyone is interested I could write more. Wow this was really sad and angsty, I don't usually write that stuff so tell me what you think. Please review =)