Okay, I know I should be working on Petty Officer Jane Doe, and I have been. I've written chapter 8 about 5 times, but its just not happening. I know exactly where I'm going plot-wise, but I can't get it down quite right. So, to fill the time, I wrote this.

Spoilers: Seasons 3-6, but especially Aliyah and all monumental events preceding it.

POV: Tony DiNozzo

Disclaimer: If I owned, I wouldn't have to write this, because Aliyah would never have happened, Jenny would be alive and Vance would have fallen off a boat in the middle of the Atlantic a long time ago.

Basically, this is just my thoughts on everything that's happened Tiva- wise since the beginning of season 3, in the form of Tony's reflecting post- season 6, obviously not knowing where Ziva really is (Somalia), thinking she's just back in Israel doing Mossad-ish things. ___________________________________________________________________

He didn't get over it like he got over other things. He didn't get ridiculously drunk. He didn't take it out on other people. He didn't break anything, and he sure as hell didn't cry. What he did do was sit. He sat and thought things over. There was no beer, no scotch, no alcohol at all involved. He just sat on his couch in complete silence, jacket on the coffee table, tie undone. And he thought of the last four years.

The first year had been good. She'd sauntered into NCIS that day, had the upper hand from the beginning. She'd been Kate's replacement, really, but he'd never thought of it that way, and he never knew why. Maybe because he thought she wouldn't stay. Maybe. But what he thought of her didn't matter, because she was good, and she was damn good. So the first year was passed in a windstorm of cases, of inappropriate comments, of head slaps, and of learning. He never pretended to understand her, her motives, her past. He learnt not to ask certain questions, to prod in certain places. And things worked just fine. And he liked to think, even now, that at that point she had trusted him, because he sure as hell had trusted her. He remembered that first undercover mission, kissing her, pretending to sleep with her. Quite possibly the highlight of his year. Then getting locked in that shipping container with her, and very nearly getting killed. And then Gibbs had left. More change. So, in his mind, he marked the first year as the year of change, and of learning curves.

The second year was the year of secrets. In a way, he blamed Jenny for that. He'd wanted so badly to tell her in the beginning, but the deeper he went, the quieter that thought became, until he was basically living two lives. One was the life they'd had in the first year- of fun, of witty banter and of cases. But the other one was completely new- one of love that didn't feel quite right, of lying and of risking everything. Risking his job, his life, and her trust. So it was the year of risks, too.

The third year was the year when he'd thought he might have lost it all. The look on Jeanne's face when she'd found out who he really was, was nothing compared to the look on her face when she'd found out he'd been lying to her. That was when he'd thought he might loose her trust forever. But they held on, and kept going. And they were okay. Until the end- then he'd thought he might loose her forever. And looking back, he kind of did. So he got on that godforsaken ship, and she'd boarded that plane, and he had thought that maybe that was the end. But it wasn't.

The fourth year was the year it all fell apart. She came back. He came back. But it wasn't the same. He still couldn't quite figure out the exact moment where it all went wrong, but somehow it did. They argued more, smiled less, and there was more venom in her voice when she wouldn't tell him something. And to hear her say "No, but I would tell Gibbs" like that had done more to him than he even knew. Somewhere along the line, she stopped trusting him. Was it when he killed Michael? Or was it before that? He didn't know, and maybe now he never would. He couldn't quite figure out when he'd fallen in love with her either. Maybe there was no one moment. Maybe it just happened. Maybe, despite what she'd said, some things were inevitable.

Four years. Four years of change, of learning, of secrets, of risks, and the year it all fell apart. Four years of love, too. Did she love him back? He'd never really know. What he did know was that the fourth year, the year it all fell apart, had ended when the plane's wheels had left the runway in Tel Aviv, regardless of the month. It had to end there. Because if it didn't, he knew it would never end.

Maybe the fourth year wasn't really the year it all fell apart. Maybe things had been coming undone for much longer than that. Maybe. But all he knew for sure was that whenever he'd lost her was when things were too broken to put back together again. But he could still try.

So he stood up. And he started the next year. The fifth year. The year without her. The year when he'd try to put it all back together again. But there'd be a piece missing. That piece he would probably never get to put back.

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Review, and I'll try update Petty Officer Jane Doe.

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