"Sigh no more, no more
One foot in sea, one on shore,
My heart was never pure,
You know me
You know me."
Mumford and Sons, Sigh No More
The conference room is crowded, stuffy even, and her heart is beating too fast. She's wearing the white suit that Abby helped her pick out, and she's sweating so hard out of nervousness that she fears she may ruin it. Ziva chew on her bottom lip and looks over at the empty seats- two minutes until the creaming begins. "They'll be here." Abby assures her, squeezing her hand. "They wouldn't miss this."
Ziva shakes her head. "Do not make promises you cannot keep. It is not imperative that they come." that's a lie, she thinks to herself. She flashes back to countless ballet recitals, Eli's face always absent, a reminder that she was somehow unimportant. Inferior work and cigarettes and alcohol and women. She shakes her head to rid herself of the memory and stares at a head of black curly hair standing in front of her, a baby on the woman's hip.
"How do you feel?" McGee asks.
"Fine." She answers quickly. More like throwing up, she concedes in her head.
And then the ceremony is starting and her most important guests have failed to show up. Tears form at the corners of her eyes, heat working it's way to her cheeks as she vows to renounce all ties to her home country, the place her grandparents fought so hard to get to, gaunt, bald and traumatized.
She does not want to go back, and she desperately wants to be an NCIS agent, but she grew up on streets of Tel Aviv and the beaches of Haifa, the sun beating down on her neck. It feels as if she has been banned from returning, or that she will be shunned as an outsider among her people for being too 'American'. She knows that this is irrational, and she suddenly desperately wishes for the salty air, her mother and sister. She wonders what they think of her now, all the way up in heaven. Ziva likes to think she has made them proud.
She is jerked out of her reverie when the clapping begins, and her heart skips a beat. That's it. No turning back now. She feels an immense sense of relief and a strange grief. But it's back to work, and like always, she has no time to digest her milestones.
...
There is a knock at the door, and she sighs and wipes her eyes. She opens the door to find Gibbs on the other side, dressed in ripped jeans and a worn USMC sweatshirt, a look of apology ingrained in his features.
"Come in." She offers, stepping aside to let him in.
"I'm sorry I missed your ceremony. I know how important it was to you, and I should have been there."
"I thought you had a rule against apologies." She responds almost bitterly, unsure of how to react.
He shakes his head. "Sometimes, you're wrong."
She nods, wary.
"Please, Ziver. I am sorry. Truly. And I am so very proud of you."
She shakes her head. "I did nothing special."
Gibbs puts his hands on her shoulders and looks her in the eye.
"But you did. You were brave enough to move on with your life and find a safe place. You've grown, Ziver, as an agent and as a woman."
Ziva closes her eyes against tears, and Gibbs pulls her in for her fatherly hug. Maybe she'll be all right after all.
...
She finally personalizes her desk, resting a picture frame where she can look at it to pull strength from. She, Rivka, Tali and Ari sit on the veranda of her childhood apartment, the sun beginning to set. Tali is about four, and she is eight and grinning. Ari is a grown man in a teenager's body, his arm around her mother's shoulders, Rivka with each daughter on one knee. Abby gasps when she looks at it, tracing Rivka's stunning features with her hand.
"You look just like her."
Ziva nods. "So I've heard."
Abby shakes her head and puts the frame down, her eyes misty. "Do you miss Israel? Your family?"
Ziva thinks for a moment, taking a shuddering breath. "Yes. But I have a family and a home here now, one I could not bear to leave."