Disclaimer: The tears I shed are proof enough I do not own Tiva.
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In Hebrew, her name means radiance. One look at her and it's not hard to tell why.
Every inch of her glows. Her skin lights up in the sun like gold. Her eyes, which smolder so distantly from behind her desk catch fire and shine the second she smiles. There are times I think she's not even real; a painting. An artist's depiction of what an angel might look like. But the trouble with angels is that they never stay put. They trap men with their fiery eyes and their graceful walk and their blithe voices and the radiant glow they emit for miles and then they up and leave you standing there, wondering why it suddenly got so dark. But her, she's a statue. Her feet stay firmly on the ground, and the wings I know she has never beat. But I see it; I see the ghost of an angel whenever her eyes gleam or she cocks her gun or her skin goes flush with excitement right before a brawl.
In Hebrew, her name means radiance. But to me, Ziva means life.
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Grrr drabbles.