Soo, like several people, I'm really unhappy that Cote de Pablo left NCIS. Therefore, response story!

It didn't happen this way in the movies. If this was a movie, she would have dashed across the tarmac, long curls flying behind her, calling out his name. He would have flown the stairs, crying out her name, and they would have fallen into each other's arms, crying and laughing and kissing and promising to never, never be separated again. They'd return to Washington D.C. on a new flight, get married, have children and grow old together as the words "The End" flashed across the screen.

But this wasn't a movie. This was real life.

In real life, Ziva watched the plane carrying her partner, her friend and her lover farther and farther away until even the glowing lights on its wingtips were swallowed by the all-encompassing darkness. Closing her eyes, she let tears fall freely, conjuring up their last moment together- his lips on hers, his hand twining through her curls as they kissed fiercely, possessively, desperately seeking to convey what words alone could not.

Tony had wanted her to return to Washington D.C. with him, to come back to what he considered her home. She couldn't. She needed to start her life over, to wipe the slate clean, and she needed to do it on her own, in Israel. She couldn't run away anymore. Yet, part of her continued to scream that she was running- away from him. She was running away from the man she so desperately loved.

I can't lose him.

She had already lost all of her family. Her mother, Tali, Ari and her father. All gone, all lost.

Ziva forced herself to turn from the tarmac and go back into the building, wincing as the movement sent twinges of pain up the leg damaged while fighting those sent to kill her and hadn't healed right. Out of habit, she reached up to touch her neck, only to find it bare, the Star of David now secretly tucked in Tony's suit pocket. She felt somewhat naked, without it, as if part of her had been exposed with its leaving. At the same time, she thought, no she knew it was right for it to stay with Tony. Perhaps it wasn't so much a missing piece as it was a part of her going with him.

That thought helped ease her ache, and she even managed a small smile to herself before pulling the headscarf from her pocket, covering her face and stepping out into the night to return to the house of her birth.

Alone.

…..

Nights were the most difficult, she had discovered.

During the day, she could keep herself occupied with daily tasks- shopping, job-seeking, cleaning and visiting the old places of her childhood. During the day, she could pretend normalcy- just another Israeli citizen going about her business, living her everyday life.

At night, ah, but at night- that was when the memories came back. They tore at her vulnerable heart, opening wounds she desperately wanted closed, keeping her up until the wee hours of the morning. They never had order, never had meaning, but came and left at sporadic intervals, dangling the tantalizing feelings of comfort, camaraderie and closeness she had come to associate with her eight years at NCIS. She had never felt as utterly alone as she did when the nights closed in on her.

Soon enough even her days began take on a painful monotony. Her attempts at starting a brand new life, of letting go became harder and harder as she sank further and further into her loneliness. She tried to keep away from her old life- getting a new phone, replacing her English books with Hebrew ones, even trying to re-apply for Israeli citizenship. But every time she tried to cut ties, she would see something, hear something or even smell something that would remind her of NCIS and Washington D.C. Maybe it was a voice, or the way someone walked, even the taste of some food, and suddenly she was transported back to the Navy Yard, sipping tea while enjoying an outside break with Ducky, or walking under the shade provided by Abby's spidery umbrella, listening to the quirky forensic scientist ramble on about some band or another.

Her thoughts of Tony were the hardest to bear. The clothes she had worn the last night they spent together hung unwashed in her closet, lest she destroy his ever-fading scent that she strove to smell every day. She needed to get away. She needed to build anew. She had to forget her past- forget him.

And yet she knew she never would.

…..

She went back to the olive grove often, passing under the spreading branches, brushing the leaves and un-ripened olives with her fingers as she went. She always went to the same place- three rows over, twelve trees down. That was their place- the place where he had stood, watching her dig a hole and bury the small wooden box containing her "I Will" list.

The winds and the one rare rainstorm in the vicinity had washed the raw earth back down to just another unassuming lump. For Ziva, however, the place was seared into her memory as if it had been marked with a permanent, bright "X".

She knelt down, one hand absently smoothing the dry dirt as she remembered her last time in the grove. Only that time she had not been alone. That time she had Tony with her, fighting, hoping, praying that she would return with him, even if she was not to return to NCIS. She remembered the feeling of his lips brushing her knuckles, and tears fell from her eyes. To distract herself, she traced the words of her original list in the dirt.

I will be a ballerina.

I will ride a horse.

I will visit America and Ireland.

I will have a boy and girl.

A stray though came into her mind- telling Tony that the little girl who had written those statements nearly two decades ago once could have defied her father to follow her own dreams and make her own life. Sure, as an adult she had ridden several horses (mostly to eliminate targets in hard-to-reach places), had visited Ireland (for another mission) and of course, had ended up in America.

But if she had become a ballerina instead of a career soldier and assassin? What if she had married, settled down, and had children? It was easy to imagine that her life would be so much simpler, so much more peaceful. Even… happier.

Or would it?

Yes, she would not have to kill her own half-brother, she would never know the agony of four months of torture.

Yes, she would not have known any of that.

Nevertheless, she never would have met her NCIS family either. She would not have known Jimmy's awkward yet adorable character or Ducky's calm, wise and tender-hearted demeanor. She would never have experienced Abby's eccentric, accepting and loving soul that hid a fighting spirit that rivaled Ziva's own. She would never have her teammates- McGee, geeky and sweet, the often tentative partner that had nonetheless stoically backed her up from day one. The stern, but fair Gibbs who had never failed to be there when she needed him the most, taking over the role of her all-too-absent father- the rock she so desperately required when the storms of her life threatened to take over.

And then there was Tony- her wonderful, witty, funny, obnoxious, exasperating partner. He was the man whom she had grown to love so deeply, so powerfully that at times it had threated to tear her apart. He had always been there- a partner to count on, a comedian to lighten her mood, a guardian who had gone into the very bowels of hell to avenge her supposed death, only to end up saving her life. And despite every dark secret she had revealed, every awful story, every disgusting death he had stood by her side. He had weathered her anger and ferocity, and had helped her bring her softer side out from the layers of emotionless armor she had been once forced to bury it in.

He made me a better person she thought, her hands burying themselves into the rich soil. He made me a better person and I have thanked him by turning my back on him. The greatest mistake of my sorry life. A single tear worked its way from the corner of her eye, trailed down her cheek and fell, landing soundlessly on the soil leaving behind a dark patch in the drying earth. Ziva stared at the rapidly vanishing dark patch until it disappeared in the blazing sun, and in that moment the haze of pain, betrayal, loss, loneliness and desolation seemed to seep away with the receding moisture, leaving a thought so clear and powerful her entire being shook like she was in an earthquake.

Israel is no longer my home.

Those six words replayed themselves in her head, strengthening, growing, changing from a mere sentence to a powerful mantra. This country held nothing more for her- the David line was all but destroyed, her once-closest friend now driven to an unbridled hatred for her actions and there was naught but pain left in the empty places of her youth. No, she belonged in the United States, even if she was never to return to NCIS.

She belonged back home.

Ziva stood, brushing dirt off of her hands, indecision still gnawing at her insides, the faces of her biological family flashing in her mind. Then the faces of her American family came to her and she uttered a quick prayer in Hebrew, turned and then strode with purposeful strides towards the entrance of the grove. Her goodbyes had been said. She needed nothing more from Israel.

As she left the grove, Ziva's analytical mind turned towards her needed preparations, already organizing her meager belongings for the journey home.

She never saw the shooter until it was far too late.

There was that sound, so familiar and so loud, then something white-hot and ice cold surged through her chest at a fantastic rate, tearing its way out of her back and burying itself into a nearby tree with a definitive crack. Only then did she briefly see her shooter- what looked to be a man of average height and build, his face obscured by some sort of cloth- before he tuned and disappeared into the orchard at a run, responding to the sound of rushing footsteps from another direction. Ziva tried to follow, but her world abruptly spun out of control as her legs gave out from under her.

A bearded face loomed over her- Aryeh the owner of a nearby falafel shop- but his features were warped and strange. She could hear his deep, panicked voice, but it sounded far-off, as if he were speaking from a great distance; she couldn't understand what he was saying. She waved her hand at Aryeh, cutting him off.

"My…phone…" Ziva rasped in Hebrew motioning in the direction of her front pants pocket. Why did her chest feel like a thousand pounds were resting on it? No matter- she had one more thing to do. Aryeh looked unsure, but then, carefully, he pulled out her smartphone and pressed it into her shaking hands. It took three tries before she was able to get to the speed-dial number. Ilan had to hold the phone to her ear- her hand no longer responded to her brain's commands. The ring on the other line sounded three times and she began to fear that she would never be able to speak to the one person who mattered. Then the phone clicked on and his voice, so deep and warm, filled her ear.

"Very Special Agent Tony DiNozzo."

"Tony.." The world around her was rapidly becoming enveloped into a grey fog.

"Ziva!" Her name came out as a sharp exhalation, almost a bark of surprise. "What's…"

It took nearly all of her strength to speak again. "No… time…been…shot…" A groan escaped her as a wave of pain shot through her body. She could hear Tony talking rapidly, firing off questions without paused, but her senses were rapidly failing and she knew she wasn't long for the world.

"Tony…" he stopped for a moment, and she took the opportunity. "I… love… you…" A sharp inhale on the other end of the line. "Love… you…" she repeated. As if the universe had been waiting for just that very moment, Ziva's senses cut out as abruptly as a light being turned off and her mind sank into an endless abyss, drifting further and further from her broken and lifeless body.

So, prepare for a second chapter, maybe a third...

What happens to Ziva? dun dun dun!

Please review!