Once upon a time, a long time ago, in a land far, far away I was beautiful, and innocent, and whole. A very long time ago. I cannot remember that time. Sometimes I wonder whether it ever existed at all.

Maybe that is what I like about him, he makes me feel like I could be beautiful, and innocent and he makes me feel whole. But also I hate him for that because surely it is not right that I should feel like that, I do not deserve happiness, I have ruined too many people's lives to ever deserve happiness. Looking into his face through my memory I forget that. I crave this feeling, this feeling that I am not unclean, that I am human, not a tool to be used or a murderer to be hunted. I crave it so I cannot walk away as I know I should.

I look at myself in the mirror, slowly taking in my long, wavy dark brown hair, it curls down my back with such gloss and lustre that I know many envy. I hate it, it hides who I really am, I have used it too many times to coerce and corrupt, to do my job. My eyes; deep, dark brown. I suppose that they could be thought to be beautiful, mysterious, deep, but to me they hide too much, too many secrets, too many deaths. My lips are full, wide, inviting. Too inviting, too tempting, too easy for my father to use in the wrong way. They have spoken too many words ordering deaths, investigating that which should be kept a secret.

I try to be objective, to see from outside, but I cannot. After all can anybody truly go outside their body that much? Melancholy, I wonder whether all he wants is that, that which I have corrupted, which my father and the whole of Mossad has corrupted, made impure. I wonder whether he is shallow enough to fall for just that, my face, or could he possibly have seen the rest as well, and accepted me even through that?

I turn away in disgust. I am sick of being me. Ziva David; pride of Mossad and her father until she turned away from all of that to go to work for America, where she could try to forget, move on, as if she deserved that. I want to be someone else. I want, need, to forget, become the person NCIS wants me to be, Tony wants me to be. But I cannot, death follows too close behind me for me ever to stop to rest, recuperate.

I walk through my small apartment, touching everything, searching for something to hold me here, to stop these thoughts that drag me down. Everywhere I go Tony watches me from his place on top of my shelf and beside my bed, from there he can see the whole place, except the bathroom – it really is a very small apartment. Going into the kitchen I pick up the knife from its place by the oven. I look at Tony then go into the bathroom.

Leaning over the bath I hack it off. Dark brown curls fall into the tub. Tears join it. I want to be someone else, but it is so hard to let go of Ziva David, the dangerous temptress that has been me for so long, all my life. I try to find any areas I have missed, but cannot feel any. Slowly I look across at the mirror.

I collapse, my quick job is messy and uneven. It looks as though I am a prisoner here. Worse still is the small ring of cuts that I inflicted upon myself without noticing. Everything screams that I am not American, that I am unrefined, a barbarian, a killer.

I cannot escape, everywhere I go my past follows and there is no way I can get rid of it.

I long for him to be there holding me as I tremble against the wall, small rivulets of blood staining my shirt at the collar. I need his warmth to melt my ice, I do not think that I can go on without it, though I know I am not worth even a second of his time.

Looking into the mirror I see him slowly open the door and pad across to me, to sit down and wrap his arms around me. But I am too cold, I cannot feel his warmth. I shake against his shoulder and wonder how I broke enough to let these hallucinations take me over.

We sit together, me and my mind, surrounded by stark whiteness, ignoring the reflection opposing us which shows two people and the tub of unwanted memories that are always there, just out of mind, at least for now.

***

I do not know what is wrong. She will not let me in. I want her to, so much, I want her to tell me all about her past, her life, what she likes and dislikes, who she has loved, hated, killed.

Instead I am forced to stand by the sidelines as she goes on pretending that everything is fine, pretending that she is just like everyone else. I know that she is not, she has been through more than we could ever know. Often she begins to flirt with me, but I do not want her to. I do not want to know how she got that much experience at doing that, well I do, I just do not want to receive it. I want her to love me, to trust me, nothing more, nothing less.

I look down at her as she cries on my shoulder. I am not sure she even truly realises that I am here, otherwise I am certain she would clam up, hide her emotions again, just as she always does. Maybe that is why I love her, because she is so much deeper, so much more of an enigma than anyone I have ever met before, more so than Gibbs even. I want to comfort her properly, talk to her, find out what is wrong. But I do not want this moment to end. I do not want her to realise that this is real.

Sitting there, rubbing her back as she sobs, it feels like stealing time, but I have nothing to lose, after all I am just a single man who has been abandoned by his family. Also, for her, I would do anything.

I had not meant to end up here, invading her privacy like this, but I had come over to say hello, to talk, to check that she was okay. She had not answered her door, so, being me, the over-protective colleague, I had used my spare key to come in. I could not see her immediately, so I began to leave.

Then I had frozen. On her windowsill, in what appeared to be pride of place, was a picture of me. In a way it was creepy to know that she had that watching her all the time, but also it gave me hope that maybe I did mean something to her. Looking around at the furnishings more closely I had registered how empty it was. It did not look like anyone lived here, not really. The only personal flourishes was the picture of me and a couple of the team, there was also one of three children that I did not recognise, although one of them could have been her. Everything could be taken down in an instant if she had to leave quickly.

Sorrow had coursed through me. It was not right that Mossad should have put her so on edge, no one should have to live in permanent fear for their life.

I looked down at her, running my hand through her shortened hair. It was still beautiful, and it seemed to emphasise her harsh past. I wondered why she had done it.

Looking at us in the mirror opposite I was shocked by the cuts on her neck. Slowly, trying not to alarm her, almost like she was a dangerous animal, I brushed my fingers over them before leaning down to press kisses to her cold skin. I had not intended to, but it was an unconscious gesture that I could not regret. I did not want her to think she was alone.

***

My sobs slowed and when I slowly looked through my slitted and now puffy eyes he was still there, looking down at me. It felt like someone was rubbing circles on my back. It was relaxing and I relaxed into it. Slowly, as though he was afraid of scaring me he leant down and pressed warm kisses to the angry, but shallow, cuts on my neck.

I closed my eyes. Allowed my body to be warmed by his. Slowly reason began to filter back into my mind.

"Tony!" I gasped. His warmth was still there, hugging me. It felt real. I was not sure whether I wanted it to be him or not. I stood up, praying that it was just my mind playing tricks on me.

"Mmmmm." He looked as though he had nearly fallen asleep against me. Groggily he raised his head to look up at me. My heart melted slightly, he looked like a woebegone dog.

"I am sorry." I was confused, not sure whether I should apologise, not sure whether I wanted to apologise. I just stood there for a moment looking at him as he blinked away his sleepiness. Hesitantly I smiled at him, trying to ignore how puffy my eyes must be and how damp his shoulder was. "Would you like a coffee?"

I felt vaguely ridiculous asking, but I could think of nothing else to do.

"Sure." He smiled back at me, looking faintly confused.

AN: as usual I am not sure what to think of this. I do not know whether it makes any sense at all, but I liked the idea. Please tell me what you think (: see over here: