Disclaimer: I own nothing.
WARNING! Strong self harm theme.
Ziva David hates the hot weather, particularly summer, because of two things – the heat makes her scars darker and it makes it more difficult to wear long sleeves to cover up her arms that look like a battlefield.
She sits down at the coffee shop with her iced mocha sipping it back gentling. As she hands the waiter the money for her drink, his eyes flash down to the vicious, dark scars on her arm. She retreats her arm hastily, so the waiter can't see her scars, he will think I am weak, she thinks as he smiles sadly at her and walks away.
She traces the dark scars and memories of how she got them intrude into her head. She picked up the blade that glistened in the light and dragged it across her skin, watching as the blood trickled down her once clean arm.
Ziva shakes her head as she tries to get the memory out of her head, a memory like so many others – a memory like the one last night. She examines her other arm - cuts barely two days old lace it from her wrist down.
With out finishing her drink, she gets up and leaves. Instead of walking back to her apartment, she goes for a run through the park. Running had always helped clear her head. She jams in her earphones and blasts her iPod to the max. She runs, and runs, and runs, and runs until she can't bear to run anymore. She settles herself down up against a tree facing a quiet little lake.
When did she get like this? When did she fall down this deep, dark hole? When did she fall so far down that there was no escape? When did she hit the cold, hard dirt of this hole, with no one to pull her back up, or even notice?
She stands up and edges herself closer to the edge of the lake; she could do it so easily; just lay down face first in the peaceful water and let the darkness swallow up her pain and her lifeless body. She steps away from the lake, thinking that she doesn't deserve to go so peacefully, she thinks she deserves to live her life in pain like this, because of all the people's lives she has taken, all the grievance she has caused people. She had always tried to justify the assassinations she had down by telling herself they were all bad people and had done bad things… but truthfully, sometimes she killed because of a simple mistake someone had made, sometimes they weren't bad people, just people who made mistakes.
She lets the hot tears flow down her cheeks, she uses all her willpower not lunge herself into the inviting lake and let it take her life, but no - she thinks she deserves pain. She ran the sharp blade over her wrist, with the thought 'I deserve so much worse' running through her head. She watched the blood spill out from her tanned skin, and watched it drip down her arm, as a painful reminder to herself about the people's blood she has spilt. She watched it drip down as sign of the pain she is in.
Ziva absentmindedly traces her cuts, until the ring of her cell phone brings her back to her painful reality of a life, "David." She answers, trying to mask her tears.
"Ziva?" Tony asked, concern clearly lacing his voice, "What's wrong?"
"Nothing." She retorts immediately, "I am fine."
"I don't believe you – you're crying, I can hear it."
"What do you want, Tony?" She snaps.
"We have a case, Gibbs wants you at NCIS asap."
Ziva says nothing and hangs up the phone, she is in no fit state to go in to work – she has a tear streaked face, she is an emotional mess, and her legs hurts from the deep cuts she had issued herself the other night.
She sighs making her way to her house. She doesn't even go inside – just hopes straight in her car and drives to work, with tears still streaming down her cheek, she just couldn't stop them from coming.
When she pulls up at work, she sits in her car trying to compose her self. She looks in the mirror – she is a mess. It is clear she has been crying. After five minutes she manages to stop the steady flow of tears and walk in to work.
As she gets to the bullpen she realizes she is wearing short sleeves and doesn't have anything to cover up her arms with.
She slumps down at her desk with out greeting any of the team. They all look at her, worry streaking their faces – they can see she has been crying, they can see the tears in her eyes than are threatening to spill over onto her hot cheeks.
"Ziva?" Gibbs says softly.
"I'm fine and no I'm not going to talk." She snaps. Gibbs nods and lets her be.
Tony gets up and walks over to her desk, "Please, come with me for a moment." He says softly. Ziva doesn't meet his eye but follows him into the elevator; he flicks the switch off.
Tony gently grabs her arm, his eyes flick from the viscous cuts and scars to her watery eyes.
She retracts her arm quickly, "Don't look at those." She says though clenched teeth, "They are hideous."
Tony shakes his head, "No, they are beautiful."
Ziva looks at him incredulously, "You're crazy."
"That's what they all say – but with all do respect, Miss, I'm not the one hanging off the edge of a ship here." He says. Ziva's lips turned up into a sad smile, he was quoting Jack from Titanic. Tony had forced her to watch Titanic, at first she protested about it, but it quickly become one of her favorite movies.
"They are beautiful, you know why?" Tony asks her and when she doesn't say anything he continues, "They show that you fought and survived, they show that you struggled but didn't give up, they show that you are strong and alive… and if you, Ziva David are alive, then you are automatically beautiful."
"But I shouldn't be strong, I shouldn't be alive."
"Don't you ever say that, Ziva David, don't you dare." He says sternly, "You are what keeps me going in this world; I honestly couldn't live without you."
Ziva is a little taken-aback and can't find the words to respond.
Tony gently takes her arm and kisses every scar and every cut on her arms, "You're beautiful, Ziva – thank you for being alive." He whispers softly.