EDIT: So I read all of your reviews (thanks so much to everyone) and realized that I really didn't give enough details. I didn't do much editing to the story, but I tried hard to come up with some more to the story. I might do a squeal, I'm not sure yet. Thanks to everyone(:

This is something I just wanted to write down. It's how Tony delt with Ziva's 'death.' (Oh course, Ziva is not dead, and I DO NOT want her to be, I'm just writting this for my TIVA addiction(: ) Takes place during season 7, episode "Truth or Consequences" I think(:

I don't own anything NCIS. ):

Reviews are appreciated and as always, thanks for reading(:

-Sam

Since the time those words left his silver haired boss' mouth, it was like there was nothing to live for, nothing to look forward to everyday. Sure, she had been gone the whole summer but she was never dead, just gone and he had learned how to except that. It was his fault anyways, forcing her to go, pushing her away from him. Now, he could never tell her how sorry he really was, how bad he really felt, and how much he really cared for her.

For the first week, he drank his pain away. Her death was something he had hoped he would never have to face. The feeling that he should have been there for her never left his gut, no matter how much alcohol he drank each night. He was her partner. Why hadn't he been there? He could've protected her, he could have saved her.

Each night in the bar he would see beautiful women. They would stop and flutter their eyes at him, something he would usually enjoy, before she was dead. Now all he thought of was how beautiful she really was. He couldn't get her eyes out of his mind. They were so brown, so mysterious, and so gorgeous.

Whenever he poured a whole drink down his throat in one gulp, he would hear her say stop Tony, this is not right, but he would keep drinking. He knew she wouldn't like it; he knew she would mock him and say no one should drink alone. Some how he hoped, if he drank enough, she would come back and be sitting next to him, drinking her pain away as well. That was never the case.

"Sorry Ziva." He whispered as he finished his last drink of the night. It was about midnight when he came stumbling home to his apartment. He grabbed the DVD from the table and pushed it into the player then passed out on the couch, listening to the same Sound of Music songs he heard every night.

Dreams of her would always make their way into his mind at night. It was always the two of them, together, eating lunch in the squad room, talking and laughing. She would scold him on manners when he opened his mouth to talk, even though he was still chewing, spitting food everywhere. She would call it gross and distgusting, but then he would make he laugh so hard she would accidently spit food out herself.

He awoke the next morning with a terrible head ache and horrible back pains from sleeping on his couch. He popped a few pills in his mouth and stirred up the famous DiNozzo hangover remedy. Gibbs and McGee looked up at him, worried as ever, when he walked into the bullpen. Tony sat down, staring at the empty desk before him. He thought of how she always gave him dirty looks, or screwed up idioms so easily, or how she would smile ever so slightly to him so he was the only to notice. He would do anything to get that back, to have her sit at that desk for at least one more day, and give him one last smile…

"DiNozzo!" Gibbs' strong voice awoke him from his thoughts. "Grab your gear." The senior field agent looked around the squad room. Why was he living his life like nothing had happened, like nothing was missing? Why was Gibbs and McGee acting like nothing had changed? How could the whole team, after loosing a co-worker, just live on. He looked in his boss' shady blue eyes and breathed out hard.

"No." Now he was standing, ready for the argument. "No. Saleem Ulman has to be stopped, before another person is killed." McGee looked from his partner to his boss. They were having an intense staring battle and either could become victorious. When Gibbs opened his mouth, McGee was prepared for the worst. Tony was prepared for everything to go to hell.

"Make your case." Was all the mysterious boss said.

And before Tony knew it, he wasn't drinking every night after work. He was hanging around the bars, and he wasn't forcing himself to watch her favorite movie then passing out on his couch. He was planning, researching, and doing what he did best; investigating.

Whenever he came to a dead end, he would think of her. He would think of Saleem, daring to lay his hands on her, and killing her. He would think of her beautiful eyes rolling in the back of her head, and her head going limp. He would think of how innocent she really was. Sure, she was an assassin, raised as a killer, but she had changed. She had become a better person, she had made a new life, with him and the team. It was obvious she was happy, and the thought of a terrorist ripping her happiness away from her gave him so much more strength, and pushed him to work harder. But it wasn't her memory that pushed him harder; it wasn't the thought of her dead that urged him forward. It was his taste for revenge, and how certain he was to get it.