She was smiling down at me and I realised that she had asked me a question. Unthinking I said "sure". For her the answer was always yes. She was standing and I stood up slowly also. Again without thinking I wrapped my arms around her, she responded, then seemed to remember herself, pulling away and walking through the door.

I followed her through into the kitchen where she began to make coffee. I presumed that was what I had agreed to.

I wanted to ask her what was wrong, but I knew she would not answer. Even so, it broke my heart to see her go around her tiny kitchenette pretending she was fine, trying to hide it as she wiped away tears.

***

I could feel him watching me. I wanted him to ask me what was wrong. I wanted to tell him everything. I wanted to be his everything. I knew that I would never be able to tell him though, he had already seen me too vulnerable, and every part of my training screamed not to be vulnerable, ever.

I turned away. Tried not to let him see as I cried tears for him, for us, for the fact that I could never love him enough to let him love me. I made the coffee and still neither of us talked. I did not know what to say. Honestly I was quite happy for the silence to continue, it was so much simpler than the truth. I had had far too many run-ins with 'truth' before, it involved blood and tears and knives and guns and death. Death most of all. I brought truth with me wherever I went, for what is more truthful or more simple than death?

My truth was not simple, though, and I did not have the courage nor the energy to tell him, so the silence remained.

***

I did not know what she wanted of me, what she wanted me to do, ask, say. She was unreadable, same as always. She handed me my coffee, just as I liked it. I smiled at her appreciatively.

"Thanks" I held up the mug.

"It is fine." She stared down into the brown liquid, tears still pooling in her eyes. I watched her for a few moments longer. I could not stand it. My heart was made up and it was persuading my mind.

"Ziva," She turned to face me. Her face was disfigured by tears and yet it was still the most beautiful thing in my empty world. "What is the matter?"

She looked at me like she was the rabbit and I was the headlights, hypnotising her and headed straight towards her, where I would most likely kill her.

***

I looked at him blankly. My mind tried to answer the prominent question; what should I say? Truth or false reassurances? I began to run my hand through my hair nervously, without thinking. My hand carried on even after my hair stopped, going over the ghost of where my hair had once been. My mind was made up.

"Nothing. I am fine." His eyes shattered like glass and my icy heart shattered along with them. I regretted my answer as soon as I said it. Who did I think I was fooling? Him or me? He said nothing, just looked at me. I opened my mouth to speak.

"Don't worry." His eyes melted again into understanding pity. "Tell me when you are ready." He smiled thinly then kissed my forehead before placing the mug on the sink and walking out the front door. I was left alone in a house that was barely my own at all.

Slowly I went to sit on the soft black sofa. I curled up into a ball and refused to cry. I had not lost him, I told myself, he just understood that I needed space. That was good. The trouble was that all those untold things were burning a hole through me, I needed to let them out before they killed me.

Next time, I told myself, next time I would tell him.

***

I walked out the front door, closing it gently behind me, trying to mimic her silence. At the door of her apartment building I looked up at the window I knew was hers, hoping that I had slipped into a movie, so that she might be up there, waving to me as I left. But this was no fairy tale, and she was no Mary Sue, so she was not there, and I was almost glad. I did not want her to be a character in anyone's play but her own. Although I could bend that if she chose to be an actor in the play that is my life.

My car was on the sidewalk just outside, but I left it there, choosing instead to walk home. I needed the air as well as the exercise. I shuddered as I looked down at myself, trying to forget that I was heading towards middle age. I then cringed at my vanity, I mean, honestly what straight guy thought that?

Then I berated myself further. This was not the man Ziva wanted me to be. I made a new week's resolution; I would lose weight, I would go jogging, I would do something about it rather than sitting on the sidelines. I had already made that mistake too many times; Rivkin, Jeanne, Vance, to name but a few.

It was cold. My breath came out like smoke. For a while I ran down the path pretending to be a dragon, it made me feel better, made me feel younger, like nothing bad ever had or would happen to me. I added this to my list of things to do with Ziva.

Abruptly I stopped playing and stuffed my hands in the pockets of my jacket. Pretended that nothing had happened. Always pretended. I walked along the empty path below the cold, stark, empty trees, pretending, just like normal.

Every day was a lie. Every day I pretended I was happy to be alone. Every day I pretended that the person sitting opposite me, walking next to me, fighting next to me, was just another person, meant nothing more to me than a partner. Every day I pretended I did not care that she was not always by my side.

Every day I could see her pretend to be perfectly happy here. Pretend that she did not mind losing her family, all of her life before a few years ago. Pretend that she was not hurting. Pretend that she was a ruthless killer. Pretend that she was untouchable, unfeeling. And sometimes I thought she might be pretending that I was nothing more than a friend to her, just as I was. But those moments were rare, so I treasured them all the more.

Walking alone between the trees I pretended. I pretended that she was walking next to me. I pretended that it was summer, and the trees were green above us, the sun shining through the leaves. I pretended that she was happy, laughing and dancing and just talking. I imagined I was watching her, completely content. I imagined she was free and beautiful. Two children walked through my mind.

I froze, stopped the picture. That was too far, that was impossible. My imagination was running way out of line: she did not even trust me enough to tell me what was wrong.

I pretended that I was hiding that image, erasing it from my mind.

Really I was hiding it, hiding it so that no one could see it but me. I was hiding it so that I could treasure it, hold it close, that picture. Ziva dancing and smiling and laughing with our two children walking towards her, laughing with her. Her arms reaching towards them but her eyes were on me, and mine on her. The sun was framing her, making her glow and the leaves rustled peacefully above our heads.

I wanted to be the one to make her that happy, that peaceful. I was not sure I could. She was too distant, too unreachable, too alien. And sometimes I thought that she was too broken, although I hated myself whenever I came across that train of thought.

I reached home and collapsed on the sofa, quickly turning my alarm on to an hour earlier so that I could begin my runs the next morning. I looked up at her picture on the shelf above my television.

I got up and went over to the bookcases lining all of one wall. They were full of videos and DVDs. I did not have to look for the one I wanted, I often watched it at times like this, and I knew my filing system off by heart. If you asked me where any one of my hundreds of films was I could show you where it was immediately.

I put the disk in the player and settled into the cushions, allowing myself to relax as much as was possible while leaving room for another next to me. I was sitting on the right of the sofa, because that was where I always sat. "Because I am always right." I had said to Ziva one time. I chuckled.

The opening credits of The Sound of Music began, lighting up the darkened room.

***

I slowly uncurled myself. I got up and walked over to the small shelf on the wall. I smiled despite myself, remembering Tony's huge bookcases. I missed those days when we watched films together. So much had changed since then, though. Too much, I often thought.

This was the first film we had watched together. I remembered because I had said it was my favourite and Tony had been shocked, but that night he had turned up on my doorstep clutching it, a new television under the other arm.

I curled up again to watch it on that same screen. I left room enough at my feet for him to sit. I imagined him there, sitting with me, holding me, on the right of the sofa, always. "Because I am always right" he had said. I had laughed at him.

The opening credits of The Sound of Music began, lifting my shrivelled heart.

AN: I am not sure, but I think that at some point Ziva said that The Sound of Music was her favourite film, or maybe I made that up, however pretend that it is (:

I also apologise because I switched tense in the first chapter, I only just realised, but I do not know how to change it, so bear with me.

Review, please?