"I did not know you had one." She says, sounding amused as he unbuttons his shirt to show her the tattoo his he has on his left shoulder blade: a small, simple black silhouette of the theatre masks-comedy and tragedy.
"I got it with a friend of mine when I was sixteen." Ziva raises an eyebrow.
"I never figured you to be an unruly teenager. How old was your friend?"
"Same age. We looked older. They didn't even ask for IDs."
"Really?"
"Really. It was totally my friend's idea though. We picked out each other's tats. He chose the symbol for me. He thought they were a good representation of my personality, said I wore the mask of a clown to hide the tragedies in my life." Tony laughs humorlessly at the memory. Ziva is shocked at his honesty but cannot help but think that this friend had been spot on in his analysis.
"He chose wisely." She says instead as she traces the design with a finger tip. He holds his breath. "What did you chose for him?"
"A cross." He answers, suddenly somber. "A reminder to always keep the faith."
"What happened to him?" She asks. She reads the changes in his mood and knows this story does not have a happy ending.
"He killed himself when we were in college. He had suffered from depression for a long timeā¦.so much for keeping the faith." He whispers.
"I am sorry, Tony." She rests her forehead against his back, silently providing comfort and strength. He closes his eyes and a tear slips down his cheek.
"So am I."
