This is the last chapter of unhappy Ziva, I promise. I couldn't just leave it at the last chapter and I felt it needed something to end it, if it makes sense. So this is it. Next chapter will be a bit of a change. Only seven reviews last chapter and thank you for each and every one of them. We are almost past the three quarters mark, what a special occasion!

Disclaimer: No.

It's everything you wanted, it's everything you don't
It's one door swinging open and one door swinging closed
Some prayers find an answer
Some prayers never know
We're holding on and letting go

-Holding On And Letting Go - Ross Copperman

Should she say something? It doesn't seem like an appropriate time but Abby and Ducky are here debating about a twenty year old bullet in a forty-year old corpse and Palmer is standing awkwardly next to McGee asking him to research about the effect of technology on young children and Tony is trying to find his passport in his desk junk and Gibbs is just sitting there sipping his coffee.

"Um, guys?" Ellie starts but the arguments continue. Only Palmer looks up briefly but looks back down at his tablet again when no further words are said.

"Guys!" Suddenly all activity stops and she suddenly feels very awkward standing behind her desk. She slowly gets off the box of cardboard folders she was standing on and says, quite calmly, "I went to see Ziva yesterday, and I think we need to do something for her."

Now she has everybody's attention, including a member of the team who sits on the other side of the partition. Gibbs glares at him and Agent Sandberg turns around and clears his throat with an embarrassed cough. Ellie can feel her cheeks flush red and thinks that they maybe didn't want to hear this when Ducky smiles and says, "Well go on, my dear. We haven't got all day."

It's the encouragement she needs. "Well I went to see her and, guys, I really think we should do something for her. Have a team dinner or something like that. She just seems so lonely in her apartment and I don't think she's ready to go out yet. Maybe we could host it at her place or someplace familiar that she knows? Just so it's not as scary."

They say nothing and for a few seconds she wonders if she's overstepped her mark. She just met Ziva yesterday; she doesn't know her like they do. Perhaps it's a totally stupid idea. She's just about to take it back when Abby says, "That's a great idea!"

McGee looks thoughtful. "We haven't seen her since the hospital. I mean we've meant to but this case has taken up all of our time."

"Oh God, I feel so bad now!" Abby moans from over by the plasma. "I'll go and see her tonight and ask if it's okay. She won't have her phone but maybe I'll email her and see if six is okay. Is that okay, Gibbs?"

He nods. "Just be careful, Abs."

"I will have to go and fetch that Jasmine tea that a friend of mother's gave me. It immediately made me think of Ziva." Ducky motions to Jimmy and they head back to autopsy.

"Hey, guys?" Abby begins. "Where's Tony?"

It's then they realise that the chair is empty, and it gives them all a sinking feeling when they realise they never even heard him go.

….

Before he knocks on her door, he pauses and thinks about the way they left things. Not last year in Israel, but two weeks ago when she was lying in a hospital bed and he said 'hi'. They'd had a conversation, short and sweet and too much like a polite conversation you'd have with a stranger. Then he's gotten a call from Vance and he'd had to leave, but said he'd be back tomorrow.

Except tomorrow there were debriefings and psych evals and suddenly there was no time and eventually when there was he got scared and did what Tony did best: he ran. Maybe he and Ziva are more alike than they possibly could have thought about.

He knocks and steps back quickly like the door's burnt him. It takes a few moments but he hears a shuffle and the slow squeak of the deadbolt being turned. The door opens and there's Ziva.

"Hi."

She looks up, surprised. He knows she didn't expect him here at half past one on a school day. "Hello, Tony."

Her voice is tired, the tired he remembers from five years ago in a sand-ridden hellhole. His mouth is dry and he's grateful that she makes the next move. "Come in."

She turns around and goes back into her own home and he follows meekly like a puppy. The place is spotless. Perhaps not because it's dusty but that's what makes it spotless because it doesn't look lived in.

"Sorry about the mess," she apologises. "I wasn't expecting company."

"Mess?! Ziva, if you think this is mess then you really have to come see my apartment sometime. This place is so tidy!"

Surprised by the sudden friendliness she stands up taller and straighter, unlike the old-woman posture she had only seconds ago. "Would you like something to drink, or eat?"

He shakes his head. "No thanks. I'm here to apologise, Ziva. I should have come seen you sooner than this."

"It's fine, Tony. I understand why you didn't want to see me." She barks a laugh. "I wouldn't want to see me either."

Offended, he stands up taller and goes on the defence. "Whoa, it wasn't that I didn't want to see you Ziva. Why did you have that idea?"

"Why would you? I didn't want to see you because I didn't know what to say, I didn't know how to deal with it. I assumed that it was the same reason."

"Well you assumed wrong, Ziva. I didn't come because I was afraid our meeting wasn't going to be as good as I imagined. I didn't come 'cause I'm so in love with you still and if I came and you didn't feel the same way then I didn't know what the hell I'd do! I've been debating when would be the right time to come here for two weeks now but you obviously haven't had the same problem!"

It all comes out in a rush and then it's too late to put it back in. he didn't come here to fight. It's perhaps better they do this now, rather than later.

She looks at him distinctly unimpressed and he catches a glimpse of the Ziva he knows and loves.

"You shouldn't assume, either. I am sorry if I have other things on my mind rather than when would be a good time to see you. I am sorry if what I'm feeling is not all sunshine and butterflies but I have had other things on my mind!"

"Like what, Ziva, like what? Because you had a load of weeks spare to sort out your thoughts."

He regrets it as soon as he says it but she doesn't cry or become upset. She looks at him with her steely eyes and says in a frosty voice, "Is that supposed to be funny?"

No, it's not. "No, Ziva, but dammit." He runs his hand through his hair. Breathe. In and out. Do not get stressed. Do not get stressed. "What do you want, huh? What do you want from me, from us, from life, even? 'cause you're running in circles trying to find it and you can't and it's hurting you so what is it you want?"

There's a sudden buzz to her now, as if someone's plugged her in. "What I want, Tony, is something that cannot be taken away. I want to know if love exists like it does in movies and books and television shows. I want to believe that there isn't a special place in hell for people like me because if there is then I'm ending up there. I want hope again, Tony, because I haven't had it in such a long time!"

It's perhaps the most honest thing they've said to each other in years. Then the both deflate, the fire gone out of everything because she's just home and are they really being so trivial? In the grand scheme of thing, what does it matter?

"I didn't come here to fight, Ziva. I'm sorry."

She nods. "So am I. This is all just… a bit too much to handle."

He nods and understands. He gets it. He does. It was all a bit overwhelming and there were feelings that had pushed their way to the surface with no warning and no thought of the aftermath, the consequence.

"I hear you're having a party."

She nods and smiles. "Yes. I got Abby's email soon before you came. She wants to know if she can come over tonight at six to discuss the details."

"Look, Ziva, I'm sorry. We haven't come to see you and we were all really big jerks. There was a case and then another and because… well because…"

"Because I had been away for so long it didn't feel like anything was out of place," she finishes for him, the gentle smile telling him that it's okay to admit it.

"Yeah, something like that."

"It's alright. Although it will be nice to see everybody else. Oh, and tell Ellie that her mother's cookies are absolutely delicious and that she must thank her for me."

…

The team dinner happens at Ziva's apartment two nights later. They arrive one by one and kiss her on the cheek and tell her how much they've missed her. They say how she looks so much better and how nice it is that she's back. They bring flowers and wine and Abby brings a stuffed animal. They comment on her décor and how they've never been to her latest apartment before.

It's nice and it's comforting but it's not real. Normally this wouldn't happen. They wouldn't be so nicely fake and worried looks wouldn't be present in their eyes and false formalities wouldn't be present in their smiles. They wouldn't sit at her table with carefully constructed laughter and jokes and stories from cases when she was away. Jimmy wouldn't look at her with that dammed look as if she might break and Tim wouldn't pull her chair out for her before she sat at the table. It just wouldn't happen.

Later into the evening, although, when wine and laughter makes them lose thought of why they're here and what script they're meant to stick to, it actually becomes rather nice. Ducky regales them with stories that are older than herself and Abby tells them how fun it was to play pranks on her brother who couldn't tattle because their parents were deaf. Ellie brings more cookies and it's nice. It's relaxing and comforting and she lets herself unwind, relax and sink into the moment.

Except they all must leave sometime.

When they do, and when every last dish is cleared away and the place is spotless once more, she goes into her bathroom, switches on the light and looks at herself in the mirror. Her reflection stares back at her, unhappy with the appearance of herself. Her hair is wild, curly beyond untameable and there seems to be a permanent frown on her lips. She catches sight of a scar, a small one, on her collarbone and she realises she cannot even remember how this one occurred. It is so small and when she touches it, no memory of searing pain assaults her senses.

She is ugly. Once, maybe, she was pretty. Once upon a time she used her body to her advantage and men would fall over their feet to experience one piece of it, just once. But now she is older and she is no longer that woman who has that kind of power. She will never be beautiful again.

She throws her hairbrush at her mirror, and watches as her reflection splinters into a thousand, unfixable pieces.