Nodus Tollens - The realisation that the plot of your life doesn't make sense to you anymore

It was... strange being back in America. Back home, or was it what used to be her home? What even was home now? Ziva shook her head. She didn't know anymore.

She was sitting on a park bench, she'd been spending a lot of time on these recently, just watching the world go by - pass her by. People strode by, seemingly with such purpose, they had a destination in mind and a way to get there. They knew what they were doing.

Unlike her. Yes, she was back in America. Yes, she was alive. That was what she wanted, yes? She had been given a second chance. A massive second chance. The universe didn't hand many of those out, she really out to be grabbing it with both hands. Except... She didn't know what the universe was trying to tell her. Before, she knew the direction she was going and how to get there, she was even at the steering wheel. Everything had made sense in its whole crazy way. But it had been her crazy way.

Now? Not so much. She didn't have that anymore. What was the point of her rotting in that, that hellhole for three months only to be dragged out by the very people she felt like she had betrayed and brought back to here where it all began? It just didn't make sense. Not to her anyway.

She didn't like this feeling, not knowing what to do. Having no purpose. She wanted, needed to be busy. Yearned for it even. This aimless drifting from day to appointment was starting to get to her. Back to her having no purpose. Wasn't everyone meant to have a purpose? Even just a small one?

Ziva kicked at a small stone that was in front of her, feeling oddly childlike in doing so. Following its path with her eyes, she frowned as a car scattered it who knows where. She supposed that she did have a purpose, a goal. She wished to be back at NCIS but not as a Mossad liaison. Ziva shuddered and blocked the memories that were always waiting to swallow her. Definitely not as a Mossad liaison. An NCIS Agent, that's what she wanted to be - admittedly had wanted to be about nine months before the whole incident in Tel-Aviv happened - these people had really wormed their way into her heart, something she didn't think was possible.

Tears pricked at her eyes as more memories surfaced. She still needed to apologise to Tony. And Gibbs. Oh, everyone actually. Would she be forgiven? They had come to rescue her, hadn't they? Did she even deserve it? She shook her head again, impatiently this time. There was no point in dwelling on these things. They'd happened, had disastrous consequences and now she needs to atone. Set things right. She just didn't know how. What was she supposed to do?

It felt like her whole life was like one big cliff hanger to a story. With literally her whole life hanging in the balance. Was it still a cliff hanger if you felt like you were dangling off the edge of a cliff with no help in sight and your muscles were tired? Probably.

There weren't many people to watch, making her people-watching quite boring. It was late morning in the middle of the week. Everyone was in work or in school, as they should be. All in neat little boxes.

A lonely sigh escaped her as she absent-mindedly fingers the wooden slats that made up the seat of the bench. Her bench, as she was coming to think of it. That probably wasn't a good thing. Or a healthy thing. No matter, it had been an excellent help to her while she tried to sort things out and make sense of the seemingly endless paperwork she had to figure out. Its powers weren't working on trying to make sense of her life, unfortunately.

Ziva leaned back and rested her head on the back of it, trying to clear her thoughts. Deep breaths, that's what the shrink taught her. In. Out. In. Out. It wasn't working. On. Out. In. Out. The thoughts still swirled dizzyingly. She didn't like that, not being in control of even her own mind. Too many questions, not enough answers. Or, not wanting to know the answers and hiding from them. She really was her own worst enemy, wasn't she?

Maybe she didn't have a purpose anymore. It sure to don't feel like it. She rubbed at her eyes, suddenly feeling exhausted and a more than a title annoyed at her body's current physical limitations. Even if she did have a purpose, she probably wouldn't be able to do anything about it. Stupid malnutrition and muscle atrophy.

Ziva frowned at herself and mentally gave herself a Gibbs-slap. She was talking nonsense. It was starting to sound like she had given up. Which she most certainly hadn't! She straightened herself up, head high. She was still alive, could still do things. It would just take time.

Then she slumped back down. But what next? Would she be instated as an agent before she bound herself to this country? How was that supposed to work? Would it even work? And what about her team? Her family? She resisted the urge to scream her frustration. There was no pillow handy.

She had said that it didn't make sense, didn't she? The corners of her lips quirked upwards. It felt strange, like those muscles hadn't been used in a long time. Her situation was something only a deity or something similarly all-powerful could make sense of. Heck, He was probably the one writing the script. God had a funny sense of humour if this is what her story was making out to be. So many plot holes and too much unfinished business with not enough pages left to resolve it. She really hated books like that.

She hoped God had a damned good editor. Or at least enough material for a sequel.