Altschmerz - Weariness with the same old issues that you've always had - the same boring flaws and anxieties that you've been knawing on for years.

A loud sigh escaped her as she rubbed a hand over her face. Ziva stared into the depths of the sink she was leaning over in the NCIS woman's toilets, not wanting to look up just yet. She didn't need to see her reflection in the mirror.

She couldn't stop the sniff nor the tears that leaked out from her scrunched-up eyes. Stupid. She was so stupid. Or was it pathetic? Pathetically stupid? She shook her head, trying to rid herself of such thoughts. They never did any good. Not that she could exactly stop them. She had been trying, not wanting them to interfere with her life anymore but it was harder than she thought. It never used to be. She used to be able to, it was easy. Just pushed them to the back of her mind and didn't think of them anymore. That was impossible now. They wouldn't stay put. It infuriated her. Her, so used to being in control, unable to even stop what she was somewhat convinced were lies sweeping through her head.

"Pathetic."

"Weak."

"Incapable."

"No good."

They weren't just scrambling for attention, they were echoing - never quite going away. What had changed? Why wasn't she in control anymore?

More tears leaked down her face. She couldn't stop them. She couldn't bring herself to even wipe them away. Just like the thoughts. It wasn't fair. Why was all this happening now? She didn't need all this on top of what she was already dealing with. She didn't need anything else to suffer over.

She thought that she had gotten over these years ago. Proved them wrong.

"Hopeless."

"Inept."

Obviously not. She took a deep breath before finally lifting her head up from the sink.

"Never good enough."

"Try harder."

"You're not trying."

"Weak."

Ziva could barely see her reflection through her tears. She roughly wiped them away, disgusted with herself. Being able to see clearly didn't help matters. It meant she could see in the mirror. Red eyes, blotchy skin, bedraggled curls, smudged mascara. Whoever said that that was waterproof was a big liar. She was a mess. A horrible mess.

A twist of her wrist and the tap came on. A little too forcibly, the water splashed out of the sink - wetting her clothes. Great. As if she wasn't in enough of a state. Shaking her curls back, she cupped some water into her hand and splashed it over her face. It wouldn't get rid of the red eyes but she could at least remove the tear tracks and the mascara. Maybe she could even blame the red eyes on having dry eyes. She had struggled with that when she had first returned, a symptom of dramatically changing climates. Extremely rotating and actually a bit painful but it would be the perfect excuse. She even had a leftover bottle of eye drops she could pretend to use.

Ziva dabbed at her face, not wanting to scrub at it for fear of making herself look even worse (if that was even possible). A critical look looked back at her from the mirror. All of her makeup was removed and her cheeks didn't show any sign of her tears. Her hair was a mess but shed need a brush (and probably a shower) to fix that. At least it was just the front of her hair. There was just one problem. No makeup meant that there was no covering of the bags under her eyes and the faint bruises that were still visible on her cheeks. Only if you knew where to look for them but her team knew where to look for them.

She sighed at her reflection. Maybe she could get to her bag under her desk without anyone noticing. It was coming up to lunchtime.

'Tap, tap.'

Ziva turned sharply to the door. Was that-?

'Tap, tap.'

That was louder this time. She hadn't imagined it. She frowned, not really wanting to let anyone in at the moment.

"Occupied, please use those on the other side of the building."

Her voice sounded weird from the crying and the blocked-up nose. Good, no one would think it was her then. No one else had to see.

"Zee, it's me."

Dammit. Why couldn't Tony just leave her alone. Guilt almost immediately shot through her. No. She wasn't allowed to think like that towards him. He was her partner. He had her six. Always did. She snorted derisively. He had a much better track record than her.

"Ziva?" His voice was more hesitant now, more worried.

"I'll be out in a minute," she tried to say in a clear voice, hoping that that would make him go away. Or at least wait by their desks.

"You've been in there an awful long time already."

Ziva stayed silent, not really knowing how to respond to that.

"Ziva?"

"A minute, Tony."

She glanced at the mirror. A minute was all she needed. She ran a hand through her hair in an attempt to tame it. The handle rattled and turned from side to side.

"Tony" she said warningly.

"I'm coming in," he insisted.

She sighed. He was too stubborn for his own good. Reaching across, she turned the lock before he broke something. Like his shoulder.

Tony barrelled through the door, coming to an abrupt stop when he realised, she was right in front of him. His eyes widened as he took in her appearance. Ziva chuckled condescendingly, which turned into a sad sounding hiccup at the end.

"I'm disgustingly weak," she choked out in a disgusted tone, waving her hand up and down herself.

Tony immediately shook is head. "No, no, no. You're healing," he corrected.

"Exactly," she said matter-of-factly.

All this fuss she was making over a few cuts and bruises. Her Mossad Trainers would be horrified.

Tony grabbed her by the shoulders so she would look at him. She gave him a glare to cover up her pounding heart.

"That means you're so strong."