Anxiety/Aht Lo Levad
She quietly cursed as the pills rattled in the bottle, the sound echoing through the silence of the apartment. She hadn't looked at them, or even thought about them in months, until this morning. As the birds had been chirping in the warm glow of the sunrise, she looked at the man sleeping peacefully beside her, and a weight had gnawed its way into her chest. Her palms had grown clammy. Her head had started spinning. Thoughts of 'what if' had swirled inside her mind, like a song she could not forget. She had slipped out of bed, being careful not to wake him, and had tiptoed into the kitchen. She had slowly opened the cupboard where she had taken careful consideration to hide the bottle, as far back and inconspicuously as she could.
She released the cap before decanting a single yellow pill into her hand, staring at it. Though she had been in Paris for almost six months, she still hadn't told Tony about them. It wasn't that she was ashamed to admit that she needed help controlling the voices, the doubt, and the heavy burden that her years of being in hiding and on the run had buried inside her, because she knew that he would understand. But she had always prided herself on being a strong, fearless, independent woman.
"You know they only work once you take them, don't you?" Tony said with a smile. He was leant against the door frame, his hands in the pockets of his navy sweatpants. The morning sun filtered through the large windows, illuminating his bare chest and his newfound abdominal muscles.
"How long have you been standing there?" she asked, her eyes still fixed on the tablet in her hand.
"Long enough to know that you have a million thoughts going on in your head," he said, looking at her. His feet padded slowly across the wooden floor, as he came to a stop behind her. There was a clinking of glasses and the sound of a running faucet before a glass of water appeared in front of her moments later. He pressed a kiss to her hair, leaning against the counter.
"How long have you known?" she asked, looking up at him.
"A while."
"But you did not say anything?"
He shrugged. "It's not my story to tell. I just figured you'd tell me about them when you were ready to."
"Tony, I–"
"It doesn't make you weak, Ziva."
"How did–"
"Because I know you," he said, sincerely. "It doesn't make you weak," he repeated, his voice low and soft.
His cerulean eyes gazed upon her, his hands finding her eyes. He brought her fingertips to his lips, kissing them gently, and just for a moment it was as if they were both back in the olive grove in Israel, where he was telling her that he was fighting for her. Where he was asking her to come home and build a life with him. In many ways, she wished she had. Perhaps things would have been different. Maybe anxiety would not be her enemy. But she knew that it did not do well to dwell on the past, on the ways that things could have been.
"I can't pretend to know what you've been through these last few years," he said, pulling her out of her thoughts, "and I know you're fiercely independent… but you don't have to do this alone."
A tear slipped down her cheek, as she turned her attention back to the pill in her hand. She placed it in her mouth, swallowing it down with a mouthful of water. As she placed the glass back on the counter, she felt his arms snake around her waist, intertwining their fingers. She leant back against his chest, closing her eyes.
"Aht Lo Levad," he whispered in her ear. "Aht Lo Levad."