Hi my lovely readers! I got the urge to write something – anything – the other day, and I just started putting words on paper until I hit the second page or so, when this little thing started to form. It will probably have another one or two more chapters.

It's set the day they return from Somalia, and is told from the point of view of Tony (non italic) and Ziva (italic).

Review and get a 24 hour advance on the next chapter!

…

What Happens Before You Die

….

It is one of the few times in my life I am speechless.

I think for her, it is the same.

We have not bothered to shower, change. She still wears the thick hospital bracelet that swallows her pale, now skeletal wrist.

We have sat like this for maybe 10 minutes, ever since we walked through the apartment door. I dropped my gear – a canteen with stale water and a few MRE's intact, and followed her to the kitchen table.

She has a strange look on her face, where her lips are pursed yet frowning, and I can't tell if she's going to cry or be sick or break my arm if I try to touch her.

I think that maybe I should call Gibbs.

You know that feeling you get where something that happened just hours ago feels like days? That's what it feels like now. Flying from Somalia to DC, waiting with her in the hospital, going into NCIS.

It all feels….surreal.

I guess such an experience, one of such intense stress, emotion, not knowing whether you will live or die. I guess it changes a person.

I wonder, now, how it has changed her.

….

Have you ever found yourself somewhere that you should not be? I am not speaking of the men's restroom or your partner's bed.

But what I am trying to say, is, have you ever found yourself alive when you should be dead?

Let me rephrase that. Because I, for one, should have died ten times over throughout the years.

Have you ever prepared yourself to die? Mentally say goodbye to everyone that you love, dole out forgiveness that will never be said?

That last embrace with your father, or at least the man who is the closest thing you have, was it strong enough to get you through the next forever?

Did you hug her enough? Will that next tattoo – the one you and she carefully drew out, discussing, debating, location and size. Will it now be a silent reminder of you, after death?

That last sip of English tea, laid out in the morgue as tenderly as his ear for your problems, his hands for your wounds. Will it be enough to quench your thirst for eternity?

Your brother – not the one by blood but the one who never betrayed you – did you teach him, love him, enough? Did you ever remember to thank him for showing you the meaning of family?

And have you prepared yourself to never feel his lips on yours again? To never know what it is like to wake in his arms; for once, to have him completely?

Will you forget his face, that scar on his shoulder from an old bullet wound?

Will you forget what you had, what could have been?

Will he?

These are all questions that you ask yourself before you die.

And regardless of the answer – because it is usually not one you would like – you accept.

You make peace with the regrets.

And then you are ready. You find solace in knowing that you will see old friends again – Jenny – and meet new ones. Kate.

You are focused by knowing that you might finally get some answers. Ari.

You take comfort in knowing that you will watch over those left behind. Misguide bullets, if you can.

You find relief, resolve, in knowing that it will soon be over.

So what happens when all of a sudden you find yourself alive, still breathing, blood flowing? Yet there is nothing inside you save for death in your heart, soul.

Where do you go from there?

….

I come to the conclusion that I should probably make the first move. It being my apartment and all.

She just returning after three months of….

"Ziva," I say lightly, watching as her eyes flick toward me.

"Do you want to take the first shower?"

She shrugs. "Go ahead."

I suddenly realize that I am afraid to leave her alone. Maybe I should call Abby or….

But I only say, "Ok," and it is the fastest shower of my life. I return in three minutes, but not before I remove the razors and tweezers and…I think that should do it. I don't think she could kill with a toothbrush, right?

On second thought, I remove that for good measure.

It isn't that I don't trust Ziva. It's not that I think she would ever hurt herself.

But this version of Ziva, sitting in my apartment? I don't know her yet. I'm not entirely sure what she's capable of.

Honestly? I can't face the prospect of even coming close to losing her again.

….

It doesn't take long to forget how pleasurable such simple things can be. How safe, comforting hot water can be as it trickles down your face, your back. The way silky hair runs through your fingers as conditioner drains out.

This is what I concentrate on, as I scrub and scrub and scrub away as much of Somalia as I can.

It helps, to have something to focus on. Because if I let my mind wander, I can not stop thinking about Saleem. About everything that happened in that small cell, dirty in more ways than one.

I cannot stop thinking about why I am not dead.

I cannot stop thinking that three people love me enough to risk their lives for my revenge.

I can hear him, outside of the bathroom door. He walks by every few minutes, footsteps stop. I imagine him cocking one ear against the door.

God only knows what that imagination of his is spinning.

God only knows that most of those things…they are probably true.

It is only when I turn off the shower and dress in the fleece pants and t-shirt that Tony left for me. It is only then that my thoughts betray me.

I have not seen my reflection in three months. I almost do not recognize this person before me.

She looks sick. Emaciated.

Dark, ugly bruises line her arms. I lean in closer to the bathroom mirror and inspect her yellowed face, marked with tiny nicks.

I am immediately thousands of miles around the globe.

The world I came from and the world I am in now are too starkly different, and I simply cannot comprehend how to function in one without the other.

I step back. As if being further from that girl in the mirror will somehow take away what has happened.

But it does not.

And I cry out.

Turn away so quickly from the mirror that I stumble, catch myself on the wall. Breathing in Tony's scent on the old t-shirt.

Focusing on being here – now – forgetting Saleem, Somalia, tomorrow.

Concentrating on just this one minute so that I can make it to the next.

…

I hear a single cry escape her but she won't let me in.

She says that she'll be out in just a minute.

I am starting to panic and sweat and think that maybe I should call Gibbs.

But I take a deep breath and tell myself that I can handle this.

I can protect her.

Just because it is me and her alone, does not mean anything will happen to her.

Besides, Gibbs is coming over any minute now with food.

And then she emerges from the bathroom, followed by a wave of steam. She is damp and dripping and gives me a soft smile and just stands there looking at me.

And I stop thinking and worrying that one wrong action on my part might break her.

I take two steps closer and cup her face in my hands. She looks up, deep into my eyes, and I see something that surprises me.

From the moment I saw her in Somalia, to the plane ride to the hospital to the chorus of applause at NCIS, something so uncharacteristically Ziva lined her eyes.

Fear.

As if she didn't know me, Gibbs, McGee. As if at any moment we may become Saleem or his men. Lunge, attack.

But now, that fear is gone. She looks confused, yes. Haunted, still.

I wonder, if just maybe, she finally feels safe. With me.

…

His hands are warm and soft and they surprise me. I am not used to a man's hands being so gentle.

I let him touch me.

Let myself think back to the day I made peace with Tony. I had saved him for last. After Ari, Eli, Gibbs, Abby, McGee.

He was the first thing, always, on my mind. What he was doing, who he may have been with.

Our past. History.

What I should have done differently after Rivkin. What he should have done.

All of the times we should have acted upon mountains of desire, sexual tension. But didn't.

The guards had taken pity on me that day. Untied me from the chair and let me be free. It did not matter much because I could not stand, could hardly sit up.

That is when I knew, that the end was near.

And so I lay on my back on the cell floor. It was cool and comfort to my sore body, was a welcome relief from the desert heat.

Eyes closed, I pictured his face. Not the one he wore after he shot Rivken, nor the look he gave me in Tel Aviv when I held a gun to his chest.

But I saw him as he truly was, the Tony that defined the better parts of our….relationship.

Whatever that may have been.

They tell you life is too short. Yet you always seem to think that you have more time.

I always seemed to think that eventually, Tony and I would find our way to one another.

That is one of those regrets that you have to tuck away, forgive yourself for, in the moments before you die.

And that I did. Speaking softly, out loud, I made my peace with Tony.

And this is what I said.

…..

To be continued! Don't forget to leave a little review if you want to read more. All those who reply get an advance at least 24 hours before the next chapter is posted!