A/N This picks up during Truth or Consequences. . . It will finish up with the current season.

A little something for the hiatus.

Thanks JSQ & Cindy for the read-through

Disclaimer: I got nothing.

I walk out of Abby's lab with no direction. Faintly, I hear Tim call my name. Gibbs tells him to just let me go. It is probably for the best. I don't really want to be around anyone right now. In a fog, I get in my car, leave the Navy Yard and head to ourwatering hole - well, I guess now it isn't ours, but I go there anyways.

As I sit down at the bar, I notice that Brett is working. Thank god, he knows me. I signal for him and he saddles up, "Hiya, Tony! What can I get for you?"

"Something strong."

"That kind of day."

"You have no idea."

He doesn't prod. He knows if I have something to say I'll share it but right now pleasantries are not what I need.

He comes back with a Long Island Iced Tea. Perfect. I take the straw out and guzzle it down. The mixture of the concoction burns my esophagus, but I finish it quickly and slam the glass back onto the bar. In mere seconds, I've downed another drink. Then another and another.

Brett comes back over to tell me I'm done. "Who do you want me to call?"

"Ziva." Images of Ziva, Gibbs' voice and the feeling of a gun pointed at my chest flitter about in my my mind. The statement, Damocles went down in a storm. The twenty-eighth of May, off the coast of Somalia. There were no survivors – comes stomping over all the other images. She's dead. She's gone. So much of left unsaid. So much we never shared. The last time I saw her, she was so angry. She knocked me on my ass. She stayed in Israel, putting literal miles between us. She didn't call, write or e-mail. I failed. I did my best to protect her. I failed. Would I do it again? Yes.

He takes my phone and calls. "No answer."

"There wouldn't be. Try McGee."

Brett hangs up the phone again. "He's coming."

I nod and take my phone. "Thanks."

I can feel McGee's eyes pierce through me. He knows better than to say anything. He helps me to his car and drives me home. I know that he wants to say something. . . anything, but it doesn't matter. He can't fix it. No one can.

Yeah, we've lost people. It's part of the job. It doesn't get easier. When it does, that might be the cue to get out.

But with Ziva, it's different. I intend to exhaust every avenue of investigation.

Tim leaves me. Alone. There's no way I can work tomorrow in this condition. Gibbs will be pissed if I don't show up. I stumble to kitchen to grab a glass water. I gurgle it down with the same intensity as those drinks I had not long ago. I think I need aspirin and pillow, right now. Except, the aspirin will only numb some of the pain I inflicted on myself. The aspirin won't take away the pain that is filling my entire body with a gamut of emotions of sadness, rage, love, jealously, vengeance and longing. Listening to a movie usually calms me but every movie I want to pick just reminds me of her. Turning the knife in my body slightly more.

I collapse in bed. Memories swirl in my head. Her laugh, her breath on my neck, her flubbing of the English language, her body pressing up against mine, her voice. Everything about her. Every goddamn fucking thing.

In a cold sweat, I sit up in bed. As I wake up, I look over the clock, my gun obscures the bottom of the clock, I squint trying to figure out what time it is. It doesn't matter, time is relative. I raise my hand and rub my face. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. I can feel the hammer attacking the back of my head. I reach over for more aspirin. I'm going to need something stronger. To survive this. To mask this hurt even though I can still feel it.

I tried to drink the memory of Director Shepard away but this hole is wider, deeper, and more black.

No survivors swirls in my head.

Officer Ziva Fucking David. Mossad Liaison. She kills people with credit cards. She's my partner. She has disappeared into the wind before. Sometimes I think that she should have just pulled the trigger. That would have been better than this. I will find who did this and when I do, watch out. . .

The next day, the sunglasses are on as I get off the elevator. Gibbs and McGee are already working. They look up at me and nod. I sit down and stare at the desk across from me, forgetting for just a moment that Ziva will not be joining us today or any other day for that matter. Hold it together. Eight hours. You can do this. You have to do this. Fuck.

Boss Man's phone rings, bringing me back to reality. That's the cue. "Grab your gear."

Another day. Another crime. Another night.

To be continued. . .