They never talked about it. Between each other, or to anyone else. They never discussed the things that they had lost, why they could never be together, no matter how much either of them wanted it. Both of them had agreed that there was only one way. There was only one thing they could do, pretend. They would have to pretend not to know the truth.

They had promised each other, not to dwell on the past, but... it was far more difficult than either of them had anticipated. There were things that no one else saw, no one else knew. The truth was something they vowed to keep between them, keep secret. There was not much to be said, anyway, that's what they always said, anyway.

She remembered the first time she saw him. He remembered the first time he had touched her, as if it had been yesterday. But it wasn't. It was so far in the past that both of them barely recognized the people they had been, when they first met. He would never admit to anyone how much he had loved her. She could never tell anyone how close they once were, how close they had come, to having it all.

They had one thing in common. They were both good at pretending. They tried to put it in the past. They tried to forget. With each passing day, together, in the same place, was a bitter reminder. The past seemed like a word away, but it always stung like a fresh wound. He looks up from his computer screen, at her. Her brown eyes meet him, and quickly look away.

He knew the truth. He knew that she still loved him, but... neither of them wanted that. They knew that things were never going to work out, the way that they needed them too. There was too much between them. There was too much shared pain, and misery, for them to ever be happy, together.

September 15th, 2002

He slides into a booth, across the table from a young woman he doesn't know. She sips from a mug, and looks up at him questioningly. He smiles at her.

"Who sent you?"

"What are you talking about?" she tries to play coy.

"Everywhere I have gone in the past week, you seem to be."

"Coincidence, maybe?"

"Who sent you?"

"It does not matter. I am not interested in you."

"What are you interested in?"

"A terrorist, which you clearly are not."

"Does this terrorist have a name?"

"Paul Green."

"My suspect?"

"Is he?"

"What is your interest in him?"

"Eliminating him. I will torture him for a few hours first, once I get what I want, I will put him out of his misery."

"Give me a reason not to arrest you."

"I can kill you, with that spoon," she points to the unwrapped silverware next to him.

"Get him to write a confession, to the murders he's committed, and I'll let you walk."

"What's in it, for me?"

"I'll buy you dinner."

"How will you know where to find me?"

"I don't, but you seem to be able to find me."

"You're not going to ask me who I am?"

"I don't care to know, not right now. If I see you at dinner..." he smiles.

She watches him walk away.

September 16th, 2002

He takes a seat at a table, in a busy restaurant. He checks his watch, and turns off his phone. He doesn't hear her footsteps. He looks up, and she is standing before him. She wears a simple black dress. She takes a seat, and he smiles.

"Why did you want to make a deal with me?"

"I figured I could use you, and you could use me."

"I have no need to use you."

"Oh, that's a shame..."

"Ziva," she fills in the blank.

"That's a pretty name. Hebrew?"

"Yes," she nods.

"So you're here, on business?"

"Yes," she nods.

"Maybe I could incorporate some pleasure into your trip?"

"You are very forward."

"You seem like someone who is not easily impressed."

"I am not. Are you trying to impress me?"

"No, but I can tell you are intrigued."

"I know who you are."

"Yet, you're still here. I'm a womanizer, but for some reason you agreed to this. Why is that?"

"I have a habit of falling for charming men, who are all wrong for me."

"I see."

"And, I could use a little pleasure on this trip."

"You're someone who always gets what she wants?"

"Yes."

"So tell me, what is it that you want from me? I used you, and now, the ball is in your court."

"For one night, I would like to be someone else."

"I think that can be arranged."

"I'd like to be someone else, with you."

"Ok."

"Ok? You don't even know me. How do you know that I am not going to get you into bed, and kill you?"

"Your eyes tell a different story."

"What are they telling you?"

"You want me."

"So what if I do?"

"I wouldn't judge you."

"So why are we wasting time, here?"

He pulls out his wallet, and places a bill on the table. He looks up at her, with a smirk, "We're not."