This is based off a tumblr word prompt, "I think I made him cry." I didn't have a set plan for this one and let it write itself. Finally, it became a post-PPF piece, something I hadn't yet had the ability to tackle.

This is written in Ziva's POV. I don't generally use first person narrative, but it's very introspective and I believe this time it may have worked. I genuinely hope I captured the essence of Ziva David in this.

This will be a two-part piece. I am finishing up Part 2 tonight, and I will post it tomorrow.

Rebuild

Part I: Deconstruction

The drive back from the airport was quiet, and the tears left unshed streamed down my face. I hadn't wanted to cry, not the way I had as I watched him walking away. I hadn't wanted him to see how truly difficult it had been to let him walk away from me.

I didn't want him to think that he had to stay, to protect me. Tony is someone who tries to fix everything. He would have tried to heal what he felt was broken.

What he does not understand is that sometimes, things aren't meant to be repaired. Sometimes, the cracks in the pavement are so great, the entire road must be destroyed in order to build it anew. It will, essentially, be the same, but it will be stronger, and sturdier, and more capable of handling the heavy traffic that will seek to wear it down over time.

This is what he did not understand. I cannot be with him right now. He would not hurt me; I know this now. I have known for a while. All the same, I must allow myself this break. Tears I hadn't known I still possessed continued to fall. I did not want to be this broken woman. Another sob wracked my body as I slowly pulled my rented car in front of the house I'd chosen to make my domicile, at least for the time being.

I would likely not be staying long.

I feel as though I need to find meaning in my life again. Tony would say that helping people, helping women like me, that could be my meaning. And superficially, maybe that is true – if I can help people without in turn having to cause more pain. I cannot take another life, even in defense of others. I will not.

Tony helped me to make a new list, but that will not be the list I live my life by. I enter the house and put my keys down, crossing the room to pull out another piece of paper, a blank sheet.

I appreciate Tony's sentiment, really. But if I wish to create the proverbial blank slate for myself, then I must start with a blank sheet of paper. And allowing Tony to help me make a new list, well, that was more for his benefit than my own. I had to let him feel that he was helping me. Because that is pure Tony. I knew he would not leave this evening if he did not think he could leave me with something.

And I do hope that he understood that by giving him my necklace, I was letting go of my past. He is a part of my past now. I want him to carry my past self with him. He loved me, I believe that. He loved who I was with him. Four months is a long time. He does not love the person I have become in this time. But in more time, will he love me? The me of the future, the woman I had always hoped to be? I cannot know that now. The future has not yet been written.

I think I made him cry. But I cannot be sure, under that smile, that bravado he displays so well. Even I had to smile as he walked away, even with tears welling in my eyes. But I do think, once he slowed down, once he thought of me, perhaps once he found my necklace – I am sure of it. He has cried for me. I do not want him to hurt for me, but I understand. I have been important in his life. As he has been to mine.

It was difficult to watch him walk away. With a smile, even, as I stood there, small sobs wracking my body in protest. I love him, and he is the same Tony I have always known. I can love him for who he is. And a part of me wanted him to stay. But I could not allow him to. I would not be able to find the piece of myself I'd been missing all these years if I allowed him to stay. It is something I must do myself.

But yes, I will miss him dearly. I only hope that he will someday forgive me for taking this step alone.

I walk to the bedroom, noting the tangled mess of sheets, sheets that undoubtedly still had the scent of us upon them. I crossed to the bed, gathering the sheets in my arms, inhaling their scent before walking, swiftly, to dump them in the washing machine.

I must not allow myself to become nostalgic for something that could not be. The house was dim with just the light from the entry illuminating the space, and as I returned to the living area, I let the darkness wash around my skin, comforting me. Sometimes, in order to appreciate the light, we must necessarily spend our time in the dark. It would be a long road, one I could not drag anyone down, none but myself.

The blank sheet of paper sat still on the desk, beckoning me. There were but a few items I must write down, for myself. I opened the drawer, searching for a pen, and there it sat.

A small piece of paper, folded in half once, with just the word "Ziva" scrawled across it, in a handwriting I knew as well as my own.

"I knew you were going to write a different list. You're more transparent than you think. I understand. You have to do this for yourself. Just do me a favor, okay? Add 'I will not forget my family' to it, will ya? We're here for you. I hope you find what you're searching for someday. Anyway, I don't even know what I wanted to say here. Maybe just that when I told you 'anything you need' after your father was killed – that still stands, okay? If you need anything, you call me."

I should have known Tony would leave something behind for me, even after I told him I could not have any keepsakes. It is why I returned his picture to him, the one from when he was younger. I ran my finger along the side of the paper, noting a small indentation – a teardrop? Right next to his name, written like an afterthought with a crudely drawn heart. So he had cried for me. It shouldn't, but it makes my heart ache.

But Tony will not disappear, and he will be there if I decide to return. Tony knows that I am the one prone to disappear. I am the one that will be impossible to find.

I have been impossible to find for perhaps the last 25 years, or maybe longer. I have been lost for so long, I do not even know where to begin looking anymore.

I set the note down on the table, next to my blank sheet of paper. My present and my past, right next to each other on a plain desk in the house where I was born. Where is my future? It is not here, this much I know.

It is not here.

The realization hits me suddenly, that I do not want to say here any longer. The ghosts of my past haunt this house, and bringing Tony here just added another ghost to an already overflowing abode. My childhood loomed heavily over me like a storm cloud, threatening chaos and destruction. I would not find peace here.

There was nothing in this house that I cared to take with me. If I returned someday by chance, I would retrieve what belongings remained. Glancing around briefly, my eyes resting on the desk where Tony's note sat, I shut off the lights, picking up the keys and exiting.

I unlocked the car and sat down, suddenly becoming overwhelmed with the feeling of having forgotten something. Possessions were never of importance to me, with the exception of my necklace. Why would I become sentimental now? I reached to start the car, but I couldn't shake the feeling. There was something in that house I was meant to carry with me. If I wanted to discover myself anew, I would have to start listening to my instincts.

I walked back to the house, unlocking the door and flipping the light switch on. My eyes scanned the room slowly, searching for whatever I was missing. I'd left the door open behind me, the evening breeze blowing through the house and rustling the papers on the desk. The letter from Tony fell to the floor, and I bent down to pick it up. It had landed folded, my name to the ground, and on the back was more writing, smaller than on the front side of the note. I flipped it over, noting that there was no arrow to indicate that I should turn the page. Maybe Tony hadn't wanted me to see this side.

"If you're reading this, well … there's something I wanted to give you, but I couldn't find a way. You don't seem to want me to be a part of your life anymore. But I made up my mind that it was yours, a long time ago. So look in the bottom drawer, underneath some index cards - just keep it."

I furrowed my brow, confused. When had he written that? It had to have been after we talked in the orchard. I bent to open the bottom drawer, shuffling the index cards out of the way and there it was – his family ring. I couldn't help the gasp that came from my throat, as I stood, breathlessly looking down. It is a family ring. A ring to be passed down to the next generation.

I do not deserve this.

Gingerly, I picked it up, holding it between my fingers. Remembering the Christmas when he showed me the ring. It was something that made him happy. So now Tony had my necklace, and I his ring. I knew that this was what I was meant to carry with me; what was pulling me back into this house. I did not want a keepsake, and yet I could not bring myself to leave it behind. I didn't spare a look around the house again as I slid the ring into my pocket, finally walking out the door.

I didn't know where I was going. And it did not really matter, as long as it was not here. I had plenty of money, my father had seen to that, even for all of his faults. I would be okay, wherever I ended up.

And surely, I would find peace with myself somewhere on this earth.