She sits in her kitchen, in silence. She files through bills, and papers, sorting them into piles. She wears a pair of shorts, and a tank top. It was her day off, and she was organizing her junk drawer. Her right leg is folded under her, on the chair. The other dangles off the chair; over the floor. Her bare foot slowly swings back and forth.

She looks around, at her surroundings. Everything was in its place. She had tidied up, when she got off work, the night before. The dishes were all clean, and put away. The couch cushions were in their place. The coffee table had been dusted. The floor had been swept. The bathroom had been cleaned. Her bed clothes were in the laundry.

She looks past the living room. She sighs, and returns to the task at hand. It was unusually quiet. This wasn't normal. It was Saturday, her day off, but... it was rarely this calm. There was always something going on. A phone ringing. A neighbor making noise. There was always some sort of noise; some sort of distraction. In all fairness it was still early. It was only 0730. Yet, something seemed off. She had a routine, and this was not it.

Her stomach begins to growl, reminding her, that she has not eaten breakfast yet. She pushes the chair out, and moves towards the cabinet. She pulls the door open, and looks at the three boxes of cereal. What was she in the mood for, today? Before she can answer she's interrupted. She turns towards the noise. She closes the cabinet, and swiftly makes her way to the door. She looks through the peephole. She furrows her brow in dissatisfaction, before unchaining the lock. She pulls the door open.

"What are you doing here?"

"I thought that you might be hungry. Have you eaten yet?"

"No. Why are you here?"

"I brought you breakfast," he holds up the bag.

"I can see that. Why did you bring me breakfast?"

"I told you, I thought that you might be hungry."

"Tony, you are talking in circles."

"So are you."

"It's Saturday. It is our day of. Why would you come by, on your day off?"

"I brought you breakfast."

She looks at him, ready to scream in frustration.

"Why did you feel the need to bring me breakfast? Do you have an ulterior motive?"

"I thought that we could talk."

"You're bored?"

"That too."

"It is a little early in the day, to be bored."

"Are you going to invite me in?"

"You came over, unannounced."

"Are you afraid that I might find a dust bunny, or something?"

"I doubt it."

"And why is that?"

"I just finished cleaning."

"What are you doing?" he points to her table.

"Organizing my junk drawer."

"Can I come in, or not?"

"No," she shakes her head.

"No? Why not?"

"Did it ever occur to you, that I may want to keep my private life separate, from my professional life?"

"No. Why, would you want to do that? Do you have something to hide? Something, you don't want me to know about?"

"Everyone is hiding something."

"What are you hiding?"

"Now is not a good time. You should not have come."

"Why not? What is going on?"

"Nothing is going on."

"Then why won't you let me come in?"

"Some doors, should remain closed."

"What are you talking about? Ziva, I am just bringing you breakfast. I am not trying to open any doors. Are you afraid of where our conversation might lead?"

"I am afraid of where our conversation may start."

"What is that supposed to mean?"

"Never mind."

"Ziva I know that there are things you don't tell me. I just want to be your friend."

"You should go," she warns.

"No," he shakes his head.

"No?"

"Lately, I have noticed that your not yourself."

"Maybe I'm not."

"Does this have to do with Prince Charming's departure?"

"No. It is not as if my entire world revolves around him."

"Then what is on your mind?"

"You don't want to know."

"Please, let me come in. What is the worst that could happen?"

"I guess you'll see," she pulls the door open, wide enough for him to come in.

He makes his way, into her kitchen. She closes the door behind him. She collects the papers off the table, and lays them on the counter. She takes a seat at the table, next to him.

"I brought doughnuts."

"Why are you really here?"

"I'm worried about you."

"I am fine."

"You seem tired."

"Is it a crime to be tired?"

"No."

"Is there something that you would like to ask? If there is, you should just ask it."

"Why won't you ever talk to me..."

She cuts him off, before he can finish. "I talk to you, all the time."

"About Somalia."

"There is nothing to talk about."

"There is. You just don't want to talk about it."

"Not with you."

"If I thought that you were talking to someone else, about it, I wouldn't be here."

"You don't need to know."

"I am your partner."

"So?"

"It's my job to help you, if I can."

"You can't help me. No one can help me."

"Please, at least, let me try."

"How are you going to help me?"

"I am going to listen."

"You don't want to listen, believe me."

"Why not?"

She shakes her head. "There is a reason that I haven't discussed this with you."

"And why is that?"

"I was trying to protect you."

"Protect me from what?"

"This mess."

"What mess?"

"The mess, that I call my life."

"What happened, over there?"

"What do you think happened?"

"I wish that I was clueless. I wish that I had no idea. I wish that I was wrong."

"But, you aren't."

"You don't even know what I think."

"I am sure that I do. After almost six years, I know how you think. I know what you are thinking. I know you want me to tell you, that you are wrong. I wish that I could. I cannot tell you that."

"Why not?"

"Because it wouldn't be the truth."