Note From The Author—Okay so I couldn't seem to help writing one final chapter for this story. I was considering making it even longer but I feel very strongly that bringing dialogue into it at this point would completely disrupt the continuity of the story and I take away some of the emotional impact. Anyway, I hope you enjoy this last chapter.
At home later that night Tony couldn't seem to stop playing over the day's events. It was like some macabre film reel in his head, and all he could see was the hatred in Jeanne's eyes; all he could hear was the venom in her voice when she'd quietly uttered the words that had dealt the final blow to his tattered heart.
But then his thoughts turned to Ziva, and how she had come looking for him. At the time he hadn't even known that he's wanted to be found, but when she had opened the door he somehow knew that it was right. Despite everything that had happened, and despite the fact that he'd believed he needed to be alone, her presence there was somehow a balm on the open wounds.
At first he thought her simply being there would be enough. He figured the silent support could help him carry through. But then that touch had lighted on his shoulder and suddenly it wasn't nearly enough. Almost before he had known it he had her in his arms and he was holding on to her for dear life. He couldn't hold back the tears, and he felt them fall salty wet against the soft skin of her neck.
They hadn't said a word to each other; it hardly seemed necessary. And when he had felt her own tears fall he took solace in the fact that he had someone there for him. He had someone who could understand, and she would let him grieve without asking anything of him.
So that night he thought of Ziva. That night he thought of the comfort that she'd given him. He wondered at the capacity for caring he had never imagined she possessed, and it occurred to him that maybe she could help him heal. Maybe, in time, she could be more.