It was two in the morning, and Ziva David was running along the streets of DC, wearing her black shorts and white tank top, with her black trainers and her hair tied back.
Jen had been gone for three months now, but Ziva couldn't help but blame herself for her death.
So she ran every night into the early hours of the morning, like she had done most night since her friend's death.
She ran to forget.
She ran to take her anger out on something, which meant slamming her feet onto the pavement hard.
She ran because she had to occupy herself to stop herself falling into a depressive state.
And every night that she ran she ended up in the same place.
In Jethro's bed, with their limbs entwined.