Hellooooooop. Firstly, I know I said I would concentrate on Oh MY Word and something plot-centric but then I also told my mother I would spend this weekend working through the massive pile of notes and essays and annotations that has been building up on the side of my desk. So, I lied to all of you. But hopefully this lie will be slightly more productive (do you think it's really possible for me to complete my English c/work, do 2 Philosophy essays, one English essay and three essay plans, seven French exercises and one set of History notes in the twelve hours I have tomorrow? AHAHAHA I think not) so yay, hopefully :)

Notes: Oneshot, Tiva, sad start, happy ending. No swears, no sex, no violence. This can actually be rated a K, I think!

Spoilers: None. This happens in my own little world (please visit, or move in permanently, it'd be great to have some company).

Disclaimer: Still? Really?

And, I hope you enjoy :)


Those Bruised Septembers


She stands in the shadow of the tree on that perfect day in September, and the light rains down around them, and they are bathed in kissing bruises. She gazes at the sky, constant and blue, and they stare up together at blinding white marble and the breeze lifts her hair. She wears a coat with the collar turned up and her hands in her pockets and yet still she's shivering. She meets his gaze - she squints in the glare - but she meets his gaze and holds it unflinching and true. She tells him I'm done, and she walks away. She does not look back.

And he doesn't try to change her mind, he doesn't try to stop her. Even though with every step he realises more and more, even though the movement of her body – away from him, away from him – breaks his heart. He doesn't say a word.


He sees her under the same tree, hours, days, weeks later, and suddenly later is not days and weeks but months and years and he watches her remain unchanged and he never blinks, not once. He gets engaged and calls it off and drunkenly breaks down at the Christmas party – a December with snow – and they meet eyes – blue, brown, hazel – over his head, and they say nothing, because it's your own fault is just too heartless.


He sits on the bench in the middle of an April and wonders for a while whether she ever thinks of him. Probably not, he decides, because I am forgettable, and if I'm not, then people want me to be.

He cannot forget himself, and so he doesn't.


The leaves are green in July, so vivid and sharp they hurt his eyes but they're just too beautiful to resist. The earth under the sun is hot and dry, crumbles in his fists, but beneath the tree it is cool and moist. He can lean his head back and watch the light filter down and everything is gone from him, if only for a moment.

She watches him a little, and then closes her eyes and tries to sleep. She does not dream.


They meet again in a September, under the golden leaves, and they look out across the rest of the world and they do not speak for so long. He does not look at her as he says it.

"I understand, now. Ani mevin."

She is quiet for the longest time, then turns away from the sun. Large dark eyes and a softer face, shorter hair. The voice is hoarser, quieter. She sounds as though she speaks rarely.

"I know you do."

"I didn't get it, back then."

"I know." She sniffs, slow, and gazes out at the park, the grass, the happy families that are not hers. The colours are so stark. They do not bleed. She does not break.

"Could you come back to it? To us, to me, to everything? Do you think that would ever be possible?"

And she gives him the honest reply. She doesn't know. For the millionth time in her life, she doesn't know the answer.

He breathes (it is deep) - once, twice, and then he speaks words that mean something and lead somewhere.

"Can we start over?"

She smiles, and it pools in her gaze, flickering and true. "The way I remember, it began with phone sex."

A smirk, green eyes, a beating heart. "Well, if you insist..." he calls, over his shoulder, as he walks away from her.

A laugh. She falls into step, and together they leave the shadow of the tree. He takes a deep breath, turns to her, and holds out his hand. "Shalom. Shmi Tony."

She does not miss a beat. "Hello. My name is Ziva. It's wonderful to finally meet you." They do not let go. Nothing more is needed. They walk towards the rest of the world, towards the glittering city. She does not look back.




Notes now you've read it:

Hebrew translations should be – Ani Mevin, I understand; Shalom, Hello (literally, peace); Shmi, my name is. Apologies if any of these are incorrect/used wrongly, I did research as best I could.

And – I hope you enjoyed. Slightly more optimistic than my last one! As always, Bravo hearts reviews.