She can't sleep. She tosses and turns, flips, and falls off the bed sometimes, but she doesn't sleep. All she can see, all she will ever see, is the tears that cloud her vision as the blood spills from his chest.
It has only been two hours and she has already cried enough tears to fill the Nile River twice over. The whole team has tried so hard, but she will never, EVER forget the look on his face as he realises what is to come.
She hates it. She hates everything. Everything that has ever caused her pain. Ari. Michael. Her father. Saleem. And now, this.
She sees the explosion. It replays, over and over and over again in her mind. The cracks, the boom, the never-ending inferno that means only death.
She gives up, sitting straight up in bed and flicking on the TV. Pulp Fiction... White Heat... It's A Mad Mad Mad Mad Mad World... Blazing Saddles... no, they all remind her of him.
It's too much to ask him for, but... She's seen this on television, little kids at the end of their beds. Maybe she should try it.
No. she will not. She remains in her bed, flips on a soap opera, and falls asleep.

Barely a hour later she wakes up, wishing it were a dream.
It wasn't.
No, she is still there, still without him, still grieving for him. Still missing his million-dollar smile, those eyes that remind her of her sister every time he looks at her, those lips that crack a joke nearly every other sentence.
Those lips that formed the words, with his dying breath, “I love you.”
She has the ring. She hadn't quite believed him when he gave it to her, but now she did.
Too late.
Too late.
He front door opens. She can hear it. She dives beneath the safety of her quilt, not wanting to face the day.
“Ziva?” No, she is hallucinating.
Or is she?
“Ziva, I know what you saw yesterday looked real, but it wasn't. It wasn't! I swear, Ziva, please, come out and talk to me!”
Still she refuses to believe.
“Ziva, please!” She can hear the desperation in his voice. “I can't lose you like this! Please, just acknowledge the fact that I am here!”
She finally peeks over the edge of her quilt. And there he is, same eyes, same hair (albeit a little messy) and that same sexy body. What's not the same is the lips. Normally curved in a million dollar smile, they are pressed together tightly, and he tries to brush away the tears.
“I love you.” she whispered. “I don't... believe... you are here.”
“Please.” He whispers. “Please.”
She finally nods. “I do.”
She slowly slides out of bed, walks to him. He captures her lips in a kiss. One of love, one to wipe away all sorrow and pain and grief.
“Couldn't live without you.” she finally whispers.
“I know.”

She wakes up again.
So it was a dream.

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