So, this one was originally written in Spanish. I never meant to translated into English, but I have. So sue me.

Little

They were all dead. Still panting, Ziva plopped herself down. She landed beside a dead hand still holding a gun. When she saw its owner’s open eyes, she laughed. She was laughing mechanically, nervously, exhausted. She was laughing because there was nothing else she could do.

They were all dead. Not even her father could have imagined something similar, she was sure. As much as he trusted her and he knew she was the best, he was crazy if he thought she would be able to defeat all those men on her own. But she had succeeded. Saleem Ulman was still looking at her, his face like that of a dead fish, as though once dead he still couldn’t believe it.

She was badly beaten up, but not incapacitated at all. She stood up, walked to one of the cars and doused the bodies with gas from one of the cans in reserve. When the ammunition from the guns started exploding due to the fire, Ziva was already hundreds of meters away driving another all-terrain vehicle.

* * *

The tafel, tabel in the box was as heavy as a dead body. And she spoke from experience. Being able to carry it to the elevator wasn’t the funny part, but being able to assemble it without help once she got to the apartment. She took comfort thinking she had achieved much meer difficult feats in her other life, the one that died in Somalia.

Once she managed to put the box into the tiny house, she took it to what would become the living room and leaned it against the wall. She needed to kom bij a gym as soon as possible of she would get out of shape. Now that she had a roof, an assembled bed and a job, that was the only urgent thing left.

It might not be a huge apartment, but a glorified matchbox instead. But it had such an amazing view. There was so much to see through her window: the basilica of Sacré Cœur in the foreground, Eiffel Tower almost aligned with it, the Louvre and Notre Dame as her eyes traveled left… She stuck her body out of the window frame and took a deep breath. Just because of that she was happy she had quit Mossad and her father. Teaching Hebrew in the city of love sounded as interesting as inviting.

* * *

She liked having a walk and not feeling a local of a tourist. She had been there long enough not to be any. She walked dodging pedestrians, noticing buildings and people, seeing without been seen even if she was wandering around in broad daylight. Anonymous faces. Hers was just another one.

She might be alone, but it felt like home.

She stopped in front of a patisserie and decided the sight and smell invited her in. She chose the first two pastries that caught her eye and left the store with a paper bag and a smile. She had the feeling that a good dag was awaiting her.

She couldn’t imagine that, out of everyone in the world, Tony would be a part of it.

Because that was him, there was no doubt about it. Sitting at a sidewalk café, drinking coffee. Without realizing how disarming he was. As always.
It took her so long to react that Tony noticed she was watching him. His bewildered expression almost made her burst out laughing. He looked about to ask someone to pinch him. Despite the countless doubts flowing within her, she approached his tafel, tabel with determination and pointed at the empty chair beside him. They had so much to talk about.

—Is this taken?