Hands Part II: A Post-Berlin Fic
By Taygeta
Author's Note: I guess you can call this a "companion piece" to my "Hands - A Post-Shiva Fic" since I realized what happened in "Berlin" was also about hands...and my world fell apart a little. Anywho, this is "Post-Berlin" and from Tony's perspective.
He was holding her hand. She was holding his.
It was the only clear memory he had in the haze. It was the only clear memory he had before hearing the loudness of the crash, feeling the impact running through his body.
There was a ringing sound in his ear. The world around him was fading in and out, but his only thought in the fog was to look toward her, to make sure she was okay.
He had reached out to her before it all went black.
He was holding her hand. She was holding his.
Emerging again from that unconsciousness, it took him a moment to place himself. He was still in the car. The airbag in front of him held streaks of his own blood, staining the whiteness of the airbag, telling him he was injured before he could even see it for himself. He felt the cuts on his hands and face, but in his head he knew the pain was yet to come...the adrenaline was still simmering. These were automatic thoughts - the kind of instinctual thoughts that happen in moments like these.
The next thought emerged from somewhere: part-instinct, part-present, and filled the car with a focus like a movie close-up.
He was holding her hand. She was holding his.
Ziva.
He moved his head slightly to the right, cautiously and slowly as he gauged his injuries and pain. He found his voice was hoarse and strained, "Ziva...?"
She laid still unconscious, her body slumped. Her head turned toward him. The door was smashed on her side of the car, glass was everywhere. Her face and her hands were bloody from the impact and debris.
The sight of her made memories flash in his head: the video footage of the explosion in Morocco and seeing her face-to-face while being interrogated in Somalia. In one memory she was unconscious and distant. In the other, she was close - injured but wide-eyed and alive...alive when he thought she was dead.
"Ziva...Ziva we have to get out of the car..." he said again as he moved to touch her, to shake her awake. She was unresponsive. He reached out to hold her hand and felt nothing in return.
He was holding her hand. She was holding his.
It was just ten seconds ago...five minutes ago...? He also didn't know how long he had been unconscious.
Fear and panic overwhelmed him. He struggled with his seatbelt. It had probably saved his life, but now it was holding him back from moving. That, and he was beginning to have a slow awareness of the pain the car crash had inflicted upon him.
Finally free from the seatbelt, he moved to unbuckle hers and look for the best way out. The door was completely crushed on her side. The only way he could get her out was through his door...and that was hoping that he could do that without further injuring her. That seemed like a better idea than staying in a crushed car. Struggling, he managed to open the driver side door. It creaked more with age than with the consequences of the car crash, but it still sounded scary - it made everything around him feel even worse.
"Come on, Ziva," he said slipping his arms around her and trying to hold her steady as he moved backwards out of the car. In the distance, he heard sirens - and, for once, hoped it was for them.
Pulling Ziva out of the car, he struggled to the nearest sidewalk where he laid her down as best as he could. Immediately, he felt for a pulse.
Where was it? Where was it?
"Ziva...stay with me..."
He felt a wave of relief when he finally found it - faint, but there.
He was holding her hand. She was holding his.
He reached out for her hand and held it close. He wasn't much about God, but already on his knees, beside her, it was like everything around him was willing him to pray. Pray to who? Pray to what? He didn't know. He didn't care.
He cared about her - whatever was going to keep her there with him.
The sirens grew louder. He realized his hearing had been damaged slightly as they approached him.
"Sir...? Are you okay, sir?"
He wasn't, but he stammered, "I'm fine. She's - she's..." He looked up at the medic and said forcefully, "I don't know if she is - help her!"
"That's what we're trying to do, sir."
He watched as they went about their work. It was a blur to him - all he could do was hold her hand.
He was holding her hand. She was holding his.
He only let go when they had to put her into the ambulance. She was still unconscious.
"Is she going to be okay?" he asked. "Is she going to be okay?"
"Sir, there's not much I can tell you right now. We really need to have a look at you," said one of the medics. "You can come with us on the ambulance. You can be right with her."
He half-listened to the medic's questions. His head was throbbing. His shoulders ached. They could only start treating his minor cuts and bruises anyway. When they finally let him be, he held her hand as they continued to monitor her vital signs and check for injuries.
Somewhere he realized that he need to call Gibbs. He was sure he had left his cell phone in the car.
Then he remembered there was another car.
"Are the other people okay?" he found himself asking, not pulling his eyes away from Ziva.
"There were no other people," said the medic. "Took off. Car was empty."
Tony looked up at him and then thought he really needed to call Gibbs. But when his eyes turned back to Ziva, he knew that could wait.
For once, he wished she had driven instead. In the back of Tony's mind, he hoped he could tell her that thought later and and hear her laugh - and hold him accountable to it. Or maybe she'd make the joke - she would. For all he cared, she could drive every single time if she wanted to.
He remembered reaching out for her hand. Half-surprised and half-relieved when she had curled her fingers into his. Seven years of knowing this beautiful, gorgeous woman and it all came down to holding her hand, the promise of something more. She was always the promise of something more and it took him a long time to be ready for it, to be ready to be who she needed.
And he had...and then...
She was going to say something...
And then...
He was holding her hand. She was holding his.
As the ambulance pulled into the hospital, Tony found that he was going to have to let go again.
He didn't want to let go.
Just before he had to, he felt Ziva's hand squeeze his ever so slightly. He was half-afraid he had imagined it. But he heard one of the nurses say, "She might be coming to...a little..." as they wheeled her through a set of doors.
He stood watching those doors swing close; his hand feeling the memory of hers, as if she knew he needed a sign to not lose hope.
End. Feedback appreciated.