Summary: She is a soldier, raised to be invincible. Who would ever have thought that the tiniest thing would bring her down?
Disclaimer: I wonder what the hotel room in Paris looks like? The fact that I am wondering shows that I don't own NCIS.
Spoilers: 7x13 "Jet Lag"; Somalia arc.
A take on what happened in Paris. Okay, this story is justifiable in my mind, but may seem weird to you. I'm just warning you! :)
As always, please review, and thank you!
-Soph
Afraid
She stiffens the moment she enters the hotel room; she can hear it. Pling, pling, pling – the sound of water hitting stone. Not quite the same, but not different enough.
She walks in, trying to look as if nothing is bothering her. Places the suitcase on the floor and checks the bathroom, only to confirm her worst nightmare. She watches as the next large drop oozes out of the faucet, clinging on for dear life; pulled down by gravity and held back by surface tension. Finally it breaks free and falls through the air, landing in the basin with an ungraceful splat. She shudders, and the rational part of her wonders what kind of hotel would let their faucets leak.
"You okay?" His low voice asks behind her, and she tries not to look too frightened as she turns to meet him.
"Yes. I am fine."
He frowns uncertainly. "You look funny. All pale-ish."
"I am fine," she repeats and nudges him away from the bathroom door so she can close it.
She knows he pretends not to see her take a deep breath as he waves his hand in the general direction of the rest of the room. "Only one bed, as the receptionist told us. Of course McGoo took everything into consideration."
"We have shared a bed before, yes?" She shrugs and steps as far away from the bathroom as she can.
"Yeah, but we were kinda married then. Sharing a bed was to be expected."
"That does not matter. I am not opposed to sharing a bed with you." She flops down on the bed casually, trying not to let him see that she's now having trouble breathing.
"What, no jokes about how I have to keep my knee to myself?"
"I trust you to."
"I'm starting to wonder what they served you on the plane."
"I had what you had. Look, I am going out. I will see you at dinner." She gets up and almost runs to the door, but he steps in front of her and lays a hand on her arm.
"Ziva, what's wrong?"
She bites her lip. "Nothing," she says, putting on her customary mask as she looks into his eyes. Except he isn't wearing his mask, and the concern written all over his face nearly makes her choke. She lowers her eyes and shakes her head, pulling her arm out of his grasp and leaving.
She won't cry.
He wouldn't understand if she did anyway.
xoxo
She enjoys most of the day, mainly because she manages to stay away from the room; but an hour before dinner she realizes she has to go back and get ready.
She takes a shower as quickly as she can and tries to ignore the faucet. She even tries, for a while, to stop the faucet from dripping; she pretends tears don't cloud her eyes when she isn't successful. Pretends she can't taste the metallic tang where she chews on her lip so that she won't fall to pieces.
No one need know that she is merely the shadow of whom she used to be.
xoxo
She questions late at night, as she stares up into the darkness, how he manages to sleep so soundly. Can't he tell that her heart is racing; that she's terrified? Or does he not want to know? Does she want him to know, for that matter? Does she want him to know that she's not alright?
She rolls over onto her side and bites the inside of her cheek. Some things are better left unsaid.
She doesn't realize that she's shaking until he touches her shoulder, and then suddenly she's sitting atop him with her hands around his neck, strangling him for all she's worth.
And just as suddenly she realizes he's not Saleem or any of the others, and her grip loosens.
The worst part of the ordeal, perhaps, is not the fear that is still coursing through her veins but the expression in his eyes. Shock, alarm, and maybe even pity.
She can't take it, so she just climbs off him and tears out of the room.
xoxo
She doesn't know where to go. But perhaps it is of no consequence, because it only takes him the time he needs to recover his breath and composure to find her hiding in the stairwell, trying hard to keep the memories at bay.
He sits down beside her. "Well, that was quite the experience."
And that is all it takes for her walls to break. In the midst of her tears she feels him pull her into his arms, and she's crying into his shoulder and oh, she wishes she could stay there forever, because it is the safest she has felt in a long time. Because she has almost just killed him and there he is by her side, and she can't wrap her mind around the fact that anyone could care enough to do that. She doesn't deserve it; she's never deserved it. But she holds on to him desperately because she doesn't think that she will ever be able to let him go.
He rubs a hand up and down her back, gently; calmingly. Doesn't speak even when her sobs subside; just continues with his motions.
"Chinese Water Torture," she says shakily, gulping; she hopes he hasn't heard what she's said after all.
No such luck. "The faucet?" He sounds confused.
She shakes her head against his shoulder. "Do you know what it is?"
"Yeah, they tie the person to a chair and drip water on him for a bit. Psychological tort-" he stops when she shivers against her will. "They didn't."
"In Somalia. They-" She swallows.
"Oh." His grip around her tightens.
"Vance is right. I am damaged goods. I cannot even handle a leaky faucet. And…why did I insist so hard on becoming an agent? I am…weak. Brought down by a stupid thing. I should not have come back, because I can no longer do what I am supposed to."
"We're all afraid of something, Zi. Just gotta overcome it. You've got a great deal more of yourself to give yet." The quiet determination in his voice makes her look at him.
"I can still feel it. The drops…did not hit the same place every time. A few millimeters' difference. But right here, on my forehead." She rubs hard at her skin in her bid to get the feeling to go away; he catches hold of her hand and kisses her cheek with all the tenderness in the world.
"You're safe, Ninja. You're not in Somalia, you're here with me."
"I know. But…Tony, every day. They did it every day." He is silent, but she can feel his fury; she knows he wishes he could kill them all over again. And she suspects that this time, the sniper rifle would be in his hands. "Can I stay here?" she asks him tiredly. There is no way she is returning to that room tonight.
"In the stairwell?" he answers with mild surprise.
She nods. "You should go back; you need your rest. We have a long trip with a witness to protect tomorrow."
"I'm not leaving you here, if that's what you're suggesting. No…okay, give me five minutes." He leaps to his feet. "And stay here. Don't move. Okay?"
She nods again, too exhausted to argue with him anyway.
"I'll be right back." He dashes off and she leans back against the wall, closing her eyes.
xoxo
She rouses herself when the stairwell door opens, and sees Tony smiling down at her. "Fell asleep?" he asks with something that sounds oddly like fondness.
"I was not asleep."
"Right. Anyway, you can come back now. I got the staff to turn off the water supply to our room. Faucet's no longer dripping. Gonna be a bit of a challenge if I need to pee in the middle of the night, but otherwise everything's fine." He helps her to her feet.
"Thank you," she replies hesitantly.
"Hey, you know I've got your back."
"I know."
He stares at her for a while. "Zi, you've to see someone about this."
"I know."
"Are you seeing someone?"
A heartbeat of silence. "No."
"Why not?"
She digs her fingernails into her palms and avoids his gaze. "I am…afraid."
"Hey." He slips two fingers under her chin and tilts up her face, making her eyes meet his. "I'll go with you, if you want."
"Will you?" she whispers, almost pleading him.
"Whenever you need me." She buries her face in his shoulder again, and he wraps his arms around her again. "You don't have to be scared, Zi, you know that. I got you."
A/N: (Warning) Skip this part if you don't wish to know about Chinese Water Torture and why I think it could affect Ziva.
Chinese Water Torture, according to Wikipedia (not the most reliable source), is a form of water torture where a person is restrained and water is slowly dripped onto his or her forehead. It has, as far as I can tell, absolutely nothing to do with the Chinese; and was first described by Hippolytus de Marsiliis in Italy in the 15th century. In the episode "Brown Note, Water Torture", the Mythbusters tested this myth; they found that restraint and a variable water drop schedule caused the most stress.
The rationale behind this torture method is that the restrained person would sooner or later be driven insane by a perceived hollow where the drops were falling, but in my (humble) opinion, it is rather the lack of distracting stimuli that causes the psychological breakdown. As the Mythbusters also discovered, the water droplets by themselves were not immensely stressful. So I think it is the restraint (thus limiting the person's ability to escape the stimulus - the water) and the varied water drop schedule (that keeps bringing the person's attention back to the dripping water) which cause the severe distress.
As for Ziva, she would have been trained in this form of torture and might even have used it on others (let's face is, her past is dark), which is why she would have realized the theory behind it and thus have been able to withstand it longer by focusing on other things. But even the strongest of warriors can be brought down, and if she had experienced this form of torture for a long period of time it would have been enough to cause her to form a phobic response towards the sound or sight of dripping water, even if it is not dripping on skin.
And that's my justification. Hehe. I leave it to you to decide if I've made an accurate analysis!