So here it is, the much-requested sequel to Chofesh, Cherut, Rachachim. This is in Ziva's perspective, which, believe me, is SO much harder to write then Tony's. This will, like CCR, contain LOTS of Tony-angst, but more Tiva then its predecessor. Enjoy, and review, please and thank you!
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Take a warning. The inside of her mind was not a pleasant place, but do not patronize her by pretending you understand her. Do not treat her like she is some kind of tragic hero. She simply does what needs to be done, nothing more and nothing less.
Just remember that. At the very least, it'll save us all some embarrassment as we begin our story.
He could not be blamed for this.
For anything directly related to the hell the last few months had been, really. Who on earth could have foreseen him choosing a woman who turned out to be an abusive psychopath? And how it ended…Ziva remembers being trapped in that tiny closet vividly, holding Ducky desperately against her, hands on his wounds to keep him from bleeding out.
The dark was suffocating them. Ziva had never liked the dark, herself.
As a child, she had a horse nightlight that she was very fond of. It gave her whole room a friendly glow, shielding her from the monsters she had heard Aba talk about.
One night, as her mother had tucked her in and turned out the light, Ziva had jumped up at the immediate blackness she was plunged into. She had crept out of bed, almost too tense to move, tears tracking her cheeks.
Eli David had been in his study, and on his desk, tossed haphazardly on top of a stack of papers, sat her beloved nightlight.
"Aba, my light," Ziva had started toward it, but Eli had pulled her back.
"No more light, Ziva. You are no longer a child. You do not need such childlike comforts."
The tears started anew. "But, Aba, it is dark in my room!I will be scared!"
Eli David turned back to his work without looking at her.
"Pain and fear are weakness, Zivaleh. One must bear them in silence if that is what is necessary to grow."
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He could not be blamed for this.
Tony had the most dazed look on his face when he had pulled open the closet door. The light had flooded the tiny space, and Ziva had fallen into his arms.
His eyes were so blank, and Ziva knew the look so horribly well. A million soldiers, a million veterans, America and Israel alike.
So, logically, Ziva should have seen this coming. People did not just recover immediately from a trauma such as this.
He had returned to work almost immediately of course. Passed his pysch evaluation, but Tony had been doing this long enough to be able to cheat a psych test. He was still an integral part of the team. He participated as much as ever, he caught the culprits with vigor still, and after cases, he still joined the team for drinks.
But that look, that horrible, vacant look was still there.
She had come to see that look as a third party to their relationship. Tony, Ziva and the PTSD.
Oh, sure, at certain points it seemed like their relationship was that of a normal couple. Dinner, dates, sex. They were practically living together (the root of the problem, but she could not just leave him alone at nighttime).
He could not be blamed for this.
Tony was, and is, her stability. He was her tug to her new life, away from the darkness and into the light kind of thing. She took enormous pride in being one of the few people who could see through his carefully perpetrated façade of the loveable goofball. He understood her, he cared about her, he had always been there for her.
He had done so very much for her. She could not just turn her back on him.
He could not be blamed for this.
So she wore the bruises quietly, saying nothing, giving nothing away.
"Pain and fear are weakness, Zivaleh. One must bear them in silence if that is what is necessary to grow."
Keep it together. Learn as she did, we are only beginning.