The Penrose Triangle
Disclaimer: It goes without saying that I do not own NCIS. I guess it belongs to the CBS Television Studios and probably Belisarius Productions. As a sad matter of fact I don't own as much as a single TV show out there, but if you've got one left over you're very welcome to hand it down to me. It will be loved and tenderly cared for!
Easter, 1916 was written by the Irish author William Butler Yeats as his reaction/perception to/of the Easter Risings on 4/24/1916. It was first published in 1921.
The Penrose Trangle was created by the Swedish graphic artist Oskar Reutersvärd in 1934.
The Cover Picture is obviously not mine. I would like to add though that this is NOT a real child solider. It's a screenshot from the shortfilm War School but when looking up things about child soliders tons of "real" pictures (in the sense that those children were actually soliders, not actors) appeared, so I want to clarify that I would not use any of those. Putting that and fanfiction together would not seem tasteful.
A/N: With that being said - hey there, my dear reader! This is my first NCIS fanfiction and even though it may strike you as somewhat odd now I can assure you that it will make sense eventually. I'm not sure what the entire plot is going to look like yet, but I've settled quite a lot of it so far and it seems logical. My dialogues and discriptions are weird because I am a weirdo myself and this being the first chapter I was feeling a little iffy about how to start it all off... so that's what I came up with.
Nevertheless, I devoutly hope that the one or other fellow NCIS fan is going to read and maybe even enjoy this. I would also be grateful for every sort of review, feedback or criticism you may give, but afer all it's up to you so... leave a note if you feel like it, or don't. It's not like I'm writing reviews to every story -let alone every chapter- that I read up here.
Spoiler Alter/ Orientation: I wrote this chapter in December and then caught up in a bunch of other stuff. There's another story I've been writing for months now, with some tangled-up post-Somalia-stuff, Eli David returning, Tony whump, a major conspirancy going on... and then -bahm! just like that- Shabbat Shalom happens. So this story is set somewhere between mid-Season-7 and 10x11 but there is, for instance, no Ray (neither in the present nor in the past). I might incorporate some other aspects though. I'm picky on that source. ^^
Chapter One: Weregild
Too long a sacrifice
Can make a stone of the heart.
O when may it suffice?
[William Butler Yeats, Easter 1916]
She had always thought of Gibbs as a very centered man. Not at all self-centered that was, but simply straight to the point. Resting. It was a matter of fact that she could not think of a man that was less self-centered than Gibbs. He was a patriot and a family man. He believed in those whom he loved and he lived for what he believed in. He believed in her, she knew it even though it didn't look like it now. She also knew that he sometimes believed in things more than he should; held on to them way beyond reason.
He crossed the interrogation room with quick, eager steps and sat down at the other side of the table, facing her in the manner she knew well but could barely stand now. Eyebrows furrowed, strangely becoming but deep and defined wrinkles on his forehead. Hands in front of him on the table in a way that said it's okay not because there was still hope, but because of him, who could take care of everything.
She looked at him and it was the first thing she noticed. Yes, he was centered in his own strange way, always able to cut straight to chase of the issue. And, yes, he had still not lost faith in her. Once again he should know better, but refused to aknowledge that it was wasted. There was a mess and not Ziva nor anyone else out there could ever clean it up. Not Gibbs or Tony, even though she was somewhat certain that they'd do it in the blink of an eye if they had the chance to. They had gone far for her, so they'd probably go further, if not eventually a step too far. And Abby and McGee would probably follow them straight into the grave that doing anything for her now would inevitably dig them.
"Come on, Ziva, talk to me."
His eyes rested heavily upon her but her lips remained sewn shut. Not only was he centered, he was also a center himself. You could rely on him being there. Now, this was a comfort she'd henceforth have to bid farewell to. She had lost a family before - heck, she had lost this family before. She could survive without them and they'd do fine with her gone as well. It wasn't truly as hard as it seemed. They'd probably struggle, but manage alright and move on.
"No", Ziva said under her breath, imperceptibly shaking her head, "I'm sorry, but I can't."
His answer sounded harsh, but she knew this wasn't how he felt - yet. "Don't take me for an idiot, we know pretty darn well what happened!"
"Then there is nothing further that I have to tell you." Denying him a valuable answer was much easier now. There was nothing to lose, and with nothing to lose she could go back to her roots and rely on what her mind and body were capable of even without having to remember. She could keep to herself whatever could just not -under no circumstances whatsoever- as much as cross somebody else's mind.
"Of course there is!"
"I have nothing to tell you."
"Goddammit, just spill it out and we'll see-"
"But what do you wish to hear that would change anything?", she snapped, having lost composure for just a moment before she almost automatically returned to the severe self-control she had obtained in the course of a lifetime. Inwardly cursing herself, she added her last words in a much quieter voice. "Because there's nothing new that I could tell you. I... I can't explain, Gibbs. Even if I wanted to, I couldn't. You'll simply have to live that."
He sighed and opened a thin, lightbrown folder he had brought to the room with him. Slowly, one sheet after another, he took out a number of full-page photos and lined them up in front of her. She rested her eyes on each of them right away. They couldn't hurt her. She had once left a worse part of herself behind, but as it turned out it had taken her not even hours to replace it, now that it was direly needed. Reflexively, all of the victims lost their meaning. Some of it had always remained in her and now it'd simply have to grow again.
It reminded her of the times when she had done worse things, killed people in ways compared to which the family on the pictures in front of her had died a thankfully humane death. Long, thin cuts littered the pale but otherwise flawless skin of the older girl's face. She had been nine years old, a Nancy Drew fan and her own blood adhered her hair to sticky, thick strains. Her brother -five, soccer player, aspiring first-grader- had been spared most of the pain. Ziva could still see the fear in his eyes, even though it had died with him, but apart from the small entrance wound on his forehead he was perfectly alright.
Her jaw tightened for a moment as she felt her stomach turned a bit. No, it wasn't easy but that she had always known.
It simply was what it was. And she was pretty sure she could take it.
"You killed the children last", Gibbs stated, pushing two of the pictures closer to her. She looked up and met his eyes for a moment. They had changed. Maybe it wasn't more than her imagination, but Ziva was certain that the stern, grave expression vanished from them to make room for the silent plea that she just had to deny it, had to be innocent in this matter because otherwise... otherwise, this was her darkest hour, long after her service in Mossad, long after her leaving the team and returning as a different person.
Ziva took a deep breath and exhaled the air slowly. The absence of an answer was all the confirmation he needed. His voice turned cold and distant when he spoke up again. It hurt her, but not all that much. Not only had she had expected this kind of change, she had weighed up the possible outcomes and eventually come to be certain that this was the most endurable way she could take.
"Why them? How could you... why did you do it? Why?"
"I cannot tell you that, Gibbs, I just can't."
"No... no, I know you, Ziva. I know that you know right from wrong that you... that this isn't what you are. Nothing you were ever taught could justify this, nothing, and I thought... I was so sure... you don't want to tell me and there's a big difference in there-"
With every further second that he tried to convince himself that she could indeed never commit such a crime, she saw his faith in her getting smaller and smaller until it was fully replaced by the kind of grief and anger that had last surrounded him after the loss -and reutrn- of his memory.
"I haven't been blind to this, I know that."
"You were... wrong, Gibbs. I'm sorry, but that's just the way it is."
He slowly shook his head and pushed back his chair. While he stood up he made no attempt to take the pictures back with him. She kept starting at them, mostly so she wouldn't have to look at Gibbs again. "Fine. You don't want to explain, I can live without an explanation."
They both knew he wasn't telling the truth.
After all, there were two liars sitting in this room.
A/N#2: I know this chapter was rather short. The next one is going to be longer and offer more of a plot and explanation. As I said... a review would be nice, just so I know whether this is any good or not worth my time and disk space.
Anyways, I hope it's been okay and that some people will return to this story. Rehardless of reviews or not, that is. I guess the "Traffic Stats" are false, but still... I'm rambling. Have a good day! ;)
In case anybody's inbterested or wants to know about the sources I use, here's a link to the poem I quoted. Just delete the spaces and you're all good.
Easter, 1916: theatlantic past/docs/ unbound/poetry/ soundings/easter .htm
The Easter Risings: historylearningsite . /1916 _easter_rising .htm
The Penrose Triangle: .tu-dresden .de/i1/kaw/diverses%20Material/ www. illusionwork /html/impossible _triangle .html
War School: youtube watch?v =Ivf17MJJG9