Vow of Silence
Disclaimer: I do not own NCIS; it is the property of its respective creators.
Written in response to the NFA Be Very, Very Quiet and The Nightmare challenges.
My thanks go to Augrey07, for beta-reading this. You rock, honey!
Author's note: Post Traumatic Stress Disorder, also commonly shortened to P.T.S.D. is mentioned in this story, and is a real and serious mental illness. I am not a doctor; I do not claim to be a doctor, so please do not read this story if mentions of mental illness are not what you want to read.
Some spoilers for end of season 6 and minor details of season 7. I left canon in the dust.
As the rules in the Be Very, Very Quiet challenge demand, there are no spoken words in this story. Anything that appears _ with under it is written.
It's so very, very, quiet here. Her room is white. It smells like cleaning solution, with a touch of the lavender candles Abby tried to bring for her. There's nothing sharp or anything she would be able to tie and as a result, not much of anything.
The doctors keep her gowns with them, unless its time for her to change. Then the female nurses will come in, always female, only female; the doctors banned male ones after that disastrous, only, time…
She doesn't speak. The only time she makes any noise is to scream. She does that a lot, scream. The doctors' reports all say that she is reliving her capture, a highly traumatic event. The reports tell him she needs time to get used to the medications, the ones they have to forcibly get her to swallow, though they usually forget to mention that fact. The reports all say the same thing; she needs time, Agent Gibbs, time.
When he looks into her eyes, and he sees just how dead they are, he knows no amount of time will ever bring her back. Not when she spends her waking moments resisting sleep, for when she sleeps, she dreams, and when she dreams, her memories will come, every single time, without fail.
The doctors have had to start drugging her more and more to get her to rest, at all. He doesn't think she is resting, he really thinks that she's just trapped in a medication induced fog of the worst moments of her life, just like the nightmares, only with them, she has the option of waking up. She never does, but she could. In a drug induced fog, she has no way out. Just like before.
He can't be allowed in to see her often, for his own safety, but he then watches through the window. He watches how she hunches over, screaming that sound of horrible, primal pain. He has to turn away when the doctor goes in to forcibly give her something so she will calm down, so her body will stop its horrendous shudders and she'll stop her purposeful falls on the padded carpet.
The doctors finally get it into their heads after that, after one of those notable episodes, as they have decided to call them in their reports, to ask him to talk to her, tell her she's safe. He goes in, because he has to check, has to make sure that some part of her really isn't there anymore.
He'll sit on the carpeted floor, and wait. It will take a while for her to venture out of the corner she hides in. He'll just sit in his spot. He never says a word. When she does toddle out of her hiding spot and into the light, she'll blink. It's brighter out here, he knows that. He'll hold his hand out to her, and she'll look at him, and just keep looking. It's always then that he knows she's gone.
She can't, or won't, connect him to the man she calls out for every night to save her. As he squeezes her hand and gets up, he is so selfishly glad for that. He can't tell what's worse, a world where she was never saved at all, or a world where she was, but she'll never realize it. He has no answers. He wishes he never had to ask the question.
He can't bring himself to go visit her. He knows Gibbs goes Monday, Wednesday, and Friday at 2:00 p.m. like clockwork, and the world has better be launching missiles at each other for him to miss a visit. Gibbs tells him that her doctors think a schedule is good for her. He has to bite his tongue to stop himself from saying something he'll regret. Gibbs just gives him this look, and it's so full of pity, compassion and something else he refuses to identify that he goes back to his empty, silent apartment and drinks until he passes out, alone in the dark.
He's done that a lot since she… since they found her. Drink. He knows that everyone knows he's doing it, but he can't bring himself to care. He can't bring himself to feel much of anything. He wonders if the doctors should look at him, too?
He knows Ducky thinks so. He keeps emailing him the names of grief and P.T.S.D. therapists he knows of. He's stopped opening any emails from Ducky that don't have to do with work, just straight out deletes them. So far, Ducky hasn't falsely labeled those emails about work when they're not. Maybe Ducky knows that he can't handle having case work, his only sanctuary, tainted by memories of her, too. He probably does, he's good at knowing things like that. Or Gibbs has warned him off for now. Either way, his case work is undisturbed. He's actually up 4% percent on his overall work performance.
He tries to avoid the lab, because Abby always starts in on him about her, how it would help him to visit, that the doctors are really kind to her there, that he can't just abandon her now…
He has to walk out of the room and calm his breathing before he makes her shut up. She doesn't know what she's talking about. And when did they all become the let's talk about our feelings bunch, anyway? That's not how things used to be! But that's just it; things aren't how they used to be.
She isn't how she used to be. He spent all those months looking for her, praying they would find her, so he could make things right, and when they finally do find her… God, it would have been better if she really had died out on that godforsaken ship.
He needs to see her. He needs to know.
How she could just give up? How she could have no memories except the bad ones? Did they mean that little to her? Did he?
The doctors are pleased to see him. They tell him Agent Gibbs said he might show up. He isn't surprised, it just further proves that Gibbs knows all, at least when it comes to him.
The doctors tell him that she's having a good day; he's welcome to visit her. They hand him a long list of things not to do. He briefly skims over it.
1. Do not make any sudden movements!
2. Do not ask the patient to talk about anything upsetting!
3. Leave all extra cloths, jackets, gloves, etc. with the nurses. Empty your pockets. Leave behind any and all weapons.
It goes on, but he stops reading. He signs it, and hands it back to the doctor. He takes off his jacket, his SIG, his sunglasses. They lock his SIG in a safe, and tell him he can have it after he exits to the other side. The doctor smiles at him, and hands him a pen and pad of paper. The doctor tells him she doesn't like noise. He takes a deep breath, and goes in.
She's hiding in that corner, like Gibbs had said, like the doctor had warned him. He sits down, not too close, not too far. He sits, and he waits. She comes out of her dark, little, corner slowly, on uneven hands and knees. She looks up, and something in him dies. She looks so… gone. Like someone's there, someone's moving, but it isn't her.
He writes out a line on the pad of paper, and pushes it towards her. He keeps his hands in her sight the whole time.
Do you know who I am?
She just looks at him, unblinking. There is no sign of emotion on her face. No anger, no passion, no joy. Just blankness.
My name is Tony, or if you want to be technical, Special Agent Antony DiNozzo, Jr. I am, or I was, your friend.
Nothing. His statement triggered no reaction. Something feels like it is dying, like all the hope it harbored, its wishes that things would be alright, are being crushed, and he thinks it is what is left of his heart.
I know you don't remember. Maybe it's better that way. Then you think I'm some strange guy, and you don't hate me. I think I could take you hating me so much better than this.
He has to stop writing, he's crushing the pen, and his tears are blurring the words.
I don't think I'll be back, Ziva. But I want you to know, even if you'll never again understand, that I'm sorry for this, God, am I sorry. I'll never forget you.
He leaves with tears streaming down his face, and her blank eyes forever etched in his memory.
His request for a transfer is sitting on Gibbs' desk the next morning. His desk is cleared, and his seat is empty. Just like hers.
No sound. No noise. She no longer likes noise.
She understands much more than the doctors, than Gibbs, than Tony, think. She doesn't understand why they come to visit her, this empty shell of memories and regrets.
She wants them to be content, to be happy. She doesn't want Gibbs to have sad eyes, and Tony to be crying. She did this for them. She made it back, when she'd have rather perished, for them.
They no longer owe her anything, and she owes them everything. So, she stays here, in her dark little corner, for this is her punishment for hurting them, her punishment for being a bad little girl.
It is quiet here. There is no one, except the voices in her head.
June 20, 2010