Written for iheartGibbs (Barb) for all her hard work co-ordinating the 2008 NFA Secret Santa. You can find links to both the NFA Secret Santa stories (we're still guessing the authors) and the stories written for Barb to thank her on my profile page . Thanks to Smackalicious for the great beting work on this piece.
Resolution
She had no idea how it had happened. It was meant to be a simple search of an isolated cabin nestled comfortably in a deep grassy valley. So dull that Tony had 'generously' offered to drive into town and get lunch while she and McGee completed the search.
No sooner had Tony disappeared from view than the shooting began.
The searing pain in her chest caught her by surprise, the force of the blow ramming her against a wall where her legs crumpled beneath her. Through hazy vision, she saw McGee's concerned expression turn to resolve and he stood from his cover and rammed two shots into the perpetrator. Then, discarding his weapon as a baseball player would a bat, he ran to her.
"Ziva." She could hear the panic in his voice.
Straining for breath, she watched McGee remove his designer twill jacket, the only item in his expensive wardrobe that Abby had not found a way to destroy, bunch it into a ball and press it hard against her wound. Maintaining the pressure, he wound his arm around her shoulders and sat beside her.
"You'll be fine," he said breathlessly, digging out his cell. "I'll call for an…oh."
She understood at once; they had remarked on it during the long windy crawl down the hill - there was no cell phone reception for miles.
"Landline?" said McGee, desperately swivelling his head.
That, too, she knew was futile; they had searched every inch of this place. If there had been a landline, they would both know where it was.
"Um," said McGee, chewing on his lower lip, "I can either run up the hill or … ah … wait for Tony."
Ziva closed her eyes. She knew neither option would bring help soon enough. Her lungs were slowly filling with blood, condemning her breaths to short, painful gasps. More blood trickled out the side of her mouth. She pried her eyes open for a moment and caught the horror in McGee's expression. She felt for him: no one should have to watch a colleague die. No one should have to feel that slow yet relentless creep of helplessness as another human being slides slowly out of their grasp.
She wanted to tell him to run away, to leave her to her fate and not witness her ignominious descent into death. She did not want him to suffer the nightmares, the re-criminations, the heartbreak, the years of 'oh Ziva would have loved this'. She knew what it was like and she would not wish it on anyone. It was too cruel.
"Go, McGee," she rasped.
She looked into his eyes and could see the very sound of her voice and the implication of her words evoked pure terror in him. He was cannier than she thought – he had guessed her ulterior motive.
"No," he said simply.
Wrapping his other arm around her, he held her close, cradling her face with his palm. She could feel his heart rampaging against her, his breaths almost as torturous as her own. He rested his head on hers and whispered, "Tony will be back anytime, you'll see."
Gibbs was right; the man did not know how to lie.
She had never known a cold like it. It filled her to the brim, overflowed down her body then backwashed up to her head again. Almost numb – numb enough to block out the pain from the bullet she knew was lodged somewhere in her chest, but just enough sensation to feel the solid security of his body enveloping hers and sense his agonizing concern as he held vigil over her.
He had long since stopped talking; the pretence that she was fine had worn thin even for him. They had both abandoned any hope, rueing the time wasted on the futility and folly of optimism. Now he just held her, their bodies melding into one as they awaited the inescapable conclusion – she was going to die here in this place, in his arms.
He shifted slightly and a fiery pain slashed through her chest causing her to arch momentarily, her face twisted in a grotesque grimace.
"I'm so sorry," he whispered, laying his head on hers again.
She felt his warm salty tears flow down her forehead in thin rivulets. His heart beat slow and strong beneath her ear like a clock marking the final passage of her time; she knew it was breaking.
"I love you," he whispered.
The familiar hollow words resonated through her mind, confirming the paucity of life left to her. She knew he had reached that point - the point where he felt he had to say something to give her reason to live. It was a no risk situation. No one would ever know he had said it but he would feel better thinking that she thought someone loved her at the end. He must know how close she was, must feel the final ebb as she started to slide away. As the empty words faded to deadening silence, she regretted the lost chances in her life. She felt his lips tenderly caress her hair and was satisfied.
"No!" His voice was urgent and loud, like his own violent death throes rather than hers.
She wanted to tell him that it was alright; that she expected this moment to come years ago, but she no longer had the strength. Pain lanced her again as he moved.
Distantly she heard his voice calling, "He's here, Ziva. Tony, Tony's here. Hold on, you can make it."
But she was too tired to try anymore. All she wanted was to die peacefully in his arms and have everything over. Darkness fell.
"I leave you two alone for 15 minutes," Tony started.
He was standing in the door way with a take-out coffee in each hand, looking down at the dead body just inside the door.
"Tony."
The coffee cups tumbled forgotten from Tony's hands at the sound of McGee's desolate tone, impacting the hard wooden floor with a dull thud. Tony's eyes sought the source of the sound and his mouth dried as he found it. Two people huddled together against the wall like some discarded piece of crumpled paper: McGee, blood soaked and in profound shock, nursing Ziva's limp, lifeless body.
"She's still alive," McGee whispered.
Tony moved as he had never moved before. In moments he had Ziva's frail form in his arms and was sprinting for the door with McGee still clamping the sodden red rag to her chest.
Tony's mouth was set in grim determination as he started the engine. In the rear vision mirror he could see Ziva slumped against McGee in the back seat, her face a picture of unnatural peace. He yearned to be with her himself but McGee was in no state to drive. Besides, the look in McGee's eyes told of a bond forged between him and Ziva which would not tolerate outsiders in this moment of crisis.
Heaven was a beautiful sensation, Ziva thought: warm, dry and comfortable. More importantly, he was still holding her close and his warm tears were still tracing their way steadily down her face.
"Ziva?"
Both the volume and the questioning tone surprised her.
"Yes." The word had tripped lightly from her mouth before she even realized it.
"You're safe now."
A delicate smile flitted over her lips. "I'm always safe with you," she said softly.
The beat of his heart under the thin shirt veneer was stronger than she remembered, full of unexpected hope rather than unmitigated anguish.
Her eyes peeled open without warning and the stark white light that greeted her pupils almost seared her retinas before she closed them again. She was no longer in the cold, dark room. Nothing was the same – except him, the one constant in her life.
"McGee?"
"Hmm."
"Where are we?"
"Hospital."
"Are you ok?"
McGee laughed a joyous laugh that filled her heart to overflowing. She felt him gather her in his arms again and his kiss was firmer than before, as though he was no longer worried that she would shatter under the force of his lips.
"I'm fine," he said finally. "And you will be too."
"Really?" The disbelief was evident.
"Really."
She could hear the tinge of amusement in his voice, as though he were teasing her.
A floodgate opened as she realised it was true: she had another chance at this life. He cradled her in his arms, brushed her tears away with his gentle lips and told her how much he loved her. This time the words sang with pure honesty, a glorious sound.
"Rest," he said tenderly, as her tears dried, "it will all be better when you wake up."
"Will you be here?" she whispered hoarsely.
"Always."