Gazing Into The Abyss
"He who fights with monsters should look to it that he himself does not become a monster."
Friedrich Nietzsche
For many months, if not years, if she were to be completely honest with herself, the voices of the dead had haunted her sleep. Not the soft, gentle tones of loved ones she had lost, whose voices she would have welcomed, if only in her dreams. Instead, they were the harsh, accusing tones of those she had killed, accompanied by a chorus of the grief-striken cries of those they had left behind.
All summer, as she had wandered alone through the soldier-stright rows of trees during her sleepless nights, Ziva had heard those voices, taunting her, calling out to her, accusing her of unspeakable crimes. Through her deeds, she believed that she had perhaps become the very monster she had set out, oh-so-long-ago, to destroy.
It was only later, after months of therapy, and weeks of nights filled with sleep instead of guilt, that she realized what she had heard had been the high-pitched cries of nightbirds and the squeeks of bats, flying to and fro among the trees. In her sadness and loneliness, her misery and guilt, they had transformed themselves into the restless voices of the dead, accusing her of heinous acts, demanding that she suffer the consequences of her actions.
Many days passed where she had done little but huddle on the sofa, a soft woolen blanket draped around her shoulders, as if the soft woven cloth could protect her, not only from the night air, but also from the slings and arrows of any vengeful spirits who might seek her out. Slowly, slowly, ever so slowly, she had come to realize that neither Tony, nor Gibbs, nor any other person, could heal her - only *she* could heal herself and her troubled mind.
After watching Tony's plane depart, she'd gone back home, then made herself a cup of Earl Grey tea, and cried herself to sleep - an all too frequent event over the past four months. All of her emotions seemed to be lying right on the surface now, all of her barriers and walls dissolved. A week later, she had realized that she hadn't really stopped crying since Tony had gotten on the plane, although the overwhelming sadness at his departure had eased somewhat.
Ziva knew that eventually she would have to leave the house; the harvesters would be coming to pick the oranges, and it would be reckless to take the chance that one of them might recognize her, or, even more likely, be yet another of Banham Parsa's hired thugs, come to kill her. A three-day trip to the David family horse farm removed her from any immediate danger, and allowed her to pick up some of her things from storage, before returning once again to the house where it had all begun and ended for her.
In the midst of everything, her period arrived - two days before her thirty-third birthday. While she hadn't deliberately tried to get pregnant, neither had she used any form of birth control for the five days that she and Tony had shared a bed. In the back of her mind, she'd rather cherished the idea of making a baby with him - all chubby legs, big eyes, and unruly curls - but having a baby (and a life) with Tony was a dream, for now deferred, but not abandoned. In all honesty, Ziva knew she needed to get her mind and emotions under control, and deal with the demons of her past, before she could have a happy present and future. A baby, no matter how desired, would have been an unnecessary complication in that healing process.
She knew that healing herself was going to be a lot of hard work - Dr. Mayerson had made that very clear in their very first session. All those years of compartmentalizing everything, of shoving all of the trauma into a box labeled "Later", had finally caught up with her. The cracks in her facade had already started showing months, if not years, earlier, and had become progressively more obvious with each subsequent traumatic event; the confrontation with Deena Bashan about Ari had merely been the straw that broke the proverbial camel's back.
While this process had to be her own work, it was true that Tony had helped set her on the correct path to self healing, with his open affection, his admiration, and his love; in the weeks after he had returned to DC and his life there, slowly, very gradually, Ziva's invisible wounds began to heal. She became accustomed to solitude, and her self-imposed loneliness, and, finally, her nightmares ceased and she becan to look ahead.
Eventually, the winds softened and warmed, the fields became green once again, and her beloved orange trees blossomed and began once more to bear fruit. The clouds, both internal and external, disappeared, and her temporary sanctuary became filled with sunlight once again. Ziva began to grow restless, ready to move on with her life. She had had enough of pain and sorrow; it was time to make a new life for herself with the man she loved. She had slain her monsters, and was done with gazing into the abyss - it was time to be part of the world once again.