Fear
Ziva stumbled out of the elevator, threw out a hand to steady herself against the wall when the spinning in her head became a little too much. She pushed the brown, damp curls from her eyes and proceeded through the doors leading into Autopsy. She bit back a curse when she stepped her toe on the threshold, though she wasn't sure why, there was one here to hear her, no one here to recognize her mistake. Though that mistake was insignificant compared to the one already made.
Clumsily, she put the bottle onto one of the cold steel slabs, barely managing to not spill the little liquor that was left. With her fingers dragging over the shiny steel surfaces, she stumbled toward the coolers, a tremor building behind her tongue.
Ziva had never thought, never even wanted to consider it, that one day she would be looking down into Jen's lifeless face. But now she was.
She pushed back a sudden wave of nausea, her hands flying up to grab hold of the steel slab, accidentally brushing Jen's cold skin. She didn't draw back though, instead she slowly inched her fingers forward, until they were clenched around her arm, almost compulsively, as though trying to squeeze the warmth and life back into her body.
She swayed a little on her spot, not sure she was even standing straight any more. Not that it really mattered if she was standing or lying. She didn't have enough pride to stand any longer. She'd failed her friend. She shook her head furiously; there was no sense in keeping living in denial. She'd always known Jen meant more to her than just a friend.
Of the thousand thoughts that had whirled around in a raging storm inside her brain all night, only one kept resurfacing, the one she didn't know the answer to, doubted she ever would, the one that cut like a knife through her chest.
Why couldn't I save her, like I saved her in Cairo?
"You know what?" Ziva mumbled, almost incoherently, the fact that she may have had a little too much to drink didn't occur to her, didn't matter. Nothing mattered.
"You were the first thing that scared me." She laughed sadly, though the sound that escaped her throat was bizarre and distorted, and didn't even resemble a laugh. But when she gazed down at her friend's closed eyes, her eyes glazed over, as though lost in a memory.
"It's true." She continued in the same thick tone. "You scared the crap out of me, Jenny."
She placed a hand on her cheek. "With your red hair and deep green eyes." She mumbled and caressed one of her blonde tresses. "What happened with this?" She asked out into the empty autopsy room. "I loved the red."
She sank down to the floor, her hands dragging from Jen's body and fell to the floor next to her. She continued talking to herself, to Jen, and to anyone who might not listen.
"I remember when I first saw you; I thought you didn't look tough enough to work with me." She snorted. "I was wrong. You were tougher than me. You dared take my hand, when I was wondering how to avoid contact with you; I was afraid what your touch would do to me. I was right. I didn't want to let go of your hand, because it fit so perfectly in mine." Her voice was high-pitched one second, the next it was barely audible. She glanced up at the underside of the steel slab.
"I was afraid of you, Jen. Afraid of the way you made me feel. For the first time in my life, I felt helpless. I was at a loss for how I should react, how to behave around you. When you were being so brave you could touch me, when I could barely look into your captivating eyes without feeling like a mouse staring into the hypnotizing eyes of a snake. Yeah sorry, I shouldn't compare you to a snake…" She banged her head against one of the steel doors. "I just meant…that when I looked into your eyes, you had complete control over me, and I was unable to fight it. That's why I refused to meet your gaze." She whispered, almost apologetically. She wished she had her bottle so she could drown the rest of her feelings and hopefully pass out here on the floor, and wouldn't have to remember anything more until Ducky found her here the next morning. But she knew she wasn't as lucky, knew she deserved to feel this way; it was her fault Jen was dead. She again pushed that thought away, like she had been doing all night. Yet it was constantly there in the pain that she knew would never subside.
"My point is, you…confused me. One moment you were all lady-like, the next you were dark, like you too understood the pain of loss, though you never talked about it. Sometimes, I never even dared to believe at first, but sometimes I thought you were even flirting with me." Ziva paused, took a breath of the cool, sterile smell.
"You scared me half to death when you one day walked toward me when I was sitting on the bed in our hotel room, we slept in separate rooms, because I wouldn't be able to handle sleeping in the same bed as you, even though you laughed at me, said you hadn't expected that coming from me, you knew I wasn't shy. But somehow you must have known it wasn't because I didn't like you that I didn't want to share bed with you, it was because I did. And damn if you didn't make my heart stop when you moved toward me that night, your silky robe flowing around you, showing the matching nightgown that barely covered your thighs. I couldn't help but to wonder why you'd packed that, I had just seen you wear sweats and tank top to bed the previous nights. Though in a way it didn't surprise me, you seemed like the silk kind of girl. At least you were that girl in my dreams. Yes, I admit I dreamed, fantasized about you, through the lonely night in my lonely bed, your picture was my company." She paused again, added quietly, "Even after all these years, with everything that's happened, you're still a feature in my fantasies."
She drew another breath. The memories were flooding back to her, unstoppable.
"You sat on the bed next to me, folded one leg underneath you, and leaned forward, so slowly I barely noticed, or I might have been too preoccupied with trying to get my heart to return to normal pace, that I didn't realize how close you were until I felt your hot breath against my face. I pulled back, half-expecting you to give me that disappointed look I hated to see on your face, half-expecting you to not even spare me a look at all, and not at all expecting you to do what you did. You smiled, and one of your slender hands, those hands I was so afraid to touch, grabbed my t-shirt at the front as you dragged me back. Don't be afraid, Ziva. You whispered, your hot breath drying out my lips, leaving me no choice but to lick them to moisturize them again. I didn't want to fear you, believe me, that was the last thing I wanted. But the way you whispered my name, the way your hand worked around my neck, you damn well could have given me a heart attack. I was ready to die, then you placed your lips to mine, and life flooded through my veins." Ziva's voice broke; her vision was so blurry she could barely see the autopsy room, just the underside of Jen's slab and her own shaking hands. A movement at the edge of her vision caught her attention, she saw a silhouette, but it was impossible to make out who it was. But somehow, for Ziva, it was clear as a day.
"Jen…" She mumbled, her head tilting to her side, a small smile upon her lips, as her mind replayed the first time Jen had kissed her, the first night they had shared together. And since that night, neither of them had even considered the thought of sleeping in separate beds. Her memories of Jen followed her into sleep, but the three words she'd still been too much of a coward to admit out loud managed to slip off her lips before the scene replayed in her mind and Jen pushed her down onto the bed, three words she wondered how much it would have changed if she'd said them. In her own drunken, fantasy version of that first night, she placed those three words in her own mouth. "I love you."
The dark figure moved forward from the corner, toward Ziva.
Ducky quietly covered Jen's face before pushing the slab inside and gently shutting the door while silent tears ran down his cheeks. He found a blanket to tuck around Ziva's passed out form, slouched against the coolers.
He, too, mourned the loss of his friend, but now he mourned for Jen and Ziva and their unfortunate fate. He'd been sitting in the far end of the autopsy room, in silence, listening to Ziva's story, of how afraid she'd been, afraid of her own feelings for Jen, afraid of love. He knew, that she knew, that when you loved someone, the scariest thing in the world was to lose them. He knew, that that was what Ziva's fear had been about, all along.