WARNINGS: One suicidal thought in the first half... Nothing too dramatic, but its there, mentions of torture.
Disclaimer: I don't own NCIS, never have, never will.
~Ziva~
I was not myself; I would never be myself again. Everything hurt or ached. There was no escaping it. I was betrayed by everyone; including myself. How are you meant to recover from that? That was probably their plan for if I lived; for me to not recover.
I was not a victim, I didn't feel like a victim; but I did not feel like a hero either. I definitely did not feel like a hero. I felt... I don't know how I felt, there were emotions - a lot of emotions - that were once familiar which were now foreign and I couldn't decipher them.
After Abby released me from her friendly hold on me, I was told to sit in my desk. Well, it was my desk. Once it was. Was it now though?
I limped over to it and sat at the chair, taking the weight off my sore knees, ankles and feet.
This wasn't my desk.
I chose. I chose Mossad over NCIS, my father over the people who felt more like family than my own. I had accused them - the people closest to me - of betrayal. The way they were acting and treating me told me that they did not care. Shouldn't they be angry with me? They should have left me there. I don't deserve them. They acted like everything contributing to my choices did not matter, not Tony killing Michael, not me staying in Israel, not anything. And it angered me for some irrational reason. I knew it was irrational but I couldn't change the way I was feeling. They should be yelling, telling me what I did was stupid.
But they didn't.
All that seemed to matter was Tony and Tim had gotten out alive, Saleem Ulman was dead, and I was there. I was alive. Something that seemed like body retrieval turned into a rescue mission, but they should not have gone. They shouldn't have even known I was there, and by the look on Tony's face when the bag was lifted told me he didn't. So I couldn't understand why they were there. Even now.
They all seemed to think I was dead. The whole building seemed to have lost hope - as I had - in finding me or me coming back.
I lost hope in a lot of things: my 'family', my father, my judgement and myself.
The one thing that was playing on my mind was: after all I had done, after all the people I had hurt in some way or another, could they forgive me and accept me again? Could they trust me again?
I may have been alive, but that meant very little if I was going to be shipped back to Israel. If they had brought me back, only to ship me back to Israel; I was better off dead. If that were the case, they should have left me there. If that were the case, then I might just so happen to finish what Saleem started.
Looking around the squad room I noticed people beginning to leave, I avoided the looks of the employees as the left after congratulating the team.
Ducky spoke to Tony while he checked over his injuries which the doctor from the hospital had already checked. Abby spoke to Gibbs and McGee at top speed, filling them in on what they missed while they were away.
I busied myself with studying the empty desk in front of me.
Empty; the desk was empty. Kind of like what I felt like then. Nothing held in it currently.
Every now and then, I would feel one of the men or Abby's eyes on me, sparing me a glance of worry, sympathy or concern. It made me uncomfortable, like I was being scrutinised. The only lingering pair was Tony's; he looked like he wanted to say something, but he didn't, making me feel under scrutiny even more. He seemed to hold my glance a moment before looking away. With the others; when I felt their gaze upon me I would look up and they would divert their eyes. But he didn't.
I patiently waited for my next order... Or waited to wake up and find myself in the hot, dirty cell that had been my home for the past few months to find that this all had been a dream.
I should be happy, I should be thankful that I was safe; I was rescued from the hell hole. But the truth was; I could not be rescued from my own personal hell. No amount of shrinks and no amount of talking will ever make what I saw and what I felt go away - I already knew it was going to haunt me for the rest of my life. If not that then a very long time.
"Where's Ziva staying?" I heard Abby ask. At the sound of my name, I looked up to see Abby looking at me followed by Gibbs. Instead of answering Abby, he addressed me.
"There's a room at the Navy Lodge that NCIS has hired for a while; you can stay there if you want for a few days or until you find another place to stay, unless you can think of a better option."
"She can stay with me," Abby offered.
"You okay with that, Ziver?" he asked, clearly liking that idea better than me staying alone the night after being rescued.
"Sorry, Abby, but I think I will take the room at the lodge," I murmured, my voice breaking at several intervals as I tried to raise my voice enough that it could be heard. I wanted to be alone. I needed to prove to myself that I was still strong.
She nodded, her eyes understanding but tainted with worry. Gibbs watched me for a moment longer, trying to decipher my decision.
"You sure?" he checked.
"Yes, Gibbs I am fine," I replied, breaking his piercing gaze, there was something intimidating about it that I never used to find intimidating. Somewhere in the back of my mind, I noticed that everyone began listening to us, abandoning their own conversations.
"Money?" he asked.
"I have some?"
"Can you access it?" he questioned.
"I do not know," I said as Gibbs walked to stand in front of me, I watched his movements cautiously as he took the measured steps towards me.
"I can help with that?" Tony said.
I shook my head: "I do not want charity," I told them, talking to Gibbs more than the others. Why was it that I couldn't turn to face him - Tony? I forgave him a long time ago, but if that was the case, why couldn't I turn my head and talk to him.
"It's not charity," Gibbs said, trying to read me but finding it difficult since I would not look at him, "are you okay?" he asked.
"I am fine," I repeated, flashing my eyes up at him momentarily before looking away again just as quickly as I looked up.
"Okay," he said, clearly not believing me. Not that I blamed him. I mean I didn't look okay; I had cuts and bruises covering the skin that was visible.
He turned his back on me, addressing the others: "go home, all of you; rest. I want incident reports on my desk by the end of next week," he ordered, "I do not want to see you here again until next week," he said. They all began moving, slowly though.
Gibbs turned back to me: "you, I want you to rest; recover. You're lucky I didn't tell the hospital to keep you. You are now convincing me I made the right choice," he said firmly.
"Ducky," he said, turning away from me again. My eyes looked around the room until I laid eyes on the elderly man: "could you drive Ziva to the lodge?" he asked.
"Of course," he replied as he began walking towards me. I subconsciously tensed even though I knew he would not harm me and he seemed to notice, but did not comment.
"Do you want someone to stay with you tonight?" Gibbs asked turning back to me again.
"No, I will be okay," I said. I could feel him looking at me doubtfully, "I want to be alone," I insisted, "I would not be good company at the moment," I forced out a dry laugh that hurt my chest and made me cough.
"There will be someone there, not in with you, but they'll be there," he told me, "Ducky will drive you to the lodge."
I simply nodded. I just needed to think; to process everything that's happened over the past few months and more recently the past day's events.
I needed to workout how to approach people, how to apologise for the things I have done and then how I could begin to get the broken battered thing I currently called life back on track.
Broken and battered I may e; but at least I was home.
Yes, this was home now.
~Tony~
I watched as Ziva was accompanied from the squad room by Ducky, he accompanied her to the elevator where she was then removed from my line of view. This wasn't right. She shouldn't have to be accompanied in and out of this building. This was where she belonged; this was her second home - next to the one that was - used to be - her home here. Seeing that sent me plunging head first back to reality.
Jenny's death happened. Vance happened. Rivkin happened. Ziva's father happened. Somalia happened.
And now Ziva wasn't... Ziva. She was someone else in Ziva's body. The light was gone from her eyes. When she was in the chair across from me... I felt anger; anger directed at many people. Myself, her father, Saleem, even Gibbs to a degree. But everything else was clouded; relief, disbelief, the feeling you get when you wake up and aren't sure whether what you think you dreamed about was really a dream or whether it actually happened and worry all making one big mess and leaving me feeling overwhelmed. Worry because she might be free, but not necessarily out of the woods.
She - as of now - would have probably lost her job at Mossad - purely for the reason her father was a bastard who clearly had zero respect for his only living daughter, who only cared about whether the man – who put his daughter through hell – was dead or not.
With no job at Mossad, Ziva wouldn't even have the Mossad liaison position that was once held here, which would mean an NCIS job loss as well. But he guessed that was lost the moment she stayed on Israeli soil, choosing Mossad as her loyalty over NCIS.
I opened a new window on my computer and began typing my report. I wasn't sleeping tonight, may as well make myself useful. What I had written didn't have time stamps; it was a recall of what I remembered. It was, after all, hard to keep time in the middle of the desert with no watch.
"What are you doing, Tony?" Gibbs asked as he clipped his badge from his draw to the waist of her pants and clipping his already holstered weapon to the other side.
"Working," I stated.
"Thought I told you to go home," he said. I saw McGee from the corner of my eye. He had stopped gathering the little he had stashed behind his desk and looked at me.
"Wanna grab a drink?" he offered.
"No thanks, Tim," I replied turning back to my computer. Placing my fingers on the keyboard keys and typing a few more words.
"Tony, go home," Gibbs repeated more firmly, "everyone is home; safe. We left Somalia with more than we hoped. We have something to be proud of. The paper work will be there when you come in next. You need to rest," he said, his tone changing as he talked; authority leaving it, being replaced with something I rarely heard directed at me.
I admitted defeat - not out loud of course - mainly because I was tired of fighting. I was just tired. I followed Tim from the building, I knew Gibbs wasn't far behind; he probably went to see the Director to tell him the details of the mission.
I looked at McGee while the elevator descended to the lobby. I wouldn't admit it out loud either; but I was proud of him. He may have lied on the floor for the duration of the mission; but in the end if he didn't then the mission would have failed. He did stop Saleem from slitting Ziva's throat and then cut their bounds.
"Rough couple of days, huh?" McGee said.
"That's one way to put it," I replied as I reached my car, unlocking it and turning back to Tim, "see you tomorrow," I said.
I didn't want to begin talking about what had happened, or what might happen. Not yet.
"See ya," he replied. I could tell his was taken aback from the abrupt 'see you' from me.
I stepped into my car and began driving to the gates at a slow place. I wound the windows down, the car was getting stuffy and making it feel much more smaller than it was - beginning to make me feel claustrophobic, which I didn't usually have a problem with.
It was going to be a long night. It was going to be a long road to recovery. Not only for Ziva.
We all had our coping mechanisms. I would, tomorrow, go to the bar down the road from my place and tell a very tall story about my endeavours as a cop until some woman came home with me. Tonight, McGee would play his computer games and perhaps even call his sister and other members of his family. Gibbs would begin his next boat while drinking bourbon in his basement.
Ziva was my main concern though; I didn't want to push things - it was my fault in the first place - but she had nothing. What was her coping mechanism going to be; she wasn't going to talk. She only ever spoke when she was ready, and I doubt that she was anywhere near ready to talk about anything at this current point in time.
She spoke to me in the camp, then she shut herself off from everyone. When I tried talking to her on the plane, she'd either ignore me or she couldn't hear me, my bet was on the first. I don't blame her; she would come around when she was ready, and when that time came, I would take it all, no matter what form it came in.
We had to gain her trust again - we had lost it; that much I was sure of - but she also had to gain ours. She chose Mossad, that just so happened to hurt us all.
I knew rivers raged beneath bridges - that the raging river would need to be a trickling stream before the bridges even stood the slightest chance of being burnt. With that much water, the flames would be put out.
I arrived home a little later than it usually would have taken me, but I didn't care. All I wanted was to be in my apartment and have a shower to wash away the blood, sweat, sand and memories of being at the camp. Then, once I was clean I would look at and deal with everything else.
Through everything, the dirt ran off my body along with the hot water, but the image of a broken Ziva didn't leave. Sitting across from me, she looked broken beyond repair. Her eyes. voice: empty. Her skin: bruised. Her hair: messy. Lips: cracked. Hands: bound. Ego: gone. She was ready to give up, she had lost all hope. She had told me she wanted to die - that she was ready to die. Thinking of what would have happened to her would drive me crazy - as it would if it were anyone else on the team.
They were obviously lucky that they got there when they did, otherwise, who knows what could have happened. She'd still be there, still being... God knows what.
All I really wanted to do - ever since she didn't get on the plane in Israel - was to go back and do it again; differently.
I should've gotten of the plane and reasoned with her - at least then I'd have known I did everything I could've to that point. If we hadn't been so pissed off at each other I probably would've.
I should've waited at Ziva's apartment that night; I was there to see her after all; should've waited to talk to her not him. I usually trusted my gut - which I did - but this time it dug me a grave.
Should've, could've, would've. Thinking back it all seemed so easy; those were plausible and should have happened. Should have.
But they didn't, and I couldn't change the past now, I can only live in the present and control the future. My future, no one else's.
Amends needed to me made with Ziva; but they would happen at her own. I wasn't going to push her. I could try and talk to Ziva, but whether she wanted me in her life, any more was completely up to her.
Maybe you couldn't always control the future.
This is a request that I got a while back from yadoonkeanjaani. So I hope that I do a good job and its sort of what they are expecting.
This will be primarily a Tony/Ziva fic - which is why its from their point of views and it will remain just theirs in the foreseeable future.
The rating is subject to change, I may change it a little later one depending on what I write. With that said, if at anytime you think the rating should be raised, tell me and it will happen. I will warn you if I think there is anything that I believe I should warn you about - like I did at the top.
I apologise if they seem a little out of character, and also if there is any POV swaps within the two parts.
Feedback is welcome.