A/N: Two-shot, post-ep tag for Patriot Down. So, uh, spoilers for Patriot Down. And I PROMISE to have Our Forever updated within the next twenty-four hours -I PROMISE. Much love and keep the peace, Kit!
DISCLAIMER: Considered it disclaimed.
THE GATEKEEPER
"Even the brave may depend on someone
The moon only shines with the help of the sun
And it's not as safe when you're walking alone
I'll walk you home"
Her back is straight and she speaks with a brave conviction, but he isn't fooled. Because he can see it in her dark eyes, the ghosts that are swirling within the shadows.
"They cannot hurt you now, Kaylen," her voice is quiet and he finds that he has to strain to hear her soft whispering. And he thinks, she is no longer an investigator, at least not right now. Because right now she's just a woman encouraging another woman.
Just a victim consoling another victim.
The young sailor just shakes her head, eyes brimming and the tears spilling over. Ziva shifts in her seat, a curtain of hair obscuring her face and he wishes right now he could wrap her up and protect her, hold her together because she must be borderline of her breaking point. He can hear it in her voice, from the tone that the familiar cadence has taken, that the memories that have been dredged up are hurting her, inflicting phantom pain and slicing open healed wounds.
And she's bleeding all over the floor.
He hopes the petty officer has someone to pick up her pieces.
"Can I go now, ma'am?" Burrows' voice is quiet with defeat even though she refuses to reveal anything. And Ziva merely offers a curt nod in reply while he takes his cue to stand up, to escort the witness out.
As if removing Burrows and her ghosts will make the little room less crowded.
She hears him coming, attuned to him as she is. And really, she didn't put much effort into her hiding place anyway –though this cannot be considered a hiding place. Because she isn't hiding. She's just . . . . thinking.
There is no hiding from oneself.
She's leaning up against the corridor wall, knees drawn up to her chest, slender arms wrapped around her shins. Dark mahogany eyes are focused intently on the wall opposite her, staring into space because oblivion just may hold the answers. She looks so small sitting there, he thinks, so small and so very tired.
"Hey," he calls softly, deliberately, so she'll be aware of his presence. She doesn't say anything in response, simply blinks her acknowledgement which he takes as an invitation to join her, carefully lowering himself to vacant spot beside her on the floor. And he ignores his protesting joints, the blunt pop of his bad knee.
He won't talk to her; there's nothing he can say to alleviate the pain anyway, there's nothing he can do to erase the memories. He wishes he could just take it all away, the haunting and nightmares and scars –if only he could rewrite history. A voice deep down in him says she would never offer her burdens unto him, it's an unfair transaction, her relief for his suffering, but it doesn't stop him from entertaining that thought. He would give anything at this very moment to simply transfer her hurting to him, only for a little while and he'll give it back, just please let her rest. All he can offer to her is his shoulder, his empathy, his love.
His love.
For her.
For you.
She doesn't know how long they sit there in the dim light of the hallway and she doesn't really care because she isn't alone. After a few minutes, she finds her cheek pressing against his shoulder, the fabric of his suit rough on her face. She doesn't speak, opting to remain silent, finding that his presence alone is more soothing than any spoken word. She's tired of the pity anyway, of the knowing eyes that followed her those first weeks back, the guessing eyes that couldn't even begin to imagine, but gossiped quietly regardless. Concerned eyes and wondering eyes and eyes that seemed terrified and uneasy with her mere presence . . . . The staring stopped and the hushed whispering ceased when cool blue eyes extinguished the curiosity with a simple glare and bright green eyes dared anyone to even so much as look at her funny.
She never did quite find out what everyone saw different about her, never could pinpoint the physical variation.
Perhaps the stains show through the layers of silence, cotton, and skin.
He sighs, a long slow exhale, a preamble of sorts. He does not want to ask the question, but it needs asking and he is, after all, the best candidate for the job. "Would it be inappropriate to ask you if you want to talk about it?"
Her answer is a stiff, "Yes."
"Then I won't ask." But I'll be here if you need me.
"Thank you." Thank you.
Someone's cell phone chirps and interrupts the conversation and lack thereof, recalling their focus to one case and away from the other, beckoning them back upstairs, demanding their presence. He rises to his feet, straightening up, and she's already standing at attention, watching him warily through dry eyes. The need to do something overrides the instinct of self-preservation and he finds himself intruding on her personal space, engulfing her in a hug.
She goes ramrod still, making herself all edges and angles, but he doesn't seem to care, he's holding on and not letting go. So she relents, relaxing into his chest, burying her face in the lapel of his suit, inhaling his scent, and relinquishing herself to the comfort her offers. She wraps her arms around his waist, not clinging to him, but returning the embrace and he responds by squeezing her slightly. And he's warm and solid and familiar and wholly reassuring.
He's been searching for at least twenty minutes and finds them, of all places, in the hallway outside of an interrogation is team seldom employs and, as he expected, they are together.
Tony's got her tucked against him, one hand at the small of her back, the other cradling her head to his chest. And Ziva is returning the embrace, seemingly melting into her partner, or at least resting against him.
And he feels like he's intruding on an intimate moment between the two.
He should slap them both for playing grab ass on his time.
But he doesn't and he knows damn well why.
This is exactly what he has to protect.
A/N: So?
