Author: Regency
Title: In Faith
Fandom: NCIS/Grey's Anatomy
Categories: pre-femslash, AU, violence, drama, angst
Spoilers: None in particular, but takes place before Addison left Seattle Grace, so definitely no Private Practice spoilers. Also no specific NCIS spoilers either.
Pairing: Ziva David/Addison Forbes Montgomery UST
Summary: Every special agent needs a special doctor. During her week off, Addison gets more than she bargained for when an injured Mossad agent lands at her feet.
AN: Prequel to "The Exception" and "Asleep." Started for the International Day of Femslash 2009, though it's damned near time for the 2010 one now. Completed for the 2010 Epic Proportions challenge.
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To make one answerable for doing evil to others is the rule; to make him answerable for not preventing evil, is, comparatively speaking, the exception. –John Stuart Mill
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The First 24 Hours
For some reason, Addison Forbes Montgomery had chosen this day, this day of this week, of this month, of this year to have off. In hindsight, she thought she should have shown better judgment and gone to work instead.
Panting loudly on the floor of the entryway to her condo was very bloody, very terrifying woman with a gun. A woman with a gun—that she was pointing at Addison with more than a hint of malice. Addison had learned a few lessons in her life, like how to know when to fold and leave the poker game; like how interns were, in fact, your greatest competition when you were holding your marriage together with both hands; like how the person with the gun was the boss. She'd seen the movies; she knew how this worked—generally speaking.
"You can take whatever you want. Just don't…" She trailed off, weakly. Worst day off ever.
"Shoot you," the woman finished, blandly. And what could Addison say to that? The dark-haired woman had a gun and no mask; her successful escape was pretty much predicated on Addison being injured to some degree. It just seemed, well, rude to bring it up.
Addison slowly sat down on the Persian rug across from her captor because she couldn't think of anything else to do. The other woman seemed to be bleeding pretty profusely from an abdominal wound, but she doubted the brunette would let her close enough to do an in-depth examination.
"How long have you practiced medicine," the quiet but deadly woman asked out of the clear blue.
Addison floundered, unsure how to answer or whether she even should. She couldn't understand how the woman could know what she did for living without coming father into her home; the only place she displayed her diploma was in her office. At home she was just Addison Forbes Montgomery—Not Shepard. That still took some getting used to.
"What makes you think—"
"You inspected me. You're doing it as we speak. In my experience, I have found that only parents, teachers, and physicians inspect others with that amount of attention. I have observed no children and the quality of your wardrobe suggests that you don't teach. Thus, I concluded that you must be a doctor."
"Oh," Addison said.
"Oh," the woman mimicked. "What do you mean by 'Oh'?"
"'Oh' means that was very astute." The sense that she was traipsing on the firing mechanism of land mines was ruling Addison's heart, which began to thunder in her chest.
The woman blinked and said, "Oh." It sounded somewhat more eloquent coming from her.
It must be the accent, Addison though as she tried to mentally catalogue the sum of the woman's features, you know, in case she had to do a police sketch. Her memory wasn't cooperating at this point, anxiety having totally short-circuited her ability to record things for posterity. All she could see was a pair of dark, lightless eyes. Whoever this woman was, wherever she'd come from, she was dangerous and she wore that threat like a badge of honor.
She puts the sort of fear in me that I put in interns, Addison thought and her respect for the quiet mercenary woman grew minutely. If she wasn't in her house, holding her captive, they might have been able to do lunch.
The other woman's eyebrow quirked as though she could hear what Addison was thinking and thought it absurd. It was absurd. This kind of woman did not do lunch. She did the firing range or dismantled bombs for fun on a Friday night. Addison must have been developing Stockholm Syndrome, the express line edition.
"Can I get you something to drink?"
Dark eyes blinked in disbelief, then narrowed shrewdly. "Something to drink? You are offering me a refreshment in spite of the fact that I am pointing a gun at you?" Addison could only nod in embarrassment. Okay, yeah, it was sort of unbelievably obtuse, but now she'd done it and she may as well stand behind the offer.
"Yes…Yes. I have wine, bourbon, fruit juice. I even have a protein shake in the fridge. It's fresh! I made it this morning. Choose your poison." Addison immediately closed her eyes at that. She really hadn't meant to use the word 'poison.' It's like I've been envisioning ways of getting myself killed my entire life and now I've decided to put them all on display.
She was momentarily put at ease by the insulted scoff that sounded from the injured women before her. Addison opened her eyes to mere slits. The other woman was cradling her stomach, just below her ribcage. Her breathing was labored, but she never released her weapon, despite the fact that Addison could see the red sticky-slick substance coating the fingers that held it. She was falling apart.
"Let me help you," Addison said, because she was a doctor, not a spectator; even if her patients were usually babies and as harmless as errant butterflies. And I'm usually in a hospital, not my front hall, but beggars can't be choosers. Addison didn't want to die, but she didn't want this woman dead either.
"Why?" her captor asked, suspicion and what Addison thought was a little desperation coloring her tone.
"Because, I'm a doctor. It's what I do. I treat people." At her evident disbelief, Addison barreled forth. "Even people who hurt me, or who might hurt me. It doesn't matter what you do to me, you get to be treated."
"Why," she asked again.
"Because it's the right thing to do and, after a lifetime of not always doing that, I have to now."
"At any cost?"
Addison gulped, but nodded steadily anyway. "At any cost."
The dark-haired woman stared into Addison's eyes with all the ferocity of a preying cheetah. Addison knew that this was the moment where she could either speak and risk everything or remain silent and save her life. So, she remained silent and only breathed again when the younger woman looked away.
"You may examine me. Only then will I decide whether to consent to further treatment."
Addison wanted to protest. If what she'd seen of the woman's wounds so far was any indication, she didn't have time to have her hand held from examination to treatment. As it was, Addison wasn't sure she had the sort of supplies necessary to treat the laceration on hand. They'd both be much better off at Seattle Grace than stuck in her understaffed and understocked townhouse. Somehow, though, Addison didn't think taking a ride into work was going to be an option.
"Okay," she started after what was supposed to be a calming breath. It felt like the beginning of a panic attack. "Okay," she continued in the hopes of holding it off. "Okay," she murmured to herself once it had started to work.
"Do you repeat things to yourself habitually or is this merely for my entertainment?" Her accented sharpness glanced Addison's face like a badly-timed slap. It would have done a great deal more damage if Addison hadn't already turned away.
"I do it to ensure that when I'm digging that bullet out of your gut, I don't inadvertently knick your small intestine instead." Were she not so afraid, Addison might have laughed at the woman's sudden, sharp inhalation. Ah, to be terrifying. That's how that feels, she remembered and felt a great deal less intimidated. But definitely still afraid, maybe still a little petrified.
"Fine. Perform your worst," she conceded defiantly.
"Do…my worst?" Addison narrowed her eyes at the petite but menacing creature. So, English is not her first language. Suspicion confirmed.
"Whatever, just do whatever you are going to do. Preferably, now."
Addison nodded and made to stand—stopping suddenly when the other woman's gun hand twitched. It was a controlled motion; didn't seem unintentional in the least. Like any girl with good sense, Addison froze.
"Are your knees dysfunctional?" Her unspoken command was clear.
Addison shook her head and began the slow crawl toward the younger woman. She reached her without a word and, taking pains to ignore the weapon being pointed right at her, she gently pulled the woman's hand away from her abdomen. She grunted as flesh separated from fabric separated from sweltering skin. Addison didn't ask if it hurt when it went without saying.
"The bleeding's slowed," she murmured for both of their benefits. The silence had become suffocating in seconds. A bit more pressure on it couldn't hurt, but a bandage would be best.
"It is through and through," the woman supplied, her voice tight with obvious pain.
Addison frowned and tipped her head in the acknowledgement. "Can you show me the exit wound? I need to see if it's still bleeding."
One hand remained unsteadily on her sidearm while the other began to reach behind her. "On my lower back, near my waistband."
"Painful," Addison asked because her mouth loved to move regardless of whether her mind bothered to think.
"Yes," the woman said and Addison thought she must have taken pity on Addison's human foibles. She was grateful, but she'd never thanked anyone for not shooting her on impulse before, so she decided not to start today.
"If you'll let me, I can take you to the living room where you can lie down. It would probably be more comfortable and I'd find it easier to work there than here on the floor."
"More sanitary as well."
Addison made an effort not to take offense. It wasn't like her house was filthy. It was clean enough and she had a housekeeper who came in once a week or so to tidy up. She just didn't have time to do all the chores herself. Saving ailing infants was too time-consuming to have her do both. She put her frustration out of her mind and offered the woman a hand as she began to push herself to her feet.
"Do you need help standing," she asked anyway when she didn't take it.
Cheeks unhealthily flushed and her dark, wavy hair beginning to stick to her face, the woman did not look well. Or should I say, well for a woman who just snuck into my home and decided to hold me hostage with a gun. Lovely or not, she was the picture of death personified. It was just a matter of whether she was delivering it or embodying it.
She was on her feet more quickly than Addison anticipated and she took an involuntary couple of steps back in response.
"I am used to moving while injured, I will be fine." She gestured for Addison to proceed her into deeper into the house. The motion dared to be polite as Addison dared to obey it. They were entering her territory, where she had the home field advantage. She would use it as wisely as she could to get this woman out of her hair and out of her home, preferably without triggering anymore gunshot wounds.