Summary: Ziva struggles to come to terms with her cancer, and on the day after her surgery her friends drop by to try and help her cope.
Disclaimer: I shall sneak my little minions in to steal all official papers for NCIS...oh, I don't have little minions? :(
Time setting: [SPOILERS] This takes place at the beginning of the hypothetical Season 10; Ziva is no longer with Ray, and Jimmy Palmer has married Breena. Obviously, it's only in canon up till this week's episode; I have no powers of foresight and cannot predict how things will actually end up on the show.
A/N: [CONTAINS SCIENCE CONTENT]
I don't know why I wanted to write this fic. Haha. I just did, to see how Ziva would react under circumstances like this. She's used to harm and injury that comes in the context of fights, missions, or explosives; but cancer is a different story. Having said that, I don't have cancer and don't personally know anyone who does, so please forgive me if I write anything that seems...contrary to reality. I promise you that my intention is not to offend. :)
This story is divided into six chapters; apart from the first and last chapter (which are both T/Z chapters), they all contain different characters. Breena Palmer makes a special appearance! Jimmy Palmer and Timmy McGee do not have their individual scenes with Ziva, though :( I tried to fit them in, but too many individual scenes just doesn't make sense.
Okay, in order for this story to seem coherent, a little background is probably needed (and this is where the science content starts AND I start talking about the female reproductive system so...little kids, look away!). Ziva has stage I dysgerminoma, which is a type of ovarian germ cell tumour. This sort of tumour begins in the egg cells of the ovary. Ziva's treatment is unilateral salpingo-oophorectomy with adjuvant chemotherapy, in which her right ovary and fallopian tube were removed. Her chemotherapy treatment begins after the operation and is not directly addressed in this fic.
Prior to the operation, she had told only Tony about the cancer because of his insistence to know what was bothering her, and Gibbs because of the request for medical leave. This fic is written under the assumption that Tony has been her primary (and almost exclusive) source of social support since then; because of this, they're somewhat emotionally closer than they currently are on the show. But because Tony's not the best at dealing with emotional issues, Ziva also has a lot of thoughts and worries that will be listened to and assuaged by the other characters in the story.
If I do offend with this fic, please tell me via PM! I will try to rectify my mistakes as best I can.
Information on ovarian cancer was gotten from: The Web site of the National Cancer Institute (www . cancer . gov)
The first chapter contains no specific spoilers to any season.
Okay, I'm done rambling. Read on, enjoy, and please review!
-Soph
Survival
The first image she sees when her darkened vision clears and her head stops spinning – sort of – is that of Tony, with his face nuzzled so very close to her arm and his hand wrapped possessively around hers. He appears to be asleep. She frowns for a moment because yes, she'd allowed him to be there before the operation and after, but he has no right to touch her like that. It makes her heart do strange things, and she's not sure that she's up for it in her current weak state.
And yet…and yet, she's glad he's there. She can't say why; she just knows that there's a warm feeling spreading across her chest which probably has nothing to do with painkillers. She's glad he's there. She feels safe and comforted and most importantly loved, because whatever complexities they have between them, he still loves her enough to just be there, holding her hand. She knows it's not sympathy or pity. At least, she hopes it isn't, because then it would not last past the chemotherapy. And she needs him to be there for that too.
She wonders if he hears her racing heart, because he stirs; turns his head slightly as if to find a better position in which to go back to sleep, and then sits up so abruptly that his back pops. He winces and pops his neck. Hospital beds, after all, are not made conducive for bedside visitors to rest their heads on. His eyes fly to hers and his grip tightens inexplicably when he finds her awake. "Are you okay?" he asks in a strangled voice, and she wants to headslap him because would she be alive if she weren't?
She resists the urge. She knows he's worried; has been worrying since the day he made her tell him. Since the day she chose to tell him. Who is she kidding? Deep, deep down, she just really needs him to be there.
She nods, and his eyes grow tighter and even more worried until she rasps out, "Thanks…for being here, Tony."
Relief dawns on him and his grip loosens the slightest bit. "Thought you couldn't speak," he says, and then chuckles at how ridiculous it sounds.
"They didn't operate on my brain."
"I know." His eyes flick down to her lower half. She feels humiliation and anger bubbling in her until his thumb strokes her skin gently, reassuring her that he hadn't meant it; hadn't meant that unintentional glance. And oh yes, she knows it's perfectly normal for people to want to glance. Is it not perfectly normal for her to hate the possibility of it? She has scars and bruises aplenty. She's just never had a part of herself missing before.
"It's out?" he asks sombrely, as if he were the one with a part missing. And that's what kills her, because maybe she's never been the perfect woman for him, but she's so far from perfect now that she knows she will just spend the rest of her life wondering if they could've been.
"Yes," she answers, and that's when a tear rolls down her cheek. Suddenly she doesn't want him there anymore; not if he has to force himself to stay. He doesn't deserve this; not the chemo, not whatever side effects there will be, not whatever insecurities or self-hate or problems that she will have. No one deserves it. That's why she'd wanted to do this alone; live or die alone, without anyone knowing or caring. Why did he have to make her tell him? Why did he?
He reaches over and brushes away her tear with his free hand, oh so gently, and her bottom lip trembles against her will. And because he's already seen her cry more times in the past few weeks than she cares to know, he simply drops his thumb to run it along her lip, as if that motion might soothe her.
And maybe it does, because it's his thumb, his taste, his smell. Her lip stills eventually and the tears that beyond the first drop, never left her eyes, are blinked back into nonexistence. He rests his hand atop the pillow as she takes a deep breath, and she turns her head to press her face against him because she still needs it – his skin, his scent. Her eyes meet his; silently pleading that he doesn't draw away and silently challenging him to fulfil her expectations and pull away, at the same time. His eyes glitter for a moment with a promise to rise to the challenge, but he blinks wearily and the promise is gone, and all that's left is an affirmative answer to the plea. The hand that's still holding hers resumes its stroking patterns. She almost cries again before she succumbs to sleep with the memory of the tingles she feels on the back of her hand.