A/N: Trying out something new here. Got a major amount of Tiva-ness swirling around in my head as I try to work on APTP. So I had to write it. This will be part of a one-shot Tiva series set, surprisingly enough given the title, after she was rescued from Somalia. Although, part two will probably end up being several chapters, maybe six, so doesn't really count as a one shot. Let me know what you think. Part Two probably won't be up until after the holidays. Merry Christmas everybody! And thanks for reading :)
When they got back, Ziva didn't say a word to anyone. Not McGee, or Gibbs, or even him, especially him, but not to Abby either. Gibbs stated in a tone that left no room for argument, that Ziva would be staying with him tonight, until other arrangements could be made. She merely nodded, having no strength left to fight with anyone.
Tony watched her as she stood beside her old desk, surveying the squadroom with those awful dead eyes. No emotion, no life, no will to survive. It was as if their vibrant teammate had been hollowed out and all that they loved about her was gone now, leaving only a shell behind. And still Tony could not take his eyes off her.
He longed for the old days when she would catch him staring and snap at him with that tight annoyed voice. Or threaten his life with the first available piece of office equipment. He missed the Ziva that lit up a room, the smile that teased and taunted and flirted, the eyes that told him so much more than her mouth ever would. He missed the woman who had been his friend until that whole mess with Michael happened and she stayed in Tel Aviv because she'd forgotten that they could be trusted.
For three years they bantered and fought and flirted. They'd shared stakeouts and crazy car rides that almost promised to end in death by her insane driving. Movie nights were spent explaining all the jokes and American sayings that still did not make sense to her. And Tony had enjoyed every minute of their loving and hating and hiding honesty while dancing around if only. It was all gone now. He was sure Ziva would never look at him that way again.
Trembling and teetering on the edge of exhaustion, Ziva finally perched on the edge of her desk, waiting for Gibbs to get done briefing Vance so she could curl up somewhere and closed her eyes. She scanned the room. Everyone had at last ceased staring at them and gone back to what they were doing before the elevator arrived and spilled their sorry looking party out.
McGee had disappeared down to the lab with Abby after she'd finally released Ziva from her gentle hug, convinced that she was actually alive. Ziva suspected that Tim was about to get the breath squeezed out of him by the impatient Goth who'd been waiting a week to hear that they were okay. She still cared about him more than she would admit in words. Only Ziva and Tony remained and he was doing his best to pretend like he was busy and not watching her whenever her gaze was somewhere else.
A door closing made her look up and even though it was metal on metal, the slam brought back to mind the dull thud of the wooden door that kept her locked in a dusty, dirty, stone cell, waiting for the next time they would return in an attempt to drag out information that she was unwilling to give up.
Her eyes glazed over, her face paled and for a second Tony thought she might actually pass out.
"Ziva?" he jumped up to go to her but Gibbs reached her first, putting both of his strong, calloused hands against her face.
She jerked away from him and closed her eyes, wincing as if awaiting a blow, but Gibbs didn't let her go. Instead he drew his face beside hers and began whispering in her ear. Tony couldn't hear what the boss was saying, but he could see the effects of Gibbs' words.
Slowly Ziva's body ceased trembling, her arms and legs relaxed their rigid stance and finally her eyes opened, blinking at them as if she expected to find herself somewhere else, and this, the agency and her friends, just a dream. Gibbs looped his arm around her shoulders and turned her towards the elevator.
"Let's go home Ziva."
Tony watched for only a nanosecond before scooping up his backpack and following after them. Gibbs stared at him as Tony slipped into the elevator and Ziva kept her eyes on the floor. But neither said a word and Tony left the silence alone, glad not to be asked for an explanation when he didn't know the answer himself.
He took the backseat of Gibbs' car, not once making a comment about his boss's driving. It wouldn't've mattered anyway, tonight Gibbs drove as if the car contained his most precious cargo and Tony wondered when it was exactly that they had all become family.
When they arrived at their destination, Ziva trailed after Gibbs as he led the way into his house, with Tony following them like a little lost puppy dog. They stood in the front entrance together, former partners, former friends, former almost something more. Gibbs appeared a few minutes later with towels, an old NIS hoodie and a pair of white and purple checkered pyjamas.
"Here," he said gruffly, handing her the pile, "go take a shower and get cleaned up. Hope you don't mind wearing some of Shannon's things."
Ziva shook her head, eyes glistening, not even able to form the words to say 'thank you'. She didn't know what to do with all their kindness after months of the kind of cruelty no one should have to experience. She took small, slow steps towards the shower, every movement a great effort.
Her muscles ached, her eyes burned from lack of sleep and the sand of a desert. Ziva's whole body was sore and hurting. The pain she'd learned to deal with while held captive, because there was no other choice, was now making itself known with force and she had to bite her lip in an effort not to cry out. They would only worry more.
For the first time in three months, Ziva could see her reflection in a mirror and the person that stared back at her was a stranger. She did not know this woman with tangled, dirty, stringy hair, a gaunt face smudged with dirt and blood, chapped, split lips, and eyes that held no life anymore. The picture only got worse as she slowly began to undress. A body that had not bathed in weeks, ribs showing clearly beneath the skin, bruises, healing cuts and burns, and scars covering most of what she could see.
Ziva closed her eyes tightly against the memory of how she got those marks, placing her hand over her ears to try to block out the screams and cries that echoed in her head from the hours and days when they had tortured her. Flipping the shower on, Ziva let the water get hot and steaming before stepping fully out of the rags that covered the rest of her. She stood under the shower for many, many minutes, letting the pounding spray begin to wash away evidence of her time at the terrorist camp.
At last she reached for the bottle of shampoo and worked the lather deep into her scalp. How many times she squeezed more of the thick liquid into her palm before her hair finally began to feel clean again, Ziva didn't know. But it felt very good. Massive amounts of conditioner were needed as she began to slowly work the tats, knots, and tangles out of her long, thick, curly hair.
Soap came next and with it she scrubbed her skin almost raw, desperate to get the feel of Somalia off of her. Hands touching, hitting, scratching, scraping. The biting cut of a whip tearing into her flesh. Knives carving lines both deep and shallow into her skin with each question she refused to answer. Lighters burning angry red marks all over her body. And memories of worse things, but she wouldn't not think of that now.
Always hurting, always afraid, always wanting to just die and get it over with because she knew a rescue would never come. She'd alienated those who cared the most and now she was alone. No one would come for her. But they had come to save her, and now to try to remember how to live when she'd spent months preparing to die in that hole, would be one of the hardest things. Escaping the memories of what had been done to her was another. And rebuilding friendships so damaged by her accusations and assumptions might be the hardest of all.
NCIS
Downstairs in Gibbs' livingroom the two men sat in strained silence. They held cold drinks in their hands but neither cared to sample them. At last Gibbs stood up and laid out the plan.
"We take shifts," he said.
"Boss?" Tony asked, screwing up his face in confusion.
"After what she's faced, there should be no sleeping alone DiNozzo," Gibbs explained tersely.
Tony nodded slowly and opened his mouth to volunteer to be the first, but Gibbs pointed to the couch.
"Pillow and extra blanket there. Sleep for a few hours. I'll wake you when it's your turn."
Then Gibbs turned to go upstairs and change out of his desert stained clothes. A shower would be nice but he didn't think there would be any hot water left by the time Ziva felt marginally clean again. She met him at the top of the stairs, damp hair falling around her face, in bare feet and his dead wife's pyjamas, which hung on her emaciated frame when they should fit her fine.
"Ziva." He took her hand and led her to the spare room. She flinched at the shadows and he turned the table lamp on, illuminating the small room. "One of us will stay with you," he informed her. She started to shake her head but his look silenced her. "Not a suggestion."
Gibbs pulled back the covers and tucked Ziva into bed, remembering when he used to do this for Kelly. He ran his hand softly over her hair and went to change. When he got back Ziva's eyes were closed, but he knew she would not find sleep easily, not this night. Settling down in the old rocking chair in the corner, Gibbs prepared to keep watch, hoping his presence could keep the nightmares at bay.
NCIS
It was the middle of the night when Tony's turn came to take a shift at Ziva's beside. Groggy and rubbing the sleep from his eyes, Tony shuffled slowly into Gibbs' spare room. Ziva was curled up on her side, cuddled up in the soft blankets. Her face looked peaceful and he dared to hope it would stay that way. But minutes after he took Gibbs' place in the rocking chair, she began to move restlessly in her sleep, whimpering, her face pinched.
The sound she made cut into Tony's heart and he slowly approached the bed. As he knelt there beside her, knowing something truly awful must be happening in her dreams, Tony was struck by how young and vulnerable Ziva looked. In her sleep, with all her walls down and her armour stripped away, she was just a woman. Not a super ninja Mossad assassin, just Ziva.
She whimpered again, tossing and turning on the bed. Tony reached out a hand towards her, then hesitated, remembering the last two times he'd tried to wake her. The first was undercover and he'd suddenly found her gun pressed to his cheek. He'd decided what he wanted wasn't that important. The second time was when she fell asleep on her desk and he'd tried to prank her, only to be met with a forceful, 'touch me and die' warning. And again, it wasn't worth dying over.
But this time it was important. Wherever she was, she was afraid, she was hurting, and she couldn't get out.
"Ziva," he whispered, touching her shoulder gingerly.
She moaned in pain and he snatched his hand away as if burned. This was going to be harder than he thought. Tony moved until he was sitting on the edge of the bed.
"Ziva," he called, wanting to wake her up without scaring her.
She snapped her head in the direction of his voice and her hands came up fast, but at a fraction of her normal speed, and Tony caught them easily. Gripping her wrists, he shook her slightly, calling her name louder.
"Ziva!"
Finally her eyes opened, panic, fear and pain etched into the dark orbs. She didn't recognize him at first and fought against his hold desperately with what little strength she still had. Tony wrapped his arms around her body, trying to still the frantic movements.
"Ziva, Ziva, it's Tony. Come on Zi, you're scaring me here. I'm not going to hurt you."
Gradually her movement stilled as she became more fully awake. Then she stiffened in his arms and Tony released her. She wouldn't look at him.
"I'm sorry Zi," he whispered, wishing he could read her thoughts, "I couldn't just leave you there."
Ziva blinked and finally met his eyes. "Leave me where, Tony?"
"In your dream," he replied. "You were scared and you were hurting and I had to get you out of there."
So much meaning behind his words! Even in her current state, Ziva could hear it.
"Are you talking about Somalia, Tony? Or the dream you just woke me from?"
Tony leaned back, focusing his gaze on the wall. At last he chuckled and shrugged.
"Both, I guess."
Ziva focused on his hands which were still clasping hers. She tapped her index finger against his hand.
"Thank you," she whispered.
"For what?" he asked.
"Bringing me home," she said so softly Tony almost didn't hear her.
Risking potential injury, Tony tucked a single curl behind her ear.
"This is where you belong Zi and I would've gone further than Africa to bring you home. I'm only sorry it took us so long to get there."
Ziva nodded, closing her eyes again. She did not want to understand what she had just seen in Tony's eyes. She could not deal with anything else, not right now.
"Sleep Ziva," he said softly, "I'm not going anywhere."
She rolled over to face the wall again, wondering how exactly he meant those words.
As Tony watched her sleep, he realized that he'd almost missed his chance to have Ziva in his life. This time he wouldn't pretend, because he'd almost lost her once this summer and he couldn't go through that again. This was their chance and he'd be danged if he let it slip away.
END OF PART ONE