Chapter Two
Ziva had entered the elevator, waited for the doors to close, then did as she had seen Gibbs do many times before and flipped the emergency switch off, darkening the car and bringing it to a halt. She balled her hands into fists, wanting nothing more than to simply strike out and punch something. But she held back. The last time she reacted that way, well, it was really not that long ago, and it had left her here – alone in a dim elevator car, questioning her role on the team.
She closed her eyes to hold back the tears that were threatening to fall. Of all the people to screw up in front of, Gibbs was certainly the worst she could have picked. They had a trust unspoken ever since Ari and now that bond was in question, all because she allowed herself to be affected by their suspect.
Ziva let out a sigh and opened her eyes, resigning herself to the back of the car and sliding down until she was sitting on the floor. It was not easy for her to keep her cool when it came to her faith – the symbol she wore around her neck was not simply there for aesthetic reasons. When the rest of the world seemed to be falling down, disappearing into the clouds of suicide bombs erupting, shot down by her own skilled hand, Ziva knew she could trust her faith to pull her through, make it one more day. To have someone insult her for what she chose to believe was something she couldn't let go.
She shook the thoughts from her head. Dwelling on her mistake was going to get her nowhere closer to being okay with Gibbs. But she had no idea how to go about apologizing; Gibbs said apology was a sign of weakness, it was pretty much one of his rules. The only person Ziva could recall apologizing to him was the person she was on her way to see.
Ziva flipped the elevator back to a running position and soon arrived at the basement level, where she exited and made her way toward autopsy. If anyone could give her insight into Gibbs, it was Ducky.
The doors hissed open as she stepped in front of them and she entered hesitantly, looking for a sign of the elderly doctor. "Ducky?" she called.
"Ziva, is that you?" Ducky's voice came from another room – the bathroom, to be precise. "I will be with you in a moment, my dear. Just finishing up."
Ziva chuckled softly to herself. "Do not hurry yourself," she told him. She wandered through the room, running her hand along the smooth, cool steel of the autopsy tables, gazing at the rows upon rows of refrigerated drawers, holding dozens of dead bodies . . .
The flushing of a toilet distracted her from her thoughts and she turned to find Ducky exiting the bathroom, drying his hands.
"Hello, my dear," he greeted her, walking over to where she stood. "What brings you down here?"
"Ducky, I . . ." Ziva started, then paused, looking down at the floor. "I may have done something to jeopardize my spot on the team."
"Oh, dear," Ducky murmured, setting his hand on the edge of a table. He opened his mouth to speak, hesitated, then voiced his thought. "There is nothing you could have done that would cause you to lose your job at NCIS . . ."
"I struck a suspect in interrogation," Ziva interrupted, finally raising her head to look at him. Her mouth fluttered open and closed a few times as she searched for the words she needed to say. "I do not know what came over me . . ." Ducky nodded slowly, reading the truth in her eyes, what she wasn't saying. He reached out and placed a hand on her shoulder, letting her know she could tell him. "Ducky, I lost it."
"Ziva, my dear, would you like a cup of tea?" he asked her, and she nodded. He walked over to a cabinet and pulled out his tea set, talking over his shoulder. "No one is completely immune to falling apart. Even the strongest people are allowed to have emotions, to get angry sometimes. I am quite sure your actions were justified." He filled the teapot with water and put it on to heat.
Ziva shook her head, her eyes focused on the floor again. "I usually do not let things people say affect me, but . . ." She trailed off, looking up at Ducky. "He insulted my faith, Ducky. That is not something I take lightly."
Ducky nodded, patting her shoulder reassuringly. The teapot squealed, signalling the water was heated, and Ducky walked over to retrieve the silver pot, pouring two steaming cups and adding tea bags. He quickly returned to Ziva's side, handing her one of the cups.
"Thank you, Ducky," Ziva said softly, blowing gently on the hot liquid.
"No, Ziva, thank you," Ducky responded, placing a hand on hers.
She cocked her head at him. "For what?" She gave him a mildly amused smile.
He smiled back at her. "For coming to speak with me. I know you are concerned about Gibbs . . ."
"But I haven't even mentioned Gibbs," Ziva responded, flustered that he saw through her trip to see him.
"Yet," he finished, still smiling. He patted her hand. "I know that you worry he will not see your position . . ."
"He is currently not speaking to me, so you are correct," Ziva said, setting her cup on one of the tables. "I simply wish to know what I can do to let him know it will not happen again, that I will . . . harness my emotions and try not to get so angry." She nodded quickly, as if assuring herself.
Ducky sighed, setting down his own cup. "Ziva, dear, you cannot restrain yourself from feeling emotions. It is not healthy to bottle up your feelings."
"But it is dangerous to be affected when I am working, Ducky," Ziva insisted, her eyes shining with pain. "Emotions are careless; they do not know how to handle the types of situations I am put in every day. If I allow myself to get angry or feel sad, I will miss something important, and could end up dead."
"Now, I never said you needed to allow everything to affect you, Ziva," Ducky corrected. "I am simply saying you should not hide how you really feel from us, your co-workers, your friends."
Ziva bit her lip and closed her eyes against his words, willing herself not to cry. He was right. But she had never . . . "Ducky, it is not easy for me. I am not . . . like all you. I was raised differently. I am not used to a team like this. I am used to being alone. And I am most certainly not used to sharing my emotions with my co-workers."
"Well, my dear," Ducky said, moving his hand to her shoulder again, "then I propose you get used to it. It will only make your bond with the rest of the team stronger."
"But what about Gibbs?" Ziva asked, shaking her head. "He is so . . . distant. He never discusses his feelings."
"Would you care to be building a boat in your basement in twenty years, Ziva?" Ducky asked, a grin on his face.
Ziva chuckled. "I think I see your point." She let out a sigh. "But I still do not know how I will regain his trust."
He took both her shoulders in his hands and held her out at arm's length. "I would not worry so much. You have already gained his trust, and it will take more than losing your temper for him to not have that faith." He smiled. "Go home, Ziva. Get some rest. It will take time."
She nodded, patting his shoulder in return as she stepped out of his grasp. "I will try." She walked to the doors, allowing them to slide open and stepped out.
She would do as he suggested; go home, try not to think about the situation, sleep on it. She just hoped that would be enough and that when she came back to work, she'd still have her job, and the faith of a man she'd come to trust with her life.