Hi, Sorry for the wait. I just got a little busy as school came to an end and some writing things I have been doing that take a month to do... But the good news, there is no more writing things that go for a month, there is no school (I'm on Summer Holidays as of last week until sometime near the end of January) so I have plenty of time to write and update, and I have found a system of writing that helps me write - which is probably more a frame of mind than anything else.
Anyway, sorry for the wait, and sorry if this isn't up to scratch, and I'll try to keep the next chapters coming a little quicker.
WARNINGS: No warnings for this, I don't think
Disclaimer: I don't own NCIS.
~Tony~
To put it in simplest terms, I couldn't sleep. There was no way on the face of the planet that sleep would come easy. My mind was racing; thinking, over thinking, remembering memories I held close, regretting decisions I'd made, questions I would never find the answer to. I worried, a lot. There was no point in denying it. The scenarios my conscience played before me served a constant reminder for everything that had recently unfolded, reminding me of the prior events, the revenge-turned-rescue mission and the long journey ahead.
No matter what I did, I couldn't stop thinking of Ziva; couldn't stop wondering how she was. I - at some earlier stage of the night - considered calling her room at the lodge before concluding that she wouldn't want to talk, let alone to me. But I couldn't stop the nagging thought at the back of my mind that something was wrong.
I believed she was dead; I had - technically - lost her, but with that, I also had lost hope of finding her alive and then to find out she was...
Knowing only one way to stop the nagging images and voice of my conscience, I flung the sheets back and walked to the lounge, taking my phone with me. I simply stared at it for a moment. Weighing the pros and cons.
I could either ring and put my mind at ease, but what if she was asleep - though, if I was there for a few days and I couldn't sleep, there was no way she would have been able to get to sleep let alone stay asleep.
The look on her face, the broken look etched there. I did not want to even begin to imagine what she went through, what she saw, what she was exposed to but apparently my subconscious believed otherwise.
I didn't know what had happened to her, which lead me to only one other vice. Thinking. Assuming what happened. Something that I knew a very long time ago would be my undoing.
I had not seen any of her inevitable injuries. They were there, but like the mental ones, they were hidden from view. I don't think she let anyone see them, and given what I could hear on the plane while the medic-team were tending to her, I don't think they saw them either. The only person still alive that knew about them, knew where they were, was her. The only person who knew what happened to her, was her. Surely she didn't need to carry that wait around with her. She'd talk about it, wouldn't she?
Except I knew of cases involving men assaulting women, in many cases the women were very reluctant to talk. Even more so when they had let it slip to someone else and then that someone else reported what had happened. They were even more reluctant when they were adamant that they were fine and that they could do it on their own, that they could just forget.
But many of them don't, unless they blocked the event.
I mean, I didn't know for sure what had happened; I could only assume, and I hoped my assumptions were way off, but being the only woman in a terrorist camp of thirty men all wanting to know the same thing... I'm surprised she lasted as long as she did, no matter what they had done to her.
If my knowledge of her hadn't changed, Ziva would be one of those women who were adamant that she could do it all herself. If we pushed it, she'd close up and push everyone away from her when she didn't need to. We just wanted to help.
But the risk of forcing her deeper into her shell was too high, the realisation caused me to dial; but not the Navy Lodge she was staying at.
"Ducky," I greeted when he answered his phone.
"Anthony?" He asked.
"Yeah, sorry for calling so late," I replied.
"Never mind, I wasn't asleep anyway," Ducky said, "I am assuming there is a reason for your call?" He questioned.
"How was Ziva when you dropped her off?" I asked.
"She still should be in hospital," Ducky murmured.
"Why?"
"Observation, I do not think that she is in the right mind to be alone - but she insisted," He replied, "She didn't talk to me on the way and barely talked to me while I was there."
"Do you know the extent of her injuries?" I asked.
"No, she wouldn't let me see - I wasn't going to push - the only way any of us would be able to see what happened to her was either for her to tell us or for us to see her medical records from the hospital, the only way that would happen is if she allowed us to see them," Ducky said.
"So she isn't good?"
"She could be better," He replied, "She is flighty, when the man who was taking her to her room and supplying her with food she seemed to be spooked by him. I don't want to speculate, but I can't imagine what happened to her out there was very pleasant. I doubt we will hear anything about anything until she is ready to tell us or something reveals itself before then."
"That could be a while Ducky, we both know how Ziva deals with personal issues," I said.
"Yes, but I believe that this is different, Tony, she was there for months and who knows what happened to her. Don't push her." He warned.
"Do you think she'll talk?" I asked.
"It is hard to say. What did you talk about with her on the way home?" He asked.
"Nothing. She didn't talk, to anyone, except telling the medics to leave her alone, to keep away and not touch her," I replied.
"What did she say while you were still there?"
"She believed she was going to die, that she was ready to die," I said, staring blankly at the black TV while I spoke, not wanting to but continuously seeing her face.
"Then I would suspect that she'd be a little overwhelmed," He stated.
"Why? She's home, she's safe."
"Is she?" He questioned, "Is she home? Is she safe?"
He posed a good question. Was she home? I believed she was. She belonged here, in America, at NCIS. But that didn't mean she felt the same way. Her whole life had been Mossad, she came to NCIS when she was twenty-three, and she'd have had to been Mossad for at least a few years prior. Her whole life was centred around her work. She had worked with NCIS for four years, but she still belonged to Mossad, her homeland was still Israel. Nothing would change that. Was it naive of me to think that she would stay here after we saved her? Or that she'd come to her senses and realise that her father wasn't a good man and clearly didn't have her best interests at heart? Was it naive to think that she wouldn't return to Mossad, Israel, her family?
"Yes, her family's here, no one will hurt her here. No one will allow her to be harmed."
"Yes, Tony, that is easy to say, but it's hard to assume. Ziva has never been an agent at NCIS; her biological family is in Israel. You have to remember what happened in the events leading up to going to Israel. I can't imagine that she wouldn't have been surprised to see NCIS and not Mossad there. She left us, NCIS. There would be a part of her that feels she doesn't deserve NCIS' help or loyalty, there is every chance that she will return to Mossad, or at least to Israel."
I shook my head. The possibility of her returning to Mossad or Israel was not an option. I would stop her if there was a next time. "She won't be getting on any plane back to Israel," I said.
"Give her time, Tony. She will come around when she is ready. She would be feeling overwhelmed because she seemed adamant that she was going to die, and after four months she is taken from where she had been living in probably less than desirable conditions then taken by the people she had chosen to leave behind back to the place she had left behind where she has nothing left. The people who had been feeding her and supplying her with the basic needs are dead. She needs to get her head around all that before she talks to anyone," Ducky said.
"And how long will that take?"
"I would not be able to tell you a time; even if I could hazard a guess it depends on the individual. Not on medicine and science. She firstly needs to accept what's happened before she can move forward from it. You will know when that happens, because that's when she'll talk about something, even if it's not the events of what happened and it's just her telling you that she wants to move past it. You have to trust that she will do what is best for her."
"Yeah, Ducky I know," I murmured.
"If it's worrying you that much, Anthony, call her. I just can't promise that she'll answer you."
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