DISCLAIMER: I don't own Law and Order: Special Victims Unit. That'd be Dick Wolf and NBC. I also don't own NCIS. That'd be CBS. I'm just borrowing the characters, and I promise to return them by midnight, fed, clean, and unharmed. Mostly.
A/N: Before you begin, I want to supply you all with a piece of information critical to this chapter. Just trust me; it will come in handy later.
Dissociation is an altered state of consciousness characterized by partial or complete disruption of the normal integration of a person's normal conscious or psychological functioning.[1]Dissociation is most commonly experienced as a subjective perception of one's consciousness being detached from one's emotions, body and/or immediate surroundings.[2] Van der Kolk et al.[3] describe dissociation as a "compartmentalization of experience." Under normal conditions, consciousness, memory, emotions, sensory awareness, affect, etc., are integrated; with dissociation, in contrast, these traits are discretely compartmentalized to greater or lesser degrees.
Dissociation describes a wide array of experiences that can affect any aspect of a person's mental functioning.[4][5][6][7] Although some dissociative disruptions involve amnesia, other dissociative events do not.[8] At one end of a continuum, dissociation describes such common events as becoming lost in thought while driving a vehicle and not recalling parts of the journey. At the other end of the continuum are a cluster of dissociative disorders, such as dissociative amnesia, that can occur in response to severe psychological trauma such as rape or military combat. In such cases of abuse or trauma, dissociation can be regarded as a coping mechanism to help with an overwhelming experience.[9]
Since dissociations are normally unanticipated, they are typically experienced as startling, autonomous intrusions into the person's usual ways of responding or functioning. Due to their unexpected and largely inexplicable nature, they tend to be quite unsettling. Different dissociative disorders have different relationships to stress and trauma.[10] Dissociative amnesia and fugue states are often triggered by life stresses that fall far short of trauma.[11][12]Depersonalization disorder is sometimes triggered by trauma, but may be preceded only by stress, psychoactive substances, or no identifiable stress at all.[13] The ICD-10 but not the the DSM-IV classifies conversion disorder as a dissociative disorder.
SOURCE:Wikipedia Page on Dissociation
Unfortunately, for some reason, the link won't show up here. Stupid thing. Anyhow...
Now that that is out of the way, happy reading!
11:20 A.M.
NCIS Headquarters
Ziva flew down the stairs and slammed into a man walking up carrying a stack of folders.
"Are you alright?" she asked, walking down the steps backwards.
"Fine..." the man replied.
Ziva jumped over the railing and landed like a cat. She ran to McGee's desk and hung up the phone that he was still chatting on.
"Where is Gibbs?" she asked hurriedly.
"Uh, Ziva..."
"McGee!" she snapped, closing her eyes.
"Ziva-"
"Where. Is. Gibbs?"
"You just hung up on him."
"Then get him back!" Ziva snapped, thrusting the handset back into McGee's hand.
"What the hell is going on, Ziva?" McGee asked.
Ziva walked away from him, to her desk.
"The director, she is never late, yes?"
"Uh..."
"Yes or no, McGee?"
"As far as I know, she's never late."
"And she always reports to work, yes?"
"She harasses Gibbs at some point or another every day, so yeah."
Ziva punched the partition behind her desk.
"What, Ziva?"
"Her secretary, what is the woman's name?"
"Jen's secretary? I don't know. They change so often."
"Yes, her. She said that Director Sheppard left for Manhattan yesterday, was due back this morning. She never returned."
"Ziva, she's a grown woman. She's probably caught in traffic." McGee replaced the phone in its cradle.
"She flew, McGee. She was also supposed to check in at oh-800, which she did not do. Something is wrong, McGee, I can feel it. In my...my..."
"Gut?" McGee supplied.
"Yes!" Ziva sat at he desk. "That. She is not safe. I can feel it in my intestines and lower organs."
Ziva's desk phone rang. She answered it on the first ring.
"What?" she snapped, then cleared her throat. "NCIS, Officer David."
"Ziva, what the hell is going on?" Gibbs yelled.
"Gibbs!" Ziva looked over at McGee. "Something is wrong."
"Yeah, I got that! I'm sitting here in traffic and I get a call from Director Sheppard." Ziva could hear a very loud car horn. She assumed Gibbs was leaning on his. "She's at a hospital in Manhattan, Ziva."
"Hospital? Is she alright?" Ziva asked, pulling her gun out of her desk drawer. McGee frowned and reached for his weapon.
"Would she be in a hospital if she was Ziva?" Then to someone else, "Move it already!"
"I suppose not."
"I want you to pull everything you can on Connell MacLean and his son, Cassidy. I want to know exactly where the father was, 2 am yesterday morning."
Ziva wrote this all down on a notepad on her desk. "Got it."
"And Ziva!" Gibbs shouted.
"Yes, Gibbs?"
"GO!" He barked before severing the connection. Ziva placed the phone in its cradle.
"What's going on, Ziva?" McGee asked, grabbing his go-bag.
"The director is in a hospital in Manhattan." Ziva picked up her bag and holstered her weapon. "Gibbs is in traffic, and you need to look up everything we have and don't have on Connell MacLean and his son, Cassidy."
"Where are you going?" McGee asked.
"Not now, McGee." Ziva began jogging to the elevator.
"What do I tell Tony?"
"Tell him to help you!" she shouted, slipping in to the elevator before the doors could close.
"Yeah." McGee mumbled to himself, sitting back in his chair. "Tony's gonna help me." He threw his go-bag back in the bottom desk drawer and slammed the drawer shut. "I'm his favorite guy."
11:25 A.M.
Olivia Benson's Apartment Building
Elliot pulled up to the curb outside Olivia's building and Olivia stepped out.
"I'll meet you back here in an hour?" she asked, leaning down to speak to her partner.
"You got it!" he replied. She shut the door and he pulled away.
Her whole body ached as she climbed the steps to her building. She wanted to just crawl into bed and stay there. But she had to worry about Jen. She rode the elevator to her floor and picked up a UPS package that was left in front of her door, wrapped in brown paper and tied with twine. She unlocked the door, walked in, shut the door behind her. She placed the package on the kitchen island with her keys and purse, kicked off her shoes and pressed the play button next to the flashing light on her answering machine.
BEEP
"Hey, Liv, it's Casey. It's ten A.M., Wednesday... Just calling to check in, catch-up."
Olivia walked to her bedroom and pulled a large wheeled Prada suitcase out of the closet. Casey drew in a heavy voice on the voice mail.
"Ok, I lied. I got a call from your date, he said something happened, that he had to go to the hospital for a gunshot wound. Olivia, what the hell happened? I need you to call me back. I'm worried about you."
Olivia took several pairs of panties from her drawer and threw them all into the suitcase angrily. Casey would have to wait.
BEEP
"End of messages."
BEEP
She pulled slacks and blouses down from their hangers in the closet and threw them in to the case with the underwear. She returned to the drawer with undergarments and pulled out bras. She dumped those in as well, then reached into the closet again and pulled out a pants-suit, still in its plastic dry-cleaners covering. She laid it on the bed beside the case, and walked back to the kitchen. Her phone rang. She ignored it, let it go to voice-mail.
"You'vereachedOliviaBenson.Leaveamessageafterthebeep."
BEEP
"Yo,pickupthephone,Liv!It'sFin!"
Olivia turned her back on the machine, too tired to deal with his antics. She opened a cabinet above the sink and pulled a bottle of scotch and a glass.
"Comeon,Liv,Iknowyou'reinthere,pickupthephone.JenSheppardjustcalledlookin'foryou,saidshe'sgotanemergency."
Olivia put the glass down, ran to the phone, picked up the cordless handset, pressed the green send button to answer the phone.
"Fin?"
"Liv!"
"What happened?"
"She just said to call her back on her cell number, said it was an emergency."
Olivia rummaged through her purse, found a pen, but no paper.
"Uh... ok, what's the number?"
"212-555-3465."
Olivia wrote the number on the back of her hand.
"Ok, thanks, Fin."
"Yeah, no problem. And Liv?"
"Yeah?"
"You good?"
Olivia smiled.
"Yeah. Yeah, I'm good."
"Good. Cuz Novak is here and she's mad worried about'choo."
Olivia frowned.
"Tell Novak to mind her own damn business."
"I heard that, Detective!" Casey's voice yelled.
Olivia held the phone away from her head, staring at it incredulously.
"Oh, yeah. Liv, you're on speaker phone," Fin said, the smirk obvious in his voice.
Olivia scowled.
"Screw you, Fin," she snapped before putting the phone back to her ear.
"Come on, Liv, it was a joke!" Fin stated, laughing.
"It's not funny. And Novak!"
"Yes?" the A.D.A. replied.
"Call me back so we can talk. Leave the peanut gallery at home!" Olivia barked, stabbing the end key and placing the phone in her back pocket. Olivia returned to the scotch on the counter, shaking. She pulled 3 ice cubes from the icebox and dropped them into the glass, poured half a glass of scotch for herself and tried to steady herself while nursing the drink. When the phone rang 3 minutes later, she answered it.
"Yeah..."
"It's Casey."
"Hi." Olivia took a sip from her glass, walked to the bedroom to resume packing.
"So?"
"So what?" She set the glass on her dresser top, slid her shoulder up to hold the phone against her ear while she packed socks and belts.
"Don't play games with me, Benson. What the hell happened last night?"
"He got too handsy." She held a pair of black socks up to the light, making sure they matched.
"So you shot him?" Casey asked, angrily.
"No, Casey, I didn't shoot anyone. He's lying to you." She replaced one of the socks; dark blue and black did not match.
"Olivia, he's got a gunshot wound in his shoulder." Casey was nearly yelling now.
"He had that when he walked in to the bar," Olivia stated calmly. "Hey, I have a question."
"Oh, come on, Olivia. You expect me to believe that he sat in a bar with you, bleeding from the shoulder and you just sat there? That doesn't sound like you."
"Really? Cuz I gotta tell ya, Casey, when I say no and somebody keeps pushing me, all empathy goes out the window," Olivia snarled. "I have to finish packing. I'm going to D.C. with our vic tomorrow and I have to meet Elliot in forty minutes."
"Olivia what do you mean, 'when I say no and somebody keeps pushing me'? Did he try to rape you?"
"Casey, I really have to go." Olivia looked at her watch.
"Olivia, answer the damn question!" Novak shouted.
"No, Casey, I won't answer the question. I hold you responsible."
"Me? What the hell did I do? You sat at a pub with him!"
"I'm gay, Novak, you know that. You set me up with a man. Don't try to make this my fault," Olivia spat.
Casey laughed cruelly.
"Oh, wow. You know what? I'm glad he did what he did. Oh, and by the way, Olivia, I didn't know you were a lesbian. If I had known, I sure as hell wouldn't have been caught dead associating with you in public."
"Fuck you, Casey."
"You wish!"
Olivia threw the phone against the wall and screamed. Where the hell did that pretentious bitch get off, talking to her like that? She hated Casey. Hated her! Well, that wasn't entirely true. The prosecutor's words hurt to the extent that they did because (although, as far as she could remember she'd never admitted this to anyone) she was in love with the woman. Olivia felt like Casey had ripped her heart out through her stomach, stomped on it with her Gucci heels, then tried to sew it back improperly. And the best way to get back at her was to pretend that it didn't bother her. Olivia stormed to her dresser, drained her glass. Fine. Olivia threw her clothes in the suitcase, zipped it up rather violently. The zipper cut her palm. She swore and stuck the bleeding flesh in her mouth, sucked on it a while. Then she lifted the case, hauled it to the door. She had to talk to Jen in person. She looked at her watch. It was a 17 minute cab ride to Bellevue and she had 38 minutes until Elliot got there to pick her up. She scrawled a quick not to him explaining where she'd gone, grabbed her purse and keys and headed out the door.
11:43 A.M.
Bellevue Hospital, Room 582
Jennifer stood in her room, gazing out the large window on her wall. She had a hand clutched to her side. Her cell phone rang. She snatched it up, checked the caller ID and answered.
"Ziva?"
"Director! Are you alright?" the Israeli yelled.
"Calm down, Agent David, I'll live."
"Are you hurt?"
"It's just a gunshot wound. I—"
"A gunshot? What happened?"
"Ziva, I'm a big girl! I can handle it! I need you to calm down. I have to get in touch with someone here in Manhattan, and she won't answer her phone. Her name is Detective Olivia Benson and she works-"
"I work in the Manhattan SVU, 16th Precinct."
Jennifer jumped, turned too quickly; she crumpled to the floor. Olivia was immediately by her side, helping the smaller woman back to the bed.
"Director?" a woman's accented voice called from the phone.
"Tell her...I'm alright..." Jen panted, cringing. She was white as a sheet.
Olivia nodded, got the woman situated on her bed and lifted the phone to her ear.
"Director?" the woman cried frantically.
"Hello?" Olivia began.
"Who is this?"
"This is Detective Benson; I'm sorry, I must have startled Jen- she turned too quickly and tired herself out. She wanted me to tell you that she's alright."
"If you hurt her, I will hunt you down and kill you myself!" the woman began in English, then continued in what sounded like some Middle Eastern language. Olivia wasn't familiar with it.
"Ma'am, I don't speak-"
"Je vais démolir vous ouvrez l'aide d'une carte de crédit et dessiner sur les murs de votre sang! Je peux vous assassiner seize manières différentes en utilisant un trombone, salope arrogante! Vous avez irrité un guerrier du Mossad et maintenant vous allez payer cher!" the woman screamed in fluid French. Olivia made out most of it. Something about a credit card and using a paper clip to murder her in 16 different ways, writing on the walls in her blood. Olivia fumed.
"Ma'am, I understand enough French to get the main idea, and I don't like it when people threaten my life, and I do not like your tone! I'm not gonna stand here and-"
"Bon! Je veux que vous comprenez! Je veux que vous tremblez de peur sachant que je vais vous traquer comme le renard vous êtes!"
That one she understood completely. "Good!Iwantyoutounderstand!IwantyoutotremblewithfearknowingthatIwillhuntyoudownlikethefoxyouare!"
"Is she...screaming at you?" Jen panted, her color returning. Olivia nodded. Jen smiled slightly and reached her arm out to take the phone. Olivia handed it to her, not wanting to tire the woman more, but certainly more than happy to get this lunatic's ravings away from her ear.
"Ziva..." Jen chided.
"Director! I am coming to get you," Ziva stated firmly.
"No... Ziva, I am returning to…Washington tomorrow."
"I am coming to you now."
"No. Ziva, sit tight. And stop...threatening the people we...are going to be working...with."
"I am going to be working with that...that..." Ziva sputtered angrily.
"Detective." Jen managed, attempting to adjust her pillows. Olivia reached up and adjusted them for her.
"That is not what I was going to call her."
"Well, that is her...position. And you are going...to be working closely...with her, so I suggest you...get over it. Fast." Jennifer hung up the phone before Ziva could protest further.
"She gets angry...easily...I apologize. She's one hell of an agent...but very pro...tective of her friends."
"She's an agent?" Olivia asked, surprised.
"Yes. Agent Ziva David. Former Mossad Liaison," the woman replied, a smile creeping across her lips.
"Dah-veed?" Olivia murmured. "Where is she from?" she asked a little louder.
"Israel. Born in Beer Sheva."
SoshewasscreamingatmeinHebrew.Great,Olivia thought. Munchwouldlovethat. She cleared her throat, then brought up the reason she'd arrived.
"My co-worker, Detective Tutuola, told me that you had an emergency you needed to discuss with me?"
Jennifer's beautiful green eyes clouded. She looked down at her hands.
"Yes." She cleared her throat as well, winced. "You...were in that alley. You found me."
Olivia looked down at her shoes, nodded, then realized the smaller woman couldn't see her. "Yeah...yes."
"How did you know...I was in that alley?"
"I heard screaming; I followed the trail of blood I saw, and found you."
"Detective..."
"Yes?"
"The man who forced me out of the bar...he said that you were there with...the man that had his son."
Olivia snapped her head up.
"What?" she breathed.
Jennifer stared hard at the woman before her, then spoke again.
"His son, Cassidy. Five years old. He's missing...and you were eating with...his abductor."
12:01 P.M.
Olivia Benson's Apartment
Elliot knocked on the door to his partner's apartment again and waited outside for her to answer. He stood there for a few minutes, then called out to her.
"Benson! You in there?"
No answer. It wasn't like her to break an agreement.
"Liv!" Still nothing. "Alright, I'm coming in," he called. He pulled a key out of his pocket that she had given him back when she was working undercover with the FBI. He'd argued that someone had to get in and check the mail while she was gone, and she'd finally agreed to let him do it. Really, he just wanted an excuse to check in on her when she got back. He was glad now that he did. He slid the key into the lock and opened the door.
"Olivia? It's Elliot!" Still no answer. He stepped into the apartment, tripping over an overstuffed Prada suitcase sitting by the door. He fell to the floor, his palms smacking against her hardwood floors. He looked up at the offending object angrily, and caught a glimpse of something red on its zipper. He pulled the case closer and sat up to inspect it more thoroughly. Blood? Shit.
"Olivia!" he shouted, jumping to his feet. He ran to the bedroom and found the cordless handset shattered at the baseboard by her window. His heart raced as he ran back to the kitchen where his frantic gaze fell on the note, scribbled quickly on the back of a Chinese takeout menu.
Elliot-
took a cab to see Sheppard at Bellevue. meet you at my place around 1. sorry for leaving you hanging!
xoxo, O
He was going to kill her. She'd scared the shit out of him! He didn't know whether to laugh or punch a hole in her wall. He slammed the note back down on the table. He saw a simple package on the island addressed to her, then noticed there was no return address. He put it with her suitcase. A little red light blinking caught his eye. He stepped over to the answering machine and fidgeted for a moment, trying to decide whether or not to press play. Olivia's machine had been broken last he knew; it recorded every phone conversation instead of just voice mails. He shrugged his doubts away. By know she must have gotten it fixed, right? He pressed the play button.
"Yeah..." Olivia's voice rang through the room.
He jumped, looked around. She wasn't there. Ok, so it was still broken. No harm in listening to the whole thing, right?
"It'sCasey," the self-assured A.D.A.'s voice stated.
"Hi." Olivia again. There was a pause; Elliot thought he could hear ice cubes against a glass. A drink, so early in the day? Finally, Casey spoke.
"So?"
"Sowhat?"
A small thud, like glass on wood.
"Don'tplaygameswithme,Benson.Whatthehellhappenedlastnight?" the A.D.A. growled.
"He got too handsy."
Elliot stiffened.
"Soyoushothim?" Casey's voice asked, angrily.
"No, Casey, I didn't shoot anyone. He's lying to you."
"Olivia,he'sgotagunshotwoundinhisshoulder." Casey was nearly yelling now.
"Hehadthatwhenhewalkedintothebar," Olivia stated calmly. "Hey,Ihaveaquestion."
"Oh, come on, Olivia. You expect me to believe that he sat in a bar with you, bleeding from the shoulder and you just sat there? That doesn't sound like you."
Elliot agreed with Novak, it just didn't seem like Liv at all. He was curious to hear Olivia's question, but neither of the two women seemed to want to get back to that right now.
"Really?CuzIgottatellya,Casey,whenIsaynoandsomebodykeepspushingme,allempathygoesoutthewindow," Olivia snarled.
Elliot felt an angry fire burning in the pit of his stomach. Who the fuck was this guy?
"Ihavetofinishpacking.I'mgoingtoD.C.withourvictomorrowandIhavetomeetElliotinfortyminutes," Olivia was saying.
"Oliviawhatdoyoumean,'whenIsaynoandsomebodykeepspushingme'?Didhetrytorapeyou?"
Elliot clenched his fists.
"Casey, I really have to go."
"Olivia,answerthedamnquestion!" Novak shouted.
"No, Casey, I won't answer the question. I hold you responsible."
"Me? What the hell did I do? You sat at a pub with him!"
"I'mgay,Novak,youknowthat.Yousetmeupwithaman.Don'ttrytomakethismyfault," Olivia spat.
A cruel laugh, almost a cold cackle, filled the air. Elliot's anger burned hotter and he had to fight to keep from driving down to the D.A.'s office and smashing Novak's face in.
"Oh,wow.Youknowwhat?I'mgladhedidwhathedid.Oh,andbytheway,Olivia,Ididn'tknowyouwerealesbian.IfIhadknown,Isureashellwouldn'thavebeencaughtdeadassociatingwithyouinpublic." Something inside Elliot snapped.
"Fuckyou,Casey."
"Youwish!"
The phone conversation cut short with a high-pitched shriek. Elliot assumed that Olivia had thrown the phone at the wall angrily. It was all Elliot could do to keep from throwing the machine as well.
He ran to the door, grabbed Olivia's suitcase, package, and the note she'd left, and rode the elevator down to his car. He was going to find Olivia and find out just what had happened in the bar that night. And if she wouldn't tell him, he'd go to Novak and kick her around until he felt better. She was acting like a perp, one of the low-life slime-balls she worked so hard to put away. Well, that was how he was going to treat her. She'd crossed the line this time. Olivia was hurting, needed a friend, and the one woman she had ever told Elliot that she had feelings for (albeit inebriated-ly) had just revealed her closeted homophobia. Well, she could go fuck herself. Or step in front of a bus. Who was he kidding? She was like the un-dead in his kid's horror films. Even if she did step in front of a bus, she'd probably just re-form her bent and broken body and come back to haunt them forever. When the elevator reached the first floor, he carried the suitcase up the block to where he'd parked and loaded it into the trunk alongside his own luggage. He shook his head. Why didn't Olivia use her Mustang to go to Bellevue? And why hadn't she driven it to work this week? Who was that package from?
He slammed the trunk closed. He'd ask her when he got there, he decided. He got into the car and pulled onto the street, heading northwest toward Broadway, Bellevue, and, hopefully, some answers.
12:05 P.M.
NCIS Headquarters
Ziva walked back into the bullpen, shaking.
"Hey, Ziva!" DiNozzo yelled. Ziva ignored him. "What's the problem? Put on the wrong panties this morning? Got a stick crammed in your ass? Did the bakery ran out of Falafel? You just found out they discontinued Berry Mango Madness?" He gasped and leaned over his desk. "I got it! The director has a new pet project!" He slapped his palm against his desk top and laughed at his own joke.
Ziva pulled her gun out of its holster, strode over to his desk and cocked the weapon before holding it level with Tony's head.
"It was just a joke, Ziva," Tony stammered, his eyes on the black metal.
"And I am not in the mood, Tony," she replied coldly.
"I can see that." Tony swallowed hard.
Ziva held the gun there for a moment or two, her hand eerily steady.
"Ziva, just put the gun down, and we can all talk about this." McGee soothed, rising from his desk, his hands held in front of him, palms out in a display of surrender. "Trust me, I want him dead as much as you do, but we need him. He's our senior field agent." He saw Abby step out of the elevator and shook his head almost imperceptibly at her. She snuck quietly over to a cubicle out of Ziva's line of sight and crouched down.
Ziva stared at Tony.
"Do you know why I am angry, Tony?" she asked after a moment of tense silence.
"Not a clue," he replied wincing when she pressed the gun to his forehead.
"I am angry because I was just on the phone with Director Sheppard. It seems that she was shot. She requests my help in finding someone who refuses to return Sheppard's calls, stops abruptly and the phone clatters to the floor. Then, a horrid woman comes on the line, and, wouldn't you know it, it is the bastard who refuses to call our Director back. She states that Jen wants me to know that she is alright. I became angry."
"Understandably so," Tony conceded.
"I began to yell at her in Hebrew, threatened her. She called me 'Ma'am'! Twice!" Ziva was trembling again. Abby peeked around the partition she was hiding behind.
Tony, Abby, and McGee all cringed. Ziva hated being called "Ma'am". McGee inched closer to her, hoping to take the gun from her before she did any real damage.
"She told me she didn't understand me. I began screaming in French. Told her I would rip her open with a credit card and write on the wall in her blood. I told her I could kill her sixteen different ways with just a paper clip! She had the nerve to tell me that she didn't appreciate my tone. I told her I was going to hunt her down like the fox she was and kill her myself." Ziva laughed, almost maniacally. "Then Director Sheppard comes back on the line. She tells me that we are to be working very closely with this woman, and I might as well get over it now."
"What is 'it', Ziva?" Tony asked, still eyeing the Sig Sauer she had trained on him.
"That is what I would like to know!" she stated. McGee was close enough to touch her now. He smelled whiskey. Ziva kept her eyes on Tony and spoke to McGee.
"McGee, if you touch me I will shoot him right now. Then I will shoot you."
McGee froze. Abby put a hand to her throat.
"Probey! Help!" Tony whispered audibly.
"You're in control here, Ziva. I don't have my gun and Tony isn't stupid enough to try anything." McGee took another step toward the Israeli woman, his hands in plain sight. "Let's just put the gun down and talk about this like civilized adults."
Ziva snorted. "Civilized! Do you hear this Tony? Now I am being uncivilized. Poor Israeli Mossad girl, not used to the American ways!"
"He's crazy, Ziva. He has no idea what he's saying." Tony laughed. "Probey!" he hissed.
"Come on, Ziva. You don't want to do this," McGee warned, stepping closer again.
"Ah. See? There you are wrong, McGee. I do, very much, want to do it." Ziva pressed the gun harder into Tony's forehead. "I have wanted to do it since we met, in fact." She pulled the gun away from him, though it was still pointed directly between his eyes. "But I won't," she murmured.
Tony breathed a sigh of relief and McGee took another step forward.
"Give me the gun, Ziva."
She turned to look at McGee. There was so much pain in the woman's eyes. He knew she would not cry in front of him. "I promise you, I only want to help. Just give me the gun and we can all walk away."
Ziva began to shake a little harder, if that was possible. She pointed the weapon at the floor and de-cocked it. She placed the weapon in McGee's hands and ran to the women's bathroom, her head down.
Abby leapt out from her hiding place and ran after her, glaring at Tony on the way by.
"What?" he snapped. He turned to look at McGee. "What the hell was that, Probey?"
"I have no idea, Tony. I think she finally cracked."
Abby pushed open the bathroom door and found Ziva leaning on the counter with both hands, staring at herself in the mirror. Abby stood in the door frame, waiting.
"You may enter..." Ziva said quietly.
"Ziva..." Abby began. "Are you ok?"
"No, I am not ok. I am a Mossad liaison who just pulled her sidearm on her partner and threatened to kill him." Ziva wiped a tear from her face.
"I'm sure you didn't mean it, Ziva. People say things they don't mean sometimes," Abby offered, walking towards the woman she cared about, though did not yet consider her friend.
"That is just the problem, Abby. I did mean it. I meant every word."
Abby was silent. She perched on the edge of the counter.
"And you are not good at sneaking about, Abby." Ziva wiped her nose on her sleeve. "I heard those clunky boots of yours as you scurried past."
The two women laughed, then sat silently for a moment.
"Did the director really get shot?" Abby asked quietly.
"Yes," Ziva responded, almost inaudibly.
Abby studied the muscular woman beside her. She recognized the expression on Ziva's face almost immediately. It all made sense now! Her reaction to the director's disappearance, to the detective on the phone when she thought Jen was in danger, then to Tony's mean-spirited joke about a pet project.
"Ziva...are you in love with Director Sheppard?"
Ziva lowered her gaze to the Formica counter top and balled her hands into fists.
"I don't know what I feel, Abby." She pushed a lock of hair behind her ear and stood slowly. She crossed her arms and began to pace the tile floors, back and forth in front of Abby. The action reminded the forensic scientist of a caged animal. She thought she caught a whiff of whiskey when Ziva passed by, but she couldn't be sure.
"Cuz it's ok if you do. I mean, I think it's really sweet," Abby offered, smiling and wiggling her hips on the counter top.
Ziva paused, looked at the other girl.
"You do?"
"Yeah! I think it's totally rockin' awesome that you and Director Sheppard might have a chance together." Abby rolled her eyes and leaned forward. "And that detective lady was waaaayyyy out of line!"
Ziva chuckled. Yep, definitely whiskey.
"Thank you, Abby." She uncrossed her arms. "That means a great deal to me."
"Anytime," Abby said happily. She reached out to give Ziva a hug. This time, the Israeli did not flinch. In fact, Abby was pretty sure she felt the woman hug her back.
12:15 P.M.
Bellevue Hospital
Elliot pulled the car into the valet spaces and handed his keys off to a young man.
"You want it parked close or far, mister?" the kid asked, snapping his gum.
"Close. And spit that gum out. You look like a moron," Elliot barked at the boy, who just rolled his eyes.
"What ever you say, old man," the kid muttered under his breath.
Elliot heard, but chose to ignore. He entered the revolving doors and walked into the lobby. He took the elevator to Jennifer's room and flashed his badge at a woman sitting at the nurses station.
"I'm supposed to meet my partner here. Detective Olivia Benson."
The nurse checked a list of visitation records.
"Oh, yeah." The woman sounded like she'd been raised in New York and had never left. "She was just here. Lemme see..." The woman turned in her chair to speak to a woman behind her. "Jackie! Where'd that detective go?"
"Who, Ms. Benson?" the other nurse replied in a thick Southern drawl.
"Yeah, her."
"Ms. Benson is in the cafeteria gettin' food for Ms. Sheppard."
"There you go."
"Great. Thank you, ladies." Elliot smiled.
"Anytime, sweet cheeks," the New Yorker replied, winking.
Elliot walked away from them and took the elevator back down to the cafeteria. It was very busy. He found Olivia sitting at a table in a far corner, elbows on the table, nursing a cup of coffee, and shaking. He slipped into a seat beside her. She sighed heavily; he could smell the scotch on her breath.
"You okay?" he asked quietly. She shook her head.
"You wanna talk about it?" he prodded.
She rested her forehead on her palm.
"My blind date was a kidnapper, Elliot."
Elliot exhaled loudly.
"Wow."
"Yeah. And I should have seen it."
"There's no way you could've known Liv. What, did he say, 'I have a kid tied up in my trunk'?"
Olivia snorted. "Not quite."
"What did he say, then?"
"It wasn't he said. More what he did. He was creepy, Elliot."
He leaned back in his chair and crossed his arms.
"How old's the kid?"
"He's five. His name is Cassidy. The guy that led Jen into the alley told her I was dining with his son's abductor, and she thought I was involved."
"In the shooting or the kidnapping?" Elliot asked.
"Both, I guess." Olivia raised the Styrofoam cup to her lips and took another sip. She looked up at her partner. "You all packed?"
He nodded. "I grabbed your suitcase and that UPS thing you left on your island." He chuckled. "I gotta tell you, Liv, you scared the shit out of me. Blood on the zipper of your bag, the phone smashed in a corner? I didn't even see the note until I was ready to call in the hounds."
Olivia laughed, looked back down at the table.
They sat in silence for a bit.
"Olivia...I listened to the phone conversation between you and Casey."
"You did what?" Olivia looked up at him again, angrily.
"I thought maybe it was a voice mail from Cragen about the plane tickets. I assumed you'd gotten that thing fixed, so I pressed play."
"And you just kept listening?" she shrieked, shoving herself away from the table.
"Olivia, listen-"
"Elliot, you can't go into someone's apartment and listen to their private phone conversations! I can't believe you would-"
"Olivia, I'm worried about you," he interrupted her. "You smell like scotch, you don't drive your Mustang anymore, and you won't talk to anyone."
She stared at him.
"What happened between you and that guy in the bar? Did he...touch you?"
Her eyes clouded.
"Elliot, I don't want to talk about it."
"After what happened to you at Seal View, I would think you'd want to get this out."
Olivia lowered her head.
"Did he touch you?" It was formed more as a statement than a question.
Olivia mumbled something he couldn't hear.
He lowered his ear to her face. "I didn't hear that, Liv."
She looked his squarely in the eye and repeated herself slowly.
"Go. To. Hell." She ripped her arm out if his grip and walked away from him. He kicked himself mentally. He'd pushed too hard. He ran after her.
"Liv, wait," he called to her.
She didn't turn around, didn't slow down. She consulted a list in her pocket, grabbed a plastic tray and began filling it with food. She chose a basket of fish sticks and some nachos from the hot foods section, then moved on to the desserts.
Elliot put a hand on her elbow. She shrugged it off and selected a fruit, yogurt, and granola parfait, placing it on the tray.
"Liv."
She moved on to the coffee bar and refilled her own cup before pouring a cup of hot water and choosing an Earl Grey tea bag for Jen. Elliot selected some sugar packets and cream cups and deposited them in the upper right corner of the tray. She put them back in the basket he'd pulled them from.
He stepped in front of her. "Look, I'm sorry, ok?"
She turned her body to slip around him sideways, heading for the cash register.
"Olivia, wait!" He grabbed her by the shoulder, spun her to face him. Something changed in her face; she dropped the tray and swung at him, barely missing his cheek. A group of people had turned at the clatter of the plastic tray on the floor and a man in a security uniform rushed over to them, reached out for Olivia.
"Wait!" Elliot shouted at the man, ducking another blow. He held a hand palm out to the man. "Don't touch her!"
The man looked confused. "Sir, I have to-"
"Just wait!" Elliot shouted again. Olivia's eyes were open, but un-seeing, a dark and stormy reflection of her panic; he'd seen that look before, when she had been questioning a perp and he slammed her into the wall. She had snapped then, too, kicking and punching the man, forcing him into a ball on the floor. Afterward, Huang had told them that she'd dissociated. That the best way to help her was to use grounding techniques, remind her that she was safe.
"Olivia, look at me!" He ducked another blow. "It's me! It's Elliot, your partner!"
"Sir?" the officer called, stepping toward them.
"Just wait!" Elliot snapped. "Olivia, come on. You're here at Bellevue hospital, in the cafeteria." Olivia lunged at him, missing widely and slamming into a metal cooling rack. One of the shelves cut her, a small ribbon of blood beading on her collarbone. "You are safe, Liv! No one is going to touch you." He motioned to the security guard to back away. By now a rather large crowd had formed around them and the guard hesitated briefly before falling back to join them.
"What's your badge number, Olivia?" Elliot asked, ducking another blow. "Come on, Liv! What's your badge number?"
Olivia stopped swinging and stood in a defensive position.
"Elliot..." she mumbled, her eyes slowly returning to their natural color. "Four...four zero, one five," she said, a little clearer this time.
"That's right, Liv. Where are you?" he asked, stepping closer to her.
Olivia's shaking slowed somewhat.
"Where are you?" Elliot repeated.
"Bellevue."
"That's right, you're at Bellevue. You're safe here, ok?" He took another step forward. Olivia nodded slowly. Elliot glanced up the security guard, who turned to the crowd behind him.
"Alright people, move on! Nothing to see here, show's over!" He announced. The crowd began to thin as people reluctantly returned to what they'd been doing. Elliot stepped forward again, not wanting to set her off.
"You're bleeding," he stated, motioning to her chest. "Can I help you clean it up?" Another nod. Elliot pulled a tissue from the small packet in his pocket and reached up slowly to dab at the cut. She blanched at his touch, but allowed him to continue wiping the drooling blood.
"Elliot?"
"Yeah, Liv?"
"We're gonna have to get more food."
He smiled. "Yep."
