A/N Thanks to Smackalicious who has been betating from now till the end.
Chapter Two: Falling
Now
The sounds of the rocks tumbling and falling below ring though my ears. This cannot be happening. My breathing becomes erratic as the continuous sound of falling rock becomes almost rhythmic . . . thump . . . crack . . . bang . . . thump . . . crack . . . bang. I try not to think about what might happen if the car moves . . . but it's hard not to when the constant thump . . . crack . . . bang is constantly repeated, like a song stuck on repeat. I close my eyes with a frown. I wish for the rhythm-like sounds to dissipate into thin air and be replaced by the sounds of . . . Abby's lab, Tony's teasing, Gibbs' yelling, Ducky's stories, Ziva's idioms . . . anything but this.
"I told you not to look down," Ziva says sadly.
Her voice is soft and far away, yet I know in my head that she's sitting next to me. I wonder if she's hearing the repeated sounds like I am . . . probably not. She's trained for situations like these. Mossad probably has Cliff Hanging 101, though I know it sounds absurd. But still, Mossad has trained her for all kinds of situations. Me? I'm just a . . . a McGeek as Tony has put it eloquently so many time. I am just a computer technician. If it were some computer related problem, then that's another story. But as it is, we are hanging off a cliff . . . there is nothing in the NCIS handbook that prepares us for this.
"McGee."
There's that voice again, sweet, feminine and far away. But if I answer, that means opening my eyes and I do not want to face what is down there.
"McGee!"
The voice sounds concerned. Why? I am not sure.
"McGee!"
I can hear Ziva becoming more frantic. I'm not sure what is happening. Am I doing something wrong?
"Tim, open your eyes and look at me, please."
Ziva sounds like she's pleading with me. The desperation is evident in her voice, but I'm right here. There is no need to worry. I open my mouth to reassure her that I'm okay, it hurts me to hear her like this, but as soon as I do, I gasp heavily. My lungs feel like someone is slowly squeezing the life out of them. I realise I have been hyperventilating.
"McGee, talk to me."
I crack open one eye and see Ziva's concerned face looking back at me.
"Mmmm," I groan and hear Ziva's immediate sigh of relief. I slowly open my other eye and find that Ziva's face has now returned to its impassive state.
"You with me, McGee," she asks.
"Yes," I manage to get out between gasps.
"Just breathe, McGee," Ziva says in a calm and controlled voice. "Breathe slowly, it is not as bad as it seems."
Easy for the Mossad agent to say that, she's not the one with the fear of heights.
"Trying," I gasp weakly. And I am trying; it's just a little hard as I know we're hanging off the face of a cliff.
"That is good, McGee," I hear her say encouragingly and then she says, "Do not look down, look at me, yes?"
I try to concentrate on my breathing, matching it to the dreaded rhythm of the falling rocks. It helps a bit as I feel the invisible hand on my lungs relent. I slowly begin to lift my head, but it feels like someone has filled it with bricks.
"Come on, McGee," she coxes, like she's talking to a little child who doesn't want to eat his dinner.
I raise my head the rest of the way and I meet her gaze. She is looking at me blankly. I sigh softly. Just looking at her, even as blank as she is, has calmed me. I am not alone in this. She is in the car too, fearing for her life. Yet, she is not showing it like I am. I frown and feel my cheeks heat up. I am embarrassed by my reaction to this situation. I'm sure Tony or Gibbs would have reacted in a much more dignified manner.
"You do not have to be embarrassed, McGee," Ziva says, as if she can see right through me. "It does not make you any less of a man if you . . . spazzed out just a little."
"Spazzed out?" I question weakly, not sure what she is trying to say. "Do you mean, spaced out or freaked out?"
"Yes, them too," Ziva replies promptly and then smiles gently. "It is okay, McGee. You will get out of here."
I don't answer. I am not sure what to say. How are we going to get out of this? Any sudden movement could send the car over. As if to illustrate the point, the car lurches forward an inch. I gasp sharply and immediately reach for the nearest object to steady myself. Unfortunately for me, it's Ziva's arm.
"Ah, I'm sorry," I say awkwardly, releasing Ziva's arm as if I had been electrocuted. I blush again.
"It is all right, McGee," she says. "I do not mind. It is nice to know that I can provide some kind of support."
"You support very nicely, Ziva," I say flustered, mentally slapping myself for the idiotic response.
She smirks at me. "That's nice to know, McGee."
I see her eyes flicker from my face, down to the edge of the seat, and then to my legs. She looks up at me seriously. "McGee, do you trust me?"
"Ye-yeah," I stutter, thrown off guard. "You know I do, Ziva."
"Are you sure?" Ziva asks, cocking her head to the side. "Would you put your life in my hands?"
"Of . . . of course," I say, confused. I look deeply into her eyes. "I trust you, Ziva." I say this with conviction. I dotrust her with my life; I'd trust anyone on my team with my life.
She nods slowly, returning my gaze. "Good, I am glad," she says finally, "because I need you to do exactly as I say, yes?"
"Yes, okay, I guess." I am not sure what she is getting at.
She nods again. "Okay, McGee, listen to me. I want you to slowly and carefully undo your seatbelt," she orders gently.
"Undo my belt," I repeat dumbly.
"Yes, reach over and release it," she instructs firmly, but calmly.
"Are . . . are you sure," I ask worriedly. I am not sure if this is a good idea, maybe we should just wait for help.
She glares at me, freakishly like Gibbs. I nod obediently and carefully extend my arm down to the button that would release my seatbelt. I press the red button, and the bottom of it pops out with a click. I hold onto the end, not sure about my next move.
"Now, I want you to slowly let it go so that it returns to its normal position," Ziva says in the calmest voice I have heard.
The instruction is a little odd, but I understand. I release the seatbelt and I guide it slowly as it snakes up to just behind the door.
Ziva offers me a smile. "Good, McGee, that is good. I want you now to very slowly open the door …"
My eyes widen as I hear these words. Opening the car door will definitely disrupt the car's currently peaceful state. It will likely throw everything off balance and will possibly be enough to send the car over the edge. Even if I make it out of the car, what about Ziva? I am not about to go and abandon her.
"What? Ziva, no," I try to say with conviction, but I fail. "I won't . . . it's too dangerous. The car . . ." I trail off helplessly.
"McGee, you must," Ziva says defiantly, looking me directly in the eye. "You said you trust me, so I need you to do as I say."
"But . . ." I start to voice my concerns.
"But nothing, McGee," Ziva snaps for the first time. "You will do as I say if you want to get out of here alive. Open. The. Car. Door." I look at her, but she senses my readiness to protest.
"The door, now," she hissed in a low voice. Swiftly, she reaches out and wacks me on the back of my head. "Now, McGee!"
I nod as she is giving me death looks. I'd rather not enrage the Mossad Officer if I can help it. I slowly reach for the door handle. This is going against all my better judgements, but something about Ziva's voice has spurred me into action.
"That is it, McGee." Ziva has now adopted the calm tone of voice again. It's quite lulling, actually.
I hesitate; I am about five inches away from the car handle. I'm not sure if I'm strong enough to handle the consequences that may occur if I open the door.
"Go on, McGee," she says soothingly. "I know you can do it."
I close the gap between me and the handle, grasping it firmly. Nodding, Ziva gives me a look of encouragement so I carefully twist the handle. So far, so good. Nothing major has happened and the car is still in one piece.
"Now, push it open," Ziva instructs firmly. She sees me hesitate. "Do it for me . . . Tim." She seems unsure about the choice of using my first name instead of my commonly used last name.
But it is enough for me, and as I hold my breath, I shove open the door and squeeze my eyes shut. I am waiting for the inevitable feel of the car falling forwards to our death, but it doesn't come. I open my eyes slowly. The car hasn't even moved. I let my breath out slowly.
"What did I tell you, McGee," Ziva smiles, half triumphantly, at me. "I told you it would be okay." She pauses. "I want you to get out of the car, McGee."
What!?! She can't be serious . . . no. That will definitely disrupt the car's balance. If I move, it is more than likely the car will go over the edge.
"Ziva, no," I say aghast. "If . . . if I get out, the-then the car will probably go over."
Ziva looks at me sadly and a devastatingly realisation hits me. She knowsthat if I get out, the car will most likely topple over the edge. She knows, and is willing for that to happen, if it means I get out. My eyes start to water. I will not let Ziva sacrifice herself for me.
"No. No. No!" I am aware that the pitch of my voice jumps a few octaves, but I do not care. I am not letting Ziva die at my expense. "Ziva, no . . ."
Her eyes start to glisten, but she looks at me determinately. "You will get out the car, Tim." There it is again, my first name. I look down at my lap.
"But . . ." My voice breaks as a lone tear trickles down my face. I'm not even embarrassed about it, and quite frankly, I don't care.
"Tim, look at me," she says softly and I feel her warm hands guide my face up so that I'm eye to eye with her. She reaches out and gently brushes the tear off my cheek with her thumb.
"McGee, it is okay," she says calmly, her hands still on either side of my face.
Ziva looks into my eyes. Small, yet visible tears are forming and I am quite amazed at how well she can keep them from falling. She looks down at her legs, and for the first time, I notice that the spot above her right knee is stained with blood.
"I am stuck, McGee," she says finally. "My leg . . ." She gestures to it. ". . . I am stuck. I cannot move, but you can, and you have to."
"But," I whimper, she cuts me off.
"No buts, McGee," she says strongly. "You must get out of the car and call for help. It is our only option."
"I'm not leaving you here," I say hoarsely. "I will not watch you die."
"I have made my peace with death many years ago," Ziva replies softly, still managing to keep the tears from falling. "It does not scare me. After all, 'to the well organised mind, death is but the next great adventure'."
I smile weakly at the reference. "I think Tony's been rubbing off on you," I say, trying to make a bad situation better.
"Not Tony, you," she amends quietly, before raising her voice and saying, "Now, McGee, please. Get out of the car."
She looks at me with a face full of fierce determination, hope, peace, and sadness, but most of all, a look of pure trust.
"I know you can do this, you have to do this . . . for me," she finishes in a tone of voice I have never heard before.
"No," I refuse adamantly and Ziva sighs. "I won't . . ."
"Yes, you will. Unless you want me to tell everyone what you said last night . . ." She lets the threat dangle in the air.
"I don't care," I say fiercely. "Tell the whole world for all I care."
"Damnit, McGee, just do it!" she yells angrily at me. I wince at her words.
"Or are you too gutless to do that," Ziva says mockingly. She glares at me with hatred.
"I . . ."
"Don't make excuses, Agent McGee," she says hotly. "Either you are a NCIS Special Agent or you are not."
I know what she is trying to do. She is trying to get me angry so I'll get out the car and leave her. It won't work. I will make sure it doesn't work.
"Get out the car, McGee," she barks, sounding more and more like Gibbs. "NOW!"
Ziva says that last word so loudly and with such force, that I'm halfway out the car before I realise what I'm doing. I stop and turn back to re-enter the car, but a sudden force pushes me the rest of the way.
I hit the grass just as I register that the hands that pushed me are no longer there. I pant heavily, trying to get myself under control. I twist my body on the ground and look back at the car. I see Ziva looking at me with unrestricted relief, pure sadness, yet total peace. I hear her sigh contently as I scramble to my feat.
"Ziva . . ."
The car lurches forward, and as if it were a slow motion movie, topples over the side of the cliff. The impact with the ground and rocks below is resounding and then . . . nothing.