A/N: Thanks to everyone for the reviews so far, they make me feel special. (: I really want to go into more detail about the assignment soon, but I'm not too sure about doing a big, long flashback. So just so you know, there will be more info about what Kate's been doing (not everything, of course, but some of it) somewhere in the next few chapters, once I find a good/creative enough to work it in. Anyhow, enjoy the chapter!
"I was adored once, too."
- The Twelfth Night, William Shakespeare
Everybody Lies, Chapter 4.
"Well, there you go, Ms. Todd," the doctor says kindly, gently patting your new cast. "I'll need you to come back in three weeks for another x-ray, but other than that, you should be okay."
You pull your arm back towards your lap and nod. "Thank you," you murmur, running a finger up and down the green material. Your eyes are locked on the handiwork of Dr. Roberts, the cast that he just finished setting for you. "When do I get it off?" you ask, finally tearing your eyes from it and looking into his face.
He smiles at you, his teeth barely visible - you wonder why, his teeth are whiter than any you've ever seen before - and glances at the clipboard on his lap. "About six weeks," he answers. "But that's if everything goes how we expect it to. Depending on what we see in three weeks, you may get it off earlier or later."
"Right." Six weeks with your arm stuck in a cast? You sigh. This isn't going to be fun. And it's your right arm, too - I'm going to have to learn how to write with my left hand, you realize bitterly.
You slide off the exam table, using your left hand to push off, and it's just as your feet are about to hit the floor that he stops you. His hand barely touches your knee and he mumbles something that sounds slightly like "hold on a moment", so you push yourself back up. He flips through the few pages attached to his clipboard, biting down on his lower lip and making clicking noises with his tongue. You squirm slightly, making the paper rattle. You wince as the noise fills the room; you've always hated that stupid paper.
Finally, Dr. Roberts looks back up at you. He runs a hand through his gray hair before plastering that small smile back on his face. "Ms. Todd, looking at your x-rays"-his blue eyes move from you back to the clipboard, where you can see his sloppy handwriting covering a light yellow slip of paper-"it seems that you have broken your wrist before, but it's not in your medical records?" It sounds slightly like a statement, and slightly like a question, so you aren't sure if he's telling you or asking.
"It's possible," you reply with a shrug of your shoulders. "I don't know, really." Mentally, you wince at how stupid you sound - how is he supposed to understand that you really don't know if you've broken your wrist?
He nods. "There were just some inconsistencies, that's all," he says, as if it's supposed to make you feel better. You very easily could have broken your wrist before. It unnerves you slightly to think about all of the different injuries you could have sustained without even knowing about them. "It shouldn't be too much of a problem," he adds. "It might take longer for it to heal, and it might be a little bit more painful than usual." He bites down on his lip. "You sure you didn't know?"
You shake your head. "I'm sure," you answer, probably a little more hatefully than you should have.
"Alright." Dr. Roberts flips the papers back over the clipboard and starts to stand. "I suppose that's all, then." He looks over you carefully, then sighs. "Lisa out front will take your information and set up another appointment for you." You can only imagine what he's thinking - and you know he's thinking something, with the way he's looking at you.
You nod and slide off the table again, trying your best to ignore the rustle of the wax paper. "Thank you," you say politely as you follow him out the door. He just nods, hands you a slip of paper, and walks in the other direction.
You walk to the front desk, and hand the woman you can only assume is Lisa the piece of paper that Dr. Roberts gave you. She smiles at you, a smile you figure she gives just about every patient that walks in. She types a few things into the computer, asks you a couple of basic information questions, then starts printing out the receipt.
She holds the piece of paper in her hand, then hesitantly asks, "Do you need help? We have brochures about domestic violence, as well as--"
"Excuse me?" you ask incredulously.
"Dr. Roberts said he had reason to believe you have been domestically abused," Lisa explains. "Maybe I should have asked first, so you weren't so shocked, but--"
"I wasn't domestically abused." Your back once again straightens and you hold your head just a little bit higher. "Can I have my receipt now?"
She hands you the piece of paper with a sigh and an apology, though you can tell she doesn't mean a word that's coming out of her mouth. You turn on your heel and walk away as you shove the receipt into your purse.
----
Where do you belong?
You've stopped right outside the elevator. You made sure to step to the side so people can get in and out, but you haven't moved in at least five minutes. You've been staring at the bullpen, at their perfectly constructed family, their complete order. Everyone has their place and everyone has their say and it doesn't just end at the desks. Even though, yes, they have those, too; Tony and McGee and Gibbs all have the same desks that you remember, and Ziva has the one you used to occupy.
You scoff at yourself. What the hell am I doing here?
It doesn't just end at the desks. Gibbs is the father - there to teach, there to help, there to protect. Tony is the big brother, annoying but protective and loyal. McGee is the little brother, sweet and shy and willing to do whatever he can to help. Ziva is - well, you want to say that Ziva is the sister, independent and strong but vulnerable, keeping her feelings at a distance.
Except why would a brother date his sister?
You sigh as your metaphor, or simile, or whatever the hell it is, starts to crumble. You run a hand through your hair. Well, they aren't really family, you tell yourself, and decide, yeah, that makes it work.
And then you look again at the perfection that is their system, their life, their job, and you feel your nose start to sting the way it always does when tears are ready to start forming in your eyes. Did you ever have a real place here?
You hold the tears back. Of course you had a place here, you were here for two whole years, you had to have had a place here, you keep telling yourself these things over and over and over (even though part of you keeps screaming no no no no no, never never never, not like this). There's only so much you can try to tell yourself before it all falls apart and the truth starts rearing its ugly head at you.
Because they are a family, in some way or another.
You were just the stepping stone, the person that God or destiny or whatever threw in, so that they could find their perfection. So that they could find Ziva and move on.
You weren't a part of this family; you never have been and you never will be. You realize this now. After all, Ziva's overtaken your life. She's got your desk, your job, your friends, and Tony. You can't just forget family like that, can you? You're sure that if Ziva died right now, in this instant, nobody would ever be allowed into their lives like she was. You're sure that whoever her replacement would be would never get that desk, would never be accepted like she has been, would never be viewed like she is, and would never have a chance in hell with Tony.
But she got all of that. You just weren't a part of their family.
You wonder if you'll ever be a part of a family. You never even really felt like a part of your own family. You were pretty close to your little sister, but that's it. Hell, you don't even know if they know you're alive.
Which brings you back to your question: Where do you belong?
Nowhere is the only answer you can come up with, and it sends shivers down your spine. You belong nowhere. You don't belong anywhere. You don't belong with anyone. You don't have a place in this whole world.
And then - stop. You backtrack in your mind a few steps, go through your thoughts again, and then - stop. You can think of two places you belong, two places in this whole world that want you and that are waiting for you, two places that want you for who you are. One of those places is in that dirty, empty, closed-in room halfway across the globe that they found you in a few weeks ago with groups of men and women beating the hell out of you. The other place is six feet under the ground in a coffin with a tombstone right over your head.
Yes, you belong somewhere.
But you would rather not belong anywhere.
----
The sun sets and you watch it from the window. You're halfway seated on the windowsill with your chin resting on your shoulder so you can look out. The position is starting to hurt your neck but you refuse to move. The falling sun is painting the sky with shades of reds and oranges and purples and yellows, and you just want to watch. For all of your life you've always hated those stupid metaphors people make up about themselves and nature and how they're like a rock or the ocean or some other shit, but now you see where they're coming from.
You see yourself like you see the sun. You're falling - or have you already fallen? you can't tell anymore - and so many people are watching you. You're changing everything around you, seeing it in a whole new light. And then one day, you'll rise again. Although someday, even the world must end, you think before you can even control it. And that just shatters all the optimism you had.
Well, you told yourself before that optimism is just false hope, right?
You'd almost forgotten that other people are in the room until Ziva comes and sits down next to you. You take your gaze away from the setting sun and instead focus on her. You watch her curiously; what the hell is she doing and what the hell does Tony see in her?
Okay, that's mean. You reprimand yourself in your thoughts, closing your eyes for a moment then looking back at her.
"What happened to your arm?" she asks finally. You want to laugh. Seriously, now?
"I broke my wrist." You don't want to be mean, but you don't want to talk to her, either.
"How?" she prods.
"The bone cracked." It's not the answer she was wanting and you both know it, but at least she takes the hint and just nods. You suddenly feel very childish for hitting a wall, especially like you did - well, childish or stupid. You haven't decided yet.
Both of you are silent for a few moments. You're waiting for her to say what she wanted to say or just leave, and she looks like she's trying to figure out what to say.
You hear Ziva sigh a split-second before you hear her voice. "Look, about Tony..." She starts to trail off and again, you want to laugh. Is she just waiting for you to say something so she doesn't have to finish her sentence?
Lucky for her, you do. "It's fine" is all you say, but still, it's something.
"I know that you were--"
"It's fine," you repeat.
"Kate, I wanted to say--"
"I don't care." You cringe mentally when you realize how the words must sound to her, so you sigh and start to explain, if only just a little bit. "I don't care what you have to say," you begin, and you realize how bad that sounds, too, and her face hardens into a mask you're sure she's spent her whole life perfecting. "I had a chance with him, shit happened, and now here we are. That's all there is to it." That's not all there is to it, not really, not to someone who actually cares, but it's good enough. "And I wanted to say, that..." You sigh, moving your wrist somewhat because you just want to do something. "He's a good man. He deserves a lot. And you have a lot, you have a lot of good in your life right now." You realize that you don't really know her, that she very well may have a bunch of bad in her life, but frankly you don't care all that much. "So don't give it all up, okay? And don't - and don't hurt him, alright?"
You don't want them together. You don't want him to love her when he could love you. But you know what it's like to be loved and you know what it's like to not be loved and honestly, the feeling of not being loved is something you wouldn't wish on your worst enemy. You already know what it feels like, you're already living with that feeling, and you can handle it. You're strong enough to handle it. You'd rather feel it than be the reason somebody else does.
It seems to you that she wants to say something, but she refuses to say anything other than, "Alright." You nod at her and go back to watching the sunset, hoping she'll get the hint and leave.
She does, and you let out a deep breath once she stands. But then she says something else that makes your eyelids shut and your breathing slow and your heart start racing.
"It's good to have you back."
No, it's not.
And yet again, you have your proof.
Everybody lies.
