Chapter 7
Ziva's eyes were closed when he walked in, but immediately she opened them, tensing warily. "Just me." He said quietly, shutting the door behind him. She didn't say anything, but really, there wasn't anything to say. "I want to talk, Ziva. You read the case report, you know the facts."
"I don't remember anything, Gibbs." She replied, staring into his hard eyes. "I already told you that." But he could see something different about her. It was subtle, but it made him uneasy. There was something about the way that her eyes challenged him, holding on for a second too long until she looked away.
"I think you do. What aren't you telling me, Ziva?" He sat on the edge of the bed, bracing himself on one arm. "It's just me now, Ziva. No Dr. Cranston, no director Vance, no DiNozzo. Just me, and you."
"Gibbs, there's nothing to tell." Her face was smooth and composed, no different from another day at the office, but Gibbs could hear the change in her tone. It was there, and there was a reason for it. "I didn't do anything."
"I believe you, Ziva. Help me prove it," He pleaded. They looked at each other, locked in a silent stalemate. The hallways outside of the room buzzed insistently, but inside, it was like someone had pressed the pause button. The tense hush was broken by the demanding buzzing of Gibbs' cell phone, and he briefly looked away from her face to check the screen. "Abby…" He breathed, picking it up. "We're not done."
Ziva relaxed again, exhaling loudly. She was sick of their relentless questions, and as much as Gibbs said that he believed her, he wasn't doing anything to get her out of the hell that was the hospital. But she had seen something in the file. The tiniest of details, which would have seemed completely ordinary to anyone else's eye, had triggered a flood of memories in her brain. She could see it clearly, and what she saw planted the tiniest seed of doubt in her mind. Ziva nervously rubbed the soft cotton blanket with her left hand, and played it over in her head again. The echoing bang of the gunshot, the blood blooming in front of her, and the suspect's scream as he fell to the ground. She could recall the tang of gunsmoke in the air, feel the commotion of her team scurrying around her. She closed her eyes, breathing gently. It was a clean shot, piercing a perfectly round wound in the shoulder of the suspect…her victim.
"Ziva?" Gibbs interrupted, slipping his cell phone back onto his belt. "You alright?"
"I'm fine Gibbs." She replied, mentally shaking off the memories. "What did Abby want?"
"I had her test the blood on the scalpel from your apartment." Gibbs said, his face a mask of confusion and surprise. "Ziva, you were drugged."
"I was…what?" Her memories forgotten for now, she sat up straight against the back of the bed.
"Abby found traces of ketamine in the blood. It would have metabolized quickly, so it wouldn't have shown up on the tests they performed here, but it was still in the blood from your apartment."
"You're saying….I didn't try to kill myself?"
"Unless you gave yourself a horse tranquilizer."
"Gibbs, I need to get out of here." She shoved the covers down and swept her legs over the side of the bed like she was going to stand up. He gently pushed her back down.
"You're recovering. Besides, it's going to take some time to convince everyone else. They're not just going to let you up and walk out of here."
"Gibbs, if I didn't do it, then someone is trying to kill me. We both know that the only reason you're keeping me here is because you're concerned for my sanity. Well, I'm fine. I need to get home and figure out how he drugged me. You'll be with me the whole time. The only question is whether you take me or I take myself."
Gibbs thought for a moment, but realized that he agreed with her full-heartedly. He motioned to a bag of clothes that McGee had gotten from her house. "Get dressed. I'll go talk to the director."
Ziva hesitated outside her door, her keys clenched tightly in hand. Yellow police tape crossed the chestnut brown wood, partially obscuring the brass address plate. The lock clicked as it opened, and she stepped inside cautiously, observing the relative mess her apartment had become. Her couch was gone, leaving a line of small, round blood droplets in its wake. The papers on her desk, usually in neat piles, were scattered about the surface, obscuring the computer keyboard and mouse pad.
"What are you thinking?" Gibbs asked, searching her face for clues.
"Nothing's out of place, other than what you would have moved." She said carefully, still taking in the scene with the eye of an investigator. "Did you take my mug?" Her eyes had found the empty counter.
"DiNozzo put it away. You remember that?"
"No." She responded quickly, turning away from him. "I just leave it out every night, that's all." She plucked it out of the cupboard, putting a kettle on the stove to boil water for some tea. "Would you like a glass?"
"Nah, I'm good." Gibbs answered, following her into the kitchen. He checked his watch. "Ducky wants to check you out for puncture wounds."
"Gibbs, you can't be serious!" Ziva said, slamming the cupboard door closed. "I just got home!"
"Ziver, we need to figure out how he dosed you. There wasn't any forced entry into your apartment, I've checked twice. No tool marks, nothing broken. He had to have gotten you before you got home somehow."
She closed her eyes, breathing deeply. "I do not know how he or she got to me. It could have been at work for all I know. At least let me be comfortable in my own home."
Gibbs waited and watched her moving about the kitchen, limping slightly on her sore leg. She touched it every couple of seconds, subconsciously feeling the slight bulge of the bandage under her dark jeans. "You remembered something." He said out of the blue. "You can't lie to me, Ziva, I know. What I don't know is why you didn't tell anyone."
She froze, placing he hands on the counter as if steadying herself. "I remember shooting him." she said, her voice flat and emotionless. "That's all."
"You did what you had to do." Gibbs said, sitting down on a stool in front of her. "You know that." He was confused, and rightly so. Ziva rarely ever showed any remorse after shooting a suspect. Even after killing her own brother, she moved with a quiet, stoic acceptance of what she had done.
"It's not that I shot someone, Gibbs. It's that I didn't shoot him in the head." Gibbs jerked back, surprised, and she continued. "Not like that. It's just…the timing, the hostage, the distance…I would have taken a headshot. So either I decided not to for some reason or…"
"Or you missed."
"Or I missed," she said heavily. The kettle whistles shrilly behind her, and she moved it off the burner, banging it down on a cool burner. The metallic clang echoed in the tense silence, and they both winced. "I didn't tell anyone because I didn't want you thinking I was suicidal." She poured the water over the tea infuser, watching as the rich color permeated the water.
"But you were." Gibbs offered.
"I wasn't sure." She corrected, sipping the bitterly hot tea. The liquid boiled in her throat, but it tasted good. "I had no way of knowing until I remembered what happened. But in the hospital…I was safe. You guys could protect me from myself."
"You aren't suicidal, Ziva. You might have missed a shot, but you're stronger than that." His eyes begged her to understand.
"I'm a mess, Gibbs." She said matter-of-factly, staring into the depths of her tea. "I just don't know anymore."
"I know. I know you, Ziva. You're strong." She wobbled a bit, and Gibbs stood up. "Ziva? You okay?"
"I'm fine. A bit dizzy." She rubbed her forehead. "I just need to eat something, I think."
"Hey, let's sit down." Gibbs said, taking the tea from her and leading her to the kitchen table. "Just relax." She sat down, but he could tell that she wasn't getting any better. She yawned, and her body began to sway.
"I don't feel good." Her chin nodded down to her chest, and her eyes closed drowsily. "Just want to…sleep…" she mumbled, leaning forward in the chair. A light sheen of sweat covered her face, and something in the back of Gibbs' mind recognized the symptoms.
"Son of a—Ziva, he dosed you again." He said loudly, holding her up firmly. "You need to get it out of your system." He ran back to the kitchen, pouring salt into a glass of water. "Drink this." He ordered, pulling her hair back from her face. She gulped it down, and leaned over, spitting some of it back onto the carpet.
"Gibbs, I'm dizzy." She said, holding her head in her hands. "Need to lay down."
"Hang in there, Ziver, just another minute or two. Hang on." Almost immediately she retched, the meager contents of her stomach spreading on the floor beneath her. She convulsed again, and Gibbs supported her limp body with his arm, dialing 911 with his fee hand.
"We're at Colway Commons, there's an officer in distress. She's barely conscious, possible poisoning."
She leaned on the table next to her, pressing her cheek against the cool wood. "Gibbs, I'm alright. I just need to sleep. I'm just a little tired, that's all."
"Ziva, stay awake for me. Right here. Stay with me." He scooped her up into his arms and laid her out on the floor. She was still mumbling incoherently, but it was clear that she was quickly losing consciousness. Gibbs grabbed a throw pillow from the chair next to him, but by the time he tucked it under her head, she was out.
