Chapter 8: Tears
The worst thing about hospitals, Ziva decided, wasn't the antiseptic smell, the paper-thin nightgowns, or even the tasteless excuse for food. They were just so incredibly boring.
She'd never been a particularly good patient. Her parents had practically had to tie her to the bed when she was twelve and had pneumonia, so that she'd actually lie down and rest. That afternoon she'd already resorted to checking the television — a waste of time since all she could find were bubble operas and something called Dora the Explorer. And she'd finished the novel she'd been reading — twice. Ducky had promised to bring her another after the funeral services, but that was at least an hour away.
She glanced over at the other bed, but Gibbs appeared to have dozed off. They'd requested to be put in the same room again after leaving ICU and the request had been granted.
Ziva looked over at the door, then at her wheelchair. If she could get out of bed she could go for a walk, or at least a roll, down the hall to kill sometime. Maybe she'd even visit a couple of the other agents on the floor. It certainly beat just lying there.
Her mind made up, she instinctively started to sit up, only to fall back against the pillows, gasping in pain. Almost used to the dull burning that encased her stomach despite the pain pills, she'd forgotten that sudden movements made it worse. She lay there for a moment, catching her breath, before rolling over onto her side the way the nurse had shown.
Her stitches pulled, angry at the movement, and she gritted her teeth before trying to push her body up off the bed. A fresh wave of pain rippled through her stomach and she fell forward again. Tears came into her eyes and she struggled to force them back.
She attempted the movement twice more, but it was no use. It simply hurt too much. After falling forward the third time, she simply lay still, resting her cheek against the cool sheet and trying to catch her breath. Her stomach was in agony now and she considered reaching for the morphine pump, but then drew back. She had to get back to her back first. Once the medication kicked in she'd be feeling to fuzzy to move, and there was no way she'd let the nurse find her like this.
Using all her strength she pushed against the mattress with her hand to roll herself back onto her back. It was slow going and she frequently had to stop to catch her breath. When she was finally back in her original position she groped for the morphine pump, pressing it for all she was worth. That done, she lay back against the pillows, hot tears streaming down her cheeks. She did her best to stifle the sobs, not wanting to waken Gibbs, but there was no silencing the frustration and self-beratement screaming through her brain. Less than a week before she'd been a federal agent in top physical condition and now she was too helpless to even get out of bed without help. Pathetic!
On the other side of the room, Gibbs lay silently in his hospital bed feigning sleep, his mind drifting back to the shooting days before. He could still see Ziva lying on the floor, her face wreaked with pain, just a foot beyond his reach. Then, like now, he'd yearned to comfort her, but saying anything would only humiliate her further. He balled one fist in frustration and took a deep breath.
Ziva apparently heard him because she looked over. He met her eyes, not saying anything, and he thought he saw her face almost relax. He continued maintaining eye contact until he saw her eyes close and he could hear her breathing start to deepen. A faint smile of relief crossed his face.
0
"Ziva, I'd like to introduce you to your new best friend, the exercise ball."
Ziva gave the device a suspicious glance. "A child's toy?"
The therapist, a likeable man in his late thirties, chuckled. "My daughter wishes it was. Her ball is only half this size." He sobered. "No, in seriousness, this thing is going to help you get back your range of motion in your stomach."
Ziva nodded, not quite convinced. "It's Sam, isn't it?" He nodded. "Do I lift it?"
Sam shook his head. "More like it lifts you. What we do with stomach injuries is place the ball under your torso and get you to roll with it in various stretches. The one I'm going to start you off with works like this."
He lay down on the exercise mat a few feet away from Ziva and hooked his knees over the top of the ball. Slowly he let his knees rock to one side, then the other. "You're going to start off like this, then we'll work with you holding each position up to five seconds." He sat up. "Sound good?"
Ziva smiled at him gratefully. "It sounds great."
Sam raised his eyebrows. "Enthusiasm. That's what I like to see."
"I'm afraid it's more like impatience, to be honest," Ziva told him. "I'm a federal agent and I'm used to doing a lot of running and sports in my spare time. All of this inactivity the last three weeks has been driving me wafers." Sam looked at her blankly. "Crazy, yes?"
He chuckled. "I think you mean 'crackers'," he explained. "Then let's get started. I'll get you to lie back." She did so, ignoring the faint pulling at her stomach as Sam rolled the ball over. "Well just put your legs up on here. Okay. Now just start rocking gently, let yourself get used to the movement."
The exercise was more difficult than Ziva had expected, and she could feel the stiff muscles in her stomach protesting. She took a deep breath.
"Just a couple more," Sam encouraged. Ziva didn't answer, just continued rocking. Beads of sweat appeared on her forehead. "Two more, good. Okay, take a breather for a second and we'll try it again."
Ziva looked up at the ceiling, tried to catch hr breath. A movement caught her eye and she looked over. Gibbs was hobbling on a pair of crutches behind a petite, dark-haired young woman. Ziva turned her face away, hoping he wouldn't notice her, then looked over at Sam. "Okay, again."
They repeated the exercise twice more and Ziva thought she was going to scream by the end of it. The exercise was so simple she could have done it in kindergarten, but every time Sam allowed her a rest she'd built up a sweat. When it came time to start for the fourth time, he stopped her.
"We're going to do something a little different this time," he told her. "When you go to each side, you're going to hold the position for five seconds. And you're going to do that 10 times on each side, okay?" She nodded and rolled her legs to the side. "Good and hold, one, two, three, four, five. Now the other side."
By the time she was done each side twice her face was red and a dull ache was creeping through her stomach. Three more cycles and the ache was past dull and she wondered what made Mossad think their training was so difficult. On the eighth attempt her legs simply slid off the ball.
"Careful." Sam caught her feet and lowered them gently to the floor. Ziva didn't answer, just tried to catch her breath. "Don't worry, that was great for your first time out. You're coming along well. Next session we'll work on doing the full ten reps twice."
Ziva wished she had a paperclip.
0
Across the room, Gibbs was trying to figure out when Abby had gotten her physical therapy degree. Elizabeth was 5'2, Hispanic, and showed no sign of Goth dress or tattoos, but otherwise could have been the lab-tech's twin. In the ten minutes since he'd been there she'd conducted a bubbly interrogation on everything from his hobbies (he'd told her about the boat), favorite TV shows (he didn't really watch anything), books (he read thrillers when he had the time), family (he'd sidestepped that one), his job (which held her attention longer than the other topics put together). All while putting his knee through a series of range-of-motion exercises that left his forehead soaked in sweat and him gritting his teeth when he answered. And they were still only on the warm-up exercises.
"Okay." Elizabeth leaned back with a satisfied nod. "We're done."
Gibbs stared at her. "That's it?"
"I'll still hook you up to a TENS unit for a few minutes," she assured him. "But your exercises are done for the day."
"But you barely did anything." Gibbs couldn't believe it. It was true his knee felt ready to collapse, but he remembered from his previous injury that there were still exercises left to complete.
"Agent Gibbs." Elizabeth looked him directly in the eye. "This is all your knee can handle right now."
0
Gibbs was dropping off some forms at NCIS Headquarters when he heard it. He'd been procrastinating with dropping off the paperwork for his medical leave and figured he'd finally drop it off on his way home. Two agents passed him in the hall, deep in conversation.
"She's coming to clean out her desk tomorrow," one said. The other whistled.
"I just went to see Amy last week. She said she was coming back."
"She was," the first agent relied. But she just got the word from her doctor. There was too much ligament damage in her knee — there's no way she'll ever heal enough to pass the Medical Clearance. It's a shame too. She had a lot of potential.
0
Tim sat in a wheelchair in front of the window in his hospital room, his stomach clenched. Sarah would be arriving in a few minutes to take him to the NCIS Awards Ceremony.
The Director had come to see him the previous night, making sure he was still feeling up to coming. He'd told her he was.
And it was true. The doctor had cleared him for a day pass as long as someone went with him and he remained in a wheelchair. Tim had already been taking short walks down the corridor, but was still too weak to stand for long periods. The only reason he was nauseated now, he told himself, was from eating the melted crayons the hospital called breakfast.
"Ready to go?" Sarah came through the door and stopped short. "Tim, what's wrong?"
He turned to face her, forcing a smile. "Nothing."
"You look pale." Her dark eyes looked concerned. "Maybe I should get the doctor."
"No, I'm fine." He swallowed. "I'm fine."
"Okay." Sarah didn't sound convinced, but she took a hold of his wheelchair anyway.
Tim's mind drifted back to Tony's visit the day before. He said the damage in the squadroom had been repaired, including the walls. "They even found that same hideous shade of orange for the walls," he'd quipped, and they'd both laughed.
The wheelchair rounded a corner and Tim felt his head spin at the movement. The air suddenly felt a lot closer and like it was pushing down on him. H swallowed again and tried to breathe.
"Tim?" The wheelchair had stopped and Sarah was kneeling in front of him. "Tim, what's wrong?"
"This hallway — there's something screwed with the ventilation," he muttered. Sarah quickly stood up.
"I'm taking you back to your room."
"No. Just...just get me through those doors at the end of the hall and I'll be fine." He could make it that far. He knew he could. Just another thirty feet or so. Tim tried to focus on breathing again. Just another twenty feet...
"Tim? Tim!" Sarah jerked the wheelchair around and through the entrance of the closest unit. Tim groaned.
"Sarah, the Awards Ceremony."
"Screw the Awards Ceremony!" she snapped. "Your doctor was full of it." She let go of the wheelchair and rushed towards the nurse's desk. "Please, my brother needs help."
There was a blur of activity and then suddenly a nurse was kneeling next to him. "Okay, Tim, just take it easy and take some deep breaths. Can you do that?"
Tim tried and noticed with some surprise that they were coming a lot easier. The air didn't feel as oppressive anymore either. "It's okay, now," he murmured. He blinked in confusion. "I'm fine."
0
"Ladies and gentlemen, may I have your attention please?" Director Shepherd's voice voice was slightly shakier than usual, although her face seemed composed. "As you all know, we are gathered here today to recognize the actions of four of our personnel on November 30, 2007: specifically Special Agent Christy Heinz, Special Agent Tim McGee, Special Agent Jethro Gibbs, and Dr. Donald Mallard and to award them with the Presidential Medal of Freedom."
She took a deep breath. "The first recipient, Special Agent Gibbs, is someone who I had the privilege of working alongside with for several assignments. He is a great agent and a loyal friend, who would not hesitate to put his life in danger if it meant saving someone else. To tell you more about that, I ask Officer Ziva David to please come forward.
There was a low murmur as Abby stepped forward to help push Ziva's wheelchair in front of the microphone from where it had been sitting in the front row. She then returned to her place next to Ducky.
"Thank you, Director," Ziva said quietly. "As most of you know, I was assigned to work with Special Agent Gibbs almost three years ago. During that time he has taught me a lot and set an example that I can only hope to one day live up to. As Director Shepherd said, he is a loyal friend who would not hesitate to risk his life for a friend, and I learned that first-hand on November 30."
Her voice caught in her throat for a moment and she ducked her head. "Excuse me." She closed her eyes and took a couple of deep breaths, wincing slightly at the movement, before looking up again. "We had just been downstairs talking with a witness in the lounge and neither of us had our weapons with us. We'd reached the third floor and were coming around the corner by the photocopier when Martak opened fire. He spotted us and started shooting in our direction. And..." Her voice broke. "Gibbs...Gibbs grabbed me around the waist and pushed me to the side, making sure he was between me and the shooter."
Tears began streaming down her cheeks and she tried to smile. "I'm sorry," she whispered, as the Director quickly stepped forward.
"It's okay, Ziva," she said, leaning over and giving the younger woman a gentle hug. "It's okay," she repeated softly. Ziva nodded, and the Director slowly stepped away, taking the microphone again. "Will Special Agent Gibbs please step forward."
There was a moment of silence as everyone looked around. Ziva looked over at Ducky and Abby and did manage a grin this time. So did the Director. "I guess Agent Gibbs couldn't make it," she said. "I'll set it aside and bring it to the hospital. Thank you, Officer David."
Abby stepped forward again to assist Ziva off the platform and Jenny took the microphone. "Our second recipient is the late Special Agent Christina Heinz, better known to most of her coworkers as Christy. Christy was a member of my recruiting class at FLETC, where we became good friends. She was also one of the top members of our training class and showed that she had the potential to become a great agent, a potential that was realized. To tell you more about that, I'd ask for Special Agent Amy Deckerman to come forward.
This time Palmer stepped forward, pushing the wheelchair of a brunette agent in her mid-twenties. One leg was propped up in front of her, the area around her knee heavily bandaged. Palmer carefully guided the chair to the front before tactfully stepping aside as Jenny handed Amy the microphone.
"Thank you, Director," the agent said in a shaky voice. "For those of you who don't know me, I normally work in the Cold Case unit on the West Side, but I often have to visit other offices when I'm pulling up reports. On November 30, I had to come and speak with one of the agents in the Intel Department, Christy Heinz.
"We were talking at her desk when Martak burst in and fired towards us. Christy shoved me out of the way so that the bullet..." Her voice wavered. "So that the bullet hit her instead of me."
Jenny accepted the microphone back. "Accepting the medal in Agent Heinz's place are her parents, Vincent and Kathryn. Will they please come forward?"
A couple in their fifties walked towards her from the back of the room. Jenny handed them the case with the medal, then shook each of their hands.
Vincent Heinz then moved towards Amy, who offered her hand as well. He bypassed it, instead giving her a warm hug. His wife followed. All three had tears streaming down their cheeks.
Jenny offered the man the microphone, which he accepted. Clearing his throat, he managed, "When Christy was six years old, she attended a ceremony very similar to this one for her grandfather. He was a member of the first class of NCIS agents who were decorated for their actions during the Second World War Chris watched the entire presentation just wide-eyed, and at the reception afterwards, she found her way over to the NCIS Director and said, 'Excuse me, how do I become like you when I grow up?' "
Tender chuckles broke out over the room as Vincent continued, "He started telling her how he began as an agent and she said, 'No, no. My grandfather told me about being an agent. I want to know how you get to be the person who gets to give the medals to everyone who did something good.' "
He looked up slightly, his eyes focused on a point a little ways above the heads of the audience. "For a long time, she would reenact that scene with her toys, putting necklaces and ribbons around their necks...because 'they did something good'. Well, today, Christy, you are one of the people being recognized for 'doing something good'. Thank you all."
A vivid chorus of applause broke out as Vincent, Kathryn, and Amy descended the platform, and there were tears in Jenny's eyes as she spoke into the microphone again. "The third recipient, Special Agent Tim McGee, first became a full-time field agent three years ago. In addition to being a great investigator, he is currently one of our best operatives when it comes to computer research.
"Agent McGee was among the first victims hit on November 30. After being shot twice in the chest he remained conscious enough to try and crawl towards the drawer of his desk where he kept his weapon." The Director's voice was grave. "As a result of his brave act, he was shot a third time in the back.
"Unfortunately, Agent McGee was also unable to attend this ceremony. I spoke with his family a couple of hours ago and was told that although his condition is improving, he's not quite well enough to travel this distance from the hospital. His sister Sarah will be accepting the medal in his place. Sarah?"
Sarah, who'd been standing with Palmer, Abby, and Ducky, approached the podium, looking self-conscious. She accepted the case with the medal from the Director, then turned to face the audience.
"Thank you, Director Shepherd. Tim always believed that if he ever received any award it would be for writing. When he received the phone call telling him he'd been awarded the Presidential Medal of Freedom, he was surprised." She smiled. "But I wasn't.
"All his life, Tim has been the kind of guy who would look out for others. In school, he'd be the one coming to the rescue of a kid who was being picked on, or he was coming to my rescue when I got myself in trouble. Even last year, when a friend of mine was murdered, he was there for me." She made eye contact with the front row. "He's always ready to help the people he cares about."
Sarah gestured towards the medal. "Our family has been trying to tell him for years how special he is for doing that. Thank you for telling him too."
A warm wave of applause welcomed her back to her seat as Jenny took the microphone. "We all know our last recipient, Dr. Donald Mallard, very well. Ducky has been the Medical Examiner here since before I came here ― probably since before any of us came here." A murmur of agreement rippled through the room and the older man ducked his head.
"He's been the person we go to for answers about the victims, and, more recently, the perpetrators of the crimes. Some of us also go to him when we just need to talk. No I don't claim to tell stories as well as Ducky, but today I'm going to try.
"The morning of the shooting, Ducky was in my office briefing me on the details of one of the autopsies that had come in that week. We heard the sounds of gunshots and screaming and I grabbed my sidearm to go and investigate. Ducky insisted on taking my backup weapon and covering me.
"We went out onto the balcony and immediately came under fire. Both of us were hit. However Ducky was still able to take the shooter down with a headshot, thus preventing further casualties." Jenny looked directly at the older man. "We owe him our lives."
Applause immediately erupted from the assembled personnel and the M.E. colored slightly. Jenny smiled. "Dr. Mallard, please come forward."
The applause continued steadily as Ducky made his way up to the platform, received a heartfelt "Thank you," from Jenny, and accepted the medal; only subsiding when he took the microphone. For a moment, Ducky stood still, too overcome with emotion to say anything. Finally he spoke.
"This will probably be the only time you hear me say this," he began shakily. "But I'm actually at a loss for words." A few people chuckled warmly and Ducky smiled, before letting his gaze slowly travel around the room, taking in each of the faces one by one. "The greatest reward for me today is being able to look at all of you and to still see you here."
A face at the back of the room caught Ducky's gaze, one who'd only entered a moment before. For a moment their eyes locked.
"To see all my friends that are here," Ducky added softly, his eyes still on the figure in the back. The other man gave him an understanding smile before slipping back out of the room. "Thank you all."
