VIII: Le Monstre
(The Monster)
Battle not with monsters, lest ye become a monster.
- Friedrich Nietzsche (1844 - 1900)
"Am I my brother's keeper?"
Cain, Genesis 4:9
Adam considered himself a simple sort of guy. Get up, get dressed, run out and embrace the day. You never knew when you were going to die, so you had to take it all in now while it was still pure and virgin fresh. Carpe Diem – seize the day. Horace, if he remembered his Latin poets correctly.
He was eager, grasping. Life was ahead of him, waiting for him to arrive and take it – which he fully planned to do to the best of his ability. He grinned to himself, whistling as he came down the stairs. As he passed a photograph of Katrina, his grin flickered slightly and he felt compelled to stop.
It was a time ago, back when they were teenagers. They were in Arizona, visiting Uncle John and Aunt Cora, before she died and he moved to Poolesville. Katrina was sitting next their aunt, her smile tight. She was wearing long sleeves and baggy jeans, even though the rest of them were in shorts and t-shirts.
He remembered how hot it was under the Midwest sun, how sweat trickled down the back of his neck and made his shirt cling uncomfortably. He remembered how they were "vampires", coming out only at night because it was so hot during the day. But still Katrina had insisted she was cold, even though she fainted twice and that second time they were so scared, rushing her to the hospital with heat stroke.
And still and sill and still!
Stubborn Katrina would her baggy, covering clothing. She was utterly miserable that spring break, and he remembered seeing her crying once, when she was in her room by herself. She never went back. She went with her school on trips over spring break from then on, insisting that she needed to broaden her global horizons. Their parents had been reluctant, but Katrina was adamant and under the best of circumstances she was a force to be reckoned with and their parents were pushovers, want to give in with only a slight pressing. And Katrina was slamming; his sister was a force of nature.
He always felt bad about that. Katrina never seemed to really fit in with the family. She avoided gatherings like the plague, shutting herself in her room and blasting screaming music when they were younger and not showing up at all when they were older. And when asked about it, she would return with a bitter, laughing you would never understand and then return to her self-imposed isolation.
He wondered if there was something he could have done to help, something that might have prevented her from becoming a serialkiller (he shuddered thinking the words and wondered where things had gone so terribly wrong to twist her so and was that his fate, lurking in some dark corner to ambush him?). He hoped that poor guy DiNozzo was okay. He'd only met him once, back when they were dating or whatever (he had never been terribly clear on the exact nature), but he did recall how Katrina had treated him with God-like reverence.
Later, he remembered her talking about him having some sort of power of her, being a magnet. Most vividly he remembered how bitterly she spoke of feeling controlled, feeling like he had something over her. Her voice, so full of anger and resentment and strikingly fear, which scared him because Katrina never, ever was frightened. The one thing he could always say about his little sister was that nothing scared her; Katrina defined fearlessness, a streak of yellow and white running off into the next adventure.
She swam in the ocean in the middle of winter once, just on a dare. She jumped across an alley another time, and he remembered watching her sail from building to building, dangling in midair, a jewel hanging on the cheek of night. In retrospect, she should have died. You weren't supposed to jump off a two-story building and live, even jumping to the building across the way. People just weren't that lucky.
And now here he was, the big brother who failed to protect his little sister. Had turned her in, as a matter of fact. He had sold her out when he should have protected her, and he wondered what someone else would have done in his situation. Part of him (and he was pretty sure it was the moral part, the right part) believed that there was no other thing to do: his sister or not, what she was doing was immoral.
But then there was the other part, the tug of fraternal obligation. What would their parents think if this went to court, if he was asked to testify? And who would he testify for anyway? Would they support her unconditionally, or back him? And if they didn't back him, would they turn against him?
Adam swallowed shakily and sat on the stairs. Now his stomach was churning, hurting him. He wished Katrina was there so he could explain it all to her, beg her forgiveness. He considered heading to the church. He wasn't a particularly religious man, and he wasn't a Catholic, but sometimes he would go down the street to St. Mary's and slip into the confessional.
There was a certain catharsis in talking to a priest, he found. The burden of guilt was eased off his shoulders, entrusted in someone who would offer guidance and not betray him or belittle him. Sometimes simply giving the words breath made it all clear in his head, in a way that talking aloud to himself didn't provide. Actually, he tended to feel rather ridiculous when he talked to himself. No need to repeat things if he was alone, right?
He frowned when the doorbell rang suddenly. He hadn't been expecting anyone right now. Slowly, he got up and approached the door. He closed one eye and leaned forward, staring through the peephole. He was shocked to see Katrina, her eyes red and flecks of blood in her hair and on her face. She either took no notice or didn't care, taking to precautions to hide the blood.
He looked her up and down and with a sick feeling noticed other dark stains on her black boots and brown pants. Are those bloodstains? He felt like he might vomit. He opened his cell phone and dialled 911, but didn't send. He placed in on a nearby table, and wrapped his hand around a small statue, prepared to hit her if it came to that. With a deep breath, Adam opened the door.
"Katrina," he said with steady fake surprise. She sniffed and blinked, tears leaking out her eyes. She looked like a child, tiny as she was already. Cautiously, she wrapped her arms around him and buried her face in his shoulder. He allowed it, standing there as she muffled her sobs against him, hot tears wetting his shirt. Carefully, he put a hand on her back and gently rubbed circles, making sure to breathe steadily so he could work up a scream if he needed too.
"I did a bad thing," she whispered, looking up at him through dark, glistening lashes. She wiped at her eyes with the back of her shirtsleeve, looking distressed. "I'm sorry, Adam." And his hand was reaching to the statue again, preparing to hit her. I'm sorry too, Kat. . .
"Kat –"
"You need to get out of town for a while," she continued, either failing to notice his interjection or blatantly ignoring it, he wasn't sure which. His grip loosened on the statue.
"Why?" he asked. She shook her head and squeezed her eyes shut. She shuddered and he wondered what sort of images were running behind her eyes, torturing her. He couldn't decide if he was terrified of her or if he wanted to scoop her up in his arms and tell her everything was going to be ok.
"Don't ask me that," she finally said. "Just trust me and tell me you'll leave, okay? I couldn't stand it if you got mixed up in all this. This thing I did." A distant look, silent tears. She was just so very pathetic, standing in his doorway a mess, falling to little pieces in front him. But he had never been very good at jigsaw puzzles.
"I can't help you." It was meant to be a question, but it was more a statement. She nodded though, looking mournful and pleading.
"Please, Adam," she whispered. "Please go away. Stay with a friend for a little while. There are some bad things coming, and you don't need to go down with me," she begged. "You won't have to change your name, the hospital thinks I'm Katrina Larsdotter, not Hansdotter, so I can use that. Protect you in that small way, maybe," she mused. He was silent, but put a hand on her shoulder. She jumped away with near violent force.
"Kat!" he said, eye widened at her reaction. She shook her head and hugged herself tightly, shaking.
"I'm fine, Adam. Just go away!" she yelled imploringly. "Pack a bag and go away. I'll never forgive myself it they go after you. So leave!" she screamed. She was crying, falling apart. So he finally did what seemed to be the only thing he could do.
"Okay." And then it was so fast, packing a bag and setting everything in place in the house and her hovering agitatedly the entire time. And he wasn't afraid, didn't fear her turning on him. He could hardly believe it when she was escorting him to his car and waving him off, looking a strange juxtaposition of worried and relieved. And all he planned to do was go to a friend's house in the area and call that Gibbs guy and tell him everything that had just happened.
Sorry, Katrina. If this were the Bible, I would be Cain, he thought apologetically. His cell phone was heavy in his pocket, and he had a suspicion he would not sleep tonight.
Under different circumstances, Gibbs would be happy DiNozzo had finally learned to sit down and shut up. Usually he was running his mouth a mile a minute, driving them all absolutely crazy. Tony probably should have sustained significant head damage by now from Gibbs slapping him upside the head so often (but what else was he supposed to do? Nothing else got DiNozzo's attention!).
Any other night it was lack of silence that infuriated him; tonight the silence made him angry. He wanted to shake Tony, demand responses and words and thoughts. What was Tony thinking? How was he handling this? How not okay was he? Should Gibbs be worried?
He glanced next to him, but Tony's face was disturbingly neutral. Ziva, meanwhile, he could see squirming agitatedly in the rear view mirror. She kept twisting her hands and tapping her feet, and a couple of times she opened her mouth but then just as quickly shut it. She either didn't have words or she had too many and couldn't sort them all out in any reasonable fashion. He understood the feeling, that urge to fix something and being helpless in doing so. Ziva sighed again and Gibbs took a deep breath. Keep it together. You can't fail them now.
"I live here," he said awkwardly as they pulled up to the house. Ziva nodded and Tony blinked.
"It's nice," Tony commented distantly. Ziva jumped out of the car and swung around to the trunk, getting both their bags. Gibbs saw Tony tighten his jaw and narrow his eyes, and he had the sinking feeling that maybe he should not have allowed Ziva to just do that.
"I can get my own bag, Zee-vah," Tony said, irritated. She shook her head and shouldered them decidedly. Gibbs lingered in the driver's seat, silent. He didn't want to further aggravate DiNozzo either way.
"It is fine, Tony," Ziva replied. She moved towards the house and Tony fully got out, slamming the door. He stood in Ziva's path and she blinked, surprised at his actions. "Tony?" she asked uncertainly. She could see the current of anger flickering under his skin, threatening to surface and unleash itself on her. She wasn't afraid of him; she was afraid for him. This tension . . .
"I'm not weak." There was a barely hidden fury and fear under the words. She could feel the undercurrent again, feel his distress reverberate in her bones. Gibbs frowned and came around the car just in time to see the way her gaze softened at Tony, her eye shining slightly.
"Neither am I," she replied. He wavered for a moment, but then he stepped aside and Gibbs felt himself release a breath he hadn't been aware of holding. "Thank you." Ziva carried the bags into the house and Gibbs had the stirring feeling that it would not be a quiet night.
As they entered the house Gibbs flicked on the lights and they all winced at the brightness. Gibbs shuffled around, putting keys away as Ziva and Tony awkwardly stood, waiting.
"What?" he asked, sensing their discomfort. They looked at each other before looking at him.
"Where should I put the bags – "
"Where are we sleeping – "
They stopped and laughed awkwardly. Gibbs relaxed, and it struck him how he had missed laughter in the house, laughter of others. There hadn't really been much of that since Shannon and Kelly. He thought that Shannon might have liked having the house full of people again, young people. She probably wouldn't have liked how he had isolated himself now, how the house was always empty and quiet except for the dull blare of the radio when he was working on his boat. The new one. The nameless one.
"I've got a guest room and a pull out sofa. You decide," he answered. Ziva opened her mouth but Tony beat her.
"I'll take the pull out," he said quickly. Gibbs nodded. Fine. As long as he didn't have to decide for them. He had a brief flashback to policing a squabbling Kate and Tony a couple of years ago, feeling like a principle. He wondered what Kate would think of the current situation, what she would say about Ziva and more importantly about the mess DiNozzo had gotten himself into now. She would be sad, he decided. She would beat herself for not catching in earlier, just like the rest of them.
"It's in the living room," he told them. Tony's face lit up. It looked somewhat fake, and Gibbs couldn't decide if he was happy that Tony was making an effort to make the best of things or unhappy that he was masking his emotions.
"Alright! Late night movie marathon!" he cheered. He grabbed his bag from Ziva and bounded off. Ziva rolled her eyes and then stared after him, puzzlement written all over her usually neutral features.
"I am worried about him," she said at last, noticing Gibbs staring at her. Gibbs sighed.
"We all are," he replied. Another awkward pause. They weren't used to conversing so intimately, especially with the subject of conversation within hearing distance and so close to their hearts. The situation weighed heavily on both of them. Ziva shifted her weight and Gibbs felt compelled to break the silence. "Guest room's upstairs. Make yourself comfortable. I'll find something for dinner."
After a moment Ziva nodded and headed up the stairs. Gibbs could hear Tony channel surfing in the living room, and he was secretly grateful for the gentle noise that filled the silence. The problem with having three law enforcements officers in one house was that they weren't emotionally competent people; really couldn't be to survive the job. And so they didn't talk about it, didn't say anything about what they were going through. Even when they probably should. Even when they needed to.
Gibbs decided this was good time to find pizza menu.
Ziva sometimes thought that maybe she needed to sit down and have a long conversation with Abby about physical contact. It might do her some good, she thought, if she would learn how to do Abby-hugs so people would stop thinking she was cold and unemotional. Because she considered herself a nice person and she did have emotions, thankyouverymuch.
She just didn't like to have emotions at work because she had grown up in a man's world, and tears were weakness there. And she wouldn't be able to stand people underestimating her. That had happened enough when she younger, when she was short and skinny and people thought they could bully her. Then she learned all the lovely uses of the paper clip and her life got significantly easier.
"Hey," Tony said softly, appearing in her doorway. She smiled at him and set her bag on the bed.
"Tony," she greeted him. "How are you feeling?" He stiffened and for a moment she regretted her mouth, fearing she had said the wrong thing. Stupid, stupid! She was suddenly overwhelmed by the urge for Tali, who had always known exactly the right thing to say. Tali was her opposite, a people person. She tried to think of what Tali would have said so she could have those right words, but then he relaxed again and she secretly breathed a sigh of relief.
"Been better," he admitted with a wry grin. "How are you though? I mean, I kind of sprung a death threat on you." He gave a choking laugh and she winced.
"Lots of people make threats on my life, Tony. I cannot be expected to keep track of them all," she said dismissively. There was pained look on his face and she wondered if it wasn't too late to go downstairs and ask Gibbs to slap her upside the head.
"Yeah, but Katrina is right here," he said softly, worriedly. He was rubbing the back of his neck, staring at the floor. She had the urge to wrap her arms around him but refrained.
"Katrina is not going to hurt me," Ziva scoffed. "And Tony," She was hesitating, choosing her words with great care. She crossed the room and placed a gentle hand on his shoulder. "She will not hurt you either." It was more than a statement; it was a vow. And he took in seriously.
God, he was bad. With every second he was falling harder and faster in love with her, wanting her so badly it hurt. And it was absolutely terrifying. It was terrifying because he was so afraid that he would hurt her, or get her hurt.
He was afraid of Katrina coming after her in the night, a malevolent phantom, to kill her quietly as they slept. He was afraid that he would do something wrong, break her somehow because Ziva was strong but she couldn't be invulnerable and he seemed to have a talent for breaking things as it was.
And most of all it was because he felt like every time he began to feel a little happy, it got pulled out from under him. He got people killed all the time. All his female partners got killed. Ziva's number had been up from the moment they met.
"How do you know that?" he asked, looking at her with those eyes and wanting so badly to believe but struggling, failing. She delicately put her hands on his face and held it so he would look her in the eyes.
"I know you," she whispered. "I know you, Tony. You are my partner – and you are my friend. I know you, and I know that some unworthy little snitch is not going to end you. You are not so easily taken care of, my Tony," she said with a small laugh. He blinked.
"It's bitch, not snitch," he said, unable to process the entire statement. His head was spinning, too many things in it. Did she just call me her Tony?
"I was trying to be polite. Being in Gibbs's house makes me feel like a little girl in her father's home again," Ziva said, giggling. He grinned mischievously.
"Then I probably shouldn't do this, should I?" And then he was kissing her, so sweet and soft. She gasped softly into his mouth, and after a half-second of hesitation he was snaking his tongue into her mouth. She responded in turn, bringing up her arms and burying her hands in his hair. He put his hands on her waist, holding her close to him.
He tasted like sweet mint, and she wondered if he had been planning this all along. Maybe he was just trying to get her back into bed with him. She considered the possibility for a minute, then decided she didn't really care even if that was the case. She would rather have him for a few nights than never at all. As it was it was taking all her self-control to not slam him against the wall and wrap her legs around his waist. Damn Gibbs and his rules, she couldn't remember even wanting anything so much.
Tony was struggling not to throw her into the bed and take her right then and there. He had never needed anything so badly. He just wanted to be consumed, wanted to be overwhelmed by her. She tasted so good, like the chocolate they had shared as a snack that afternoon. Her lips were sweet with cherry chapstick, and he reflected on how one of the best things about Ziva was that she didn't hide all her natural beauty under layers and layers of makeup. She was so real, so warm and there in his arms and God, his control was not going to last much longer and sirens were screeching in his head.
Stop Tony.
Stop, Tony.
Stop, Tony!
He pulled away from her with near violent force, exerting a great effort. She stared at him with surprise, her lips red and swollen from his teeth and her eyes glittering just slightly. She wasn't hiding, she was vulnerable with him and he stood there, feeling like the biggest jerk in the world.
"Tony?" she asked in an uncertain, small voice. "Are you alright?" Was this bringing back too many bad memories? Had she done something wrong? He crossed the room and pushed a piece of hair back from her face. She flinched.
"I'm not going to use you like this, Ziva," he said softly. "You've been too good to me. You don't deserve this," he said. She felt her heart clawing to get out of her chest. Say it, Ziva. Just tell him.
"It is fine, Tony." She was being a coward. Say it! "I do not mind comforting you." Swallow. Say it! "I – I want to," she whispered. There. It was out in the air, real. Her breath was hitching in her throat and her heart pounding wildly. She wished Tony would say something instead of just standing there with wide deer-eyes.
"I'm going to take you out when this is all over," he said, putting his hands decisively on her shoulders. She stared up at him through her lashes, the rays of hope daring to push through to the surface. "On a date." He hoped she had meant that offer as he took it, that he wasn't making a stupid guess. But she smiling and wrapping her arms around his shoulders and standing on her tip-toes so they were almost eye level.
"I would like that." And then they were kissing again, lost and in love and clinging desperately, trying to pull the other away from the scary world. Fragile, frozen and powerless but defiant, living in spite of everything. Alive.
Gibbs lingered in the hallway, trying to decide what to do. On the one hand, they were breaking his rules. On the other, he couldn't really bring himself to pull them apart with everything they were dealing with right now. Certainly he knew the feeling of comfort sex, sex that dulled your mind and the too-much thoughts in it. He had had a DiNozzo phase about six months after Kelly and Shannon died, deciding that the best way to move on was to sleep with anything in a skirt that was over eighteen and moved. He understood, he did. And so he turned away and hung up the phone. Let them be with each other. They hadn't come back as a nuisance after the undercover op, and he . . . he trusted them to be okay now.
Pizza, he mused, would wait another half-hour.
Wow guys! I really saw a lot of output last chapter, and I cannot thank you enough. Your support keeps me going; I tried to make this a fast update and it's a little longer than usual too. I hope you enjoy it, thanks again for staying with me on this ride. Please keep reviewing, again I love hearing your comments! Extra special thanks to all you first timers, I really saw a lot of new faces last chapter and it was incredibly exciting to hear so many new viewpoints. Thank you!
