Author's Note: I am so sorry it took so long to post this chapter. I was on vacation last week and I thought I would be able to get in one more chapter before I left with a warning that I was going on vacation and not abandoning this story, but alas, that did not happen. But I am back, and today I have for you a chapter that takes place at the very beginning of season 10 episode 22, "Revenge." Basically it is what happens between Tony and Ziva between the time of the accident and when Gibbs and Vance show up to see them at the ER.
The second Bodnar and his escape vehicle disappear from view, they also disappear from my thoughts as a more pressing matter takes precedence.
Tony.
It didn't make sense that he was still unconscious. Bodnar had hit my side of the car. I try not to get too anxious as I reach for Tony with my left arm, my right arm was numb from firing after Bodnar, to check to see if he had a pulse.
"Please, please, please," I mutter to myself as I press two fingers to the side of his neck. I almost pass out with relief when I feel the familiar rhythm of a human pulse. He was alive.
Having had my head scrambled mere moments ago it takes me a moment to realize that the next thing I needed to do was call 9-1-1. And actually, I was so messed up that I thought of Gibbs first. But with concern for Tony's condition, I wait until the dispatcher hangs up with me, with an ambulance on its way, before I call Gibbs.
"Bodnar, it was Bodnar," I ground through my teeth the moment Gibbs picks up his phone. "He…he hit us – took the diamonds – I fired after him but my arm…" remembering my arm, I feel a streak of angry agony rip up from my fingertips through my shoulder. "It's on fire," I say breathelessly.
"Ziva, Ziva. Slow down," comes Gibbs voice blasting through the speaker. "What happened?"
I pause and gulp down air, the pain in my arm and Tony's still unconscious condition really starting to get to me. But I needed to explain to Gibbs that Bodnar was here in the States, before it was too late. Again.
"Okay, it's going to be okay, Ziver. I'll meet you and Tony in the ER, all right? I'm leaving right now," I hear shuffling noises in the background and then faintly the sound of the elevator doors pinging open.
I'm about to tell Gibbs that no, he needed to go after Bodnar, that I was fine, but just then Tony begins to stir.
"Okay," is the last thing I say to Gibbs before dropping the phone.
Immediately, I reach for Tony, using my good hand to grab his. The second I do, his eyes start to flutter open and mine begin to fill with tears. A strangled noise escapes from deep in his throat and I worry that he is choking until a second later when his hand, his free hand that's not being held in my vice-like grip, flies up to his nose.
"Ow," he rasps.
"Tony," I say firmly, assessing his consciousness. In the distance I see the sparkling lights of the ambulance approach.
"Ziva," Tony tries to turn his head to face me, but winces and gives up immediately. "What were you about to say?"
"I'm sorry?" I lean in closer to him, as much as my aching body will allow me to, as though that might help me understand him better. I assume he is just confused, he more than likely has suffered a concussion, and it is altering his perception.
That is, until he speaks again.
"Right before we were hit," he swallows slowly. Out the window, I see that the ambulance has arrived and the EMTs are on their way over. "You said my name. Like…like you wanted to tell me something," Tony says very sluggishly.
That's when I realize that he is right. That it is not his concussion talking. Because I had said his name. And I had wanted to tell him something.
But now, with the blood drying from under his nose, my arm hanging limp at my side, and EMTs swarming our vehicle, bathed in the flashing red lights of emergency, it hardly seemed like the time to tell him.
And what I was going to tell him exactly, I was not sure. All I knew was that when I said his name, whatever words would have come out of my mouth next would have been right. They would have showed him how much I cared and appreciated him. How much I loved him.
But now wasn't the time, and now I could not find the right words.
"I don't know," I settle with, as the EMTs begin to open our doors.
The net few minutes are a blur. And although it feels like hours, I know that it's only minutes that pass before we find ourselves in the ambulance. All I know for sure though is that I held onto Tony's hand for as long as I could and then as soon as I could once we were situated inside of the ambulance. Tony was forced to take the stretcher because his concussion was clearly worse than mine. As soon as I could get out of the car, I had gotten up and walked over to Tony's side, the world only slightly spinning on its axis. Tony, on the other hand, could hardly stand without support.
When we arrive at the ER, the x-rays show Tony's broken nose and my fractured humerus, but other than that, we were 'extremely lucky,' according to the smiling doctor. I had sent a death glare in his direction the second he had said that.
Now it was simply a waiting game. Tony had already had his nose bandaged, there wasn't much they could do for that. I still needed to have my arm set and wrapped in a sling. We had both been given bottles of water and instructed to empty them.
All I really wanted though, besides getting out of here, was to feel Tony's hand in mine again. But the beds were spaced to far apart, and even if we were closer, the doctors had put Tony on my right side, my bad side.
"I already have to pee," Tony says, bring me back to the presence. My gaze shifts up to his water bottle which isn't even halfway empty yet.
I chuckle. "Think you can walk to the bathroom by yourself?" I turn my head up to look at him.
He gives me a sidelong glance. "Very funny, David," he grunts as he begins to shift himself off the bed.
I sit up so fast that I feel my head spin again. I shake it off though, and glance over at Tony, concerned. "I don't think you should be doing that."
"I'll be fine," he stands up on his own and takes a step in my direction. "See, totally – oh my God!"
"What?" I say alarmed, reaching forward in case he fell. But he doesn't. Instead he leans in toward the paper towel dispenser on the wall between our beds. It is made of reflective medal and he lifts his hand to his nose.
"My whole face is going to be black and blue!" he groans and I fall back against my pillow, exasperated.
"I think you're being a little dramatic, Tony," I tell him.
"A little dramatic?" he pulls his gaze away from his reflection in the towel dispenser and looks at me. He grabs one of the railings on my bed for support. I watch his balance carefully. "Ziva, did you see this? Or was your concussion worse than we thought?"
"Tony would you stop being so – "
"Ms. David?" a young doctor in dark green scrubs walks up to me. "I'm Doctor Harrison," she introduces herself. "I'd love to shake your hand, but as the orthopedist assigned to your case, how about we set that fracture first?" she says, false cheer filling her voice.
"Finally," I sigh. "Let's get this done with," I sit up.
I think my abrupt nature startles her a little because she takes a moment before coming up to me. "All right, so this is going to hurt quite a bit, so I'm going to explain what we're going to do here. First off, Mr….," her voice trails off and it takes Tony and I a moment to realize that she is talking to him.
"Oh me," Tony points to himself and smiles.
"All right, Mr. Oh Me," Doctor Harrison chuckles at her little joke. "Do you mind stepping over to the other side of Ms. David's bed so I can get to her injured arm?"
"Right," Tony's charisma fades as he attempts to quickly shuffle to my other side.
"Okay, Ms. David. So what I am going to do now is grab your arm like this," she reaches forward and clamps her icy hands around my arm. "And on the count of three I'm going to just snap it right back into place. Easy, right?"
"Yes, just please do it already," I can't keep the impatience out of my voice. She needed to stop treating me like a child.
Yet, I still reach for Tony's hand with my left and squeeze tight when she begins to count and when she gets to three and sends white hot pain shooting up my arm and through my chest, I feel Tony squeeze back just as tight. So I focus on him and his presence and the feeling of his hand wrapped in mine, and slowly the pain recedes to the back of my mind.
Just like I refused to let go of Tony's hand in the ambulance, he now keeps his fingers woven tightly through my own while Doctor Harrison wraps me up in a sling and does a few final pulls and tugs before excusing herself.
"Hey, that wasn't so bad, right?" Tony uses his free hand to grab a tissue and daps it against my balmy forehead.
"I need to stand up," I say, resolved that standing would help me feel better; feel more controlled and alert.
"As you wish," Tony helps me slide off the bed.
Then together we walk around our small corner of the ER, hand in hand, and using each other for support and encouragement. We don't let go, not even when Tony can stand on his own and when my pain meds start kicking in. Not until we hear Gibbs's voice on the other side of the ER doors. Then we let go, but it's with a quick squeeze that serves as a promise. A promise that says we're letting go, but just for right now.
Author's Note: All right, two more chapters before I delve into season 13. I wanted to let you all know that I have decided to go with making that part of the story multi-chaptered, rather than just one chapter. I think it'll be more homogenous with the format of this story and it seemed to be what most of you wanted anyways. And as always, I hope you enjoyed.