Special A/N: I am posting the links from my earlier Author's Note regarding the scary rumors on my profile. Hopefully there they will come through okay and you might actually be able to see them.
Also, a special shout-out to zivafan: I was not referring to your review in my author's note ;) I appreciate all honesty, as long as its not a flame. Flames are just rude. But in my author's note below I wanted to try and explain my reasons for why I made Tony seem as he did, out of respect for his character which, I might add, has gotten much more down to earth recently. I like down to earth Tony immensely. So zivafan, keep doing what you're doing. Even if you think I'm being an idiot (which had been known to happen), I'd much rather be told than have everyone suffer in silence!
This Author's Note and the one down below is the only changes to this chapter.
Ziva entered the house and closed the door behind her quietly, savoring the silence of the empty structure. Gibbs hadn't made it home yet, and the cool darkness of the empty home soothed Ziva's nerves. The day hadn't been overly stressful—just a day of paperwork, really—but through it all she had been fighting. Fighting to contain herself, to not yell and scream as she so desperately wanted to do. She hated it, that feeling of oppression that came from within. It was as if she had something to say, but was unable to utter a word past the invisible noose that slowly strangled her. Sometimes, it felt like she could hardly breathe, but being alone, in the dark… it helped. She didn't know why, but it did, and she wanted to savor every moment she had before Gibbs joined her.
She tried to relax in the living room, but that only reminded her of the fight they'd had a few weeks prior. The bedroom was definitely off-limits, with its whispered reminders of everything that hadn't happened there in months. The kitchen too, was too much for her to handle. There were too many good memories there, memories of smiles and laughter and sly innuendos. She didn't want them. She wasn't happy, and she didn't want to be reminded of when she had once been.
When she made her way to the basement, she thought it would be the same as the kitchen… full of memories. But when the sweet scent of old sawdust wafted over her, she found that it had the opposite effect. The memories, she realized… they were with the boat, down in Mexico. The basement itself, well—it was just a basement. It seemed almost desolate now, with its abandoned tools and the shadows that shrouded the walls. It looked like the place in her memories, it smelled like it…
But it was empty. Much like she was.
She looked as she always did, she talked as she did, but—she wasn't the same person. Which was not something to regret, she knew that. The problem had come when she'd discovered that she didn't know who the new Ziva was. She had once told Malachai Ben-Gidon that it was unnatural for a snake to try and slither into back into a shed skin. But what happened when the snake left its skin before growing a new one?
Ziva didn't know about snakes, but she felt empty, as empty as the basement, just as shadowed.
Settling herself on a stool, she closed her eyes and listened to the silence. Every so often, the call of a bird could be heard from outside, but inside the house there was nothing. Not a creak of a floorboard or the thud of a footstep. All she could hear was her own breathing, but the sound was not as comforting as it used to be. After her return to America, hearing the sound of her breathing had been a relief, a reminder that she was still alive. But now that the shock had worn off, now that she was accustomed to living from day to day, it no longer reminded her of anything important.
How could someone be so empty and so full at the same time? Ziva couldn't make sense of it. She felt on the verge of some kind of explosion, ready to burst, but then she forced the smiles and the interactions with the rest of the team. It felt as if she were a spectator, even as she hugged Abby and verbally jousted with DiNozzo, as though she were a shell able to only emote what was expected of her. It was only at home with Gibbs that she even came close to surfacing, but lately even that relief had been denied her. Now the only thing she seemed to feel at all was anger.
She knew she shouldn't, she had no right to be. She was alive, she was safe, and she was with the ones she loved. And she did—she loved Gibbs, she loved the team. They were her family, she knew that now. She knew in her heart, when she worried for DiNozzo when his father had suddenly shown in the squad room that one day, and the way she hurt for McGee when his latest love interest, the one she had so convincingly claimed was perfect for the young agent, turned out to be a South African assassin. Before, she would have brushed off both incidents, but now… it was different. But it was good different. Now she belonged entirely, no longer hindered by an association with Mossad.
So why did she feel this way? Why did she want nothing more than to lash out? She wanted to hit something, to destroy it completely. She saw a chisel on the work bench next to her, the chisel she had given Gibbs months ago, and in a flash envisioned driving it again and again into the worktable, hacking away at the wood until it was jagged and pitted.
But her hands remained tightly clasped, white knuckled, resting heavily in her lap. This wasn't right. It couldn't be. She had left this part of her behind, this violence for the sake of violence mentality. This wasn't her, not anymore. But then, why? Why did she feel as though she was spinning out of control while standing still? Why did she feel that one wrong move would push her over the edge? The idea was even more troubling because she didn't even know what that edge was, or what lay on the other side of it.
Before she could straighten the thoughts in her head into any kind of comprehensible order, a soft sound from above forced her back into reality. Every fiber of her being tensed, growing absolutely still until the sound came again—it was a footstep. Whoever it was wasn't trying to be subtle, but it certainly wasn't Gibbs. The steps were heavy, with a slight jaunt. The weight meant male, the jaunt said DiNozzo.
Ziva momentarily panicked. Why was he here? What would he think when he found her there? She wasn't ready for the team to find out about her and Gibbs. She wasn't ready to face the looks on their faces, their questions, their accusations, or, worst of all, their possible silence.
But wait—this was Gibbs' house. Tony would have come here to talk to him. And Gibbs didn't live down in the basement like he used to. She knew for a fact that the last time Gibbs and Tony had talked, it had been over a pair of fire-cooked steaks in the living room. Maybe Tony would wait for Gibbs up there, and won't come down to the basement at all. But that hope was dashed when she heard the footsteps pad around the living room twice… and then thudded towards the basement door.
She stood as the basement door creaked open, and then blinked against the light that flooded through the basement at the click of a switch. Watching Dinozzo make his way down the stairs, she remained still until his eyes finally found her.
"Ziva." His tone betrayed his surprise, but did nothing to curb the smile that spread over his lips. It was genuine, easy and familiar. And ultimately infuriating. How could he smile so effortlessly when she could barely manage to fake it? "What are you doing here?" he asked, jumping the last couple of stairs in a single bound.
"The same as you, I imagine," she returned, putting her mask back on, so that he could not see the irritation clamoring to be noticed. "Waiting for Gibbs."
"Heh, yeah," he said, the smile still there. "Should've guessed that one." He made his way closer to where she stood, his gait unhurried and casual. "I wonder where he is… I mean, it's no surprise you managed to beat him home, but me? No way."
"I am sure he got held up along the away." She forced a smirk. "Perhaps he stopped for coffee."
"A safe bet," Tony agreed. "I bet he didn't think he was getting visitors, because he's usually a pretty good host."
"I am not here to be hosted, Tony," she said. Her words made the smile falter, eliciting a swift confrontation of guilt and triumph within her. But then it was back, just as jovial as before.
"You want to talk too, huh?" came the response. He leaned against the worktable next to her. "You looking for advice or just an ear?"
"I don't know," she found herself saying, her voice reserved. She watched his eyes soften into something that looked like pity. She pulled her mask tighter, and tore her gaze away from him.
"Hey." His voice was audibly tender. The smile was gone, replaced by the serious gaze that told her he was being himself. He wasn't hiding behind his jokes or his references now. And how she wished he would. "It's okay," he said. When she didn't answer, he continued. "Look, Gibbs might not show up for a while. For all we know, he found some hot redhead at the coffee shop and went home with her…" Ziva shot him a hard glare, which made him raise his hands slightly in surrender. "I'm just saying, if you want to talk, I'm here, you're here…"
Her glare turned into an eyeroll. "Tony…" She moved away now, into the center of the basement. But then she felt exposed, and was about to move towards the opposite wall when Tony pushed away from the wall and followed her.
"I know I'm no Gibbs, but—"
"That's right, you are not," she snarled, whirling to face him. Her mask slipped, and she could see the shock in his eyes. The same eyes that had wanted nothing but to help her showed a split second of fear, and seeing it made Ziva's heart feel as if it were gripped in ice. It gave her a moment to reaffix her mask, and rein in the chaos. He couldn't see it, not this. He had already seen her at her most vulnerable, and now the only thing that protected her was her ability to keep him out.
"But don't you trust me?"
The question took her by surprise. She'd expected him to make demands, or to brush it off entirely. But he didn't, and the question he posed could not go unanswered. Nor could she lie.
"I do…" she whispered. He stepped closer to her, too close. For a moment she thought he might try to embrace her, but he stopped a few inches away, his gaze intense.
"Then why not talk to me, Ziva?" he asked. "You don't have to hide from me. I was there too, I saw what it was like—"
Suddenly, without warning, the mask slipped again. "You survived a few hours in the desert, DiNozzo. That does not mean anything."
"It does when no other living person could even come close to actually knowing what you've been through," Tony returned swiftly, this time unfazed by her outburst. "Dammit, Ziva, if you're going to talk to anyone, wouldn't you rather it be someone you trusted, who had some idea of—"
"No!" she nearly shouted. The fire grew within her, burning away at her restraint. "I would not! I would rather it be no one, because I do not want to tell anyone anything! Please respect that!"
She pulled away then, putting more distance between them, no longer trusting herself. The chaos was growing, out of control, and she hated herself for it. She retreated to the far corner, away from the vulnerable open space that had become too crowded, with Tony' close proximity. For a moment, the closer walls were a relief, but were transformed into a prison when her partner again followed her.
He stopped a few feet from her, but the way the work bench hugged the walls around her, she would be unable to slide past him without coming within arm's reach of him. Her pulse picked up, recognizing a threat, though her mind knew that he wouldn't hurt her. But her gut wasn't listening to her brain, and it clenched painfully as the room pulled into sharper focus and her breath came more harshly.
She recognized the signs of her impending panic, though she was more focused on hiding them than she was on preventing them. Normally, she could take a few deep breaths and carefully remind herself of where she was, but if she did that now, Tony would see. He would be concerned, and he would come closer to try and help her, like a good partner would. But right now, she didn't need a partner… she needed Gibbs.
Where was he?
Her eyes looked at Tony, focusing on his familiar face. He wouldn't hurt her, he wouldn't. She was in Gibbs' basement, there was no need to panic. But she was slipping, and her anchor wasn't there. She watched Tony's lips move, but his words jumbled and melded into an unintelligible mess before they could reach her ears. Then, her whole body seized up in panic when his hand came up to touch her face.
The world seemed to slow, and she blinked to clear her head. But when she opened her eyes, both Tony and the basement around them had disappeared. The harsh lighting of the basement had turned into a shadowy, yet golden glow that instantly heated her skin. Suddenly, she was drenched in sweat as she detected the bitter scent of a familiar sandy prison. Tony's green eyes had hardened into soulless dark orbs, and the hand coming towards her was not her partner's, but Saleem's.
She reacted instantly, snatching his hand with a vicious twist. As soon as her skin touched his she heard a shout of alarm, and knew she only had moments before she would be restrained again. She had one chance to free herself, one chance to finish what she came to the desert to do. This time, she would succeed, and she would no longer be trapped like an animal.
This time, she will kill Saleem.
---
Gibbs made his way quickly into the house, knowing as soon as he saw DiNozzo's car in the driveway that he was needed inside. He knew Ziva was home already, and Gibbs had noticed she'd seemed tired and tense at the Navy Yard. And while it was unlikely DiNozzo had come to his home for Ziva, it was a sure bet they had run into each other.
As he closed the door behind him, he heard Ziva's raised voice coming through the floor, and immediately headed towards the open basement door. He obtained a visual of both his agents just in time to see Tony move closer to Ziva, who had situated herself in a corner. He knew from one glance at her tense posture and her slightly widened eyes that she was seconds away from a panic attack, and that Tony was way too close. A second later his own panic gripped him when Tony reached out to cup her cheek.
"NO!"
His shout came too late as Tony's hand was caught in an iron grip. Gibbs vaulted over the rail in time to see Ziva strike out at Tony's captured arm with a blow that was intended to snap his arm, followed by three swift strikes to his torso. Tony was forced back by the blows, too taken by surprise to even think about fighting back. He stumbled, and fell back onto the concrete floor, his expression frozen in shock as Ziva swooped down on him. His efforts to regain his footing were thwarted when all of Ziva's weight settled on his chest, forcing him back to the concrete.
Gibbs caught a glimpse of her face when she drew her fist back before slamming it down onto her partner's face, and found it twisted with rage and savage intent. In the space of a moment it was obvious to Gibbs that it was not her partner she was fighting, but someone else entirely, someone from her nightmares. And whoever it was, she didn't want to fight him—she wanted to kill him.
Her fist came down on DiNozzo once more before Gibbs was tackling her, sending them both sprawling. Tony coughed in pain, curling over onto his side, but Gibbs didn't have time to worry about him as Ziva suddenly shifted her attention to her newest attacker. She twisted in his grip, bringing her knee up to slam into his abdomen. He tried to wrap his un-slinged arm around her, to pin her hands to her sides, but she struggled violently. An elbow connected with his sore shoulder and he was momentarily blinded by pain.
The moment was all she needed, and she rolled to her feet swiftly before taking two powerful strides that brought her back to where Dinozzo lay. He had managed to get to his hands and knees, but a sharp kick to his back sent him crashing back down. Ziva was immediately on him, her arm snaking around his neck in an expert move designed to strangle a person with the crook of her arm. It was simple and effortless, and if Gibbs had the time he would admire her tactics, but he knew that he had less than a minute before Tony would be unconscious. Her bicep and forearm were now pressing on his carotid arteries, cutting off the flow of blood to his brain. Gibbs knew he needed to act, and he also knew that if he was going to save his senior field agent, he couldn't afford to be gentle.
Ripping off the sling that trapped his wounded arm, Gibbs scrambled to his feet and executed a similar move of his own. He'd hoped his arm hooking around her neck would be enough to startle her, but when she barely blinked at the contact, it became obvious that it wasn't enough. His arm cinched tighter around her throat, and he gave a little yank to catch her attention. She gasped, and her grip on Tony loosened just enough to give Gibbs room to pull her away without causing further damage to the wounded Italian.
He yanked Ziva to her feet, his damaged shoulder burning in agony as the arm around her neck shifted to restrain her shoulders and his free arm clamped down over her arms and midriff. She shouted something in angry Hebrew, and bucked wildly against his hold. He was strong, competent because of his Marine training, but he was also injured, while she was both at full strength and feeling the effects of a fight-or-flight adrenaline rush. It was only a matter of moments before she elbowed him in the ribs, effectively winding him enough to wrench herself free. Tony was too slow in getting to his feet, and she was inches away from the fallen agent when Gibbs rushed towards her again.
Gibbs knew he was losing control of the situation, and he had time for one last ditch effort to subdue her before it reached the point of no return. This time, when his arm latched around her waist, he yanked her back and down, slamming her into the concrete. Guilt lanced through his heart when a cry of pain issued from her lips when she collided with the unforgiving surface, but he didn't give himself time to think before he threw his entire weight on top of her, pinning her with all of his might. This time when she struggled against him, he was able to see the fear in her eyes when she discovered her efforts had been reduced to little more than a frustrated and ineffectual squirm.
"Boss," came Tony's voice from behind him, winded and strained.
"Get out of here, DiNozzo!" Gibbs shouted. For the first time in his career, he couldn't think about both of his agents at once. Now it seemed as if he were trying to deal with three of them, since he had to both subdue and protect the woman grunting strenuously beneath him as she fought to free herself. He couldn't do both with DiNozzo, or whoever Ziva thought him to be, still in the line of fire.
"Boss, don't hurt her," Tony continued stubbornly, getting to his feet. He took a step towards them, which Ziva noticed, causing her to double her efforts. "Don't—"
"GO!" Gibbs' voice echoed in through the basement, reaching a level of fierce desperation that Tony had never heard before. It was enough to force him to obey the older man's orders, and in the next moment he was moving towards the stairs as quickly as his injuries would allow. As soon as Gibbs heard the basement door close, he shifted all of his focus onto Ziva, who had yet to cease her struggling. During the short time in which his interaction with Tony had taken place, her efforts had devolved from those of an experienced operative into the desperate scrabbling of a person gripped by mindless terror.
Small hands pushed helplessly against him, and her eyes squeezed shut against the sight of him. It pained him to realize that he had been the one to put that fear there, his weight pressing what rationality she still had from of her. He could only imagine what her mind predicted he would do next; he knew from her scars that it would be nothing pleasant. But if he continued to move quickly, it was possible he could snap her out of it before her waking nightmare forced her to relive her rape.
"Ziva!" Gibbs said, his voice as non-threatening as he could manage. "Ziva, can you hear me?"
It was immediately evident that his words fell on deaf ears when she managed to gather enough strength to arch her back suddenly, lifting both of them off the floor when she attempted to catapult herself up. But Gibbs was relentless, and managed to use the shift in motion to slide his hands up to frame her face while his elbows dug into her shoulders, continuing to pin her to the stone. His hands attempted to halt the thrashing of her head, which seemed to succeed marginally, but she had yet to open her eyes.
"Open your eyes, Ziva!" he called, his hold on her firm. She didn't respond, nor did she cease her efforts to get free. When a tear escaped her tightly clamped lids and trailed down to pool against the side of his hands, Gibbs knew in his heart that he was losing her. "LOOK AT ME!"
His bellow finally got through to her, and her brown eyes flashed open tearfully. When she first saw him, her efforts redoubled, and this time her fingers turned into claws as she tried to slash at him. His position prevented her from reaching a patch of bare skin, but the advantage was countered when she managed to jar his injured shoulder. Pain flared from his neck to the tips of his fingers, but he refused to let anything more than a grunt escape his lips and his grip on her did not loosen.
"Ziva, look at me," he ordered, his voice firm, but audibly strained from both exertion and the emotion burgeoning within him. When her eyes continued to dart around him, presumably searching for something, anything she could use as a weapon, and when the fear refused to abate, Gibbs brought his own eyes level with hers. He looked deep into her eyes, and finally, after a moment and another firm command, desperate brown orbs latched onto him.
"You know me," he said calmly, trying to break through the wall of panic. He refused to blink, to move even an inch, for fear that she would sink deeper into the flashback. But while her eyes didn't leave his, she never stopped writhing under him, never stopped pushing against him. She was terrified, terrified of him and what she believed would come next, and that knowledge cut him to the core. "You know me," he said once more, the words almost a plea in his own ears. "You know me."
A long moment passed, and Gibbs felt the first shadows of doubt creep over him. He didn't know what else he could do. If he let her up she would either do her best to destroy him or she would run, and either possibility in her current state would be devastatingly dangerous. But if he stayed as he was, overpowering her through sheer physical force, then he ran the risk of losing her completely.
But then, slowly, almost imperceptibly, her eyes softened, and a flicker of recognition sparked within them. Hope and relief flooded Gibbs, and one hand moved to tenderly brush a stray lock of hair from her face. Her body stilled, but remained tense as she struggled to make sense of her surroundings. He saw the confusion in her gaze, and her breath came heavily as she fought a new kind of panic.
"Ziver…" It came out as little more than a whisper, but the sound of his voice was enough to bring her gaze back to him.
"Jeth—" Her voice caught in her throat as the shock became too much. Tears began to pour from her eyes, and her breaths became increasingly erratic. Hands scrabbled for purchase against his ribs, and he immediately responded to her silent plea for freedom.
He pushed himself off the floor, off Ziva, allowing her to finally move unhindered. She was up in an instant, crawling a few feet from him until she froze, winded and gasping for breath. Gibbs risked moving closer to her, and when she didn't pull away, he moved a little bit closer. But then her entire body tensed, and Gibbs barely managed to slide a nearby pail in front her before she emptied her stomach.
He lifted her hair from her face as she retched, and he saw the tears continue to stream down her cheeks. His heart went out to her, and though he wanted nothing more than to wrap her in his arms, he settled for running his free hand in soft circles on her back. When her stomach finally settled, she was left trembling and rocking as quiet sobs wracked her body.
This time, when Gibbs wrapped his arms around her, his touch was tender and she collapsed against him. He cradled her close, the shoulder of his shirt quickly growing damp from her tears as she buried her face in the crook of his neck. Her breath came in short gasps, but even so, he could hear her trying to speak. The words were muffled and disjointed, broken by sobs and brief lapses into Hebrew.
Gibbs let her ramble, even though he couldn't make sense of anything he managed to overhear. He couldn't even tell if she was speaking to him. But he murmured softly to her, and his whispered comfort somehow cut through her confusion to slowly calm her.
But when her trembling didn't cease, he eased off his sportcoat and draped it over her. It did little to ease her shaking, but it seemed to lend her some comfort. Eventually her sobs lessened, and her breathing evened out. He continued to hold her, uncertain of what would happen if he let her go. Unwilling to risk panicking her more, or possibly jostling her too harshly and sending her into another flashback, he refused to do anything more than keep her close.
Finally, when he felt her form grow heavy in his arms, Gibbs looked down and found that her eyes had closed, and judging from her steady, deep breaths, she had fallen asleep. Silently thanking whatever grace that had allowed her that brief respite, he waited a few more minutes to allow her to fall deeper into unconsciousness before carefully bundling her up into his arms. He stood smoothly, and then allowed his feet to bring both of them out of the basement and towards the stairs that led up to the second floor.
He was almost to the staircase when he caught sight of DiNozzo lurking in the living room. The younger man froze as soon as he saw the limp woman in Gibbs' arms, but a sharp shake of his employer's head kept him silent and still. Gibbs was intent on getting his love safe in bed before even beginning to worry about his senior agent. The man was standing and breathing—he would be fine until Ziva was taken care of. But as he made his way up to the bedroom, he heard Tony pad up the stairs behind him. If nothing else, he had to respect the man's devotion, even if in this case it interfered with his ability to be as tender as he wanted to be towards Ziva.
Instead of taking her to their shared bedroom, which was filled to the brim with evidence of their relationship, he took her to the guest room. Its bare walls and impersonal decoration was safe from DiNozzo's investigator eyes, and Gibbs banked on the fact that it was unlikely Ziva would care where she woke up, as long as he was the one there next to her.
He let Tony open the door for him, but the younger man didn't enter the room after him, as if recognizing that, even unconscious, Ziva would need space. Gibbs gently deposited her on the bed, and counted it a victory when she only moaned slightly in her sleep in response. Her hand somehow found his and gripped it tightly, keeping him close to the bedside, and he was only too happy to oblige her. He settled into a crouch by the bed, and after he was certain she was settled comfortably, he turned his attention to the man lingering in the doorway.
"You all right, DiNozzo?" he asked quietly, his voice a low timbre so as not to wake the woman on the bed. He could tell that the younger man was hurting, and that he had already cleaned up a nosebleed.
"Fine, boss," Tony replied in a whisper. His eyes focused nervously on his partner. "Did you…"
Gibbs rolled his eyes. "I didn't knock her out, DiNozzo," he told him. "She fell asleep."
Tony froze for a second, and then tried to cover it with a characteristic scoff and grin. "Well, yeah, I mean, obviously you wouldn't just conk her over the…" He seemed to change his mind mid-sentence, and then the grin disappeared, telling Gibbs the real Anthony DiNozzo Jr. was now making an appearance.
"She okay?"
Gibbs sighed. "No. She isn't." He glanced at Ziva, who still slumbered. "What happened, DiNozzo?"
A moment of silence followed as Tony looked guiltily down at his shoes. "She said she was here to talk to you, but you weren't there, so I thought she might talk to me… She didn't want to, and I pushed too hard." There was note of self-reproach in his voice, and Gibbs knew that he blamed himself for what happened. "I should've seen the signs, boss, but I didn't, and I—"
"You couldn't have," Gibbs interrupted. His firm tone made Tony look up to meet his gaze. "You couldn't have seen it, because she didn't want you to. And until she's ready, we won't know anything she doesn't want us to."
Tony nodded. Gibbs took a moment to fully observe the younger man. His voice was thick, as if his nose was clogged, which Gibbs guessed it was, with blood. His face was beginning to show the deep ruddy purples of fresh bruises on his brow and nose, and his left cheek. The arm Ziva had so viciously attacked was cradled against his side, and the way the Italian stood it was obvious that his ribs were giving him some pain as well.
"DiNozzo." The sound of his name brought the man's attention back to his boss from where it had drifted over to where Ziva lay. "Go to Ducky's. Get yourself checked out." DiNozzo began to protest, but Gibbs wasn't finished. "Call McGee. Tell him not go to go in tomorrow. You all get to start the weekend early."
"What about…?" His eyes flicked towards his partner. Gibbs merely arched an eyebrow in return, and then Tony's grin was back. "Right. Stupid question." His hand came up to tap himself on the back of the head. "That one's on me."
Gibbs grinned in response. "You okay to drive?" he asked. The concerned father in him was speaking up now, despite his obvious inability to let go of Ziva to drive DiNozzo home if the younger man couldn't drive.
"Yeah, boss," Tony responded easily, pushing away from the doorjamb. "Don't worry about me." He turned to leave, but at the last minute turned back to add, "Take care of her, boss." Gibbs shared a look with his agent, and after several long moments, he gave a single nod. Satisfied, Tony returned the nod. "And tell her I'm sorry… for, uh…"
Gibbs shook his head. "She won't need it."
It was true. When she woke up, there was no way she was going to be blaming her partner for what had happened. Her break in the basement was going to set her progress back, and Gibbs would be hard-pressed to convince her it wasn't her fault either. But until she was ready to talk to Tony, Gibbs knew things were going to be tense between his two best agents.
"Right, well…" Tony's voice had regained its audible grin, though his features had yet to show it again. "G'night, boss."
And then the young man was gone, and Gibbs could barely hear his quiet footsteps as he left the house. But as soon as he heard the engine of DiNozzo's car turn over and drive away, Gibbs settled himself for a long wait. He sat next to the bed, quickly nixing the idea of climbing onto the bed behind Ziva. That was not what she needed to wake up to, not when he'd just overpowered her as he had.
So he maintained his grip on her hand as he repositioned himself. His back rested against the bedside table next to the bed, and within moments the sound of Ziva's steady breathing and the shadows of the room had pulled him into a drowsy awareness. But even that awareness dwindled away, until he was sleeping right alongside her. But the dreams he slipped into were turbulent and violent, as he was pitted against Ziva in his basement once more, only this time he was the one who was out of control, and all he could see was her terrified gaze.
He was roused some time later—just as his dreams were becoming unbearable—when his hand jerked. His eyes flashed open, just in time to see Ziva's hand twitch in his. He glanced up to find her slowly coming to, her brow furrowed as she struggled to wake. When her eyes opened, and focused on his form, she barely had time to blink before tears were pooling once more as she recalled what had taken place.
Her hand tightened around his as she looked plaintively into his eyes. "Tony…" she whispered, her voice weak. "Did I…?"
"He's fine," Gibbs answered, his tone gentle. "Bruised, but fine."
"I—I almost…" Her voice petered out, and her free hand came to cover her face, hiding her shame. "I—I lost control…"
"I know." Gibbs didn't know what else to say. What could he say? He'd already given her his advice, weeks ago, and it had led to her storming out. Bringing it up now would be like an 'I told you so', and neither of them needed that.
He settled for reaching up and stroking her hair lightly. The motion was simple, familiar, but ultimately comforting to both of them. She brushed away her tears, and met his gaze once more. When she spoke, her voice was raspy and thick, but her words clear.
"Do you know the worst part of all of this?" she asked. When Gibbs waited for her to continue, she averted her gaze again in shame. "I have not felt this rested in months." Her voice broke at the last, and the tears began to pool again.
"Ziver…"
"Something is wrong with me, Jethro." Her words were clipped, blunt, but mournful all at once. The pain that was so clearly evident pierced his soul, but Gibbs knew there was nothing he could do for her, not yet.
"It's okay," he said. But his heart knew she would disagree. He had once been where she was now, after Shannon and Kelly had died. It had seemed as though nothing in the world was okay, let alone himself… she had to be feeling the exact same way.
"No," she said. Her jaw tightened, and a hard glint appeared in her eyes. Gibbs recognized it, even through the hurt and the guilt and the encroaching despair. He'd recognize it anywhere, especially in her, and the sight of it gave him hope.
It was determination.
"I think…" she continued, her voice quickly gaining clarity. She paused for a moment, and Gibbs waited with bated breath. He waited for the words he'd been hoping for weeks to hear, words that were so long in coming that he'd begun to wonder if they would come at all. But happiness washed through him when the words did come, against all probability.
"I think I should talk to someone."
A/N: There you go. End of the Zangst! As you can see, I do NOT think DiNozzo is a villain. I never intended him to be. But for the dissenters regarding my interpretation of the warehouse scene in Masquerade: I was trying to write it from Ziva's point of view. Haven't you ever been so down in the dumps that even the people who are trying to help you seem overly inquisitive and infinitely annoying? I know I have. I usually end up having a heart to heart with them later if they need it, to try and explain why I was so snippy with them, but yeah... Eventually Tony and Ziva will have that in this story. but not for a while, both to give the Zangst a rest and to give Ziva time to let the therapist do her job.
Another point of business is regarding the rumors about an as-of-yet unnamed hit TV show that is having issues between its lead actor and its showrunner. Read the article here -- *see my profile page for links* and make your own assumptions as to which show it is. For the fans of NCIS who prefer to be prepared please look into bringing the issue to the public's knowledge. Many fans are concerned that by the time a show is named, the problem will have been resolved, with possibly the lead actor allowed to leave or actually fired. These concerned fans wish to let the higher ups at CBS know without a doubt that there will be no NCIS without Mark Harmon/Leroy Jethro Gibbs.
Go to this site for more information on how to show solidarity for our favorite show and our favorite actor--- *see my profile page for links*
Thank you for all your support, for both the show, and of course for this story. I'm honored that you're still reading it!