Silent Misery R&R - Chapter 12
by HidingInSight
Gibbs and Fornell spent most of the day on the couch. The instability in Gibbs' stomach worsened as the day went on. Fornell had warmed up leftover soup for lunch, trying to get Gibbs to eat despite his continued protests that he wasn't hungry. Gibbs had sipped only a few mouths full from a mug before handing it back. Nothing Fornell said had convinced him to continue eating.
By mid-afternoon, Gibbs was again dozing with his head in Fornell's lap. Fornell had the television turned to ZNN, the volume muted, captions running across the bottom of the screen. Gibbs had installed cable shortly after he'd created a bedroom for Fornell, and it had been done just as quietly. Fornell had arrived one night after work to find Gibbs watching a report on a case they'd broken earlier that day. When Fornell had asked, Gibbs had just said it was time.
Fornell was alternating between watching the silent TV and catching up on his magazine reading, all the while gently stroking Gibbs' hair and massaging his scalp. Gibbs' sleep was light and fitful. He would often murmur and make small sounds of distress or struggle against unseen enemies, soothed only by Fornell's whispered words of reassurance and calm.
The FBI man was frankly concerned about the prospects of either of them getting any sleep tonight. If this was how Gibbs was in the daylight, how bad were the nightmares going to be in the dark? Maybe he could convince Gibbs to take a sleeping pill.
A confident knock on the door came just past 3 p.m., startling Gibbs awake. Fornell looked back over his shoulder out the front window. No one was parked there.
"Who is it?" Gibbs asked. He cleared his throat and stretched.
"Don't know. No car out front."
"Solicitor," Gibbs said, settling back. "Ignore them. They'll go away."
A moment later, the doorknob rattled, then the knock came again, with a voice. "Gibbs?"
"It's Ziva," Gibbs said, and sat up. He wove his fingers through his hair and rubbed at his head. "What part of leave me alone are they missing?"
"Told you it wouldn't work," Fornell said. "Want me to get it?"
"I'll get it," Gibbs said, and pushed to his feet. He swayed for a second, nausea and dizziness rising. Fornell grabbed him as he took a stagger-step sideways. After a second, Gibbs nodded and Fornell let him go.
Fornell clicked off the television as Gibbs flipped the deadbolt back and dragged the door open.
"Ziva," Gibbs said. She looked him up and down, her eyes stopping briefly on each of his injuries before returning to his face. Her expression was neutral.
"May I come in?" she asked. Gibbs stepped back and gestured her through.
Ziva entered the living room and saw Fornell, who was again seated on the couch.
"Good afternoon, Agent Fornell," she said.
"Agent David," Fornell said with a nod.
"What are you doing here?" Gibbs asked.
"You were not at work today. McGee and I were concerned," Ziva replied.
"Of course you were," Fornell said.
"I'm fine," Gibbs said. She appraised him. He let her. After a minute, her eyes narrowed and she frowned slightly. Still standing in the living room, she turned to Fornell.
"Would you mind excusing us?" she asked Fornell. "I would like to speak to Gibbs alone."
In response to Fornell's questioning look, Gibbs nodded his acceptance. Whatever she had to say to him, he could handle it alone.
"I'll be outside," Fornell said. He left through the kitchen, snagging something from the pile of papers the hospital have given them as he passed the table. They heard the back door open and close as Fornell headed for the backyard and presumably, the patio chairs.
"Have a seat," Gibbs invited, moving them to the dining room table. "You want coffee?"
"No thank you," Ziva said. Gibbs pulled a mug for himself and carefully sat at the table, managing not to flinch. He shoved the medication bottles to the end of the table away from them, trying to be casual about it.
Ziva took the chair across from him. He stared at her, waiting. She stared back. Gibbs held her gaze until it became uncomfortable and for the first time in a long time, he blinked first and looked away. When he looked back, there was something like sadness on Ziva's face.
"Are you alright?" she asked.
"I'm fine," he repeated and sipped at his cup.
"You do not look fine," she said.
"It's nothing," Gibbs insisted. He was doing his best to put off waves of 'leave it alone,' but he could tell he was not succeeding.
"It does not look like nothing," Ziva said. Her voice was something between chastising and sympathetic.
"What do you want from me?" Gibbs asked bluntly.
Ziva smiled slightly. "I only want to help."
"I don't need help," Gibbs said. She shook her head and returned to staring at him. He tried to hold her gaze, but there was something there that made him very uncomfortable. It felt like she was looking far more deeply into him than she should be able to. He really wanted her to go away. He supposed he could just order her to leave. He sensed she had something more to say, though, and was hesitant to kick her out just yet. Besides, in his current condition, he wasn't at all sure she'd follow the order. He didn't need that on top of everything else.
Finally, she spoke again.
"For many months after I returned from Somalia, I saw something I did not like when I looked in the mirror. Something in my eyes I could not get rid of, no matter how hard I tried."
Gibbs nodded. He'd seen it too. He drank more coffee.
Ziva had never discussed what had happened to her during the months she was held prisoner before they rescued her. They had all tried to get her to talk about it. Even Gibbs had made it clear he was available to listen if she wanted to talk, but she had always declined. They all assumed – considering the condition they found her in – that she'd been abused, maybe tortured. Probably raped. Probably more than once. She'd passed a psych exam prior to becoming an NCIS agent many months later but as far as Gibbs knew, she'd never sought counseling or gotten any professional help. It had concerned him at first. As the months passed and she continued to perform her duties with few hints that anything had ever happened, he'd figured she was dealing with whatever had happened in a way that worked for her. It was all he could expect as her team leader. He'd hoped for more as her friend.
Gibbs knew whatever had happened to Ziva had haunted her. In moments when she thought no one was watching, he'd sometimes catch her lost in thought, with an expression of anxiety on her face that was hard to reconcile with her normal fearlessness. He'd always turned away, knowing she would not have wanted him to notice.
Ziva continued quietly. "That something, whatever it was. I see the same thing in your eyes now."
Gibbs recoiled, pushing back in his chair. That wasn't possible. No way she could tell what had happened by just looking. Could she?
"Meaning what?" Gibbs asked gruffly, looking back at her.
Ziva cocked her head, shook it slightly.
"Yesterday, you and Tony found the man who raped Lt. Carter," she said. It wasn't a question. He didn't answer.
"And somehow he got to you," she said. She paused, waiting for some response. Some explanation. He gave her the only one he had.
"We weren't expecting anyone to be there. There were three of them." Gibbs paused, sighed a little. "We got complacent."
Ziva nodded. "That happens sometimes," she said. "Especially when you work as many hours as we do. It is virtually inevitable. It is nothing to be ashamed of."
Gibbs shook his head, dismissing her attempts at soothing him. It was the same argument he'd used with Abby, but somehow it didn't sound as reasonable coming the other way.
"I screwed up," he said. Ziva nodded and shrugged at the same time, not agreeing, just acknowledging his opinion.
"Sometimes we all make mistakes. Even you."
"They got Tony, before I even knew he was in trouble," Gibbs said.
"Then they got you," she said.
Gibbs nodded. "Yeah," he said. He was having trouble meeting her eye, looking instead somewhere around her cheeks.
"You were tied up," she said. Gibbs nodded. He looked down at the wraps on his wrists, fingering the right one with his left hand.
"You did everything you could to help Tony," Ziva said.
"How do you know?" Gibbs demanded, his voice hardening. Ziva flinched, but smiled.
"Because I know you. If there had been anything you could have done to prevent his injuries, you would have."
And he had done everything he could, Gibbs knew.
"I know some of what you are feeling," Ziva continued when she saw he wasn't going to. "I know it is not easy, getting through a thing like this. It helps to have friends who do not ask questions you do not wish to answer."
Gibbs nodded, still looking at his wrists. They hadn't asked her, not once. They'd only encouraged her to talk, and stood by her when she didn't.
Ziva snaked a hand across the table and tapped one finger against his forearm. He looked up. "It will help if you can find someone to talk to." She held up a hand when he began shaking his head. "It is especially important for people like us who do not like to talk. Whether you want them or not, you do have feelings about this, and you will have to deal with them. This kind of thing is not something you can just ignore. Trying will only make it worse. I know."
Gibbs looked at her, looked away. "I'll be fine," he said. "Leave it alone."
"I know you will be fine," Ziva agreed, ignoring his objection. "But it will take time. It will take longer if you do not seek help. None of us is equipped to deal with this alone. No matter how intense our training."
As a young Marine preparing for duty overseas, Gibbs had gone through SERE training: Survival, Evasion, Resistance and Escape. It was designed to teach Marines who'd been separated from their units the skills they needed to get back home. As part of the 'resistance' portion, they'd heard horror stories of what prisoners of war were forced to endure. Interrogation, torture, starvation, degradations of all forms, including rape. They'd heard from former residents of the Hanoi Hilton who'd survived months or years in captivity and were warned of the long-lasting effects of such mistreatment on body and mind. This was years before post-traumatic stress became an accepted and understood consequence of war, and many of the young jarheads in the class had been convinced they'd never have to deal with it. In the years since, Gibbs had learned enough – and matured enough – to know the truth.
Ziva was a generation younger than he, but she'd been trained by Mosaad. The Israeli intelligence agency took their training very seriously, and he had no doubt she had undergone experiences similar to his own. Maybe he could use that to turn the focus of the conversation.
"What about you?" he asked. "I don't remember you spilling your guts about what happened."
"I did not think I needed help. I thought I could handle it myself. I was wrong." She held his eye for a moment. "I was wrong," she repeated. "There were... nightmares... that went on for many weeks. I had trouble sleeping and I was afraid it was affecting my performance. Finally I spoke to a counselor."
"It helped?" he asked.
"Very much," Ziva said. "It gave me... perspective... that I had not had before. Things were better after that."
Gibbs nodded. "I'm glad."
Ziva smiled again. "I believe you will not make peace with this on your own. You will need someone to talk to."
"I'll think about it," Gibbs said.
"Good," she said.
"What will you tell McGee?" Gibbs asked. Ziva looked at him for another long moment, then nodded. He was clearly finished discussing it. She had done all she could.
"His concern was that given the extent of Tony's injuries, you must have also been injured," she said. "He could not imagine any situation that would have seen Tony so badly injured that did not result in equally serious injuries to you. I will tell him you were incapacitated, tied up, and unable to help. That you did everything you could, but you could not stop what happened to him."
Gibbs nodded.
"I will tell him your injuries are not severe," she added. "That the exposure medications will keep you off work for a few days. That his concerns were valid, but you will be alright."
Gibbs nodded again. That would do.
"Anything more is no one's business but yours," Ziva added.
"Thank you, Ziver," Gibbs said sincerely, and she smiled. She stood and Gibbs stood with her, not quite able to keep the expression of pain from his face. She noticed.
"You were seen by a doctor?" she asked, and he nodded.
"Good. Take the time you need to heal. If you don't take it now, it will only require you take more time later."
"I'll keep that in mind," Gibbs said. Ziva nodded one more time and left.
Gibbs went into the kitchen and used the last of his coffee to rinse his mouth, spitting into the sink. The taste of the bastard had returned. He refused to go brush his teeth again. He refilled his mug, grabbed a bottle of beer from the fridge, and stepped outside through the kitchen door. He heard Ziva's car start up a few houses down.
Rounding the house, he found Fornell stretched out on a lounge chair, his feet up. Gibbs held out the bottle out to him.
"Thanks," Fornell said. Gibbs nodded. He picked a cushion out of the deck box, dropped it on the other lounge chair a few feet from Fornell's and carefully sat down. For several minutes, the men sat and stared out across the back lawn.
"She knows," Gibbs finally said, for the second time that day.
"Knows what?" Fornell asked.
"Yesterday," Gibbs said. He drank coffee.
"Who told her?" Fornell asked.
"No one. She saw it in my eyes."
Fornell turned to look at him, frowning. The expression on Gibbs' face was far from his usual stoicism, but there was nothing that screamed 'I've been sexually assaulted.'
"Really?" Fornell said. "Of all the things that could be wrong with you, she just picked out that?"
"There's apparently a look she recognized from seeing it on her own face."
Fornell considered that. "Somalia?" he asked.
"Uh huh," Gibbs agreed. Fornell nodded, drank some beer.
"She ever tell you about it?" Fornell asked.
"No. Never told any of us, far as I know." Gibbs took a mouthful of coffee. "After a while she started seeing a counselor. Said it helped."
"Oh?" Fornell said.
"Yeah," Gibbs said.
"This thing says that, too," he said, and held up the booklet the nurse had given them. He'd spent the time while exiled to the yard reading through it. "Says we should both go. Separately, and together."
Gibbs nodded. He'd told Ziva he'd think about it, and he would. Just not right now.
"Also says DiNozzo's gonna need to see someone," Fornell added.
"He will," Gibbs said.
"How can you be sure?" Fornell asked.
"He won't have a choice," Gibbs said.
Fornell chose not to point out the hypocrisy in that. For his part, he'd be finding a counselor as soon as he was sure Gibbs would be alright on his own for a few hours. He had no problem seeking mental health help when it was needed. Never had. Jethro Gibbs, though, was another story. Tobias didn't know if it was because talking to someone had led to a bad experience, or if Jethro was just opposed to sharing his feelings on principle.
"You're going to have to tell McGee," Fornell said instead. "As soon as possible."
"Why?" Gibbs asked.
"Because now he's the only one on your team who doesn't know. He's gonna feel pretty lousy when he finds out he was the last to know, and the longer you wait, the worse he's going to feel. You know how kids are."
"He's not a kid," Gibbs objected.
"He's your kid," Fornell said. "They all are. Whether you're willing to admit it or not, they see you as father of their little family and they all want to think they're important to you."
Gibbs gave him a look that said 'yeah right.' Fornell frowned at him.
"You really have no idea, do you?"
"What?" Gibbs asked.
"How much you mean to them," Fornell said. "Any one of them would die for you, no questions asked."
"They're loyal," Gibbs acknowledged.
"It's more than loyalty, Jethro. They love you. Especially DiNozzo. You're right when you said this thing might kill him. He wasn't just a witness. He's gonna think he let it happen. That he let you get raped."
The word no longer had the impact it had 24 hours before, but hearing it was still uncomfortable. "He didn't. It was my choice," Gibbs said.
"Yes, it was," Fornell said. "And I'm not sure we're done talking about that. But just you telling him that isn't going to take care of it this time. You can't order him not to feel guilty. Just like you can't order McGee not to feel left out because you didn't tell him."
Gibbs drank some coffee, considering that. Finally, he sighed.
"I'll tell him tomorrow," he said.
"Good," Fornell said. He sipped at his beer. It was a pleasant day, really. Warm but not hot, a slight breeze rustling the branches on the trees surrounding Gibbs' yard and pushing the neighbor's tuned wind chime just enough to make a soft melody. It was early enough in the summer that the temperature fell rapidly after dark, but dark was still hours away.
"How're you feeling?" Fornell asked after a minute.
"Unstable," Gibbs said. "Tired."
"Nurse said that would happen," Fornell reminded him.
Gibbs nodded. He drained his mug and set it on the deck beside the chair. He reached for the lever and lowered the back of the chair to almost flat then shuffled downwards to change the point of pressure from his butt to his hips. Sitting on the dining room chair to talk to Ziva had not been a good idea. It was probably time for another pain pill.
"If I find us a counselor, will you go?" Fornell asked, circling the conversation back.
"Not now, Tobias," Gibbs said.
"Fine," Fornell said with a sigh. He tipped his beer bottle upright, swallowing the last of it before setting the bottle on the deck.
A minute later, Gibbs reached across the space between them and took Fornell's hand. What Gibbs didn't say in words, he often said in actions. Now he was saying 'I need you' and 'I'm glad you're here.' Maybe even 'I love you.' Fornell squeezed his hand.
To be continued