I: Glorianna
I will be as good unto ye as ever a Queen was unto her people. No will in me can lack, neither do I trust shall there lack any power. And persuade yourselves that for the safety and quietness of you all I will not spare if need be to spend my blood.
- Queen Elizabeth I to the Lord Mayor and people of London on the eve of her Coronation
For the third time that month, I decided I would never have another tequila as long as I lived. Poison. Poison in a frothy, fruity, delicious form. It was not fair for it to taste so good. They ought to make it taste bad, as bad as it was making me feel right now. I moaned softly, resting my hot forehead against the cool toilet seat.
It was two on a Saturday morning, and I was regretting the bar, regretting the dancing and laughter and the oh, why not have just one mores? It had been childish and stupid and now I was paying the price. I hated this. I had never been a party girl, never been the one dancing on the tables for her eighteenth birthday. I remembered nights with friends, remembering topless birthday parties and morning regrets and shrieks of "Carpe Noctem!"
Seize the night indeed.
My stomach lurched again and acid tasted bitter as regret. What was that Americanism, if you can't take the fire stay out of the fireplace? No, that wasn't quite it. Whatever. As though it mattered right now. Something like that was right. Tony could correct me on Monday. He seemed to take a special sort of joy in correcting my English, and who was I to deny him such a pleasure? If it did not require so much effort I might have laughed.
Glug. God, I hated being sick. I hated the slimy feeling in the back of my throat, the stench of acid. Acid smelled like chemicals, smelled like death. Smelled like the formaldehyde they preserved corpses with. Disgusting. Unwanted. With shaking hands I flushed the toilet and forced myself up on weak feet to the sink.
I blew my nose and winced, then splashed some cold water on my face. It tasted bad but felt good. My throat was raw and I choked down a couple of antacids. They threatened to come back up but I stood still and waited, determined to keep it down. My skin was hot and uncomfortably clammy, sticky almost. I considered running the shower then decided against it. The week had been too long, too much for me to handle. I was tired. All I wanted to do now was sleep.
I fell into my bed, hoping that I was actually tired enough to sleep. God knew I needed the rest, but honestly it was so hard to sleep these days. Since Jenny had died, I was haunted by memories and guilt. I didn't feel quite safe yet, even with the team back. I felt like it was temporary, like it could be taken from me at any time.
It made me uncomfortable. Before, I think I thought that Gibbs was a god in his own right, capable of anything. I didn't think anything bad, anything like that horrible separation could ever happen to us. I never thought I might not get a chance to tell everything to Tony . . .
But then my head was spinning and I was in Israel and they were all making fun of my little "Americanisms" and asking me when I had gone and become a Jewish-American Princess, laughing and saying Oh, Ziva got soft in the states! But then they tested my reflexes and it was conclude that Ziva hadn't gotten soft in the states after all. Then it was different. Then, there were a few tables danced on. You grew up fast and then stopped, caught in a strange pseudo-adolescent phase. Music screeching and hurting.
Israel. My father. Three graves of my tears. Now a grave in America too. Two American graves. God, how much longer before there were no more graves? When would I finally be able to laugh because I wanted to laugh, not because I didn't want to cry again? Here I was becoming Tony, taking the bottle for the only sleep. It was not real sleep, it was passing out. Black and dark as velvet. I wanted to just sleep a pure, thoughtless sleep where no one died anymore. I sighed.
The night had stared off pleasantly enough. Some women from my synagogue had invited me to go barhopping with them, hoping to find love or at least a good fuck for that night. I agreed, not really caring either way. I wasn't that close to them, but neither were we so distant that I would dislike the company. Besides, I needed to get out more. Tony joked that I did not know how to have fun. I could have fun. I would prove it to him. And me. And everyone else.
I spent careful time preparing, doing my makeup and my hair and picking out just the right dress. Small and black, something that I was certain no one would think I would own, much less actually wear. I reluctantly put away my guns but couldn't help but to take a knife with me, held to my body with a tight strip of spandex around my waist under my dress.
Some habits are hard to break.
I put my cell phone and a twenty in my purse and flashed my best fake smile when the other women came to pick me up. They laughed and cooed over my hair and clothes, with not a few laughed shrieks of "Ziva's a girl!" Alright, so I was not the most feminine of women. That was not a crime.
We got to the bar around eight. There was hint of excitement, anticipation stirring deep in me. I too, was laughing by now. I was happy for the night, happy to get out. Happy for the burning taste of vodka in my throat, for the men looking at me with hungry eyes. Sarah was laughing beside me, too loud and too drunk. Except I was too and what is more I did not care, so long as I was not in the penitentiary of my mind. There were too many thoughts there, all fighting for dominance and none of which I wished to recede control to. Too many bad things . . .
"They look at you!" she said, eyes shining. "God, they look at you like you're something to eat!" Something to eat. Prey and predator. But with a knife strapped to my back who was who?
"I suppose."
"Let's dance! Can we go dance, Zivala? Will you dance with me? Come, dance with me," she said, putting her drink down with near violent force and grabbing my hand to drag me onto the dance floor. I allowed it and went willingly.
The night, in colours and dreams and brightness. In my mind, my body floating weightless. Pure and invincible and perfect and formless, drifting over everything to have all that was good. Drunk, so very drunk. Letting some man hold my hips and press himself against me, and then kiss me feverishly. God, it felt good. Tasted sweet, like daydreams. I liked the moment, liked the music. I wanted to stay there. Cocooned, no more thoughts.
But then I was too drunk, and the high gave way to the low and I ended up puking in the restroom before going home to puke some more. And all the thoughts of everything were going back, and I was cursing silently and wishing I had held my liquor better and not been so foolhardy, trying to be something more. Maybe then I could have had someone, been able to screw until I could not think and collapsed down, sleeping. Then I would not need the alcohol, would not need to be numb.
Maybe I would feel again.
But I was here, with only my thoughts for company and no way to chase away my demons. I wished it would be Monday so I could go to work, be distracted. Tony made fun of me for getting in early, but I had to do it lately. I did not sleep and being all alone with my head was more than I could handle.
My head was a dark and frightening nightmare place, not good for anyone including myself. I needed to be around people, have the opportunity to breathe clean air. I wanted to crawl out of my skin and be someone else, a more perfect vapid thing. One of Tony's brainless bimbos. Something that did not have this thing inside them that hurt and pulsated and made them cry out and beg for the relief that was not coming. That innocent thing to make one whole.
In short, I needed to sleep.
I awoke to the sound of my phone ringing. Loud. Insistent. Not something I could quiet deal with right now. I grabbed it and smacked it against the wall, but it continued its piercing shriek. I angrily opened it and held it to my ear. Stupid, infuriating world . . .
"Bonlom." No, wait, not right. Not a language. Okay, think Ziva, which language do we answer this cell phone in? Not French. Not Spanish. Not Hebrew. Not Arabic – English? English! "I mean, hello?"
"Ziva? Are you hung over?" Tony. Why Tony? Tony would do nothing but ridicule and annoy me. I did not want to deal with Tony.
"Shut up." There, that seemed an appropriate answer. At least I was speaking English.
"Ooh, touchy." I could all but hear his smirk.
"What do you want, Tony?" I asked irratibly. I glanced at the clock. Noon. No excuse to yell at him for waking me, normal people were up by now. Dammit.
"What makes you think I want something, Zee-vah?" he asked, drawing out the syllables of my name. I sighed heavily.
"Because I know you, perhaps?" I replied. He made a strangled noise of protest and I held the phone from my ear. Did he realize how loud he was? Dear God.
"I need help." When in doubt, be pathetic. Tony was predictable. Under other circumstances, a welcome distraction.
"With what?"
"I have to buy a birthday present for my niece," he said. A pause. I frowned as the words slowly processed.
"And this is my responsibility because . . . ?"
"Because training a new partner would be very, very inconvenient for you?"
"Ha! Trained? You? Tony I am lucky that you even write some of your reports. Anyone else would be stuck constantly doing it alone! A new partner would be useful to me," I replied. He seemed to consider this for a moment.
"Aw, come on, please! I don't know what seven year-old girls like!" he whined unhappily. I snorted.
"And you think I do?" I questioned. He sighed and I winced slightly, wishing I had better words for him.
"Well, I don't know. I mean, we all know you play with knives as a child but um, your sister!" he suddenly exclaimed with excitement. My eyes narrowed and I gripped the phone a little tighter. Tali was a sensitive topic.
"What about her?" I asked in a guarded tone. I sat up straight, fully awake and clear now.
"Well, I mean, we all know that you played with knives as a child Ziva, but what did your sister play with?" he asked hurriedly. There was a slight relief that he was not saying anything offensive about my sister, and then the slight insult that he thought I had played with knives as a child. Well, maybe it was a good thing.
"Dolls?" I suggested tentatively. God, that was a long time ago. How did Tony expect me to remember so far back? He probably could not.
"Dolls. Okay, dolls. What kind of dolls?" Oh, this man was going to be the death of me, it was official. When Ducky sighed my death warrant it would have "Tony DiNozzo" written as cause of death. Although whether it was from hating him or loving him was yet to be seen.
"I will go with you. Where should I meet you?" I asked. A long day was coming. I would deal with it in stride. It might be nice to spend some time with Tony outside the office anyway.
"Don't bother, I'll pick you up. Thanks Ziva!" The line went dead and I closed the phone. I reluctantly forced myself from the bed and choked down some ibprofen for the headache I felt coming. Needed to get dressed, didn't know when he would be here. I showered in the dark, nearly falling asleep again. Showering is one of the few things I do not compromise on; if Tony came while I was in the shower, he would wait.
But he did not come so I dressed in hurriedly silence, slipping on comfortable jeans and a favourite top. The September sun was bright and the southern Washington air still tasted like lingering summer. Autumn would not claim her territory so easily, and admittedly I was grateful. I strongly preferred the heat to the cold, likely from having grown up in temperate Israel.
I was just putting on a headband as I heard Tony pull up outside my apartment, honking his horn. He would. Tony was like a small child; in constant need of attention. I grabbed my purse, sticking my cell phone in it. I was yet to eat breakfast but unconcerned. My stomach was still rather upset from the last night's escapades anyway.
"I cannot believe I am doing this," I groaned as I got into the passenger seat. Tony flashed me his signature grin.
"Thanks, Ziva. I'll find some way to pay you back," he promised. "You like chocolate?"
"Giving me a stolen candy bar from the vending machine is not going to be payment."
"I wasn't going to do that!" he protested. I raised an eyebrow and gave him a look. "Okay, yes I was but that doesn't invalidate the gift, it's the thought that counts!"
"You do not think very much at all, do you?"
"I resent that!"
"It was your idea to bring me along, Tony. Are you regretting it now?" I taunted laughingly.
"How do you know I didn't just use this as an excuse to lure you out of the house so I can kidnap you and have my wicked way?" he cackled.
"Because you do not know how many weapons I have on me right now," I said cheerily. This finally seemed to get him.
"Well, how many do you have on you right now?" Then again, perhaps not. He glanced at me curiously.
"Two," I said definitively.
"Really." He did not believe me in the slightest.
"Yes." A pause. He was waiting, but I would not break down! I was strong. I could play this game too. "Alright, five if you count the backup gun, the backup knife and the papercilp." Dammit, how had he done that?
"Ugh. Paperclips." Okay, so I might have given my coworker a tiny little phobia of paperclips. I had not intended to.
"Come on Tony, we are going to have a fun day. It is a lovely day out, not bitey or anything!" Another pause.
"I think you mean nippy, Ziva."
Have I mentioned that I hate English?
It was about one when Tony and I arrived at the mall. He had punished me in the car, making me listen to his awful music. I had begged for relief, but alas. Next time, I was bringing my iPod and hijacking the system. No more Sinatra for me. Hell, no more English. A little Hebrew rock would do him some good. Or French rap. Yes, actually, I would verily enjoy making him listen to French rap.
As I plotted revenge Tony was already out of the car and heading to the massive building. I find the huge buildings rather disconcerting; only in America did they need such megaplexes. Although admittedly it was convenient to be able to get everything you needed from one place, I would grant them them.
"Ziva, come on!" Tony urged. I followed dazedly behind, ignoring the pain in my head. It would go away sooner or later. Probably.
"I am coming, Tony." He was walking fast today. Why did he have to walk fast today? I was too tired to keep up with him today. It was not fair.
"Hurry up!" I nearly tripped but finally we were entering the store, me on his side. I breathed a sigh of relief before promptly looking at the selection of toys and feeling overwhelmed. American children were spoiled. Clearly there was no reason to be here.
"I want to go now," I said even as I followed Tony deeper into the maze. He sighed and ruffled my hair.
"Aw, we're going to have fun though, Zee-vah! Didn't you say so yourself?" He was treading on my patience, but I reined in my temper. I had agreed to come, and I would have to deal with that.
"What sorts of things does she like?" I asked as we wandered into pink aisles. Tony furrowed his brow and frowned.
"Pink things?"
"That's not very helpful," I scolded him. He shrugged, not having the good sense to look ashamed or at least chastised.
"Sorry."
"You need to do better than that. Does she dance? Does she ride horses?" Those had been the thing Tali and I liked when we were young. Tali wanted to be a ballerina. I wanted a pony.
"Yeah! Hey, yeah, she does ballet!" He said excited. His eyes were light and he was grinning, like –
Like a kid in a toy store.
"So we can get her something dancing-related then, yes?" I said, watching as his eyes began to eagerly scan the surrounding shelves.
"Yes! Yes we can indeed. Ziva, you are a lifesaver!" he declared. I might have felt happier about the whole thing had my headache not seemed to be getting worse. The light and the noise were bad. I wished I could sit down and sleep for a while, or at the very least that Tony would stop bouncing about so distractingly. God, it was enough to induce nausea. Which didn't make me very happy; I had had to contend with that enough last night, thank you.
Oh, well. At least I had helped. Maybe we could go out and get lunch or something after this. Coffee sounded very nice right now; I could use the caffeine. Hopefully Tony would pick something quickly and we could go. Besides, this was bringing back too many bad memories. Memories of Tali and myself, younger and more innocent. Before everything was so hard and bad. . .
"Ziva which one should I get? Ballet Dancerella Barbie or Swan Lake Barbie or Princess Dancing Barbie?" He attempted to balance the third option on his head as he held the other two, but it did not work terribly well and it fell off, crashing to the ground loudly. A few people turned to look at us and I felt the creeping heat of a blush spreading across my face.
"Whichever one is it you just dropped!" I hissed, going over to retrieve it. Swan Lake Barbie. Hooray. A decision at last. Maybe I should not have come with him. God, I was so tired. Why did it seem like I could never drink enough to totally stop the nightmares? Why were there not any pills to soothe my unravelling mind? I needed to be able to work and focus, and it was so very hard right now . . .
"You okay?" Tony was looking at me with concern in his eyes, the other dolls having been put away. I offered him a smile.
"Of course."
"You look a little pale." Oh, so now that he had dragged me from my nice warm bed he was concerned about my wellbeing? How nice!
"I was out late," I said lamely. I handed him the doll and a huge grin spread across his face. I had the bad feeling I had just said exactly the wrong thing.
"Ooh, someone got some but it wasn't so good!" he teased, cackling as he headed towards the cashier. I rolled my eyes.
"How old are you?"
"Hey, we're all adults here."
"I can only vouch for myself," I sniffed. He laughed again to himself.
"Gotta say you don't exactly have that freshly-fucked glow. Must have been really bad," he mused almost sympathetically.
"Trust me, this is worse."
"Am I really such bad company?" he asked, giving me a sad look through his long eyelashes.
"Yes."
"You're a hard woman, Miss David," he said, shaking his head and flashing a smile at the cashier as we came into line. The girl smiled back brightly.
"Aw, is this for your little girl? She must be so excited waiting for Mommy and Daddy to come back! Or does she know?" she asked, eyes bright with genuine curiosity. Tony looked at her in confusion, then suddenly started laughing. A beat later I understood too and felt myself flushing.
"He is not – I mean, I am not – we are not married," I said somewhat lamely as Tony handed her a twenty, chuckling darkly. The girl nodded.
"Oh, I totally understand. Lots of people I know are doing that these days. I mean, a marriage license isn't a license to have kids, right?" she said with the same cheeriness. I could have groaned. Was she just not very bright?
"We do not have children either. We are not – together." Ah, there was the word I was looking for!
"Wow. Could have fooled me," she said, handing a bag off to Tony. He grinned and I rolled my eyes.
"Can we go now?"
"Aw, you don't think we'd make a cute couple, Zee-vah?" he asked, slinging an arm around my shoulder. God, did he know how he tempted my patience, my will? Some days I came very close to hating Gibbs for rule twelve.
"Get off of me, Tony." I needed to take control of my life again. No more sleepless nights, no more nightmares, no more hangovers and being guard off guard wanting Tony.
"Whatever. You are my saving grace, Glorianna!" he said cheerily. He still hadn't removed his arm.
"Eh?"
"It's what they called Elizabeth I. Of England. Glorianna. It's like, 'glory' in Latin or something," he explained. I sighed. I didn't exactly feel glorious. I felt like a mess. "Want to get lunch? I'm starving."
I cannot say definitively that that is when it started, but it seems as good a point as I can come to. I carved control, and I carved validation. I did not take Tony up on his offer. I did not want to eat.
