Broken Silence, Chapter 4 – Splintered

Previously...The breakdown of the team becomes clear. Tony is questioning whether he should have pulled the trigger on Rivkin, and is in desperate need for Gibbs to validate these actions. McGee blames Tony - the fact that he didn't follow protocol on the night of Rivkin's death - for Ziva's torture. And Ziva is starting to suffer from PTSD, triggered by the warehouse attack which causes flashbacks of Somalia. Team Gibbs, in the midst of trying to find Bayliss' accomplice and stop further marines from dying, is falling apart.

Ziva sat, silently, on her couch. Wrapped in sweats and a blanket, she shivered as she stared blankly. Today, Abby had found an extra set of prints in Bayliss' house. While the prints didn't match anything in the database, it was the closest they had come to getting a lead on Bayliss' accomplice.

She thought about the mind of a killer. She had certainly killed her fair share of men. As an assassin working under her father, and as an investigator sworn to protect and serve her country, under Gibbs. What separated her from the likes of Bayliss and his accomplice? What separated her from…Saleem?

How many of her actions were indefensible, unforgivable? How many of the innocent had suffered at her hands? The events in Somalia, were they something she had coming to her? Karma, simply part of the game.

When you let your feelings overcome you, her father always told her, you lose. There is no love, no time for regrets, no time for sorrow or misery in war.

You eliminate, move on, take punches and stand taller.

McGee had killed men, Gibbs perhaps a few too many, and Tony...Tony had killed Michael.

"No." Ziva pushed away from the couch and stood up. Fighting away these feelings she had learned to never have; her training failing her…it was all too much, and her head felt hot. She had to sink back down on the couch as blackness, coming from the back of her eyes, engulfed her vision.

"I should eat." A practical solution. She stood up, her vision clearing, her head less heavy, and made her way to the refrigerator. Bare, except for a hummus container sprouting what looked to be mold. With no energy to run to the store or wait up for delivery, Ziva made her way to her bedroom, flicking out the lights and burrowing under the covers.

She lay in bed for two hours, listening to the sound of her shallow breathing. She felt so light, could feel fat and muscle melting away from the bone. This is how it was in Somalia. Despite the physical pain and the expected execution, she often wondered whether she'd die of starvation before Saleem could finish her.

Ziva finally drifted off, to dreams of a single bullet that took Michael's life, to Saleem blowing up the entire Team Gibbs while Ziva, bound and gagged, helplessly watched. The scenes replayed over and over, the bomb beeping, beeping, beeping...

Ziva jolted out of her sleep, confused until she realized that the beeping was not a bomb, but in fact her cell phone.

"Hello?"

It was Tony. How many hours had passed? "Good morning, David. Your place, 20 minutes. Gibbs wants us to comb through Bayliss' safe house again to look for signs of his accomplice."

"Fine.' She hung up. It took effort to get out of bed, showered and dress. She was irritated - the dreams, Tony's chipper voice, the weakness she felt.

...

Tony watched from his car as Ziva exited her apartment. He watched as she leaned heavily on the banister for support - way too much for his liking - as she came down the cement building stairs. If it was possible, she looked thinner and more wary than yesterday, he thought, as she slid into the seat beside him.

"Morning sunshine," he greeted, pulling away from the curb.

Ziva was curt. "Hello, Tony."

"You know, most people find that when they wear a sweatshirt and its 80 degrees out, they get hot."

"I am cold, Tony."

Taking cues from her downright concerning state, Tony quickly changed the subject with a little planned lie. "I didn't eat, mind if we stop at Buddie's?"

"That is fine."

They drove in silence for awhile, Tony humming along to the radio. As they pulled into the parking lot he asked, "Bagel or breakfast burrito?"

"Bagel," she replied without thinking.

"Cream cheese or butter?"

She paused for a moment before meeting his gaze for the first time that morning. "Plain? My stomach is rather...upset." She finished, after finding the right word.

He nodded, "Back in five." Entering Buddie's, Tony smiled to himself. It felt good to finally take care of her. He felt encouraged that she had agreed to eat. So much so that he had hopes he could fix whatever it was that was wrong. If Ziva was fixed, if Somalia was dealt with, McGee would finally stop PMS'ing, they'd be able to properly concentrate on solving the case, and the pressure would be off Gibbs and he'd go back to the same old boss man.

Tony returned to the car, handing Ziva a bag of bagels and a large container of orange juice, pleased with himself for another way to get calories into her.

"Thank you, Tony."

As he drove, one hand on the wheel and the other feeding himself large bites of his breakfast burrito with the works, Tony watched her out of the corner of his eye. She pulled small pieces from her bagel before putting them into her mouth, and took little sips of orange juice.

….

Ziva stole a glance at Tony as he drove, trying to understand the confusion that filled her when she thought about him. Did she hate him for killing Michael, for reminding her that she was not all right? Or did she owe him for rescuing her? Was she just grateful to have a partner with whom unspoken words could be exchanged through an offer of breakfast or a single glance?

By the time the exited the Beltway and into Maryland, she had finished her bagel and juice. Her head was leaned against the seat, eyes closed.

"Hey Z," Tony said, tapping her on the shoulder. "We're here."

"Oh," she shook her head briefly, her eyes popped open. "It took you long enough."

The innocent jab placed smiles on both faces as they exited the car, guns drawn, circling the perimeter to make sure their killer hadn't returned. The house was a good one for hiding from the law, Ziva though, a small two story log cabin, nestled into the woods.

Once they had ducked under the yellow crime scene tape and conducted a brief search of the house, the two worked in silence, going over every inch of the place for clues that could point to Bayliss' accomplice.

After about 30 minutes of checking the floorboards for secret hiding places, Ziva frowned, glancing around the room. "Tony, she started, as she walked over to the kitchen counter, visible from the large living room. "That wine bottle. It was not here yesterday, was it?"

Tony looked up from where he was looking through the bookcase. "No, no it wasn't. Bag it."

The two looked at each other. "Someone has been here," Ziva said slowly.

"Whoever it is, they're not here now."

"True," she agreed, bagging the full bottle of merlot and going back to the floor, picking at a loose floorboard for a few minutes. "But Tony," she finally continued, "That is the only thing that has changed. If someone had been here, would we not notice something else? A stray hair, food?"

Tony looked at Ziva, crouched on the floor, right arm draped over her knee. "Sooo, maybe he came home, nice bottle of wine for a relaxing evening, saw that the place had been clearly invaded by cops, and hightailed it out of here." He went back to examining the bookcase.

"But why would he leave the wine? Wouldn't he have taken it with him, instead of wasting time wiping prints?"

"Maybe he forgot?" Offered Tony, his eyes still trained on the books, checking for hollows or hidden notes.

Ziva shook her head. "He is too smart for that, Tony."

Tony stopped, half joking as he spoke. "Boy, I hope I didn't miss him hiding in here. Boss will kill me if I do that again."

Ziva stood up quickly, unsettled by Tony's joke. Immediately, she was hit by the burning blackness that caused her to sway on her feet. She reached out quickly, grabbing the back of the couch as she fell forward.

"Ziva!" Tony rushed to her side, grabbing her arms to help her stand.

'I just...I just...need a minute," she stammered, trying to shake Tony off of her.

He refused to budge, and instead, led her to the couch. "Sit." He ordered.

To Tony's surprise, she complied. He placed a hand on her knee, which she also did not refuse.

"You have got to start taking care..."

"I am fine, Tony."

He bowed his head for a moment, sadly, at those three little words she had been repeating from the moment they left Somalia.

"What did he do to you, Ziva?"

A flash of surprise crossed her face. She turned to face him, her head slightly cocked to the outside.

"Was it Bayliss? What happened in the warehouse?"

"You and I have been in plenty of….. 'difficult' situations before."

"So, Saleem?"

Ziva sighed. Tony was relentless. "We can't change the past, Tony. I have accepted what happened and have moved on." He started to speak, frightened by the cold tone in her voice, but she interrupted him, a bit softer and more convincing this time. "It has been difficult, yes, especially recently. But…you have got to…. trust me…for once."

The words stung Tony. Is it time, he thought? Are we going to hash out Rivken? The weight of his death had hung like a thick wall between the team, most of all Tony and Ziva. And now, it seemed to be splintering from the center, peeling off thick, sharp splinters that jabbed at their raw insides.

Tony retreated. As much as he wanted to lay it all out, he was frankly terrified that the discussion would leave their relationship irreparable, closing the door for good.

So he addressed the surface. Tightened his hand on her knee.

"I can't stand to see you not eating and sleeping. I'm half afraid that if I touch you I'll break something, you're so small."

She was looking at him, and her eyes spoke. Despite the pain and the damage, he saw a glimpse of something that told him Ziva still lived.

"I can't...I can't handle what you went through. The way it makes me feel." He clenched his teeth. "What it makes me want to do to Saleem if he weren't already dead."

She placed her hand over his, still resting on her knee. For the first time, Ziva began to absorb how the events in Somalia affected others besides her. Her voice was low. Husky. "I know, Tony. I know."

She stared at their clasped hands for a moment, wondering why Tony was being so nice, so caring to her. She had yet to apologize for pulling a gun on him in Tel Aviv, had yet to talk to him about…Michael.

Tony put a hand to her face, shifting her so that their eyes met, lips within inches of one another. "Were you raped?"

And the wall went back up, leaving shards of splinters in its wake.

How quickly her eyes moved from his was the only answer he needed. Another little piece of him broke inside as Ziva pulled from his grasp. "Let's finish and go," she said.

…..

Next Time…

She shivered and blinked heavily, looking at the two men. The sunken cheek bones, the dead eyes, the slumped shoulders. The defeat. Tony, for a brief second, was almost taken back to Somalia himself.

And then she couldn't breathe.

...

Hey all, hope you liked today's chapter! Lot's of Tony and Ziva today :) I'm already planning out the next few chapters - lots of good stuff - Tiva moments, hurt/comfort and more coming your way! I'm super busy at work though and going out of town for a few days, so PLEASE reply and I will keep posting reguarly. It's knowing how much you all enjoy this that gives me motivation to write every day :)