Running to Forget—Chapter Three:
Late Afternoon
The hour-long car ride back to DC had been filled with DiNozzo antics that on a good day would have caused her to contemplate a variety of ways in which to kill him, but today she simply rolled her eyes and stared out the window in silence. At one point she had glanced up after a particularly loud vocal interjection from DiNozzo, unwittingly locking eyes with Gibbs as he glanced worriedly in the rear-view mirror at her. Shaking her head subtly she hoped Gibbs would leave it be for the moment.
Upon returning to the Navy Yard, McGee immediately went to his desk and began accessing database after database with DiNozzo hovering over his shoulder. Ziva locked her gun away in her desk and headed towards the ladies room, hoping that she could get there without being waylaid by her boss. Out of the corner of her eye she saw Gibbs maneuvering away from his desk, quickening her pace she almost made it before an arm appeared at eye level in front of her, cutting off her approach. Letting out an exasperated sigh she turned to look into the face of one Leroy Jethro Gibbs.
"Yes, Gibbs?" Arching an eyebrow, attempting to put up a strong front, Ziva struggled to keep her breathing under control, it would only be a matter of a few more minutes before she would no longer be able to do so.
"Ziva, you are not okay."
"Gibbs, whether I am okay or not is none of your business at this time." With those clipped words Ziva ducked under his outstretched arm and dodged into the ladies room hoping he wouldn't follow. As she groped blindly for the nearest bathroom stall, she heard the door to the bathroom shut behind her, followed shortly thereafter by the click of the lock hitting home. Shutting the bathroom stall door she locked it, and then, leaning against the wall, slid to the floor, her knees held close to her chest by her trembling arms as she desperately closed her eyes waiting for the tidal wave of memories to crash over her conscience. Tears began to run down her face as image after image of Saleem torturing her, of metal heated to red hot intensity burning her skin, of Saleem's men tearing her clothing from her body, of them using her body in ways she would never tell a soul, came crashing over her consciousness in relentless wave after wave. Vaguely she heard the unearthly sound of someone keening, it took her a few minutes to realize that the person keening was her. The moment passed, and Ziva gradually came back to herself as she registered the coldness of the tiled wall at her sweat-soaked back, the industrial fluorescent lighting common to any government building, the bright color of the walls and floor surrounding her, and then, under the wall of the stall she saw the familiar brown combat boots that could only belong to Gibbs. Cursing to herself Ziva began to push off the floor while leaning against the wall, but her legs had turned to jell-o during the flashbacks.
"Don't." Gibbs' softly spoken word halted her attempts at getting up immediately.
"Why?' Ziva's voice held a faint note of challenge, why shouldn't she get up? Why was Gibbs there at all? Why hadn't he left her alone. Why was he still here? The sound of running water was her only answer. Then, from underneath the stall she saw his feet walk across the bathroom and pause beside to door to her refuge. Dumbly she examined his shoes, they were well worn, but there were no visible scuff marks.
"Are you going to open the door?" Her momentary reverie ceased at Gibbs' carefully spoken words. Silently she reached above her head and undid the latch. As the door swung open, barely missing her knees she felt herself flush in embarrassment. How could she have let this happen? She had thought she had it all under control! Not only had she lost it, she had lost it AT WORK, in FRONT OF GIBBS. She wondered how long it would be before she was expected to pack up her desk and leave NCIS. As her mind started running around in circles her attention was caught by Gibbs sliding down and sitting on the floor next to her. Silently he held out a paper cup full of water. Her head tilted in puzzlement, why was he handing her a cup of water? Gibbs' brilliantly blue eyes were full of compassion as he continued to hold out the cup.
"Drink this."
Numbly Ziva reached for the cup, she half-expected him to pull it away, but all Gibbs did was make sure she has a firm hold on it before he let go. A few more minutes of silence passed before he spoke again.
"You talking to anyone?"
"No." Slowly she sipped her water.
"Are you going to talk to anyone?"
"No."
"Why not?"
"What good would it do? It happened. The fact that it happened will not change. I am fine."
An uncharacteristic snort escaped Gibbs. "Yeah, sure, you're definitely fine, in fact, you're so 'fine', you're sitting on the floor of the restroom soaked in your own fear-induced sweat because you like it. You. Are. Not. FINE."
Wincing at Gibbs' words she took a deep breath. "Maybe, I am not 'fine' but I am functioning, I am doing my job, does anything else matter?"
"Ziva" Gibbs hesitated before he continued, "I can't even begin to imagine what it is you went through in Somalia but I'm pretty sure the external scars are only the beginning. You need to talk to someone."
"And lose my job?"
"Who said anything about you losing your job? NCIS may be a civilian agency but there are more than a few of us who are former soldiers, and as former soldiers, there are more than a few of us who have needed to talk to someone because of our past experiences." Gibbs sharply looked over Ziva, her breathing had calmed, the paper cup was forgotten, crumpled in her hands, her coloring, while paler than her usual was closer to normal. "Get up, I'm driving you home."
"But-!"
"Now." Gibbs' tone held a note of steel in it. He held out a hand, careful not to broach her personal space too much, patiently waiting for her to reach out and take it. Hesitantly she reached for his hand, and before she could blink, Gibbs' had pulled her to her feet. In the back of his mind Gibbs noted how very light she felt. The Ziva he knew was petite but solidly muscled, pulling her to her feet Gibbs mentally chastised himself for not noticing that she had never regained the weight that captivity had melted from her body.
"We're stopping for a steak first." With those simple words Gibbs led Ziva from the restroom.