Warnings: Judgement Day spoilers, details may be a little sketchy as I haven't seen all the episodes and don't know much about her Mossad work, or indeed anything, much. Set just before the end of season 5.
Disclaimer: As before, etc.
I know some people said it would be better off as a one-shot, and I originally intended it as such, but I got inspired. Don't know if anyone but me will like it – it's rather fluffy and cheesy. But hey. It's my story.
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As it happened, they both woke early, long before any of their co-workers were even thinking of getting up – possibly with the exception of Gibbs, who appeared to go almost entirely without sleep.
They were so closely cuddled together that they woke almost simultaneously – neither could have said who began to stir first. Ziva turned over to look at Abby. She wanted to say something – to thank her for everything; to admit it was the best night's sleep she'd had in months; to even begin to admit how she felt. But a mixture of fear and early morning grogginess held her tongue, and instead she grinned weakly.
Abby returned the smile, gently reaching out to cup Ziva's chin in her hand. "How are you feeling?"
Unbelievably happy, for someone who nearly killed themselves last night; but the words still wouldn't come.
"Okay, I guess," she croaked, and immediately kicked herself. The old fallback, the safe answer; since when had she been afraid to tell the truth? Since forever, said the little voice inside her head. Since you started cutting again. Since you began to fall for one of your colleagues.
The Goth sat up, stretched, and swung her legs over the edge of the bed. She began to dig in one of the piles on the floor, throwing over her shoulder a couple of garments. "Your trousers should be okay to wear, but your shirt's wrecked, and you'll need spare underwear. These are clean, I promise."
Ziva tentatively sat up and instinctively looked down at her arm. She winced as she saw that the blood had soaked through and turned the once bleach white bandage pink and red in splodges. Abby saw her looking and came over.
"We need to get that changed. If you get up soon, I'll do it for you before any of the others get in. And we'll have time to talk."
The protest died on her lips as Abby turned her back again and headed out with her own bundle of clothes, presumably to give her some privacy. Having no energy to protest, she did as she was told, glad to see that Abby had produced a normal-looking top and not one of her usual Goth creations. She sat down on the edge of the bed to wait, and her friend soon came back in, hair tied up in its usual fashion and make-up carefully applied. The bed sagged as she sat down next to Ziva.
"Talk." It wasn't a question, but not an order, either; more of a suggestion. Still, Ziva felt compelled to speak. She hesitated for a second, then the words began to fall out, tumbling over each other in her rush.
"It's not the first time, but I guess you knew that already. I used to do it when I was a teenager. I didn't exactly hide it back then. Not just cutting; burning, bruising, anything I could get my hands on, really. I pulled myself together in the end, stopped being a wild child, grew up.
But recently it all came back again. That same feeling – no, feeling's not the right word." She bent her head, frustrated at her usually competent grasp of the language failing her. Then she looked up, straight at Abby.
"Have you ever had a time where all the good feelings disappear? Where the only memories you can recall are bad ones, and nothing makes you feel good, everything just makes it worse? When it feels like you're sinking into a great black hole and no-one can get you out of it again, not even yourself?"
Abby began to nod, then shrugged. "I know what you're getting at; closest I've come was after Kate died. It wasn't quite that bad, but verging on it, I guess."
Ziva nodded. "That's the way it starts. But for me, it gets worse. I start not even feeling sadness, or anger, or even any of the negative feelings. I just feel – oh what's the word? – lethargic, despondent. Not wanting to do anything. Losing interest completely. Then I'm in trouble, because if I don't pull myself out of it, I lose all feeling. I'm completely numb. No happiness or sadness, no hunger, no tiredness, nothing. And it's unbearable, Abby. I lose the will to live, but I don't want to die, either. I don't want to do anything, I don't care about anything. And it comes on at the most irrational times. Nothing bad has happened lately; it's just like a big black cloud that's always hovering on the horizon, waiting to descend whenever I'm beginning to pull my life together.
And the only way I know to feel anything is to self-harm. It's not the only reason people do it: some people do it for attention, and that's a problem in itself; some people do it because they think they deserve to be punished; for some people, it's a control thing; a few people just like the sight of blood. But the rest of us do it to feel anything, at all. Can you understand that, Abby? Can you understand what it's like when feeling anything at all, even pain, is better than feeling nothing?"
She waited for Abby's response. She'd never seen her friend so lost for words, and began to worry that she'd said something wrong, and watched her face anxiously for some clue. Finally the reply came.
"I'm
not sure. I can imagine it, but I'm not sure that's the same as
understanding. But you know what, Ziva? I think it doesn't matter.
I'm here for you, you know that, and we're going to get you
through this. Let's start with today. And let's start today with
getting you a fresh bandage and ready for work."
She stood up
and faced the Israeli, hand outstretched to pull her up. Almost
automatically, Ziva took the proffered hand, and followed her through
to the lab.
Abby tried to make it as easy as possible, but some pain was inevitable; finally she had finished and stood back to inspect her handiwork. "All spruced up and ready to go! The others should be arriving just about now. You'd better go up."
Ziva was surprised at how quickly she was dismissed. Was this the same woman she had shared a bed with the night before, who had held her hand and comforted her while she cried? Hurt and puzzled, she turned to go, and was just outside the elevator when she heard her name being called. She turned, and saw Abby running full speed towards her. She found herself engulfed in a bear hug, and then there was a kiss on her cheek and a gentle push into the open lift.
When she emerged into the squadroom, she found McGee already seated at his desk. He gave her no more than a passing glance and a smile before returning to his beloved computer. Ziva sat down and booted up her own computer, smiling gently to herself. For once, everything was going to be okay.
(Any opinions?)