Forgot to mention, chapter one had Tags to "Flesh and Blood" This one has Tags to "Truth and Consequences" Please Review!
I'm sweating. I like it though, builds character and saves money on air conditioning if I never use it. I don't hear the footsteps, which tunes me in to who might be at my stairs next. She's silent as a cat and she knows it. I continue with my sanding of the boat.
She clears her throat. I turn around to see her. The tall athletic Israeli woman stands before me. Her back is straight. She looks me dead in the eyes. This girl will not show it if she's scared. But she doesn't know that the look in her eyes tunes me into what she's feeling.
"Nice seeing you here Agent David" I state, wiping my hands with a nearby rag.
"Yes, well this is your house" Ziva states coldly. Her humor is not lost on me and I smile a bit.
"I guess it is." Ziva is stone still, watching me as I pour some bourbon into another emptied out screw holder. I offer it to her by holding it out. She declines. "Take it Ziva." I order and she does, "So, what is it you want to talk to me about?" I edge, sitting on my workbench.
"What makes you think I came to talk?" Ziva asks, sometimes she's like looking in a mirror of myself, one with more feminine features.
"Well, you sure as hell didn't come here to watch me sand my boat again." I state sipping the last of my bourbon from my cup.
"I didn't. Gibbs, I need to talk to you."
"What's on your mind?" I ask, crossing my arms and looking at her as sternly as she stares at me.
"It is about my…capture…" She states bluntly and expects me to say something. But I pour more of my signature bourbon in her empty storage cup. She takes it between her lithe but deadly hands and her coffee brown eyes lock on to me in an unbroken gaze. I set my sander down.
"What about it?" I ask, keeping my voice flat.
"I did not deserve to be rescued." I look at her questioningly.
"What do you mean? You're part of my team Ziva. You work with NCIS. You're worth saving from God-knows-where!" I slam my empty bourbon cup down and Ziva goes to fill hers.
"It's not that simple" Ziva avoided eye contact with me. Instead, taking a strong swig of her bourbon and pouring herself another glass.
"What could it possibly be that you're not telling me?" I growl, something I could do with Ziva without restraint. She had to be one of the emotionally strongest people I know.
"In Somalia…" Ziva started but couldn't bring herself to finish. This isn't the Ziva I know. I take her firmly by the shoulders, in doing so she lulls her head to one side in a slow response. I can tell she's drunk.
"What. Happened." I command.
"People are like birds Gibbs, they are so fragile, but in the right light they can soar high above the sky…" Ziva rambles. I can tell she's drunk as she finishes her last drink of the night.
"What are you saying Ziva? What happened in Somalia?" I ask, shaking her a bit.
"I was taken advantage of Gibbs! They raped me!" She spits out and screams. "It was my fault! I let them! I let them tie my hands and use me!" I stand there dumbstruck. She starts crying. There are very few times where I've seen Ziva cry. It's probably because she is wasted but the pain is genuine. I take her chin in my hands, trying to comfort her.
"You were drugged most of the time. How do you even know?" I ask, in my mind I hope it's just the alcohol talking, but the look on her face says otherwise.
"I could feel it Gibbs!" She yells at me. I let her cry into my shoulder as she whispers words in Hebrew that even if I knew the language I wouldn't be able to understand. She gains her composure quickly as she stands up as straight as she can with the alcohol inhibiting her motor functions. "I must look like some crazy baboon!" Ziva exclaims.
"You don't." I all I say back to her, ignoring her slipup with the saying. That was all that needed to be said. She is quiet for a few moments and we both felt uneasy in the still air. "Did you take a…. or…are you…?" I start to ask, not wanting to say it out loud. Ziva shakes her head.
"No. I took 4 tests and drank 3 cups of coffee. I am not pregnant," She states. A wave of relief washes over me. But the scars still sting her.
"I can set you up with a psych evaluation…" I offer even though I know it will be declined.
"I don't need one of those silly tests. I am fine I just needed to tell you." She shrugs her shoulders stumbling a bit and bracing herself with my unfinished boat. "Nice chunk of wood…" Ziva smiles in an inebriated way. "You should make boats for a living."
"Na," I state the opposite. "They take too long and the pay isn't too good." I respond. She looks at me with that unbroken stare. "And the solitude can really get to ya sometimes" She nods. "Let's go upstairs, I think I still have some tea from last time you were over and I'll make the couch." I lead her gently up the wooden stairs and turn the light off to the basement. The bourbon and the boat will be awaiting their next visitor.