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At first the beeping was annoying. Like an insistent tick, it kept going, pounding on his mind. Soon, though, it became soothing. It told him she was still alive; that even though she looked lifeless and empty in that stark white bed, she was still there. Somewhere.
He couldn't explain the relief he'd felt when she'd woken that second time. And he couldn't explain the terror he'd felt when she woke up the first time. A screaming, vulnerable, panicked Ziva was not one he had ever known. Nor was it one he had ever wanted to know.
Now perhaps the more annoying tick was that of the clock on the wall. It denoted seconds, all the time she wouldn't talk. All the time he'd try to fill the silence with chatter about movies.
All the time he'd remember that day when they'd found her.
He'd been overwhelmed by the amount of people that were willing to risk their lives to help save someone they'd never met. Tony had supposed it was because so many people had owed Gibbs favours. Also surprising was the fact that they weren't all his old marine buddies. They were young too. It was strange that someone as gruff and distrusting as Gibbs had so many people to call on in a time of need.
The wait had been the worst. Waiting. Wondering. Hoping.
Then the rest had been quick. So fast that he'd barely had his time wrap his head around one moment before the next came and left. One second they were outside and then they were in and shooting. He'd only had room one thing in his mind. Find Ziva. There were eight casualties, all men part of the cell. Another twelve were injured and any survivors were cuffed immediately and later flown to DC. Within Gibbs' little army there were no deaths, but many injuries. They all were taken to a close hospital and treated immediately.
It was only when they got into that room did they see the full extent of what had happened to Ziva. She had been beaten so badly half her face was swollen and her legs and arms were scarred and burnt.
That wasn't the worst thing though.
No, the worst thing was the look in her eyes; haunted, like the world could never be good again. She'd seen him and just stared with this look that would stay with him forever. It spelled one thing- defeat. When he lifted her up she was a dead weight, gone to the world, but she was alive and that was all that mattered.
Now he couldn't stop thinking about everything that had happened. Killing Rivkin. Israel. Her disappearing. Somalia.
He wondered if she'd be angry still. He didn't know if he'd blame her. After all, he'd killed her boyfriend.
And yes, she'd been awake at times, but he figured she was far too out of it to even realise his presence. After the first time she'd awoken she had barely said anything apart from greetings and the occasional "I am fine," or "No, I do not need any more morphine."
It worried him that she could be so distant.
He was broken from his reverie by the door opening. What he saw made his heart sink.
"Where is her room?" Eli David demanded as he made his way to Gibbs.
Gibbs stood up in response, but said nothing.
"Where?" David all but yelled.
Gibbs spoke in an icy tone. "Are you asking as a father or a director?"
There was a moment of silence; the was tension palpable in the stark white hallway. Then David softened. "She is my girl. I wish to make sure she is alright. And..." he trailed off for a moment, "...to make amends. I have not been a very good father in recent years."
Gibbs observed David critically for a moment before pointing to a room on his right. Tony looked up as the two men stepped in, dismay clearly displayed at the intrusion.
"Ziva," David said, ignoring the other man and rushing over to his daughter's bedside. "You are safe." He brought her hand to his lips. "I am so glad."
Ziva, although awake, said nothing. She just eyed her father critically.
As if suddenly acutely aware of his audience, David turned to Tony and Gibbs. "I would like a moment alone with my daughter," he said.
Gibbs turned and left the room, reasoning with himself that David could do nothing to her at this point and after a moment of hesitation, Tony followed.
With the door firmly shut, Ziva finally spoke in a gravelly voice. "Are you done pretending now?"
He turned to her, surprised. "My daughter, why would I pretend to be concerned for you?"
She laughed without humour, and with her dry throat it came out as more of a cough. "Please stop, father. We both know you do not really care. Agent Gibbs and Agent DiNozzo have left now. You have no business lying to my face."
David wiped his face of emotion. "You really do not believe I care?"
"No," she said without hesitation. "I do not believe you ever have. At least not since Tali's death."
"That is not-"
"You spoke of a plan before you sent me away," Ziva said, cutting him off mid-sentence. "I now know what it was."
He looked down at her fragile body and then at her face. He found himself surprised at how blank her expression was, how carefully devoid she was of emotion. It did not match the malice in her words. "Yes?"
She paused, as if collecting her words, then launched into her theory. "You sent me to Somalia knowing I was to be caught. I should have known from the beginning. It was clear, surely, that I had no chance. Rivkin would have informed them of everyone at Mossad, especially the woman he had shared a bed with." She did not feel uncomfortable talking to her father of her sex life. After all, he was barely a father to her anyway. "You knew this. So you sent me in."
"Ziva, are you saying I just wanted you killed?"
She shook her head, silencing him. "No. But I do not believe you would have lost sleep over it if I had of died."
He began to protest, but she silenced him once again with her hand. "I am not going to talk to you about that. It has been a long established fact," she said, her expression not wavering. After a second, she continued, "When I was captured you knew I would be tortured. Tortured for information. You knew there was a cell operating, but you lacked information. You didn't know what they wanted. Any information you received from Rivkin you had to deem unworthy of your time so you needed a new informant. Me."
"Ziva, that-"
She cut him off again. "Your new informant, however, had to be unaware they were doing it. And you knew that if I were to be tortured for information they would ask questions. Questions that would tell you what they wanted."
"That is ridiculous, Ziva. You could have been killed-"
"And that," she continued, "is why you sent the necklace to NCIS. To get them involved."
David snorted. "NCIS is incompetent. I could never have relied on them-"
"You say that, Director, but you don't believe it. You've seen them in action. You know what Gibbs is capable of when he sets his mind to it."
There was another moment of silence; a pause that seemed to stretch for years.
Then Ziva smiled. Well, as well as she could in her state. "I am right, yes?" she said, a challenge in her eyes.
David was silent for another moment. Then, "You are far smarter than I give you credit." He looked over her body. "Stronger too. I am proud."
She scoffed. "Of course you are." Sarcasm laced her words.
He didn't bother to console her. Instead he said, "Well?"
"Well what?"
"What did you find out?"
With a wry smile, knowing that she had outwitted the man she had looked up to for so long, she told him. He left without another word, knowing that anything he said would just disappoint her.
It was a strange relationship they had where comfort led to upset.
Anyway, he had work to attend to.
When Tony and Gibbs entered her room once again, after watching David's departure, she was back to her stoic, silent self.
One thing was certain, David brought nothing but trouble.
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