Chapter 8
Control
Ziva's POV
The next day starts out as usual - run, tea, banter, busywork, and a paper wad war that Tony pulls McGee reluctantly into, then Gibbs walks through, "Dead Marine . . . Grab your gear." He slaps Tim's head as his paper wad of mass destruction is still airborne. I was Switzerland in the war this morning so Gibbs lets me drive to punish the guys. The trip to the crime scene is business as usual. Tony cries shotgun and tries to find the most annoying channel on the radio, which earns him a head slap from behind. McGee is fumbling with the sat nav trying to yell out directions to me, while Gibbs shoots me menacing looks every time his coffee comes dangerously close to spilling on his lap. Ducky is following in the ME van since Palmer is off today and cannot navigate for him.
As we pull up Gibbs gives us our marching orders.
"DiNozzo, perimeter, McGee, bag and tag and Ziva pictures and sketches."
"On it, Boss," is the unified response. The guys extract gear while I twist and tuck my hair in my hat. I grab the camera bag and lead the way to the crime scene.
I walk into an abandoned barn on the property. My pulse momentarily quickens in the darkness, then stills, at least until I enter the small room in the back. What I see in this dank prison paralyzes me. The poor woman had been chained, whipped, and likely sexually assaulted by her captor.
McGee is moments behind me and bumps into me, jolting me back to reality. "Oh, sorry, Ziva." He walks towards the body while I stay near the room's perimeter. Can he hear the pounding of my heart? How could he not? He never looks up at me, just remains business as usual. I cannot take my eyes away from her, this tough brunette marine. I cannot keep from seeing my face on the victim, feeling her pain as I will myself to breath. I pull out the camera despite my sweating palms and try to take pictures, failing to convince myself that the camera lens can shield me from the terror. Come on, Ziva, regain your composure, you have calmed yourself at all the other scenes, this should be no different.
McGee begins his analysis, and I am thankful for the noise that competes with the THUMP THUMP that reverberates throughout my body.
"Looks like she's been here for a while judging by the chain marks on her wrists." Then a few seconds later, "There's a lot of dried blood. She really went through hell."
My hands betray me and will not be stilled. I try several more pictures and as much as I want to ignore the tremors, I cannot do anything to impede the investigation. This honorable woman deserves justice and I cannot submit blurry pictures as evidence. I do not want to swap with McGee and again taint myself with evidence of such a crime, but I see no other option.
In my hesitation, I feel a strong hand on my shoulder. I flinch away impulsively, then I calm as I register the source and submit to its touch.
"Ziver, let me do this. Go outside and help DiNozzo." I see such compassion in his eyes as he takes the camera from my hands and guides me out the door. I follow in a daze, thankful for Gibbs' intuition. I walk outside and can control myself no longer. I walk behind the barn and retch, doubled over. My whole body shakes, I have lost control.
A hand touches my back, the place where whips once tore my flesh and I curse myself for flinching again at the touch of an honorable man. Tony withdraws, then tenderly rubs my back only after he knows that I have registered the familiarity. I try to concentrate on Tony's gentle voice and comforting touch. I try to overcome what must be some sort of full-blown panic attack, but I cannot. I empty my stomach again. Hot tears are streaming and will not stop. I take off my hat in an attempt to cool myself and Tony sweeps back my hair incase I retch again. I continue to shake out of control. I am out of control. I need control. I will myself to be sensible and imagine myself anywhere but there. I cannot. There is no escape. I am out of control. All goes white. The tremors subside. I feel nothing.