Chapter 18
Hope
Gibbs POV
I was wrong. Resilient is too mild a word to describe her. I had every intention of marching her right out the door when I saw her come in today and making DiNozzo suffer for not taking care of her, but here I am, walking her back into the office myself. I really don't know if I should be proud or frustrated. I slightly shake my head at the thought.
I've been doing a lot of that lately.
She's never been predictable. I knew Ziva would talk to Tony so she could get out of seein' a shrink but I had expected her to bully him into as little conversation as possible. I must have been wrong because her defenses are down. I thought she'd fight me tooth and nail, but she's accepting limitations and according to his conversation with Tony outside of autopsy, she's been downright open.
Tony crossed his arms, leaned against the wall, closed his eyes and sighed, probably louder than he meant to. I waited. Tony always has to get things talked out and it had to have been an intense day for him. He doesn't do intensity well. He looks terrible, almost as bad as Ziva does.
"She did talk to me, Gibbs, I mean really talked. I don't know how helpful I was, but aside from being worn out, I think she really does feel better. I know you're not happy with me right now for bringing her in. I tried to talk her out of it, believe me, I even bribed her with musicals but nothing worked."
I didn't respond, just waited for the next wave.
"What was I supposed to do? You know how she gets when she's determined and after yesterday I just didn't want to boss her around. I couldn't demand that she not come, or force her to stay away. She respects you since you have that whole distinguished looking boss thing going on, so if you order her home she'll go, otherwise I don't know what else I can do to convince her."
He started to wrap things up. . .
"Thanks for letting me stay with her. If I'd stayed at the crime scene I wouldn't have been able to concentrate on the case anyway." He slyly shifted his eyes towards me to check my expression. It had not changed, but inside I was trying not to laugh at his obvious attempt to test the "rule 12" waters. That was the least of my concerns. "What do you want me to do from here, Boss? Will I be driving her home, working the case, or keeping her drowning in paperwork?"
"Depends on Ducky but I'm guessing you'll be taking her home. Beyond that I don't know." I turned towards him, "DiNozzo, you look like crap. Maybe I'll put you on quarters too."
He didn't protest.
We stood in silence until the doors opened and Ducky waved me in and, I admit, surprised me with his assessment.
"Seriously! You were there and saw how bad she was, how can you say she's okay to be here?" I gave him the death stare. It got the message across, but it never has an effect on Ducky.
"Jethro, I do not make this recommendation lightly, I did do an exam and talked with her at length, and I would advise you to do the same. I'd wager that those pleading eyes will have the same effect on you as they have had on Anthony and myself, despite your determination otherwise.
I know this hasn't passed in a matter of a day. She'll still be reserved, and really I can't blame her. We're cut from the same cloth, and I cannot expect her to change anymore than I expect myself to. Pain has a way of driving us, making us better. The difference is that she is my responsibility. Some of my traits I wish I could spare her from. Do as I say, not as I do. In this case, I make no apologies for the double standard. Her pain is raw, and different than anything I went through. She's reached a breaking point and I have to order her to cope. Not an easy thing to dictate, but at least Tony and McGee will help and they're much better at that stuff than I am.
I've had to rethink how I manage the team since she came to us and I still don't know if I have it right. One thing that I have finally figured out through this is that Ziva and Abby may not be so different after all. They need the same thing but for different reasons. Abby craves affection and Ziva shies from it. She doesn't want it but she needs it. All this touchy-feely stuff is not my thing any more than it is hers, but it's worth a shot if it may help her. I don't want her to ever cringe at one of our hands again, and the only way I can think to work on that is to make sure I touch her now and then, especially at crime scenes until it becomes normal for her, and me.
With that thought I slowly lift my arm and put it around her shoulders and she does not stiffen or pull away. There may be hope for us yet.