16 You really have to take this call

Seeing her face, Ducky knows better than to ask. Ziva comes into his arms briefly, and he feels the shudder that runs through her taut body. But she has done her crying in the field and she has no tears left. She shakes her head when he offers her food or drink, and again when he offers to go in with her. It is his turn to shake his head when she asks, "Tony?"

"My dear girl," is all he can manage. "My dear, dear girl." He isn't sure which girl he is referring to, for it seems they are both gone. And so he resumes his vigil outside the ICU room after she goes in.

There are no outside windows in the room. She has no idea how late it is, how long ago she had left all hope behind in that field. She can see, without Ducky telling her, that Tony is worse. His hand is no longer bloody, but it is lifeless, hot and dry, and his eyes dart restlessly behind his lids but do not open.

She had been so sure that bringing Becks to his room would solve everything. Now she is certain that he won't last the night. Perhaps it's best. She won't have to look at Tony and tell him that Rebecca is gone. And Rebecca won't be alone out there. Perhaps Tony would not have wanted to live in a world without his Becks. "If you want to go," she says softly, "go. I understand."

"Go?" he mutters. "I have a meeting at 10."

"Tony? Can you hear me?"

His eyes open at last, but they are too bright, a little unfocused. "You don't have a dentist appointment."

The nosiest man in the world. "No," she says. "I don't. I will stay right here."

"Campfire at 10. Don't be late."

"I won't be."

He frowns. "There's a shark. But I can't remember."

"There is no shark."

"Shark. Why can't I remember?"

"You have seen Jaws too many times."

"I have to remember."

"Don't worry. Tony, please look at me." He does, finally. "I love you."

He frowns again. "Is it leap year?"

This makes no sense to her. So she shushes him and strokes his coxcomb hair, still bristly. And then his hand tightens on hers, crushingly hard, and his eyes are open and focused. "Becks. I lost her," he says. "I lost her. The car."

"You didn't lose her," she says. "We found her hours ago. She's fine."

"Ziva. I lost Becks. I couldn't hold onto the car."

"She's fine. Gibbs is here. She's fine. I'll bring her to see you in the morning when you're better."

She has never lied to him well. He has always pried out even her small secrets. She smiles for him and hopes she's doing better this time. But it feels false to her, and it must to him. "I lost her," he says again. "Becks. I lost her."

"She's fine. Please, Tony, just rest. She's fine. I'll bring her to you in the morning."

The urgency goes out of him, and he mutters once more, "Campfire. Very important."

"We will all be there, Mr. Large and In Charge."

"You lucky woman." He smiles, almost like his real smile, and looks at her. "You don't have a dentist appointment."

"No, and you are the nosiest man in the world. Just close your eyes and rest a bit. I will be right here."

His grip loosens but not entirely, and she tries to tell herself it's a good sign.

x x x

Abby, too, goes into Ducky's arms, but she doesn't launch herself at him as she usually does. "It was awful. Awful, awful, awful. And we have nothing."

Abby looks at the ICU, but Ducky shakes his head. "Leave her be for now." She and McGee go for coffee.

Gibbs and Ducky watch the still figures in the ICU room. "How is he?"

"Worse. But we shall know for certain in the next few hours."

"Will she make it, Ducky?"

"If Tony lives she has a chance, I think. She survived Somalia."

"She didn't have Tony then."

"Of course she did. She knew he had gone to Somalia for her. After that it was inevitable."

"I seem to remember them both dating other people."

"Dating isn't love."

"You're turning into a romantic, Ducky."

"I'm 76 years old. I'm entitled. We see so many awful things in our line of work that it becomes easy to forget the power of the good things. The beautiful things. So I'll enjoy my late romanticism." He sighs. "Is there no hope for Rebecca?"

"There's hope. I don't know how much. I keep feeling like there's something I've seen but can't quite remember, and that's the piece I need."

"The presque vu, as the French would call it. The almost seen. What we catch out of the corner of our eye."

The MTAC conference. Why is that always in the corner of his eye? But now it is McGee in the corner of his eye, juggling two coffees and a phone. And then coffees are dropped, and McGee is running, right into the ICU. "Ziva, you have to take this call."

She turns, cold and furious. "I am not taking any calls. Especially if it's that sick, gloating bastard."

"Ziva, you really, really have to take this call." McGee puts it on speaker and holds it up.

"Mommy, where are you? I'm home. Why aren't you here? Where's Babbo? Where's Ducky?"