Author's Note: Let's hear it THREE times for the readers that KEEP this going. Without it, this fic would not be what it is. Thanks for the reviews and enjoy the chapter! Catch ya on the flip side, LATER DAYS.-Geek.
Chapter 28: The Meeting Outside
Posted up, against a piece of wood that belongs to the front-side of his house, Ziva waits with her arms crossed protectively in front of her. Her lips are pursed; her teeth grinding against each other. Keeping her head in the same position, she moves her eyes and studies the soft glow that casts an impression on his lawn, most likely shining through an open window from his keeper on the inside.
Another confrontation with Abby had not been on her hectic schedule, but having her second confrontation with Abby had happened anyway. Directly on top of Gibbs' front porch, Abby fought her greatest fight for the second time, and won. The only reason for the slight tremor in her bones had been caused from the force in-which Abby had slammed the front door in her face.
She took Abby's rudeness, but it never did sit quite right with her. As if she, herself, had an unexpected epiphany all of her, she came to understand that her only way of keeping some sort of control had been to fight for her right to tell her story-and in full. Not to Abby, not to the rest of the team, but to the one that needed to hear it the most.
A shadow blocks the light that is streaming through the window, but Ziva welcomes the darkness. She inhales and closes her eyes, trying to rid herself of the last stubborn tremor that still invades her body.
Inside she can hear Abby's loud wreckage coming from a must-be ancient music player Gibbs probably proudly keeps in his possession. She imagines the Goth dancing and prancing around like one of Santa's reindeers; crafting tiny wood people with her most-likely hidden talent to build like the man who claims her as his favorite. Several chilled beers with their long necks turned up-right as her darkly painted lips take repeated chugs. Her attire is not hers either; she knows it belongs to Gibbs as she remembers it from some time ago. A shirt that reminds him of the Marines and all the experiences that came during that time period in his life; his own, his people, and his family. His perfect moment of pride, love, and honor-she wears it, because she can.
She disregards thinking what is underneath because there is no regard what-so-ever. His shirt hangs past her hips; large and ever-so-roomy-because she still can picture her. It is the perfect one-piece outfit for a good night's sleep, and vividly Ziva wonders which side of his bed, Abby cheerfully crawls into at night.
She knows of the error in her thoughts, but she can not find the strength to stop her mind from spiraling out of control. It wants into a private world she honestly has no business having any knowledge of nor part of.
Tonight he returns; his week in the hospital already lived and already behind him physically. The time is now-she must continue where they were forced to leave off that one day in his hospital room. That one day where Abby came barreling through the doors of the hospital itching to soak up every waking minute he had before another roundabout with an injection of a type of painkiller. Within seconds she robbed Ziva of her desperately-needed break-through-and that is something Ziva will not take the blame for.
With his left-bandaged-hand, he slams the car door of Ducky's classic vehicle. Clearing his throat, he tries to shake the lectures from his mind because the splitting headache he developed is more important to him.
Groaning, he watches the wheels of Ducky's car spin out of his driveway. Not even the engine of his car makes an impact on his head because Abby's music hammer is loud enough to make several more cracks in his respectfully aging house and his respectfully aging head.
"Damn it." He curses under his breath; wanting to blast through his front door and scream her name in earnest, but knowing better than to shatter her excitement of his return.
So he continues to walk until his feet reach the first step of his front porch. The humid air catching him right in the face as he fishes around for his house key.
"A knock will do."
Ziva steps from behind the darkness, knowing that the censor light from his front porch will notify him of his unexpected visitor incase he has forgotten the sound of her voice.
He only stares at her; nothing in his eyes can be easily read by her and he hangs on to the reality that this is the only way for him to desperately hold on to some sort form of control.
"She won't hear it."
"Then perhaps her position is no longer welcome."
Walking off his front step, he approaches her with such quickness she hardly as time to think of her next sentence, giving him the chance to speak in-turn. "This is my home."
"And she has one of her own, yes?" She questions delicately.
His eyes squint and then return to their original shape and size. "What're you getting at Ziva?" He pauses, but only for a second. "I told her she could be here when that one case revolved around her."
"Understood."
"Good." He snaps.
He turns and begins to walk back in the direction in-which he came. She opens her mouth to say something, but she closes it right back as if it never opened in the first place. Yet as she watches his feet reach the first step, she pushes herself forward, hoping to grab his attention once again.
"But what I do not understand is why she is still here."
He only turns his head; watching her with a glare she is glad of creating at this point in time. "How has she earned all of these privileges?"
"Excuse me?" He blinks at her; his glare disappearing, but his eyebrows growing more shapely than they naturally are.
"Of course I know my words hardly mean a thing-"
"Then why bother opening your mouth in the first place, Ziva?"
"Because I can." She stresses the word, hoping he will give her any benefit of any doubts he has about her. "Because I will, damn it, Gibbs-I need to speak to you…alone…without…interruptions. I deserve that."
"Who are you to tell me what you deserve?" He steps off his front porch for the second time that night. "What'd you really come here for, Ziva? You want to step inside to only step back outside-to duke it out?-because I'm sorry to report that I haven't got it in me to go at it with you, again-and again, AND AGAIN right now." His shoulders tense. "DO YOU HEAR ME?" He grunts uncomfortably as he throws his voice to his bedroom window. "GODDAMN IT ABBY, TURN THAT MUSIC DOWN!"
A cat screeches from across the street, but the music only grows louder.
Turning away from her one more time, he jams his hands in his pockets and tries his best to quickly find his set of keys.
"Gibbs, wait!" Ziva calls for him as she tries to make her way over to him before he reaches his front door and enters; shutting her out for the rest of the night and possibly the rest of his life. "This is important. This is…needed…"
Ignoring her, he continues to try and grab a hold of his key ring. The bandages covering his hands make it difficult and so he grunts with frustration.
Ziva notices the trouble he is having and instantly places herself in front of him; her shoulder covering half of the censor light bulb.
"You're in my light!"
"It's the closest I can get to you…" She says lowly, part of her hoping he can hear her and the other hoping he can not. "If I choose to help you will you choose to let me in?"
His eyes are wild as they rip straight into hers. "LET YOU IN?" He begins to pant with frustration and pain; both physically and emotionally.
"In your home." She says easily; mentally kicking herself for chooses that particular form of works. "To…speak to you. That's all I want, Gibbs. I just want to be able to speak to you."
"Get out of here, Ziva." He shakes his head, hoping that this action will make her dissolve in thin air. "Go home-get out of here."
"I do not have a home, Gibbs." Her gut twists as she begins to wonder if he understands how difficult her situation is. The feeling makes her eyes prickle with tears, but she keeps her lips as stiff as she can.
"Don't cry to me." He warns her, but his tone is more nervous than bitter. "Don't…come cryin' to me, Ziva…" He finishes with a shortness of breath. "I can't fix this anymore…I can't…let you in anymore."
His words split her open on the inside, but still her lips never tremble.
"Now get out of my way…and go home…" He shakes his head, knowing that he made a mistake, the same mistake, once again. "…go to DiNozzo's…or McGee's…Ducky's even…just get off my property…just go."
Her eyes no longer sting as the tears spill down her face. Her mouth is small; her lips scared to open.
He feels like the bastard he is labeled to me, but it is his only way of dealing with pain.
"…you gonna go?" He asks without looking at her; his eyes fixed on his shoes.
"…I never knew you to be so cruel…" She swallows the lump in her throat as her quiet words start to bite into him. "I never knew you could deny someone a chance to make things right…" He stays quiet, not knowing how to react. "…in a world that for the most part is completely wrong."
Stepping to the side, she cascades down his front porch; a million thoughts and feelings running a literal muck at a speed she can not entirely tolerate. With their backs facing each other, she wants to speak because she knows that even over the quickened pulse of Abby's music, he is listening to her.
"There once was a man who asked me why I had not asked about you…"
His throat is tight; making it hard for him to swallow.
"…and I told him it would be a waste of time." Her throat tightens. "He told me I was stubborn." She sighs heavily, then sniffles. "Tony told me that it was everything, but a waste of time. He questioned me as to why things were never fixed between us…" Turning around, she faces his back. "…and I told him that, that was the way things were supposed to be."
The next track of Abby's monstrous heavy metal collection bounces off the walls, but neither of the two people on the outside are bothered; their minds too wrapped up in each other to acknowledge anything else.
"…so you told…" He speaks up finally. "…therefore you thought…about me." The slight hope in his voice can not be denied.
She wants to tell him the truth, that she thought about him as frequently as she possibly could. In whatever weather; where the sun would shine or the rain would pour. As she gripped her sniper rifle and murdered human beings from afar because it was simply her duty, as it once was his.
Yet, damages occurred. Too many repulsive events that he never knew existed-too many decisions he would not understand because it was out of his own element.
Turning around, he faces her for the third time that night. His eyes are open, his walls half-way up; showing her that a single word could bring it down completely.
"…Did you think about me, Ziva?" He asks her directly, despite his slight hesitation.
"I thought about all of you." She knows she has failed to give him what he needs to hear, but he has not given her a chance to give him what she needs to tell him-her story.
His eyes flash with disappointment, but his look is too raw; open for her to ever forget.
"We are going around to each circle are we not, Gibbs?" She lifts her eyebrows; waiting with a damp face and bloodshot eyes.
"Yeah…we are…" He looks to his feet momentarily. "We're going around in circles…trying to stab each other in the back…" He straightens his shoulders abruptly; inhaling sharply as his stress level heightens. "…trying to make each other hurt-trying to make each other pay." He looks directly into her eyes. "…trying to make each other crack…cry even…" His eyes soften. "Ziva…what happened to us?"
"We did." She shrugs helplessly. "We happened to us, Gibbs. You…me…our demons…we did this to ourselves."
The front door clicks and Abby appears with her hands over her head; rocking out to the music and rocking out to the moment.
"It is time for me to go now." Ziva says quietly. "As requested."