Ziva was asleep again by the time Gibbs returned, and she slept through the night. Ducky came by frequently as the night progressed, to check her bandages and ensure she remained at ease, but he did not sleep in the room as he had during her fever. To the relief of all, she remained comfortable throughout the night, not waking until the light of the mid-morning began to creep through the curtains on the windows.
And when she woke, Gibbs managed to get some soup into her. There was some rote protest from her, but when Gibbs pushed she relented, and her hunger was impossible for her to deny once she took her first sip of the warm liquid. It was just a simple vegetable broth, recommended by Ducky, but Ziva attacked it like it was the last rack of ribs on Earth. Gibbs had to remind her to take it easy, lest her stomach rebel as it had the day after her Rescue. Luckily for him, she listened to his warning the first time he voiced it—she remembered the event as well as he did.
She was able to remain awake for much longer that day, and true to McGee's word, Tony came to visit her, though he was not the only one to drop by. Sergei visited as well, while Gibbs had gone to spend lunch with Tali. He checked her ankles, ensuring his handiwork was holding up, but once satisfied with the stitches he simply sat with her. Ducky and Palmer also visited, outside their capacities as physicians. Ducky regaled her with his usual stories, both pre- and post-Incident, while Palmer stood by and chimed in from time to time.
The only member of the team who did not come by to visit was Abby.
Ziva didn't ask for her, and the others didn't mention it. No one wanted to explain why the scientist had yet to visit her friend—only two were even aware of the reason themselves. Gibbs had an idea, from the conversation they'd had after Gibbs had informed the Council what had happened in DC. And McGee knew from years of knowing Abby, knowing the ups and downs and reading the nuances of her sometimes erratic behavior.
She was apprehensive about seeing Ziva, or more accurately, Ziva's condition. The taller woman had dropped by a few days before, but she hadn't been required to talk with her, or even see her face to face. Aside from the glimpse of her she'd gotten when Gibbs brought Ziva back to Sanctuary, Abby hadn't seen Ziva's face, hadn't seen the scars, or the tattoo, or the bruises that littered her body.
And Abby didn't want to see those scars or those bruises.
It would make it all too real, too tangible. Hearing about what had happened, what little Gibbs had divulged, was more than enough to make her heart break. She didn't need to see the evidence of it as well. But as the day and another night passed, and Abby watched the other Council members come and go, she realized that she was being selfish.
It wasn't about her. It was about Ziva.
It was about being there for her best friend, for helping her during when she needed it the most. Ziva would never ask for help. Abby knew that beyond a shadow of the doubt, which was why she knew she had to be the one to step up, to offer her services as a friend—Ziva's only female friend. But still, the knots in her stomach persisted, twisting her insides whenever she even thought about going down that long hallway to Gibbs' bedroom.
It wasn't until early afternoon the next day, after Gibbs had gone to eat with Tali, that Abby was able to force herself to go up the stairs. She made it to the end of the hallway before her apprehension overpowered her and she hesitated. Just before she passed through the open bedroom door, Abby turned back. She paced halfway back down the hallway before her better sense took hold again. She was being ridiculous. She'd been right there, so close.
Finally, her jaw set in determination, Abby turned back towards the bedroom. But then, before she could cross the threshold, indecision struck once more. This time, however, it was because she'd finally let her eyes rest on her long-lost friend.
She stood motionless in the doorway, staring at the slim figure sitting in the bed. Ziva was alone, Abby could see now, and apparently she hadn't heard Abby's approach. Abby took the opportunity to simply watch her friend, unseen and unheard.
From the doorway's position behind the head of the bed, the scientist could only see the back of Ziva's head. But the curls she had come to associate with her best friend post-Incident were now matted and dull against the curve of her skull, a lackluster shadow of what it used to be.
And that terrified the scientist.
If even her hair was so changed, what would the rest of her look like? Abby was afraid to see. But in hesitating to move into the room, her green eyes focused on the more subtle movements of Ziva's silhouette.
Small hands smoothed over the quilted bedspread, smoothing out imaginary wrinkles. Abby heard Ziva's soft breathing, and to her untrained ear it sounded thick, and quicker than it should have been. But it wasn't until a wrinkle-smoothing hand came up to brush against her cheek that Abby first noticed something was wrong. And when a soft sniff drifted across the room, Abby's suspicions were confirmed.
Ziva was crying.
Her best friend was crying, and doing her best to hide it, despite her perceived solitude.
This time, there was no hesitation, no apprehension. Only overwhelming concern registered in Abby's mind as she stepped over the threshold and crossed swiftly to the bed. A squeaky floorboard caught Ziva's attention a moment before Abby sat beside her, giving her a chance to recognize the taller woman before she settled next to her on the mattress.
Tear-washed brown orbs stared at Abby in a startled, wide-eyed stare that rocked Abby to the core. The vulnerability, shock, and the fragile, tenuous emotions just barely under control that were so clearly evident in Ziva's eyes shocked Abby almost as much as the thick bands of tears that traced down her pale cheeks.
"Abby—" Ziva choked out, her voice nearly strangled by her tears. Abby recognized the tension in her friend's words. She was overwhelmed. "I—"
She couldn't finish, but it didn't matter. She didn't need to, as Abby instinctively wrapped the smaller woman in a gentle but firm embrace. And then the sobs came, wracking both their frames as Ziva sank into Abby, her hands pulling the pale woman closer.
Abby could feel the shoulder of her shirt grow damp from where Ziva's chin rested upon it. She could also feel the sharp lines of Ziva's arms, so thin, pressing into her back. It was too easy to wrap her arms around her friend, and Abby found herself unable to give even half the strength of her usual hugs, for fear of snapping the frighteningly frail woman in two.
"I'm sorry," Abby whispered, the words spilling from her lips without censor. Tears stung her own eyes when Ziva didn't respond beyond a coughing sob. "I'm so sorry I haven't come to see you sooner. I should have been here ages ago. I was so stupid…"
Abby continued to hold Ziva as she shook, murmuring apologies and comforts as she rubbed soft circles across shoulder blades that projected cruelly under her hands. But it wasn't until she pulled back to brush the tangled strands of hair from her friend's damp cheeks, that she saw the full extent of the damage.
She barely managed to keep from gasping out loud. She'd glimpsed the scar before, and the collar, but now the full force of Ziva's scarred visage hit her like a kick to the gut. But it was the look in Ziva's eyes that startled Abby the most. The Ziva of two years ago had been stoic, relentless in her defense of the emotions she saw as a weakness. But now, they seemed to be roiling just below the surface. First and foremost was shame, followed closely by the confusion Abby had experienced herself more than once before.
It was the confusion that always accompanied the realization that the world was changing too quickly for you to keep up. They'd all felt it, in the months following the Incident. But they'd grown accustomed to the change, and the confusion had faded into acceptance. Ziva had been one of the first to lose the confusion, to adapt to their new world. Seeing it returned—it made Abby's heart ache.
"It's okay," Abby told her softly as Ziva's sobs began to fade. "I promise." Pale fingers drifted across once tan skin.
Abby's throat closed involuntarily when Ziva pulled away, grasping her wrists and forcing her hands away.
"Don't, Abby," she said thickly. She wiped her nose with the back of her hand once Abby's hands were clasped docilely in her lap. The scientist waited, nervous, unable to say anything in return. "I'm dirty."
Abby's eyes widened and her hesitation disappeared as she immediately launched into a protest. "No, Ziva. No, you're not. What—"
A soft laugh interrupted her, shocking her into silence.
"Abby, look at me," Ziva said with a wry smile. "I am covered with grime, and I smell—" She gave another choked laugh. "How can you say that I am not dirty?"
Abby blinked, then sighed with relief. "Oh, you mean you're dirty…"
"Isn't that what I said?" Ziva's brow furrowed, making the scar twist grotesquely as it disappeared under her hairline. "I haven't had much trouble with my English lately, and I'm sure I got that one right."
"You did," Abby assured her. "It's just sometimes, some vic—" Abby cut herself short.
She'd come too close. Much too close to calling Ziva a victim. Technically, the scientist supposed, she was, but she couldn't call Ziva that. Especially not when Ziva was right there in front of her, talking about being dirty because of the grime on her skin and not the mentality of being stained. Ziva wasn't a victim, not really. She was a Survivor. Just like the rest of them.
But was that a good thing, or did it mean something else entirely?
Abby pushed that thought from her mind. She wouldn't be the one to bring up those doubts. Nope. No way.
"Never mind," she finished finally. Suddenly, her lips curled into a smile. "I think I can help, actually."
"Help with what?"
"Getting you not dirty." Abby's grin grew when Ziva gave a smile of her own.
It took several minutes for Abby to get everything set up. She found the laundry tub—a large metal thing that was big enough to hold both a stool for Ziva to sit on and the water that would wash away the gritty grime accumulated by months without washing—and dragged it into the bedroom, all while Ziva watched on silently. Abby collected clean cloths and dry towels, as well as fresh clothes from the supply shed for her friend to change into once clean.
The warm water and soap were the last items to be procured before everything was ready. With a gentle hand, Abby helped Ziva swing her legs over the side of the bed. The movement pained the smaller woman, Abby knew by the stiffness in her posture, but she didn't make a sound. Once she was sitting on the edge of the bed, Ziva glanced towards the waiting stool with a wary eye.
"Abby," she said softly, her voice almost too quiet to hear. "I cannot—"
"Oh, you didn't think I was going to make you walk over there on your own, did you?" Abby reprimanded gently. "I was going to carry you, if you didn't mind." At Ziva's slight smirk, she continued. "I know it might not look it, but I've developed some serious upper body strength since you left. Lugging around little kids is not as easy as it looks."
"You mean Tali?" Ziva's tone became the slightest bit hopeful. "You've been the one looking after her?"
"I've been helping," Abby replied carefully. She'd always wondered how she would explain the current state of things if Ziva had ever returned… it looked like now she was going to have to find out. "Gibbs has been doing as much as he can, which is almost everything. He adores her. But, he can't watch her all the time, so when he and Sergei are busy, I keep an eye on her."
Ziva's gaze fell, and Abby saw her shoulders slacken slightly. She stared for a moment, unable to identify what had come over her friend. Was it disappointment? Or shame? In that moment, Abby knew without a doubt that Ziva still cared for Tali, despite having only known her a week before disappearing. Her heart hurt at the thought of the younger woman spending two years thinking about the little girl, not knowing whether her sacrifice had been enough to keep her family alive.
"Look," Abby said, changing the subject before the tears prickling her eyes decided to spill, "let's get this show on the road. Do you need help getting undressed?"
A quiet moment passed as Abby waited patiently while Ziva attempted to pull her shirt over her head. It was barely up to her shoulder blades before she stiffened with a hiss of pain. Abby was at her side in an instant.
"Hey, it's okay," she said. "Don't force it. We have scissors, I can cut your shirt off. We aren't going to keep it anyway."
Ziva gave her the smallest of grins, though her eyes remained hooded with pain. She nodded, and then Abby got to work on the torn garment. In moments it was being tossed to the floor, and a moment later the denim shorts followed. And with another nod from Ziva, her long pale arms gathered the too-light woman up and carried her to the bucket and stool.
Setting her down on the stool as gently as she could, Abby made sure that Ziva could remain upright on her own before pulling away. Skeletal legs rested over the side of the bucket, so as to limit the chance of getting her stitched ankles wet. Seeing her friend's unhealthy frame made Abby's heart twinge painfully, but she refused to let Ziva know she was affected.
It wasn't long before Ziva was shivering in the drafty room, so Abby quickly dipped a clean rag into the warm soapy water.
"I'll start with your left arm okay?" she said gently. She could see the vulnerability Ziva was feeling, in the tension in her shoulders, and the way she refused to make eye contact. Ziva nodded, but didn't move. "Can you give me your hand?"
Brown eyes looked at her then in mild surprise, then focused on the pale hand waiting expectantly. Abby was more than happy to wait until she was ready. Ziva had spent too long having things done to her. If she was going to trust anyone again, it would have to start somewhere. This would be interactive, or it would not happen at all.
Finally, skinny fingers rested in Abby's palm, giving it a trusting squeeze as they did so. Abby smiled, proud that her plan had succeeded. As she began to press the wet cloth against the dirt-streaked skin, she fell back on her distraction of choice—rambling.
"You know, Tali still misses you," she started. For a moment she wondered if she should have started on a topic more neutral, but once she started, she couldn't stop. "I'm pretty sure she almost outweighs you now. She's a lot like you too. She's always running around, can't stand being inside for anything other than sleep. But she's totally sweet. Everyone loves her. She has the greatest smile, and I swear it looks exactly like yours. She was irritable for months after you d—disappeared." Not died, Abby had to remind herself. She hoped Ziva hadn't noticed the slip up.
"She probably doesn't remember me," a soft voice interrupted Abby's soliloquy. She looked up to see Ziva's features creased with regret. "It's been too long. Too many years."
Abby moved the cloth up to Ziva's elbow, and pulled it back down her wrist in smooth strokes that left bare skin in their wake. "It might have been two years, Ziva, and she might not recognize your face. But she knows you."
"What makes you say that?"
"The Shirt," came the simple response.
Ziva looked at her in curiosity. "What shirt?"
"Your shirt," Abby explained. "When you left Tali with me before going to the hospital, the baby was absolutely miserable. She wouldn't stop crying. Finally, I gave her one of your shirts, and she must have recognized your scent or something, because she immediately calmed down."
She dipped the cloth in the warm water again, and then reached up to start on Ziva's left shoulder. But when the smaller woman flinched, the scientist immediately pulled away.
"What's wrong?" she inquired, concern flooding her tone. "Did I hurt you?"
Ziva shook her head. "No, you didn't hurt me," she assured her. "It just, um… I'm a little jumpy, yes?"
Abby could hear the shame tingeing her friend's voice beneath the attempt to disguise it with a question. Her heart went out to the smaller woman, but she sat back on her heels.
"Do you want to take a break?" she asked gently.
Another headshake answered her. "No, please. I'm fine."
Abby nodded, and gently resumed her task. This time, she let the cloth trail up her friend's arm, so that she wouldn't be startled by sudden contact when it returned to her shoulder. Whether it worked or not was uncertain, but this time there was no reaction when the warm water spilled over her skin.
"So," Abby continued easily, "this Shirt. It kept her calm during the first few days of the Evacuation, which was so helpful, let me tell you. I mean, she did start screaming again eventually, and for two weeks she cried whenever anyone but Gibbs held her, but she absolutely refused to give up that damn Shirt. It was like, she knew it was yours, and she wouldn't let go of that last piece of you." She dipped the rag in the water again. "I'm going to start on your back, okay?"
A short nod answered her, and she wasted no time in proceeding. She moved around behind her friend, but kept up her stream of words. She found within moments that the monologue was as much a distraction for herself as it was for Ziva. Because as the dried sweat and dirt and blood was washed away, scars upon scars were revealed. They carved into her friend's back with cruel brutality, and though they were all long-healed, they were painful to even look at. But her words kept the churning bile in her gut from rising to her throat.
"She still carries the Shirt around everywhere she goes. She refuses to part with it to this day. It's a chore and a half just to sneak it away from her to wash it once a month." She grinned. "So even though she might be a little nervous around you at first, she'll remember you. I give it ten minutes before she refuses to let you go."
"I don't think I should see her."
The quiet voice almost didn't register in Abby's ears. But as soon as it did, Abby froze.
"Didn't you just hear what I said?" she asked. "She'll be thrilled to see you. I mean, I understand that you might be a little nervous about seeing her after all this time, I would be too, but you can't live here and not spend time with Tali. First of all, she's absolutely everywhere, all the time. Every single Resident sees Tali at least once a day, and probably averages about five sightings a day. You will see her, and she will see you. And she's really smart, she'll probably figure out that she knows you, and it will be really confusing for her if you don't come clean and tell her how she knows you—"
"Abby." Ziva's voice was suddenly firm, and was enough to quiet Abby's protests. A silent moment passed as the smaller woman gathered herself. "Abby, it would not be right for me to insert myself into her life. She's been happy for the past two years, and she has people who care for her, and love her. Meeting me would only disrupt all that, and even if she did remember me as you said, it still wouldn't be right."
"What do you mean? Of course it would be right. She's your daughter, she's always been your daughter."
"You have been more of a mother to her than I have been. And it will only be more painful for her in the future if she knows who I am. To be reunited, and then torn apart again—"
At this, Abby stood and moved until she was squatting in front of Ziva, grasping both of her hands firmly.
"Stop it," she said brusquely. "Please, don't say that. I know it might not feel like it now, but you're safe here. Nothing here is going to hurt you. Gibbs won't let it. You are safe." Abby tried to look Ziva in the eye, but brown eyes remained stubbornly averted. "Look, Ziva, I don't know what happened to you these past two years, but I assure you it is over. You're free. You're home."
Her words seemed to fall on deaf ears. Unfocused eyes looked away, and Abby recognized the gaze as one of unshared truth. She knew something that Abby didn't. Or, she believed something to be true that she couldn't bring herself to share. But Abby could see it in her eyes nevertheless.
She didn't think it was over. Whatever it was she had managed to Survive, she still expected it to come creeping around the corner.
Well, Abby couldn't really blame her. It would take a while for that sinking suspicion to go away. And Abby knew that they both had the time to let it go away on its own. She'd be patient, but she would definitely be telling Gibbs. Maybe he would have more luck in trying to comfort his wife.
"Okay, well, we'll work on that part," she conceded finally, giving the fragile hands a pat before getting to her feet. "Let's just focus on getting you cleaned up, okay?"
This time, Ziva nodded, and Abby went back to work. She continued to prattle on about whatever came into her head, but was careful to steer clear of potentially sensitive subjects. The dirt came off, and stories of Sanctuary life were shared. Every so often, Ziva would voice a question, but the rest of it was all Abby. She didn't mind. When she progressed to Ziva's legs, she was careful to avoid going too close to her bony hips. She was also conscientious of the stitches holding the severed tendons together, though looking at the patch job made her sigh on the inside. There would be two more scars to decorate her friend's skin when the stitches came out, to match the shiny lines that already crossed her feet and legs.
In an act of fear on her part, she left Ziva's face for last. She tried to put off looking at the scar that crossed Ziva's features as long as possible. It was too gruesome, to horribly violent for Abby to see and not react to it. When she finally got to the softer skin of Ziva's cheek, she'd already had to freshen the warm water twice, so much dirt had come from the scarred skin of the rest of her body.
But as soon as the clean, soapy water dripped down her friend's cheek and over the ridge of her jaw, Abby knew she should have held off on the soap.
A line of sudsy water trailed down to the edge of the brutal metal collar that encircled her throat. And then it disappeared beneath the steel, eliciting a sharp hiss of pain from her chapped lips. She pulled away from Abby's ministrations, even as the scientist moved back herself.
"Oh, Ziva, I'm sorry," she murmured. She set the wet cloth aside, and quickly found one of the dry towels that were sitting ready. She moved to dry offending water from her friend's neck, but before she could make contact Ziva caught her hand in a viselike grip.
"Don't," came the hard command. The sudden change in Ziva's voice made Abby freeze. "Don't touch it." And then as quickly as it had turned to steel, Ziva's tone softened. "It's fine."
Abby hesitated. "Are you sure?"
"Yes," Ziva affirmed, a strained but reassuring smile on her lips. "It only stings. I'm fine."
"I'm sorry…"
"Don't be, it isn't your fault. I'm sorry I frightened you."
"No, you didn't scare me, I just—I'm so scared of hurting you more…" Abby's gaze dropped to her hands. "You probably think I'm being totally ridiculous, because soapy water is probably nothing compared to what you've been through, but—" A cool hand on her cheek made her pause.
She looked up, and saw a small, but honest smile on Ziva's lips. "No, Abby. It is not ridiculous." A calloused thumb began to brush lightly over her cheek. "It's been a long time since someone has taken such care." Brown eyes held her gaze, allowing Abby to see for herself that there was no harm done. "And for that I thank you."
Abby still hesitated, but could hear the honesty in her friend's voice. "You're welcome," she said finally. "But you don't have to thank me. It's what friends do." She grinned. "So you better get used to it."
Ziva smirked. "I'll try," she conceded. "Now, how about we get the rest of me clean, huh?"
"Absolutely," Abby agreed. She made short work of the grime that coated the hollow cheeks, though she was careful to dab at any runaway suds before they could disappear beneath her collar as well. Five minutes later, the bath was done, but Abby hesitated before handing Ziva the fresh clothes that were waiting for her.
"Okay, you have a choice to make," Abby declared.
Ziva smirked. "And what choice is that?"
"Well, we need to do something with your hair. It's totally wrong for you," she embellished, mimicking the stylists they used to watch on TV. "So you get to decide. You want to comb through it and then wash it, or do you want to cut it, then comb and wash?"
Ziva's brows arched in surprise. Clearly, she hadn't expected a dilemma like that. "I don't know," she replied simply. "Am I allowed to defer to your superior knowledge and skill?"
Abby was thrilled to see the twinkle in Ziva's eyes, reminding her of the robust woman the scientist remembered. "That is absolutely allowed!" she exclaimed excitedly.
"And what does the all-knowing Abby decide?"
Abby pursed her lips in thought, her head tilting as she gazed at her friend. Finally, she nodded. "I think we should keep it long. It'll take longer to comb through, but I've always been curious to see what you look like with long hair."
"My hair was rather long before, Abby," Ziva pointed out.
"Well, yeah, but if we cut your hair, we'd have to cut it really short for it to make any difference. Besides, the longer I comb, the longer I have you as a captive audience, and I'm being totally selfish today."
Ziva grinned. "I'm fine with that. I have missed talking with you."
Abby paused, her eyes meeting Ziva's for a moment in surprise. Then, she smiled shyly. "Me too." A moment passed, and then her eyes widened. "Oh! I just thought of something! Will you be okay to wait here for two minutes while I go downstairs to get something?"
Ziva's brow furrowed in confusion, but shrugged. "Sure," she said simply. But then she grinned. "But if anyone walks in on me, it's your head."
"Deal," Abby replied with a grin. She moved to the bed, and then returned, draping a light blanket over Ziva's bare shoulders. "Here, this will keep you warm until I get back. This room gets drafty, and without that layer of dirt for insulation, we don't want you catching cold." Ziva huffed good-naturedly at the taller woman's gentle jibbing.
"Watch yourself, woman," came the teasing response. "Or I will cut my hair after all."
"Alright, alright! Stay here, I'll be right back, okay?"
And then Abby strode quickly from the room, and trotting down the rickety stairs. It took less than thirty seconds to reach the kitchen, and only another twenty to find what she needed. Within ninety seconds of leaving the bedroom, she returned, her footsteps causing a dark head to turn her way.
"Wow," Ziva commented wryly. "That was not even two minutes."
"Well, I knew exactly what I needed," Abby responded. She held up the two bottles. "Oil and vinegar," she revealed triumphantly.
"Oil and vinegar?" Ziva gave her a skeptical look. "You're not planning on cooking me, are you?"
"Ah, no. The oil will help make untangling your hair a little easier."
"And the vinegar?"
"An old Louisiana home remedy for getting rid of hair lice," Abby explained. Ziva merely snorted in derision.
"I doubt anything is able to live in this mess," she commented.
Abby moved closer, setting aside the vinegar in favor of picking up the comb she'd already brought to the room. "Still, better safe than sorry, my nana always said. And don't worry, I've already got clean bed linens too, to put on the bed after we're done here."
"Well, I did defer to the all-knowing Abby."
"That you did. Now hush, and let me get to work."
And got to work she did. The process was painstakingly slow, but Abby was patient. She used the oil to soften the matted knots of hair, and then combed through each one with a gentle hand. The conversation continued easily, flowing without hesitation between the two women. They both laughed and chuckled, Abby was happy to see—Ziva's apprehension from before seemed to have dissipated. And though it took quite a while to get through all the snags, when it was done it seemed as though only five minutes had passed.
"I need to soap your hair now, Ziva," Abby said finally. "I know you don't want anyone touching your, um… your collar—" The word seemed foreign on her tongue, though she'd spent so many years Pre-Incident wearing the damn things. Looking back now, she hated that she had ever thought they were cool. "But what if we tucked a towel around your neck? It'd keep the soap from getting underneath the metal. I bet that thing really chafes, and makes your skin raw, huh?"
Her eyes suddenly widened as she realized what she'd let slip. She desperately tried to backpedal. "I'm sorry, that was insensitive, I shouldn't have said anything—"
"Yes, Abby," Ziva interrupted, a smile on her lips. "It chafes. And the towel is a great idea. Thank you."
Abby smiled sheepishly. "Okay! Great." She handed her a towel. "Here you go, then." Ziva accepted the towel, and handed back the blanket in exchange. The towel wound its way around her neck, beneath her oiled strands of hair.
"Ready," the Israeli told her.
Abby began to pour the warm soapy water over the woman's dark hair, and the suds cascaded over the oiled strands easily. When half the pitcher was gone, Abby set it down. Her long fingers began to massage her friend's scalp, working up a gentle lather. She grinned when she felt Ziva lean into her touch, her eyes closed in satisfaction.
After a few minutes, Abby switched to the vinegar. She poured it into the existing lather, and then began to massage that into the washed strands as well. She then combed through the dark curls one more time, before dousing Ziva's head with the rest of the soapy water. She fetched some fresh water, and then rinsed the remaining suds from the now-silky hair.
"Oh, Abby. That feels…"
"Amazing?"
"Yes. That, and every other complimentary adjective in the English language."
"Just English?" the scientist teased.
Ziva grinned, her eyes still closed. "Hm… Arabic too. I'll save the Hebrew for when I can take a real bath."
Abby laughed. "Fair enough." She toweled some of the excess moisture away.
"So," Ziva continued, "am I clean enough to put some clothes on now?"
"Sure," Abby agreed. She handed her the clothes that had been procured for her. "The shirt is a button-up, so you shouldn't have any trouble getting into it, and I found you a skirt instead of pants…" She received Ziva's wrinkled nose of disgust with a grin. "Yeah, I know, but it'll be easiest to put on, and it'll leave your ankles bare so that Sergei won't have to wrangle with cuffs in order to check on them."
Ziva muttered something unintelligible in return, but the grin never left her lips. She put the clothes on as best she could, and allowed Abby to help keep her steady as she struggled to pull the skirt over her hips. The shirt, as Abby had predicted, was easy enough to put on. Soon, she was fully dressed, and toweling off her hair as Abby busied herself with changing the bedclothes.
"You'll want to burn those," Ziva pointed out. "Many of us had mice." She stifled a yawn as Abby shot her a confused look.
"Mice?"
"Yes," Ziva affirmed, blinking tiredly. The bath had noticeably sapped her energy, and it was several moments before her brow furrowed when she realized she had misspoken. "No," she corrected herself. "Not mice… the little itchy bugs that crawl on dirty skin."
"Either lice or mites, then," Abby deduced. "Not a problem. We'll take care of it."
Soon enough, the bed was ready to go, and Abby came over to pick Ziva up. There was a mutter of protest, but it was too easy to simply gather up anyways. In moments the Israeli was settled once more on the mattress, and she relaxed back into the waiting pillows with a welcome sigh.
Abby sat next to her, and gently tucked the blankets over Ziva's legs. When she shifted her attention to repositioning the pillows behind her friend, she was startled when thin arms suddenly wrapped around her shoulders, pulling her into a deceptively strong embrace. But she reacted quickly, and in another moment was hugging Ziva right back.
"Thank you, Abby."
The whisper tickled Abby's ear, and almost instantly her eyes filled with tears. Unable to voice a reply, the scientist merely gave her friend a gentle squeeze in return. The two women held each other for several long moments, before Ziva finally pulled away, wiping her eyes with a sheepish grin.
"You Residents cry too much," she teased.
Abby gave a tearful laugh in return. "Yeah, we do," she agreed. "And you need to sleep." Ziva's eyes were once again starting to slam.
"No," came the murmured protest.
Abby grinned. "Ziva, listen to yourself. You need to sleep."
"No," she protested once more. "That's not what I meant. You must find Gibbs."
Abby looked at the Israeli. "He's already planning on coming up as soon as I give him the word."
"Could you…" Ziva's coherency was dwindling. "Can you tell him that I want this off?" She motioned towards her collar. "He needs to take it off."
Abby hesitated, and then nodded. "Sure. I'll tell him."
"Thank you."
Brown eyes drifted shut then, but Abby could tell that she wasn't asleep. Chances were, she wanted the collar off before she drifted to sleep. For a moment, Abby simply gazed on her friend.
Without the layer of dirt that had coated her skin, every scar and bruise only seemed more severe. The tattoo was now more defined, and the enthusiast in Abby appreciated the artistry. But it also served to remind Abby of everything her friend had suffered through. She wondered whether Ziva had been a willing recipient of the ink, or whether it had been forced upon her.
The thought of it made Abby's blood run cold. With a shake of her head, she banished the image of Ziva fighting to escape impending, unrelenting needles. She had a job to do now, and thinking about what might have happened would not help Ziva now. With one last look at Ziva, Abby left the bedroom, and went searching for Gibbs. It did not take long—the Voice was just entering the House as she was coming down the stairs.
"Hey," she greeted, her tone subdued. "Ziva was asking for you. She wants—" Tears threatened to overcome her, choking her words from her voice. "She's asked—"
Suddenly, the strain of the past few hours caught up with her. The shock of seeing the full extent of the damage that had been done, of finally seeing her friend up close for the first time since her rescue… It was too much, and now that she was no longer in the same room as Ziva, there was nothing to keep her tears at bay.
Gibbs' arms wrapped around her, and she melted into his touch as the sobs came pouring out of her. A large hand cupped the back of her head, pulling her close. She buried her face in his shoulder, the cloth of his shirt quickly growing damp.
"It's okay," he reassured her softly. "It's okay."
Her head waggled against him. "No it's not," she sobbed. "It's not okay! She—She's too skinny, and there's so many scars—How did she live through all that, Gibbs? Why did she? Why did she let herself suffer so much for us? It's not fair! She should've been here, with us, with Tali! I was able to carry her, Gibbs, and it was like she didn't weigh anything! I shouldn't be able to do that! It's not right—"
She fell silent as she pressed harder against his shoulder. He received it, and murmured words of comfort, stroking her hair as he let her get it all off her chest. After a few minutes, she was able to gather herself, though her tears continued to spill down her cheeks.
"She needs you," she told him thickly.
Concern instantly flooded his features. "Is she hurt?"
"No, no," she reassured him. "She wants the collar off." Green eyes looked up at him imploringly. "Please go get that damn thing off her, Gibbs."
He gave her a tight grin, then pressed a kiss to her forehead. "Gladly," he said softly. And then he was gone, trotting past her on the stairs in his rush to rejoin his wife. Abby watched him go, wiping her eyes as she sniffed to clear her nose.
She hesitated for a moment more on the stairs, and then she turned and left the House, intent on finding her husband.
She needed a hug. A long one. ASAP.
---
Gibbs gently pushed the open bedroom door open. The first thing he noticed was the tub still in the middle of the room, and the pile of dirty linens in the corner. But then the form on the bed turned towards the sounds of his arrival.
Large brown eyes smiled up at him tiredly.
"Hey," he said gently.
She grinned. "I'm clean," she told him proudly.
"I can see that," Gibbs responded, sitting next to her on the bed. He ran a gentle hand over her damp hair. "I was wondering what that fresh soap smell was."
"I know," she returned easily. "I don't smell like me anymore."
"Trust me, you didn't smell like yourself before." He grinned back at her. "This is definitely an improvement."
For a moment, they shared smiles, before Gibbs allowed his features to settle into a solemn expression.
"Abby told me that you were ready," he said carefully.
She nodded, her own grin fading without needing any elaboration. "Yes. I'm ready. I've been ready for a long time." She looked up at him with woeful eyes. "Please tell me you have something to get this thing off."
Gibbs reached into his pocket, and pulled out the pliers-like tool he'd sought out the first day she had woken up. The moment he'd known beyond simple hope that she would live, he'd looked for the tool he'd thought of on the road. He showed it to her.
"I've had this with me for almost a week now," he told her softly. "I've been waiting for you to ask."
"Forget asking," she said curtly, relief evident in her gaze. "Get this thing off me. Now."
Gibbs grinned. "Yes, ma'am."
Carefully, he slipped the edge of the collar between the teeth of the metal cutters. It was just along the side of her neck, below her ear, so that he could avoid hitting the more vulnerable regions of her throat should the cutters slip. With a reassuring nod, Gibbs squeezed the handgrips, making the first cut in the metal that gave with a shrill shriek.
The collar was wide enough to necessitate two cuts to break all the way through the band of metal. Once he was through, Ziva spoke softly.
"You'll have to cut on the other side as well. The metal is too thick to bend it back."
Gibbs nodded in acknowledgement. He crossed to the other side of the bed, and repeated the process. In moments that seemed anticlimactic, the metal was cut, and Ziva's hands were coming up to wrap around the front of the collar.
She pulled the severed half away, only to hiss in pain when the cool air hit the trapped skin. Gibbs could instantly see the irritated skin, red and weeping from constant chafing. As he watched, blood prickled to the surface, though it was not enough to drip down her neck. In another instant the second piece was out from behind her neck, and the two halves clattered noisily to the floor.
Suddenly, tears were spilling from her eyes, though she tried to keep them from trailing down her cheeks. Her shoulders shook from the effort of trying to keep silent, and in an instant Gibbs had gathered her up in his arms, issuing soft reassurances as the sobs came tumbling out. Her hands gripped his shirt tightly, and the flood of overwhelming emotion wracked her tiny frame. She didn't try to say anything, and only the sound of her ragged breaths could be heard in the silence of the House.
He held her until her sobs quieted, and her breathing evened out. When she grew limp in his arms, he knew that she had finally succumbed to her exhaustion. It didn't surprise him—he remembered from his own numerous trips to the hospital Pre-Incident that even the simplest of tasks could be draining after a serious injury.
When he was certain she would not wake, he settled her back down on the pillows. With a glance to the raw flesh of her neck, he went searching for the iodine that Ducky had left behind. Pouring a liberal amount onto a clean cloth, he gently blotted at the skin, disinfecting the exposed wound as carefully and painlessly as he could. Ziva whimpered in her sleep at the discomfort, but blessedly didn't wake. He cleaned her neck as best he could, but opted to not move her to ensure he got the hard to reach areas.
He set aside the iodine when he was finished dabbing at her neck, and then turned to gather up all the dirty linen that had accumulated during Abby's visit. He merely dumped the pile out into the hallway, wanting to get the pungent cloths away from Ziva. He was glad to see her clean again, though he almost wished she wasn't.
Because now, he could see why Abby had been so upset. Even the scars he'd already seen stood out more harshly in his vision, and he could now see the smaller, finer scratches that marred her skin as well. The tattoo on her brow and cheek was now distinct, its edges sharp against her skin.
But he would accept those scars, he knew. He would accept the scars and the tattoo and anything else that might come to the surface in the aftermath of her Rescue. He would watch her adjust to Sanctuary life, and he would delight in seeing her return to the woman who he'd last seen two years ago. She would regain her confidence, and he would be there to help her through the transitions back to normalcy.
Their family would be whole again.
Suddenly, a thought crossed Gibbs' mind. With one last look at Ziva to ensure she still slumbered, he quickly left the bedroom. In moments he was out of the House and making his way towards Sergei's home. He only had to go halfway, as the object of his search was discovered playing near the well, Shirt in hand.
"Daddy!"
Tali's bright blue eyes lit up when she spotted her father, and immediately abandoned whatever had been holding her attention to sprint full-tilt towards Gibbs. Sergei, who stood watch a few feet away, looked on passively as daughter reunited with father for the third time that day. Gibbs swept the little girl into his arms, pulling her into a tight hug as he spun her around.
"Hey, sweetheart," he greeted with a kiss.
"Hi, Daddy!" Curious eyes stared up at him. "Is it dinner time already? I'm not hungry yet."
Gibbs grinned. "No, pumpkin, it's not dinner time yet. I want you to come with me for a minute. That okay?"
Tali bounced excitedly in his arms. "Uh-huh! Where we goin'?"
With a nod to Sergei, Gibbs began to carry Tali back in the direction he had come. "There's someone I want you to meet," he told her softly. "But you have to promise to be very, very quiet."
In what seemed like no time at all, Gibbs stood next to Ziva's bed, with a curious Tali peering down at the sleeping woman from her perch in her father's arms.
"Is she dead, Daddy?" the little girl asked, her voice a dutiful whisper. "Why's she in your bed?"
"No, sweetheart," he whispered back, "she's not dead. You were right—Warrior Princesses don't die. She's just been very sick, and she's very tired."
"Her face is broken, Daddy."
Gibbs' heart nearly broke at the innocent understanding of the scar that traversed Ziva's features. TO eyes that didn't know better, it did look like a point of fracture, a fault line that split her features in two. But Gibbs knew that he had to fix the girl's interpretation as best he could.
"Not broken," he told her softly. "You know that mark you have on your knee?"
"The one I got after falling off the fence?"
"Mhmm," he affirmed. "Her face isn't broken, it's just a scar, just like yours."
Tali's eyes widened. "She must've fell off a really big fence!" Gibbs could feel the excitement coursing through the girl's body. No doubt, she believed she found a playmate who could keep up with her. To his surprise, however, she rested her head on his shoulder, instead of squirming to be free.
"She's pwetty, Daddy," she cooed softly, pulling the Shirt up underneath her chin.
Gibbs grinned. "Yeah she is, pumpkin." He pressed a kiss to soft brown curls. "Just as beautiful as you."
"Bwoodiful," Tali repeated careful, testing out the sound of the unfamiliar word. She looked at the sleeping Ziva for a moment longer, then tilted her head up to stare at Gibbs with wide blue eyes. "Who's she, Daddy?"
Gibbs hesitated, knowing the child knew this woman was more than the Warrior Princess from the Memories. He'd known the question would come—his intention had been to inform the child of Ziva's identity even if it hadn't. But now that he was faced with the moment of truth, apprehension reared its ugly head.
"Her name is Ziva," he said finally. He paused then, taking a steadying breath. "And she's your mother."