Ziva studied her partner from across the bullpen. Night had fallen, and the overhead lights had been turned off for the night. The pool of light from her desk lamp and the faint glow from Tony's computer were all that broke the darkness. Gibbs had dismissed them an hour ago, leaving quickly; Ziva suspected his abrupt exit was due to a wish to visit McGee. Intending to follow him, she'd packed up her belongings. Something about Tony had prevented her from leaving, however. He was sitting, staring blankly into space, a serious expression on his face.
She'd been surprised when Gibbs had sent her with Keating and not Tony to bring in Sergeant Adams earlier this afternoon, but had put it down to the need to give Keating more experience. Recalling Gibbs' attitude towards Tony since yesterday, several cryptic comments from Abby and Tony's own words after McGee had been rushed to hospital, she suddenly wasn't so sure. Judging by Tony's expression now, something was wrong with her partner. She suspected he had a case of survivor's guilt- not that McGee had died, but the principle was the same. Getting up from her desk, she took the few steps across the bullpen to talk to him.
...
Interrupted from his thoughts by her presence, Tony looked up at Ziva questioningly.
"McGee's injuries are not your fault, Tony" she stated. He snorted.
"Yeah? Well, you obviously haven't seen Abby's simulation then, Ziva." He continued when she looked confused. "If you had, you wouldn't be saying that. Didn't you wonder why all of his injuries are on one side?"
"I thought that he was shielded by the door."
"He was, but only because he was turning away when the bomb went off. To look for me."
"To look for you?" she echoed. "Where were you?"
He hadn't actually told anyone exactly what he'd been doing when the blast occurred. Abby had asked, but he hadn't replied before Gibbs had entered. Gibbs had assumed. He'd been doing his job, but not the right way. Not the way he'd been trained. He needed to say it, to explain, especially to Ziva. He doubted she'd understand, but he had to know she knew. He scrubbed a hand through his hair. He was tired; he hadn't really slept since McGee was hurt, hadn't been able to.
"I thought we were on a wild goose chase" he began, watching her to make sure she knew the phrase. "We'd searched so many damned lockers and come up with nada. I just wanted to get it over with."
"You split up?" she guessed. She was quick; one of the things he liked about her.
"Yeah" he admitted. "I went across the alley, started searching the lockers on that side. Next thing I know..." He trailed off. "I should have been there, Ziva."
She just stood there, watching him, her face a mask. Her dark eyes were in shadow, stopping him from seeing whatever emotions were playing through them. He wished she'd say something, yell at him, do something. Somehow the silence was worse than Abby's fury or Gibbs' quiet menace.
When she finally spoke, it wasn't the question he'd expected.
"Have you been to see McGee?"
"And say what? Sorry about your arm? Sorry about your career?" The words were bitter; he'd had to face the fact that he was responsible for ending McGee's career, and he didn't quite know how to handle that.
"I do not think that he would blame you, Tony."
"That doesn't change anything, Ziva."
He looked back down at his desk, refusing to look at her, hoping she'd leave him in peace. Eventually he heard her sigh and walk away, leaving him alone in the darkness.