A/N: Second to last chapter, folks. Classy people can refer to it as the penultimate chapter, if you must.
The doors of autopsy slid open quietly, revealing a charming Scottish medical examiner, who was looking visibly relieved.
"Ah, there you are. You gave me quite a scare just a minute ago. When I told Tony to keep an eye on you, I was confident he would do a better job," he said casually, striding over to his desk and turning on the desk lamp.
Ziva, who had been standing alone and absently staring at one of the examination tables, lifted her gaze from the cold metal and smiled thinly at the doctor's comment.
"Tony has a way of getting easily distracted. I am very used to it by now."
Ducky nodded gravely, adding his agreement.
"Now that I've found you, I may as well give you this," he said, unscrewing the cap to a bottle water and handing it to her. She hesitated a moment before taking it, feeling suddenly very stupid, like a child caught in the act. Like he knew exactly what she had been doing all day and why she needed this water.
It was a simple gesture, and a kind one at that, but it brought on the embarrassment she had been trying to avoid.
"Thank you," she replied lowly, dropping her gaze to swallow some of it down.
Ducky's curious brogue broke the silence.
"May I ask why you decided to seek refuge in the morgue?"
Ziva continued her blank staring that the table, bottle of water clutched in-hand.
"I like autopsy," she replied simply, practically monotone.
Ducky made a low noise as if considering something.
"Don't let Mr. Palmer hear you say that, or you too will have to suffer the effects of his fascination with the clinical benefits of exhumation. I'm telling you, that boy can talk for hours about the strangest things," he mused, his tone thoughtful.
Interesting statement, given the speaker, but still she said nothing.
"Ziva," he started heavily, dropping his light-hearted pretense with a look that meant he knew exactly what was bothering her.
She eyed him blearily, but gave him no more than that.
"Is this about what Tony said? About those men getting…carried away?"
She shook her head to push away his concern.
"He got his confession, yes?"
"But it still upset you. Is that why you left observation?" he probed gently, trying to soften it.
If possible, her jaw hardened even more.
"I did not want them to know. They misunderstand. This is not the first time I have…slept with someone like that. Many operations required it."
She found she hated the pity reflected back at her.
"You cannot compare what that man did –"
But she cut him off, abrupt. Angry.
"I know what he did."
She turned her gaze back to the empty table. Ducky, having foreseen that his prying – however genuine – would eventually hit this wall, brought the conversation back to neutral ground.
"If you would like, I can arrange for you to have some tests run just to be safe. If you would prefer a female doctor, I know several good ones."
"Not necessary," replied Ziva quickly, not giving him a chance to elaborate. He raised his eyebrows in polite confusion.
"No?"
"They all came back negative. The hospital in Cairo already ran them."
"Well that's certainly good news, isn't it?" asked Ducky brightly, smiling and trying to cheer her up when she was still so obviously uncomfortable.
She nodded grimly, not lifting her eyes.
"Are you sure there is nothing I can help you with?" he asked, his voice full of the empathetic honesty that so characterized him.
She had no answer for that, as it was becoming increasingly painful to be in the presence of someone so undeniably goodhearted – so genuine – when on the inside all that clawed at her every second of every fucking day was the dull stab of death and the slow burn of anger that would never really fade.
The contrast made her feel like her chest was about to implode.
(Remember what he is, he had said, and lately she was remembering him over and over and over –)
"Ziva?"
Ducky was looking at her as if he knew, as if he recognized the weird twinge that passed over her face.
"No. Nothing. I will be fine."
He gave her a thoughtful look, not entirely buying her terse placations.
"I trust you know that you cannot dismiss your grief as easily as you are trying to dismiss me."
The forced, shallow smile she tried did little to hide the resentment he could feel, as clearly as if she'd physically shoved him away.
"I was already assigned a psychologist, Ducky. Should I be reporting to you too?"
"Are you sleeping?" he asked calmly, ignoring her attempt at a respectful deflection.
Her shrug was noncommittal at best.
"Eating?" he prompted, determined to elicit the response she had been so desperately avoiding.
"When I can," she answered, which was not really an answer at all.
He sighed, knowing he had pushed as far as she would let him.
"It will kill you, if you let it," he warned, voice low and concerned yet still so honest, and she knew he wasn't talking about the booze or the pills or even the gun she had thought about putting to her head for just that one moment of weakness.
She swallowed thickly, unable to stop the shame from sticking in her throat.
"Some days," she started, her voice sounding strange and faraway even to her own ears, "A lot of days…I wish it had."
Though not altogether shocked at this admission, it still pained him to hear his friend and colleague confess to carrying a burden she was determined to shoulder alone. Is that why she'd come down here? To picture herself on one of these tables? To imagine what it would feel like?
Ducky, for all of his wisdom, had no answer for that, but he was saved the trouble of telling her so by the doors sliding open with a light swoosh. Both of the occupants of the darkened room turned to see a slightly panicked-looking Tony sighing in relief as he found what he was looking for.
"Good, Ducky, you found her. I was gonna check the bathroom next but last time I did that I think I was slapped by three different girls. And not in a good way. Uh…is everything good down here?" asked Tony hastily, feeling instantly as if he had intruded on something personal.
Ducky, not missing a beat, strolled back over to his desk with his usual stride, picking up a stack of papers.
"Ah yes, Anthony, I was just about to bring these files back to Jethro."
Tony raised his eyebrows in confusion.
"The medical records for our PFC Walker. I'll be upstairs if you need me," Ducky called out in explanation, sounding pleasantly casual and not at all reflective of the conversation he was reluctantly leaving.
When the soft ding of the opening of the elevator doors sounded, Tony moved forward into the room a little bit, dutifully doing his best to dissipate the obvious tension.
"So…" he voiced slowly, unsure of where to begin. "I guess your ninja sneaking skills are still up to par."
She slowly lifted her head in his direction, and he was visibly surprised to see her eyes wet and shining, even in the muted half-dark.
(His appearance had been too much, one emotional taunt too many in the day's long string of fuck-ups.)
"Carried away?" she asked softly, wondering if he could hear the wound in her voice as blatantly as she could.
To his credit, he dropped his gaze before facing her again.
"I wanted to beat the shit out that guy…I should have realized you were – I'm sorry," he finished, looking as frustrated and sympathetic as she feared he would be.
She nodded, finding that she had already guessed as much and not really cared either way.
"You okay?"
It was hard to see anything at all in the blank expression she wore.
"Stupid question. Sorry."
"Stop apologizing."
"Right, sign of weakness –"
"It is me that should be apologizing to you."
"What?" he laughed, taken aback by her sudden turn-around. "Why?"
Her face remained unchanged, hardened and determinedly distanced, but he did not miss the way her eyes refused to stop shining with the unshed tears she had wanted to keep to herself.
"I knew you would risk yourself for me. I knew that and I let you follow me blindly. But I would have died after they…if you had not…I never thanked you. It is my fault you were dragged into this."
"Your fault?" he scoffed, choosing to ignore that little first part. "Your fault you were lied to? Manipulated? Betrayed by your scumbag friend? Treated like an animal?"
"Stop."
But he didn't, arms folded across his chest in defiance.
"No. I won't listen to your misplaced gratitude bullshit, Ziva. You didn't come down here to thank me. You came down here to hide. And you know – you know you can't fucking hide like this. What was it you were doing before you got here? Trying to drink yourself to death?"
"I meant what I said," she hissed, angry at his anger. "And no. I was not."
He laughed again, that same biting scoff to his tone.
"If you were sober you would have put me on my ass for that."
He was stupidly relieved to see that the glare that met him actually had some feeling behind it.
"I still could."
The fire that blazed behind his eyes, green and bold and weary, was an entirely different brand than hers.
"You think I followed you blindly? You think I give a shit about you – what, blindly?"
Confused, and more flustered by his accusatory tone than she cared to admit, she snapped.
"What is it you want from me?"
"To act like you want to live," he responded tightly, gaze not leaving hers, not for a second. "Otherwise thanking me is meaningless."
Abby – shock. Ducky – sympathy. Perhaps their reactions to her brief fall from grace were unwelcome, but not undeserved. And Tony – anger. She might have dealt him some snark about his predictability if she wasn't so furious with him for being right.
"You survived," he added, grim, knowing he had stung her and hating the taste it left in his mouth. "We both did. I'm not asking you to magically recover overnight. I just want you to make it count."
She refused to wipe the tears that had fallen unknowingly.
"And you?" she countered sadly, hostility forgotten. "Have you made it count?"
He sighed, getting the sinking feeling that he had defeated her somehow, and that was not at all what he wanted.
"I can be okay if you are."
Surprisingly, she laughed. A small, almost desperate laugh, but it was there.
"You may be waiting a very long time."
He nodded, jaw clenched at nothing really, throat tightening against his will and wondering if broken hearts were contagious.
"I can live with that."
(And she could never ever forget who Tony was, right here.)
"Okay," she responded distantly, trying the word out and finding herself numb to the guilt and shame and fury that drove her away from the rest of the team. Instead all she felt was the way his gaze had her thinking of sand on her back and blood on her face and the way he'd shaken her and refused to let go, all sweat and strength and urgency.
(We aren't fucking dead yet.)
"Me too."
Thanks for reading, drop me a line, then be on your way!