Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

"C'est tellement mystérieux, le pays des larmes" (Antoine De Saint Exupéry, Le petit prince)
(It's so mysterious, the land of tears)

 

III

The first time the shrink came into her room Ziva was praying.
She had opened Tali’s Siddur and started reading words she once almost knew by heart. She prayed for her soul, for the soul of the babies that she could not meet and for her Abba. That he could live with the choices he made and the guilt he carried.
It was no secret that, as a young girl, Ziva David worshipped her father like some sort of modern hero. He fought for his country and was ready to sacrifice everything to make sure that his family and all the other families were safe. He came back with small trinkets and stories that always made little Tali’s eyes grow bigger. He kissed Ziva on the head and asked if she had been good, knowing that his little soldier would have been nothing but perfect. That she would have helped her Ima and looked after her little sister. She was thirteen when she discovered that her father was merely a human being, pathetic and faulty. Her mother recently passed and Eli spent so much time in his office, that he was barely aware of his daughters’ school progress. Tali’s school show during Purim was one other thing he failed to remember and, despite knowing better, Ziva called Aunt Nettie to attend with her. She spent the whole exhibition encouragingly smiling at her little sister but Tali’s disappointed gaze never fully went away.
The second time the shrink came into her room, Ziva was sleeping.
The pain had been unbearable, after they had to drain some infected wounds on her left side. Her eyes teared up every time that she took a deeper breath and she woke up in a world of pain every time she turned ever so slightly in her sleep. It took Gibbs’ convincing glare and Tony’s gentle plea to make her ask for a stronger pain medication. It made her drowsy but took the pain away almost completely. She started napping more than she would otherwise have done and her head felt heavier than before. Ziva barely registered the nurses changing her IV or controlling her dressing. Once she woke up while a young blonde nurse was checking on her and barely managed to keep the panic at bay. She was so out of it that Abby took it upon herself to talk to the nurses that were responsible for her care.
The third time the shrink came into her room, Tony was sitting next to her bed. He spent the last few hours interrogating a suspect living in an apartment complex nearby. Needless to say, he managed to talk McGee into spending their lunch break with the former colleague. 
“Miss David, you’re awake”, the doctor murmured, before acknowledging the agents sitting in the room with her and nodding in their direction, “I was hoping we could talk for a little”.
The young woman tensed immediately and barely registered Tony’s comforting hand next to hers.
“We should go”, McGee murmured, before standing up, “We will see you tomorrow Ziva”.
The other agent stood up, before kissing her forehead and murmuring quietly: “Call me if you need me, okay? I could send Gibbs and the dogs…”, he finished his sentence with a cheeky wink.
Alone with the shrink, Ziva started observing the other person.
The psychiatrist that was assigned to her case was a middle aged woman with short hair and even shorter legs. She had a comforting smile that was rubbing her the wrong way and stood next to the window like she owned the place.
“My name is Doctor Amanda Bush”, she introduced herself, “I was hoping we could talk. How are you feeling, Miss David?”.
“It hurts”, the Israeli murmured, “Which is to be expected, I suppose”, she quickly continued.
Dr Bush nodded, before prodding again: “What about your surgery? How do you feel about the outcome? It must have been difficult for you”.
The other one tensed slightly, before noticing that the psychiatrist had started writing on a little notepad. She forced her body to relax, before closing her eyes and taking a deep breath.
“The doctor seems pleased with the results”, Ziva answered, trying to maintain a neutral tone despite the angry disappointment that was building up in her stomach, “It looks like everything went according to plan.”.
The doctor nodded once again with an unimpressed “mh”, before scribbling something.
“Do you want children, Miss David? A family?”.
The question came out of nowhere and made her clutch onto the duvet. What the hell?  
She needed to keep the blind rage that immediately overtook her  at bay, she realized. Clutching a piece of cloth was unfortunately more acceptable than kicking that psychiatrist from hell into the following year.
“Please leave”, she whispered between gritted teeth, “I don’t feel well”.
After having scribbled something on her notepad once more, Dr Bush moved towards the door seemingly unfazed.
“Until next time, Miss David”.
When the door closed, Ziva closed her eyes and threw a punch against the mattress before looking for her cellphone and noticing two messages.
The first one was from Gibbs, reminding her that he would have visited her in the evening and asking if she needed a new book. The other message was from Tony.
Anthony DiNozzo, 2:34 PM: Look into the first drawer. 
Confused, the Israeli opened the drawer only to find a Nutter Butter with a small note on top.
“ In case you needed a pick me up”
With a soft smile on her lips, the woman opened the wrapper and took a small bite: it tasted like hope.

Gibbs had barely entered the hospital ward when the Doctor who handled Ziva’s care approached him. The day had been slow, with DiNozzo and McGee taking ages to interrogate a suspect and little to no progress otherwise. He managed to leave the office at five, sure that Tony would join him after the last of his paperwork was done, and drove to the hospital. He parked the car, stopped for coffee on his way to the elevator and now was stuck next to the nurses’ station having to listen to whatever had happened that day. Hopefully, he thought to himself, Ziva did not attack any other medical professional. 
“Doctor Bush, our psychiatrist, tried to speak with Miss David. It wasn’t as successful as we hoped”, the doctor told him.
Well, no shit.
Gibbs acknowledged the other one’s words with an unimpressed glare, before nodding in the direction of the door.
“Want me to talk to her, doc?”, the former Marine asked.
“Do you think she would open up to you?”, the other one asked, curious yet skeptical.
“Maybe”, he shrugged.
Otherwise I’ll just ask DiNozzo.
After a few other seconds, the two men parted ways and the Federal Agent knocked on Ziva’s door. When no one answered, he entered and found her sitting on the bed, her gaze unfocused and her breathing shallow. Quickly moving towards the bed, he crouched a little to look her in the eyes.
“Kiddo, you’re okay”, he murmured, “Come back here, Ziver…”.
The woman didn’t seem to have heard him and continued to breathe quickly while clenching and unclenching her fists. Wherever her mind went, it surely wasn’t pleasant.
Before Gibbs could think about what to do, the door opened and Anthony DiNozzo entered the room with what appeared to be a whole candy store in a bag.
“I brought presents”, he said, before realizing what was happening and moving quickly towards the bed.
“What happened?”, he asked his boss, before moving even closer to Ziva, “Sweetcheeks, it’s okay. You can come back, you are safe”.
The lack of response was met with a sigh.
“Fuck”, the Special Agent cursed under his breath, before looking at Gibbs with an apologetic smile, “It might just get ugly boss”.
He moved before the former Marine could even process the information he was given and took Ziva’s right hand in his. Quickly, the woman clenched her left hand and would have surely swung quite the punch if Tony hadn’t seen it coming and gotten out of her way. The man took both of her hands in his and tried to meet the Israeli’s gaze despite the obvious struggle of keeping her still.
“Ziva, you need to come back to us”, he repeated slowly, “You are safe, we got you out of that cage”.
The mention of that particular torture device made Ziva jolt and her eyes started moving. She looked at her right side, where Gibbs was standing, then she looked at her left side, where the window was still slightly open and letting the cold air in. When her gaze met Tony, she jolted once more, barely suppressing a sob.
“Welcome back”, he murmured with a smile, then let her hands go, “What do you think we get you a blanket? It’s freezing here”.
He moved to the end of the bed and retrieved a soft blanket with skulls on it.
“I see that Abby has already started decorating the place”, Tony smiled while unfolding the duvet and covering Ziva’s shoulders with it, “Here, it should warm you right up”.
Gibbs finally moved back to the bed where the woman was sitting, looking at her with worry in his eyes.
“You okay, Ziver?”, he murmured, before nodding in DiNozzo’s direction, “You almost gave him a new nose”.
The mention of the missed punch made the Israeli sigh.
“No harm done”, Tony interrupted whatever apology was to come with an easy smile and a shrug, “I brought candy! And healthy snacks too!”, he then told her, to try and alleviate some tension, and quickly grabbed the paper bag he brought with him and handed her a piece of dried fruit, “Here, tell me if it is any good”.
Ziva took it and munched on it for a minute before nodding: “Thank you Tony”.
Gibbs sat on the chair before looking at the other two with a proud smile. They were trying to patch up things and, despite DiNozzo’s clown facade and the Israeli’s thick walls, he actually had the distinct impression that they were making progress. Time to shake things up.
“I spoke to the doctor”, the former Marine told them, “He told me you weren’t fond of the psychiatrist”.
He saw her tense and did not miss Tony’s hand nearing her own in a gentle offer of comfort.
“Give it a try, Ziver”, he prompted her, “Maybe it’s not so bad”.
The look she gave him was enough for him to understand what she would have probably told him to his face, had she been in better spirit: “You are the one to talk, Leroy Jetrho Gibbs”.
“Maybe you can ask to talk to somebody else”, the Special Agent intervened, noticing the growth in tension that immediately changed the atmosphere in the room, “We can ask that, I am sure”, he then looked at Gibbs for support but the older man shook his head.
“She can try once more”, he stated, “Coddling her won’t do her any good”.
Ziva’s reaction was immediate yet more subdued than he expected. She held his gaze for a long minute, before indicating the door with a nudge of her head. The message was clear and Gibbs knew better than to force his hand at that point. He had a distinct feeling that his job was done.
With a sigh he took a piece of dried melon from the bag, ignored the affronted “hey” DiNozzo gave him and exited the room.
“Take care of yourself, kiddo”, he murmured to no one in particular, before closing the door.
“You can go too, Tony”, Ziva murmured, then took the blanket off with a nervous flinch.
The Special Agent sighed, before taking the fluffy duvet and putting it next to the Israeli. He did not comment on her last words, deciding to ignore them and not to take a bait he could smell from miles away.
“Tell me what happened with the psychiatrist”, he then prompted gently but firmly.
Immediately they were both brought back to four years ago, when she complained about dating American men just for him to offer an open ear and maybe a suggestion too many.
After a few reluctant sighs, the woman lowered her gaze to her hands and murmured: “She asked too many things. Many of them do not even concern her”.
Tony nodded, before looking in the paper bag for something he clearly bought with the intent of cheering her up. The rustling managed to catch Ziva’s attention and her eyes grew bigger when he saw the small packet he was holding.
“Bamba!”, she murmured, before instinctively reaching for it.
“I’ll make you a deal”, the Special Agent smiled mischievously, before moving the small bag just out of her reach, “You tell me what happened and I will let you enjoy this in peace and bring you some more tomorrow, okay?”.
The Israeli looked at him with poorly disguised resentment but, before she could say anything, the other one sighed defeated.
“Sorry, stupid idea”, he murmured, “I know you are not a toddler”.
Ziva winced, before taking the duvet and covering her shoulders. She closed her eyes for a second, then opened them only to see Tony staring at her with his big, concerned green eyes. When she was chained to a chair and on the verge of breaking after the umpteenth cigarette butt on her thigh, she always thought of his eyes. She imagined them opening, then slowly closing, then opening again and somehow the pain became bearable. She moved her hand towards him but, instead of grabbing the snack, the Israeli simply laid it on his leg, palm open.
They looked at each other for a handful of minutes, then she took a deep breath and murmured: “She asked me about the surgery, then she wanted to know about me, and family, and kids and…”. 
A sob cursed through her before she even managed to stop it. She instinctively reached for her mouth but, instead of biting on her fist like she normally would have, she found herself engulfed in the most awkward yet comforting hug.
“Please do not hurt yourself, Ziva”, the Israeli heard the other one murmur directly in her ear, “Not anymore”.
She remained in that uncomfortable position for a couple of minutes, until Tony’s back decided to act up and they resumed their original positions.
“What did you tell her, when she asked?”, the Special Agent prompted her, reaching for the packet of Bamba and opening it, before offering it to the other one.
Ziva took a small handful of snacks, before looking at him. She could lie, she thought, and steer the conversation in a direction of her choosing. She could play him like she was told to do with so many of her targets before ending their life. The worry and genuine affection she saw in that gaze, however, made her immediately change idea. She did so even before admitting to herself that she was willing to lie to the man who risked his life to rescue her just to cover her own ass.
“I told her that I was tired and she went away”, she murmured, before holding his gaze for a few seconds and adding: “How am I supposed to explain it? That I have no family left, that now I won’t have any of my own”.
The last words made the man in front of her sigh.
“You have a family here, Ziva”, he took a piece of Bamba and put it in his mouth, then continued, “You have Gibbs, McGee, Abby, Ducky, Palmer, me. You are not alone”.
“What is that saying about blood and water?”, the Israeli asked him, before taking a snack and munching absently on it, “We have a word, in Hebrew. Mishpacha. It means family, like the one you come from, but it is so much more than that…”.
Tony nodded, then offered her the rest of the Bamba and cleaned his hands on his pants.
“What else?”, he asked, deciding not to dwell on what the other one just said and move on, “Did you talk about anything else?”.
Ziva shook her head, before lowering her gaze.
“That was all”.
When she did not receive an answer, the Israeli looked at the man in front of her with confusion in her eyes. She found him studying her features and looking at the scars on her hands, his thoughts evidently somewhere else.
“You know what, Zee-vah ?”, he finally interrupted that weird silence with a newly found good spirit, “Let’s have some more candy before I have to go. Tomorrow is another day and, who knows, maybe the doctor from hell won’t pester you anymore”.

When he parked in that driveway, next to a newly painted letterbox, Anthony DiNozzo Jr sighed. He had spent another half hour with Ziva, delighting her with the never ending story of Abby and Timothy on a friends’ outing because “we’re friends Tony, just friends”. She never laughed, of course, but her small smiles here and there made his heart swell. 
He knew, of course, that her recovery was far from easy or over just because he managed to make her chuckle. He hoped, however, that his friend could at least sleep a little better now that the gloomy cloud of sadness hanging over them had become a little lighter. 
Tony entered without knocking and made his way to the basement. The rhythmic sound of his boss sanding wood accompanied his steps until he found himself in front of a large construction. It  could have very well been a starship or a new bed for Amira, the Special Agent thought, it was always difficult to say at this stage.
“How is she?”, Gibbs asked, then stopped his work to reach for two jars and a bottle of Bourbon.
The other one sighed, before rubbing a hand on his head.
“Fuck if I know”, he murmured, “It’s like a rollercoaster boss. One moment she almost throws me out and the next she calls all apologetic. It‘s…”
“Difficult?”, the former Marine interrupted him, then handed him a jar with a splash of bourbon in it, “No shit”.
Tony closed his eyes for a second, before opening them again and looking at the other one with a mix of curiosity and reprimand. 
“Did you do it on purpose? Riling her up, I mean..”.
The bitter smile he received was enough of an answer.
“Do you remember Paula Cassidy?”, Gibbs asked him, before downing the content of his own jar in one long sip, “When she lost her team she was so unfocused. She couldn’t concentrate on the task at hand. She needed a target for the rage that was eating her alive and Ziva became that target..”.
The Special Agent nodded but, before he could say something, his boss continued.
“She did it willingly because she had been there before, on the other side…”.
Tony nodded, asking himself who had been the target of her anger, when her little sister was blown to pieces. Perhaps her brother? Or one of her friends? Did she have friends, back then? Somehow he couldn’t push the feeling aside that that consuming anger had been directed inwards and transformed into drive.
“She needs someone or something to be pissed at”, Gibbs’ voice interrupted the other’s gloomy thoughts, “Otherwise she will end up hurting herself even more”.
With a sigh, the Special Agent looked at the workbench. How many of those tools could be used for torture? What kind of damage could they cause? Did they use a hammer to break her fingers? Or pliers to pull her teeth out? Had she been beaten by chains, or was it a whip? Since coming back, a handful of days prior, he couldn't stop looking at all different kinds of sharp objects before asking himself if they had been used to hurt Ziva.
“DiNozzo…”, Gibbs’ warning tone made him sigh once more.
“I have no idea what to do”, he confessed, “I had a plan, you know? I wanted to get there and kill that fucking son of a bitch. Somehow, I did not think about what would come after that…”
I didn’t think we would have made it out alive.
The former Marine topped up his own jar, before answering the implicit question that hung over them.
“Now we take it one day at a time and never take anything against her”, he murmured, looking at the other one to make sure that he understood.
Tony nodded, before putting the jar on the workbench.
“Didn’t mean to”, he sighed, then looked at the time and decided that it was high time to go home, “I’ll see you tomorrow, boss”.
While climbing the stairs, Gibbs’ voice made him turn around once more.
“It’s gonna get worse before it gets better. Knowing her it will get ugly for a while but she’ll be okay. We are going to be okay again”. 

The following day they were investigating the death of a dead Navy Officer whose body had been found on a hiking trail. McGee was snapping pictures while Tony was busy talking to the two guys who found the victim while training for the Appalachian Trail.
“And you are sure that you didn’t hear anything? Or see anything suspicious?”, the Special Agent asked them for what felt like the tenth time.
Both the witnesses, two young boys that were so easily impressionable that it would have been otherwise funny to rile them up, shook their heads.
With a sigh DiNozzo nodded and handed them a business card with his phone number at the office. 
“Please call if you remember anything. We’ll be in touch”, he said, before turning around and joining Gibbs at the far end of the crime scene.
He looked at Palmer and Ducky trying to lift the already stiff body onto a gurney, before noticing his boss’ annoyed glare and quickly helping the both of them move the Navy Officer.
“Thank you, my dear lad”, the Coroner nodded in Tony’s general direction.
The Special Agent nodded, before going back to his previous position.
“They didn’t see or hear anything, boss”, he murmured.
The former Marine nodded, before looking at him and noticing the slightly darker circles under his eyes. 
“Couldn’t sleep, DiNozzo?”, Gibbs asked.
The other one shrugged, before answering with a noncommittal: “Could say that, yeah”.
In reality he had spent the whole night tossing and turning, trying to make peace with what he heard in that damn hospital room and to forget all about chains, cages and knives. Every time he closed his eyes, Tony could see Saleem’s hungry eyes and that sly, ferocious smile of his. He could picture Ziva’s surprised look when the burlap sack was lifted from her head, the hopelessness in her gaze, the fear when Ulmann put a knife to her throat and the bitterness when she said “It is justified”. He remembered the rage cursing through his body, the need to shake her until she could finally see reason and the sadness that washed over him once he realized how much they hurt her.
To add insult to injury, his alarm decided to ring just mere seconds before he would have finally managed to fall asleep. Not even the sweetest frappuccino would have managed to save his day.
“Looks like McGee is done”, Gibbs’ voice distracted him from his thoughts, “We can head back”.
The three agents walked to the car and, for once, Tony did not even think about fighting his colleague to sit in the front.
“You sit there, McProbie. I’ll take the back”.
The unimpressed look on their boss’ face made them move quicker.
“No snoring, DiNozzo”, he reprimanded him, before switching on the engine, “Unless you want to walk the rest of the way”.
The Special Agent sat in the car, trying his best to just doze but falling asleep before they were even outside of the parking lot. 
“Boss, did you visit Ziva yesterday?”, McGee asked the former Marine, before looking back at Tony and hoping that he was actually asleep and not faking.
The other one nodded. 
“Your point?”, he asked gruffly.
Timothy sighed, before answering: “We went there on our lunch break as we were in the area. I guess that I am having a hard time understanding everything that happened”.
The agent’s dejected expression was met with a light tap on the back of his head. 
“She’ll get better. She just needs time, McGee”, Gibbs sighed, “We all need time”.
The other one sighed as well.
“Abby called you too, in the middle of the night?”, he asked.
“No, McGee”, the former Marine gruffly answered, before braking just in time for them not to land on the back of a poorly parked truck, “She came to my house in the middle of the night because you didn’t pick up the damn phone”.

“How could she? How could she?”.
Even before entering the lab Tony could easily detect how upset Abby was. She was running from one computer screen to the other, refusing to stop fidgeting, and the volume of her music was frankly worrying. How did she even manage not to lose her hearing, he asked himself.
“Abby, could you please slow down?”, he whined, clearly still affected by the lack of sleep, “I need you to slow down and tell me what you found in the backpack of our victim”.
The Forensic Scientist looked at him with poorly disguised horror, before surreptitiously marching to the mass spectrometer and looking at its small screen. 
“Well the residue on his shoes still needs some time to be processed”, she started and the petulant tone of her voice wasn’t lost on Tony, “The rest is what you would expect from someone hiking the trail. Nothing anomalous”.
The Special Agent nodded.
“Did Ducky send you other stuff too?”, he prompted, knowing that Palmer had already visited the lab at least twice that day.
The brunette nodded. 
“I still need to run some tests but as far as I can tell there is nothing that could help us solve this murder”, she then shrugged, before looking at him with reproach.
Tony tried to ignore her glare but failed miserably at it.
“What, Abby?”, he sighed, preparing himself for a long winded explanation and maybe a few curse words.
The Forensic Scientist glared at him once more, then she asked: “Have you talked to Ziva?”.
Bingo.
The Special Agent nodded, somehow hoping that Gibbs would come into the room to save him from a surely unpleasant conversation. Life, however, never goes according to one’s wishes and, like every  so often, he just sighed and accepted his own fate.
“Was she nice to you?”, the brunette asked, with narrowed eyes and a sharp edge to her voice that he almost never heard from her.
That was weird, Tony thought once he actually registered her question.
“Wasn’t she nice to you, Abs?”, he asked, surprised by the direction their exchange was taking.
Abby turned once more to her computer screen, pressed a couple of keys, before turning suddenly around and starting flailing with her arms.
“She was! She was too nice! Like when she does not like people! Mossad nice!”.
If McGee were to be in his place, the Special Agent thought, he would have laughed until his stomach ached. In that moment, however, all he could think about was the fact that Mossad and nice were not words he would have necessarily used in the same sentence. Although, if he was to be honest, Hadar’s last visit made him reevaluate some of the man’s traits. 
“When did you visit her?”, he asked, trying to untangle the situation as best as he could.
“I didn’t”, Abby huffed, “After the surgery we exchanged messages and yesterday I called her”.
Well shit.
Tony sighed, before looking at her in what he hoped would be a reassuring and comforting way. Realistically he probably looked just plain stupid.
“Yesterday wasn’t a good day”, he tried to explain, “I am sure that she was just uncomfortable and…”.
The agent could not finish his sentence, because the Forensic Scientist tackled him against a metal table and hugged him as tight as she could.
“She says she has no family now”, he heard her sniff, “That she will never have a family. That we can not understand and…”.
The loud sigh that the Special Agent could not suppress was paired with another sniff.
“Abby, just give her time to recover a little okay?”, he patted her shoulder, clearly uncomfortable, “I think she is having a hard time realizing what happened”.
“She would still be there if it weren’t for all of us and she can not…”.
“Abby”, Tony’s tone grew serious in the span of a second, “You can not think about it like that. It’s not fair”, he must have sensed that the Forensic Scientist wanted to add something because he quickly added: “She is traumatized and you are hurt. Maybe you should give yourself some time and talk about it in person okay?”.
He felt her nodding.
“ You risked your life and it’s not fair when she…”.
Once again, the Special Agent shushed her, patting her back gently.
“Abs, stop it. I did it, I would do it again. I will talk to her but you don’t need to defend my honor okay? I can take care of myself.”
“Hopefully better than how you have taken care of the evidence DiNozzo”.
Gibbs’ gruff voice made them both turn towards the door and never in his whole career had Anthony DiNozzo Jr been grateful for getting a headslap. Until that very moment.
“Yes Boss. Sorry Boss”, he winced at the sharp feeling, before sending him a grateful nod and exiting the room.
He took his phone out and typed a message.
Talked to Abby. Actually she did the talking. Are you okay?
He sent it quickly, before marching to the elevator and sighing, once the door closed. He pressed the button for the right floor, waited a few seconds then pressed the stop button as well.
“Just a second”, he murmured to no one, before closing his eyes and leaning against the metal wall, “Just a fucking second, please”.
When the doors opened two minutes later, his phone buzzed.
Yes. Thank you.
He read it with a defeated sigh, almost being able to hear the flat tone of Ziva’s voice delivering a message that did not say anything and yet it said quite a lot. He looked once more at his phone, before marching to the plasma and looking at whatever thing McGee put up. It was going to be a long day.

“Here you go”.
The bar was loud, unexpectedly full of people and, somehow, not deafening enough. He came straight after work, where Gibbs sent them home after a day full of too much information and yet nothing substantial. Tony hated those days. 
He took his glass and downed it quickly, before flashing the bartender to order a second one. His throat was hurting but, in all honesty, he wasn’t even sure that it was because of the alcohol. He spent all afternoon waiting for another message and getting more and more frustrated because, of course, nothing came. He even had to take a break and ended up punching the vending machine to retrieve a piece of candy. The Special Agent felt stupid, frustrated, admittedly tired and probably cranky, as Abby would have said.
“Here you are”, he heard someone tell him, “A club soda, please”.
Turning around he found McGee staring at him with what could be identified as concern in his eyes. The younger Agent stood there, his backpack on one shoulder, before sighing and deciding to sit next to Tony. He didn’t say anything, just sat and waited for his drink, feigning indifference in the hopes of hiding how uncomfortable he was with that whole situation.
“Have you really followed me, McSpy?”, the older one asked, “What is next? Tracking my phone? My bank account? My email?”.
Being someone who had grown up with a younger sibling, Timothy waited for the rant to be over before crossing his arms and asking: “Are you done?”.
The tone was so different from the one used by the timid probie that he always bothered at work that Tony had no choice but to nod.
“Are you going to tell me why you are here drinking instead of at the hospital visiting Ziva?”, Tim asked, before nodding gratefully at the bartender who came back with a club soda and Tony’s refill as well.
The latter sighed, before taking his glass and starting swirling its content as to look for answers in the most unexpected of places. Truth be told, he didn’t know the exact reason why he decided not to drive to the hospital. Probably because of the conversation they had the evening prior, probably because he had no idea what to do to make it better and Anthony DiNozzo Jr was nothing if not the best problem fixer that there ever was. Until he rescued his Israeli friend from a crazy terrorist camp and realised that he was unable to fix her.
“I think she needs some alone time”, he murmured, “To figure out where to go from there”.
Timothy nodded, before sipping on his drink for a minute while still eyeing him warily.
“Well, I called Ziva right after you left the office. And she sounded sad, a little out of sorts. I bet she is lonely in that room while being prodded all the time”, the younger agent commented, hiding a knowing smirk behind the rim of his glass.
“I am sure that she is fine”, Tony grumpily answered, before downing the content of his glass, “Besides, she had a long day of tests today, she can probably use the rest”.
Exactly at that moment, his cell phone started ringing and, as soon as he saw the caller, he knew that something happened.
“Yes, Boss?”, he answered.
“I’m driving to the hospital, meet me there”, Gibbs said from the other end of the line.
“What happened? Is everything okay?”, Tony asked, while standing up and leaving a handful of cash next to his empty glass.
“Ziva attacked a nurse”, the former Marine explained, before hanging up.
He was already at the door when the Special Agent realized that McGee was probably asking himself what was going on. Turning around, however, he found him with his phone pressed to his ear and a serious expression on his face. He waved briefly, before exiting the bar and quickly unlocking his car. 
“Fuck”, he swore under his breath, “What else now?”.

The room was dimly lit and the door was not even closed properly, when the agent finally arrived at the hospital.
Ziva was laying on her bed, her eyes closed and her limbs heavy. Her wrists were red from the friction caused by the constant efforts to restrain her.
“We had to sedate her”, the doctor explained to Tony, while looking at the Israeli from the doorway, “She attacked a nurse who came to check on her dressing and on the bandages”.
The Special Agent nodded, before closing his eyes for a second: the whole room was spinning but he was sure that it had very little to do with the amount of alcohol he had had.
“We conducted further exams, today”, the medical professional in front of him said, “There were a few broken toes that needed bandaging and we found various healed cuts that would have required someone stitching them”.
The last information was almost too much. What kind of sadistic bastard would have her beaten to a pulp, tortured and then stitched up only to start hurting her again? Why was he even surprised?
Saleem Ulmann was dead, buried under the sand of the Somali desert and yet, Tony wished him alive only to execute him once more. 
The arrival of Gibbs interrupted the other one’s train of thoughts but, instead of waiting for further information, he just went inside Ziva’s room and silently sat next to her bed.
“You’re gonna be okay, Ziva”, he murmured, “You are going to be great”.
“They poked and prodded her the whole day”, the gruff tone made him turn around just in time to notice the utter care the other one was using to close the door as quietly as possible.
The Special Agent sighed once more, before looking at the ceiling as if he was waiting for an answer that would have never come.
“Couldn’t they wait?”, Tony asked, then looked at the Israeli once more, and couldn’t hold back any longer:  “They stitched her up. What son of a bitch is so sick in the head to have her heal only to hurt her again?”.
The hum he received as an answer made him sigh once more.
“I thought I knew what we would have found in that hellhole but somehow it’s like the freaking gift that keeps on giving. Only: no one fucking wants it”.
Gibbs joined him next to the bed, before rubbing his face with a tired sighed.
“Fuck, Ziver…”, he murmured, as if the woman could hear him.
The perplexed look in Tony’s eyes made him continue his tirade: “They can not wait for some of those tests. And she actually needs to speak to ask for the others to be postponed”.
Before the special agent could reply, a light murmuring made them both turn around. Ziva was slowly waking up, no doubt sore and uncomfortable. Gibbs moved to the bedside table, pouring a glass of water, while Tony just held onto her hand and rubbed her knuckles.
The woman started stirring, opening and closing her eyes to adjust to the light. The confused look that she gave Gibbs wasn’t unexpected but the words that came out of her mouth made Tony freeze. His blood suddenly turned cold with dread.
“Michael..”.

The bullpen was quiet when he finally arrived.
He sat on his chair, before closing his eyes and exhaling slowly. When he opened them, all he could see was Ziva’s desk. Bizarrely enough he had no problems recognizing it as her desk shortly after Kate passed and she started working as liaison officer. However, despite how many months had passed from that dreadful day in Tel Aviv and despite the many replacements they tried to hire, that was still Ziva’s desk in his eyes. 
As soon as the Israeli had pronounced that name, he had followed an instinct he didn’t even know he had and taken off. Ignoring her confused expression and Gibbs’ reproachful glare, he just let her hand go and left the room.
Michael Rivkin was a ghost he sometimes still felt lingering around, tormenting not only his sleep but his days as well. When the weather turned colder his shoulder started hurting: it was a dull ache that he could not ignore, no matter how much he tried. It was the reminder of a friendship he cared too much about and yet he lost anyway. It was a memento of how far he was willing to go for the ones he loved. He would have gone way further, if she only had let him. 
“Are you at least doing some work, DiNozzo?”.
Gibbs’ unimpressed commentary made him sigh, yet he was weirdly grateful for him showing up. There was no predicting where his mind would have otherwise wandered.
“Just arrived, boss”, he muttered.
He switched his computer on, typed his password and waited for the system to boot. In the meantime the former Marine never stopped observing him, probably waiting for him to talk.
Determined to keep quiet, Tony clicked on a few tabs and started looking for a casefile he had not been able to check the previous afternoon.
He was almost done reading the first page when he noticed that Gibbs wasn’t in front of him anymore.
“Mh… strange”, he murmured, then he closed his eyes and rubbed his temple only to be met with a tap on the back of his head. 
It wasn’t painful or forceful like it could have been, he realized: it was just a warning.
“Talk”, the former Marine told him, before going to sit in McGee’s chair, “or do you need me to do the talking, DiNozzo?”.
Tony looked at him for a long second, before closing the file and taking a deep breath.
“Is memory loss normal?”, he heard himself ask.
Gibbs sighed, before gruffly replying: “No”.
Fuck.
The Special Agent probably looked as shocked as he felt, because the other one promptly added: “She was confused, probably hallucinating because of the meds. Her memory works just fine, DiNozzo.”
He released a sigh he did not know that he was holding, before looking at his boss once more.
“I panicked”, he admitted, “I freaked out…”.
The unimpressed hum he received as an answer was followed by a dry: “I noticed”.
“I just… it was not what I expected”, Tony murmured, not even sure about the meaning hidden behind his own words.
Gibbs nodded, seemingly lost in his own memories.
“It’s hard on all of us”, he murmured, “But we need to remain focused on the final goal. It’s like marriage”.
“You’re the one to talk”.
The Special Agent could not help himself. His deskphone ringing was the only thing who managed to save him from a well-deserved headslap. 
“I would get it, if I were you”, the light threat in the former Marine’s voice was difficult to miss, “Could be important”.
Tony sighed, before reaching for the receiver.
“Agent DiNozzo speaking”, he answered.
On the other end of the line he heard a relieved sigh and some shuffling.
“Are you okay?”, Ziva asked.
The Special Agent smiled, completely ignoring Gibbs’ “told you so” yet unimpressed snort.
“I am fine”, he answered, “What about you?”.
It was an attempt at deflecting and, in another situation, the Israeli would have caught it immediately and given him shit for days. Hell, she probably still caught it and just gracefully ignored his temporary unwillingness to talk about himself
“I am okay”, he heard her murmur, “My head hurts a little. I am sorry for earlier”.
Those last words were spoken as if they were an afterthought, something that she didn’t want to share but ended up revealing anyway. 
Tony took a deep breath, closing his eyes and trying to ban any dreadful memory from his mind. 
“Don’t worry”, he told her, “I hope I didn’t scare you”.
Gibbs huffed once more, before deciding it was time to give the other one some needed privacy and walking towards the elevator.
“You did not”, Ziva replied, “I did not understand what had just happened. I was not fully there yet”.
The Special Agent nodded, before realizing that she could not see him and offering a “mh” instead.
“Can we talk?”.
The Israeli sounded uncertain, maybe even timid. She was miles away from the sultry agent that he met four years prior after a loss too great to be even spoken about. There was no trace of the kick ass ninja that spent a night stuck in a container with him, trading memories and stealing glances. She was the shell of the woman he met, Tony realized, and yet he knew how dangerous that emptiness could be, how destructive her pain could become. 
He remembered the night after Roy Sanders passed. He found her in the gym, hands bruised and limbs sore. The pain kept her grounded, she told him before punching the bag one more time, it kept her focused. He ended up dragging her to his apartment and feeding her leftovers until she passed out of exhaustion on his couch. The following morning she was gone and, when she arrived at the office, he immediately noticed her bloodshot eyes and the rosy cheeks of someone who decided to ditch her car in order to run to work.
“Tony, can we talk please?”, Ziva’s urgent tone made him realize that he never gave her an answer.
“Of course we can”, Tony answered with what he hoped would be a reassuring accommodating tone, “I am listening”, he then added for good measure.
“I did not want to scare you”, the Israeli started and it was immediately clear how difficult opening up was for her, “I was confused and the meds made me dizzy”.
“No harm done”, the Special Agent murmured, “I didn’t want to scare you either. It kinda became all too much, you know?”.
“Am I becoming too much?”.
The question made DiNozzo freeze on the spot. Realistically, the answer would have been “yes, you certainly are”. On the other hand, probably too blinded by his affection for her, he just wanted to reassure her that it was alright, that she was allowed to be everything she needed to be in order to heal.
“Ziva…”, he started but the woman immediately interrupted him.
“No, it was not a fair question”, she spoke quickly, afraid to be interrupted, “I should have not asked you that, I am sorry.”.
“It’s okay”, Tony reassured her.
“Maybe Gibbs is right”, he heard her say, “Maybe you are all coddling me too much, maybe I am becoming complacent”. Maybe I am undeserving of your affection.
“Maybe you should cut yourself some slack, Ziva”, the Special Agent interjected, “You were held captive for almost four months…”.
“I know that”, the Israeli interrupted him, a sharp edge to her voice.
“You should focus on healing, the rest will come in time”, he tried to reassure her, subtly cringing at his own empty words, “Just take it one day at a time”.
The long sigh he heard from the other end of the line surprised him.
“How can you be so nice to me?”, DiNozzo heard her ask and he immediately realized that something was happening, that she was starting to unravel that huge blob of feelings that she carried around, “We were friends, like the best of friends, then you shot my boyfriend and I almost shot you in Tel Aviv. Why? Why did you even come to rescue me after that? Why bother? I am…”.
“You are still a very good friend for me”, he interrupted her and failed to notice how he suddenly started raising his voice suddenly, “So yeah, I flew McProbie and myself to Somalia to avenge you. And you know what, Ziva David? I would freaking do it again”.
“It does not make sense”, Ziva’s voice was once again faltering, “It does not make any sense, Tony”.
“Maybe in your world it doesn’t”, now the Special Agent was actually starting to get loud, “But im my world you do whatever it takes for the ones you love. Even if they are self centered immature little girls who love to play soldier.” Even if you’d love to slap them silly until they finally see reason.
“This is not fair”, the Israeli hissed, “You are not being fair”.
“And why is that?”, Tony asked her.
“Because if you were to say it to my face I would have already broken your nose”, she told him.
“Well good luck getting out of that hospital, Ziva”, he was spiting her and they were both aware of it, “Good freaking luck”.
He hung up, feeling full of rage yet completely deflated. It took him a whole two minutes to realize that he had, indeed, royally fucked up.
“Goddamnit!”, he screamed, before kicking the side of his desk, “What now?”.

Recovery, as it turned out, was a long complicated affair. 
The following day, still completely in shock after her discussion with Tony, Ziva found herself holding onto her sister’s Siddur and looking for comfort. Maybe even for an answer when she didn't even know the question. 
“Is it a bad time?”, the doctor who visited her at her arrival entered the room without knocking, before moving towards the bed and standing next to the chair.
The Israeli shook her head then tried to sit a little straighter.
“How are you feeling, Miss David?”, the medical professional asked her, “Any pain?”.
She shook her head.
“Nothing that I can not handle”.
“I think that the day after tomorrow we should be able to remove the stitches on your stomach”, the doctor continued, “Do you have any questions about the procedure you underwent?”.
Ziva sighed and closed her eyes for a few seconds.
Truth to be told, her head was full of questions. Her brain was overloaded with doubts and uncertainties and what ifs. What if she didn’t fight them? Would they have hurt her less? What if she just let them fuck her without making a sound? Would it have saved her body, at least? What if she had given them whatever they wanted from her? Would it have saved that little girl with long brown curls and green eyes that she used to dream about while laying feverish on the cold floor of her dusty cell?
She shook her head, looking at her hands.
“No, I don’t think so”, she murmured, “I don’t have any questions”. None that he could answer anyway.
The man nodded, before offering her a kind smile.
“Doctor Bush will be here in the afternoon”, he notified her, “Maybe you could take some time to talk to her”.
Ziva thought about Gibbs and his silent yet firm support. Then there was Tony who cared too much for his own good and was ready to die for her. And what about Abby, with the biggest heart she had ever experienced? And even McGee and his generous kindness. Every single one of them deserved at least some effort on her part, she realized. 
“I will talk to her”, she told the doctor, before looking at the cellphone that she was given and deciding it was time to be brave, maybe even a little reckless.
When the man exited the room, the Israeli took the phone and started composing.
I think we need some space, even if it sounds bad. Yesterday you told me that I am still your very good friend and I want to deserve it. At the same time, I do not think that I am ready to call you my best friend again. I will get there, I promise, but I might need some time. So, even if it sounds terrible, let’s give each other some space. Not distance, just a little room to learn how to be us again. 
She sent it without giving herself a chance to read it again. Without giving herself an excuse to delete it and chicken out.
Just before lunch, while she was reading a book that Ducky brought her, her phone buzzed.
Okay, I can do space. Also: I am sorry for yelling, I might have had a little too much to drink. Please don’t tell the bossman.
Ziva chuckled reading the last words.
“Oh, Tony…”, she murmured.
Her chuckle quickly became a laugh, then it turned into tears and suddenly she was laughing again, holding her belly and unable to stop even if the stitches were starting to pull a little.
“Are you okay, Miss David?”, she heard a concerned nurse ask her and, between laughter and sobs, she could only nod.
She would be. She would be better than okay. She would be great. She would walk out of that hospital and into Gibbs’ basement to ask for her old job back. She would swallow bitterness and pride and remorse and fear and would talk to Tony, hoping to get her best friend back. She would endure a whole angry tirade and even a few swearwords, if it meant that she would get to be friends with Abby again. She would sit with McGee enjoying coffee and saying “thank you” for risking his life to save her. She would find herself again, she realized, but, in the meanwhile, she was perfectly content laughing and sobbing on a hospital bed.