FORTY NINE | thank yourself

                                    

                                          
"Sorry I'm late. There was traffic."
The cold cup of ice pressing against my eye helps the soreness. Ziva and McGee look up at my presence while Tony merely avoids my gaze.
Something we've both been practicing for two weeks now.
"And I have a raging headache and can barely see through my right eye."
Ziva gasps at the sight of my swollen black eye. "Eva, what happened? Who did this to you? Do you need —"
"I did this to myself, Ziva." My feet stumble as I approach my desk. "I'm fine, really. Just need a few minutes to close my eyes."
"As your coworker and friend, I deserve to know what happened."
McGee's head snaps to his left.
"Tony, do you want to tell us something?"
I shake my head, which only worsens the throbbing pain in my temples. "He. . .he didn't do anything." With a wince, I sit up. "Like I said. . .I did this to myself."
Our case as of today morning leads us to the very small and remote town of Edenvale, Virginia. The local sheriff sets up in his office and takes us to the autopsy room because the crime scene has already been cleaned up and is most likely occupied.
For evidence, we got to the local forensics scientist, Ruby Rae. And then we're back at the sheriff's office to discuss.
"I'll stir up some coffee for you." Sheriff Barrett holds open the door. "Oh, uh, and we do have a suspect in custody."
"When were you gonna tell me that?" Gibbs questions, attempting to keep his calm appearance.
Seemingly immune to Gibbs' nature, the sheriff shrugs. "Well, I'm telling you now." He looks back at someone by the desk. "Bring me that suspect's file, would you, Tyler?"
"And another ice pack." I toss the ice-turned-water pack into the bin nearby.
"The victim made one phone call from the motel. Local guy by the name of Masoud Tariq." He flips through the file's contents. "Only been in town a few months. He's an Iraqi."
"Same as the victim." Sheriff Tyler, one of the men working under Barrett, states.
"She's from Kuwait, actually."
Ziva mutters under her breath, offended by the sheriff's tone.
"And where are you from?"
My hands grip the armrests tightly, knuckles paling white. "What the hell does that have to do with the case, sheriff?"
"Agent Giudice." Gibbs calls in a quiet tone. "Go take a walk outside. Ziva can call you back when we're ready for you."
"Yes, sir."
I kick the chair from behind me and storm out of the room, all the while glaring at the sheriff. A minute or so later, Ziva comes out to get me.
"What is going on with you?"
My eyes avert from her harsh gaze.
She lifts two fingers. "First you break up with Tony, now you berate a sheriff for misinterpreting a woman's ethnicity?"
"Don't lie to me." I growl heftily. "You hated him for saying it just as much as I did."
"Only I was able to keep my emotions in control." She remarks with a breathy sigh.
"If that's all, we should really —"
Her hand cups my arm, restraining from moving forward.
"Working with someone for over a year reveals quite a few characteristics and personality traits."