Title: A Healing Touch

Genre: Femmeslash

Cat: Angst, romance (?)

Pairing: Jen/Ziva

Rating: PG

Spoilers: Jeopardy 03.22

Author's notes: A Jiva one-shot. Written from Jen's pov. Spoiler-ish for Jeopardy. Jen is uncertain about how to deal with the aftermath of the kidnapping. Who can heal her wounds?

I shuffle around the files on my desk, my shaky hands make me push one over the edge, and it lands hard at my feet. I sigh, slowly placing my fingertips against the smooth surface of my desk, close my eyes, and take a deep breath. I'd had a tough day, not many would disagree with me on that point, looking down the barrel of a gun like I had, not many could take either. But I know how to play cool in these kinds of situations, I have been there before. I just thought it would be less like that, being director. Today had proven me wrong.

My hands are still shaking as I bend down to retrieve the file I dropped. The sleeves of my jacket slip up and reveal fresh bruises on my wrists from the rope Dempsey had tied me up with. I try to ignore them as I straighten up and begin to sort the remaining files. Jethro had offered to drive me home. But I, stubborn as I am, had declined. Told him I need to finish up some things in my office before I go home. He told me that was a lousy excuse, and had gone home by himself. I know it was lousy, but I had just blurted out the first thing that came to mind. I don't need a babysitter. I can take care of myself.

A loud knock on the door make me jump, more files scatter on the floor and I accidentally knock over the glass of bourbon I had just poured myself.

"Damn it," I mumble and try to rescue my papers from the small pool of bourbon that spread over the wooden surface. The door cracks slightly and as I look up to meet Ziva's dark eyes, it becomes too much for me and I sink down into my chair, determined to not let any tears fall.

"Good evening, Jenny," she greets me and enters, carefully closing the door behind her, wanting us some privacy. I just want to be alone.

"What can I help you with, Ziva?" I sigh and twist my hands in my lap, trying to hide their shaking. The younger woman approaches my desk; I follow her eyes as she takes in the mess I've created around me. Though it's not only my surroundings that are in a mess.

"I just came to see how you were doing," she says and frowns at the small pool of bourbon, next to the knocked over glass I haven't bothered to pick up.

"I'll be fine, Ziva. Don't worry about me, you've had a tough day as well," I try to assure her, but can immediately tell she does not believe me. She used to be my partner, and she knows how to read me, just as I know how to read her, most of the time, anyway.

"There's one thing that you lie to Gibbs to get him off your back, but please don't do this to me, Jen," she begs and pulls out a chair and sits down at the opposite side of my desk. I lower my gaze, but quickly steady myself as I refuse to show weakness.

"I would never lie to you," I try to convince her. It is true. I would never lie to Ziva, not if I can help it. And I hadn't really lied, I had told her that I will be fine, and I will. I am just not quite there yet.

I look up from my hands that have finally stopped to shake; I find her still looking at me. Her dark eyes are shiny, and I get a strange feeling she's on the verge of tears. I can barely remember the last time I had seen Ziva show vulnerability, though I consider us to be close friends, there had been very few times she had cried on my shoulder.

"I see," she says and twist the end of her braid between her fingertips, the strength in her voice surprises me, I guess it was just the light that played tricks on me before. "And you seem a little bit…nervous, yes?" she asks and tilts her head, trying to catch my eyes.

On the inside, I struggle trying to think of something to say. On the outside, my hands have started shaking again, my wrists are pounding and I don't know why, but I'm having a moment where I feel really light-headed.

I brace myself, and lift my head up to meet her gaze. Concern. I don't know how else to put it. How else to describe what it is that I see in her eyes. I don't blame her. I know today had been a lot for her. Not that there isn't anything I doubt Ziva couldn't handle, but I know she still cares about me, and I had been in danger, and as I am pretty sure she feels like she has only added more obstacles to my rescuing because of the unfortunate death of James Dempsey. I was told earlier that Gibbs refused to let her help searching for me. I can understand the frustration she must have felt. Ziva does not like being restrained; hold back like a caged animal. She would have wanted to feel useful, wanting to help save me.

Somehow, I have no idea how I manage to stand without swaying on legs that feel like jelly, but somehow I make my way to the liquor cabinet.

"You want a drink, Ziva?" I offer and pour myself a glass of bourbon, the one I spilt is still in a pool on my desk.

"Yes, thank you," she accepts and I pour one glass more. Correction, I try to pour one glass more. My hands shake, I lose my grip on the bottle and it hits the glass, making a small, fine crack spread over the glass, as if a spider web had been wrapped around it. I immediately withdraw my hands, and a shard fall. I take a deep breath and reach out for a new glass, finding another hand covering mine. I look up into the deep brown eyes of Ziva David.

"Don't worry about it, Jen," she whispers, her hand takes my shaking one. Her fingers softly pull up my sleeve and I wince involuntarily as she trails her fingers over my bruises. I know I could not have kept them hidden from her for much longer.

I had never doubted any of them. When he had placed that second call, and Jethro demanded to speak to me, I knew it was my only chance. I knew he would get my message. I knew McGee and Abby would find a way to trace the call. I thought I knew they would find a way to arrest the brothers, but I knew they would have one chance, and that would have been to kill them. When I heard the shot, felt the bullet soar past my ear, I thought I was finished. But as I saw Jethro climb out of the trunk of the car, I felt an enormous wave of relief flood through my body. Now I just have to deal with the aftermath.

Her hand on top of mine sooths the shaking a bit, I can't get over how good it feels to have her standing this close behind me. How her touches heal my bruised skin. How her breath in my neck almost gives me goose bumps because it gives me such a pleasure. She makes me forget everything that's happened today, what could have happened, just by standing close to me.

She takes the glass from my hand, takes a long drink and moves around me as she puts the glass back down on the table. She is standing so close, too close. Her breath smells of bourbon and I know I can't fight it. Her lips are soft and warm against my cheek. Holding there for a moment. Then, slowly, trailing along my jaw line until she finds my lips. Her kisses are slow, passionate, and healing. She heals my wounds, heals my soul. Hell, she heals my heart.

The End