Her fingers stayed curled around the sink, so tightly that she knew her nails would leave tiny scratches in the cheap, mass produced porcelain long after she'd left, but the point was that she didn't want to, or more accurately couldn't, leave. It was if she were frozen, her feet glued to the appropriately navy blue linoleum, trapped by her own reflection. It wasn't that it had changed much in the few hours since she'd apprehensively caught a glance of her face in her own bathroom mirror at home; she hadn't allowed the rims of her eyes to redden, nor the whites of those same eyes to reveal one vein that would lead to them looking entirely bloodshot. She'd been forcing herself to smooth out the anxious, overwrought frown every time it had threatened that day. In fact, the only reason, she told herself, that she had retreated in here was to reapply the foundation that hid the shadows of exhaustion haunting her features. Yes, discretion, an appreciation of secrecy while being able to get things done, she'd spent her entire adult life, hell maybe even before that, honing that very skill. Her father had always said that some things are just in a person from the start, he sought out those people with an inbred knack for those certain traits. Mossad could train you to survive anything, he'd said, but only particular people could flourish as well as survive.

Flourish. Live. Was that what she was doing right now? She was surviving yes, her father might've been satisfied with that, but she didn't feel as if she was fully alive right now. Obviously her team didn't think so either, for them she lacked something. She could still hear Ducky's incredulous voice now, questioning why she hadn't done as Tony or McGee would do and made sure to learn exactly where Gibbs was, how he was… Of course, the verbose medic had drawn back, begun to assure her, pointlessly, that he knew she cared. She'd cut him off, he'd only consider her, Ziva David, the Tin Woman of a Mossad agent who'd apparently come to NCIS to be given a heart, to be in need of such reassurance. He really did know that Tony, McGee, all the others, cared. For them it went without saying.

Abby had been more open, blunter, about her supposed feelings. "This could've been Gibbs' guts splattered all over the walls…" She'd shouted angrily as Ziva had composedly handed her photographs of the explosion site for inspection, "Would you even care if it was Gibbs?" She'd shouted when Ziva hadn't replied. Ziva flinched now, her head bowing marginally over the sink, at the memory of Abby's slap when, frustrated and horrified that the other woman could even think of asking her that, she'd retorted that the case would get solved quicker if she got on with her job. It had given her a surge of relief, of emotional release, to instantly return the slap in kind as McGee watched on in a stunned daze, taking longer to recover than either woman.

It had felt good, for that split second, and then a fear had burrowed deeper into her mind. She hadn't answered the question. She'd merely reinforced all previous perspectives of herself in their eyes. An utterly detached technician of violence. Ice cold. She stared into her own pale, still reflection, falling into the bottomless orbs of her own dark eyes, fighting to fill with tears. Her eyelids blinked them back fiercely. Once. Twice. Each time any sign of her emotions would disappear for an instant, a blessed relief, and then she'd need to banish them with another heavy lidded blink, like shutters crashing down protectively over windows. What was so wrong with shielding herself like that? What made her stoicism less acceptable than McGee's sorrowful tones, Abby's outbursts or Tony's pitiful attempts to hold up Gibbs' routine and style, like that dog who'd sat loyally at the train station waiting for his owner to return? It didn't mean she was heartless, it meant she was guarding her heart better than they were…

She found herself wondering why she stayed on here, why she hadn't gone back to Israel. It wasn't the first time she'd asked herself that admittedly, but before now the question had resounded sarcastically in her head at various intervals, particularly when Tony DiNozzo had done some little thing that was especially imbecilic. What could she learn from him after all? Now, it was a serious enquiry, why hadn't she gone back? It was supposed to be her home. She hadn't been back since…since she'd killed Ari. There it was, proof. How could a woman who had a true, beating, flesh and blood, emotional heart kill her own brother? She knew that only Gibbs knew what he'd been to her and it wouldn't go further than him if he had anything to do about it, but… You still know you did it; a whisper in the back of her mind finished the reluctant thought. She didn't even regret it, not really. Gibbs was the much better man to have alive, the Ari she'd known in childhood had been swallowed by hate, for their country, for their family, for her.

Hatred. Many people would assume that since Ari was as much his child as she was, that her father would hate her, at least on some level. Ari may have gone down the worst path possible, but blood still tied them together. Ziva however, knew that her father would confound such expectations. Relief was possible, preferable for her, but in her soul she knew that if she ever saw the man who linked herself and Ari all she would see within him about it be indifference. That frightened her, the knowledge that her father was fundamentally indifferent to his children. Sharing her grief and guilt with him was out of the question. All year, only Gibbs had been a confidante, and now terrorists had brought him to the brink of death. He may still follow all the friends and family she'd lost in Israel…

A sigh rattled through her chest, her eyes closing fully. She refused to think like this anymore, she had a case to solve. Spreading her palms over the sink, she pushed herself upright and then made one foot fall in front of the other until she reached the bathroom door and managed to stride back into the vast, minimalist space that formed her team's operational heart. She felt in control of herself again, but still kept her gaze averted. Hopefully she could get back to her desk without anyone questioning where she had been…

"Ziva?" She suppressed a wince as she heard Tony's distinctive voice echoing just above her head. The surprise in his tone riled her.

"Yes Tony?" she tossed back at him sharply, jerking her head up to stare him down. She was surprised how few women seemed to be able to see through Tony's bravado. Usually she rather enjoyed confronting him and watching how he floundered, but right now she truly did want him to back off.

Tony had a styrofoam cup, Gibbs' trademark possession, grasped tightly in one hand, the pads of his fingers leaving dents as he tensed further. "Are you okay?" he asked softly, his blue eyes careful as he studied her face intently.

Ziva tried not to give a start. There was no way he could tell, Tony DiNozzo wasn't that subtle and she knew she looked as unaffected as ever. "Why wouldn't I be?" she asked with a quiet terseness.

Come on… Tony mentally muttered, feeling his shoulders slump in a silent sigh. He thought he'd made a few steps forward with Ziva, but when things were serious she drew away, they both did, no matter how much they kept up their banter for appearances. However, a light comment wasn't exactly what came to his lips, which had curved into a strained, slightly bitter smile. "Well, considering the situation, I'm not exactly okay and you know I'm the optimist of the team."

"That explains a lot." Ziva replied drily, letting her eyebrows rise. "But as always, reality has to set in at some point, for all for us."

"Maybe." Tony answered noncommittally, "But I like to think we have a certain level of control."

"You're thinking of Gibbs in particular." Ziva commented knowingly, unable to stop herself from gulping.

"Of course." Tony agreed quietly, having noticed the tiny shudder of pain that passed over her face. "I'm leaving for the hospital now…" He tried to give her an encouraging smile, "…there's room in the car for you as long as I drive." He added lightly.

Ziva was acutely aware of her relief upon hearing the teasing comment at the end, otherwise it would've sounded too much like pity. "Thank you." She murmured graciously before turning towards her desk, "But I feel that I must stay here and work on the case."

"Right." Tony muttered, guilt immediately shooting through him. Was he doing the right thing by leaving, even to visit Gibbs? He was pretty sure that one of the rules was that the case was to take priority…

Ziva saw the conflict openly breaking out over his handsome face and kindly cleared her throat to bring him back, gesturing towards the cup in his hand with arched eyebrows. It was a well-known fact that Tony, under normal circumstances, hated coffee as much as his boss lived on it. "You're taking that for Gibbs?" she queried.

Tony had the grace to blush a little, his gaze dipping. "Actually…it's hot chocolate. Starbucks doesn't just sell coffee you know, whatever Gibbs has led you to believe." He gave a broken chuckle before his face was shadowed by sadness. "I guess I thought one of us should carry on the tradition while he's…" He trailed off awkwardly before forcing his face to brighten with a fragile optimism. "It's a good idea about taking him in coffee, even I know the hospital stuff is crap, he'd appreciate it."

Ziva nodded, her expression thoughtful. "I'm sure Director Shephard would also appreciate a cup if she's still at the hospital."

"I'm meeting her there." Tony confirmed, giving her a flash of a warm smile. "I'll tell them both the coffee was your idea." He murmured, giving her elbow a gentle squeeze as he started to move away from her. Ziva hadn't even realised he'd been touching her, but was even more startled by the gratitude she felt at the unexpected sign of support. One look into his strained face told her that she'd been wrong, he hadn't been pitying her, but empathising.

"Thanks Tony." She admitted softly, now that her back was to him as he kept walking towards the door.

He'd heard her however, "No problem." He replied in the same tone, each of them turning to look at the other over their respective shoulders at the same moment. It was enough for a small smile of understanding before they continued on with their own private coping.

A/n: PLEASE REVIEW! :D This is my first NCIS story and I'm a relatively new fan, having just started to watch S4, so any support would be much appreciated. :) Thanks to xXSilentCrescendoXx for beta-reading this for me. Her writing is awesome so if, unlike me, you're caught up with the current events of the show, check out her fics. :)