Title: Illuminated

Author: IronIsraeliButterfly

Chapter One: Illumination

A/N: I wrote this chapter in Hebrew and then translated it on a plane to Rome where they had messed up my reservations and I got stuck in economy class between a portly businessman who snores like a drunken sailor with emphysema (points if you know where that is from) and a German teenager (Ishty, I have nothing against Germans) who could not stop looking over her shoulder . Sorry for the poor quality. I hope you enjoy… Every chapter will start with a song, so if you have any suggestions, please tell me.

"Suddenly my eyes are open

Everything comes into focus

We are all illuminated

Lights are shining on our faces

Time waits for no one

So do you waste some time tonight?

Don't be afraid of tomorrow

Just take my hand

I'll make it feel so much better tonight"

-"Illuminated"

Ziva and McGee were standing in Barnes and Noble, waiting for the rain to abate. They had been taking a walk that afternoon to their favourite coffee shop when the beautiful day had ceased to be and they were stuck in a deluge. Noticing one of their favourite escapes, they had run into the bookstore. They sat down at the small coffee nook, hidden behind the self-help and manga books. On its back wall was a shelf with the top twenty New York Times Bestsellers. McGee's newest book was ensconced in the second place. A feat, Ziva had said, for the book had only now dropped to number two after three weeks, and he had been replaced by a cheap Stephen King thriller.

"America," Ziva has said indignantly when she had seen the cheap Lucite shelf adorned with a cover of a man looking into a rear view window with a trail of blood behind him, the typical thriller cover, "is being filled with landfills of pulp fiction."

"And what I write isn't pulp fiction?" McGee had asked her, laughingly.

"No," Ziva said, her eyes full of admiration mixed with incredulation, "what you write is like Faulkner. You are the last good American writer, Tim."

Sundays were the day that they got to be together, away from the prying eyes of the team. There was no Gibbs to answer to, no Tony to be aggravated by, none of Ducky's history lessons and useless trivia and none of Abby's barely English pronouncements. There was only she and him, enjoying things that were indigenous to them; more cultural things than, for instance, Tony's endless movie quotes and references. They sometimes took the drive up to New York for theatre, and sometimes just perused the shelves, looking for little-known authors to delight in. They enjoyed working their way through the labyrinth of the Farmer's Market ad cooking exotic creations. They were, in the end, the best of friends.

So as they were sitting at a quiet table, close to the rain-streaked window, McGee had something nagging at him. They were friends, were they not? So why shouldn't he tell Ziva what he felt must be said?

"Something distracting you?" Ziva asked, as she took a sip of her mocha latte.

He sighed. "Not distracting me, just something I wanted to discuss with you."

Ziva smiled. "You make it sound like a business deal, Tim." Tim. She only called him that when they were outside of the office, when she felt comfortable. Comfort was something Ziva felt little of, McGee knew, and he indulged himself thinking that Ziva felt comfort when she was with him.

"Ziva, what's your relationship with Gibbs?" he blurted out. He didn't mean to put it so badly, but as his mother had said many a time before, "before you say what is in your brain, the words all your own. When you say them, they belong to everyone but you."

Ziva considered him as she sipped her latte. The pause was pregnant with tension, so thick McGee could take the proverbial knife and cut through it.

"My relationship with Gibbs…" she said slowly, choosing her words carefully, "is one of respect. I respect him, and I believe he respects me. Why, Tim, do you think there is anything else that could be going on? Something that I have not noticed?"

The rain began to hit against the window even harder. It appeared they would have to brave the storm because it was not planning on abating any time soon. "No," McGee said after a long pause, "just wondering."

Ziva tried to get more comfortable on her couch as she pulled the expensive throw around her. She had popped in one of her favourite movies that she had brought with her from Israel, a comedy, and tried to watch, but was bothered by what McGee had said.

What was her relationship with Gibbs? Was it one of just mutual respect, a passion for a common cause or was it something more? Ziva laughed ruefully at the thought. Stupid Ziva. Of course there isn't something else. Gibbs is Gibbs. He doesn't have feelings for me, especially since I'm his co-worker and there are rules in place against this.

But the image of Gibbs swam, unbidden, to the front of her mind, the older, handsome agent staring her down when she made a particularly dumb mistake the week before. He seemed to be annoyed, but now that she contemplated the look on his face, she realized there was something more. Her heart beat a little faster… could it be?

Ziva got up and threw the curtains shut definitively, sick of the rain. Israel barely had rain. It bothered her when she so much rain. It reminded her of what she had left behind, who she had left behind.

And then it hit her full force, blinding. She staggered a little bit from the intensity of the realization. She was in love with her boss.

Gibbs looked at the back of his boat. With the amount of rain outside, he could probably sail it outside down to Mexico. But every boat had a name. There was a feeling that he had the name in his mind, but he couldn't recall it. It was just out of his reach, like an elusive deer. Something that had to do with light, sources of the inspiration.

He said there with the stencils. He had a Kelly, a Shannon, a Diane (which he had burned) and a Meredith (his mother). He wished he was so desperately in love with someone that he would name one of his wooden masterpieces for. He looked heavenward.

"Shan, it's been twenty years. You've got a great vantage point up there. You've been watching people for twenty years. Can you send me someone who will last? Someone with your courage, someone… like you. Is that too much to ask?"

A feeling stole over him, like she was holding his shoulder. He turned around, and he could almost see her there, with that beautiful smile, her red hair over her shoulders. "What you're looking for is right in front of you, Jethro. It's not the boat. Open your eyes, Jethro."

And she was gone. But the name hit him. He wasn't ready to paint it on yet, he wasn't ready to act on his feelings. Like fine wine, one had to let it sit until it was ready, cracked open at the perfect second. Ziva…