note: Here I am! Sorry for the really, really long absence. It wasn't intentional, I promise you, I just had no inspiration really. But today, I'm taking the day off school because I'm ill, it's snowing outside, I've just rewatched Shiva, and I figured; why not post that tag you wrote last night, Kiera? So that's exactly what I'm doing.
Anyway I'm here. Alive and well after two absolutely amazing episodes. What about them, eh? I watched Shabbat Shalom live, too, which just added to the affect it had on me. (apparently getting feels at 2am heightens everything). Anyway, I didn't quite know how to write a tag to that ep, as odd as that sounds, but all of yesterday I had this idea bugging me, and I figured I might as well tag Shiva. So here I am.
I've got another one-shot in the works, too, that should be posted either on Sunday or on Monday. So keep 'em peeled if you want to read it.
(Also I'm not sure on the spelling of Shmeil. Sophie thinks it's this. She's probably right.) I want to say, as well, that I'm not someone who thinks that Gibbs is a major Tiva shipper. This just... fit, and I didn't think he'd beat down Tony when they're all pretty vulnerable, as they currently are.

disclaimer: You know you're obsessed with NCIS when you get a day off school and spend it watching the bonus features on all your boxsets.

listening to: Not Alone, by Patty Griffin. (Oh I wonder why… *cough Shiva cough*)

He can tell Gibbs isn't expecting a visitor tonight; the look on his friend's face as he trudges down the stairs, conveys as much. However the older man bows his head and returns to the task at hand, seemingly inviting his agent into his home, and Tony proceeds down the final few steps, eyeing the unfamiliar wooden creation currently being chiseled away at by his boss.

Tony has no idea why he's here, either. All he knows is he can still recall the rush of domesticity that hit him as he padded round his house, dressed in a robe, as Ziva sat at his dining table. He can still feel her hand in his, squeezing back for just a moment; still remember the way she simply said I know and walked away.
The past few days have been crazy, and he's had no time to think. It seems all that remains is an itching to have his arms wrapped round his partner once more- because yeah, that felt good, and he knows he could get used to that-, and a constant hope that she'll be okay.

For a while, he doesn't know what to say. What are you supposed to ask your steely-eyed boss, who's known for few words and even fewer displays of emotion. As Gibbs takes a sip from a dirty-looking jar, Tony puts his hands deep down in his pockets, and words somehow form on his tongue anyway.
"Uh, sorry I wasn't there tonight. You probably could've done with an extra pair of hands, dealing with the FBI and CIA, and… everyone."

Gibbs nods slowly, swirling the remnants of Bourbon round the bottom of his glass. He says nothing for a good few seconds, during which Tony gets progressively more and more anxious, but eventually clears his throat and murmurs, "You had something you had to do. I get it."

He's not sure he does, but shrugs off his coat regardless, tosses it over a chair, and heads over to the desk in the corner.

"How'd you find her, Tony?"

He pauses, halfway through running his finger amongst the sawdust that lies on the surface of the table.
"...I followed her," he says quietly, continuing the motion until tiny specks fly through the air by his hand. "Not properly, but I still saw where she was. Realized she was headed to the airport, went from there."

Gibbs hums as if approving the notion.

"I, uh, caught her just as she was gonna leave. Shmeil was already getting on the plane."

"Good timing, huh?"

"Somethin' like that, boss, yeah."

He thinks, were he facing Gibbs, his colleague would be smirking.
Instead, he continues staring at the wall for about a minute, then decides he really, reallyneeds a drink.

"You tell her you love her?"

Tony stops, arm still raised as he reaches for a spare jar to pour out some alcohol into. Half of him wonders why Gibbs would even think that. The other half remembers, it's Gibbs.
Wincing, he refuses to turn round, but decides on the truth. Who knows, maybe they'll both have one bourbon too many and all this will be forgotten
"Nah. I couldn't get the pronunciation right."

The pause seems to let the words sink in for rather too long, and Tony continues, to fill the awkward silence that's continually putting him on edge.
"So I figured just reminding her she's not alone would be as good."

"...D'you say it in Hebrew?"

He blinks. "Yeah. I used Google."

Gibbs is behind him suddenly, reaching for the mason jar instead, and Tony is only too happy to gulp down the alcohol as soon as it's poured and in his hand.

"Good for you. Good for you, Tony."
The older man's eyes are clear and he knows they're truthful.

Looking at the half-full glass cradled in his hand, he suddenly remembers a long conversation, from Christmas, oh such a long ago, it feels like. Cups and work and family.
And like that, he gets it. Gibbs' eyes seem to suggest that he does, too.

Some crazy, far-away recess of Tony's mind wonders if now he's obtained a Father's blessing.
He doesn't question that, though, because he knows now really isn't the time. Ziva's halfway to Israel, still in mourning, and this instant is no time to call her up and start things between them. Soon, maybe, but not right now.
Instead, he just knocks his head back, swallows, and smiles, before turning round and casting his eyes to the half-shaped block of wood.
"So what're you building?"

Can we talk about the fact that Tony and Ziva hugged?