AN: I always felt the episode "Recoil" wrapped up too conveniently. Ziva went from being a confused, unravelling mess to suddenly looking refreshed, happy and whole again. I always felt there had to be more to her shift in demeanour than just the simple solving of the case. This is my take on what may have taken place between the warehouse scene with Michael Locke and their final scene at the bar.

If you have read my other one-shots and/or Fire and Ice, you will know my stories often contain disciplinary spanking of adults. While this story does not contain an actual spanking, there is the assumption that it is an established part of Gibbs and Ziva's father/daughter relationship.

NB – Dialogue in the morgue is taken directly from the episode "Recoil".

Recoil Unravelled

Get changed, get an X-ray, go home. I do not need to see you again today – Gibbs; 'Recoil' Season 5, Episode 16

When her cell beeped, Ziva knew immediately who it would be. It didn't take a psychic to know Gibbs had not been happy with her the last couple of days. Well, she thought, she hadn't been happy with herself either. But, she had handled it the best way she knew how – alone.

Sighing softly to herself, Ziva closed the file on her desk and picked up her phone. Opening the text, she read 'My place. ASAP'.

God, she thought, even in text form he was monosyllabic. Hadn't their conversation in the morgue been enough for him? Did he really need to dissect it even further? Besides, the case was solved. They'd caught the copycat killer. She'd known it wasn't Locke. Damn Tony and his persistence. Behaving like a jealous lover. For God's sakes, what she did in her own time was her own business. And that went double for Gibbs. She had a good mind to text those exact words to him.

Yeah, right, she thought. She was pissed, not suicidal.

Taking the folder to the cabinet, she filed it in the correct place and, for good measure, slammed the drawer loudly. The sound of the bang echoing around the near empty squad room was so satisfying, she continued her assault on other inanimate objects including kicking the edge of her desk as she picked up her backpack and shoving her chair in with such force, it nearly flew out the other side. Storming to the elevator, she punched the down button and, crossing her arms over her chest, waited for it to make its ascent. Considering the time it took to arrive, she surmised the last person to have used it must have visited the morgue.

The morgue. That was the last place she had spoken to Gibbs. Well, other than the few clipped words she had uttered when she'd handed in her gun to have Michael's fingerprint lifted. With perfect clarity she remembered their conversation.

"You gotta stop staring at this one Ziva," he had said, standing in the doorway. "Put it behind ya."

Yeah, sure, she had thought to herself, slamming shut the drawer on which Hoffman lay. Easier said than done.

Head held high, she had strode to the door hellbent on leaving without speaking to the man she had come to think of as a father. She loved him, yes. She loved him so much it scared her. So many men had betrayed her, let her down or just simply used her for their own agendas. But not Gibbs. Gibbs was genuine. The real deal. The very reasons why she couldn't speak to him right now. He saw through her so easily. Saw through her bravado, right down to her vulnerabilities. And, right now, she wasn't ready to expose her true feelings. She wasn't prepared to look 'weak' in the face of the man she admired more than any man she'd ever known.

Unfortunately, Gibbs wasn't prepared to play that game today. As she tried to step passed him, he blocked her exit, leaving her with no alternative but to stop.

"You seeing Locke?"

She inwardly rolled her eyes. She had to hand it to him. Loquaciousness was not his forte. And yet, despite the brusqueness of his words, they still grated on her, resulting in a response that sounded both defiant and angry.

"You got a problem with that?

Without so much of a flinch, Gibbs hit back. "I do if he's a suspect."

"Is he?" she challenged.

"You tell me."

It wasn't a question, more a statement. And there was no anger in his voice. Disappointment? Maybe. Gibbs was goading her to respond. Again, he knew the right buttons to push to get her to let her guard down. But she wasn't having it. Not today.

Trying for a second time in as many minutes, Ziva attempted to step around him only to find her path blocked once again.

Taking a deep breath so as not to lash out, she said angrily, "Look if you're going to give me a lecture on my bad judgement, I don't need to hear it!"

Did she really mean that? Or was she now goading him? Goading him to get angry, rebuke her, yell at her. Anything to distract her from the self-loathing that was currently racing through her head.

But he didn't get angry. With typical Gibbs perception, he levelled her with his all-knowing look and asked, almost tenderly, "Is that what this is about? You doubting your judgement?"

Damn! His words cut through her barriers like a hot knife through butter and, before she could stop herself, thoughts formed words and the words burst forth.

"I should've moved earlier," she said.

Her statement was self-castigating which only made her angrier. This was not the time to lower her defences. She wasn't ready for any forgiveness. Not from him and certainly not from herself.

"You would've if you could have," he said gently.

No, she inwardly screamed. Do not give me excuses!

"I left it too late," she murmured.

"You still took him out."

Semantics, she thought bitterly.

"I almost died."

There, she had said it. This! This was the crux. The very core of her anger, her disgust, her…. fear.

"But, you didn't."

His words were so comforting. So simple. She felt the hot tears begin to well and, as he stepped into her space, she used every ounce of training she had to not let them fall. She had to remain cold, detached. With the stillness of a wild animal being stalked by a predator, she stood her ground, unflinching as Gibbs leaned in closer.

"You gotta trust your judgement, Ziva," he all but whispered. "The moment you don't, it won't be 'almost'."

She had stared ahead, watching silently as he turned and walked away. Left, once again, with only her thoughts for company, she'd pushed back all trace of emotion and, exhaling slowly, waited until the corridor was clear before making her way out of the building.

And, now, here she stood in front of the same elevator. Still alone, still waiting, still unsure about her judgement.

Going back to the warehouse with Locke that afternoon had seemed like a good idea. No, she corrected, it had been a good idea. It had allowed her to replay the event, completely. Not just in the terrifying flashbacks she had been plague with since it had happened but, rather, to analyse each step, each move in its entirety. It didn't change anything. She had still almost died. But, as she relived and dissected each step she had taken with Hoffman, she remembered Gibbs' words. "But you didn't".

With only her guilt and self-doubt as a constant companion, it wasn't long before Ziva found herself at Gibbs' front door. Knocking softly, more out of courtesy than a need to alert him, she turned the handle and let herself in. Expecting him to be in the basement, she was surprised when he met her in the entrance hall. Dressed in jeans and his worn, but loved, NIS sweatshirt, he looked casual, relaxed. She was surprised at how this one simple thing made her feel at ease. Without realising it, her defences were already beginning to crumble.

"Glad to see you came," he said, indicating she should take a seat on the sofa.

"I did not think I had a choice."

Her words were churlish and she instantly regretted them.

"Sorry," she said with quiet remorse as she took a seat.

Without a word, Gibbs walked into the kitchen and retrieved a bottle of water from the fridge. Unscrewing the cap, he handed it to her.

"You look like crap, Ziva," he said bluntly as he sat on the coffee table, facing her. "When was the last time you ate? Drank? Slept?"

"I am fine Gibbs," she said, taking a sip of the water. The water was cold, refreshing and, as it trickled down her throat, she realised, with surprise, how thirsty she was.

Gibbs watched as she took a second, longer drink.

"Not what I asked," he said, when she finally pulled the bottle away from her mouth.

The silence intensified as one waited and the other stalled.

It was Ziva who broke first.

"What do you want me to say, Gibbs?" she snapped angrily. "You already know the answers to those questions. It is ridiculous to expect me to provide them."

Gibbs levelled her with a warning glare but chose to change tactics.

"Where did you go this afternoon?" he asked.

Her head snapped up defiantly.

"You told me to go home. You've been telling me that for two days. You did not want me at work."

"Again, that's not what I asked," he said with a quiet calm that could unnerve even the most hardened of criminals. "I know, for a fact, you didn't go home.

"How do you know that?" she asked, accusingly.

"I went to your place this afternoon to see if you were alright and, to ask you how Locke's finger prints ended up on your gun. You weren't home."

"Maybe I just didn't want to answer the door," she replied.

"Is that what happened?"

She lowered her head.

"No," she said simply. "If you must know, I took Michael to the place where Hoffman died. I wanted him to know what happened and I wanted to see his reaction when I recounted it. I knew he was innocent." She looked up and gave Gibbs a pointed look. "I was trusting my judgement."

"And?" asked Gibbs.

"And what?" she said, shrugging. "He was, as I expected he would be. Shocked, angry, sympathetic, curious." She paused remembering the phone call from Tony. "And betrayed when he found out I'd had his finger print tested. He will probably never want to talk to me again."

Gibbs continued to stare at her, silent, waiting.

"Is that what you want to hear Gibbs?" she asked angrily. "Another confession of how I messed things up? Another bad judgement call on my part? Is that why you called me here tonight?"

A few more seconds of agonising silence before Gibbs said, "Nope."

"Then why am I here?" she asked angrily.

"I wanted to give you this."

From his pocked, Gibbs pulled a small piece of paper. Taking it from him, Ziva unfolded the note. On it was written the name, Devon Katz and a phone number listed underneath.

As anger morphed into shame, she said quietly, "Thanks."

"That's not all, Ziva," said Gibbs.

Of course it wasn't, she thought to herself. She had known all along her recent behaviour would need to be addressed. She just wasn't sure she was ready to face that yet.

"Look Gibbs," she began curtly.

"No Ziva," interrupted Gibbs, the first sign of anger edging his tone. "You need to listen to me."

Despite knowing she deserved his wrath, she couldn't resist the spark of defiance that surfaced culminating in an eye roll; the very thing Gibbs found intolerable when reprimanding any one of them. And she knew, she was the worst culprit, having learned how to perfect the look over the years.

"Cut the attitude, Ziva," he growled, no longer hiding his displeasure.

Too tired to argue, Ziva sighed and slumped back into the softness of the old, worn sofa.

"If you're going to punish me, just do it," she said wearily. "I'm too exhausted to sit through a lecture and I'm too tired to argue with you. Just get it over with so I can go home and forget the last two days."

"That simple hey?" provoked Gibbs. "That easy? You can just walk out of here and forget what's happened?"

He stared at her for a few seconds before continuing. "Don't lie to me, Ziva. You could no more forget the last two days than I could. You and I, Ziva David, are cut from the same cloth. I know you like l know myself. So cut with the crap, young lady. I'm not putting up with it."

His words, although sharp and angry, reverberated truth and cut her to the core. Blinking away the angry tears that threatened to fall, Ziva stared through to the dining room, determined not to look at him. She knew, if she did, her defences would all but dissolve.

With the gentleness of a loving father, Gibbs cupped Ziva's cheek and turned her head to face him.

"Do you think you deserve punishment?" he asked with a tenderness she did not expect.

"Do you?" she challenged.

Gibbs didn't speak and she knew he was waiting for her to answer his question.

"Yes," she whispered soberly.

"Why?"

Why? She thought. She didn't know why. Well, maybe she did. But it was too complicated to try to explain. Too much effort to dig deep enough to find the answers she knew he sought. So, instead, she said what she thought he wanted to hear.

"Because I failed. I didn't act when I should have. I allowed Hoffman to get the upper hand. I didn't go home when you asked me too. I pushed myself into believing I knew best and I wasn't any use to the team."

She waited for Gibbs to speak. She knew he had heard every word she had spoken and was recalling each one before he spoke.

"First and foremost, Ziva," he finally said. "You did not fail. Secondly, you were given a split second of reasoning before you could choose an action. There was no time to assess the situation. You reacted when you could and how you should. Had you not, you would be dead. You are not dead!"

Listening to his speech, Ziva felt her breath catch. I will not let my guard down, she willed herself quietly. I will not cry.

"Yes, I agree," he continued. "You didn't go home when I asked you to. But, if I was honest with myself, I didn't expect you would. As I said before Ziva, you and I are cut from the same cloth. I wouldn't have gone home either."

She didn't look at him but gave a small smile. At least he knew his own failings and was willing to admit them when necessary.

"As for being no use to the team? That's bull, and you know it."

"But, I barely contributed. I just sat around," she argued, ashamed to say the words.

"You observed, you analysed, you processed."

"They are all selfish acts. I didn't nothing to help solve this case."

"We didn't need you to," replied Gibbs. "If you had gone home, the result would have been the same. The only reason I didn't force you to go home was that I could see, by staying, you were processing what had taken place. Putting it into perspective and giving yourself time to accept the results. If I had thought, for one second, that your staying was going to jeopardise the case, I would have carted your home myself."

She heard his words. Tried to process what he was saying. Was he angry with her or not? She was confused. She had fully expected him to berate her, chew her out on her poor judgement, punish her. If that wasn't to be, then why was she here?

"I don't understand, Gibbs," she said, voicing her confusion. "Why did you ask me to come here tonight. If it wasn't to punish me, then what was the point?"

"Ziva, not everything in life is about actions and consequences," he said gently. "Sometimes, the edges are blurred. You and I see in black and white. And, more often than not, that is a failing. Tonight, I want you to see the grey. I want you to understand that regardless of the path you chose to take, the outcome is what matters. Hoffman is dead, you are alive. That is all that is important to me. You need to cut yourself some slack."

"So," she said slowly, trying to make sense of it all. "You asked me here just to give me Devon Katz' number?"

"No," replied Gibbs. "I asked you here because, tonight, you need to rest. You need a decent meal, a hot shower and a good night's sleep.

She looked up at him in surprise.

"And that's all?"

"Yes," replied Gibbs, unable to hide the small smirk behind his eyes. "That's all."

"But, I can do those things at home."

"You could, but you won't."

For the first time that evening, Ziva found herself smiling. It was small, but it was a smile. He knew her too well.

Standing up, Gibbs took Ziva's hand and pulled her to her feet. Enveloping her in his arms, he hugged her tightly, thankful for her quick reflexes, her sharp perception and, most of all, thankful his girl was alive. Dropping a light kiss on the top of her head, he pulled away and turned her towards the stairs.

"Go and take a long, hot shower or bath, if you prefer. I'll start dinner."

Thankful for the spare change of clothes and pyjamas Gibbs always insisted they kept at his house, Ziva nodded.

"Thanks, Gibbs," she said softly taking his hand and giving it a squeeze.

Her heart felt lighter, her head was clearer and her soul was filled with the love only a father could give.

Tomorrow was a new day.

Tomorrow, she would return to the bar, apologise to Michael and give him Devon's number.

Tomorrow, she would start again.

But tonight?

Tonight, she would share a meal with her father and sleep, safe in the knowledge she was accepted and loved unconditionally.