A/N: Much to my surprise, another episode tag plot bunny took up residence in my brain and refused to leave. I'm fairly certain that had to do with the fact that it was well-fed - one might even say bribed - with soft, thick, delicious brownies from certain parties. I shall refrain from pointing fingers, but you know who you are. :p
There is one more chap to this that is already written and will be posted soon. Also, for those of you following "Brewed Awakenings," the next chap for that will hopefully be up without much further delay, as well.
This one is for Sarah Withers, gosgirl, Bamacrush, iyimgrace, WithTheGrain, Sehrezad, LauraEve24 and writingjustforfun for the encouragement and hand-holding, not only for this one, but also for the couple other episode tags that are likely coming down the pike unless I can drop-kick those bunnies outta here ... =)
I would also l like to officially welcome USAFChief to my fan fic world, even if he can't quite believe he's here. :p It's a pleasure having you along for the ride.
Taylor Swift's "You Belong With Me" also served as loose inspiration for this tag. If you don't know that song, you might want to listen to it. It really works for me in this context, though this isn't a songfic. All the usual disclaimers apply for that song and for NCIS.
Ziva stood just outside the doorway to Gibbs' basement listening to him finish his phone conversation. Part of her felt guilty for essentially eavesdropping, but the topic of the conversation was the reason she was here in the first place so she stayed where she was. Besides, her heart had nudged her to see if he was okay and she couldn't very well do that if she left.
"Yeah, you do that, Dr. Ryan," he muttered into the phone, managing to make her title sound like a taste of bad fish. "See you around."
With that, he hung up the phone, turned it off, and tossed it onto his workbench before adding one last comment to himself, albeit out loud.
"Or not."
He walked back to his project to begin sanding again on the rocker he was building for Leyla's front porch.
After a moment, he called out, "You coming down, Ziver, or are ya just gonna stand there?"
She startled a bit, then shook her head at herself. Of course he'd known she was up here; he always knew stuff like that.
Slowly, she walked down the steps, then across the room to lean her back casually against his workbench, her hands braced on either side of her hips. Neither of them spoke at first, which was not unusual. They were perhaps the two least talkative people on the planet – certainly on their team. The thing was, quiet between them never bothered either one of them. It felt … comfortable.
"Are you all right?" she eventually asked, breaking the silence.
He glanced at her, then back down at his work. "Fine. What makes you ask?"
She tilted her head toward the phone. "That is not the first … terse conversation I have overheard between you and Dr. Ryan in the last couple of days. That is why I came over, in fact; to see if you were all right."
"Like I said, fine," he answered somewhat abruptly.
"You do not sound completely fine," Ziva observed affectionately, lifting a challenging eyebrow as though daring him to disagree with her. "If you want to talk, I am happy to listen."
He snorted. "According to Ryan, I don't talk – that's a problem for her."
Ziva allowed a small smile. "I see."
There was silence for a moment. Then, he broke it. He wasn't completely surprised. He had a habit of doing that around Ziva – talking to her when he wouldn't have to most others. He had mostly gotten used to it, but it still bewildered him on occasion. Like this one.
"Seems like every time I turn around, she's asking me some question I don't even want to think about, let alone answer – even when I just asked her one." His tone made it completely clear what he thought of that.
"Now, that would be annoying," Ziva commiserated, perfectly serious.
He looked up at her as though trying to determine if she was serious or being cheeky. When it become obvious that she wasn't teasing, he felt some part of him relax. Huh. He hadn't even realized he was tense.
"She thinks she needs to date someone who isn't so repressed." The bad fish tone was back with that last word, forcing Ziva to bite back a grin.
"Shoulda known better than to go out with a shrink, anyway," he muttered, almost to himself. "Maybe I need to add that to Rule 13 – never involve a lawyer or a shrink."
Ziva's lips twitched. "There's an idea," she agreed.
He looked up this time to find a twinkle in her eye and his characteristic half-smile tugged unexpectedly at his lips. He refused to examine just why Ziva always had the ability to help him settle. With an internal snort, he figured if Dr. Samantha Ryan had been standing there, she'd have asked him how he felt about that.
Ziva turned around and emptied a couple of mason jars. Lifting his bottle of bourbon down, she took the liberty of pouring them each some. Strolling over to Gibbs, she handed him one. Walking back to the bench, she missed the way his eyes were checking out her backside on her return trip. Damn, she had a fine ass. Then he caught himself up short, like he always did. Knock it off, Jethro. Rule 12 is there for a reason. And to her you're a close friend and a co-worker, nothing more.
At that moment, Ziva was so busy trying to keep her full reaction to this man hidden that she was oblivious to his thoughts. She repeated her usual mantra inside her head: Rule 12. Rule 12. Rule 12. She had become quite adept at hiding the true depth of her feelings for him over the years. However, when she felt like something was hurting him, her need to protect and comfort him sorely tried her control.
"So, why did you go out with her?" Ziva asked softly.
He mulled that over for a moment, then shrugged. "She asked. She's not all bad. Sometimes I want … company." He stopped short of saying to get laid, but his Ziver was a smart woman; she'd figure it out.
She did.
"So did you?" she asked daringly, not sure if she really wanted to know the answer.
He gave her a level stare with his eyebrows raised archly. Ziva just returned the look all calm, cool and collected-like. On the outside, at least.
He honestly couldn't have said what prompted him to answer her, but something did. He shook his head.
"Didn't get that far," he revealed, looking at the project under his hands. He missed the way she relaxed at his response and the way she watched those hands at work. "Only went out a couple of times. Besides, she started getting on my nerves with her questions."
"Ah," Ziva responded. "It is difficult to get relaxed enough for … company when one is annoyed."
He looked up at her again to find her grin buried in her mason jar as she took a sip of the bourbon, but her brown eyes gleamed at him teasingly over the rim.
He snorted out loud again. But his own lips twitched.
"That the voice of experience talking, Ziver?" he pried, even as part of him was smacking himself upside the head internally for going down that road with her. This was dangerous territory considering if he could pick any one person to have as "company" and the consequences be damned, he'd choose her.
"Definitely," she admitted with feeling.
"Sounds like you and I both need to find better company," he joked warmly, glancing at her with twinkling eyes that were decidedly … flirtatious - ?
Something moved through her brown eyes that he couldn't read – she wouldn't let him – then it was gone.
Sitting her now-empty jar deliberately on the bench beside her hip, she agreed. "Sounds like."
"Why'd you come here tonight?" he asked quietly, his tone and look shifting gears from teasing to probing as he watched her.
She shrugged lightly, her gaze focused on the floor near him as though she were considering her response. He let the silence stretch between them. Eventually, she filled it.
"Sometimes I have this urge to take care of you," she revealed honestly, softly. A wry smile ghosted across her lips as she glanced at him. "No annoyance intended."
He stilled, his hands resting on the arm of the rocker on which he'd been working. Warmth flooded his belly, but he kept that response to himself. If she only knew how much he secretly took pleasure in that, how much he wanted to take care of her, too …
"Like feeding me?" he questioned lightly, referring to her habit of inviting him over for dinner on a regular basis with the reasoning that it wasn't fun to cook for one person and they both had to eat, did they not?
She didn't have to know that he accepted because he enjoyed being alone with her, relished having her all to himself. After all, what she didn't know couldn't bite him in the ass.
"That is part if it," she admitted with a faint smile, leaving him to wonder what she wasn't saying.
He was intrigued by the light blush that stained her cheeks as she thought about her other reasons for having him over for dinner … reasons that involved her just wanting to be near him and providing fodder for her fantasies that there could be something more intimate between them than friendship and working together. Someday. Maybe. Hopefully.
She knew full well that it was not likely, but a girl could dream, yes?
"Can take care of myself," he pointed out, bringing her out of her reverie.
"I know," she agreed. "But that does not mean that you have to."
Pushing off the bench, she walked over to him and laid a hand gently on one of his strong forearms. Unconsciously, her thumb rubbed over his warm skin.
"I hope you find what you are looking for, Gibbs," she said softly, looking down at the contrast of her skin against his. "Someone who understands that you talk when it is most important; you are simply choosy with whom you do it."
Someone like me. Ziva resolutely shoved that thought to the back of her mind. When she was sure it was hidden once more, she raised her gaze to his and continued in a lighter vein.
"Someone who also knows that there is no crime in using as few words as possible when you do."
They shared a smile. Then, her eyes became unreadable again.
"Who knows? Maybe that person is closer than you realize," she suggested softly, her gaze still locked on his.
He felt like she was trying to tell him something important, but in that moment he couldn't fully open himself to the possibility that she might be talking about herself.
And as for her, she simply couldn't say anymore. There was too much to lose.
Stretching up on tip-toe, she pressed a very gentle kiss to his cheek, near the corner of his mouth. "Goodnight, Gibbs." Walking toward the stairs, she tossed over her shoulder, "You know where to find me if you if you need … anything."
Then she was gone.
