A/N: This story is dedicated to Kesterpan, whose vague prompt percolated with a random line from a song and a mood I was in to produce this fic. xoxoxo, my friend.

It was supposed to be a one-shot (stop laughing out there, those of you who know me well), but once it hit over 8,000 words, I figured it should at least be a two-shot. The chapters will be long, but this one is an emotional piece and I do not want to interrupt the flow to the point that those who read it can't connect with that in a visceral manner. It is my hope that my words evoke within you the same emotions that Ziva and Gibbs are feeling, even struggling with here. I know they did for me.

Keep in mind that I see both Ziva and Gibbs as deeply emotional people who normally keep that as far under the radar as possible for various reasons, not the least of which is that they each feel out of their comfort zone in handling and sharing those emotions. To that extent, they are not OOC for me here, though I have pushed even my own boundaries in writing this as I have which is always interesting to me, even as it is challenging. I am optimistic that I have painted a picture that allows you to see them as I do, but if not, feel free to give this a pass.

The ending will be up soon, hopefully today or tomorrow. Thanks for reading!

"El Al Flight 324 to Tel Aviv now boarding at Gate 37."

Ziva David sat in the waiting area for that airline in the seat furthest away from the attendant's desk, the same seat in which she'd been sitting since nearly three o'clock this morning. It was now 6:00 a.m.

She heard the call for passengers to start boarding, but made no move that would suggest she had.

As she had been for hours, she sat alone with her face turned toward the large windows, staring out at a sky that she had watched turn from impenetrable black to an early morning gray that looked as dismal as she felt. One arm clasped her backpack protectively to her chest as it rested in her lap, while she clutched her boarding pass in her other hand. She was unconsciously using enough force to wrinkle it.

She was supposed to get on that flight.

She didn't want to.

Her body may have been sitting in Dulles International Airport, but her mind was at NCIS. Her coworkers – former coworkers she corrected herself almost harshly, ruthlessly cutting off the pang in her heart – would be getting in fairly soon. She tried to picture their various reactions when they found the notes she'd left for them. A formal letter for Director Vance; a heartfelt note for each of her friends: Tony, Tim, Abby, Ducky, Palmer.

A very different, yet even more heartfelt one for Jethro.

The tears she'd been fighting with varied success all night beaded silently down her cheeks as she once more lost the battle in holding them back. The need for his letter is what had started this whole course of events, though she wasn't angry at him. Quite the contrary.

She was in love with him and knew she always would be. The truth was, she had been in love with him long before they both admitted that they had feelings for each other that went beyond being friends and coworkers … one year ago today.

The fact that no one else knew did not diminish the affection between them in the least; just the opposite, in fact.

At least, in the beginning.

Jethro.

She closed her eyes tightly and fought to breathe. She felt as though she were suffocating, but did not know what other path to take besides this one she'd forged. She didn't really want to be on it, though, which is why she sat frozen as the others around her began boarding the plane for the long flight to Israel.

A tiny voice in her head tried to point out yet again that she should have tried harder to actually talk to Gibbs about all of this – especially about the reason that had suddenly driven her to know exactly how he saw their future playing out - rather than dropping hints about the conversation she wanted to have, hoping he would take her up on them. In her mind, if he ignored the subtle suggestions, it was because he didn't really want to talk about it or had nothing to say, and she wasn't secure enough about her place in his life to be more direct about it.

Such was the insidious nature of secrets – uncertainty slithered in, taking up residence in spaces you didn't even realize were there.

So, characteristically, she'd done what she'd been doing her whole life: stuffed down her emotions with an iron will and set about doing what she felt needed to be done, relying on no one but herself.

Uncharacteristically, she ran.

While she had some misgivings about doing so, her emotions had become overwhelming and at some point it had begun to feel impossible to turn back. Some of the steps she'd taken felt so … final. But now that this particular moment was upon her, she really wasn't sure she could actually get on that plane.

She should be happy to be going home, she berated herself silently. She hushed that voice again as it whispered that, while the country of her birth would always hold a special place in her heart, it was no longer home. That was here.

Or wherever Jethro happened to be.

He should be opening the letter she'd left for him soon. She had some apprehension about leaving it on the top of his desk given its personal nature, but had ultimately decided that it would look more circumspect if she did not treat his envelope as she had Tony's and Tim's on the off-chance Gibbs was not the first to arrive at work. Unable to stop herself, she read through it again in her mind as her heart felt like it was being squeezed by a fist. Despite the fact that her actions were carrying her away from him, she had chosen to leave with as much honesty as she could.

Dear Jethro,

Leaving here – leaving you – is the second hardest thing I have ever done. It turns out that the hardest thing was waiting, hoping that you would want a lasting relationship with me. I must face the fact that it would seem you do not.

I do not blame you for that. It is not a crime to be settled into your life as it is and it is not your fault that I am apparently not someone with whom you could see forever.

I wanted to be, though – more than you will ever know.

The time we have spent together away from work over this past year has been the happiest of my life. There were times I wondered how no one else could notice, positive that the feelings l have for you must be beaming out of me, too much to be contained.

So often I wanted to shout from the rooftops how much I love you, how beyond lucky I felt that you loved me back. I understand your reasons for keeping our relationship just between us and for the longest time I truly did not mind guarding such a secret. In some ways, it was exciting and connected us even further – you and me together, everyone else apart. However, it is too difficult for me to live that way any longer and I would never force you to be open about us, even if I could.

Besides, if you really wanted the others to know, they already would.

Continuing to keep this to ourselves indefinitely does not seem possible and so I can only conclude that you do not see us as … something permanent. I find I am not strong enough to continue as we are, sitting beside you every day, sleeping beside you most every night, waiting for the day that your life moves in a different direction without me. Apparently I have become as weak as my father believes I have.

There is so much more I could say, but it does not seem to really matter at this point. So, rather than the words I thought – had hoped – I would be wishing you on this day, I will simply say that I hope you find what you need to be truly happy and know that no matter where you are, no matter where I am, you are loved. Always.

Ziva

Special Agent Leroy Jethro Gibbs leaned back in his chair at NCIS looking as completely shell-shocked as he felt, his heart thudding almost painfully somewhere in the vicinity of his stomach. Ziva. She was gone. Just like that. How had this happened? How in the hell had he missed it?

As he thought over the last few weeks, he was forced to admit that he hadn't. True to form, he'd just avoided opening a conversation about whatever seemed to be going on with her, hoping things would go back to normal.

Well, as normal as things got when you were involved in a clandestine relationship with someone you loved more than your own life despite the fact that it broke one of your own rules and probably a whole host of agency guidelines, as well. NCIS had gotten serious about sexual harassment in the workplace. While neither he nor Ziva felt in the least bit harassed, he wasn't sure Vance or the Human Resources manager would see it that way, especially since he was her supervisor.

He replayed the recent past in his head. A couple of months ago, Ziva had begun pointing out that the lease on her apartment would be up soon … today, he realized with a start. His only response had been You'll renew it, right?

Now he acknowledged the sadness that had briefly crossed her beautiful brown eyes before being quickly hidden. She had never really answered.

His thoughts at the time had been purely selfish. They spent most of their time together at her place and it had come to feel more like home to him than his own house. He loved the way it reflected her, the way it smelled like her, the fact that they were less likely to be interrupted – caught – there … and that it had no ghosts.

Over time, they really only stayed at his house when he needed to spend time in his basement with the feel of wood under his hands. She always seemed to know when he needed that and whether it was a time for her company there or not. In fact, she generally figured all that out before he did.

Now he wondered if she'd been trying to get at something else … like maybe living together?

He'd determined long ago that that was not a possibility, no matter how much he wanted it. A secret relationship wouldn't remain secret if that happened. Therefore, he had shoved even the thought of that away and was ashamed now to admit that he'd left it there, out of reach.

Gibbs had the sense that something else had also happened within the last few weeks beyond her lease coming up for renewal, but he couldn't put his finger on what. She'd gradually grown more distant and while the only night they'd spent together in the last couple of weeks had been filled with mind-blowing sex, there had been more than a hint of desperation about it. They hadn't been able to get enough of each other and she'd absorbed him through each one of her senses in a manner that felt intentional … as though she were memorizing every facet of that time together.

That alone should have forced his head out of the sand, but he'd allowed himself to chalk it up to the fact that back-to-back difficult, time-consuming cases had seriously depleted the time they could spend alone together lately. They had simply needed to steep themselves in each other, or so he'd thought. Apparently there had been more to it … and he'd known that on some level.

She'd also disappeared a couple of times this week, but DiNozzo always had an answer for that when asked. Jethro's gut had told him Tony was covering for her and he should investigate that more, but he'd used the demands of the case and lack of personal time to avoid that, too.

But there was absolutely no excuse for his actions – well, lack thereof – a few hours ago. They'd finally closed their most recent case. Around midnight he'd sent everyone home to get some sleep, telling them to finish their reports in the morning. He'd even grabbed his own stuff and followed DiNozzo and McGee to the elevator. When Ziva had made no move to pack up her things, he'd stopped and looked at her over the wall beside her desk.

"You comin'?"

She'd shaken her head.

"I have a few things to take care of," she'd husked. Her voice had sounded a little off, but he didn't figure out until too late that she was forcing the words past a lump in her throat. "You go ahead."

"Boss?" Tony called from the elevator that he and Tim were holding for Gibbs.

"Go on," she'd directed a little more firmly with a smile that he now interpreted as a little sad, even remote. "Goodbye … Gibbs."

He'd had the feeling she'd wanted to use his first name, but she never did that at work. He also sensed again that he was missing something important and realized he was going to have to overcome his instinctive reticence and ask her about it.

Truthfully, he was worried he was losing her and didn't really want to face that fact, even though he'd been waiting subconsciously for that to happen ever since they'd become lovers. Why would a young, vibrant woman like Ziva stay with him when she could be with anyone she wanted?

While he wanted nothing more than to marry her and really make a life with her - the rules be damned - he hadn't been able to sentence her to that … but hadn't been able to let her go, either. That was him being selfish again.

After being with Ziva, he looked back over his three failed marriages and understood that he'd been searching for something that felt permanent in his life again, but had jumped the gun. He should have waited for her, even though she deserved more than a cranky old bastard who now had a terrible track record at long-term relationships.

However, work was not the place for such a personal conversation. Despite his fears of the outcome, he'd do it at home where there was no chance of being overheard.

"Night, Ziver," he'd quietly said instead of a host of other things he could have said. "See you soon -?"

Those last words were full of hidden meaning and he was waiting for the signal they'd devised for confirming whether they'd be at her place or if this would be a night they would spend at his.

Without looking at him, she'd just shaken her head.

"Not tonight," she'd breathed, her voice barely a whisper.

Never again she thought to herself, her heart breaking.

Something inside him stilled, but before he could say anything she'd added truthfully, "I am tired."

"'kay," he'd replied hesitantly. "See you tomorrow."

He now remembered that she'd never responded to that beyond a faint curve to her lips that hadn't reached her eyes.

Now he knew why.

He cursed himself for going on home, for standing in the shower until the water ran cold before he noticed that her shampoo, conditioner and body wash were now missing from there. His tired brain had kicked into gear, his heart tripping. He'd quickly dried off and tried not to panic when a quick look revealed that her toothbrush was also gone. He wrapped the towel around his hips and headed into the bedroom, already knowing what he would find and dreading it. Sure enough, the drawer he'd cleaned out for her so she could keep some clothes there was empty, as was the one area of the closet that he'd reserved for her. Her book on the table at her side of the bed was gone.

With every discovery, his pulse pounded harder and faster in his ears.

If not for the picture of the two of them on his dresser that she'd managed to snap one weekend, it might have seemed she'd never been there at all.

Wait.

There had been a second picture. But the place where it normally sat was now as empty as her drawer.

She must have taken it with her. That had to mean something.

Didn't it?

Grabbing his phone, he called her as he threw on jeans and a shirt. The only response was her voice mail.

He was down the stairs and in his truck in a flash. All the way to her place, he kept calling. Still no answer.

He parked hurriedly outside her apartment, frowning when he didn't see her car in her assigned spot. Glancing up at her windows, he saw only darkness, but sent a plea to the heavens that she was inside.

She wasn't.

In fact, he got the shock of his life when he let himself in using the keys she'd given him only to find her place completely empty – of everything.

It was like she'd erased herself from here, too.

He continued calling her phone even after he realized it was futile as he drove by Abby's, Tim's, Tony's, hoping to find her car. He hesitated to wake them as he didn't know how to explain why he was looking for Ziva in the middle of the night. In his current state of mind, he was certain they would know right away that something more was going on than searching for a coworker or even a friend, one who'd been perfectly fine when they left work just a couple of hours ago.

The ingrained habits of secrecy were hard to break.

When he didn't find her car at any of their places, he'd driven to NCIS hoping to find her there.

Unbeknownst to him, he'd missed her by about an hour.

However, the fact that her desk was cleared of anything personal and the letter she'd left on the center of his had been impossible to miss.

That brought him back to the present, feeling like he'd been pole-axed.

Hang on a minute … something niggled at him about the end of her letter. He reread it. There it was. " … rather than the words I thought – had hoped – I would be wishing you on this day …" What did she mean?

Then he looked at the date at the top of the note again and it hit him. A year ago today – now that it was after midnight - was the day their relationship had changed. It was their anniversary.

He hadn't remembered that, he admitted honestly. His stomach clenched. Jesus, could he have screwed up any more?

Gibbs sat for an uncharacteristically long time, rereading the letter and reflecting on everything. During his second read, he detected what had to be splotches from tears smearing the ink in places. He hoped that meant she hadn't really wanted to write it.

He'd noticed that the guys each had a similar envelope and now he couldn't stop himself from calling them in. Maybe their notes would indicate where she'd gone. If they didn't, he'd need McGee's help in tracking her down.

All he had to say to each of them was "Ziva's gone" and both young men were there as quickly as possible. They were bleary-eyed, but clearly worried.

Their notes contained no clue as to where she was headed, but said goodbye and how much she'd miss them, how much their friendship had meant to her.

McGee tried to track her cell even without being asked, but had to tell Gibbs it was turned off. No luck there, but he set up a trace on it anyway in case she turned it on.

He also checked the NCIS security cameras with Gibbs hovering over his shoulder, but they didn't see her car leave. The cameras didn't cover every nook and cranny or even every exit, so Tony ran to the garage. Unfortunately, he could only report back that her car wasn't there.

Wait – there she was leaving through the front door. Going back earlier in the day in the recorded footage, they saw her enter through that same door that morning rather than coming in through the garage entrance. How had she gotten to work that morning?

Gibbs checked with the security guard downstairs who confirmed that Ziva had left the building around 2 a.m. through the front door. The man had watched until she was safely in a cab. Tony got on the phone with the taxi service, thankful the guard had noticed which company had picked her up. Unfortunately, he ran into one of those dispatchers who believed in privacy for his customers unless a warrant was involved. McGee began a facial recognition search involving all the traffic cameras in the area. It was a long-shot, but he didn't want to leave a stone unturned. Time flew as all three men worked to locate Ziva.

Gibbs had a sudden thought.

Surely not.

Still …

"McGee," he barked and the young man looked up.

"Yeah, Boss?"

"Check flights. Start with those heading to Israel."

Tim's eyes grew large at his leader's directive.

"Gibbs, you don't think –"

Jethro cut him off.

"Don't know what to think, McGee," he sighed. "But have to consider it."

Before long, the tech wizard discovered that Gibbs' gut had been on target. Ziva was booked on a flight to Tel Aviv that was scheduled to leave Dulles in forty-five minutes. It would take Gibbs close to that to reach the airport.

Gibbs immediately grabbed his keys, along with the badge and gun he'd brought out of habit and made for the elevator at a fast clip.

"DiNozzo! Call that airline and do whatever you have to to ground that plane or slow it down," he ordered over his shoulder as the doors opened.

Hesitating, he blocked the doors so they couldn't close and called out, "Tim?"

He waited for his agent to look up at him, surprise at the use of his first name written on his face.

"Thanks. Good work. Both of you."

"Sure, Boss," McGee returned reflexively, further surprised by the compliment. Then his voice firmed. "Just bring her back, all right? We need her."

"Yeah, we do," Gibbs agreed with feeling.

Just before the doors closed, Jethro stepped out from behind the safety and security of his rules and admitted out loud, "I need her."

And he'd never told her.

The doors whooshed shut, leaving two very confused agents staring at each other.

"Did he just say what I think he said?" Tony asked.

"Yes, Tony," McGee advised. "I believe he did."

As Tim thought about the possibilities behind Gibbs' words, a little satisfied smile curved his lips.

"Good for them. Those two are perfect for each other." McGee went back to his desk, feeling a juvenile kick of pleasure that he'd actually rendered Tony momentarily speechless until he urged him, "You'd better stop that plane."

The senior agent was on it. He could grill Probie on his comment afterwards. How the heck had he missed that?

In the garage, Gibbs quickly ate up the distance to his truck in long, hurried strides that turned into a running jog. He pulled out his phone and called Vance as he peeled out of the garage.

"Yeah, Leon," he said when the director answered. "Gonna be gone for a while; not sure how long."

"I hope it has something to do with the manila envelope I just found on my desk containing a badge, a gun, an ID, a phone and the politest damn resignation letter I've ever read," Vance responded.

Hell.

Gibbs sighed.

"Has everything to do with that," he admitted.

"Take what time you need," Leon said, "but don't come back empty-handed."

"Leon, that letter –" Jethro began.

"What letter?" Vance interrupted. "You mean the one that just accidently fell into my shredder?"

Despite the seriousness of the circumstances, Gibbs felt the side of his mouth tug up in a ghost of his usual smile.

"Good luck, Agent Gibbs." Then, for once, someone hung up on the team leader first as Leon signed off.

Jethro appreciated the sentiment. He had a feeling he was going to need it.