Lots of people were asking about a sequel to 'Genesis' - and here it is :).

If you haven't read 'Genesis', I would recommend reading that before this one, but I guess you wouldn't get totally lost if you didn't. And, for those that read it but need a quick recap, 'Genesis' ended with Gibbs flying back to DC for three weeks, having accepted a new position as joint leader, alongside Ziva, of a new NCIS-Mossad counter-terrorism team to be based in Tel Aviv, while Jenny Shepard takes over his team in DC. In personal terms, he and Ziva are now in an established (albeit very new) relationship.

Although I never gave any kind of date for 'Genesis', I had it in my mind that the story was set in October 2002. So this carries almost straight on from that.

Enjoy! And reviews are always very welcome :).

Disclaimer: I own nothing to do with NCIS. I'm just playing with the characters and then (hopefully) putting them back where I found them.


Gaza City. 25th November 2002

The basement was stifling. Sweat pooled under his arms, and ran down his back in tiny rivulets that congregated at the waistband of his cargo pants, causing the material to rub uncomfortably against his skin as he leaned against the back of the wooden chair. The air was heavy with the smell of petrol and grease, and the motorbike in pieces in the corner indicated that someone had been using the space as a makeshift garage. He wondered briefly how they - whoever it was - had managed to get the bike down here, since there was no outside door that he could see. The only way in or out was the staircase that he had walked down just ten minutes before. But it was a puzzle he didn't waste time in trying to solve.

Everything was quiet. Unnervingly quiet. The rocket fire that had been so deafening earlier had ceased, but he imagined that the streets outside were still deserted. They would probably remain so now until the morning, people too scared to venture out into the darkness unless it was an emergency. They knew by now that, when rockets were fired over the security fence, retaliation would not be long in coming. And no one wanted to be exposed when it did.

Even the house itself was silent. He could hear nothing from the rooms above - no footsteps, no voices - and he wasn't sure whether that was a good thing or not. The only sound was his own breathing, deep and loud in the close atmosphere of the basement, and the movements of the woman sitting opposite him, over by the wall.

He knew her. But now he did not recognise her. There was a steely look in her eyes that he had not seen before, and a cold, methodical concentration in the way she held the gun, turning it over in her hands, checking the balance and the weight of it. He could have told her that it was a little on the heavy side for her and that, in an ideal situation, she should have been using something lighter. He could have told her that it pulled ever so slightly to the right when it was fired, so that if you wanted a perfect shot you had to aim a degree to the left, and that the recoil was greater than she was probably used to.

It was, after all, his gun.

But, since she was about to use it on him, he didn't tell her any of that.

When she broke the silence, her voice was the same as he remembered. Quiet, gentle, with a lilting hint of amusement; the voice of someone who loves life. It had suited her then. Now, he couldn't reconcile it with the woman in front of him.

'So'.

She finally looked up from the gun, and over at him.

'I hope you are ready'.

Ready for what? To talk? To die?

Was there such a thing as being ready to die?

He had looked down the barrel of a gun before, more than once. He had been an inch away from taking his last breath and hoping that hell wasn't as bad as they made out, because he was convinced that was where he was headed. And, on those occasions, he remembered feeling...ambivalent. He remembered thinking that, if this was it, then so be it. Just get it over with.

This time was different.

Every cell in his body was screaming at him to do something, even though he knew there wasn't a lot he could do. If he moved, she would pull the trigger. If he shouted, she would pull the trigger. And he didn't have another weapon on him.

But none of that stopped the survival instinct kicking in. He didn't just not want to die.

For the first time, Leroy Jethro Gibbs wanted, more than anything, to live.


Washington DC. 4th November 2002

'Nothing changes'.

Gibbs did not look up from the strip of wood he was sanding, but a quick smile crossed his face as he heard the familiar voice. He had known she was there. He had been expecting her. He just knew he didn't need to make a special effort.

'Yeah, how's that?'

His hands continued to work, moving slowly backwards and forwards with the grain, and the redheaded woman at the top of his basement stairs smiled.

'You. Basement. Boat. Bourbon'.

She started to walk down, her heels sharp on the stairs, and Gibbs only looked up once she had reached him. Long hair, petite figure, twinkling green eyes. She looked exactly the same as when he had last seen her two years before. Throwing down the sandpaper, he turned to the workbench behind him and emptied the nails out of a small jar.

Jenny Shepard grimaced.

'Some things should change'.

But still, she accepted it with a shrug when he handed her the jar with a finger-width of bourbon in the bottom.

'Surprised it took you so long, Jen'.

She smiled at the use of her nickname.

'Well, thanks to you, I've had a mountain of bureaucracy to wade through'.

She took a sip of the fiery amber liquid, and swallowed hard as Gibbs smirked. She never had taken to bourbon particularly well.

'Moving out of the States was a hell of a lot easier than moving back in'.

'Yeah, how was Rota?'

'Hot'. She gestured ruefully to her spattered raincoat. 'Sunny'.

She took another sip of her drink, looking at him teasingly over the rim of the jar.

'But not as hot as where you're going'.

He inclined his head, a half-smile tugging at his lips, but he didn't reply and Jenny raised her eyebrows.

'She must be pretty special'.

'It's a good job. Could be interesting'.

She laughed as she pulled over a stool and sat down.

'Come on, Jethro. This is me you're talking to. And you've dragged me back here from a pretty cushy gig in Spain. I think I at least deserve the juicy gossip'.

Gibbs shook his head, taking a mouthful of his own bourbon. He had forgotten how close he and Jenny had once been, and how, despite his best efforts, he had never been able to get much past her. It looked as if she was right. Some things didn't change.

She must be pretty special.

'Yeah'. He nodded. 'She is'.

He tried to push away the image of Ziva David that suddenly flashed into his mind. Her long dark hair, her brown eyes that could flash and sparkle with every emotion under the sun if she chose to let them. Her perfect figure...but this was definitely not the time or the place to be thinking about that...her drive and talent, her determination to succeed, her strength. The slight vulnerability that he suspected she had never displayed to anyone else. Her poise, the graceful way she carried herself, the infectious laugh that always made him smile too.

The way she made him feel alive.

He blinked as he realised Jenny was staring at him, an amused grin on her face.

'Wow'. Her voice was slightly mocking. 'You really have got it bad'.

She was probably right. And if Ziva hadn't been involved, he didn't think there was any way he would have accepted to offer to move to Israel as part of a new counter-terrorism team. But that didn't mean that the whole world had to know it.

'Good money, too'.

Jenny snorted.

'Since when has that even crossed your radar?' She placed her empty nail jar back down on the workbench. 'Point taken, though. But...Jethro?'

He raised his eyebrows, noting her suddenly serious expression.

'Be careful. I've heard that Eli David is not the easiest man to work for. And seeing his daughter, mixing work and...well. You know how badly it can go wrong'.

She didn't need to remind him of the details of when it had gone so badly wrong before, since she was sitting right in front of him, and Gibbs didn't reply. He didn't want to admit, even to himself, how much that sometimes worried him.

Jenny straightened up, her demeanour suddenly businesslike.

'So, is there anything I need to know? About your team?'

Gibbs thought for a moment before shaking his head. He had pushed for Jenny to take over his team in DC - it was one of the conditions he had set before he had accepted the move to Tel Aviv - and he had done so because he knew she was a damn good agent. And his was a damn good team. They deserved the best.

'No'. He paused. 'Just don't take any crap off DiNozzo'.

'Is he likely to give me any?'

Gibbs shrugged.

'It's all bluster'.

'I can give as good as I get'.

He couldn't help smiling at that. He knew fine well what Jenny was capable of.

'Oh, I know'.

'When do you go?'

'Three days'.

She looked around her at the half-finished boat still upside down on the support rack, the tools that still littered the workbench, and then up to the ceiling, where the living room above was still fully furnished - well, as furnished as it had ever been.

He answered her unspoken question.

'Trial period, six months. I'm not selling yet'.

'Ah'. She nodded, and paused, smiling at him. 'When you do...Just don't forget to tell the estate agents how to get that boat out of here. Because I have no doubt that you won't be back'.

'We'll see'.

He hoped she was right. And, as he returned her smile, he couldn't help thinking that her confidence in him - especially considering how it had ended between them - was touching.

She stood up with a sigh.

'I had better go. Early start tomorrow'.

When she looked up at him, he could see a trace of sadness in her eyes, a wistfulness for the thought that, had things worked out slightly differently, it could have been her that he turned his life upside down for, and he reached out and softly ran a finger down her cheek before dropping his hand back by his side.

'Another life, Jen'.

'Yeah'. She nodded, smiling again before turning and starting up the stairs, pausing when she reached the top.

'Good luck, Jethro'.

Gibbs remained where he was for a few minutes after she had gone. He heard the front door open and close again, heard the faint sound of a car engine start up, and inhaled the lingering scent of her perfume that had mingled with the sawdust and bourbon and the soft rain that had been falling outside.

He missed Ziva.

Ever since he had returned from Israel, he had thought about her constantly, and he had to keep reminding himself that they had only known each other for a month. Four weeks. And, for three of those weeks, they had not even been on the same continent.

But it seemed that time no longer had much meaning.

Four weeks should not have been long enough for him to develop a niggling feeling that something was missing, and yet that feeling had been there ever since he had left her at Ben-Gurion airport. It should not have been long enough for him to miss her so badly that, every so often, that niggle transformed into a full-blown ache that hit him straight in the gut, but that had happened on several occasions. It certainly should not have been long enough to warrant moving across an ocean to be with her, but that was exactly what he was about to do. And the three short days that were left until he was due to fly back to Israel on a one-way ticket should go over quickly, but instead they seemed to stretch out like an endless blank in front of him. He suspected that they would be some of the longest days of his life.

Checking his watch, he realised that it would be almost four in the morning in Tel Aviv and, even considering her habit of getting up early for a run, Ziva would not yet be awake. They had managed to speak most days, sometimes at more sociable hours than others, but he didn't want to call now and wake her up. He would give it another hour or so, and do a bit more work on the boat - despite the fact that he would be leaving it behind half-finished. Running his hand over the smooth grain, he realised just how badly he hoped that Jenny was right. He didn't want to come back to a boat and an empty basement.

One hour. Three days. Four weeks.

It didn't really matter.