Probably a oneshot, and just a bit of fun :).

Disclaimer: I own nothing to do with NCIS.

Gibbs pulled up outside the smart apartment block, switching off his headlights but leaving the engine running. Looking up out of the car window, he could see that lights were on in almost all of the apartments, some brightly shining down into the street, others slightly muffled by curtains or blinds. It was very late on a midweek evening, the sort of time when his father used to say that all law-abiding folk should be at home, either their own or someone else's. Gibbs had thought about his own home, but even with a half-finished boat in his basement and a full bottle of bourbon, it didn't hold much appeal. He certainly didn't think he would be able to settle to anything constructive. The case that had been going on for the past two weeks, and that had finally wound up that day, had been a rough one that had taken its toll on all of them and, for once, Leroy Jethro Gibbs wanted some company.

He told himself that his journey could just as easily have ended outside DiNozzo's place, or Ducky's, or McGee's. Except that DiNozzo had mentioned something about a woman he had met at a coffee shop, a trip to the movies and...well. Whatever came after the trip to the movies. Ducky had been playing bridge and would probably now be at home asleep, while McGee would have fully transformed into the Elf Lord. Abby was at some gig –she had mentioned the name of the band, but he hadn't really taken much notice. He had even considered Tobias before he remembered that his old friend and sparring partner had his daughter staying. So that left him one place to go – and, if he was honest, it was the only place where he really wanted to be anyway.

Switching off the engine, Gibbs looked up again, this time at the apartment window that he knew was hers. He had been here before, but never on his own and never at half past eleven at night. And, he knew, there was a very good reason for that. Generally, the attraction that he felt towards her was stored safely in a box labeled as either 'off limits' or 'private fantasy', depending on his mood, but keeping it there was hard enough during the course of a normal working day. This would be pushing his luck – or, rather, his self-control, since he didn't really think that luck had much to do with it. But, on the other hand, he knew she was home. He knew she would still be up. He knew that she was the only person who would understand how he felt tonight – the restlessness, the need to let off steam but also the disinclination to go out and get hammered, the tiredness but also the buzz that all came with successfully closing a case. And he also knew that she would accept, without too many questions, the fact that the basement wasn't up to the job tonight.

Pulling out his cell, he dialed her number before he could change his mind, and she answered on the second ring.

'I did wonder how long you were going to sit outside before you either rang the entry bell or phoned'.

Gibbs looked up, and could see a dark shadow at one of the windows on the second floor. Getting out of the car, he moved towards the entrance door.

'Mind if I come up?'

She laughed, a warm, throaty sound that made him wonder whether this had been such a good idea after all.

'Of course not. I will let you in'.

He heard the sharp ping of the entry bell, and pulled back the front door that led into the communal hallway and the staircase. There was no elevator. Taking the stairs quickly, he reached the right floor and paused outside the apartment door before taking a deep breath and turning the handle.

She had left it open for him.

Stepping inside, into the spacious living room, the first thing he noticed was the gun on the coffee table. It was gleaming, and the small brush and bottle of lubricant lying nearby indicated that it had recently been taken to pieces and cleaned inside out. Gibbs smirked as he pushed the door shut behind him. He knew that cleaning her gun was one of the ways in which she tried to relax. When that didn't work...he looked around him for evidence of her other tried and tested method, and chuckled quietly to himself as he caught sight of the knife embedded in a wooden block that had been propped up against the wall. He wondered what her neighbours made of it.

He looked around him for a moment, absorbing the sight and scent of the room that was uniquely hers. It was warm, inviting, simply furnished with splashes of deep, earthy colour that lent a slightly exotic touch and, as on those occasions when he had visited before, the scent of fresh flowers and faint perfume filled the apartment. It should have been at odds with the gun on the table and the knife in the block, but somehow, to Gibbs, it seemed natural. It was who she was.

'I will be there in a minute. Make yourself comfortable'.

Her voice drifted through from the kitchen, through the door that was ajar at the far end of the living room. Now that he listened, Gibbs could hear her moving around - light footsteps across the floorboards, the sound of a cupboard door opening and closing. And then a soft, repetitive noise, like a muffled slap over and over again. Frowning slightly, he ignored the invitation to make himself at home in the living room and moved towards the kitchen instead. As he opened the door fully and took in the spectacle in front of him, the frown was replaced first by a raised eyebrow of surprise, and then by a look of amusement that made his sharp blue eyes soften and twinkle.

'Anyone I know?'

Ziva had seen Gibbs pull up outside her apartment, had watched as he sat and waited, and had, deep down, realized why he was hesitating. She had not been so sure herself whether inviting him up was a good idea. Being alone with Gibbs always tested her iron self-control to the absolute limit, and she did not think she really had the energy for it tonight. But when he had rung her cell, she had found herself answering, buzzing him in downstairs, and opening her apartment door for him regardless. She had found she wanted the company.

The case, for some reason, had been difficult over the past two weeks, and Ziva suspected it had been the same for all of them. She was exhausted. The flood of relief at finally ending it and leaving it behind should have allowed her to relax and wind down, but instead she had found herself at home alone and unable to sleep. Cleaning her gun had not helped, nor had throwing her knives for an hour against the thick wooden block that saved her walls from becoming pock-marked. At ten thirty, she had begun to regret turning down Abby's invitation to go with her and see her friend's band play in Georgetown. Even The Evil Eyes might have been better than pacing the floor of her apartment.

Finally, she had headed into her kitchen to try something else, something that she had not had to resort to for a long time. And now Gibbs was here in the kitchen with her. She found herself wishing that she had on something a little sexier than black sweatpants and a loose tank top, but told herself to get a grip. That was not, after all, what he was here for. Like her, he probably just wanted someone to be with, and tonight, it seemed, a boat in the basement had not been top of his list.

'Anyone I know?'

She turned as she heard his question, saw him leaning against the door-frame with that half-smile tugging at his lips, nodding towards the large ball of bread dough in her hands and looking casual in jeans and that red hoodie. Ziva really hoped that her inward hum of appreciation didn't reach her eyes.

She smiled as she turned back to her kneading, her fingers pummeling and stretching and working the bread as it gradually turned from a shaggy mess into a smooth, elastic ball. It was a great stress reliever, and she had to admit there had been times when the dough had morphed into some unfortunate person's head in her hands, but it was better than taking out her anger on the real thing. Tonight, however, there was nothing and no one in particular.

'Just life in general'.

'Hmm'.

Ziva held up a sticky hand.

'I would make coffee, but...'

'Got any bourbon?'

She nodded towards a cupboard.

'In there'. Then a nod towards another one. 'Glasses in there. This is almost done'.

'You often make bread?'

She heard Gibbs collecting the bottle of bourbon and two glasses from the cupboards, heard him pour one for himself and one for her, and watched as he set the glass down on the counter beside her.

'I do not usually have the time. But it is good for working out some tension'.

She gave the dough one last poke before placing it in a bowl and throwing a tea towel over the top. It would rise overnight. If she got up in time, she would bake it in the morning. If not, well, it had still served some sort of purpose.

'Knife didn't work?'

She laughed as she washed her hands.

'Cleaning the gun did not help, throwing the knives did not help. This is always next on the list'.

Gibbs leaned against the counter, watching her as he drank the bourbon. She was acutely aware of his eyes on her, of the electricity between them that seemed to hum loudly in the small space of the kitchen, but resolutely tried to ignore it. She wondered if he was doing the same, or whether it was all in her imagination. It was late, after all.

'What if this doesn't work?'

He handed her another towel to dry her hands, and she quickly took it and turned away on the pretext of placing it over the oven door to dry. There was no way she could tell Gibbs exactly what came next on the list of relaxation techniques. Or, an impish voice in her head whispered, was there?

'It does not usually come to that'.

She smiled again as she turned to face him, saw his blue eyes on her, softer now that he was not at work, and still that half-smile on his face that could make her melt if she let it.

'But if it does, then an hour or so on the couch...'

He raised one eyebrow slightly and spoke quietly, so quietly that she barely heard him.

'Don't let me interrupt'.

Her heart thudded before resuming its normal pattern, and she gave a faint smirk before turning away again. She would never normally allow herself to flirt openly with Gibbs; it was one of her own rules that came under the dual headings of 'self-preservation' and 'prevention of embarrassment'. But this was exciting. Sexy. And, somewhat to her surprise, Gibbs did not seem to be complaining.

'Well, since you are here, you may as well join me'.

She walked over to the freezer and pulled open the door, rummaging for a moment before her hand emerged triumphantly clutching a large tub of Ben and Jerry's.

'Strawberry cheesecake?'

She became aware of Gibbs standing very close behind her, one hand lightly resting on the small of her back as he leaned over her shoulder and peered into the freezer, and a shiver ran through her that had nothing to do with the chill emanating from the compartment. He was just as good at this game as she was. He wanted to play just as much as she did. And she knew he could tell the effect he was having on her.

He reached past her and pulled out a smaller tub, inspecting the label before nodding.

'Cookie dough'.

Ziva shrugged, replacing the strawberry cheesecake and shutting the freezer door. She would not have put Gibbs down as a cookie dough kind of guy, but still. She grinned wryly to herself. At least she had not had any 'Karamel Sutra' in there.

'Spoons are in the drawer over there'.

'Hmmm'.

He moved to allow her to brush past him, heading towards the living room, ice cream in hand.

'Ziver?'

She turned as she heard her nickname, the one that only he ever used.

'This really what you do?'

Ziva paused, deliberately considering her answer, waiting for his eyes to darken slightly as his gaze rested on her face, and knowing that hers were probably doing the same.

'No', she admitted, and was gratified to see him take a deep breath, something that looked suspiciously like desire flaring briefly in his eyes.

'But it will do for the moment'.

As she turned away and moved into the living room, drawing the curtains and settling down on the couch, she found herself wondering how many more rules would be broken before the night was over.