A/N: For the second time this season, I find myself writing an episode tag. Ultimately, I just could not resist that ending to "Desperate Man" and one of the later scenes you'll read came to me and just begged to be written. I get nervous when I write and post quickly as I did with this, so I do hope you enjoy it and that you'll let me know if you do. There will be two more chapters that will be put up within the next 24 hours for sure, before the next airing of NCIS in the States.
This is one dedicated to those who - ahem - urged me to consider writing this. In order of the "You have to tag this!" appearance, they are Sarah Withers (thanks for the extra votes of confidence, my friend!), gosgirl (who deserves an honorable mention for her persistance), iyimgrace (who refused to actually push me and deserves a medal for trying to save me from myself, but the plot bunny and I refused to cooperate - !), Bamacrush (ditto on the persistance) and LauraEve24 (who gets points for totally making me smile with her suggestion). Oh, and rumor has it that Kesterpan even joined the bandwagon, as well. :p I do believe Sehrezad and Cherokee Jedi will also be glad to see this. :p
I would also like to welcome Ziver69 to the world of writing Zibbs. She has an EXCELLENT tag to this episode started called "What She Needs." If you haven't read it, you should. =) And now ... happy reading!
Previously on NCIS …
Ziva strode purposely through the airport door without even the hint of an urge to look back.
Without speaking, she got into the car beside Gibbs, looking forward until he spoke, glancing his way to find he was now gazing forward himself.
"CIA confirms that Ray violated orders by taking out Norton on U.S. soil." He paused for a moment. "He's done." There was a finality about his tone that was impossible to miss. He looked back at her now, even as she turned her face away again.
His heart ached for her at the lost, pained looked in her eyes that she didn't – or couldn't - hide from him. His feelings for her had always been more complicated than straightforward, but right now all he wanted to do was take care of her – and kick Cruz's ass to hell and back if the opportunity ever came.
Gibbs raised a hand and tenderly cupped the back of her head, rubbing gently, communicating more in that one gesture than most people could have in an entire monologue.
"What can I do?" he asked simply, the concern in his tone nearly her undoing.
Blinking back the tears that suddenly stung her eyes in the face of his gentleness, she took a breath and shook her head slightly. She had no words yet for the maelstrom of emotions beginning to run through her as the frozen place inside her began to thaw, so she succinctly answered, "Drive. Just drive."
Without another word, he removed his hand from her neck, started the car and drove.
Ziva glanced at him wordlessly as he did, grateful that he was with her. Gibbs was the one man she trusted completely and he was one of only two people in her life who could just be with her and not push her to talk, yet would implicitly understand where she was emotionally and find ways to support her even if she didn't say a word.
Most others would have guessed that Ziva would have wanted to be alone right now; those people would have been wrong. Gibbs knew her well enough to know that, too.
Jethro was silent as he piloted the car away from the airport and out onto the expressway. Going with his gut, he got off at the first exit and took the back roads, prolonging their ride. She wanted him to drive and drive he would. Besides, he had personal experience with how being closed within the confines of a car, moving yet with little-to-no effort required, could allow a mind to wander and a heart to just … be, emotions slowly settling out. He wouldn't have wanted her at the wheel just now as distracted as she was by all that had happened, but he also knew the two of them could be together for hours in companionable silence.
And, truth be told, he wanted to be the only one with her just now.
Ziva looked out the side window as they rode along, feeling no pressure to speak and absorbing the gentle strength emanating from the man beside her. Initially, she fought to keep all of her emotions in a tightly closed and locked strongbox, wanting to simply cut them off and lose herself in the numbness. Eventually, though, she cautiously let them out one by one, acknowledging them … Hurt. Anger. Betrayal. Sadness.
And those just scratched the surface.
Those emotions would get more attention later. Below those, her usually-well-camouflaged insecurity, that painful worry that perhaps no one wanted her for herself was stabbing her like a thousand needles … that certainty that, when all was said and done, she was wanted for what she could do rather than because she was simply lovable.
She took a deep breath and swallowed the tears that threatened at that. She simply didn't have the resources to tackle that just now and refused to wallow in it when she could be angry – angry at Ray, but even angrier at herself.
It was getting dusk when Ziva became aware that the car had stopped. As she gradually tuned into her surroundings, she realized Gibbs had driven to her apartment. It was a bit startling that she had no memory of how they'd gotten there and that so much time had passed since they'd left the airport.
She turned toward Gibbs to find him looking at her with a slight smile tugging one corner of his lips.
"My car is back at NCIS," was the first thing that popped into her mind and out of her mouth.
"Mhm. We'll get it – tomorrow or whenever you're ready," he answered matter-of-factly. "Right now we're going to pack you a bag and go to my house."
Her brows drew together in confusion. "Gibbs –"
"Look, Ziver," he broke in gently, putting that warm hand against the back of her neck once more. She couldn't help but close her eyes and lean into it. "We don't have to talk or even be in the same room if that's what you want, but I don't think you should be alone tonight … and don't think you really wanna be."
Tears threatened again, so she kept her eyes closed until she was fairly certain she could open them without bawling like a baby.
Taking a deep breath, she opened herself to the prospect he'd put in front of her. The truth was he'd nailed it – she didn't want to be completely alone, yet she still didn't want to feel pressured to talk. The only people who came close to meeting that need when it struck were Gibbs and her best friend, Alona. Given that Alona lived in Central America these days, she was not an option. Besides, all she really wanted tonight was Gibbs.
In a well-practiced move, she resolutely forced her more complicated feelings for him back in the box in which she'd kept them for years marked "Do Not Disturb Under Penalty of Breaking Rule 12." God only knew what the price of that would be, but she was certain it was higher than she wanted to pay.
She finally lifted her lids to find him looking at her, that gently caring look still in his eyes. The hand at the back of her head had never lifted, silently reassuring her of his presence.
She allowed the ghost of a smile to curve her lips and nodded her agreement to his words.
They entered her apartment and he sent her off to pack a few things.
"Don't forget your jammies," he teased lightly.
"My 'jammies'?" Ziva asked, disbelief coloring her tone. "I am not a child, Gibbs."
"Oh, I noticed." There was something extra in his voice that made her stomach drop a little, but nothing in his eyes suggested there was any hidden meaning behind his statement.
She looked at him for a moment, but then found she couldn't hold his gaze. Without another word, she went to her room. She quickly peeled off the olive coat, white sweater and dark pants she'd been wearing. She left the coat on the bed, but tossed the clothing into her hamper. Yearning to feel more comfortable, she pulled on soft black yoga pants with a tight, fitted powder blue tank and a hoodie in that same color.
Stepping into the bathroom, she washed her face and combed out her hair, completing the process of physically shedding the day. She gave a fleeting thought to re-applying make-up, but shrugged it off. She just wanted to be as … light, as unencumbered as possible; God knew her heart was heavy enough for the rest of her. Besides, she wasn't sure how much she'd end up talking, but she didn't want even that layer between her and Gibbs tonight. She refused to examine just why that was.
She quickly packed a duffle with her "jammies" – and cracked a smile that took her by surprise as his words rang in her ears. She included a toothbrush and some clean clothes for tomorrow. The next day was Saturday and they weren't scheduled to work, so she kept it casual. She tucked in a headband and shoved a ponytail holder in the pocket of her hoodie. She was leaving her hair down for now, but it would undoubtedly start bugging her and need to be pulled back again at some point.
She returned to the living room to find Gibbs standing at her window, his coat still on, his hands - capable of the deadliest to the gentlest of touches - in his pockets. She took a moment to stand in the doorway just to absorb him again, then stepped into the room.
"I am ready," she announced quietly even as he turned unerringly toward her, sensing her presence.
His characteristic smile brightened his eyes and he simply said, "Let's go."
She slipped on a casual, but warm jacket that she had hanging near the door and they returned to the agency car he was still driving without another word.
He made one stop on the way to his house: her favorite Chinese restaurant. She looked at him with doubt on her face.
"Gibbs, I am not hungry," she started despite the fact that she couldn't actually recall the last time she had eaten in the past couple of days.
"Maybe not now, but you gotta eat sometime," he pointed out sensibly. "You still like vegetable deluxe and sesame chicken?"
Her heart warmed that he remembered and she couldn't help the small smile that graced her lips. Silently, she nodded.
"Be right back," he assured her and left her to wait in the car as he went in to get them some dinner.
Before long, he was back and handed her the paper bag to hold while he finished the drive home. Despite her earlier assertion, her stomach growled at the fragrant smells emanating from the bag. He threw a knowing smirk her way, which pulled a light, self-deprecating snort from her.
They arrived at his house and she carried the food while he grabbed her overnight bag. Of the same mind, they headed to his basement after shedding their coats. Without a word, he cleared a space on his work table and they sat side-by-side on the bench in front of it, sharing the food straight from the cartons. He poured them both a finger of bourbon into the obligatory mason jars and Ziva welcomed the liquid fire as it slid down her throat to mingle with the food she hadn't even realized she'd needed. But he had.
He took their empty containers to put in the trash in the kitchen and returned to the basement after he'd changed into some gray sweats and a long black tee with a short-sleeved black USMC t-shirt over it. He carried along a pile of blankets, a pillow and … a mug of tea?
She looked up at him in surprise as he handed her the drink. "You have tea?"
He smirked, then turned away to make a soft pile of bedding for her in case she just wanted to crash. "Yeah, but don't rat me out. Abby's the only other one who knows."
A slight grin threatened to break out across her lips, but she held it in check. "Your secret is safe with me, Gibbs."
"I know," he responded softly yet warmly, his back to her as he finished messing with the blankets.
She looked at the cushiony spot, then cocked a brow at him as he turned back to look at her. "Is that a hint to get my jammies on and hit the straw?"
He grinned. "Hay, Ziver." She rolled her eyes.
"No hint. Just there if you want it." He went to the saw horses where his latest project was waiting and began to pick up the work where he'd last left it.
"What is that?" she asked as she moved to settle on the blankets with her tea, sitting up and leaning back against the wall. She was grateful that he'd known she'd prefer the warm drink to burying her sorrows in more bourbon – though a shot of that had hit the spot earlier.
"Dollhouse for Amira," he noted. "Her birthday's coming up."
She smiled as she thought of the beautiful little girl and her mother, as well. Ziva and Leyla had become friends, finding common ground in being immigrants in a new country and from being born in the same part of the world.
She sat lost in her thoughts after that, her mind going back to earlier of its own volition. The hurt and betrayal gripped her at first, though she quickly moved onto anger – not only toward Ray, but also at herself.
Feeling agitated, she rose to place her empty mug on the work bench, then started pacing the confines of the basement. Gibbs just glanced at her from time to time out of the corner of his eyes, keeping an eye on her without being obvious about it. She started muttering in Hebrew and gesturing with her hands, signaling that her pent-up emotion was getting the best of her.
She itched to go for a run, but didn't really want to be away from Gibbs and wasn't sure he'd let her leave anyway.
He laid down his tools and moved behind a partial wall without saying a word. She was too far into her own head to even notice. As he dragged a standing punching bag out into the clearest space in the room, however, she stopped her pacing in its tracks.
"Gibbs?" she questioned, her brows beetled.
Still without a word, he disappeared behind the wall again and returned with a wad of bandage and a pair of boxing gloves.
"Going twenty rounds with this usually helps me when I get to the pissed off stage – figure it's the same for you," he noted perceptively. He held up what was in his hands. "Gloves or wrap?"
She looked at him wordlessly for a moment, astounded at just how well he knew her – and not completely sure she was comfortable with it. With a slight shake of her head, she pointed to the wraps. He wasn't surprised.
"Hold out your hands," he ordered. She complied.
He ripped off the first length from the roll and started with her right hand. For the first time he noticed the faint redness already across her knuckles that would surely be a bruise by tomorrow. He looked from her hand to her eyes, an eyebrow lifted silently in question.
"I punched him," she answered succinctly, daring him to say something with the look in her own eyes.
"That's my girl," he said with unmistakable approval, holding her gaze purposefully.
Her lips twitched as her battered heart healed a little more.
Once he had her ready to go, he turned back to his project, giving her the emotional and physical space she needed.
Ziva circled the bag a few times, giving it a few half-hearted punches at first. Then, the visceral pleasure of her fists connecting with the leather pulled her in and everything else faded away as her anger morphed into fury and she took it all out on the bag.
Gibbs watched her surreptitiously, satisfaction sitting in his gut. Occasionally, she muttered in Hebrew, but other than that, she spoke not a word nor even looked at him. He didn't mind; all he cared about was that she got what she needed.
At one point she started sweating and Ziva stopped to yank her hair up into a ponytail and unzip her sweatshirt so she could throw it carelessly out of the way. Then, still without a word or even acknowledging that he was in the same room, she returned to sparring with the bag.
He tried not to notice how sexy she looked in that fitted tank dampened with her own sweat, but that was a losing battle.
He fielded a call from DiNozzo who was concerned that he couldn't raise Ziva on her cell and that her car was still at NCIS. He was glad Tony had been driven to check up on his partner; Gibbs was equally happy to be able to say that Ziva was with him, but he didn't examine that too closely.
Ziva gave no outward sign that she'd even noticed that his phone had rung.
She kept at it until her limbs started to quiver from the exertion and her mind was finally clear. Leaning into the bag, she laid her cheek against the leather and wrapped her arms around it, catching her breath. Her eyes were closed.
After giving her a minute to settle, he laid down the sandpaper he was using and walked over to her. With that gentle hand smoothing down her tail of hair, he reminded her he was there. Without a sound, she turned and burrowed into his chest, her hands circling around to grip the back of his shirt as best she could with the wraps still on.
His shirt soaked up her silent tears and he just held her, not saying a word.
After several minutes she released a deep sigh and leaned all her weight against him.
"Thank you … Gibbs," she whispered, the exhaustion that had suddenly hit her coloring her tone.
"Anytime, Ziver," he answered, nothing but truth ringing in his words.
They stood for a moment longer, just leaning together.
"How 'bout a shower and those jammies?" he asked softly, his characteristic half-smile evident in his voice.
She couldn't stop the slight chuckle that left her throat.
"That sounds good," she admitted.
Keeping an arm over her shoulders, he led her up to his room, grabbing her bag on the way. He took her straight into the bathroom adjacent to his bedroom and pulled out a towel and washcloth for her. She had started unwrapping her hands and he took over the process, wanting to inspect any damage she'd inflicted on herself. Uncharacteristically, she let him.
Not too bad he thought to himself, running his thumbs lightly over the red, scraped knuckles.
Pressing a kiss to her forehead, he asked, "Got everything you need?"
She nodded, leaving the unwittingly-loaded part of his question unaddressed.
He left her to do her business and went to turn down the sheets on his bed. She would sleep here tonight and he'd bunk on the couch. He most often did that, anyway. His dick twitched at the mere thought of her in his bed, even without him in it with her, but he did his best to ignore it.
He had never admitted it to anyone – and had barely acknowledged it to himself – but his feelings for Ziva were far more complex than he'd ever let on. Yes, he cared about her as a member of his team and as a friend. He also wanted her like he hadn't wanted anyone since Shannon, but that was undoubtedly the road to nothing but hell in more ways than one. Plus, she surely didn't return those feelings or she wouldn't have gotten this seriously involved with Ray.
Still, when DiNozzo had off-handedly suggested that Gibbs get ready to play father-of-the-bride, his first urge had been to rip his Very Special Agent's head off. But, thankfully, his mask had stayed in place. Looking at his computer after a brief glance of understated surprise at Ziva, he'd mumbled that he was happy for her. He'd nearly done a fist pump when she'd hastened to add that it wasn't a done deal. He'd offered that, if it was right, it would be, but had left off the part where he hoped it wasn't.
Of course, that wasn't fair of him. He cared for her enough – both as a friend and more – to want her to be happy. He just couldn't help it if he was less-than-thrilled that her happiness would probably be connected to someone other than a grumpy old Marine with rules that really seemed like good ones … even if he was having more and more trouble remembering why Rule 12 should be kept sacred where she was concerned.
Meanwhile, Ziva stood under the shower, running the water as hot as she could stand it. For a long time, she just let the water wash over her, ready for the time being to allow all the whirling thoughts in her head to go down the drain with the warm liquid. Gradually, she roused herself enough to begin washing up. She hadn't thought she'd need her shampoo and body wash, so she hadn't packed it. She reached for his shampoo and washed her hair, wryly noting that her curls would undoubtedly be a little wilder than usual without her conditioner.
As she lathered her hands with his soap, the scent of him filled her nostrils and stirred her belly. How something as simple as Irish Spring could smell sexy she had no idea, but it surely did on him. And tonight she was going to sleep with the smell of him with her, on her skin. Refusing to examine that thought more closely, she wrapped the knowledge close and allowed it to comfort her.
Eventually, she left the shower, toweled off and slipped on her nightclothes. Her lips twitched when she thought of Gibbs calling them her "jammies," but guessed the term was apt enough. She wore light cotton plaid pants that were primarily navy blue and white, coupled with a scooped-necked matching plain navy top with cap sleeves. She squeezed most of the moisture out of her hair with the towel and combed it out the best she could. After rubbing her nightly moisturizer on her face, she opened the door and stopped when she found Gibbs sitting on the bed.
She shyly tucked her hair behind her ear, causing him to smile as he stood up. Wordlessly, he held up the covers and motioned for her to get in.
"I cannot take your bed, Gibbs," she protested. "I will sleep on the couch."
"I usually rack there," he admitted, "so the bed's all yours."
After a moment of silence, she walked over and climbed in, a twinkle that reminded him of the Ziva she had become during her time at NCIS – not the wounded one who'd returned and needed to be cared for tonight – came into her eyes as he tucked her in. She refrained from pointing out that he was treating her like a little girl, but he knew that's what she was thinking.
He smiled with his eyes, but didn't say a word.
She lay back against his pillows and looked up at him, a mix of gratitude and something unreadable in her eyes. "Thank you, Gibbs," she offered softly for a second time that night.
"For what?" he asked.
"For being here … in exactly all the ways I needed you to be." She paused, glancing away before looking back at him. "For being the person I trust most in the world."
His half-smile kicked up one corner of his mouth. "Always, Ziver. And that goes both ways."
She smiled as her eyes started getting heavy. It had been quite a day, after all … quite a few days, actually.
He pressed a kiss to her forehead and told her to come get him if she needed anything. As he rose, she asked if he had a sweatshirt or something he could lay out in case she got cold. He nodded and laid his red USMC hooded sweatshirt on the top of his dresser for her.
"Goodnight, Gibbs," she murmured. She was turned on her side, one hand tucked under her cheek, already half-asleep.
"Night," he returned, stopping in the doorway to look back at her for several long minutes, trying not to think about how right she looked lying there in his bed.
He went down to the basement for a while longer, before scooping up the blankets he'd brought down for her earlier and heading to the couch. Making up his own bed, he allowed sleep to claim him, as well.
