A/N: So, it happened again. I was completely blindsided by a plot bunny who would NOT leave me alone. *sigh*

I have watched the premiere of Season 11, but have not yet watched "Ziva's Farewell" episode as I wanted to have this completed and posted before I do since it was triggered by what I'd seen up through the promos for this season's second show. RL and a muse who wasn't done with this in time - and who turned a one-shot into a three-shot (I know, you're shocked) - combined to delay the posting until now, though I'd desperately wanted to get it up before Ziva's last episode actually aired. Oh, well ... the best laid plans and all that.

Apart from a bit more obsessive editing of the rest, the entire story is written and will be updated in daily (or sooner) succession, providing RL doesn't intervene. I find this to be an emotional piece and it is my intention to not leave you hanging for long between updates.

This story is particularly dedicated to mmbrook, my compadre in getting through our gut-wrenching sadness over Cote leaving the show and to abstractartist, who was the first to suggest that within change can come inspiration for the muse. Clearly, she was right - which does not surprise anyone who really knows her in the least. =)

Ziva slipped silently down the stairs, bracing herself for what she was about to do.

It was by far the most terrifying thing she'd ever done.

And Ziva David had been in some pretty scary situations.

Last night she'd told Tony she'd stopped expecting happy endings and that was true. She wasn't really anticipating one here, either, but she'd been driven not only to see if Gibbs was all right in the wake of all that had happened and what was to still to come, but also to reveal her most closely-held secret to him before she figured out what came next in her life.

No matter his response, no matter if she left D.C. because nothing remained to hold her here, she wanted him to know.

Though God only knew why.

Gibbs glanced up from where he was sitting at the large workbench of sorts he'd created in the center of the room from a slab of wood and a couple of sawhorses. His pulse rate kicked up a little as it always did when he was in close proximity to her, alone, especially with her hair down in waves looking just a little wild …

And those painted-on jeans and clinging black top didn't help matters.

This was the first he'd seen her – or any of his team – since he'd been pulled aside and offered a way out of his … predicament. He had not been told part of the deal would involve Tony, Tim and Ziva taking the fall meant for him until that was over and done.

Everyone knew he'd never have agreed to it if he'd been aware of that.

As Ziva and Gibbs faced each other across his basement, they were both acutely aware she'd turned in her badge to save him.

That she would have – and had – done more.

Neither really knew what to say about that.

"Ziver."

"Hello, Gibbs," she said almost formally, cringing inside at the emotional distance she felt herself throwing up between them when that had been all but erased over the years, especially when they were alone here in his sanctuary that he often shared with her.

She understood on the outskirts of her mind that her own fear, her instinctive need to protect herself, was erecting the reflexive shields.

Which was ironic considering that what she wanted with all of her heart was for them to be closer than ever.

"You okay?"

Something about her tonight worried him, unsettled him. She seemed uncharacteristically nervous, vulnerable even … which made him want to walk to her and wrap his arms around her.

And not let go.

With a sense of self preservation he couldn't explain right then, he did nothing of the sort and did nothing to give away his desire to do so.

She wasn't the only one with a protective streak a mile wild. In fact, they both protected everyone they knew whenever possible, including themselves.

She started to give an automatic "yes" to his softly-voiced question, then, never having lied to him before and not about to start now, she just shrugged.

Ziva honestly didn't know what the answer to that question was.

Gibbs stood, but rather than moving toward her, he went to the bench against the wall, emptying a couple of mason jars and pulling down his bourbon.

When he raised the bottle to her in question, she just shook her head.

Her stomach was roiling so much, she was certain the fiery alcohol would not stay down.

If anything, that worried him a little more. Ziva nearly always accepted his offer of a drink and they'd had countless nights in this very room when they'd shared more than one.

In fact, it had become something of a habit for them, though without conscious decision they hadn't broadcast that fact.

During those times together in his basement, they often ate take-out one of them had picked up after work or something she felt like cooking … laughed more than anyone who knew them would have guessed … sanded wood … shared bourbon on some nights, coffee on others and even tea on occasion … sat in comfortable silence or listened intently as each, once in a while, spoke of things rarely shared.

Along the way, they'd made peace with the tragic events that had taken place early on in this space which could have consumed any chance they had of having a relationship of any sort, but out of which their connection had risen like a phoenix and developed into something solid and multi-faceted.

Sometimes after a little too much bourbon or when she was just bone-deep tired, Ziva would fall asleep in a pile of blankets he kept down there. He sat up far longer than she did on those nights, alternating his gaze between watching her and keeping his eyes on whatever his current project happened to be, his world a little more complete – and complex - for having her there.

Not that he ever dwelled on that.

Not much, anyway.

Okay, never out loud.

But tonight … he could feel something different in the air.

And, if their usual equilibrium was off, well … that kinda scared the hell out of him.

Because … while he had no idea what was on her mind, there was a devilish voice in his head that wouldn't stop whispering that she didn't work for him anymore.

Which had implications far beyond the mere fact that she no longer had a job.

He poured a drink for himself and threw it back in one swallow. Because he felt his control slipping with regard to the feelings he had for her that he was certain weren't returned – why on earth would they be? - he looked at her and tried grabbing the reins of the situation.

"Why did you come here tonight, Ziva?"

Her eyes touched his face, then flicked away.

"You have said I am always welcome here, that I do not need a reason," she deflected.

"True," he agreed, then caught her gaze with his. "But something's on your mind."

After taking a deep breath, she nodded.

He allowed silence to weigh heavily in the air between them. Eventually she moved to fill it, though she uncharacteristically wound toward her eventual goal in a round-about way.

"Have you been told when you will be leaving on your mission?" she asked, ambling to the project on which he'd been working, running a finger lightly over the wood.

It took him a minute to shake off the breath-stealing image that crashed into his brain of her running that finger – and more – over him.

He shook his head, not trusting himself to speak.

She glanced up at the movement.

"I do not know what is next for me, either," she said with a sad attempt at a smile.

"Gonna get you back, Ziver," he said firmly. "All of you."

She shook her head with a resigned expression on her face.

"I am not so sure even the great Leroy Jethro Gibbs can accomplish that," she responded quietly. Then she looked him straight in the eye, the determination in her voice brooking no argument. "And if it means the deal is off and you are no longer protected, I will have no part in it."

"Ziver –"

"No, Gibbs. That is non-negotiable."

Silence reigned once more, full of unspoken meaning, not exactly uncomfortable, but not exactly comfortable either.

"I'll find a way," he promised.

She just shrugged. She didn't doubt he wanted to find a way, but happy endings of any sort had never figured largely in her life.

Speaking of which …

She grabbed for her courage with both hands and spoke over her pounding heart.

"It occurs to me that there is one advantage in not working for you," she began quietly, "at least for me."

His heart thudded.

Yeah, he could think of one, too. It fell somewhere between Rules 11 and 13, and if he hadn't been so convinced she deserved better than what he had to offer her, he'd have been all over that.

All over her.

He'd wanted her practically since they'd met and had fallen hard for her during those nights spent alone here in his basement.

But that didn't mean they should be together, so he'd barricaded that behind Kevlar-reinforced walls. He didn't want to lose what they already had because it – and she – meant too much to him.

It – and she – had slowly, but surely been filling a hole in his heart that he'd thought had been destined to remain an open wound.

Besides, he'd never quite been able to tell exactly what lay between her and DiNozzo – and was pretty sure he didn't want to know.

He'd heard the whispers, witnessed the flirting. Everyone seemed to think they would have been a couple by now if not for his damn rules. Hell, he'd even thought that himself, sometimes.

Part of that protective mechanism, no doubt.

But then he'd remind himself that it wasn't Tony's place she visited when she was looking for company, not his floor on which she felt safe and comfortable enough to sleep as someone watched over her.

Denial could be a powerful thing.

And complex didn't begin to cover the many emotions this woman engendered in him.

When he didn't ask for an explanation of what she was talking about, she almost left without finishing. Because it was nearly all she had been able to think about since handing in her badge, she felt like what she was trying to say was completely obvious and if he didn't want to talk about it …

Then maybe she didn't either.

Or shouldn't, anyway.

However, she'd come here with a purpose and, on some level, she'd regret it if she left that unfulfilled.

No matter the outcome.

"It has to do with your rules," she said in a low voice. She cleared her throat gently. "Rule 12, to be exact."

He turned away, busied himself with pouring another bourbon he didn't want just to avoid her face when she told him she and Dinozzo would finally be able to be together.

Guess he couldn't refuse to see it any longer.

"So, you and Tony, huh?" he managed, trying to get out ahead of the revelation before it could knock him on his ass.

As though that were even possible.

"What?" she asked, shock and confusion clear in her voice and on her face. Given where her head really was, she was taken totally by surprise. "What are you talking about?"

"You and Tony and no more Rule 12."

Before she could overcome her shock to respond to that, he said something else that shut her up completely.

Almost shut her down.

"And maybe that's a good thing." He forced himself to shrug and kept his back to her in case his expression was not as neutral as his voice. "Want you to be happy. Both of you."

After all, he cared for each of them. If that's what would make them happy, maybe he needed to get the hell out of the way.

Even if it killed him.

You could have heard a pin drop in that basement. And Ziva was fiercely glad she hadn't swallowed any of his alcohol as she was certain it would have been clawing its way back up her throat about now.

Her stomach was pitching as it was.

He wanted her to be with Tony? That was not a man who wanted to be with her himself.

She nearly abandoned ship again right there, but swallowed hard and forced herself to clarify what she meant. She didn't want to leave – and it appeared she certainly would be - with any misconceptions between them.

"I am talking about Rule 12," she confirmed quietly. He could feel her gaze on him, but he ignored the silent summons to turn around. "But I am not talking about Tony."

His heart pounded and hope sideswiped him, nearly knocked him off his feet … until he remembered that he hadn't had a relationship he hadn't screwed up in over twenty years.

He couldn't bear it if he screwed up with her, too, and lost her altogether, had to watch as the sparkle in her beautiful brown eyes gradually dimmed.

And she might not be talking about DiNozzo, but that didn't mean she was talking about him.

"I am talking about you."

He froze and his head swam.

At first, he couldn't make any verbal response at all.

He shook his head as though to clear it, but she misinterpreted the motion and her heart sank, sensing what was coming.

Then he husked out three little words that confirmed it.

"You should go."

She had no idea he forced those words out because he was instinctively ducking the possibility to which she'd alluded. Even if she meant it, he couldn't sentence her to being with a grumpy old bastard who might be too broken to give her what she needed, what she deserved, to scale those walls he'd built over decades – and if she stayed much longer, he was going to say to hell with that and grab her up and never let go, anyway.

Despite the two-of-a-kind closeness that existed between them, it seemed they were each still capable of completely misreading the other.

Of standing on either side of a chasm that could only be bridged by admitting they loved each other.

But bridges could be so, so difficult to build.

Ziva's eyes closed against the pain she didn't want to reveal. If he'd have been looking at her, he would have seen there was resignation in her expression, as well – and no surprise.

After all, hadn't she told herself he was not likely to feel the same? Why would he?

And yet, she hadn't been able to completely snuff out that spark of hope that he might, a tiny glowing ember that had been born of their time together in this basement and beyond, wishful thinking that had been buried deeply inside her for nearly as long as she'd known him …

But she hadn't really expected him to want her.

And, she ruthlessly reminded herself, he deserved more than a bruised and battered old soul trapped in a younger body that had been scarred inside and out by living through more of the ugliness in the world than most would see in five lifetimes.

Still, her heart had whispered that maybe, just maybe, all they'd both been through made them perfect for each other not only as coworkers and friends, but as more.

He clearly did not agree.

Leaning on the strength and discipline that had been forged in trials by fire, Ziva forced herself to do as he suggested.

She paused at the foot of his steps, one hand on the rail, looking down.

Driven by the unshakable sense that she may never see him again, she wanted him to know that she has never known a better man … that she loves him … that it seems like she always has.

"I …"

She hesitated, gripped by uncertainty.

"I just wanted …"

Finally, she simply settled for four little words of her own, spoken so quietly he almost couldn't hear them.

"You are loved. Always."

And her heart broke a little further when he remained mute and rooted to the floor, though she didn't give him much time to respond.

Couldn't.

"Goodbye, Gibbs," she whispered haltingly, the soldier in her fiercely pleased that she managed to swallow enough of her emotional response that her voice didn't crack.

Then she left, slipping into the dark night as silently as she'd arrived.

And disappeared into the ether.