Author's Note: Here is Chapter Two! Yay! I tried to write in a few details that would make you think, so keep that in mind! Thank you for all the reviews!
Disclaimer: NCIS and its associates or properties are not mine.
Summary: Ziva and Gibbs' trip arrives at its destination.
Rating: K (Perfectly safe!)
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She had only been in his passenger seat for about ten minutes before she realized they were going to her place.
Ziva found this odd. She didn't have a boat, or a basement, or bourbon, or sandpaper-none of the staples that made Leroy Jethro Gibbs him.
What was he going to do? There was no lumber.
The ride stayed quiet, but every few minutes, Gibbs would glance over and look at Ziva. Almost as if he was checking to make sure she was still there.
After a few more minutes of his constant glancing, Ziva finally spoke:
"I am real Gibbs, you do not have to keep checking."
Smirking, he thought she would catch his actions. He was just un-sure on whether or not she would call him on them:
"Yeah, I know."
"Then why do you keep checking?"
Why did he have to get caught was more like it.
Sending her his classic glare, she gives him a small, real smile. She then looks away, breaking their eye contact.
Suddenly, Ziva is overcome with the inability to keep her hands still. She begins to fidget, not thinking that the man seated just a short distance away would notice.
But he did.
Reaching over, Gibbs closes his hand over hers on her left knee, not holding, not interlacing their fingers. Just putting his on top of hers, now fully realizing how small he hands really were.
He had expected Ziva to move away, get the message and distance herself.
But that's not what he wanted.
He wanted her to understand that she could fall apart, for lack of a better term or phrase. It didn't make her weak or less of a person.
Just because Gibbs was certain that was the way she had been taught, didn't mean it was the only way there was for her to handle pain or misery or grief.
And if he could control the future, he would tell her that. Show her other ways to deal with these feelings, rather than keep them bottled up.
He had kept enough of his own life bottled with an air-tight lid to learn that that method was not healthy or normal or helpful.
Looking down at her knee, he notices her hand hasn't moved.
And a small smile graces her lips as she looks out the window.
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Getting out of the car, Gibbs was out well before Ziva was.
Which was odd. She's younger, tough, strong.
So what was taking her so long?
Walking over to the passenger side door, he opens it:
"Ziver?"
"I just needed a moment Gibbs."
Nodding:
"Take your time."
The last thing Ziva David needed to be right now was rushed. She was still feeling groggy from the nap she was consumed in at her desk. Swiveling her legs to the outside, her feet find their place on the ground. Feeling his eyes upon her person, she raises her face and sees he's waiting patiently.
His hands out, ready to help.
Shaking her head 'no' at his offer of assistance, she gets out of the car, and stands.
Although Ziva's walk is a little wobbly, it's not that bad.
Still, Gibbs closes the car door and follows her pace, walking behind her. His hand is a ghost upon her lower back, a safety net if she lost her balance.
Again, she did not move away.
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Entering her apartment, Gibbs is slightly surprised at her décor.
Or lack thereof.
Her walls were lightly decorated, a few items here and there.
A painting here, clock there.
Sparse, but Ziva.
She sets her keys and bag down in the foyer, then turns to him:
"I do not have bourbon. Coffee? Tea? Juice?"
Smirking, he knows she's trying. He's left her in the dark about why he's here. But in his mind, it would be good for her:
"Coffee."
She nods and turns, heading towards the kitchen.
Making sure her door is locked behind him, he walks around, glancing at her place. It's nice, a two bedroom if the flight of stairs said anything.
He heard her enter behind him, though her voice was thick. Undoubtedly filled with slight confusion and what strength she had left:
"It will be a few moments on coffee. Can I get you anything else? I can order food, if you are hungry, or…"
She lets her voice trail off when she sees him shake his head 'no'. He sits on her couch, which is surprisingly comfortable. Gibbs pats the spot beside him and gestures his head.
Ziva crosses the room, and sits beside him, then his voice takes over the rooms natural silence:
"Last time we spoke, you said 'yes' when I asked you about nightmares."
Ziva, un-wanting to answer him, knew she had to:
"Yes. I did."
"They start when you came back?"
"Yes. They did."
He wants to reach out to her, hold her, pull her into his chest. Comfort her and tell her everything will be alright.
But he can't.
The Mossad wall is up and in full-force.
She was strong, there was no doubting that, but these walls needed to come down.
And fast, before she did any real damage to herself:
"You doing anything about them?"
She almost laughed at his question. Why would she be doing anything about them? It wasn't like she had the flu, this wasn't something she was going through that someone could just snap their fingers and fix.
She had learned throughout her life, one that was full of pain and tests and missions, the best way to do things was to do them yourself:
"I am handling this, Gibbs. Do not worry."
He always worried about his team, but especially Ziva. She found and wiggled a place into his heart that he thought had been long buried.
The conservation they had before she left flashes through his mind, though he will not allow himself to go there right now:
"Always worry about you Ziva."
She closes her eyes and her mind flashes back to before she left.
When things were normal.
Remembering what he had told her before her departure was the only thing she had to hold on to during Saleem's rein of terror.
Opening her eyes, she has to respond, hopefully it will be the last they speak of this:
"It is un-necessary. Though I feel that telling you that will not stop your worrying."
He smirks, she's right.
They know each other well.
The aroma of coffee enters the room with a vengeance, allowing Ziva to change the subject:
"Coffee is ready."
She rises and turns to make her way back to the kitchen. Gibbs follows behind, noticing her wobble has left her walk.
The cups are on the counter and it takes a moment longer than it should have to realize Gibbs is following her.
Taking the pot and filling both cups, she picks up his to hand him.
But Gibbs can see her actions, and places his hand lightly on her back, in an effort to lean in and accept her offering.
Only it doesn't go that smoothly.
His hand must have been harder on her back than he thought, because on it arrives there, Ziva winces, so quietly he almost missed it, from pain.
Quickly, he retreats.
The last thing Jethro ever wanted to do was cause Ziva pain.
Still with his cup in her hand, she turns around to face him, and forces a smile.
Smile to hide the pain.
That's what she was doing.
And he can see straight through it.
Accepting the cup, he sets it to the side, not even drinking first:
"Ziva?" His eyes motion to her back, and she quickly takes the conservation:
"It is nothing."
She reaches around and sips from her own cup, her eyes going everywhere but to him. Something about those eyes…:
"Then why did you wince?"
Damnit. She thought for sure he had missed that. But then again she was standing in the same room with Leroy Jethro Gibbs.
Of course he hadn't missed it.
That would be too easy, wouldn't it?
Her voice responds, and is getting shakier by the minute:
"I am just a…just a little sore. Which is why I said it was nothing."
Feeling dangerously daring, Gibbs calls her on it, hoping that she won't stab him:
"Show me then."
Her eyebrows shoot up, her face showing surprise and more than a few more emotions. Was he crazy? Show him? Her back? Why?
"And what good would that do? What good could that possibly do?"
Leaving her cup on the counter, forgotten along the sidelines, she moves to her right in an attempt to leave the room. And the conservation.
And yet, she is stopped. Gibbs won't let her keep walking away from the things that matter. The things she needed.
His hands take her shoulders and he steps in her way:
"No Ziva, not yet."
Growing more and more pissed, she asks, though her voice isn't as strong as she would have liked it:
"Not yet? What good will any of this do? What are we even doing Jethro?"
Jethro?
He could get used to that.
A spark arrives in his eyes, accompanied by a slight smirk:
"'Jethro'?"
A strong blush rises to her cheeks, only now realizing that she let his first name slip:
"I would apologize for that, but I well know that rule."
"I like it."
They remain in this position, hands on shoulders, paths blocked, for a few more moments. Then Ziva tries to move away, only to be blocked again:
"Ziver. It's time."
"Time for what?"
Ziva David could handle a lot of things. But nothing she had ever gone through could have prepared her for his warm and caring response:
"To let me in."
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