Ziva decided to fix him scrambled eggs and toast. While the eggs were cooking, she chopped a small fresh tomato into large chunks to put on the side and cut up several different fruits into an attractive mix. She was just giving the eggs one last fluff with an expert twist of her wrist when she sensed him standing behind her. She threw a glance over her shoulder and the unexpected flash of heat that pooled at her center nearly stole her breath. He was leaning against the doorway watching her, wearing nothing but dark sweats and one of his white t-shirts, still rubbing his hair with a towel.

There was nothing remotely sexy about his clothing per se, but his masculinity hit her like a ton of bricks. It was somehow even more obvious than when it was hidden under chinos, a polo shirt and a sport jacket.

She turned back to her task and reached over to push the toaster button down. She willed her heart rate to slow, but it wasn't easy given that she was fully aware that his eyes were still on her.

"You are staring as though you have not seen a woman cook before," she observed with a nonchalance she did not feel.

"Haven't in a really long time," he admitted, not changing his position.

He kept to himself that that watching her do it touched some elemental chord of contentment deep within him. He was reluctant to examine the implication of that inside his own head right then, let alone say it out loud.

"Dr. Ryan did not –" She broke off in mid-question. Raising a finger in the air for emphasis, she declared, "That is none of my business."

He answered her anyway.

"Doc cooks even less than I do," he snorted. "She's got a housekeeper that takes care of that. Or so she says."

She looked at him with her brow lightly furrowed.

"Never actually been to her house," he revealed.

Ziva made a small sound of Oh and didn't ask anything else. The toast popped up and she was glad for the interruption. She buttered the perfectly toasted bread, then placed it on a dinner plate along with the eggs and tomato.

"Have a seat," she suggested, nodding toward the small table in her kitchen where one place was already set with silverware and a bowl of the mixed fruit.

"You're not eating?" he asked, sitting down.

"I am not that hungry," she replied, "but I will have some tea with you."

She placed the full plate in front of him and was gratified to hear his stomach growl at the appetizing aroma.

Standing close to him, she noticed that he must have had some of his regular soap in his travel bag because he smelled exactly like himself, stirring her senses.

"I was not sure what you wanted to drink," she stated, resolutely yanking her thoughts back to the here and now before she lost her head and nuzzled her nose into his neck. "I could make coffee if you like, or I have juice, water … or you can still choose that bourbon." Her eyes teased him a little with that last option.

"Tea's good," he said offhandedly.

Well. Apparently this night was destined to be chock full of surprises.

His smile at her obvious astonishment made her stomach flip-flop and she ordered herself once again to get a grip. I would like to get a grip on something – or someone she thought naughtily before she shushed that voice in her head.

"Tea it is," she replied, managing to pull off a casual tone.

She made chamomile tea for both of them, put some jelly on the table and sat in the chair on his right.

"This is great," he commended her.

"Thank you. It is nothing fancy, but I am glad you like it," she responded softly, pleasure at his compliment evident on her face.

After a few bites in a silence that was not uncomfortable despite all the thoughts they were each keeping to themselves, he said, "Never had tomatoes with eggs before."

"It is something I like," she shrugged. Then her eyes took on a decidedly teasing glint. "Besides, it has been a while since you last ate and may perhaps be even longer before you eat again, so I thought I should get all the major food groups in you while I had the chance."

Then her face heated a little as the familiarity of her words hit her, like somehow she had the right to be worried about his eating habits.

One side of his mouth kicked up in a half-smirk. "Good thinkin'."

His easy words of praise immediately moved her beyond her self-consciousness.

"When was the last time you ate?" he asked, turning the tables on her.

She shrugged.

He gave her a direct look.

"Get a fork," he ordered. "There's enough here for both of us."

"I am fine," she protested, though the smell of the food was starting to make her stomach sit up and take notice.

"Okay then, we'll do it my way." He dished up some eggs on his fork and brought it to her mouth. She automatically opened up and took the bite. Their eyes locked. Ziva was the first to look away.

Her stomach rumbled and they both smiled. Hers was just a small one with a hint of chagrin; his had just enough told you so to remind her that he was Gibbs – he knew these things. He scooted the fruit bowl over so that it sat between them and looked at her expectantly until she daintily picked up a slice of banana and popped it into her mouth. If she'd been looking at him, she'd have noticed his eyes darken with a little heat watching her.

There was a scintillating intimacy that had her hormones humming sitting there alone in her kitchen with Gibbs, literally sharing the meal she'd cooked for him. By the time he gave her a fourth bite, her lips moved slowly over the fork as she looked directly into his eyes without thinking, her focus solely on him.

Who knew sharing scrambled eggs in the middle of the night could be so erotic?

She made a valiant effort to rein in that line of thinking and her physical response to him. She didn't fully succeed, but surely the fact that she tried accounted for something.

Eventually, they'd finished everything off between the two of them, though she made sure he ate the lion's share. Her napkin dropped to the floor and they both reached down for it at the same time. She turned her head to say she had it, only to find their faces so close that her lips brushed his. They both froze.

"I am sorry," Ziva mumbled, pulling back and looking away. Her stomach clenched and her heart thudded in her chest. A furious blush rose in her cheeks. "That was completely inappropriate – and an accident. I did not mean –"

Banked desire flared again in his eyes, mirroring the longing she was struggling to hide in hers.

Following his instincts and ignoring all the reasons he shouldn't, he lifted a hand to cup her jaw and gently turned her face back toward his.

"Any chance you'd stop apologizing and do it again?" he interrupted in a low rumble that skittered up her spine. "Like you mean it?"

The thumping of her heart beat kicked up another notch or four - it seemed so loud it was a wonder he couldn't hear it. She certainly could; it pounded in her ears, accompanied by a whoosh of air that left her feeling as though she were caught in a whirlwind. She couldn't breathe and couldn't think, but in that moment didn't care if she ever did either of those things again.

They would never be able to decide who made the first move in leaning just a little closer, but their mouths brushed against each other's once more in slow motion, light as a butterfly's wing. Of their own accord, her lips softened under his and the skim became a kiss … one that was warm, just a little hesitant, and full of underlying meaning.

They pulled back from one another slowly, lips clinging. Ziva lifted her eyelids to find his unreadable blue eyes staring steadily back at her – and abruptly panicked.

She rose quickly from her seat to stand at the counter. Her back was to him and her fingers gripped the edge in front of her until her knuckles were white.

He watched her for a few seconds as he took inventory of the myriad of emotions careening through him. In addition to shock and amazement and a host of other feelings he left unnamed at the moment, he felt a strong need to hold her, to comfort her – and an overwhelming urge to kiss her again.

Consciously shoving his rules and everything else but the woman in front of him to the back of his mind, he moved from his seat to stand right behind her. Wrapping his arms around her waist, he rested his chin on the top of her head.

"Gibbs?" she whispered, suddenly feeling as though she were adrift at sea without an anchor. "What are we doing?"

"If you have to ask, I must be doing something wrong," he teased her in a smoky voice.

"Not wrong," she husked. "It is just … "

Her voice drifted off. She was unable to say that she wanted this, wanted him too much to engage in something casual or meaningless – or to catch him on the rebound.

"Trust me enough to tell me what you're thinking - ?" he asked quietly, the tenderness in his voice nearly her undoing.

A pregnant silence weighed heavily between them before she finally spoke.

"It is not about trusting you." The affectionate kiss he pressed to her hair gave her the nudge she needed to continue in a low voice. "It is about protecting myself."

"From me?" he asked.

"Not … exactly," she responded evasively.

"From what?" he pushed gently.

You could have heard a pin drop in the quiet of that kitchen.

"From the fact that I have feelings for you that you do not have for me," she finally admitted somewhat bleakly, closing her eyes against the moisture that threatened, holding herself rigidly upright when all she wanted to do was melt against him.

Fantastic she thought to herself. Now she'd done it – ruined everything.

His response surprised even himself, though it felt completely right.

"Wouldn't be too sure about that," he advised her warmly, bending his head to press the side of his face against hers.

"Gibbs?" Her voice was lighter than a whisper.

He turned her to face him, his hands settling heavily on her hips.

"Say my name, Ziva," he husked.

"I just did," she answered, avoiding his gaze as she tried to step back from what felt like a very narrow emotional ledge.

"Not that one," he clarified.

She looked up at him, her pulse racing at such a simple request that carried such intimate connotations.

After a moment that felt like a lifetime, she complied.

"Jethro," she whispered breathlessly, a tiny, hesitant smile fighting to slip past her nerves.

His blue eyes darkened with satisfaction and, unmistakably, desire.

Burying his hand in her hair and cupping the back of her head, he slowly urged her lips to his once more, giving her plenty of time to back out if she wanted to.

She didn't.

The kiss started gentle and easy, then became a little more heated as his lips slid over, between hers. When it came to an end, she buried her face in his neck as he wrapped his arms around her waist.

Breathing him in, she had the fleeting thought that her fantasies of this moment had never done the reality justice.

"Did you know that was there between us?" he asked quietly, running one hand up and down her back just for the pure pleasure of it.

"I knew it was there for me," she admitted in a voice he had to strain to hear, "but I did not think it was the same for you."

He took a moment to consider his next words. Talking wasn't his strong suit, but she deserved an honest effort on his part.

"Part of me knew," he began slowly, "but I kept it buried pretty deep." He paused. "And was so busy trying to keep my reaction to you below even my own radar, that I missed what was happening with you."

He hugged her a little more tightly, the feelings that he was cautiously letting out suddenly starting to rush through him like water over rapids.

"I'm sorry," he murmured, unsure if he was apologizing for not noticing her feelings or for the fact that he was struggling to get a handle on his own emotions that currently felt beyond recognition.

She shook her head against him.

"Do not be," she whispered. "Please."

He reflected for a moment. "Did a good job of hiding from this; might need a little time to catch up. That gonna hurt you?"

She shrugged while still hiding her face from him.

"Ziver?" He gently nudged her head up with the side of his finger under her chin. When she still avoided his eyes, he commanded softly, "Look at me."

Guardedly, her brown-eyed gaze met his bright blue one.

"That gonna hurt you?" he repeated.

She'd come this far; she might as well admit to everything. God help her.

"I do not know," she confessed. After a pause, she took a bracing breath, kept her gaze on his and came clean on the rest. "But I love you too much not to give you that time, if you really want it."

Surprise and wonder and a fierce possessive heat chased quickly across his face before he gathered her into him, leaning his forehead against hers, something akin to gratitude flowing through his touch. He was rendered speechless at the trust she'd just placed in him by opening up to that degree.

She'd been afraid he'd be upset, unsettled at her admission. Comforted by his reaction, she tucked her face where his shoulder met his neck, sliding her arms around his chest to hug him tightly. She was still worried that she'd just changed everything between them too much, but realized she wouldn't take it back even if she could. She wasn't ashamed of how she felt about him; he was the best man she'd ever met. And, truthfully, there was a certain strength and freedom in sharing her feelings instead of secreting them away, even if it left her more vulnerable than she normally willingly chose to be.

They simply held each other for a moment, both savoring the simple pleasure of it.

"What about your rules? And work?" she asked hesitantly, revealing the concerns that were tempering her joy at this unexpected turn of events. One of her hands came around to pluck at the front of his t-shirt nervously. He captured it with his hand and raised it to his lips before holding it back against his chest. Her next words were offered in a hoarse whisper that she had to push past the lump in her throat. "And the fact that just few hours ago you were …" sleeping with "… dating Dr. Ryan?"

He released a deep sigh. After tilting her head up just enough to press a kiss to her forehead in a manner that somehow felt more cherishing than all the other times he'd done the very same thing, he took one step back.

Her stomach dropped and she silently chastised herself for not keeping her mouth shut.

She didn't have long to regret her questions, however; it turned out he wasn't backing away from her, literally or figuratively. Keeping her hand in his to be sure she stayed close, he murmured, "C'mere."

He led the way to the couch and sat, tugging her down beside him in the midst of the bedding. Wrapping one arm around her shoulders and placing a hand on her right hip, he held her against his chest. He didn't speak until he felt her start to relax.

"First of all, Doc and I are done," he said firmly. "And don't think the end of that has anything to do with this. That's over because it never should have started in the first place. And never got in deep there, anyway ... couldn't trust her, not completely. When I left her office, I was relieved and as irritated at myself as with her.

"Worried about work some," he continued honestly after a short pause. "Made Rule 12 for a reason and don't want to screw things up – not on the job, not with the team, not with you."

He looked down at her and lifted her face toward his with a finger under her chin. "I care about you, Ziva, with or without taking this to another level."

"I do not know what I would do if I somehow end up losing you altogether – as a friend, as part of your team," she divulged in a husky voice, putting aside her concern about whether this was too soon after Ryan for now. She closed her eyes. "That is what worries me."

Then she lifted her eyes once more and looked into the brilliant blue of his, that extraordinary color that she would never tire of seeing.

"But I want you like this, too," she admitted truthfully. "I have for a very long time. In fact, you might not wish to know just how much."

His characteristic smile made her heart race, then he cupped her face in his hand and kissed her again. This time it was hotter, the infusion of feeling from both sides pulling them under a little more.

"Want you, too," he murmured against her lips, finding a heady freedom in admitting that at last. "And you might be surprised."

At that, she wrapped both arms around his neck like silken ropes and pulled him even closer, moving her lips against his passionately, gently sucking his lower lip into her mouth.

When they came up for air, she indulged herself by skimming her lips along his jaw and down his throat before resting her head on his shoulder. He leaned into her touch before he tilted his head back against the couch, closed his eyes and just enjoyed the feel of her in his arms. Gibbs sure hadn't expected all this when he'd shown up at her apartment tonight, but he couldn't deny how right it felt, how the restlessness with which he'd walked through her door was, for now, completely calmed.

"Why tonight?" she murmured, stating one of his own previous questions out loud.

"Dunno," he said. Then a smirk played around his lips. "Maybe it had something to do with that dress you were wearing earlier. God, you looked gorgeous." He bent his head to nuzzle her neck. "Keep picturing you in my head."

"Well," she responded with a faint smile, "if it helped you notice that I am a woman in addition to being a special agent, it was certainly worth running in heels."

"Always noticed that," he informed her. "And think you're beautiful no matter what you're wearing."

That earned him a squeeze and a small kiss pressed to his shoulder.

"What if …" he started, running one hand over back, unconsciously communicating a powerful tenderness through his fingertips. After a pause, he continued. "What if we take things slow, see where this goes? Maybe even take some time away together after we get Dearing behind bars or on Ducky's table."

"That is our first priority," she confirmed with a nod, sounding more like one of his agents than a woman in love.

He looked down at her. "Yeah, it has to be, but that's not a reflection on you, on … us."

Her heart gave a happy little leap at his words. Us.

Her lips curved gently. "I know."

And he knew that she did understand. Truth be told, that was one of the things that had always drawn him to her, even in friendship. He could be who he was and she got it. He'd just subconsciously been hanging onto his rules and painful memories like a man terrified of crashing against the rocks rather than just letting go and letting himself be with her in all the ways he really wanted. But maybe that was about to change ...

"Don't know how I'll be at work at first with this," he told her honestly, trying to prepare her. He knew he wasn't the easiest man to be with under the best of circumstances, let alone when he was trying to navigate such a gray area as this. "I'll try not to, but might screw up sometimes."

Her heart smiled, loving the fact that he was already taking care of her emotionally on a whole new level without even really realizing it.

"I might, too," she pointed out softly. "So perhaps we should agree to be patient with each other – even if that is not second nature to either one of us."

The knowing twinkle in her eye relaxed the tension that had gripped him. He gave a short bark of laughter as he squeezed her. Maybe his luck with women over the last couple of decades was changing because he'd finally found the right one.

"Are there any rules about how often I can kiss you while we are taking it slowly and when we are not at work?" she interrupted his thoughts, running a finger lightly, seductively along his lower lip.

"Yeah."

She lifted a brow in question.

"As often as possible." Ziva gave him a hopeful look that said Really? He nodded. "Might be scared, but I'm not stupid."

"You are not scared," she denied, practically snorting.

"Yeah, I am," he corrected her. He thought it over for a moment. "But maybe that's a good thing."

She looked up at him quizzically.

"Means it matters," he explained. "You matter."

That earned him a kiss that rocked his world as she dipped her tongue into his mouth for the first time – until he took control of it and returned the favor.

"You are either catching up quickly or you are really good at faking it," Ziva observed breathlessly when he raised his head at last.

"Not faking it," he assured her softly.

A thrilled wonder lit her eyes at his answer. She caught her bottom lip in her teeth as she smiled at him.

Both of them were more than a little off balance at this unexpected turn of events, but neither could deny that holding onto each other felt like a port in a storm.

"Let's get some sleep," he suggested, running his hand over her hair. His voice softened. "Can I hold you for a while?"

She nodded almost shyly, her heart in her eyes. She'd been honest with him about how she felt and she wasn't going to start playing coy now. Maybe they weren't on the same page yet; only time would tell if they ever ended up there. But, she'd never know if she suddenly backpedaled and denied them both the chance for him to figure out exactly what he wanted.

Subconsciously, he already knew; he just needed to give himself permission to embrace the feelings from which he'd spent years hiding and time to look at her, at them, differently. And he hadn't been kidding about feeling scared. He was worried about being the partner she deserved and could hardly think about opening himself up to the kind of love that might kill him if something ever happened to her. He'd successfully avoided that for over twenty years, but he had a feeling that was history.

He lay back against the pillow she'd put there earlier, taking her down with him. She snuggled against his side between him and the back of the couch, her head pillowed on his chest.

"I do have a bed with more room," she offered, tilting her head to look up at him as she settled the covers over them.

"Don't think that would be too conducive to the 'going slow' part," he pointed out dryly.

She laid one leg between his in an effort to be more comfortable and discovered that his body might not be in complete agreement about taking their time on the physical side of things.

"It is possible to have sex on a couch, too, you know," she whispered wickedly in his ear as she pressed herself lightly against his hardening erection, the sexy teasing in her voice going straight to his groin.

She wanted him and figured he may as well know that, too. He'd asked for time to get caught up with her and she would give it to him unreservedly. However, in the meantime, all she could be was herself. If she pretended to be anything else, she'd never know if his ultimate decision was based on the real her or some façade she thought she should project.

If he never got to the same place she was, well … at least she'd given it her all.

And, indulging in a little – or a lot of - sizzle along the way certainly couldn't hurt, she promptly decided.

He nearly groaned as pictures of them having sex on her couch and several other interesting places scrolled quickly through his head.

"Not at my age," he denied in a feeble attempt to dampen his response to her.

Her sultry chuckle rumbled against his chest. "I look forward to proving you wrong about that."

Now he did groan.

"You are not making 'going slow' easy," he practically growled, giving in to his urge to roam his hands over her, molding her even more closely to him.

"Good," she declared provocatively, throwing him a saucy wink before using his magnificent chest as a pillow once more.

He felt her grin against him and he let out a chuckle that made her heart happy.

It suddenly occurred to her that she'd better make sure they didn't oversleep. She leaned over to pick up her phone from the table in front of the couch and quickly set an alarm. After laying it back down and reaching up to turn out the lamp beside the couch, she snuggled blissfully back against him, wrapping her right arm across his middle.

"Goodnight, Jethro," she murmured, suddenly surprisingly drowsy despite the fact that less than a couple hours before, she'd been certain she wouldn't sleep at all tonight.

"Night, Ziver." He dropped a kiss to her hair and closed his eyes. Before long, he drifted off, completely relaxed and unable to recall when he'd last felt this utterly content.


Gibbs' internal clock woke him just as the first colors of dawn's light were painting the sky. He reveled in the delicious, soft weight half on top of him as he replayed the night before in his mind. Ziva. He smiled and tightened his arms a little. She made a little sound that might have been his name, but otherwise didn't move.

Soon after, the alarm on Ziva's phone broke the silence. Without moving her head or opening her eyes, she flung out an arm to find it. His eyes were open by now and he grinned at her actions before reaching over and putting the phone in her hand. She lifted her lids just enough to turn off the alarm, then tossed the phone back onto the table.

Burrowing back into the heavily masculine body beneath her, Ziva mumbled, "Is it really morning?"

With that half-smile of his, he ran one hand up and down her bare arm. "'fraid so."

She tilted her head back and slowly blinked opened her eyes so she could see him. So, she hadn't dreamed that she'd slept snuggled up against him. A sunny smile stole across her lips as she felt no reservation in his touch.

"Well, waking up to you certainly improves the situation," she noted flirtatiously, smoothing her hand over his chest.

"I'll say," he agreed, his eyes revealing honest happiness and none of the awkwardness she'd been nervous he might feel.

She levered herself up enough to capture his lips in a slow, soft kiss. "Good morning," she breathed when she lifted her head.

"Morning," he returned, feeling far more refreshed than he'd expected to. "Like your couch better than mine."

"Oh? Why is that?" she asked.

"Yours comes with you," he revealed, the banked desire in his eyes heating her blood.

"You are welcome on my couch anytime," she offered warmly, leaning down to kiss him again.

After they pulled apart, she laid her head back down on his chest. In no time, he could all but feel her thinking.

"What?" he asked.

"I was afraid you would wake up this morning and regret coming over last night," she revealed slowly, quietly.

He tugged at her hair until her face was tilted up toward his.

"No regrets about anything that happened last night," he answered firmly, purposely referring to his ending things with Ryan, as well.

She breathed a little more easily and a grateful smile curved her lips before she tucked her face back down against him.

Then he offered wryly, "'course, maybe you'd have gotten more sleep if some guy hadn't shown up at your door at 2am."

The hint of vulnerability in his tone told her she wasn't the only one who might appreciate a little reassurance in the light of day. She leaned her head back again until she could snag his gaze.

"I have never been so happy to have anyone arrive on my doorstep at 2am," she informed him, the certainty of her words ringing in her voice. "And a very wise man once said you can sleep when you're dead." Her eyes twinkled as she parroted his own words back at him.

He smiled back at her, bringing a hand up to smooth it over her hair.

Wanting just a few more minutes of this before they had to re-enter the real world, she cuddled close to him again, tucking her nose into his throat. Unbidden, another worry soon started poking her.

He could feel a slight tension creep back into her muscles.

"What else you thinking?" he asked.

"How are we going to handle this with the team?" she asked.

"How do you want to handle it?" he countered.

She shrugged.

"Tell me the truth, Ziver," he demanded affectionately. "That's the only way this is gonna work."

She took another minute, then revealed softly, "I do not think we need to make some kind of announcement, especially not yet. But … " Her voice drifted off.

"But?" he nudged her.

"But I do not want to lie or pretend they are wrong if they pick up on anything," she admitted, clearly bracing herself for a possibly negative response to that.

"Me either," he informed her.

She raised her head to look into his eyes, relieved to find nothing but truth shining in them. The smile that slowly lit up her face pulled an answering one from him before their mouths came together again as though drawn by magnets. He moaned in his throat when she traced the tip of her tongue along the seam of his lips silently asking for entry. He welcomed her in, sliding, teasing his tongue along hers, running his hands from her waist to her neck and back again, until they finally had to come up for air.

Reluctantly, they got up and each grabbed a quick shower to complete the process of coming awake. She pointed out that he'd better use more of his own soap or Tony would notice that he smelled like her today. She tossed him one of those flirty winks of hers before pressing a quick kiss to his mouth. He nearly snorted out a laugh, enjoying this sexy, playful side of her – and the fact that she was right.

In addition to his sweats and a shaving kit, Gibbs had a change of work clothes in his bag so there was no need for him to stop at home before heading in to NCIS. They got dressed, then decided to grab coffee and something to eat on the way.

Just before they left her apartment, he put his hand on the door while standing behind her, keeping her from opening it. She looked around, a question in her eyes.

"Aren't you gonna kiss me goodbye before I go to work?" he questioned, his own lighthearted, humorous side peeking out. He put his bag on the floor so he could use that hand to turn her toward him.

She was smiling as he leaned in to take her mouth slowly, deeply. In a heartbeat, all she could think about was kissing him back. She dropped her backpack and wrapped her arms around his neck, pressing her body against his. Her leg came up, wrapping around one of his, aligning their centers with delicious pressure.

After he raised his head and her world stopped spinning enough that she could stand upright under her own steam again, they made their way out the door.

As she locked up, he offered with studied casualness, "Been wondering somethin'."

"Oh?" she responded.

"Just where did you have your gun in that dress last night?"

Her sexy laugh made him want to haul her back into that apartment and forget about work.

She'd worn the closest-fitting shoulder holster she owned underneath her jacket because the dress was too short and too tight for a thigh holster. She recalled the pressure of the grip of her Sig along her left breast and decided to play with him a little. Her answer had his imagination going and his body hardening again.

"Perhaps I will show you," she drawled provocatively, "the next time you are on my couch."

With happy, affectionate smiles on both their faces, they headed into work in their respective cars blissfully unaware that, within a few hours, the world as they knew it would come crashing down around them.